Ecuador's been putting on a good show at the Cup and I can't wait till they meet the host Teutons on the pitch -- I feel our mutual tricolor fervent in my stream... or is it all the liquid friends I just imbibed? What happened tonight? Everything got topsy-turvy on the reaper and I ended up making eighteen dials, of which only one was drunken in nature and all the others had me report up the echelons of the Safety Call Tree. You know everything is illuminated and the illumination presented itself yet again as my most new favorite Palmetto Bay hobby: the flat-foot tailing. Yup, another ten minutes of keeping it within the set confines of Old Cutler's yellow and following all posted speed and turn options -- though I administrated everything slowly.
If I can recall and somewhat recant the on-pitch ego of Les Bleus, I'll say this much, that fine Algerian Zidane is one of the greatest midfield administrators the game has seen and moreover, the ladies seem to like him just a tad bit better than that bending Brit and that's okay with me -- so long as another "baldy sand-nigger" wins. Whatever. All I truly know is the following and please, commit it to memory:
1) Tautology and Tatetology are phonetically similar.
2) Pavement never entered mouths.
3) No matter how bad it gets, someone has it worse.
4) Alcohol makes me dance.
5) I am going to need coffee very soon.
This five am field report concludes as follows: good people, decent music, a brother-at-arms, three men keeping house, my mamma and nonna's speedy recovery, and last but not least, cleanliness will always give you a new lease on life. No names tonight. The usual suspects know who they are and to what certain degree they matter. Now, because I made it and wanna rest (just so you don't think I went soft...) -- I ain't got no time.
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