I Sat Next to an NBA Superstar Yesterday and You Have to Believe Me

MY WORLD:

I sat next to James Harden at lunch yesterday. Now, the reaction to that from the text message I sent to my friend groupchat, should have been “whoa, cool!” Or, “no way dude, he’s so good at basketball!” Or, “he has a big beard!” Or, I don’t know, why couldn’t ONE FRIEND write something like, “hey Jimmy, even though it was blind luck that you ended up sitting next to the NBA MVP Runner-up, you should treat this as an accomplishment in your life, feel better about yourself, and expect to receive praise from others when you tell them of this accomplishment.” WOULD THAT HAVE BEEN SO FUCKING HARD?!?! But instead, all I got was “pic or it didn’t happen.”

So there I was, a 34 year old adult, contemplating how I could take a spycam picture of a 29 year old guy I’ve never spoken to before. The situation went from exciting to terrifying immediately, and I basically stopped talking to the person I was actually having lunch with because I was so caught up in my brain about what I should do. Some of the thoughts that went through my essentially useless brain, included:

-Do I ask for a selife? Go up to him, say something like “huge NBA fan here, James! Love watching you play! Mind if I get a pic?”

Yeah, that would’ve been a cool thing for me to do except uh…no it fucking wouldn’t have been. I’m not a selfie guy. I’m the guy who makes fun of people who take selfies! THAT’S MY ENTIRE IDENTITY!!! Although, yeah, I would ask to take a selfie with someone who actually IS a hero of mine (cough…Eddie Vedder…or someone who knew Chris Farley…cough) But then I started thinking of how big of a lie, that would be.

Okay, so I’m meeting James Harden for the first time and the first two things I tell him are FLAGRANT lies. 1) I am not a huge NBA fan. I like it, but I don’t really care about the NBA until football is over…and even then, all I think about is how “I miss football.” 2) I actually hate watching James Harden play basketball. If I was being totally honest with him (and isn’t honsesty ALWAYS the way to go?) I’d say “James! Whenever I see the Rockets are playing, I loudly exhale and text my friends something I’m only half-joking about, like how I’d rather cannonball into an active volcano than watch you travel on every play before bitching to the refs that you were breathed on too hard.” Wild guess here, but I don’t think he’d be excited about posing for a selfie with my fat face (you went to the gym yesterday, Jimmy. Did you tell them yet?) after hearing that.

-I should pretend to be texting on my phone, while slowly rotating my chair to the right-where James is sitting-while I really have my camera up so that once I get him in frame, BOOM! PIC TAKEN!

Clearly, I am not one of those people who have mastered the spycam technique. (It’s because you’re a scared baby). It’s not because I’m scared (it is, though) I just think that the risk of getting caught outweighs the reward. So…shit, yeah I’m scared (my Dad just called asking for blood sample. Something about “no son of his-“) Can we think, for just a second, about what would happen if I DID actually get caught trying to take a spycam pic of James Harden?

The bartender had already told me “don’t be weird about it” when the guy I was having lunch with asked if that was, in fact, James Harden. It was weird because I didn’t ask the question, but she looked directly at ME and said “don’t be weird about it.” Of course, I calmly, quickly replied with a, “too late,” that drew some laughs but…like, it was too late. I was caught in between staring and doing the “I”m not staring, I’m just drift-looking at the ceiling above your head James Harden”-thing. Yeah, weird was accomplished. So if after that, she caught the camera on my phone screen, there is a decent chance that she would have gently grabbed my arm, clenched her jaw and uttered a furious, “I fucking said not to be weird!” Then, I’m the PROVEN weird guy who has to be touched to be believed. She would probably be thinking “I have to touch this person to make sure that I’m not hallucinating that I’m witnessing an adult being THIS weird.”

And what if James Harden caught me? (Can’t call him just ‘James’ because we’re not close enough friends) With how petty NBA players are, and how ready they are to air their shit on Twitter, is out COMPLETELY out of the realm of possibility that he would take my picture in retaliation only to post it on his Twitter with the caption “Chicago Creepo”? Guys, that’s fucking possible and you know it. YOU KNOW IT GODDAMN WELL!

