You sure got a purty mouth
I swear tonight's game against the Twinkies was totally all about Dueling Banjo's.
Six shutout innings by both. Then, Johan Santana allows a solo home run by V-Tek in the 7th. Schilling allows one too in the bottom of the 7th.
Shutouts by both in the eighth, and by the relief in the ninth.
This is a bit of a preemptive post on my part, since I'm not planning on being awake to post when this game is over.
I hope to be well asleep, dreaming away this crappy-ass cold I've got.
On top of that, I've got my quarterly neurologist's appointment tomorrow.
If there's one thing to ensure not kicking a cold quickly, it's hanging out in a hospital waiting room for three-plus hours just to see your doc for a twenty-five minute follow-up, some Rx renewals and a "come back in three months."
bitch bitch bitch.
Don't get me wrong, I love my neurologist. He's a peach, it's just waiting around til noon for my 9:30 appointment's a bitch. Enough.
Back to the game. Now it's the bottom of the 10th, two outs. C'mon, Pap!
G'night all. here's hoping I wake up to the score I'm hoping for.
Postscript: Oh yeah, like I was really going to go to sleep with a tie ball game.
There was hope. There was a one run lead. And then, there was the Snake. Tavarez.
For fuck's sake, Tito! You got Papelbon. You got Timlin. You got, hey, a lead! And you put in this fucknod?
For those of you who have read my previous, if brief, tirade on this punk ass excuse for a reliever, I direct you here. Now I really am going to bed, pissed off.
Six shutout innings by both. Then, Johan Santana allows a solo home run by V-Tek in the 7th. Schilling allows one too in the bottom of the 7th.
Shutouts by both in the eighth, and by the relief in the ninth.
This is a bit of a preemptive post on my part, since I'm not planning on being awake to post when this game is over.
I hope to be well asleep, dreaming away this crappy-ass cold I've got.
On top of that, I've got my quarterly neurologist's appointment tomorrow.
If there's one thing to ensure not kicking a cold quickly, it's hanging out in a hospital waiting room for three-plus hours just to see your doc for a twenty-five minute follow-up, some Rx renewals and a "come back in three months."
bitch bitch bitch.
Don't get me wrong, I love my neurologist. He's a peach, it's just waiting around til noon for my 9:30 appointment's a bitch. Enough.
Back to the game. Now it's the bottom of the 10th, two outs. C'mon, Pap!
G'night all. here's hoping I wake up to the score I'm hoping for.
Postscript: Oh yeah, like I was really going to go to sleep with a tie ball game.
There was hope. There was a one run lead. And then, there was the Snake. Tavarez.
For fuck's sake, Tito! You got Papelbon. You got Timlin. You got, hey, a lead! And you put in this fucknod?
For those of you who have read my previous, if brief, tirade on this punk ass excuse for a reliever, I direct you here. Now I really am going to bed, pissed off.
posted by Jess at 9:47 PM
2 Comments:
Calm down. I felt much better this morning, I I went to sleeo one hour later than you (time diff.) Rudy and Julia. I'd spit on the floor, but it's MY carpet.
*sigh*
I can't help it, Peter.
It gets me awfully peevish, and I tend to be extra snarky when I'm sick, which I am.
I'll go easier on them soon, promise.
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