John has a long moustache…

Last Sunday was a good day. I’m digging my way through the Sunday paper when I reach the TV guide section and casually look at what’s on the rest of the day.

My eyes roll down to AMC. 11:30 – The Longest Day. 3:30 – Tora, Tora, Tora. 7:00 – Patton.

Quickly, three things ran through my mind. 1) Holy Crap, I’m going to need some more pretzels. 2) What is the most efficient and foolproof way to keep the girls in basement for 10.5 hours. 3) How do I trick Mom into letting my watch all three movies?

Not only did she let me watch the movies, she let me drone on about obscure facts of D-Day, technical mistakes in the depiction of the first wave of the Japanese attack and George Patton’s role under General Pershing in WW1.

“You know had Ike decided not to go on the 6th and waited the two weeks until the tides were right again, he would have landed during a massive storm that actually wrecked the Allies artificial harbors. It would have been a disaster.”


“Yeah. furthermore, they screwed up the attack on Pearl Harbor in Tora, Tora, Tora. The torpedo planes attacked first not the fighters and dive bombers.”

“Didn’t know that.”

“Did you know that Patton knew the French countryside pretty well before Gen. Bradley put him in charge of the 3rd Army because he served under General Pershing in France in World War I?”


Yeah, so even though she didn’t care, I had a great time. I picked up a couple things too.

the-longest-dayYou really can’t underestimate the value of good planning. Look at Operation Overlord. Ike had to land 160,000 troops on the first day, overcome nationalistic rivalries and rely on the word of a British weatherman using 1940’s technology. We have Operation Whinerlord every morning. Getting the girls to get dressed, brush their teeth and eat breakfast is about as easy as putting a floatation device on a 30 ton M4 Sherman medium tank and driving it through heavy surf onto Omaha Beach. I actually think the swimming tanks had a better success rate than we do. Just this morning Kinsey had two rolling meltdowns. First she was the last one downstairs so Rye and Bailey had already eaten the last two “good” poptarts. Evidently there are bad poptarts. Really. Not kidding. The cinnamon roll poptarts apparently don’t measure up to the brown sugar poptarts. I came downstairs, assessed the situation, then grabbed the poptarts and broke them all into little pieces and mixed them together.

No more whining.

Then she didn’t want to wear her sneakers because “her socks were too thick and they felt weird.” Momentum takes over at a certain point in our morning routine. Not unlike the Normandy landings. So Kinsey had no chance to fall back and reassess. We slapped her with her backpack and dance bag and stuck her in the car.

What we really need is a code phrase like the French Resistance received as they prepared for the airborne operations. Like “John has a long moustache.” Mom and I could communicate through code to keep the girls guessing. Then we could pop out of the hedgerows with various directives. Surprise, unpredictability and confusion can be good parenting strategies.

Which leads me to why Patton is a good movie for Dads. Probably moreso for Dads who are preparing to have daughters in junior high. I’ve been warned – repeatedly – about my impending irrelevance by many dudes with junior high daughters. So I’m thinking of using the Patton model for my behavior.

pattonOld George is a great example. He intensely believed he was always right. He detested doubt and ambiguity. And he tended to fly off the handle and scare the crap out of his staff. All of which will serve me well as I intimidate the first boyfriend who has the misfortune of finding his way into my house. If you are 13 year-old boy and you have to meet the Dad, the last things you want to deal with are a freakishly intense loose canon who expects detailed and well-thought out answers to all his questions.

Bottom line? Boyfriend won’t look me in the eye? Slap him around, call him yellow and threaten to send him to the front like George did to that whiny private back on Sicily in ’43.

pearl-harbor1I struggled a bit with Tora, Tora, Tora. I mean what is there for a Dad to really take for this movie? Well, here’s the lesson. If your daughter calls and says she thinks there is about to be a problem with something and she sounds really insistent, don’t ask for confirmation of the problem before acting. You don’t want to end up like Richard Anderson. Who is Richard Anderson? He’s the guy who played Captain Earle the officer who upon receiving word the that the USS Ward had fired upon and destroyed a midget sub just outside the entrance to Pearl insisted on “confirmation.” The plumes of black smoke a few hours later probably helped him “confirm” the report. But at least Anderson got to go on and play Oscar Goldman in the The Six Million Dollar Man. Which is pretty cool. Remember the two-part episode when Steve Austin went into the wilds of northern California only to run into Bigfoot? Classic 70’s TV right there.

