#   09 Oct 2021 // ZHKJ  

marvelously riveting (and hawt) sportsball action report in which fires were set but passes were given as sportsball-loss anxiety is as real as the DSM …
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So then that one started running around all over the place trying to keep from getting their ball robbed and, hoping to gain some sweet yardage, cocked back the old throwing arm to fire off a big one, but before that could happen these other ones kinda mobbed its legs and they ended in a heap, and not only was no sweet yardage gained but some was even lost, which I don't gotta tell ya is not sweet. But never say die before the final whistle tolls and so again the arm was cocked and this time it fired off a real doozie and sweet yardage was certain of gainage except that this damned show-offy type from the other team loped up and really more like threw theirselves right in the way of the one from the ball club I like and, and who I really wanted like the Dickens to catch that ball (and almost did catch the ball,) but instead nobody caught the ball so everyone put their hands on their hips and looked at the ground and flexed their knees and stuff.

But no one threw punches or anything even though it was all irritating as runny nasal passages and get-out combined. And even those of us looking on — yes, even we — felt frustrated, so frustrated that we escalated up to agitated but, taking an example from the ones running and throwing and leaping down there on the grassy gridiron, we didn't throw any punches either but waited until later when half of us were happy with the final outcome and half of us were angry with it.

And that's not so bad but the angry half felt like the happy half were not just happy but kinda being happy at us; you know, like maybe not just enjoying their happy but kinda salting it with our upset. Then we all, happy or not, started to mix it up a little bit and burned that #$%@-@#$%-ing place to the ground. [☝ Though to be clear we had no intent to set stuff on fire before the game so it wasn't like a criminal activity or anything. Besides we flipped over vehicles and smashed storefronts and beat people to a pulp but didn't set any of those on fire either.] It was quite a game for quite a day, I can tell you that. Let me tell it this way: the whole spectacle was riveting, and I bet there was more riveting that day than what goes on at an airplane factory.

And there was these eggheads who said maybe there oughta be a like tribunal and stuff to kinda portion out the yardage and stuff so that there wouldn't be adversaries and then possibly without adversaries there wouldn't be no conflict — and they could even wear the same outfits and stuff, too. But everyone said, "You egg-headed dummy, the outfits and the running around and the hollerin' and the "conflict" as you call it, is the bean-harvesting point of it all.

For me and mine? I get sick of eggheads. That isn't anything to write the planet about, I guess, as every body gets sick of eggheads. Except for when egg-shaped heads beaver up global nekkid movie satellite super highways and pocket peener-snapshot gadgets and logistical ballets to get a double mcBurgerChz and stuff dropped right on your welcome mat at the drop of a hat.

Next coupla days at work I was snappish and clumping my feet more than strictly necessary for strolling … glaring around like Grendel because I was in a foul mood that the group I'd backed with vigorous exhalations (and that despite the vigorous exhortations of Dr. Fouchie!) had dropped the ball and dropped it good, too.

Oh, poopies, did They get up your nose about your bad attitude and creating stresses in the place of work and possibly even mini-not-even-micro-agressing upon your coworkers?

Heck, no! They all knew my favorite sportsball team that I have coffee mugs and hats and musical light-up ties for hadn't emerged from the contest as the prevailers so they just kinda gave me some spacetime and said one to the other: "You know they're (meaning me) a big fan of those sportsballers that lost the other day, so give it some time for a few days so they can heal at least behaviorally, though probably not emotionally, until their sportsball unit claims the Big Win again."

Well, that's good; understanding about these things is important to conduct a rational civil society.

Damned tootin'. Not like that crazy-like-a-nut freakshow with the poor attitude at work who had that Smacklers Family Value dope up its nose from the doctor (who after all had people askin' for it) and his contractual sex partner having adult nekkidation encounters — well and far outside the contract on geniusPhone internet video — and the crap-azz car on the lame and a freaking snake magicked itself into the dishwasher machine and damn near killed the whole fam with threats of fright. Stuff happens. And when it does, you've got to put on your adult diapers and move forward with stiff lips and get your nose on the stone and not let it affect others on your worksite!

agreed, Agreed, AGREED. Why if you allowed sad attitudes for that kind of stuff, there'd be no end to the impact to the productivity in the zoomer calls! But The Games have a schedule so you can, less and more, plan for these unfortunate-but-completely-understandable emotional aberrations, which are, after all, no more than what humans do when their favorite franchise loses a game of sportsball!

… Kinda like when people with bodies with vaginas sync up their moonblood rather than scatter it out all over G_d's own creation of time and make productive efficiency a bowel of mashed potatoes, though obviously through no intent or fault of their own doing. 🌛🩸

Well, I don't know I'd put it exactly thuswise, but, yeah, I suppose . . . but we were talking about big hairy ball games, not the bloody moon, so can you stay closer to the topic, please?

Fine by me; I always lurve to be close to sportsball when speaking or any other way! But speaking of those Smacklers, they did have to pay off a tiny bit of what they stole off a truly epic dope scam, which giving away your gains is never pleasant so I'm sure nobody else will pull something like that again.

Good and true point. But on the other hand, what was that Smackler Clan supposed to do? Everybody knows those Smacklers play ball hardly and for to keep.

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