damn those cursed Steelers!
they clipped the Cardinal's wings
Springsteen's still alive?


I finally feel like writing again after the loss Sunday, really writing to cleanse my soul of all impurities or whatever gay shit Dr. Phil says...

I think I am going to go through with it. I am going to get a tattoo. Originally, since the word "Bear" has been at least a part of my nickname since I was in high school, I was going to get like a picture of a growling bear on my arm with a caption under it that says "Growl."

Pro: It would look awesome, especially since I have been pumping up the guns a lot lately.Con: It would look less awesome as I became more geezerfied, and it might turn the ladies at the nursing home off to see something like that.

Then I thought about getting a barcode on my chest or on the back of my head, a la Hitman, especially since I started pretty much shaving my head:

Pro: It would make me look, like, moody and dark or something.
Con: A tattoo on my head would get me fired, and with my current skillset the only other job I qualify for is Jizz Mopper.

I might skip the tat and just get Spongebob boxer shorts instead.
Pro: I love Spongebob!
Con: I heard people who like Spongebob are gay (though if that's all you have to do to be gay, sign me up!)


So my sister called, she is in the hospital having another minion (I say that in the most loving way possible), and wanted to know if I would be available, should the need arise, to watch the rest of her spawn. I instantly assumed everyone else had said "no", as the last time her kids came to my house and experienced soul crushing discipline I am sure they vowed to never return except to break my own children free from my iron totalitarian grip.

I think the worst part about this whole thing, before I get to the real meat and potatoes of the story, is that for all his other flaws, I hear Smeagol is an excellent babysitter. I am not joking. JJ tells me when he drops his daughter off there Smeagol treats her like a little princess. I assumed that meant he tried on her clothes and ate the snacks he sent over while she stayed locked in the tower, but this time I was happily disappointed. Smeagol seems to genuinely care about children, just so you know, Max, if you ever need someone to watch your kids, he is also pretty cheap, unlike when he needs a ride somewhere and not only does not pay you but asks you for gas money even when he does not have a car... which is weird.

Anyway, you would think with his record of excellent child care, coupled with him living closer to her than me by about 10 miles, and you would think she would jump on the opportunity... sadly, not to be.

Anyway, she informs me that since she is in the hospital, she put some testing strips and such on like craigslist or ebay or hornygrannytranny.com, I dunno. So some guy calls her and offers to buy some of the strips, and she gladly accepts.

He shows up, and she said he was some huge black guy (zing!) and he has a minor league football hall of fame ring on. His name is Ron (I forgot the last name) and she said he told her he was at the Sprint Center talkifying with the Chiefs. Since he is in the hall of fame, I am assuming he was not talking to them as a player, but as a coach. Or a janitor. Could this be a Rooney Rule interview, or is Scott bologna pony Pioli up to some sassy kinda classy tricks? If he gets hired, you heard it here first, bitches!

Also, she said he was looking for linemen to play for the Kansas City Jazz, and gave her his card to give to me upon her description of me (I can only assume the description went like this: "the color of sweet mocha, but not tanned; firm, supple thighs and a chiseled fat ass stomach.... slightly retarded face and a barrel of a chest; thick of muscle and strong of cock")

I am probably not going to call him, though the chance to relive my glory days now that I am taking care of my diabetes would be awesome I am not sure whether or not I would physically have time to do anything... and I doubt the Kansas City Jazz only has practice like twice a week and would all work around my already hectic schedule.

Still, it would be nice, right? Hitting people in the face and having adoring fans cheer, stomping on opposing team players' hands as they lay prone from a bone-wrenching hit; farting while at the bottom of a dog pile and letting the essence waft up.... great times.