Good morning gentlefolk, unfortunately, I'm back. I say unfortunately not because I am unhappy to write this. Truth be told, I missed you all. I find I have developed a diva-like mentality, I need an audience to perform too. So please do not misinteprete my use of such a negative term. I use the word 'unfortunately' for the obvious reason. GIM.
As it always does, the beginning of the week cometh. And so do I. I'm back people, to continue our little support group, or support blog, there's no need to nit-pick with words here. No matter what term I choose to use, it is the same message I'm trying to convey. GIM.
I think the fates may be trying to punish me for this blog. Or maybe they're just having a laugh, cos I swear down I didn't have a weekend. This isn't my usual conspiracy theory of the weekend blowing by and missing it if you blink. This is even worse.
Gentlefolk, I can honestly say I went to sleep on friday night and woke up this morning. I'm not joking or being paranoid here. I have absolutely no recollection of any events of this weekend. Yes, maybe there are slight flashes of scenes and conversations, but I swear down, these may just as well have been dreams. I think I was drugged on friday night. Some bastard added a little something extra into my celebratory drink. Or maybe it was some crazy broad. If this was the case, whoever you are, the least you could have done was to date rape me. What's the use of spending money on a roofie, and not committing a sexual offense?! This idea of course only applies if I was slipped said roofie by a female. If a dude slipped it to me, then I thank you sir for not violating my tenderness.
People, this weekend is a blur. I don't know when it happened, how it happened, to whom it happened to, and what I was smoking while it happened. All I know is, its gone and I'm unhappy.
All that euphoria, the indescribeable joy I felt on friday has dissolved and has been replaced with unparalled grief and apprehension. If I must cut the bullshit, then my inner Superman has been exposed to Kryptonite. Someone sprayed my Spiderman with Raid. My inner Batman finally nailed Catwoman, and the bitch has AIDS. But the worst of all these is that my dick has shrunk. I am unhappy. I don't want to go to work today, my boss might be there. I don't want to go to the hotel today, the CEO's girl might be there...and I'm pretty sure that regardless whether she'd be in a good mood or not, she will not do me.
How are you all? I fear I am a bit of a hypocrite. Despite my colourful suggestions, I did not indulge in any of them this weekend, due to my being totally unconscious thoroughout (I'm sticking to the roofie story). I vaguely recall dreaming of a couple of drinks, but really, that isn't very impressive, considering the instructions I dolled out on friday. And if you're wondering why I don't just get to the point, then fine, ill admit it... I didn't get laid. Again. Which is honestly beginning to be a concern to me. Didn't even watch any porn, though in retrospect, I guess it would have been a bad idea. Making sweet tender love to myself isn't something I want on my conscience. How would I look in the mirror after that?!
The World Cup was a nice consolation however, and our eagles did not disappoint. They lived up to every expectation I had for them and now we can only hope that the players, the coaching staff and the Nigerian Football Association all contract some form of rare sexually transmitted infection. After being butt-fucked by the South Americans. But give respect where respect is due, at least they went over with protection. Enyeama is a great condom isn't he? Made sure the anal rape wasn't too brutal, kept the unwanted pregnancy at bay.
Ladies, especially those averse to football, please briefly switch to another webpage now, preferrably where shoes are the topic of discussion, I'm about to talk football. Gentlemen, if you all remember when Amodu was coach, it was always a matter of great concern and amusement to all the look of total confusion on the head coach's face whenever the team was being outplayed on the pitch...which you will all agree with me was more often than not. Pundits, commentators, analyst and mostly pure fans continually questioned the man's competence and lack of inspiration when the eagles were at play, saying Amodu was simply stupid and was a shit coach. Such was the intensity of clulessness displayed on his face.
But I want you all to take a look at Mr Lagerback's face this weekend. The similarities are uncanny. The same exact look of hopelessness and idiocracy is displayed on his face as well. Gentlemen, I know the NFA isn't renowned for its wisdom and knowledge. Chances are, they're are a right bunch of unmitigated morons themselves. But I doubt they have the abilty or luck to choose two idiot coaches in a row. I have come to the conclusion that though the coaches have quite a lot to do with the delivery or lack there-of of results, clearly its the players that are to blame. The stupid looks displayed by our current and former head coaches are not looks of idiocracy, they are looks of confusion, as if to say "Hang on! This isn't what we agreed on! What the fuck are you morons doing? Dammit, do what we practised!" Gentlemen, the coaches look dumb because the players suck. Its that simple. You can take a horse to water, but you can't make it drink. Therefore you shoot the nag before it starts giving too many problems.With this in mind, pleqse join me in doing two things. Firstly, kindly invite the womenfolk back, or we'll all surely be spending cash on engine oil. Secondly help me in soliciting that our country adopt an approach to our super eagles similar to the one adopted by the Americans towards their Bald eagle. To the less sharp of wit, the American Bald Eagle is extinct. 'Nuff said.
With this gentlefolk, I must close for the morning. I'm rather enjoying my sulk, and don't want to ruin it. Welcome back though, I did miss this and you all.
I am Womilee... GIM.