After reading a piece that people seemed to like, I get depressed. It was an awfully written piece that seemed to be done in 10 minutes. But not the 10 minutes like I do where I fret about the flow of the story, how quotes are used and if there is an actual narrative before giving up and saying, “Fuck it.” But 10 minutes where perhaps he gets paid by the number of posts he makes a day and is trying to fill a quota.
Okay so it’s like this, my personal blog, except I don’t get paid and I don’t care who reads this. Actually yes I do. I want everyone to read this because, well I don’t know. I just do.
Overheard at Dodger Stadium:
- You’re my 25th favorite Mexican.
- His voice goes up three octaves on the most mundane plays.
- This tastes like beer water. No beer piss. I need some man beer.
- That run should count!
- Hey Jon you wanna here something? *Fart*