"Like A Fella Once Said, 'Ain't That a Kick In the Head?'"
This is what I've been reduced to: eating chocolate ice cream straight out of the carton in front of my bitchface computer after losing this entry one time around and having to reboot the goddamn thing, after a long day at work and an even longer 7-plus innings of retarded baseball, struggling to come up with words to describe my anger level.
Just when things were going well, which is of course when they always go wrong, David Borkowski of the bottom-feeding Orioles showed up tonight to play the role of Cy Young, with a perfect 4 1/3 innings to open, and a 2-hit shutout the rest of the way. Asshole. Despite the fact that Curt Schilling gave up just 3 hits over his 6-and-change innings, as I'm writing this--eighth inning, four-zip birds, Kapler just thrown out at second--he will probably be the LP.
O me of little faith--I'm going to bed. I've had enough of the stupid dumbshit goddamn sorry-ass motherfucking Red Sox today. And yes, I'm frustrated to the point of being less than articulate right now (and the fact that everything with wires has risen up in rebellion against me today isn't helping). So sue me. I've managed to refrain from talking about Patriots training camp so far, haven't I?
But, of course, I'll be back tomorrow, because being "wedded to the Sox" as I heard it put on WEEI today is a congenital condition with no known cure. The Sox could, of course, be mounting a late comeback right now, and I could be missing it, and there could be egg on my face tomorrow for that.
But somehow, I don't think so.