I rolled into the BertFlex offices this morning jonesing for something -- a fistfight, a 40, salty snacks -- to take my mind off last night's 15-inning marathon of all-star suckitude. The Good Face was just cocking around as per usual, so I sent him to QT for sugar-free Red Bull and pineapple Now and Laters. Like the fuck-up he is, he comes back with Rap Snacks instead.
You play with my money, you play with my emotions, TGF. Turns out, though: If Southern Crunk Barbecue chips don't make it better, it's not broke.
3 comments:
We have offices? WTF? Why wasn't I informed?
All Star suckitude? I'll just say this: You cannot stop the Texas Rangers, you can only hope to contain them.
Melissa --
Do you have the authority to trade Josh Hamilton and Ian Kinsler for Aaron Miles and a pair of my past-their-prime underoos?
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