An Update As Short As The Rockies Are Bad

Yes, I am alive. Yes, the Rockies still suck great big hairy donkey balls. No, they have not done anything that I particularly wish to immortalize on the Internets, as relieving them in my scarred psyche is quite traumatic enough, thank you very much. Yes, in the very unlikely event that they sort asshats from teakettles and begin to resemble a MLB team again, I shall return to writing about them. In the meantime, all I do is piss, moan, complain, suffer, agonize, watch their games anyway and get angrier, bitch some more, question the meaning of life, and spit on small children, sunshine, old ladies, rainbows, and puppies. Which actually makes me a little like Philip Rivers, only without the Southern drawl and overwhelming aura of eau de douchebag. *

* Disclaimer: This is not true. I have not actually spat on anything and I have been doing quite well at life, mainly by pretending the purple-and-black poltroons do not exist. This is called repression and is the only way I can cope. Freud was onto something after all. I had coffee, worked some more on my latest book, and bought sweet new headphones today. That was good. I am done with sophomore year on Friday and go home on Monday. This is even better. Game against the Diamondbacks? What game against the Diamondbacks? Our sixth loss in seven games against the Diamondbacks? I'm sorry, this does not compute. Try another blog.