It’s official. Yesterday, my friend and bodyguard Ken and I beat our two Usual Suspect Rivals (Jeff – da Chef of da Future and Captain Arthur) at horseshoes, making us the Season Champions yet again. Try as they might, these two dewemplins have never been able to come out on top by the end of the season, which runs from Memorial Day through Labor Day.
This year, the season was marked many fewer matches than before, because da Chef of da Future had somehow injured his shoulder (or so he says). The season also ended a week early, as neither of the Losers will be around next week for yet another beating.
Predictably, they did their usual grousing, replete with claims, such as “Da practice throws shoulda counted!” No surprise there: Jeff had thrown a ringer for one of the two practice throws per player. Boo-hoo. Tooooo bad, sooooo sad.
I suppose they can take some solace in know that there’s always next year, but they’ve been saying that for years now. BWHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!
Afterwards, as the merciless gloating and grousing continued over post-game cocktails, including a few chocolate vodkas to cap off the night, (there were also pre-game and during-game cocktails), Ken said, “You ought to blog this.”
Before I could respond that I hadn’t planned on blogging it, because I didn’t think that anyone outside our immediate circle would be interested in reading it, the two Knuckleheads started right in, “Yeah, go ahead, and we’ll write comments about how fulla shit you are and how WE wuz robbed and WE really are the season champs … blah blah blah.”
I explained that, as Master of my Little Blogiverse, I can disable comments.
“Yeah, go ahead, and we’ll comment in other places. We’ll leave comments all over da place telling the troot about youse fulla shit guys!”
What I didn’t tell Da Losers is that, as Master of my Little Blogiverse, I can EDIT their fulla shit comments in such a way that might surprise them.
Consider yourselves warned, sissy boys.