On Balls

I love Sparkles. Not in the way that Winston Smith loves Big Brother, but more in the way Will Smith loves his dog in I am Legend. Let's face it; Will Smith loved that dog. But there is another, darker side to this analogy. See, eventually, circumstances may (will) make it necessary for me to hold Sparky down, put my hand over his snout and squeeze the life from his furry little body.

I am of course referring to the ongoing dialogue about fucking Castlevania or whatever it is. It is enough to make me nostalgic over the PK-27, the Idealjetsam In-Rainbows review and/or demand more incest fanfiction.

What made it worse was that some weeks ago he said he would never write about his fantasy basketball team.

Hold A and B to draw a line in the geek sand, man.

When Sparkles decided to ditch our recent fantasy basketball draft to either:

1. Walk his dog
2. Play that video game of his
3. Masturbate furiously to pictures of Aya Kiguchi
4. Each of the above are synonyms

I decided that he needed some comeuppance. What Sparky doesn't know is that come the evening of the draft, I spent a good 10 minutes convincing someone to take Dwyane 'Moms cant spall' Wade with an early pick to deny him the only real pleasure a man of his level of sport's bigamy can ever have: Fantasy points. When it came down to it, the manager wasn't all that fussed whether to take Wade or not. He just thought it would be a good idea to fuck with Sparky.

Our leader then proceeded to draft all the black players from the entire Utah/Houston rosters via autopick.

Obama didn't even campaign in those motherfuckers.

That fact that all of this predated the posts about Transylvania is irrelevant. What is important is that this blog used to mean something. And by that I mean it used to mean nothing at all. And in not meaning nothing, it didn't mean discussions about Castlevania and Nintendos.

Fucking nerds.

Anyhow, have a Kimochi.