I just saw Barry Melrose analyze some hockey trades on ESPN News. It was the first time I had seen him since the hockey strike. Anyway, all I can say is, holy motherfucking shit! He aged like ten years during that strike. What did he do with his free time—drink shots of fermented maple syrup laced with coke before having marathon sex with porn stars? Am I the only one who noticed this? If not, is anyone else as creeped out as I am? I’ve seen presidents age slower. My God.

There’s something to be said for a person who’s willing to stay by your side when you’re sick, complain about how you never take her anywhere anymore and wake you up to remind you to take vitamins you don’t have. And that something, well I think it could best be described as, “weird.” And you can quote me on that. I mean, if you need to.

I find it odd that the press has shortened the phrase “collective bargaining agreement” to cba for the purposes of reporting on the NFL. I guess they think they’re slicking up the term or some such shit. Which is a real shame, because I always like thinking about the phrase “collective bargaining agreement.” It conjures up a bunch of images of old women fighting civilly over useless crap at a yard sale. Perhaps it’s just me. Anyway, no more of that image. From now on, it’ll be cba, which for some reason I can’t quite put my finger on, conjures up images of Isaiah Thomas ruining a Canadian basketball league.

The best thing about this blog is that not everyone knows about it. It’s like PIC’s little dirty secret: the pages behind the pages and all that. The worst thing: typos. Man, could we use some editors here or what?

I hate academians. I don’t mean to say that I hate smart people. I just hate academians—you know… those people who feel that because they can criticize something by using big words that they have actually created something worthy of attention? In fact, they do absolutely nothing but measure the works of others. And then they have the gall to say that those critiques of the works of others actually qualify the critics as experts on a specific subject. Which may be the case, but nevertheless is a really lame way to go through life. Anyway, I guess, since I’m criticizing the critics, I have become what I behest (or whatever). I’ll stop now.

The hardest thing about trying to be funny is sitting on the banana split while you type. Okay, maybe that one’s just me.

I don’t think I’ve ever turned down a steak dinner. And I mean, ever. I would eat a steak dinner with the guy who stole my skateboard when I was eight. Hell, if he picked up the tab, I’d probably forgive him. I’m that kind of guy.

And finally, because this is one of those entries where I deconstruct logic and fluidity until there is nothing left but some semblance of sentence structure, I leave you with the following, which I overheard at my buddy Kevin’s house:

“You better start entertaining me or you ain’t getting another beer.”

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