Before I finish here’s quick note on another movie set during Pearl Harbor – From Here to Eternity. It was on AMC last week too. Have you ever really watched this movie? Every single dude in this flick is a guy you don’t want your daughter hanging around. Pvt. Maggio? Smooth talking slime destined to be a punk his whole life. Sgt. Warden? Stand up guy with a skewed moral compass who is destined to break her heart. Pvt. Prewitt? I don’t get how this guy was the hero of the movie. He was a loser who was incredibly talented at making bad decisions. Everytime I see this guy, I like him less. I mean, if you really think about it, the only movie with a greater collection of bad decision makers was Boogie Nights.

So there you have it. If you stay sharp, you can pick up some pretty damn interesting things…

Published in: on February 26, 2009 at 9:05 pm  Leave a Comment  

To Hell and Back

So right now is about as normal as I have felt since this time last Saturday. Well, that’s not entirely true. Last Saturday at this time I was sitting at gymnastics pondering the many smells of the building. The place always smells like a foot. Except last summer when it flooded and they opened up the big side garage doors. Then it smelled good. Now it doesn’t quite have the same foot pungency as it does in the summer. There’s something else…yes, that’s it – Saturday morning grown-ups who have yet to shower. Yes, there it is.

Anyway, I feel somewhat normal now after a week of dealing with what seemed like three midgets trapped in my stomach yelling into megaphones with nothing to eat except sugar packets.

Seriously, it looked like I was pregnant my stomach was so bloated with various forms of internal gases. Yeah, if you think it sounds nasty reading it, imagine being trapped in the blast radius.

It started Sunday night, my stomach felt a bit odd. Like Judd Gregg at his first meeting with the rest of cabinet. I’m up every 90 minutes or so through the night until its time to get up. No dice. Headache, stomach ache, all my joints ache, fever, sweating. Kinda like you felt when you realized the stimulus bill was going to pass.

Except Riley doesn’t feel good either. So we figure if I’m staying home, she might as well too. I get her into see the doctor about 9:30 on fears that she’s coming down with strep throat. Riley has a habit of getting strep about this time every year. Except this time, she’s good. Just a sore throat. But the doctor looks at me, hands me a toe tag and tells me to report to the morgue.

We get home, plop Rye in front of the Disney Channel and I sleep with occasional sprints to the bathroom until Mom and the other girls get home. I feel better Tuesday morning so I go to work. It’s unpleasant but I make it. I wake up Wednesday morning and the fever, chills and sweats are gone. Headache is pretty much gone too. But the invader seems to have settled in my stomach and small intestine. Yes this is going to be unpleasant. You may want to stop reading now.

Anyway, Mom takes everybody to school because, well, I’m going to need some time.

I get to work about 10 and I have a tense cease-fire arranged with the parasite. But I make one of the two classic blunders. The first of which is getting involved in a land war in Asia. The second of which is me thinking that, hey maybe I’m getting better. Nope. I eat some lunch and that’s when it starts. Almost instantaneously. The sandwich hits my stomach and my stomach reacts as if it’s never had to deal with food before. It was like a Cubs fan at the World Series.

So the rest of Wednesday and Thursday go like this. I’m up and back from the bathroom so many times I’m wearing a trail on the tile. And where I work there’s no sneaking to the bathroom. You have to walk through the cafeteria to get there. So if somebody is down there for awhile, they see every time you pass by. After 6 or 7 trips, people start asking questions.

“Geez, man, you okay?”

“Me, oh yeah, I’m just testing this new pedometer. Thanks though.”

Finally Thursday afternoon, I’ve had it and I run to the store for the double strength Pepto. All it does is lengthen the time between trips. Which is nice but doesn’t solve anything. It’s like catching all the Yankees cheating by taking steroids. You finally caught the bastards but it doesn’t matter because they are still going to be good.

I get home and Mom says I should try the white diet. I have no idea what that is but I’m cool with because I’m pretty sure I have radiation poisoning. Either that or the earth’s gravitational pull has increased to the point that it is negatively affecting my digestive tract. Do you know what this white diet is? I didn’t.

You eat stuff like bread, toast, crackers, rice because it’s mild and soothes your irritable insides. Mom says French fries might work. I called BS on that but she said one of the Moms at dance insisted it worked with kids. Hmmm….

