That cringing reflex for a certain train wreck happens many times if you’re living a full life and not glued to watching the looped five hour weigh-in replay on Biggest Loser.
While at the bar during late night happy hour 2 for 1s and after downing a dozen JagBombs your friend leaves his TNT Trivia screen and $.25 wings for the first time since sitting down three hours ago to go hit on the busty blonde in the Adrian Peterson jersey (feel free to substitute the flavor-of-the-season sports gear in your area here) and purple leggings. With the suaveness of a guy who couldn’t even pick up a hooker, you gaze upon the impending rejection with horror but can’t stop watching.
All dressed in white, poker night buddies clothed to the nines with expensively rolled Cubans standing in a circle outside the Marriot chatting about their latest conquests. You nod and dip your cigar into the special edition Johnny Walker Blue while the groom has the biggest shit-eating grin on his face because there’s a bride inside that will give him what he’s been training for in his parent’s basement the last seven years with fuzzy porn and a found bottle of Astroglide. Unfortunately for that usually sober cab friend, he decided on the wrong night to rock his inner alcoholic and get wheelchair drunk as his stories about the virginally dressed bride steer from Readers Digest to Penthouse Letter-of-the-Month and you suddenly see the blushing bride’s face within an earshot go from pink to volcano red.
Yesterday if you’re a Vikings fan after the first fumble you knew the team would go the way of whiskey dick and end up sitting in the stands holding that $250 two-piece lingerie set from Fredrick’s of Hollywood wondering what could have been. No morning touchdown dance, just a cold floor hangover from a game that died due to the Crisco greased hands of several Vikings yesterday, including the savior, Purple Jesus. Instead of going into a meaningless game in the dome next week against the Giants’ JV team; they’re most likely playing for the NFC North title after the limp goudaheads trot out against a Bears team still fighting for that playoff spot.
Go Pack? If The Wife is reading, I’ll be rocking the Packers t-shirt and hat tonight for all its worth.
The present train wreck is watching that once beautifully dressed wife eight years ago when your ring went on her finger, entered the cold porch that has a space heater working overtime due to the -20 windchills blowing thru the area. She has “that look” on her face like you just got caught nailing Deandra on a massage table while eating the last chocolate chip cookie and holding the garbage she told you to bring out an hour ago. This male has no idea what sort of injustice to humanity he just committed except that he missed the very important third replay of the recent touchdown and his drink is getting dangerously low.
Any tips on how to avoid, defend, or deflect this gaze of death?
I glanced at the WBCOOP results yesterday but had no clue who the first six people on the list were, but will give a shout out to our favorite radio host, Buddy Dank, on his 12 place finish. Stars did a great job limiting the fields and improving the structure to lean towards overall poker knowledge versus the NL Hold Em’ push donks, but those start times limited this blogger to participating in only one qualifying event. Maybe next year.
Pauly’s Pub pool on ESPN.com? I made my move on Sunday, I am Tiger Woods. Fear the Drizz. I want the double win or at least a call from Daddy where we’ll chat about the proper sausage length, width, and spiciness to introduce a new woman according to type of panties worn.