Betting Braggards Always Are Fleeced

A good Monday for the Bangeranger. In typical New York smack junkie fashion, the garbage men rolled over a woeful Redskins defense. The 45-12 whomping was exactly as I saw it: Tom Coughlin, though becoming scenile and impotent, can still ‘will’ the hell out of a team as a post season looms shadily amidst the horizon. Score points and win dough, easy does it. Grasp and clutch dear to these words my friends, they may get you through the roughest grindhouse you could ever imagine. Expect the unexpected.

I enjoy getting a good Monday Night call, and the game was watched much more competitively (at least in the first quarter) between my younger brother and myself. He was suckfished into rooting for those godforsaken Miracle Whipped Washington Redskins. Vegas had gotten to his head, and the odds played the man. Oh well. Maybe it takes less than a black dope slinger and a .45 Magnum in the glove box to teach him how to handle his bets and wagers. I suppose it takes different strokes for different folks, la da da da da.

I refuse to “issue speak” today, ahemm. It almost seems like fishing for crosseyed trout in a treasure chest, utterly senseless and wasteful. Oh god it’s all completely fucking pathetic. Sub prime ass peddlers calling an audible for the public option (watch those fat insurance/GlaxoSmith ‘legal’ drug hoochers get rich at your expense), so passe. Muslim insurgency and sadistic car bombs will be in the news until they invent flying cars, then the news will shut down and civilization will cease to thrive because those bastards will get at everything in sight with pipe bombs and Molotov cocktails. Sheer chaos. They believe OH SO MUCH MORE DEEPLY than any clergyman down at the parish confessional booth. They want obedience to the book (which they call the Quran, but might as well be the goddamned Cat in the Hat in terms of divine inspiration), and they don’t take kindly to side discussions and friendly, poking banter.


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