Alright. So I was at work today, in the General Manager's private bathroom masturbating over his private toilet seat (because I couldn't find his coffee mug) to the image of me in a menage with Larry King and Wolfe Blitzer's mustache.
I was attempting to decorate the GM's private toilet seat with my spunk like delicious icing around the perimeter of a birthday cake when disaster struck. A particularly clear image of Wolfe Blitzer's mustache framing my asshole entered my mind. I exploded. I sprayed everywhere. I must have tapped into my body's emergency reserve of jizzwad as a seemingly endless stream of the aforementioned jizzwad pulsed through my penis hole. I braced myself and held on to my manhood much like a fireman would hold on to his hose.
As my emergency reserve of jizzwad dwindled, I took a look around and surveyed the surroundings. Before my eyes I could not believe what I saw. On the wall above the toilet, my random hot lobs of ejaculate had created a perfect outline of Andreas Nocioni, a forward for the Chicago Bulls. Was this a sign? Should I take the bulls today +4? Have benevolent gambling deities left me a message through my ejaculate? Probably. But I said "fuck it" with that game and took the St. Louis Blues over Columbus in the hockey game.
By the way, yesterday I went 4 -2 in my pursuit of becoming the world's worse blogger/gambler. My early success will make my inevitable demise all the more heart-wrenching and soul-sucking.
I listened to Beck's old shit all day at work today. It was fucking good.
I like Miracle Whip.