Go-oh Take the Plastic and Limp

Let's face it. Most of the shit we make fun of women for leaves us in some way with an avenue that leads to the things we as men really like to do.

This morning, our last day in ultra-poor, be-thankful-for-neighboring-Manuel-Antonio beautiful Quepos, the wife went shopping. This of course leaves me in a bit of a conundrum. She could be kidnapped, held for ransom, raped, murdered, or all of the above. Thus, I should accompany her. Instead, I mainline some true internet time. Actually, she's quite safe for those of you that were concerned. Thanks for that, by the way. Love you guys.

I'm amazed at the HoG happenings that have occurred in my absence. oNs came through; his daily efforts are MVP material. Our One-Man, Mobile-Uplink-Unit Weekend Correspondent resurfaced, made abundant fun of Asshole Yankee Fan, and even submitted a post about hockey. Even if it was to make fun of it. I will request some evidence that the Anaheim team's creation was after/tied to/dependent upon the Estevez film. And by evidence, I don't mean Wikipedia and your other hilariously questionable sources.

We've even gotten comments from Arvada, aforementioned asshole and the two other HoG authors as well. In essence, we blew up. And I'm stoked. A job well done, all. Anyway, I suppose this post should have something to do with female anatomy and/or sports. So here you go.

My boys have gone 5-2 in my absence from the states. Priority number three of fantasy sports-related funds is now in effect. Priority one and two are semi-interchangeable, circumstantial if you will. They involve a) the acquistion of a certain Denver-area condo for the rocky-mountain half of The Tradition, and b) getting Cecil a computer. Priority three, however, has established its clearcutness: the Bankmeister must travel to Central America with more frequency in order for the Royals to string together wins. They took three of four from Oaktown and two of three from these guys since the wife and I tied the knot. Those, my friends, are good times.

In other sports news, my hockey predictions went down the toilet faster than oNs' morning duke, which is to say that they trickled at a salt-laden slug's pace. In reality, it was a gravity flush. I merely take every advantage I find to talk about his to-the-second bm schedule. Dee-lish. In sum, I'm baffled that the Sabres choked. End of story. I'll now root for Cecil's beloved Ducks to finish off the douche bags, and go from there.

In lady-related news, this just in:

Costa Rican women are hot.

Every last damn one of them. Sexy and beautiful in their own way. Obviously, none of them hold a candle to my wife, but what're you gonna do.

Anyhoo, I'll turn the reins back over to the big guns. Let's please talk more about Ron Mexico. That guy's like that euthanized horse, that guy that's threatening to break Aaron's record, the draft, Cut that Meat, and Yankees/Sox baseball all wrapped into a paper tortilla and not sprinkled with Cholula. Let's spice this guy up a bit. Shall we?

Is it football season yet?