Tennis and Bags

So you saw my melons. Awesome right? Here is what has been happening on the home front. I haven't heard from the Hawkman lately so his old lady must have found out he spent $75 on Washington Redskins remote control. (It really wasn't anywhere near that much, I just want to add fuel to the fire.)

We had our Fantasy Football draft on Tuesday. I am sure I managed to pick a dozen or so players that will be injured this year. I tried to limit the amount of Skins I picked so at least they won't get hurt. And it is not true that only homos and geeks play fantasy football. Sandwich Artist is by no means a geek. Oh wait, that means.... Forget I said anything.

I played tennis last week with Nosaj. I was rusty if rusty means fat and out of shape. He took the first set and then started talking smack. There was so much gibberish coming out his pie hole, you would think Nadal just took me out. So I beat him like China man only winning a silver medal. I took the next two sets and there wasn't much noise coming from his yap then.

Then last weekend we played cards at the Nosaj crib. His old lady was out of town with some guy at some seminar. So he had a poker game. He insisted on a Holdem tournament. Of course I objected and then beat them all down. I took first and then we played regular poker until 2:30 am. Then, of course, him and his Detroit buddy started talking smack about Bags. So we set up the spotlights and played Bags until almost four in the morning. I smacked some ass in that too.

Which brings me to the most troubling part of my story tonight. My father came over this weekend and we played a little Bags. He had never played but he is pretty good at horseshoes. So he played my son for a little while and beat him. Then he started getting cocky. I proceeded to beat him down twice. Then latter after he trounced my son again, he somehow got a win from me. You would have thought he won the synchronized diving award or something, the way he was dancing around and so full of himself. I think he has turned senile. Come to think of it, I am not even sure he won the game.