Next thing I know, people are printing kitchy, graphic t-shirts featuring the pic Harden took of me on them with his caption underneath. Then I’m walking down the street with The VP of Ops and people are whispering while staring at me. So the VP curiously asks, “why are people looking at you and whispering?” I pretend not to hear the question and just keep walking, until some girl starts laughing as she approaches me pointing and saying “you! You’re the Chicago Creepo!” Then I’m trying to explain that the reason a girl called me “The Chicago Creepo” is because I got caught taking a spycam pic of James Harden, but she won’t believe that. No, she’ll go straight to “a girl pointed him out, so that must mean he was taking spycam pics of girls.” So we’ll end up getting divorced, and any date I have with any girl after will be a terrifying “I hope she hasn’t seen that James Harden pic of me” experience.

-I could tell the bartender to buy James Harden a beer and tell him that it’s from me.

So, I’m trying to pick up James Harden in a bar now? Either two things could happen here: 1) He could accept the beer, raise it for a “cheers” from down the bar and carry on with his lunch. 2) He could decline the beer, in which case the bartender would then return it to me–but I didn’t want to drink during the day on a Tuesday, so now I’m just sitting at lunch with this beer/”James Harden rejection trophy.” He’ll look over a few times to see what certified bozo-the-clown sent a Tuesday afternoon beer over to a professional athlete and I’ll catch him with a half-smile in an effort to convey “I’m not a weird guy.” He won’t smile back, though. Instead, he’ll look to the guy he’s actually having lunch with and say something like, “keep an eye on that dude for me.”

In the end, I convinced myself that doing nothing was the only option. So I sat at lunch, pretended to listen to the guy I was having lunch with, and made the executive decision that proving I sat next to James Harden wasn’t worth risking my marriage/dignity/future. BUT I FRIGGIN’ SWEAR HE WAS RIGHT NEXT TO ME WEARING A BIG HAT AND BIG FLANNEL SHIRT AND LOOKING FLYYYYYYY!!!!

OUR WORLD:

Continuing the theme from today’s “My World”, I’d like to educate my fellow early-to-mid 30s people on, aside from taking a spycam pic of James Harden, what other things you are no longer allowed to do. Of course, if you’re one of those “I don’t believe in the word ‘can’t'”-people, then this section will read as a challenge. But maybe, even those people can take a break from their life of posting inspirational quotes over their crossfit videos and actually contemplate whether “can’t” is something that they should incorporate.

-You can’t wear sweatpants in public anymore.

The sweatpants-wearing public has been fooled by the tapered (?) cuffed (?) bottoms of new sweatpants into thinking that those make it acceptable to go outside wearing them. Yes, this was a “Seinfeld” bit 20 years ago, but the emergence of Lululemon (and imposters for those of us poors) has caused a confusion that has led to a sweatpants-in-public resurgence. It’s like when you work out a lot and then think you can eat whatever you want. Next thing you know, you’re too sluggish from all the chips to go to the gym anymore and you’ve put on 14 pounds. Just because the hot mannequin guy is pulling it off in the store window, doesn’t mean that you and your puffy beer face can.

-You can’t go to music festivals and post non-funny videos of yourself there.

Was I the only one seeing people my age post Instagram stories of themselves wearing basketball jerseys and neon whatever while at Lollapalooza this past weekend? They’re cringeworthy, and even though I hadn’t spoken to these people in years, I felt like contacting them just to see “is everything okay?” Now, I’m not judging if you actually went–that distinction must be drawn. There are bands at music festivals that we are still allowed to love (oh thank god Jimmy told me I don’t have to give up music!) So you can go, yeah. But while there, if you find the need to send any sort of video of the band on stage, or you in the crowd, you better be damn sure that it’s a funny video. Because if that video says something like “all the feels” or is just of you doing some sway-dance moves that your drunk brain thinks are “actually pretty cool,” then you become THAT person to EVERYONE IN THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE. One “look at me at this music festival” Instagram video after the age of 30 will cause: banks to never give you a loan; friends not to trust you alone with their spouses; and your parents to drink more.

-You can’t have dirty dishes in your sink when guests are over.

