Sunday, January 09, 2022


So the Forty Niners did something stupendous today, judging by the senile delinquents in the back room losing their sanity in front of the television. I really should be concerned about one of them -- the retired member of the judicial branch, who very likely soiled himself in his joy -- but not only do I not care about sports, I also don't care about football. Which is quite un-American of me, I know. A score of hunkadunks running around the field crashing into each other does not make me cream in my undies, I'm sorry, and unlike you lot I wear normal boxer shorts instead of man-panties, which I try to keep as clean as possible, which means NOT clenching everytime the "numerics" do something absofantabulous. Unlike the dozen of you.

You all American sports fans are bonkers.
Quite utterly nuts.

Now if they were making duck confit and Crêpes Suzette on that field, with deft and dextrous manipulation of their batteries de cuisine, then I might cheer. I would evince a sincere interest.
Unless and until that happens, I shall remain steadfastly unmoved by and uninvolved in your goofy brawn-porn extravaganza.

Instead, I am calm, peevish, and at a safe distance.
Your enthusiasms do not invite me.
And furthermore, I'll have another cup of tea, and nibble on another slice of this congealed Texan (fruitcake), which is actually quite delicious. I am safely far enough away that there is no chance of you tipping over my cup. Occasionally I'll yell "Minnesoooota!", even though neither team is from there, because I know it annoys some of you, or maybe make a glib remark about how a state that has cheese, lutefisk, and manly men who freeze their testicles off while playing football represents everything true and beautiful about American maleness and how can you not like them you bunch of silly wine-drinking hot tub splashing soft elderly wankers of Marin County, but for all intents and purposes I cannot wait for you lot to all have aneurisms from the excitement and go home to your long-suffering wives or retirement homes.

In other news, I enjoyed three bowls of Greg Pease's Embarcadero in my briars today. A lovely compound of Red Virginia and Smyrna, in partially broken flake form, with enough complexity that it appeals all the way down to the bottom of the bowl. A very charming pipe tobacco.
Of which I have a few extra tins.

A good day, despite the racket from the play area.

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