Images And Words

Go Boston. Curt Schilling did his team name proud by pitching through a painful stitched-up tendon that was evident from his bloodstained right sock in the third of four must-win games that Boston pulled out of the hat to win the ALCS. I don't even like baseball and I still couldn't help but admire the heart of the man and his team.

Here's a recipe for a killer cocktail (do not try this at home): One Red Hook. One Long Island iced tea. One "Sex on the Beach." Two Cosmopolitans. One Blue something-or-other. One generous slice of caramel fudge ice-cream cake. One shot of Jose Cuervo. One shot of Jägermeister. Two more assorted beers. Mix and chug. Now you know why I used the word "killer." Strangely enough, I wasn't nearly as hungover as a previous night when all I had to drink was about two pitchers worth of Miller Lite.

Fantasy football is an inordinate but mesmerising waste of time. I don't understand why I keep picking these damn teams week after week, but my guess is that I hate to lose. And it's even more annoying when the leader after Week 6 is a person who couldn't spell Kabeer Gbaja-Biamila or Adewale Ogunleye or Brandon Manumaleuna or any of the number of fascinating names around the NFL if her life depended on it.

After schmoozing my ass off these last few weeks, I've learned a few things:
1. A "deck" is a set of presentation slides.
2. "Going forward" is the only way to talk about the future.
3. The job search is like trying to get a phone number from a chick you like. Seem desperate and people run away from you. Act like you're not interested and all of a sudden everyone's wooing you and your uncle. (For further information I refer you to "The Tao Of Steve." It's a movie you retards!)
4. For the benefit of the depressingly-populous last-mentioned category, if 1, 2 and 3 have not already made it abundantly clear, 24/7 schmoozing is not something that agrees with me.