Gotta Work Everyday. Gotta Not Be Cliche.

If all I had to do was write a blog, I could generate original material every day. But that's not the case. I have a shitty job that crushes my soul. I have an hour commute that sucks the life out of me. I have a dog that is not house-trained. I have a girlfriend who wants to watch the Sex and the City movie at a volume of about 96 that makes it hard for me to even follow my own thoughts much less complete this sentence coherently. I have a shitty blog with even shittier readers who insist on keeping this very blog on a check rarely-to-never basis.

That, my friends, means that I don't have any absurd dialogues for you to not appreciate today. You'll just have to settle for a quick recap of my trip to Giants stadium this Sunday. If you're still in dire need of absurd dialogue, I suggest you pick up the Sex and the City movie. I'm almost positive that the writers of this movie are intentionally trying to misinform women about men. That way the show's faulty advice and morals will continually ruin women's relationships in order to keep them coming back for more counsel, enabling them to sell more DVDs.

So about that game. I haven't been to the stadium in five years, and I don't know if I have changed or the tailgating has but HOLY SHIT WHAT A FUCKING ZOO. In college I would start tailgating at 7 AM and drink straight through the day, so the drunkenness isn't shocking to me. I, myself, was quite drunk this Sunday. But the characters at this place were out of their fucking minds. They were screaming nonsensically, randomly assaulting each other, and generally threatening anyone who did or did not step in their path. Did I mention that my girlfriend came with us?

By the way, she's still watching that god awful movie next to me. I have to tell you I think it has lowered my IQ 10 points just from having the inane chatter of those four retarded broads blaring in the background.

As we walked up the many, many steps to our seats, we had several gentlemen attempt to engage us in some form of discourse. While most chose to cat call, others seemed to prefer the wolf whistle. Some of the more clever types chose to look at my girlfriend and come up with an inventive chant. Ordinarily, this would bother me, but I took it in stride on Sunday. Am I really to be concerned that my girlfriend might leave me for a guy in a fireman helmet, shorts above the knee, and work boots like THIS? Hopefully not, but it would make for a funny blog.

Oh, so apparently this entire movie is about the fights that girls have with each other. Didn't you think it was about sex? Wasn't that somewhere in the title? No. The movie is just watching one giant bitch fit.

The game itself ended up being pretty exciting. The Giants defense came through at just the right time to sweep Carrie off her feet. As the game went into overtime, some brunette had a baby on the street with a bald guy. The game was capped off by a field goal from John Carney that won Carrie's heart with a contrived proposal and a lame post-wedding reception at some diner.

Okay, I can't even follow this movie anymore. Are they supposed to be 50 and having sex? And they're proud of the way they act? People pay to see this? Girls emulate these hogs? Thank god my girlfriend is not like that.

Now they just toasted to "the next 50 years" as the movie wraps up. Nice try, ladies. Your show is cancelled. Fuck the next 50 years, I don't have to watch your flapping plastic faces for one more second.

Christ, what was I saying? I don't know, the Giants won or something. It was a good time I think. I don't know. All I can think about is these fucking beasts ruining an entire generation of women. This is why I can't blog. I blame women. In all forms. But I promise I'll try to post more often. I got more in the can. I just need to talk to my girlfriend about setting aside some free time where I can pursue my writing with a little less distraction.

The movie finally ended. My girlfriend just stood up and said, "I can't wait to watch it a million more times!"