Really, my brain is running out of nonsense.  I ain’t think that was EVAR possible.  We need MOAR SPORTSBALL and we need it right soon.

Previously, my pill-addled brain cavity brung forth the Shithole Countries World Cup.  I still think that’s a ratings winner.  And fuck me sideways, would folk ever bet on it.  Imagine if, like, Vietnam made the finals.  Fucking planet would explode (but in that rare, good way).

But hey, if that’s not too much to ask – gimme a World Shempionship of Wanderers.  Is just like it sounds, you invite every goddamned football club in the world (or the largest 16) with “Wanderers” in their name.  Bolton, Wolverhampton, Santiago (de Chile), Montevideo (de Lesser Guay), the list goes on and on.  No advance warning, but a Gulf State could offer prize money, and fuckers would show up.  Two years later, you do sommet else random (based on ColoUr, bird type (eg, Albion), etc.).

Don’t you want to know who the categorial besties is?  I sure do.  Or…at least, I sure do want something to distract my mind/unignorable emotions about the shit-and-failure hash that is my life.

But nobody listens to me, so this Fathers’ Day (which lines up with Juneteenth this year, I am sure your racist uncle gets a kick out THAT), you get fuck shit.  I do recommend y’all listens to Scotchnaut’s booky-book recommends, he is batting 1.000 so far.  No flared singles, neither.  Screaming liners, bare minimum.

I am also now 49 years old, and the two digits in that numbering add up to “13” so I am expecting an EXTRA SHITTY round of shit.  Am I to foresake GAMBLOR for an entire 365 days?

Speak now, or forever hold your peace.  Or is it piece?  Or just wait for the goddamned night thread.  YOU DO YOU (phrasing).