So as I’m getting a plain bagel for lunch on Friday, I see a couple small baskets of fries. I grab one. Amazingly, it freaking worked. Yeah, who knew? French Freaking Fries. Soon they will be stocked next to the Pepto.

So I call Mom and tell her that wherever we go eat Friday night, I’m getting a bucket of fries with a side of tater tots. And a jumbo baked potato.

So far so good. I’m all fries all the time right now.

Published in: on February 21, 2009 at 12:51 pm  Comments (1)  

Electric Sparkin’ Power

On our way home from dinner this evening we stop at the grocery store because we need to make sure our Saturday morning goes smoothly. Normally the girls wake up and head downstairs before we’re out of bed. It’s really pretty awesome and easily one of the top 5 things that I look forward to during my week. Also in my top 5 is my 20 oz. bottle of Diet Pepsi in the morning. Hence our stop at the grocery store. The last thing I want to do drag my creaky Saturday morning bones into the car and down to the gas station just to get a pop.

Anyway, to ensure the awesomeness of our Saturday morning, Mom also goes in a grabs a box of poptarts so the girls can not only watch cartoons on a completely different floor than us but they can also feed themselves breakfast. Mom also needs to grab some other things.

So while we’re waiting we pull up near the entrance because I’m guessing this is only going to take a few mintues. I’m usually wrong on any of time estimates when it comes to Mom and the grocery store. But my mistake did allow the girls and I time to freaking lay down some sweet air guitar riffs.

“Hey Dad can you put on some rocking songs while Mommy is in the store?”

“Can I put on…what kind of question is that? How long have I been the Dad? Have I taught you nothing?!”

Quickly I slide Dad Rock III into the CD player.

First song: Panama – Van Halen. I’m on vocals, Riley is on guitar, Kinsey is on keyboards and Bailey is on drums. Sometimes I was on drums too. And guitar.

Next is Dirty Love – Thunder. Underappreciated hair metal from the spring of ’91.

Third is Getting Better – Tesla. Now this song just freaking rocks. But, if you recall your Tesla, it starts nice and easy before just blasting into a big ol’ heavy guitar riff. Much to my satisfaction, the girls also liked it. They were head banging so hard they created their own field of static electricity in the backseat. Their hair was electrified. I was so proud.

Finally we get to Bon Jovi’s Bad Medicine. Rye helps me out with some background vocals. We’re almost to the end of the song when Mom walks out of the store just behind another store patron. In the middle of my impressive air drumming I look out and see Mom sorta smiling that half “who the hell did I marry” smile and half “man that’s some funny stuff right there” smile.

The woman in front of her evidently caught part of the show too. “Wow, they are really jamming in there.”

Mom gets in just as we finish our set with Living After Midnight – Judas Priest. That’s a pretty good Friday evening if you ask me.

Published in: on February 13, 2009 at 11:57 pm  Leave a Comment  

Tough Thursdays

I hate Thursdays. It not really Thursday’s fault, but I hate it anyway. It wasn’t always this way however. I used to really like Thursdays. I mean it was hard to find a way to dislike it when you had Magnum and Simon & Simon on back to back. Not to mention when Rick and AJ actually went to Hawaii and you were blessed with the rare crossover show. Anyhow, in the fall you even have a college football game on every Thursday night. The NCAA Tourney has always started on a Thursday. In college, Thursday was damn near part of the weekend.

But now I have to take Riley and Kinsey to dance class on Thursday. Unless I’m having a really wickedly awesome day, I don’t look forward to this. Mainly because we don’t get home until 7:00. Then we have to smash dinner, showers, homework between 7 and 8:30. That’s a lot. Plus today the girls had to get their Valentines ready for their Valentine’s Day parties tomorrow. Talking to one of the Moms at dance class I discovered that made the girls’ school somewhat unique. Her daughters aren’t having Valentine’s Day parties at their school – they are having Friendship Parties.

What! Insert your own incredulous exclamation here. Feel free to use a cuss word. Or you could just toss out a interjection. In case you forgot – “Interjections (Hey!) show excitement (Yow!) or emotion (Ouch!). They’re generally set apart from a sentence by an exclamation point, Or by a comma when the feeling’s not as strong.”

