Brothel,Football & Dishes

So we all need conversations,I've discovered. Living in this duplex (brothel) full of beautiful women,who are endlessly creative and stimulating to my thought process is wonderful.The knock? They don't know shit about sports. I sit in this empty man cave combing over statistics,trade rumors and salary figures. In many ways I've replaced my drug addiction with a want,no,NEED to be the commissioner of this fable sports league,known only as the "Conglomerate." Its becoming a problem more and more every hour;next to me sits a three team NBA trade I came up with (salary figures,destinations etc.) I'd post it to the blog,but I fear the "Yahoo!" sports team will make me one of its anonymous sources,and vaguely get into why this "makes sense." This conception has began mixing players from various sports. Robinho is now goalie for the Los Angeles Kings; even Willie Aybar will be participating in the slam dunk contest next year. I'am beginning to feel like Fat Lever,one of the best NBA players ever,just overlooked because his career was spent in Denver.

I'am warn out on coming up with trade for my NFL fantasy team(s),especially because one looks worst than a reconstructed penis. I'd give you the list,which looks great on paper,just in reality its trash. I wish I had the nerve to draft Arian Foster over Jonathan Stewart,but I just love the Oregon Ducks...and I hate the Volunteers. Its funny how we let our college biases translate to the pros. I still consider Joey Harrington one of the greatest lottery picks of all time,especially over Peyton Manning,ah but how illogical is that? No Vulcan would ever allow that sentence to be thought,let alone written,so I digress. I have this weird anticipation each day. I wash dishes for a living at the moment,and while it isn't glamourous it keeps my sports weenie at an all time high. My friend,Z-money(baby) and I talk hours and hours of rumors and RIBI's.If it wasn't for this man I would have quit and more then likely moved onto a corner in front of Coors Field,where I would beg for jerseys and scalped tickets. Not that the women of the brothel don't treat me like an absolute prince,they do,but I'am simply not a fan of knitting and discussing the functions of a woman's day to day life. Im not an asshole,I just have a weak stomach for certain things.

I must admit,that I have become more and more of a hermit since the men vacated these premises. I have jolly friends come over,but it consists mainly of long sessions of Star Trek,Admiral Nelson and the latest strand from the dispensary. The days of 7 episodes of Sports-center have come to an end,simply by not allowing any sort of television. The TV hums ever so often with some Meg Ryan semi-bio flick,or the rich aroma of cinnamon in the air. The two male wiener dogs fuck for hours as I lay down stairs cursing the ceiling about the Mavericks supposed interest in Brian Cardinal,always wishing it was 4 p.m.,so it will be time to clean the dishes again. Oh how life jumps on to this never ending,always changing cycle of players,jobs and bitches(you know in the good sense? like the way rappers say it) Often time I feel as though I have been removed from my normal life and put into a parallel one,which probably explains why Joakim Noah has yet to hit a home run. Though the normal days are ending,and football season has begun,so I can complain about things that truly hold no bearing on my every day life..A nice escape,in the brothel awaits.