Sitting down ready to bang out a long post about what the new found freedom feels like, but Sanajay's hair-do finds it wasy in my head and cock-blocks my ability to type.
Why couldn't I get back from my congratulations dinner just five minutes later and have my eyes and ears spared from his erection deflating voice. Like Derek, I just listen to this guy, and my Sanajay tilt goes away.
Four days from Vegas and I'm not excited.
Not pumped.
Sleeping soundly.
No dreams of coming out, doubling down, or shouting PAI GOW dashing in my head
This worries me that I've spent too much on a vacation that will not be relaxing, fun, and without wheelchair races versus the security guys in the high stakes parlors. I do look forward to hooking up with Don and placing my bets for the Vikes and Twinkies (free money for the sportsbook!) while developing a sore neck from admiring the various sizes of breasticles that will be on display.
Or maybe its this cold that's slowing me down while knowing I have about eight articles due over at my poker blog site before I step onto that Northwest flight a-heading out West to land of glitter, sand, and fake breasts. Because I'm a nordic cowboy ba-by.
That was the Dayquil speaking. I'll end this before further embarrassingly bad song segue attempts are put into cyberspace.
Thanks for dropping by, now what's left of my hearing is pleading once again to the american public. Don't. Vote. For. Sanajay.
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