The Madness of March
Today is my favorite kind of day. A day that is marked not by one special occasion, but by two. Today is the first REAL day of March Madness, as well as a celebration of Irish Madness. Somewhere before the mullatos, arabs, and rednecks, the foliage on my family's tree was distinctly Irish. Mattingly was the name, and goat humping and famine were our games. So on this day, I celebrate my heritage by getting drunk, like a real Irishman. The kids will go and drink their green Bud Light, and talk with Scottish accents. They will embrace and sing, chase tail and fight, while I sit brooding over a pint of the black stuff, intensely focused on the College Hoops action before me. A few hours in and I've already lost a game on my bracket...fekkin good for nothin' Bama. The brackets don't matter though, just the basketball, which is always the best of the year.
Man, talk about fragmented....I'm Out.
GO MINERS!!! Oh, what? UTEP lost?
GO HORNS!!!
Man, talk about fragmented....I'm Out.
GO MINERS!!! Oh, what? UTEP lost?
GO HORNS!!!
posted by Kam at 3:15 PM
8 Comments:
Where's your picture, KAM? Huh, huh? Don't you want to play our game?
And don't forget your girlfriend's birthday on the 26th, otherwise you're going to have to deal with some SERIOUS March Madness.
DON'T FUCKING TELL HIM! God dammit Megan, he's supposed to figure out my birthday on his own. I even had a distinct feeling that he had forgotten the date... he mentioned earlier last week that he was going to have to call my mom and clarify with her. I would have loved to see THAT conversation go down. He can never remember my birthday for the life of him... oh yeah, except that he revealed his secret memory strategy to me: he remembers my birthday because it is the same as EZ E's DEATH DAY. Humph, men.
Screw your stupid March Madness, 12 straight hours of watching sweaty, toned men in package-hugging daisy dukes fighting over some big balls. GAY, I TELL YOU.
One of these days, I may remember EAZY E's death day because it is the same as your birthday. Until then, however, I will remain indebted to the Compton Web Clique and the loose Pawn Shop owners who hooked them up with the Compaq TwurkStations from which they spewed forth fan-site after glorious fan-site.
Why don't you two just rent a room already.
How bout we just come over and use yours?
You wish. You wish you could roll around on my pillow top Queen with it's IKEA bedding and cat hair and crack-rock spooge. YOU JUST KEEP WISHING BITCH.
I do wish. Raarh.
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