Crap. Crap, Crap, Crap.

Countrywide has blocked WhatifSports, and I am pissed. Where will it all end?! How did they find my only source of joy? Arrgh.

This is the Jump.

An Open Letter to Douchebags

Second in an occasional series

Dear Smarmy Smarmerson:

I could not help but notice your artfully and precisely rolled cuffs - yes, it is warm in Chicago these days. Also, someone had better call Ravi Vindaloo to tame those pythons you've unleashed! Ass. Additionally, you must tell me how you managed to have both sassily mussed hair and yet have the petroleum output of Venezuela on your head. That's remarkable.

I also want to commend you on the way that you're chatting up attractive women on the El. It doesn't make you look like a scuzzball at all! I'm being sarcastic! I think she's really interested in the fact that you work at Washington and Dearborn and that you're a Financial Wanker! I'm being sarcastic again!

In conclusion, fall in a hole and die.

With vitriol,

C-Dog

This is the Jump.

An Ode to Public Transportation

I wrote a song this morning in a bit of a responsorial psalm sort of style. It goes like this:

O, Irving Park Express/
Please feel free to dine/
On my testicles...

I don't have any verses yet, but they probably would involve having three buses arrive at once, and then none for the next 35 minutes. And then there'd be a verse like:

When your foot engages the brake pedal/Please refrain from slamming it through the floor/It makes your smellier passengers lurch forward and crush me...

Or:

On your way to school, jerkwad teenager/You do not have to stand near your dumb friends/Please move to the back so more people can get on and we can get going...

P.S. April what? I need to write more.

This is the Jump.