THE DAY AFTER

SO PRETTY!

Been over a week since I last posted anything and I suppose you might've been wondering: "How come he don't write?" At least some of you were wondering that, right? No? Nobody? Really? Whatever! Truth is there's been a lot going on this past week, not to me of course, my life's sad and uneventful. But my next door neighbors have had a pretty exciting time of it from what I've seen… through their blinds. Yeah, they know I'm there and they like it when I watch.

YEAH, YOU WISH THAT
WAS CHOCOLATE… LOSERS.

Anyway friends, the big story of the day is that the Super Bowl has come and gone, the game was played, one team raised the Lombardi Trophy in victory and the other team crawled off to the locker room to eat a fresh-baked, hot steaming shit souffle topped with a healthy dollop of failure. As I'm writing this on the Saturday before the big game, I have no idea of the outcome, you know, not being able to see the future and all since I used up all my dark powers on my New Year's predictions. In retrospect not the smartest move in the world.

So either Tom F@%king Brady and the New England Patriots were the awesome engines of football greatness I always believed them to be and I'm on such a euphoric high right now that my victory boner lasted well past the four hour mark and I passed out before I could seek medical attention like they tell you to in those dick pill commercials. (Just hope I didn't fall on it. OUCH!)

Or… (God help me) Eli F#¢king Manning (Middle expletive used as a pejorative term, hence the use of # and ¢ to denote my disapproval.) and the New York Giants once again treated us like sheep before a pack of horny New Zealand farm boys. (New England, New York, New Zealand… WTF?) If that sad scenario came to pass, then lacking the courage to eat a bullet the way any decent fan of TFB and the NEP would, I most likely will have taken the pussy route by instead eating three tubs of Cool Whip spread between two Carvel ice cream cakes… a culinary creation I've dubbed the Shamewich®. Ingesting that much dairy in one sitting would most likely be enough to have catapulted my lactose intolerant ass over to the other side. If not then I hope that I at least remembered to put down a plastic tarp because that is gonna be one hellacious mess to clean up.

MMMMM… TASTE THE AGONY!

In either event, whatever happened on Sunday will have left me incapacitated and unable to post this myself. So if you're reading this then that means my wife found the instructions I left for her in a note pinned to my sleeve and she posted this for me. Good job Honey, now log out and ignore that folder at the bottom right of the desktop named "Work Stuff". Seriously Dear, don't look in there! Just some pictures from the job, nothing to… aw dammit, you looked, didn't you? Now wait, I can explain. That last office holiday party got kinda crazy. But believe me when I say that those women meant nothing to me. And the guys meant even less.

ARTIST'S DEPICTION. ACTUAL PARTY WASN'T
NEARLY SO CONSERVATIVE.

And now I'm in trouble with the little woman. So however the game turned out, hope it was a good one and I hope you enjoyed it. Doesn't matter to me because the wife is gonna kill me if she hasn't already. Seeing as this isn't the first time I've been caught engaging in inter-office shenanigans, her wrath should be a majestic thing of terrifying beauty indeed. Probably involve a great deal of bludgeoning.

MONDAY MORNING UPDATE:
Yup, woke up in a pool of my own filth, I'm dehydrated and my sphincter melted meaning that I took the Shamewich option. So the bad outcome must have happened.

Annnnnnnnd I forgot the plastic tarp.

Stupid f#¢king Giants. (There's that pejorative thing again.)