A friend of mine recently asked me at what point in my life did I realize that I have an identity, that I was different than everyone else and that my thoughts and ideas were my own. I thought about it for a while and then I said, “I think it was last Thursday when I was banging your mom.”

I mean, that's a tough question to answer, right?

Say it with me now: U S F! U S F! U S F! U S F!

This weekend I met a guy with his own movie theatre style popcorn popper. I asked him how often he used it and he responded with, “I'll sell it to you for eighty bucks.” Gotta love this country.

Just to reiterate: U S F! U S F! U S F! U S F!

I was umpiring a baseball game Sunday afternoon before the Bucs hideous attempt at looking like an NFL football team when a storm slowly rolled in towards the playing field. After I felt it was close enough to worry about, I asked the coaches to come out and talk to me about calling the game.

“I think we'll be able to get the game in,” I told the coaches. “It doesn't look all that bad.”

Right after I completed the above sentence, lightning hit about half a mile away, car alarms started going off, rain started to fall and I heard thunder that sounded like the raging diarrhea of a million giant ogres.

“You were saying?” asked one of the coaches.

“Yeah, that's the ballgame.”

Even nature is smarter than me.

Oh, and did I mention: GO BULLS!

In case you haven't noticed from this piece, my alma mater defeated Auburn by three points in overtime despite flubbing not one, not two, not three, but four mother grabbing field goals. Naturally, the coaches poll rated us below Auburn because? okay, so I can't think of a reason. Fuck the coaches poll.

And finally, because logic and fluidity are in a hurry to get to the strip clubs, I leave you with the following, which I saw on a black man's T-shirt.

“I killed the real Slim Shady.”

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