I had a very fruitless search for pictures of the new first dog on Google earlier. Then I saw somebody I never heard of was following me on Twitter. Before I could even examine that I was staring down a link to the photo that had previously evaded me on my Twitter feed . How am I supposed to stay out of the Twitter cult if it just trumped Google? Shit.
The dog is an adorable little mess named Bo. My dog was named Bo! I hope I get emotionally attached.
I woke up about an hour and a half ago in the middle of Tiger Woods and Phil Mickelson making an incredible, improbable run up the leaderboard at The Masters. Mickelson seemed primed to pull off a classic final round to claim the green jacket. What did he do instead of that? He blew it and missed two baby putts that, had he made both, would have given him a share of the lead. I guess that's what I get for thinking golf could be exciting.
I hope Angel Cabrera wins because he's kinda fat and he smokes. If that's too much to ask, I'll be content if my face stops hurting so much. Stupid vodka.
1 comment:
But in fact it WAS exciting. Even for me, a complete non-sports-fan.
Also, debt of gratitude to the blog, I was able to walk into a conversation of actual golf-fans and convincingly fake it through based exclusively on what I had read here.
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