Anything’s worth a try.
Actually, that’s a misnomer. I don’t play fantasy football. I obsess over fantasy football. I agonize over fantasy football. When I lose at fantasy football I sulk, I scowl, I hide in the man cave. When I win I raise my arms and cackle in triumph and glee like a mad king who has just vanquished his enemy, relishing the blood at his feet.
"Folks look at me and say, 'Boy, you've been blessed.' But y'all don't see the inside of my unhappiness." — Robert Sylvester Kelly
Back to school, back to school… to prove to dad that I’m not a fool.
“WAM. WAM. WAM” This is the noise the Storm’s tail makes against the laminate floor of his kitchen as he wags it in appreciation.
The year is 2009 and I have just graduated high school—the place where I experienced everything but my glory days.
People, as of late, seem very concerned about where I am from originally.
“They actually had the balls to say congratulations.”
I think I’ve retired Stormy. Retired him from the run mere weeks into outdoor running season here.