This one is deeply personal and, frankly, really fucking stinks. Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was a goddamn crime to put a DISH in a SINK! Unfortunately, I have been hit with one too many “you’re a slob, huh?”-looks from guests who see the plate I used at breakfast that morning sitting there in the sink. Now, thankfully, there is a trick if you have a dishwasher, aka “the best hiding place in the world.” Look, you don’t have to have every dish actually clean once guests arrive, they just can’t be able to see them without opening a SECRET door. So do yourself a favor, jam every dirty dish or kitchen utensil you have into your dishwasher right before your guests arrive. That way, when you’re giving them the grand tour of your 900 square foot apartment, you’ll get to shoot them a “bet you feel dumb for thinking I was a slob”-look when you get to the kitchen portion of the tour.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

When you get your dog all riled up and running around your apartment, but then she accidentally jumps into a table and starts crying. You grab her, almost start crying yourself because it’s your fault and you think you’re about to pay $2,000 at the vet because her leg “has to be broken if she’s crying like this.” Only to have her, one minute later, walk around like nothing ever happened while you try to convince your wife that you weren’t crying.

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

I really love this band and am reminded of it when their songs randomly come up on my Spotify mixes.

MOM MEMORY OF THE DAY:

Yeah, I know, this may be a bit heavy, but I’m always trying to be really honest in this blog and I think a lot about my Mom. So, until I start gambling again (“I can’t wait!” said the VP in a shitty, sarcastic tone) I’m going to share some quick memories of my Mom.

When I was 15, my parents got me a 1984 Ford Escort hatchback to learn on. They didn’t want me to learn on their much nicer cars, so they gave me this hunk of junk and DARED me to say anything negative about it. Within the first week of having it, my Mom backed her Chevy Suburban directly into the driver’s side of my Ford Escort. I was outside when it happened, and I watched like it was slow motion. She left a massive dent in my car, while there wasn’t a scratch on the Suburban. While I stood in the driveway watching, she rolled down her window and very matter-of-factly said, “we’re not fixing that,” before driving off.

K, bye.

Jimmy Butler is Giving Jimmy’s a Bad Name and I Won’t Stand For It (10/11/18)

SPORTS WORLD:

*NEW SECION ALERT?!?! Sometimes I feel very passionate about sports and I want to go off on rants, but I haven’t here much because I don’t want to ostracize readers who don’t like sports. But…sometimes, like today, I have to do it. I promise, even if you don’t love sports, I’m going to do my best to make it relatable and still enjoyable. We’ll see how that goes…

Imagine walking into work today and seeing a co-worker, lets call him Hector, who had been bitching non-stop about his salary for the last 4 months. He would always start his bitch-a-thons with “I’m not going to make a big deal about this, but…” and then he would proceed to make a big deal out of every little action that management did or did not take. “You see the way our Bubba Bossman just BCC’d me on that e-mail, but then says nothing to me? Yeah, he needs me, but doesn’t want to admit it,” is a thing Hector says a lot. You hear these ramblings and pretend to seem interested while praying that a time machine is invented so you can go back to when you made your college choice without realizing you were signing up for a lifetime of student loan debt and, in turn, forcing yourself to work a job less inspiring than that horribly bruised banana that you’ve just been too lazy or depressed to throw out for the last 8 days. Will this soul-crushing student loan debt help you wrestle the “Most Depressed Family Member”-title away from your cousin Alex whose parents divorce sent him into a deep depression even though he was 38 when it happened? You hope not, but if so, at least you get to root for that school’s football team! IT’S NOT THAT BAD, ALEX, YOUR PARENTS ARE HAPPIER NOW!

So Hector comes in today and begins railing against you, the rest of the office and, without fear of repercussions, against the higher-ups. He’s firing off e-mails with panache; hitting the button on his mouse hard with his fist and yelling “SENT ANOTHER ONE!” after each reply. “How many have you sent Jimmy?” he asks loud enough for Bubba Bossman to hear, but you’re still working through why Hector needs a fucking mouse when he uses a laptop…

“Uh, I don’t know, probably like-”

“You don’t know is fuckin’ right! YOU DON’T KNOW SHIT! YOU DON’T DO SHIT!” Hector snarls at your lackadaisical response to a question that’s not even that relevant because it’s not like you’re judged on how many e-mails you send, but whatever. Hector is on fire and arguing with him would take the kind of effort reserved for a job you don’t kinda’ hate. So you let him continue, and he does. Stalking around the office like he built it; calling out Sara Ann for scrolling through Facebook “I didn’t know we were being paid by how many statuses we ‘liked’ Sara Ann! You see this Bubba? You see me pull shit like this?”; ripping Larry’s leftover salmon out of his hand before he’s able to put it in the microwave, “Reheating fish, Larry? EVERY GODDAMN DAY?” as he whips the tupperware container into the fat stomach of Phil, the guy in the office who people like but have no idea what he does and it just seems like he walks around to chat with everyone.