Anyway, I forgot to bring my book too. After I brought it down to the kitchen and thoughtfully placed it right next to me while I ate breakfast. I didn’t realize it wasn’t in the car until we’re ready to park the car at dance. And I’m into the third book in Newt Gingrich’s trilogy about the Civil War. Grant is moving south through Maryland in an attempt to outflank Lee. And nobody outflanks Lee.

“Okay here’s the deal girls, I forgot my book.”

“Guess you’ll have to watch us this time Dad.”

You gotta love Riley. She goes right for the kill shot. But I managed to duck and recover.

“Um…yeah, listen, there’s no way I’m watching you guys for three hours. That’s a long time. So I’m going to go back home and grab my book.”

“Okay, I’ll watch Kinsey.”

“Really? Cool. It’ll only take me about 25 or 30 minutes to be back.”

In an occurrence rarer than a white guy named “Harold” going five for five from field against Patrick Ewing’s Hoyas in the NCAA title game, we were the first people at dance class. I dropped the girls and blazed home. There and back in 32 minutes. You shave a full half hour off the time at dance class and its not so bad. It felt like a half day at school when you were a kid. Everything just seemed to move faster.

Anyway, you throw dance, forgetting my book, the fact that schools won’t even let kids have Valentine’s Day parties on top of the way the day started and I’m just beat down. Our day started with our normal Thursday morning. The girls always move slow and do too much talking and not enough eating at breakfast. They always take too long to make sure they have everything they need in their backpacks. And then you have their shoes. They’re girls so deciding which shoes to wear requires planning, committees, and conference calls. You’d think they were trying to decide which wire to cut while defusing a bomb.

Regardless, on Thursdays they also need to have their dance bags ready to go. They didn’t. And this Thursday they wanted to bring in their Valentines. They weren’t ready. Then Mom comes down the stairs and starts peppering the girls and I with questions and statements about the lack of readiness.

Yeah, I didn’t react well. Especially when Rye was upstairs whining about only having one ballet shoe.

I’m trying to eat breakfast and Mom is yelling up the stairs, “Well I guess you’ll only have one dance shoe.”

Normally this is a perfectly acceptable conversation. Except I know how this is all going to end if she actually forces Rye to go to dance with only one ballet shoe. It’s going to end worse than Pickett’s charge at the Union center on Cemetery Ridge – worse than Jordan’s comeback with the Wizards – worse than Brian Bosworth’s acting career.

I get annoyed, mutter some less than helpful comments to Mom as I go up the stairs, find the stinking shoe, and practically toss Rye out the door at Mom’s car.

The fact that I dropped some verbal Claymores on Mom is bothering me as I’m driving to work. Plus it’s almost Valentine’s Day. Dammit. Then “I Can’t Fight this Feeling” comes on the radio. Double Dammit.

Seriously. REO Speedwagon.

I was compelled by the power of Kevin Cronin’s vocals and Gary Richrath’s guitar to call Mom.

“Hey sorry I yelled at you this morning. I had no choice but to call because “I Can’t Fight this Feeling” just came on.”

I think she’s still laughing…

Published in: on February 13, 2009 at 12:28 am  Comments (1)  

The Kid Rock Paradigm

Lots of things perplex me. How to make a pierogi or a really good poppyseed roll like my Mom. The argument that anyone could have coached the 70’s Steelers to four Super Bowl titles (two words folks: Norv Turner) What the noun form of perplex would be if there was one. Perplexion? Perplexiosity? Perplexification?

Anyway, award shows are another thing that just confound me. As far as I can tell, this is what happens: a whole gaggle of self-important rich folks, many without any discernable talent, get together to congratulate each other on their awesomeness. Then Ryan Seacrest comes out, interviews them like he’s Brent Musberger on the the old NFL Today and we all sit there and comment on which plastic surgery operation well went and which went horribly wrong. I think this is like football for the rest of the world. There’s a pregame show, a bunch of overpaid performers, a few play-by-play guys, a ton of sweet camera angles and lots of off the field stuff. It’s essentially the Dallas Cowboys.

But every now and then Mom ropes me into paying attention. Like tonight when she torn me away from the Steelers website as I was perusing the selection of Super Bowl 43 championship gear. I think I’m getting the “First to Six” t-shirt because, well, it’s true. Man, can you believe Big Ben on that last drive?

Regardless, Mom calls me over to the TV.

“Hey Kid Rock is going to be on.”

Stop chuckling to yourself. This is one of the things that perplexes me. Puzzles my sense of parenthood. Baffles my fatherhood values.

