Have you ever eaten 10 waffles (in a row)? I just have and let me tell you that Ambien may have a new competitor when it comes to sleep aids, not to be confused with sleep AIDS which you can catch in your sleep. There’s only one cure for getting completely fucking sideways on a Saturday night, too, so the 10 waffle method has that going for it as well. Can’t wait to see what 3 hambrrgrrs does for 10 waffles and my sex life. Let me assure you that once Monday comes I will be back to my weekly regimen of Flinstone gummy vitamins, broccoli florets and bulgur wheat milkshakes (they leave the thickest, tastiest mustaches). Where am I going with all of this you might be asking yourself, or your pet parrot? Both excess and whatever the opposite of excess is will serve you well in life (any attempts at moderation will only leave you with track marks up and down your arms and people constantly letting you know there is a tiny bit of, what looks like baby batter in the corner of your mouth from the insane amount of pole smoking you’ve been doing in order to facilitate those back alley heroin overdoes you’ve come to crave so much), BUT excess and whatever the opposite of excess is, is not good for your Swiss forehands in Indian Wells. That last sentence just felt like some sort of crazed Coltrane free jazz solo I must say.
So Federror (surely not the first to hit upon this “witty” play on words) sheepishly emerged from the shadows to have another awkward interview with Pam Shriver (I find her name funny enough) and admitted that he had no idea he’d be playing for the number 2 spot if he faced Screech in the Semi’s. It was cute but you could smell that little Swiss lie like a fart in an elevator and it showed on the court as he hit the ball long and into the net more times than I care to look up on the Indian Wells stat chart. Translation: dude was nervous.
Diamonds and Pearls
In my humble opinion (or I.M.H.O. for you all you dorks out there) Federererer is pushing to hard ’cause he knows his dominance is and has been over for a couple years. It must also be nerve racking to lose 4 times in a row to the douchiest tennis player of all time (I’m sure if Screech wasn’t a tennis player he’d be a Serbian rapper, dropping knowledge about harsh Balkan winters and the day he lost his Yak). I’m sure all three Screeches have gotten into Fed’s head at one time or another, what with Samuel Powers loud shirts and Dustin Diamonds infamous tub video. Sometimes the hardest part isn’t losing, but who you’re losing too.
Take for instance the women’s final which is sadly taking place right now. If Wozniacki (currently up 6-1 and probably kicking herself for allowing Bah-toe-lee to win a single game) loses to Bah-toe-lee, it won’t be so much that she lost, it would be the fact that she should have won in less time that it takes for me to burn my hot dog casserole dinner. I actually like Bah-toe-lee and her Danny Devito circa Penguin era likeness, but I have no idea how she got her foot in the quarters, let alone her giant ass in the finals. She just held then broke and the crowd went bananas, so maybe she will pull it out, but it would take nothing less than a Tonya Harding moment*.
For now I think I’ll retire to my bed (three bean bags lined up in a row) and await lunch time and the epic beatdown Rafa hopefully hands to Samuel “Diamond Dust” Powers.
*up 3-1 in the second I may be forced to eat my words but I will fall back on the fact that the state of the women’s game is more erratic than a trapped tit mouse in a tomato can.