Is everything Hector is doing completely unwarranted? Probably not, but he’s acting like such a cock you’ve got to be thinking “dude, just let me get through my day so I can get back to numbing my endless waterfall of personal dissatisfaction with alcohol, television and my dog who doesn’t get to play outside enough because I can only afford a 1-bedroom apartment in a neighborhood without a dog park.”

Do you know Jimmy Butler? Well now you do. Jimmy Butler was Hector yesterday in Timberwolves practice. The look-at-me try-hard at work; the co-worker who loves to sigh at their desk and mutter, just loud enough for people to hear, “god, I’m so busy.” It’s insecure and obnoxious and, we get it, you’re letting people know that you do your job. The difference, though, between Jimmy Butler and YOUR insecure co-worker, is that Jimmy Butler is currently on a contract set to pay him over $18.4 million dollars this year. But he’s not happy because he claims that his co-workers don’t try as hard as he does and his bosses, after offering him a 4 year, $110 million dollar contract over the summer, haven’t made him feel important enough. Don’t believe me? Here’s what Butler actually said to a reporter following his Hector-like outburst at practice yesterday: “It’s kinda like, I don’t know – a slap in the face? I don’t know how to put it but it made me think like maybe I’m not that important to your organization.” HE ACTUALLY SAID THAT IN FRONT OF A CAMERA THAT WAS RECORDING TO BE PLAYED ON A SHOW WATCHED BY MILLIONS OF PEOPLE.

Now I’m sure that some of his teammates, like some of your co-workers, don’t try as hard as they can all the time. I’m sure there are days when Karl Anthony-Towns shows up late and hungover and rolls his eyes whenever Coach Thibs tells him to “PICK UP THE PACE!” Fine. But if your idea of leading, as it is Jimmy Butler’s, is to embarrass you in front of said-boss while also putting on a “look how hard I try!”-show, welcome to the world of the delusional because you aren’t leading as much as you are making everyone around you hate your fucking guts. (In other news, I really have to go poop right now and have been waiting for The VP to leave for work to do so and her Uber keeps canceling and I’M ABOUT TO LOSE IT!)

A while back, it became easy to poke holes and make fun of fan arguments that began with “when you make that much money…” And maybe that’s because those arguments were coming out of mouths stuffed full of half-eaten bratwurst spewing their thick Chicago accent and scrambled thought progression onto sports radio airwaves. But, if we’re being totally honest, wouldn’t you react to your co-worker the same way? Wouldn’t you want to tell Hector to go fuck right off if you were the one he was calling out or you were the boss who had just offered him a hefty raise within a brand-new 4 year contract? And isn’t it very very understandable that these “go fuck right off”-emotions are amplified by the fact that the person acting like this will make more money this year than your entire 23andMe roster will ever make in all of their lifetimes combined? Jimmy Butler is very good at basketball, but he’s very bad at making fans want to root for him. And if Jimmy wants to really examine his whole fall-back of an excuse-mantra of “this is about business,” you know what he would find? He would find that an organization trying to attract new fans by signing HIM would be making a BAD business decision. To hell with Jimmy Butler, he can fuck right off.

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

I saw my favorite band Death Cab for Cutie over the weekend and they were amazing and I can’t wait to write about it. Here’s a live version of my favorite song off their new album? I may have posted this before but I don’t care.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

It’s pretty cold outside today. It’s cold enough to make you remember that winter is around the corner and that means: snow, and slush, and salt stains on your wood floor that you may not be able to ever get out and then you’re gonna have to pay some sort of penalty when your lease is up and FUCK!!!! WINTER IS COMING!!!

JIMMY GAMBLES:

For me, I’ve lost a lot of money recently and if you can’t tell from the rest of today’s blog, it has not put me in a good mood.

K bye.

Best Drink of the Week and Travel Talk (4/12/18)

OUR WORLD:

My friends and I had a discussion a couple weeks back where we tried to rank the best drinks of the week. Keep in mind, this is not a ranking of the best drinks of your life, like after some crowing achievement or overcoming some adversity, simply the best drinks of a normal boring-ass week. While my friends, nicknamed “Thunder” and “Cash Out”, had differing opinions (that I don’t remember because we were on martini numero tres at this point in the night), I believe that the following list is THE definitive drink of the week ranking….er, list….YOU GET IT!

