Roof: that thing on the top of your house/building. It needs to be replaced every few years. Like 20-35 to be exact. Well, at the Maloney household, the roof leaked around skylights like a woman on a heavy flow during her honeymoon.
It sucked.
So, needless to say, two strong Maloney men, hell there's only five in the whole family, embarked upon the northern most point of their household and destroyed it.....like Vikings destroying a pig roast.
Yeah, like that.
We went upon the roof with shovels that were flat blades. So, they weren't really shovels. They were flat blades. The flat blades sucked.
But, a gracious and helpful neighbor, Vic the "Freakin' Puerto Rican," lent us a pitch fork worthy of Satan himself.
The pitch fork was awesome. Like Wayne's World followed by Super Troopers on Comedy Central. Oh yeah, that was Saturday. When we were roofing.
Well, Thursday was day uno. Thus begun the DESTRUCTION (notice the flow of words that kinda rhyme?) Uh.....it sucked.
The sun was beatin' down on my dad and I like camel jockeys in the Sahara. During a heat wave. That's hot.
Friday, obviously, was the next day. Or day two for those of you keeping score at home. Ugh. Still not done.
Remember Thursday? Well, Friday was like Thursday, only with two nails in me. Read the last blog.
My Uncle Jim, who is a carpenter, like Joseph without the beard, came to help on Saturday and Sunday. That's two days for the price of one!
But, he's a bit older than Ole Joe is in this painting.
However, with a nail gun, Jim is probably way better than Joe. Although, Joe did knock up some ho without nailing her. Shazam!
Saturday went rolling away as my dad and I finished tearing shit off the roof. Jim, on the other hand, got started on the other half that we got done on Thursday and Friday. See, even with nails in my body on Friday, I still managed to do more work than Jesus did for three days with nails in him.
I'm going to hell, aren't I?
Saturday was hot. Like Satan being pissed off because the Puerto stole his pitch fork. But, that didn't come as a surprise for Satan. He's used to his fork being stolen. His hell hounds that normally guard it are still chasing down Robert Johnson (I was going to make an awesome racist joke here, but didn't).
Saturday ended. Then Sunday came. What ever happened to rest on the Sabbath? Well, our family is Irish. The last name "Maloney" means "remember thy Sabbath." Fuck.
We worked.
I'm to the point now that I don't remember Sunday. I think it was the same as Thursday and Saturday. There were clouds in the sky. A breeze every so often. It was not heaven. Oh, my brother helped out. 3 out of 5 Maloney men ain't bad, considering one is 80-something. He's like a 20-something times 4.
Monday and we were done! Jim left and Mikey was back at school. It was back to dad and I, just like Thursday and Friday. Well, clouds rolled in. We were done by 11:30 A.M. We were dead sometime at 9:45P.M. on Sunday.
Da Coach
Here's ya boy! I hope you notice that grim look of pain on his face,
like he just got schooled by M.J. But, don't be frazzled. He didn't get schooled by M.J. M.J. doesn't even play on the same court as Granger. Granger is in the NBA. M.J. is playing against 40-somethings for their money. Winner? Not the 40-somethings.Who dat
My first car was a Lebron rookie year. In NWI, we're required to take our cars in for emissions tests, so the air stays clean. *Cough* Bullshit *Cough*. Well, the day my baby failed emissions, the top also stopped working. It was the 4th of July weekend a few years ago. It was a sad sad sad day.
We're Talking About Practice!
The Chicago Bears play their last pre-season game tomorrow, in the Dawg Pound known as Cleveland. Shouldn't it be known as the Brown Pound? Then shouldn't the Browns change their name to the Brown Pounders? Nah, that'd be too much like Green Bay.
Well, they're 0-3 so far. Which I could give a flying fuck about. More importantly, they haven't won. They'll start off the regular season in two weeks against the one-time defending champion Indianapolis Colts, who they lost to in the Super Bowl, one time.
P-Money is still recouping from knee surgery. Which means he'll start and destroy our shitty defense. Hey fellas, lets face it, you're sucking. Bad.
And, my White Sox are now 2 games up on the ever frustrating Twinkies, after a well earned 8-2 win last night at Cal Ripken Jr. Park (aka: Camden Yards). But, after today's game, they travel north, where the Green Monster meets Pesky Pole. A land so feared (due to wicked Bawston accents), that they'll take two out of three. That was my prediction. ESPN, where the fuck my check at? Oh, and CQ for MVP!
1 comment:
As I sat in my comfortable white authentic Pacer game shorts on the couch with a laptop on, well, my lap, I spoke up to my wife to read her a segment of this blog.
"Although, Joe did knock up some ho without nailing her," said I, as the words rolled off my tongue with a the faint hint of smell of spaghetti that I had for supper two nights before. My wife responded with shock in her eyes. She was emotionless as she stared straight at the TV screen, unable to flinch or move as the angels of her life flew to the heavens above us. I responded with a hearty laugh.."Oh that Tom," I said, cheerfully holding my coke zero.
Then I read the next line about Jesus and nails (I couldn't copy and paste both lines at the same time so fill in here by memory). Not only did my wife and cat, Ringo, burst into the flames from Hell, my face began to melt like the Nazi soldiers circling the ark in Indiana Jones. Worse yet, my coke zero turned into boiling hot magma. As I tried to pick up my white, burning skin, I realized that this blog as taken the next step towards stardom. Someday, I hope the writer will remember his faithful followers, who perished in flames at the sight of his offensive, yet personable and creative, writings.
Also...Go Pacers. Granger yer the best!!!! Woo Hoo!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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