How 'bout those Pats!
What a game.
From beginning to end, top to bottom, the New England Patriots treated Peyton Manning like the candy-ass, crybaby, really-good-when-he's-winning-by-20 motherfucker he is.
Of course, the victory celebration was only enhanced by the senusal full body massage I recieved after the game by three purebloods resembling a modern day Kate Frost, a late 70's Marilyn Chambers and early 80's Jacklyn Smith. I'd give you some links, but I'm still a little logy.
I'll tell ya, it's hard to make a decision on which one of these women I'm going to impregnate when they keep shifting forms on me. Of course, the problems I'm having now are not the worst problems I've ever had.
I haven't seen Mickey around. I've been distracted a bit I guess, but still- I usually see him everyday, and today, he's been nowhere.
Whatever- there are some new Family Guy's on tonight, and even though the Simpson's are sucking, I'm glad to have a break to do this update and figure out what I want the purebloods to look like when I go to bed tonight.
The next full moon is January 25th, which means I can watch the Pittsburgh game, and if they pull it off, I could watch the Pats in the Super Bowl. I'm not sure if you know what that means to me, but let's remember- I MISSED THE FUCKING RED SOX WINNING THE WORLD SERIES.
Yeah, it's awesome that they won it- but you know where I was when Foulke fielded that one hopper to the mound?
I was covered in hair, raging around a Brooklyn apartment, with a dead cat in my mouth.
It's just not a traditional "where were you when" story, ya know?
And now, I'm going to have the chance to see a Boston sports team going for a championship, and even though I have this- affliction- I know I can live with it, and actually look forward to a life and a future beyond the next full moon.
That is a confidence I haven't felt in almost half a year.
I feel great.