FSM save me, it's name begins with "m" and rhymes with "dojo," and though it may have been proclaimed deader than the Wicked Witch of the West after D. Gale's house used her as tarmac for her trans-Kansas flight touchdown, when I perceive it whispering to me from beyond the grave, I listen. Follow me after the jump for an utterly inconsequential revelation.
::glances furtively over both shoulders::
For reasons that will not be disclosed, I was unable to join the rest of you good PtR folk for the game thread (none of the 3, that is). In fact, by the time I found a TV, I was only just in time to see Timmy open up a grotesque looking cylindrical container labeled "KICK-ASS" on an unsuspecting dallas team, and in time to witness TMWNS lift up the most minuscule edge of the tarp that (for the safety of us unworthy mortals) covers what can only be described as GREATNESS.
That which shall not be named has spoken. For as long as the Flying Spaghetti Monster shall deem this team worthy of the postseason, I will not be participating in any game threads. It's a small sacrifice, really. One that I'm more than happy to make if it'll make any difference to help Timmy take a trip back in time (or at least quiet the ghoulish voice inside my head).
You know what? Fuck it, I'm just insane and you should quit reading this drivel. I stand firmly by the above stated. I'm an idiot. GO SPURS GO!