CosmicPal
10-04-2004, 02:32 PM
I leave the office around 4PM- Fire up the SUV, and pull out of our company garage. I’ll pull onto I-25 north, and hopefully meet traffic at full speed instead of this stop-n-go crap.
I’ll pull up to my house roughly ten minutes later, but realistically, it will be like 35 minutes later- Many thanks to you T-Rex and the Californication of Colorado.
My dog, Montana, will greet me excitedly at the door. He’ll jump up on my chest, and I’ll say, “Down!” He won’t understand, and instead continue jumping at my chest until we both walk down the hallway to my room where I’ll change into something more comfortable.
I’ll take Montana to Washington Park for a long walk. Roughly an hour later, we will both arrive at the house, where I’ll change again. I’ll consider wearing one of my Chiefs sweatshirts, but then I’ll talk myself out of it, and instead pull on a flannel shirt and jeans.
When I get home, I’ll put on ESPN and watch the pre-game show. I’ll get disgusted as they persistently hammer the ineffectiveness of the Chiefs, and actually reveal to millions of people just how ineffective they really are by diagramming plays on the TV. I’ll get mad, and shove the middle finger toward the TV and say some inappropriate words. Then I’ll listen as they ramble on for long durations about Jamal Lewis and his sentence to be served at a later date. I’ll say something like, “Damn right, that beetch oughta be in jail now phucking that beetch Martha Stewart!”
I’ll then check my messages, and consider those I’ll call back now, those I’ll call later, and those I’ll never call. I’ll then check my wallet for any cash. I’ll check my pack of cigarettes for any cigarettes that haven’t been broken or bent. I’ll make sure Montana has plenty of food and water, and then head out the door. Since it is pool league night, I’ll have to go to Sobo 151, which is a Czech sports bar with authentic Czech drinks, Czech bartenders, and great Czech food.
I’ll start off with a mixed drink. I don’t know yet, for I’ll ponder the choice of the drink for long minutes while studying the bar for single, drunken women I might want to hit on should the Chiefs put me in a jovial mood or should I be in a bad mood. I’ll locate the one woman who might be charmed by my “bad boy” image and attitude should the Chiefs be losing, and I’ll select the one lucky gal who will be the benefactor of my “comedian” likeness should the Chiefs be winning.
I’ll finish the drink before the bartender turned his back and order another one. I’ll continue poking my face up toward the TV as I watch ESPN, now somewhat muted by the din of the tavern. I can only imagine what they might be saying about my Chiefs
I’ll curse underneath my breath as I order another mixed drink while pulling out a fresh cigarette to smoke.
The pool team will show up and we’ll all say our standard greetings and such. Some of them will jokingly suggest the Chiefs will lose tonight. Some will even say they wish me luck, but I know they are only saying that to be nice- ‘cause deep down, they are really nothing more than stupid donkey fans who are very insecure about some things in life- like their needs to be liked. Fantasy football topics will then be shoved in between the talk of tonight’s game, and some dufus friend of mine will remind me how well he did with his weekly picks when I know all too well how bad I did.
I’ll order another drink, and ask Peter, the Czech bartender, to make my drinks stronger from here on out. I’ll fire up another cigarette while fidgeting for the game to begin. The game will begin as more people file in, and I’ll have to ask Peter to turn the TV up so I can hear it over these ignorant pusses who don’t care to watch the game like I do. I will then have to listen to another ten minutes of garbage as Michaels and Madden both shun the Chiefs and remind everyone how the defense sucks, how they didn’t pick anyone up, and blah, blah, blah mercy old blah, and then I’ll smirk and yell out, “Shudd the phug up Madden ya pussy!”
I’ll order another drink. And this time, I’ll ask Peter for a menu for I’m getting that maybe I should eat something feeling.
The drink arrives, as does the menu. I poke and prod at the menu- indecisive about what I’d like to eat and decide I’m not hungry after all. Instead, I slam another drink and pull from another cigarette.
The game begins. I watch nervously- often ripping at my fingernails and pulling from a burning cigarette. I continue to drink-only the mixed drinks are getting to me now- so, I instead ask Peter for a black & tan with a Harp. The pool team interrupts my viewing of the game and asks if I’d like to play. I refuse, and state to everyone I’d prefer to watch the game.
As the game goes along, I continue to drink and smoke until I end up having to borrow cigarettes from strangers. On good plays- I’ll yell out my support like a Scotsman in Braveheart. On bad plays- I’ll curse like a drunken Irish rugby player, thus forcing women to move even further away from me.
At the end of the night, I’ll have forgotten which gal I picked for my resulting mood, ask Peter for my check, and consider taking a cab back home. I do take a cab home.