I like Kid Rock. Don’t really know why but I do. Which makes it tough to tell your kids not to say “butt” while you’re blasting out “Cowboy” or “Welcome to the Party.” Unfortunately for me, kids are smart. You can’t sneak Rock N’ Roll Jesus past them. Riley is nine, she knows what’s up. So I’ve taken approach that even Kid Rock can help me out in my quest to be a good Dad. So when Robert James Ritchie is singing about smoking funny things, I can use it as an opportunity to talk to Riley about not smoking anything.

I sense your doubt. But this isn’t an approach entirely without merit. Think of some of the movies you watched growing up? Most of the time the dudes in these flicks have no value to Dads except to serve as bad example to our kids.

But not all.

Jake and Elwood Blues. If there is a greater example of two siblings sticking together under more dire circumstances, you’ll have to show me. bluesbrothersHigh explosives, rowdy country music fans, the entire Illinois law enforcement community had it in for these guys. Despite these challenges, Jake and Elwood mangaged to save the St. Helen of the Blessed Shroud orphanage in Calumet City by delivering $5,000 in back taxes to the Cook County Assessors office. Also a good example of not letting The Man keep you down.

John Winger. stripes1I know John and Russell stole the EM-50 and stealing cars, or recreational vehicles in this case, is not something you should teach your kids. But if your friends are led astray by an incompetent boss, sometimes you have to admit your mistakes in order serve a greater good. Like crossing the border into Czechoslovakia to rescue your platoon with an RV armed with a flame thrower.

John Bender. Actually in Bender’s case all you do is point to him and say “If you ever date this guy when you get to high school, you’ll be grounded until you’re 45.” judd-nelson-tbc1Of course that’ll just mean the girls will want to date this criminal. Maybe they will figure it out on their own. I mean, look at Bender’s hair…that’s just stupid.

Published in: on February 8, 2009 at 11:21 pm  Leave a Comment  

62 Scat Flasher Z Level

Do you have any memories of moments of sheer joy or despair displayed by your folks? I wonder if parents realize those moments that will stick with their kids forever. Times where they do something at a certain point in time that sticks in the memories of their kids. Things, that 30 years later, they recall when something triggers their memory.

I think that happened to me and girls twice on Sunday night sometime at or around 8:48 p.m. central standard time.

The first happened when Justin Hartwig was called for holding penalty in the endzone just as Big Ben completed an incredible throw for a monstrously important first down with about 3 minutes left in the game. Safety. Two points Arizona. The second happened just after the end of the game.

I, to put it mildly, got upset over the safety. I wasn’t sitting much of the 4th quarter anyway but this had me walking around the family room and kitchen yelling about epic meltdowns. The girls come running up the stairs from the basement because they heard me yelling. They assumed the Steelers scored a touchdown.

“Hey Dad, did the Steelers score?”

“No! They are going to lose! Go to bed now!”

Mom jumps in, “Hey girls now is probably a good time go upstairs for bed.”

Mom is wise. She decided to take them upstairs and get them in bed. She was out of the room for the safety and didn’t actually see it. She just heard me ranting. So as she went upstairs, I second guessed myself. I mean maybe her being out of the room had some impact on bad things happening to the Steelers? Maybe she should stay downstairs?

She gets back down to her spot on the couch just as Larry Fitzgerald broke the land speed record for guys named “Fitzgerald.”

So much for that theory.

One of the worst things about watching your team lose is when they have led the whole game only to blow it at the end. Except it isn’t the very end so there is enough time left on the clock to contemplate how crappy things have turned out. In the back of your mind, you are still hoping #7 has some magic left but you are also realistic enough to know your team just blew the Super Bowl.

I keep changing places in the room. Sitting on the couch. Standing behind the couch. Standing in front of the TV. Down on one knee next to the coffee table. Pacing around the kitchen table.

And this was all before Arizona even kicked off back to the Steelers.

First play – penalty on Chris Kemoeatu.

“Holy crap, are you serious? Sure, just back us up 10. 88 yards in 2:37 is no big deal. The Rooneys should release this guy right freaking now. Cut him before he even gets back to the huddle!”

Next play – 14 yards to Santonio. Ben rushes them to the line of scrimmage to get a play off before the two minute warning. He goes deep but incomplete to Nate Washington.

