I'm on a careful contact high from the recent Spurs win. I feel really good about this Spurs team sans any injury, yet I hope our peak days are still ahead and not behind. And considering Tim had arguably, according to ESPN's Hollinger's guestimate, his worst game of his career during a win against the NBA champs, maybe I should stop the self-reflection and just enjoy this crazy open-carcass pinata.
But long live King George. Long live Splitter getting quality minutes and long live Dejuan Blair playing like the internal giant he is.
I wrote the following.
Also, I am not entrusted with any rights to create DTOURS. I will accept my punishment.
Hope all your holidays were great.
Annual Company Newsletter from the Alternative Universe Storage Corp:
We seem to come up on this letter earlier and earlier this year, but that's what happens when you operate in a universe without time or weather. To keep track of our ages we are forced to cut off our arms and count the fat rings. Just messing with you, that's an old alt ward joke we like to pull out from time to time--we keep track of our age through vocal matches to the death.
Some of you who are reading this letter for the first time may not realize that we were even an entity. Who are these guys? Why did they send me a letter? Why did they send me nude pictures of their cat? And that's okay; sometimes there are products out there that need to be advertised even though you use them on a daily basis. Like Beef. "Why do those commercials even need to exist?" I oft ask myself with a rope-cut string of jerky flowing from spool to mouth. But just like the Beef industry, we need to get the message out there to the public that we're working for you, the every day man.
Let's set the stage somewhat: You come home and you have a slip of paper in your hand. What type of slip? An important one that you can't afford to lose, say a loved one's pin code to an off shore account or a coupon for that delicatessen where they throw loose meat at unsuspecting customers. You have this paper in your hand and you want to put it somewhere where you know you won't lose it. So you think of the weirdest spot ever. You place it in a cubby hole in a rolling desk top located in the middle of the garage debris-mountain. Or you tuck it in between the bread box and the fridge, next to the Kathy magnets. Or you stick it under the rug. You'll never forget it there: it's such an unusual place!
That's where our service starts. Got something you don't want to lose? We're there to make sure that the bizarre places you stick random forget-me-not items are actually a warp-hole to our universe.
And in our vast storage banks we rack up all these items you've misplaced purposely in your life: mailbox keys, illegally burned CD's of Michael Bolton Live, small pets, ambition. We store these things for you so that when you die, when your soul is heading north or south, we tie up all the clutter in a sack and hit you in your soul-face with all the force we can muster.
We know what you're asking at this very moment: Why didn't I think of this brilliant idea? You did. We stole it from your brain. You're welcome. Please use us again.