Sunday, Bloody Sunday…
Great, now I’ll have that stupid song stuck in my head for the rest of the day. Was there ever a viler, more awful ‘band’ than U2? Okay, Sting, but seriously, I enjoyed any one song from ‘The Hollies’ or The Carpenters’ more than I have the entire body of work those two nasal whiners have produced.
How’m I doing? Fine, thanks. Just teaching the kids the proper way to fetch beers and snacks for Daddy tomorrow. These things are best planned ahead.
They have already learned today what happens when you shake Daddy’s beer. They carry them like they are live grenades, now, as well they should. Don’t bruise the beer. I aim one at them and they flinch.
The wife bought potato chips. Bane does not like potato chips…well, unless Bane is hungry, at which time, Bane will eat an uncooked turd if he has to. But not brussel sprouts or lima beans. Bane would sooner die.
Now, wheat thins…yummy. And those little glasses of Pimento Cheese spread from Kraft, the purveyor of all things Right and Snacky? Praise the Lord, Insallah, you can fit a wheat thin into the jar for much of the way and only require a butter knife for the bottom two inches, at which point you may begin to make little wheat thin sandwiches. Nummy.
And chili dogs. Chili, cheese, jalapeno, yellow mustard, and onion dogs. Kosher Hebrew National dogs to try to reduce the guilt over consuming penis-shaped tubes of lips and assholes. Hey, Rabbi Approved! Yum yum!
And a case of beer, all to myself.
I hate the Patriots for cheating so they could win by a five year olds foreskin over my Glorious Raiders in the last Super Bowl (was it the last one? I forget…The Power Of Beer!). I hope the Panthers beat them by one point.
Ahhhh, sweet, sweet revenge.