Nobody I knew got killed in South Central L.A.
Yes, that’s right, today’s been a good day.
I’m 2-0 in the fantasy football league I give a crap about (sorry bloggers, no offense), and won last week’s game by .1, which is 11 yards rushing or 22 yards passing. Slimmest margin of victory ever in our league, and I barely squeaked it out.
My Lions are also 2-0, which isn’t going to last, but all the talk about Roy Williams and it just being a matter of time before he joins the NFL’s WR elite is pretty damn cool.
I’ve got this weekend to look forward to, which should be fun even if I’m not an incorrigible drunk like
some people.
I broke open a package of my imported pasta, which I pay way too much for, but is awesome, and had a kick ass dinner of spaghetti and meatballs last night. With homemade sauce, of course. I ate my Cole’s garlic bread on the side, thinking nothing of how old man Cole found some hot young thing for his last few years of life, and cut her out of his will at the last minute, screwing that gold digger out of what she thought she was due. Couldn’t be bothered, not my problem.
I got to the office this morning hungry though, and was telling Pauly how I wanted to jet out for breakfast, when at that very moment the guy in the cube next to mine brought in two huge boxes of sausage pigs-in-blankets for the entire office. They were awesome.
It’s 10:45AM, and I’ve already written 1,150 words without whining about some girl in tenth grade not returning my phone calls.
And I didn’t even get no static from the cowards, because just yesterday them fools tried to blast me. Saw the police and they rolled right past me. Didn’t even look in a nilla’s direction as I ran the intersection.
Today’s been a good day.