Aww… Are you havin’a bad week?? Don’t even start with me!! Unless your dog died or somebody kicked you in the shin (possibly the most painful thing ever), your crappy week CANNOT match mine. Don’t believe me? Here’s how it’s been going so far.
Monday morning, around4 a.m., I was woken from my slumber by the wailing of a smoke detector. Not a chirp. A wail. Not only did it scare the ever-living crap out of me, but the dang thing wouldn’t shut up. There was no fire, there was no smoke. I kept pressing the mute button over and over and it just kept going screaming in my ear. Finally I did what anyone else in my position would do and I ripped the sucker off the wall. The next day, I couldn’t help but notice the angry looks from my neighbors as I sheepishly walked to my truck.
If I ever have a kitchen fire, I’ll be in big trouble. But seeing as how I don’t cook, the only thing I need worry about is my microwave short-circuiting while I’m cooking my ramen noodles.
The rest of the day went ok. Went to work. Sat around. Shot the bull. Then came the Cowboy game. Fans everywhere, including myself, were looking forward to seeing the ‘Boys bounce back from that atrocious Buccaneers game and really putting a whoopin’ on the Bears. But what did we get? A lack-luster performance that could only be described as something of a glorified game of hot-potato.
You would have thought the loss would have been enough, but no. Fate had to rub more salt in my wound by giving Ben Roethlisberger and the Steelers a bye and leaving me with the only other quarterback on my fantasy team…Tony Romo.
Romo’s arm, Kevin Ogletree’s butter-fingers and Dez Bryant’s continuous refusal to learn the freakin’ playbook cost my fantasy team a win. And, if you don’t have a winning fantasy team, what do you have? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
So you could say I’ve already had a pretty crappy week, right? But NO! Why not send the Rangers free-falling into a never-ending pit of despair and have them give up the AL West. Just like in ‘Space Jam’, I’m convinced that someone stole Josh Hamilton’s talent. Out there, somewhere, is a little leaguer swinging at pitches in the strike-zone and catching pop-flies.
And it’s just Thursday. Granted, it could be a lot worse (I could be an Astros fan), but I just wanted to take a minute and be a glass-half-empty kind of person and let you know just how good you have it.
Now, I will go forth and spew optimism to the masses until someone finally punches me in the face.
Let’s all hold hands and sing a feel-good song, shall we?
No? Try this one.
Ok, ok. For realz this time.
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