an incurable strand of dick warts
For the record, Richie Sexson is now batting an out of this WORLD .199. All he needs to do is get 1 hit off of a guy with an era over 6.00 and he should most likely crack that Mendoza upside the head. Fingers Crossed!
Um, so, it would seem that ... I'm back to work. And ... I'm sort of ... at the same job. Still. Until the END of TIME!
Or, I guess more likely one more full week. So it goes.
You all can go back to your homes, there's nothing more to see here, we lived through the first of I don't know how many holidays devoted to U.S. Military Enforcement. Seriously, I know, the troops are awesome, support the troops, these colors don't run, git ... her ... done. And I enjoy a federal holiday where the company I'm temping for allows a three-day weekend as much as the next temp whose company he's temping for allows a three-day weekend. You know what my three favorite colors are in this whole wide world? Whatever three colors the president deems fit to be my favorite, that's what! But, come on. How many of these holidays are actually necessary or followed to their letter of celebration? When President Eisenhower first invented Memorial Day, did he envision a nation of fat asses standing around a barbecue while their fuck-up illiterate children run around playing grab ass?
Well, he WAS an insightful man.
Anyway, I took MY fat ass and made the world a more delightful place by going to Rockaway Beach, taking off my shirt, and catching seven strains of syphilis by swimming in that disgusting water. Ahh, nothing like a salty, freezing cold urine bath to make for a memorial Memorial Day.
Notwithstanding my belligerent complaining, yesterday was actually a really good time. Of course, it took me two hours by train to get there and another hour on the boardwalk to find my peoples, but you just can't beat a day at the beach. You just can't!
I rounded off the night at Prospect Park with Emily and her friend in a search for fireflies (deemed too early in the season for their presence), followed by beers at a bar with an outside terrace with tables in the same area (central Brooklyn, sort of). I didn't get home until after midnight with a bladder so full I was honestly considering relieving myself in my shorts. That's how bad it was, that's how long I was forced to Hold It. Brutal.
Um, so, it would seem that ... I'm back to work. And ... I'm sort of ... at the same job. Still. Until the END of TIME!
Or, I guess more likely one more full week. So it goes.
You all can go back to your homes, there's nothing more to see here, we lived through the first of I don't know how many holidays devoted to U.S. Military Enforcement. Seriously, I know, the troops are awesome, support the troops, these colors don't run, git ... her ... done. And I enjoy a federal holiday where the company I'm temping for allows a three-day weekend as much as the next temp whose company he's temping for allows a three-day weekend. You know what my three favorite colors are in this whole wide world? Whatever three colors the president deems fit to be my favorite, that's what! But, come on. How many of these holidays are actually necessary or followed to their letter of celebration? When President Eisenhower first invented Memorial Day, did he envision a nation of fat asses standing around a barbecue while their fuck-up illiterate children run around playing grab ass?
Well, he WAS an insightful man.
Anyway, I took MY fat ass and made the world a more delightful place by going to Rockaway Beach, taking off my shirt, and catching seven strains of syphilis by swimming in that disgusting water. Ahh, nothing like a salty, freezing cold urine bath to make for a memorial Memorial Day.
Notwithstanding my belligerent complaining, yesterday was actually a really good time. Of course, it took me two hours by train to get there and another hour on the boardwalk to find my peoples, but you just can't beat a day at the beach. You just can't!
I rounded off the night at Prospect Park with Emily and her friend in a search for fireflies (deemed too early in the season for their presence), followed by beers at a bar with an outside terrace with tables in the same area (central Brooklyn, sort of). I didn't get home until after midnight with a bladder so full I was honestly considering relieving myself in my shorts. That's how bad it was, that's how long I was forced to Hold It. Brutal.