Hotspur Meets His Match

In the sad wake of Notre Dame burning yesterday, I mentioned getting engaged there. Oso said she enjoyed hearing it, but that was only a tiny part of the story.

Here I will tell a complete version of my history. I will start at the beginning.

In January of 2000, a close friend of mine, Rick, invited me to an “Ignore The Super Bowl Party.” The idea was to keep the sound off during the game so everyone could chat, then turn it on during the commercials, so everyone could laugh. That was back in the days of the Dotcom bubble, and the commercials were hilarious.

During the week before the game, if Rick asked me once, he asked me five times if I was coming on Sunday. I told him yes each time. But when Sunday came I really didn’t want to go, but I thought, “Fuck, I told him five times I was coming. I’ll just go and stay for a drink and say I have to get up early in the morning, then leave early.”

So I went.

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Watermelon Douche Chills

Gather round my friends and lend an ear, there’s a tale needs to be told. This is the abridged version. For the complete story you’ll need to pony up 50 cent to my publisher.

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You see, there was once a man, so big he shook the ground with each mighty step. For a snack he’d eat an entire ox and pick the gristle from his big-as-a-surfboard teeth with the ox horns.

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