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#3
10-12-2010, 02:21 PM
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How can I ever again listen to a football game......taking that suicidal chance that a kick off is misjudged by the receiver.He neverr gets control nor is hit, but the ball bounces to the ground.
The announcer always points out the proper terminology for the misplay. That would kill me. Anyone recall the well known ex Michigan State fb coach from the 60's,I think. Keep it to yourself. That would kill me,too. 
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#6
10-12-2010, 07:01 PM
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Snowmen and SnowGirls...I have an announcement to make.
Like anyone cares. Or is even here,for that matter. My days are numbered in hours. I have decided, after much empty thought, it is time for me to decide what I want to be when I grow up. Alway best done before one does grow up.Saying as much and having finally put most things behind me; and those I have not-- I am pretending they are not there, like any even tempred adult would do.......I will be gone and I do mean like sssssssssssssssso gone from these woods and this retched site. I doubt I will finish the C.A's and ,of course, anyone can pick up from where I leave. I would think Monday latest...and that's it. From here there and everywhere. Not even the reopening of the Padlock will change this decision. And please, for once in your lives...don't applaud and embarrass me.
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#7
10-12-2010, 07:23 PM
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Quote:
You're like the stereotypical opera singer fromt the 50's that every single member of the entourage had to placate and applaud and complement until they came around and until the next little self indulgent outburst... the next little episode of me-ism. The next FEEL SORRY FOR ME event they they all got free tix to on a weekly basis. Look... you're not the gawky girl who is always picked last for the team and who keeps a diary complete with cutouts from bridal magazines pasted over pictures of her yappy little dogs who her parents wish would die already cause they stopped being cute after about a week. You're not the Jew-fro'd redhead dangly-spider armed kid who no one will eat lunch with and who smells like a combination of egg salad, Bernsteins vinagrette and 3 days old vomit. You're not the weird fat lady who lives up the hill in the house with newspapers littering the driveway and too many cats... with the funny smell that gets even worse when the kids throw eggs at it on halloween or TP before they climb and adorn the trees with tampons if there's a chance of rain on that one night when they're sorta allowed to be little mosters. You are Morty for God sake. Stop the sissiness and write a God damned poem and finish your death list and continue on with the muff jokes cause wading and wallowing in a sea of self pity, doubt and defeatism does not suit you Sir. Are we clear?
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