I’m gonna count down from 5 to 1 because I’m a storyteller who likes to build suspense…

5) Tuesday night, at about 6:41 P.M., the Double IPA you drink as you prepare dinner. Your Monday nightmare is but a distant memory now, and having made it through Tuesday as well means that you’re back in your weekly routine. Tuesday was a long day, but you’re in full-on “weekday work-mode” now, so it’s okay. You got off work, went to the gym and took an extra long run because the Monday workout was more about ridding weekend toxins, than actually improving your health. Tuesday at the gym is about proving to yourself that you’re not the fat piece of shit that your thighs say you are (sitting in a car while wearing jeans that just came out of the drier puts me under the deepest of deep depressions when I look down at my thighs and pray that they don’t burst through my pants. I swear I could hear my thighs screaming for help.) So you ran far enough to sweat through your dirty hat, and you got home in time to make a meal that takes just long enough to enjoy every little sip of the Double IPA that you so rightly earned on the treadmill. It’ll be your only beer of the night because it’s high ABV, but you’ll savor every. single. sip.

4) Sunday morning, at about 10:24 A.M., the Bloody Mary you drink at your favorite comfort-food brunch spot. Sunday mornings can be rough, and this is no exception. You stayed out too late the night before and snuck a cigarette with your friend who smokes when your spouse was busy making fun of you behind your back (or, in my case, you vaped like an absolute fiend because you’ve convinced yourself that vaping is kinda healthy…) Your mouth tastes like desert garbage and all you really want to do is curl up in sweatpants and wait for the Sunday night depression to hit. BUT! You told your kinda-friends two weeks ago that you’d meet for brunch, so you have to shower and wear a shirt that doesn’t have late-night salsa stains on it. Your spouse asks if there’s any Advil left. There is, but there’s only 2 and you’re holding the bottle so you lie and say “no”…then close your bathroom door and pour the last 2 into your hand slow enough that it doesn’t make that bottle-rattle sound and blow your cover. The walk or uber to brunch is all about convincing yourself that you’re “not actually that hungover,” but you are. The Bloody Mary at this place has some fun cheese and meat things that come in it, but you’re kinda scared to order it because alcohol is the devil. You order it, though, because you’re not a NARC and it IS the weekend. You’ll really really enjoy the first half of it as it washes over your hangover and brings you back to the “kinda loopy and feeling not hungover”-phase of being drunk. It’s the last truly enjoyable buzz of the weekend because nighttime is far enough away that you can pretend it’s not coming.

3) Saturday late-afternoon, at about 4:17 P.M., the I.P.A. you have to set the base for the rest of your AGGRESSIVE night. (I’m realizing that there are people reading this who have kids and, I just want to say that I’m sorry that I’m still in the aggressive Saturday night drinking phase of my life. Am I ashamed of it? Slightly. But, by the time Saturday afternoon rolls around, I’m so excited about going out that I tuck the shame away in my “I’ll deal with this on Monday”-dresser drawer.) Plan is to meet up with friends at a shitty-in-a-good-way bar a little after 5. You’re ready and your spouse is in the shower, so it’s time to put on some sporting event you don’t really care about and to properly enjoy a good beer before you dive into the “get me whatever you’re getting” bar orders for the rest of the night. Now is the time to use your favorite, most beer-snobby, fancy beer glass. Be sure to pour it slow and make sex noises after your first sip; this is the last time that you’ll be truly enjoying the taste of what you’re drinking for the rest of the night. This beer will also be a quick topic of conversation early on in the night, when you try to prove to your friends that you have taste by talking about a beer they’ve never heard of.

2) Friday lunch, at about 12:21 P.M., the margarita you get with your co-workers at the Mexican restaurant by your office. The morning meetings are over, and you still have to send a few e-mails out, but you’ve effectively made it to the weekend. It’s time for chips and salsa and marg(s) (stick to one marg, guys…once you go for the second in front of co-workers, you’re known as THAT lunch-drunk-guy). Bitching about the job is ALWAYS the topic, and this is the most acceptable time and place for it. Get all the bitching out now because your spouse has heard ENOUGH throughout the week, and if you bring more of that shit into the weekend SHE’S GONNA LOSE IT! (Can we make a cool looking medallion that says “No Work Talk” that we all wear around our necks from Friday night through Sunday night? Feels like a piece of jewelry a hipster would wear and not admit that they got it at Urban Outfitters…”Urban Outfitters? No, I only shop at thrift stores.”) Get ready for a lot of deep exhales and “we made it to Friday”-headshakes. They’re gonna feel good and earned and your co-workers are gonna nod at you overtime you do one because they know…they know…

