One would think, reading this blog from time to time, that I’d fix the dates on the entries from last week. I mean, with all the hate I manage to rain down on various and sundry.
Right now I have this thing with Rand Paul. Him with a job in Congress and running for another job in Congress, and for the White House. A greedy, greedy man there. He’s also declining to sit at the kiddy table at the debates, saying that his election campaign is better than that.
Hey! Dude. The campaign might, in some eyes, be better than that; but, from the position you hold in the cut off criteria the campaign is backing a guy that is not that superior.
Besides, that woman whose name I can never remember is smarter than most of the field, and gets her point across better. She’ll use the kiddies table. I cannot say I blame you, I suppose, her being there would certainly dampen anything you’d come up with.
I’ve had two days to get over the disappointment of the Redskins losing. I’m preparing mightly to rain hate down upon the Redskins Draft Picks. I cannot let them get away without my expertise.
Of course, I lament the lost opportunity for bionic operations on the injured and weary players the Redskins erroneously keep for next year. Grump my way through pre-season by ignoring all the pre-season games, saturate myself in NASCAR and try with a great deal of success, I’m happy to report, not thinking of football all spring and waken from my pre-season charged with bile, which I can sprinkle on the K.C. Chiefs, the Dallas Cowboys and the Broncos without discrimination while wondering if the Oakland team, the St. Louis team or even the team that should get the eviction notice, the Chargers, will get a venue change.
So I have some time, like two or three weeks, to store up hate for the Super Bowl teams, whoever they maybe, and save up for the neighbors conversation with the enduring response: “Yeah. But your team ain’t the Redskins. They don’t belong in the Super Bowl.”
From the reaches,