The peanut gallery that I also know as the comment section of the blog has had a particular suggestive presence as of late. Don't get me wrong, it's a real joy to login and find such pleasantries as "seek help", or something along the lines of "double check that you have a dick". But it's all in the spirit of keeping the blog world a place where one can be literally free...verbally voluptuous and totally ignorant of feelings and opinions. I have an obsession with urinals. There, you happy now DK? They're a little piece of inventive genius with just so many little nuances from one piss guard to the next. And how each man approaches each visit to the urinal deserves a Harvard PHD's dissertation. Just my opinion.
Frankly, I'm only writing a blog today because of Hammen's comment from yesterday's post. Hey, when a fellow blogger speaks, I listen...especially when that blogger owns and enjoys plaid shorts. (more on this later...plaid should be incorporated in the pro sport unis)
Just once I'd like to hear Dan Rather (well, the former anchor Dan Rather) sign off from CBS News as such:
"Thanks for watching. This is Dan Rather, CBS News. Peace."
Rather had that little whistle lisp, much like Herbert in Family Guy. I always wanted to hear him give a outro that involved the word "peace" and he never did. But it would have been a real treat, I can assure you of that.
I did 'hot yoga' this past Tuesday night. For those of you unfamiliar with this, it involves typical yoga positions only you're in a room where the heat blows to maintain a comfortable 108 degrees F. I survived. 90 minutes of something that could be on par with any form of Central Intelligence torture...and it gave me just about all I could handle. I've done double sessions in full football pads...in 100% humidity and 95 degree heat. This was worse. My heart rate stayed at roughly 170 bpm and I produced enough sweat to drown a small Somalian village...filled with thirsty Somalians. Hot yoga is a nightmare and I don't know if I'll ever do it again. But know this: once you walk out of that studio and into the brisk winter air, you feel totally out of body. And you're hair freezes because it's soaked with sweat.
Enjoy tomorrow, friends. It's Friday. It's almost April. Warm weather is a sniff away here in New England, and the Sox are back from the Land of the Rising Sun (and the land of glorious sushi). It's getting there...we're getting there. Happier moods are imminent and they will manifest themselves within a month.
I'd like to give a shout out to my love, who is awaiting something pretty, pretty big right now. It's going to be ok, baby. Good things lie ahead.
Peace.
3 comments:
If you want to cut down on the gay jokes, you should start by not telling all of us that you did "hot yoga".
here's an idea: locate your dick, remove the shrink wrap and F'n use it.
'Hot yoga' sounds like some off-color bedroom action.
"My girlfriend wanted me to cook her dinner, but I just gave her a hot yoga instead."
Good work with the 4 for 4. Go for the Fab 5, French. If you write it, they will come.
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