1) Thursday night, when you’re alone at about 7:02 P.M., the martini that you carefully measure out and make like you’re a bartender whose rent depends on the tip you’ll get from this one drink. This is a special time that was great when you were single and now only happens when your spouse is out of town or out for the night at a work event. Does it mean you don’t love your significant other? I mean, maybe…like, why are you with them? (To the 4 people reading this who are in bad relationships, now is when you look at yourself in the mirror and think about sad stuff…we’ll wait…) You’re not in a relationship crisis, but getting to celebrate heading into Friday by crafting a nice cocktail by yourself is simply exhilarating. There is no need for you to put music on or anything while you do this; the sound of almost-Friday silence is melodic and able to perfectly harmonize with the sounds your shaker makes while chilling your gin martini or old fashioned or some other drink they serve at the restaurant you only go to on your birthday. If you have a dog, they’ll come over and you’ll say something to them like “we did it.” Do you normally take pictures of your meal when you go out to eat? Of course not, those people don’t read this blog. But, maybe you take a picture of this drink you just made. You don’t need to send it out, but there should be a record of it somewhere. Next time you do this, toss a 5 dollar bill on your kitchen counter because you deserve a tip.

*In case insurance people or doctors or my in-laws read this, I would like to state that this is a hypothetical week and does not mean that I imbibe in all of these drinks every week…not, every week…IT’S HYPOTHETICAL! THAT MEANS, LIKE, NOT TOTALLY REAL-LIFE!

MY WORLD:

*Every once in a while, I’m going to need to throw a George Costanza-style rant your way. Today is one of those days. Please indulge the following:

The VP and I had the new “Jersey Shore” show on in the background while she cooked dinner and I looked at my phone like a slob last night. We weren’t really watching, except to comment about JWoww’s newly-mangled face (wrinkles are better than plastic surgery-face) and The Situation being sober and…why is he on the show, then? Anyway, during the show or maybe in a commercial or something (I was busy being an instagram slob, guys!) I heard someone say, “you know, you should really travel more.” What an obnoxious thing to say.

When I heard it, I walked into the kitchen to rant at The VP about how mad it made me. Is there anyone ALIVE who thinks to themselves “I’m glad I don’t travel”? You know what? “I’ve got the next twelve years off and a ton of zeroes in my bank account, but this couch is pretty comfy and I love not knowing anything about life outside this country!” The reason people don’t travel more is because…hmmm….let’s put on our detective hats…oh wait, it’s BECAUSE TRAVELING IS EXPENSIVE! Would you ever tell someone “you know, you should really make more money”? NO, because you’re not trying to set the world record for being-an-asshole. Aside from the ludicrous content of this message, it’s always made worse because the person saying it is thinking they’re some Advice God selflessly gifting wisdom on the uncultured alley rats of society. Get da fuck outta’ here with that shit!

I wish I could say that made me feel better, but I’m still mad that people think saying “you should travel more” is not only acceptable, but needed advice. GOD THAT MAKES ME SO MAD!

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Uh oh, is Jimmy suggesting a song that hipsters might like? Giddy up! This is a perfect song to listen to when you’re getting stressed out and wondering if it’s time to cry alone in your car.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

BuzzFeed can go straight to hell.

MY BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT I AM GENUINELY CONFIDENT IN BECAUSE I DESERVE GOOD THINGS TO HAPPEN TO ME AFTER GETTING REAR-ENDED BY A GUY WITHOUT A LICENSE:

Good thing I didn’t listen to my advice and bet on Milwaukee over Philly last night. Philly won by seven billion points, if you missed it. It’s time for me to huddle with my crew and figure out NBA playoff futures. At first glance, I don’t hate Cleveland getting +650 to win the title. However, that means I’d have to root for LeBron and that sounds awful to me…The East stinks, though, and once they’re in the ‘ship you never know what kind of injuries Houston or Golden State could be dealing with. Who’s gonna talk me out of this?

(My account currently at $256.83)

K bye.