Yeah, mixed league softball laid one on my lovely wife last night. Playing second with the grace and skill of a young Ryne Sandberg, she shifted to her right on a screaming ground ball, caught a short hop, blew under the glove and tagged her on the shin. Yeah, this ain't her above. And that ain't me. I just searched "bruise" on Google. Man, doing an image search for "bruise" on Google is no way to start off a morning. She'll be slowed down for a bit and, probably a good thing because Gulf Coast probably couldn't handle much more rain. I mean, Erin's a tropical storm, but she ain't no hurricane. Says Matt Sandlin of Amarillo, "It's not a hurricane. I ain't worried. If they say don't evacuate, I'm not going to worry about it. Unless I see a shark or whale go flying by, I'm good." I'm not kidding, he said that.
I really hope this dude gets flattened by a great whale that just took miraculous flight and landed in a mall parking lot ten miles in. He just sounds like a dude begging to have nature put him in his place.
You know, Tropical Storm Erin brings up an interesting point because it works for her because she's a lover and not a fighter, but if you have a hurricane sharing your name, you want some damage. Some destruction. Now, I'm not talking Katrina destruction, but maybe down a bridge or wipe a row of expensive beach houses off the coast like, "Wassup, now?" The last thing you want is to be named Hurricane j3 about 500 miles off the coast and then, when you make landfall, you're a good surfing day. That's like talking mad trash and then coming to the fight with a toothpick and a rolled up copy of Highlights magazine. You want hit the coast like a proclamation, like "blad-dow!"
The pain of hearing Al Roker say, "...reduced to a tropical storm," is enough to justify laying low for a few days while the jokes die down. Tropical Storm Erin, though, looks good on her. She just ain't having it. That's fine. Friday's near. Go blast some Camp Lo today and thank me tomorrow.