I'm Joining the Army
T'is the season for blogging, and thanks to my stint as a contibutor over at Chi-Sox Blog, I have a new found disrespect for chatting about Chicago sports and sports in general. While our comments over at Chi-Sox Blog have run the gamut, that site is mostly for White Sox game news and notes.
Quite frankly, I need more.
I wanna bitch about ND getting pasted by The Team That Shall Forever Remain Nameless; I wanna blather about Big Ben Wallace and his awful free-throw shooting; I wanna bloviate about Jay Mariotti and his minions of masturbating; I wanna belch about Mark Buehrle and his bile-tastic pitching. (Don't worry, Jeeves, The Buehrle Bile File is forever yours, you California sun lovin' bitch!)
Things you won't read about on this blog include: gardening (unless Muhsin Muhammad starts teaching horticulture), origami (unless the White Sox fold down the stretch like a paper bird), nuclear fission (unless the some television network pries Blackhawks home broadcasting rights from Bill Wirtz's cold, dead hands), or the virtues of protein over carbohydrates (unless Eddy Curry eats his way back onto the Bulls' roster).
Things you may see here: politics, i.e., campaigning for JD for MVP; food & drink or whether or not a Kirk Hinrich broken ankle will make me eat and drink until I explode; gold digging or debating the existence of a knowledgeable female Chicago sports fan; and my own futile attempts to relive my once lame sporting experiences, i.e., equating my softball stats to major leaguers' stats, (that may be the only worthwile thing this blog produces!)
Drop a comment if you want, just know that this exercise will pull no punches and spare no one. You don't like the fact that I might only post once a week, too bad. You cry that I ripped on the Flubs, get your own blog. You hate Notre Dame, deal with it, douche. I am the master of my own domain, the king AND counselor, the President and Congress, and if you don't like it, take it up with the moderator. Oh, wait, that's me, you moron. Nice try.
So bring on the the sports; bring on the banter; bring on the babies, their mothers and bottles; bring on the bastards who coach like it's T-Ball; bring on the 10 PM west coast starts and the inexplicably bad goaltending.
But leave the Country & Western music at home. I hate that shit.
Quite frankly, I need more.
I wanna bitch about ND getting pasted by The Team That Shall Forever Remain Nameless; I wanna blather about Big Ben Wallace and his awful free-throw shooting; I wanna bloviate about Jay Mariotti and his minions of masturbating; I wanna belch about Mark Buehrle and his bile-tastic pitching. (Don't worry, Jeeves, The Buehrle Bile File is forever yours, you California sun lovin' bitch!)
Things you won't read about on this blog include: gardening (unless Muhsin Muhammad starts teaching horticulture), origami (unless the White Sox fold down the stretch like a paper bird), nuclear fission (unless the some television network pries Blackhawks home broadcasting rights from Bill Wirtz's cold, dead hands), or the virtues of protein over carbohydrates (unless Eddy Curry eats his way back onto the Bulls' roster).
Things you may see here: politics, i.e., campaigning for JD for MVP; food & drink or whether or not a Kirk Hinrich broken ankle will make me eat and drink until I explode; gold digging or debating the existence of a knowledgeable female Chicago sports fan; and my own futile attempts to relive my once lame sporting experiences, i.e., equating my softball stats to major leaguers' stats, (that may be the only worthwile thing this blog produces!)
Drop a comment if you want, just know that this exercise will pull no punches and spare no one. You don't like the fact that I might only post once a week, too bad. You cry that I ripped on the Flubs, get your own blog. You hate Notre Dame, deal with it, douche. I am the master of my own domain, the king AND counselor, the President and Congress, and if you don't like it, take it up with the moderator. Oh, wait, that's me, you moron. Nice try.
So bring on the the sports; bring on the banter; bring on the babies, their mothers and bottles; bring on the bastards who coach like it's T-Ball; bring on the 10 PM west coast starts and the inexplicably bad goaltending.
But leave the Country & Western music at home. I hate that shit.
posted by jamesmnordbergjr at 5:11 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home