hangover

I’m watching “Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs” again. my niece digs it. the movie iss well-written, with a healthy number of throwaway jokes, so if you sit down with it and run, you could do worse. what did  Hunter S Thompson write?

buy the ticket, take the ride.

right.
I take it you watched the Bears game sunday. you watch the Bears game? man.
now, I’ll not say anything that hasn’t been said yet, and over and over. there are many professional sports writers bloviating about this, about our mass interest in sports — and most of them don’t care at all for the reasons why we dump so much disposable income on this bullshit, but I’ll admit: this paragraph is definitely a result of Chicago losing to Green Bay in an epically hopeless contest, one in which it was apparent from the opening kickoff that the Bears weren’t going to win. if the Bears had won, you could expect to find a post here featuring a picture of Brian Urlacher and his tribal armband tattoo, mid-sack or interception. but that’s not the case.
they lost. but fuck it. I was in quiet despair on Sunday night, watching Todd Collins underscore his name on a long line of inept quarterbacks, coming to terms with the writing on the wall. it would have been monumental and unbelievable if they had managed to tie the game in the waning moments with a no-name QB facing one of the best defenses in the league, but they didn’t.
they didn’t. the miracle come-back didn’t happen. so to everyone who rides the Bears; who pours too much into professional football rivalries; who buys expensive jerseys only to ignite them in empty, done-before gestures; who fire motherfuckers over their choices in decorative ties … let’s keep it all in perspective. I’m pretty sure FC Spartak wasn’t headlining the Moscow rags this week. the State of the Union is tonight, and there’s going to be an honest-to-god Tea Party response on CNN. and in two weeks, the American Super Bowl holiday will be here, and it really won’t be that bittersweet. it’ll be more savory: there’s definitely gonna be seven-layer salad at whatever party you attend, becauase it’s a goddamn rule that it be provided. 
but jesus christ, if there’s one thing you can hang onto: don’t root for the Packers. fuck them.

here’s some Queen, to wrap up:

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