In the past week I've twice come across stories about a relatively new phenomenon called "Radical Honesty", which began as a personal philosophy of a cat from Virginia named Brad Blanton who decided that lies, or specifically little white lies, are the real reason Americans walk around unhappy, drugged up, and in therapy and/or are Cubs fans. So Brad doesn't lie. Ever. In interviews he sounds like he should own a World's Biggest Asshole mug, but he's just keeping it extremely REAL. (full disclosure: he ran for office twice, lost, and now sells self-help books)
In the spirit of this asshole, I'm going to apply the concept of radical honesty to the rest of the Cubs season:
IF WE LOSE TWO OUT OF THREE TO THE NATIONALS, I AM GOING ON PAXIL, OK? I'VE WANTED TO FIX MY LIFE FOR A LONG TIME, AND THIS IS THE SHOVEL THAT WILL DIG ME OUT OF SELF-HATE GULCH. THE DRUMMER OF DEF LEPPARD COULD PITCH BETTER THAN THEIR ACE, AND THEY'RE BETTING THE FARM ON SOMEONE NAMED STEPHEN STRAUSBERG, WHO SOUNDS LIKE HE SHOULD BE ACNE RIDDEN, YET THEY GAVE HIM NIGERIA'S GDP FOR 5 YEARS OR WHATEVER. JESUS CHRIST. THERE IS NO WAY IN HELL THE CUBS ARE MAKING THE PLAYOFFS UNLESS SOMEONE CAN CONVINCE CARLOS MARMOL TO CONJURE UP A WINNING POTION VIA BLACK MAGIC OR SANTERIA OR WHATEVER HE IS. LOU HAS ALREADY MADE DINNER RESERVATIONS FOR THE FIRST WEEK OF OCTOBER. IN TAMPA. GOD I'VE GOT NOTHING LEFT.
Phew. That felt good. I'm now officially a Seattle Mariners fan.
Don't look now, but Stephen Strasburg's slider just impregnated your teenage daughter. And she won't even be a teenager until 2030 or so. Don't even ask me how this happened.
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