Seriously, it doesn't matter how funny I am in print. Why? Because.
I will never be able to compete with the obsessive click-laugh-click-snort-click-"dude that is bat sh!t insane-funny"-click-click-click sounds next to me coming from yet another hour spent reading and posting to, shall we call it, the socially appropriate forum for men (?) to obsess over, all under the convenient guise of fake baseball? And to think I dropped out way back when because Wood and Pryor hosed my should-have-won-first-place-hands-down year. That and cheering for Yanks. ridiculous. click-click. The worst of it is that I can't even complain about it for 2 reasons. 1: because it is so damn funny listening to this stuff and 2: because P cemented rocks into place in the flowerbeds today so we don't have to damn keep picking the frickers up. Hate those stones! Not anymore tho now that they can't move and all. That is so awesome. What did your husband do in between Fantasy Baseball posts? umhum, goodnight!
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