Week 7 – Pheasants on the up-and-easy, my head caught between the beagle’s jaw

I flew down to Central Illinois (I’m not sure if the geographical region requires CAPS by grammatical rules, but it certainly does warrant them after my 6 hour invasion from yesterday) to shoot pheasant. Fat, feather banging pheasant. I’ve had a hard on all week (I wake up at 10:15 Saturday mornings to shoot squirrels out of my window with my 1970 Pumpmaster 760…because after weeks watching the bastards that was the ‘hot time’ I came up with)…just the idea of exploding a clay with a 12-gauge again makes my blood flush…everything was set up perfectly.

We missed the birds…too hot outside…apparently the fleet-footed bastards rolled up and out through our field into the neighboring areas of rurality… after the 7th or 8th lap through the high grass we knew things were SOL. Despite the banging of their heads and the twisting of their beaky fates the bastards escaped without a single ounce of blood shed on Land Area #5…two hours, cigarettes, jokes, and finally a “Fuck this lets go shoot some clays.” Trapper ready…shooter ready…

Praise the gods they had delivered me from a TV screen for once on this Sunday… death to the reads that read so well on Tuesday this week… BALT was an asshole awful pick, like when you grab your buddy on the playground in the top-5 even though he’s hardly a reserve… ARZ, OAK, NE… the Jets are absolute spread murderers this year…but this week I will take them and lose, fucking regressions to the mean. I wanted PIT for second half last night (admittedly was thinking CIN for the full) but I own no computer and all the local I-Chat Cafes were closed Sunday… this pot is bubbling, if you can’t tell.

Thank voodoo and neck-wrung chickens that the Saints resurged, at least for another week… despite my general malcontent for homeless black people I will forever be in debt to Drew and Katrina for setting me up in an epic SuperBowl prop-bet spree… a couple blips on the radar, but as all my fans know, Monday is the night for the big boys. And the Marauders of the Midway are in the spotlight…8-2 last two years betting on a hometown team…talk about fucking regression to the mean…but not tonight, the weights continue to unbalance. The auto-industry collapsed but Detroit is still fucked, and WE owe them a Monday Night cover from last year(even though I made money with a tease Bears-Under). Bears are badder than Lions…check out the Wizard of Oz.

Which brings me to the destination of this meandering… how do you bet on a home-squad you’ve been killing when you know the game should be a total trap? Do you ride ride ride or do you hide hide hide? Lay or play, stay or slay? The bankroll took a hit this weekend and I’m on tilt (it doesn’t take much anymore), so I know maya wants my destruction…but my Monday ATS record has been as good as Lovie’s and I plan on pulling a Bears-Over tease to bring back the sweet sounds of yesteryears gone by…but I hate points and I might take ’em straight…LOSING SUNDAYS MAKE FOR STRESSFUL MONDAYS.

Bygones.

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