Metastory first: BFF1 clued me to breaking news of common interest, as he sometimes does. I source-checked and cross-verified, and established that the astonishing and not actually believeable thing that he told me was actually true. It is a news item so far-fetched, so out of touch with reality that I checked to make sure that six weeks had not sped by and unaccountably dumped me out on April 1. I called Ilse as she was driving home from dumping Data and Bam off for the weekend, an otherwise happy event at most times, and her response was a spontaneous heartfelt, gut-wrenching, blood-curdling, "Nooooooooooooooo!!!!!!", delivered in a tone usually reserved for scenes in movies where some slutburger non-starlet breaks a heel while fleeing from hideous monsters from the dungeon dimensions. Or Jay Leno.
It's one of those cases where information transfer is like an unwanted exchange of bodily fluids. It's...Jeebus, it's just fucking creepy.
So once upon a time, our futbol club traded away part of the farm, and part of the manure, to get the allocation rights to a former player for our club who was returning from his once-lucky break in Europe. The part of the farm that we traded was a draft pick--specifically, our first pick last season, which became the
You're wondering why I'm dancing. It's because I can't say it. It's too horrifying. It's scare-iffic! It makes me fear taking my post in 232 for 17 freaking home games (plus specials) this season. It tells me right now what phrase I will scream this season from my post, even more than, "Shut the fuck up Morsink, you motherfucking punkass bitch!" It is my future hell3, and the future is now.
Jesus H. Tittyfucking Christ on a Wobbly Motherfucking Rotten Bamboo Crutch, we gave up another fucking draft pick for fucking Fredsux. After her blood-curdling scream, Ilse threatened to drive into a bridge abutment, and I can't fucking blame her.
Here's the nicest thing I've ever said about Fred:
Fred? Run, you fucking cocksucker. Stop fucking dancing, pass the fucking ball, and run like my football club is paying you hundreds of thousands of dollars in green American fucking money to actually fucking run like you're a professional fucking athlete, you fucking assclown.
Here's the dumbest thing I've ever said about Fred (though I actually didn't say it about Fred):
...you get points for viciously and criminally clobbering players I hate without getting caught, for entertaining me by actually bearhugging guys from behind on set pieces (again, without getting caught), for fighting to your dying breath on one fucking leg and scoring what would've been a winning goal in a playoff-implications game if fucking Fred weren't such a fucking useless jackass, for your two goals in my team's shirt being as memorable as his two goals in my team's shirt.Why is it the dumbest thing I've ever said about Fred? Because I fucking said it yesterday.
I officially withdraw yesterday's comment about Boyfriend whistling past our chosen graveyard. Jeebus. Shut the fuck up a whole lot, me.
UPDATE: Kind thanks to commenter Goose for pointing out that I'm dyslexic. The Phunions took Jack McInerney with DCU's pick. The point is significant but the argument holds. Even adjusting for the benefit of hindsight, who would you rather have, one year of Troy Perkins, or the rights to Jack McInerney (or Dilly Duka or Corben Bone or Bright Dike, all of who went later in that draft)? Nonetheless, McInerney ain't Mwanga, and thanks to Goose.
1Who, incredibly, posted a rare evening post today, but it has nothing to do with this news, but with some plaint about our evil overlords supporting other evil overlords in their soul-and-body-crushing exploits in some forn parts. WTF, dood? Can you drop the train in vain Baba O'Reilly world revolution foolies bullshit for a minute and post about important stuff?
3Yeah, yeah, his too. WTFever.