Good question. The Cards fans in my family wouldn't mind. I came upstairs last night just in time to notice the bases were loaded and then see Russel's grand slam, that was nuts.
I'm too lazy to cook tonight. So I'm ordering pizza and making the husband pick it up on his way home. We have a safety audit at work tomorrow and I'm fairly certain that we'll lose some points on some stuff that I'm in charge of. The only logical thing to do is to drink some wine tonight. I also keep thinking it's Thursday. Why is this week so long?
The St Louis Arch is the croquet wicket of America: something you have to pass to get to where you're really trying to go.
I hear the people of that city eat their own dead and can choke you from across the room. There is a difference between a Real Man and a Real Stupid Man. Wanting to experience something that purely attacks your pain receptors directly (is that not enough of a deterrent?) is as stupid as it gets. Besides, the bitch quit. He has to do that nine more times or he doesn't get to call himself a man. Cry, you bitchy-bitch vagina.
Well, I feel like a real man, because I swapped the winter wheels/tires onto the truck this afternoon. Then, like a real man, I fucked up my back by twisting the wrong way (is there a right way?) while moving one of the wheels. It has since stiffened up and become much more painful, so I have taken to drinking in the hot tub... while my steak sous-vides. Like a man. After that I shall peruse my latest book that arrived today from Amazon... Hopefully that's all I'll be doing, as I'm not sure I can take much more of this standing up stuff. Like a man.
"What sort of cat do you own, a sabertooth tiger? That thing is ENORMOUS!" [continues gesturing at turd]
I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about one of these: I may be old, but I'm not dead... yet.... I just wish I were.... sometimes...
Men do not outgrow certain things. One of them is the irresistible urge to drive small vehicles around places typical vehicles can't go. ATVs. Snowmobiles. Golf carts. Gators. Rascals. It's all cool, because you can joust with a Mr. Clean mop on all of them.