Monday, November 03, 2008

When Can I Jump On the Bandwagon?

In the world of “yes, I’d like more please” are the expansion of the NFL season to 18 games instead of the current 16 and more soccer wags (is that the term?) or groupies or whatever the proper term for proper football hotties like the ones standing here nicely squared up for team spirit reasons can be found in various stages of undress.

Or I could always hit up Al for more such pictoral perfection of the female form.

Obama-mania or John "The Mavericky One" McCain. Whoever wins tomorrow please remove your executive ass from my television set unless there's peace in the middle east and my friend doesn't have to say his round of goodbyes again or NASA came up with a new way to prevent stupid from coming out of my mouth. The out-of-body experience of listening to the sounds of my vocal chords bounce into the air this weekend and at the same exact moment wanting to apply a spiked sledgehammer forcefully to my jaw to prevent the lowering the IQs of even the townie barfly with the fake eyelashes, bebe shirt stretched to the max, and stripper glitter trying too hard to hit on a group of seven married guys.

Stupid is, stupid does, and left wondering how to turn the faucet of bad one-liners off before I end up playing for an audience of one in a nice, pink padded cell with the complete works of Mozart looping in the background.

Schaub-y gots owie and I didn't receive one taunt from she-who-actually-watches-that-team. Unfortunately for the lovely Texas April, the Vikes decided to take the +7 Water Pill of Pigskin Dominance yesterday.

Jared Allen - bigger bulldozer then Hevad Khan with a 20:1 heads up chip lead. Multiple times his blocker's back found the Metrodome turf while Schaub and Rosenfeld's faces matched their jerseys when they got an intimate viewing of his sweat band.

Bernard Berrian - earning his paycheck with receiving not seen since Moss got a lifelong Vikes fan to attend a football game somewhere besides the Met or that plastic bubble on Kirby Puckett's named street

Visanthe Shiancoe - whatever hobby store is supplying that glove adhesive, I suggest a marketing deal for purchasing their stock of 5:1 ratio 60's muscle cars and three stage rockets in return of your recent ability to catch a football

The Williams Kids - Stop hitting up Old Country Buffet's prime rib night and stick to rice cakes to make weight.

For the first time this year the Vikes didn't backdoor into a win/loss, they earned the outcome and if you want Exhibit 1a of how a good team can go from looking like the 1998 Vikes to the 1984 Les Steckel experiment, the Cowboys/Giants game yesterday should be the new PSA for all NFL teams looking to just get by with a 57 year old backup or a career benchwarmer looking to run the wishbone offense. Ugly game.

On a brighter note for those waiting for Romo's pinky to heal for football throwing not Shocker purposes, while out with the guys this weekend I found a four pack of this for the cagey one, which I'll purchase once the Vegas trip becomes closer to smelling the gambling despiration waft thru the Imperial Palace lobby. Tough beer to find despite living within midget throwing distance of the brewery for whatever reason.

And for Viking fanboi purposes... PACKERS SUCK!

There, I've completed this week's turn on the bandwagon.

1 comment:

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