In the morning, I wake up with a smile- for the Chiefs had won- but, I don’t remember much of it, so I have to go to Chiefsplanet to find out what I missed while I was in my drunken stupor.
I’ll pull up to my house roughly ten minutes later, but realistically, it will be like 35 minutes later- Many thanks to you T-Rex and the Californication of Colorado.
My dog, Montana, will greet me excitedly at the door. He’ll jump up on my chest, and I’ll say, “Down!” He won’t understand, and instead continue jumping at my chest until we both walk down the hallway to my room where I’ll change into something more comfortable.
I’ll take Montana to Washington Park for a long walk. Roughly an hour later, we will both arrive at the house, where I’ll change again. I’ll consider wearing one of my Chiefs sweatshirts, but then I’ll talk myself out of it, and instead pull on a flannel shirt and jeans.
When I get home, I’ll put on ESPN and watch the pre-game show. I’ll get disgusted as they persistently hammer the ineffectiveness of the Chiefs, and actually reveal to millions of people just how ineffective they really are by diagramming plays on the TV. I’ll get mad, and shove the middle finger toward the TV and say some inappropriate words. Then I’ll listen as they ramble on for long durations about Jamal Lewis and his sentence to be served at a later date. I’ll say something like, “Damn right, that beetch oughta be in jail now phucking that beetch Martha Stewart!”
I’ll then check my messages, and consider those I’ll call back now, those I’ll call later, and those I’ll never call. I’ll then check my wallet for any cash. I’ll check my pack of cigarettes for any cigarettes that haven’t been broken or bent. I’ll make sure Montana has plenty of food and water, and then head out the door. Since it is pool league night, I’ll have to go to Sobo 151, which is a Czech sports bar with authentic Czech drinks, Czech bartenders, and great Czech food.
I’ll start off with a mixed drink. I don’t know yet, for I’ll ponder the choice of the drink for long minutes while studying the bar for single, drunken women I might want to hit on should the Chiefs put me in a jovial mood or should I be in a bad mood. I’ll locate the one woman who might be charmed by my “bad boy” image and attitude should the Chiefs be losing, and I’ll select the one lucky gal who will be the benefactor of my “comedian” likeness should the Chiefs be winning.
I’ll finish the drink before the bartender turned his back and order another one. I’ll continue poking my face up toward the TV as I watch ESPN, now somewhat muted by the din of the tavern. I can only imagine what they might be saying about my Chiefs
I’ll curse underneath my breath as I order another mixed drink while pulling out a fresh cigarette to smoke.
The pool team will show up and we’ll all say our standard greetings and such. Some of them will jokingly suggest the Chiefs will lose tonight. Some will even say they wish me luck, but I know they are only saying that to be nice- ‘cause deep down, they are really nothing more than stupid donkey fans who are very insecure about some things in life- like their needs to be liked. Fantasy football topics will then be shoved in between the talk of tonight’s game, and some dufus friend of mine will remind me how well he did with his weekly picks when I know all too well how bad I did.
I’ll order another drink, and ask Peter, the Czech bartender, to make my drinks stronger from here on out. I’ll fire up another cigarette while fidgeting for the game to begin. The game will begin as more people file in, and I’ll have to ask Peter to turn the TV up so I can hear it over these ignorant pusses who don’t care to watch the game like I do. I will then have to listen to another ten minutes of garbage as Michaels and Madden both shun the Chiefs and remind everyone how the defense sucks, how they didn’t pick anyone up, and blah, blah, blah mercy old blah, and then I’ll smirk and yell out, “Shudd the phug up Madden ya pussy!”
I’ll order another drink. And this time, I’ll ask Peter for a menu for I’m getting that maybe I should eat something feeling.
The drink arrives, as does the menu. I poke and prod at the menu- indecisive about what I’d like to eat and decide I’m not hungry after all. Instead, I slam another drink and pull from another cigarette.
The game begins. I watch nervously- often ripping at my fingernails and pulling from a burning cigarette. I continue to drink-only the mixed drinks are getting to me now- so, I instead ask Peter for a black & tan with a Harp. The pool team interrupts my viewing of the game and asks if I’d like to play. I refuse, and state to everyone I’d prefer to watch the game.
As the game goes along, I continue to drink and smoke until I end up having to borrow cigarettes from strangers. On good plays- I’ll yell out my support like a Scotsman in Braveheart. On bad plays- I’ll curse like a drunken Irish rugby player, thus forcing women to move even further away from me.
At the end of the night, I’ll have forgotten which gal I picked for my resulting mood, ask Peter for my check, and consider taking a cab back home. I do take a cab home.
In the morning, I wake up with a smile- for the Chiefs had won- but, I don’t remember much of it, so I have to go to Chiefsplanet to find out what I missed while I was in my drunken stupor.