- Stop buying Sports Select tickets. You haven’t won since 2008. And frankly, you’re starting to sound like Christian Bale in The Fighter when you rant about how close you came to winning last week to the person behind you in the Shopper’s Drug Mart line.
- Dinners consisting of $12 wine and cheese buns from the Co-op bakery eaten on the toilet are exactly why your mother thinks you’re unable to live alone
- Eating Tim Bits in the stairwell while singing the Ghostbuster‘s theme song isn’t helping either. Get back to work. Continue reading
Tag Archives: Fantasy Football
The upcoming National Football League season has seized all my waking thoughts. Frankly, I become slightly concerned when it strikes me just how long I spent last season (1) preparing to watch a football game, (2) watching the game, (3) talking about the game I just watched before (4) pouring over stats from the game I just watched for fantasy football purposes. I do this instead of productive endavours such as writing Kim Kardashian love letters in cursive loops of my blood, getting into better shape so that my dirty laundry no longer smells like Becel and bacon, mentally abusing my dog for not being able to play Sudoku, etc.
Call me crazy but I don’t give a damn.
I’ve stayed silent when each girlfriend past and present said, in no uncertain terms, being a sports fan is stupid. To cheer for one group of ignorant millionaires on a team owned by ego-maniacal billionaires (yes, I’m looking at you Al Davis) over another of the same, when none of the principals have not the faintest idea of your existence, is the height of folly. Yet, each year, when Calgary’s six days of summer give way to cold winds and morning frost, I’m as excited as Rex Ryan in a Manolo Blahnik Boutique. Here are five quick, unrelated thoughts on the upcoming season: Continue reading
The first night of my last year as a man able to watch Jersey Shore and That’s So Raven (I’m going to miss you Chelsea) without crumbling beneath the weight crushing self-loathing and societal scorn was wrought with drama. I was in a semi-stupor of expressionless television watching and disinterested light reading (read: porn found under the stairs) – an habitual stasis my body undergoes as it reaches the exhausted conclusion of a 24-hour battle of alcohol elimination – to find someone stealing my car for the second time since moving into the neighbourhood. The sinister laugh of a young man with an open schedule and a history of Vicodin abuse, followed by the cough of a car with better things to do than start when asked broke me from my trance. I ran outside in my underwear like Edward Norton in American History X only to see the car was, in fact, not mine, as I had moved it when getting food earlier and completely forgotten. Was it my neighbour’s car that was lifted? Possibly. My spot on the couch was sure to grow cold and not wanting to chance such an atrocity, I went back inside without investigating. Continue reading