Tuesday, April 15, 2008

Bay Area Diagnosis Negative: Smoke 'Em If You Got 'Em

Two weeks ago I woke up and realized the Giants are driving hard for the number one pick (Ed. Note: They're too scrappy for that nonsense.), the Warriors (with the exception of Monta) collapsed on the court, the Niners are fundamentally weak, the A's are moving to Fremont, Kobe Bryant is going to win the MVP, Orestes Destrade is getting more face time than Peter Gammons, I need to do my laundry, pay my taxes and invest in some household paper products but with diesel stroking me over a barrel to the tune of $4.25 a gallon, or $75 a fill up, I can't afford paper towels, or my preferred 2-ply Charmin ultra soft luxury liner toilet tissue.

I tried a coffee shop to numb the brain. Nice people, good prices, live music, delicious lemon bars. It worked for two consecutive days but then what? I need sport! Where is it? Don't tell me about playoff basketball. I would rather dig out my old MS-DOS computer and play wheel of fortune. Man vs. machine, good vs. evil, Vanna White's pixelated tits, a human struggle.

Unless something shifts, I'm headed towards a Limbaugh lifestyle. Horse sized doses of Oxy-Contin, turquoise inflatable rafts, Hawaiian Tropic, Cubans the size of your forearm and my iridescently-clad fruit bowl clearly stating my cultural indifference. No more yuppies, no more teeny boppers, no more fat people. I don't care about your petty psychological needs. I don't care what your boyfriend said to so-and-so, or how many lbs you've lost on your new diet, or what's in your 401k. I don't care how hard you studied for your fourth period chemistry test. I don't care if you're on your period. Fuck off and find your own pool, I live alone.



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