Wednesday, September 29, 2010

My Open Letter to Friggin' Facebook

Dear FaceBook:

This is hard for me to write.  Things aren't good.  Well, to be honest, they haven't been good for a long time now.  Let's face facts.  The shine has worn off.  The polish is off the apple, as they say.  We don't talk, and the passion has dwindled.  I don't know how to say this....but I have been considering breaking up with you for a long time.  It's not you, it's me.  No, that's a blatant fucking lie.  It is totally you.  You're kind of a bitch.  But you still have sex appeal, so....

I made up a Pro's and Con's list to help me make this decision.  I am going to share it with you:

Pro - You give me an outlet to be perverted in a public forum (I thank you).

Con - You give others an outlet to post quotes about their faith in a public forum (makes my scrotum shrivel).

Pro - You allow me the opportunity to ogle over women that I have never met.

Con - You allow those that I have dated in the past to leave snide comments on seemingly innocent posts.  Like when a certain someone, who has since been removed from my friends list, responded to my comment about my nephew's birthday with the eloquent phrase, "Drew totally had whiskey dick the last night I stayed with him."

Well DUH....

Pro - Ever since my amazing Godson moved to Colorado, you allow me to see him playing, laughing, or stuffing those little cheddar fish into his mouth via pictures.

Con - Ever since I moved here from the Midwest, people seem to find pictures of me in sleeveless T-shirts with an oh-so-sexy farmer's tan, and post them as if it's funny.  California girls aren't in on the joke.  Quit destroying the tiny bit of game that I posses.

Pro - You are a source of entertainment!  I get to check out funny videos of fat people falling down and live look-ins of bands/artists that I will like for the next 15 minutes and then totally forget about.

Con's - You are a source of entertainment to stupid people!  You know the the ones I'm talking about, those who post videos of their dog barking - and insist that it sounds like he's saying, "Mommy" or "I love you."  Friggin' idiots.

Alright, fine.  I'm a nice guy, and I forgive.  Against my better judgement, I'm gonna go ahead and give you one more chance.  Because I'm shallow.  Because I'm arrogant.  And because, well, let's face it, you are the only action I get these days.  Just don't fuck it up, ok?  And for Bob's sake (why should Pete get all the love?), I have never, and will never, own a farm.  Nor will the idea of owning a virtual version of one ever appeal to me.  I'm from the Midwest - they smell like shit.

So stop embarrassing yourself, and make sure to remind me when it's one of my friend's birthdays.  Text me when you're tipsy.  Peace out.

Friday, September 3, 2010

Tis the Season



So last year, the Saints of New Orleans completed what might be one of the greatest comebacks for a franchise in the history of sports.  A city, ravaged by natural disaster.  A people, many of whom just years earlier, lost their homes and all of their possessions, only to return to the scene of their despair, the home that they couldn't live without, full of pride.

Up stepped a hero, one Andrew Christopher 'Drew' Brees, to take the city on a season-long ride that ended with the MVP hoisting the Lombardi Trophy in honor of the resilient city and it's fans.  A feel-good story for the ages, right?

I will answer my own question with three simple words:

FUCK. THAT. NOISE.

God, that game still makes me cringe like Mel Gibson's Baby Momma hitting the 'Check Messages' button on her answering machine.  That, dear readers, is how my football season ended last year.  My team, the Indianapolis Colts, losing the Superbowl because my Lord and Savior, Peyton Manning, let one get away.

Left a bitter taste in my mouth, not gonna lie.  Kind of like those so-called 'lollipops' that the dentist gave you for being a good boy in the chair.  Wanna know a secret about those suckers?  Made out of Robitussin.  I heard that somewhere.

But this is the madness that is instilled in men come September of every year.  It's fuckin' football season, baby!  It is a time of year that exists for one reason, and one reason only.  To turn grown men into fucking children for 22 weeks.  Honestly, if we put 1/100th of the passion that we put into our Fantasy Football leagues into...I don't know - our jobs, voting, community service - we would live in a Utopian society.

How far does my madness reach?  I am angry at the fucking city of New Orleans.  Don't yell, "Too soon!" to me.  Common sense and rationale thought have no place in grand temple that is the National Football League.  I am so happy that Drew Brees is on the cover of Madden '10.  COME ON MADDEN CURSE!  Don't get me wrong, I like the guy, he's a class act, loves his family, and is a pillar of his community.  He is an inspiration to a lot of people, and is the kind of sportsman that a man who has any pride in the game of football should respect, admire, and try and emulate.

And I hope he breaks his goddamn leg in Week Two.  Welcome to Football Season, people.  The gloves are off.
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