“Not sure that was smart. We rushed up to the line, ran a quick play and now its third down.”

Next play – 13 yards to Santonio who makes a Fitzgeraldean catch while he gets planted by Karlos Dansby.

“All Right! Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go, get up there, run a play, they’re reeling.”

Boom! 11 more yards to Nate Washington for a first down at the 50.

“Holy Crap, we get another 20 yards and we have a shot a field goal. But this is the same direction the Bills were headed in 1990 when Norwood went wide right.”

Mom, quickly countering my natural pessimism regarding my sports loyalties, adds some balance.

“These aren’t the Cyclones. Be positive.”

Next play – Big Ben scrambles for 4 yards and calls a timeout.

“Good Lord, I’m going to hurl. 2nd and 6, there’s only a minute left and we had to use that stupid timeout back when the Cardinals were down 20-7 so we only one left! Good call there Tomlin!”

I’m standing about 3 feet from the TV at this juncture in Steelers history. Arms crossed. Brow furrowed. Jaw clenched.

Ben drops, throws an out to Santonio. The Cardinals guy slipped! There goes Santonio. For one fleeting instance, for just a nanosecond, I thought he was going to score. So for just a moment I could feel my heart physically stand up and walk over to the other side of my chest. Then he was tackled. Time out Steelers.

Six yards to go. I was able to relax my muscles long enough to allow my brain synapses to fire off a couple messages to allow my arms to clap a few times here.

After the Steelers brilliant display of manliness inside the 10 back in the first quarter and earlier in the third, I, of all people, found a silver lining.

“Well the positive is that they have no timeouts left so nobody should be drunk enough on the sideline to call a running play. Throw it three times into the endzone, kick the field goal, overtime. Have 10 guys cover Larry Fitzgerald.”

First play from the six Santonio has the ball go right through his hands.

“That was it! That was our chance! We blew it! All the way down the freaking field and we blew it! I can’t freaking believe this! You don’t get a second chance, that was it! Dammit!”

Next play – 62 Scat Flasher Z Level. Immor-Freaking-tality. Ben to Santonio in the back right corner.

Me: “YES!”

Mom: “No way.”

Me: “They’re going to review it. It was too close. Dammit! They’re going to cheat us out of the freaking championship right here on national television.”

Mom: “I think he was in.”

Me: “Damn right he was in. Both feet. It’s not even close. That’s an easy call. Man, if they reverse this…”

I walk into the kitchen back to the TV.

Referee Terry McAulay, who had earlier tried to cheat the Steelers out of touchdown on James Harrison’s 100 yard interception return for a touchdown, says they are going to review it. Harrison’s run, by the way, is the greatest play in Super Bowl history. And it’s not even debatable. Anyway, McAulay goes under the hood for 38 mintues. Which in non-Steeler fan time, is about 3 minutes.

“You know these idiots tried to steal the Colts playoff game back in January of ’06 away from us. They took Troy’s interception away and tried like hell to give Peyton Manning his ring. Don’t be freaking surprised if they try and give Kurt Warner his storybook ending too.”

“After further review…possession…both feet…blah, blah, blah.” two-feet

“That’s right baby! Wooooo! Touchdown! Both feet!”

An anxious 35 seconds later the Steelers are world champs. This is when I went up to the girls’ rooms to tell them the Steelers. Absolute, total and complete awesomeness is a good way to describe how I was feeling. And I think that may have come across to the girls. I’m describing to Riley the last drive and Santonio’s catch in very fast and and very great detail.

“Dad, I have no idea what you’re talking about but I’m glad the Steelers won.”

In Kinsey’s and Bailey’s room, I actually demonstrated Ben’s scrambling ability and Santonio’s tip toe catch.

Bailey: “Whoa, Dad. You’re weird.”

Kinsey: “But…wait…you said the Steelers were going to lose?”

Me: “Yeah, well, I may have overreacted. Ben used his bag of two minute magic and we’re world champs.”

Kinsey: “Is that why you’re happy?”

Me: “Yes, that’s why.”

Kinsey: “Then I’m happy too Daddy. But it would be better if you weren’t yelling so loud. It’s hard to sleep when you’re noisy.”

Published in: on February 3, 2009 at 4:57 pm  Comments (2)  


Greatest. Franchise. In. NFL. History. Six pack baby! number-61

Published in: on February 2, 2009 at 7:03 pm  Leave a Comment