HARK! Is That A Cannon Shot I Hear?

It’s that time of the year again.  That’s right, It happens every June.  You know the feeling.  That horrible pain in the pit of your stomach that can only mean one thing.  Your mind, body, and soul have been without football for far too long.  It’s like a month or two without porn.  It’s like a week or two without beer and/or vodka.  It’s like a weekend or two without killing a hooker. 

How do you know when you’ve reached this breaking point?  Well for starters, you begin having extremely strange yet realistic dreams where you’re in the stands at Doak Campbell Stadium, cheering on Peter Warrick in the Sugar Bowl (I know, Doak and the Sugar Bowl, makes no sense.  It’s a f**king dream damn it), and the next thing you know he laterials to you out of nowhere.  Now, your white ass is at the 25, the 20, the 15, the 10, he… could… go… all… the… way!  That’s when you wake up in a cold sweat, hit the bathroom, urinate for what feels like 45 minutes, and finally realize as your morning wood subsides that you did not in fact just score a TD.   

But the true sign is when you come home drunk at 2:00 in the morning from your local cigar bar, turn on Sports Center, sit there waiting for the Red Sox score to come in from the West coast (by the way, f*ck you West cast road trips), and notice something like this…

FSU vs UF???

As the horses come ’round the last bend you notice the colors of the uniforms of the jockeys.  That’s when your drunk ass begins to cheer for the guy in garnet and gold.  “Go Noles,” you scream!!!!  “Down with the orange and blue queer horse!  Look at the dick on that f**king horse!  FSU!  FSU!  FSU!  Shiteatinggator is one word!  Gay Goaters!  Scalp ‘Em!” 

After your “team” loses, and by team I mean some random horse, you realize that wasn’t a football game at all, there’s beer every where, and you don’t know why you’re standing in the middle of the living room naked.  Nope, not a football game; just a couple of horses and a few thousand people gambling their kids college fund away.

Come on football season, hurry the hell up and get here fast.  If anything, do it for the hookers.      

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Posted on June 12, 2007, in Football, Sports. Bookmark the permalink. 3 Comments.

  1. The Wearer of the Pants

    Is that what seriously happens when I leave town?

  2. The 3rd Wheel...on a Tricycle

    Standing in the middle of the living room at 2AM, naked, watching a horse race and spilling beer everywhere…WOW! Hope the wearer of the pants will be home soon!! Lucky for you Reagan loves beer!!

  3. Yes, my dog has a slight drinking problem and it’s something I’ve been dealing with for quite some time now. I wake up almost every morning and walk into a living room full of empty beer bottles, empty pill bottles, and piles of shit everywhere.
    And the hardest part is the fact that the old lady actually believes it was me who drank all those beers and bought all that pay-per-view porn. Listen here, what would I be doing renting the movie Tittie, Tittie, Gang Bang for the 5th time? Is it just a coincident that one of the movies was titled Girls of Springbreak 15: Doggie Style? I think not.
    BAD DOGGIE!!!!!!

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