Friday, September 15, 2006
WAC picks of the week are up at blogcritics. Don’t run over any elderly citizens on your way over there to bask in my precognitive brilliance. You’re welcome for not bothering you with it here, leaving it optional to have to view it, making you actually click something to be offended by its presence. Just knowing it exists is hopefully not horrible enough of a concept to give you fitful bursts of agonizing almost violent spasm attacks throughout the long cold and harsh autumn night. I will be there with you in spirit, disturbing as that may be, and if anything else you will know that I care about that which no one else seemingly does, ie Egyptian food and western athletic conference football. Go Bows, er, warriors. Btw Cal plays 1AA Portland state tomorrow. I know, I said I wouldn’t talk any more football, ok, NOW I won’t, right after I say go Raiders. Congrats to Art Shell for realizing that talking into your headset is played out and almost as 1982 as Cyndi Lauper and Hulk Hogan. Oops, Hulkster is 2006, well there goes my whole goddamm theory. Past is future and the not yet occurred is presently occupying areas of which common sense and simple rational fear had up to this point kept at the periphery of society. Abercrombie, not the fitch, but the US congress person, is apparently the most evil and unliked entity in all of politics, at least in Kawainui Marsh this fine afternoon, and does Akaka victory necessarily mean the refill with superunleaded of the old democratic machine? You tell me, or don’t. do be aware, though, por favor, that acceptance of that which seems just to pacify you in the short run will only doom you to, shit, I don’t know. Weekends were made for Michelob? I give up. Maybe it’s time to sell everything I own and buy a 8 bedroom colonial ranch in western Montana, start a bird sanctuary for wayward iguanas, I swear I’m one arrogant phone call from the committee to reelect Mazie Hirono’s parrot away from breaking down the walls of racial injustice and hiring a klingon to mow my lawn. As the beads of sweat well up in his forehead creases, I’ll remember the time my cousin and I paddled around in a duckboat on Flathead Lake and watched stones skip across its smooth as glass surface as the sun dipped below the horizon.
There, a beautiful ending.