Could somebody lend me a hand? A hand attached to an arm, with which to pat me on the back? My own arm is tired, you see, after congratulating myself once again on my performance in the local newspaper's prep football contest. Imagine my surprise when I logged in yesterday and saw that I was ranked NUMBER FREAKIN' ONE out of 230 contestants. OK, so I wasn't all that surprised, having been in the top three or four for the past month, and having an ego the size of Texas, which is a 'really big state' as told to me by a freshman on Friday after she glanced at my wall map of the United States which I've had for nigh on six years now, the initial investment in said map being $1.50.
Due to the Truth in Blogging Law, I must inform you that I am tied with two other people for first place, each of us holding the grand total of 69 points at the end of Week 5 in this contest. I can taste that recliner now. Only five more weeks to go, and I'll be bringin' her home to the Mansion. Yep. I looooves me some free furniture! If it was socially acceptable, I would drape myself in free furniture. That last statement was a George Costanza-ism for all you Seinfeld fans.
A number one finger is what the #1 son used to call those big foam fingers fans sport at sporting events. It's OK if you want to have some printed up. My favorite color is green. I totally would not mind hauling my new free recliner down a gauntlet of waving green Hillbilly Mom is #1 foam fingers when I go to pick it up at the end of the contest. The newspaper will be there, I'm sure. It will make me feel like an Apollo astronaut fake-returning from the moon.
I certainly hope that no tragedy befalls those two contestants who are tied with me. You know, like developing an electrical impulse in their fingertips that shorts out any computer they try to use to enter their picks. Or maybe sudden-onset amnesia that causes them to miss the entry deadline. Or a hacker who steals their passwords and makes bad picks.
The last thing I need is a conspiracy theory that points to me as the perpetrator, and endangers my chance of bringing home that sweet, sweet recliner.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment