Dribbling Down The Hardwood

 ESPN is really pissing me off. It's clearly the best channel in history, and I watch it perhaps a little too much, and now they put this woman Lindsay Czarniak on Sportscenter. Every sentence she speaks makes me think I'll kill myself if I can't make sweet love to her, but I know I don't have a shot cuz she's married (probably to some dick) and more famous than me. It's not fair, because I'm mostly just trying to focus on basketball. But she's so damn perky and girly.  I bet she has like a thousand pairs of cute little socks with pumpkins and hummingbirds and shit on them. I like a woman with a whole lot of socks.

 This is obviously the inverse of how, when you're a teenage dude, you're supposed to "think about baseball" so you don't blow your load too quickly and thus lose your manhood permanently. I tried that one time, but I accidentally thought of tennis, and those skirts, and...let's just say the tactic was unsuccessful. Both conditions are really confusing, these jugglings of athletics and pussy.

 It's like that time my dad tried go give me the old birds-and-bees speech with a Zen twist on it:  "Let your dick be the ball, son," he said. It set me back years in my development, I was so confused. I like to think he meant well, though. It'd be cool to get a tattoo on your weiner that says "Inflate to 7.5 PSI."

 Anyway my feelings for Lindsay can't be cheapened like that. You know - I wanna like, protect her and shit. The fact that she would be by far the primary bread-winner in our hypothetical relationship is not emasculating to me in the slightest. In fact, it actually makes her more attractive - so strong are both my feminist ethic and my desire to spend her money.

 I went out with this one woman for years, and we were supposed to get married, and I was the best boyfriend ever, and I got destroyed and cried for a year, and now that I'm happily single I'm only attracted to 2-dimensional images of sportscasters. What a jip. I should just lop my pecker off right now to save me some worry. Of course none of that stuff is actually true; I'm also in love with my cat, but I've never even considered fucking him. That's why I adopted a male kitten in the first place - just to be damn sure I'd never be tempted.

Anyway, the next time you're doing it to someone with your weiner and attempting to increase your stamina by contemplating a sport, you should consider cricket. Since it's impossible to understand and takes a month to play, it might just work. Also if you have a girlfriend, buy her some socks with giraffes on them. Then if she doesn't like them, break up with her.


ps - To Hannah Storm: If you're reading this, I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you about Lindsay, but it just happened so fast. I swear it's not you - it's me.


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