Brothers, Sisters, and Friends of the Revolution
This late note can be blamed entirely on me being busy driving the skiploader full of crap at work. Seriously, does it matter whether the new IMS FAQ includes references to the cert environment settings for tax lot selection? When I was little, I did not dream of a joy like the Monster.com ad this has become.
Plus, today is the Fightin' Beav's birthday, and I had to wait for a full pool shoutout about nice she looks for her age.
This pool thing, I tell you... Another week is in the archives; and that means 8.5% of my (our) opportunities for winning are now swirling seaward down the American Standard.
Two weeks down, fifteen to go -- time to ramp up the research on your favorite handicapper sites, decide which expert from cbssports.com you will copy, consider if the Bill Simmons picks are worth considering, or (and this is where most roads lead) configure your autopick selection to "Random" and recognize that you simply cannot predict if those goatfuckers will ice the kicker with a time-out to force a rekick that flies farther right than Glenn Beck on the starboard yardarm of the USS Missed It By A Mile. Stupid +2.5 line...
Plus, can you really outthink Vegas? There's a whole lot of little machines there that go "Boo-DOO-loo-da-loo, Boo-DOO-loo-da-loo... Tink-Tink-Tink-Tink-Tink", and the winners aren't the ones paying the power bill. They know stuff in Vegas, like, how to set the line at +2.5. And how to predict total meltdown by the Pats, and how the Panthers quarterback will totally go shit-in-his-hat stupid before being replaced by some kid that looks like a Himalayan cat.
Seriously -- Clausen and a Himalayan Blue Point? Look it up: smooshy-faced wussies with infuriating looks of indignant disdain. Mark my words: Panthers go 5-11, PSLs come free with any new house purchase in the Metrolina area, and Clausen shatters his feeding dish because he couldn't discern real bits of tuna in it.
This week's ill-gotten stack of Hip-Hop Honey Bait -- a term I prefer to "booty", but still not as much as I like "victory biscuits" -- goes to Mr. Bubbles. I was able to delight him with the news around Wednesday or so, because he cared neither enough to make picks nor to check to see the results. This does not make me feel good about my two hours poring the interwebs for team news, but at least I knew that I had a well-defined reason for being wrong instead of "Ehh, home teams do good."
It wouldn't be a message from El Commissionero without some mention of the sacrifices yet to be laid on SkyNet's altar. I observed earlier this week to a player, however, my sense of urgency at chasing SkyNet participants is slightly below that of my concern about whether Justin Bieber will be a safe driver because of the risk that his hair might fall in his eyes. Breaks down like this: many are the tales of checks wending their way through postal routes, and that's all good in the various 'hoods from whence they were mailed. The officefootballpool site, however, wants their Per Player pound of flesh by the first of October, so if units are not in hand by then, you are killed off. That's the long and Kevorkian short of it.
So, to sum up -- skiploader, clock's ticking, Tink-Tink, good job Autopicks, pay or die, and I got to run.
Your El Commissionero Magnifico
