Four Day Week, Bitches!
The colossally underrated yin to the three-day weekend’s yang is the four-day week. Before you know it, it’s Wednesday night and the weekend is right around the corner. I could get used to a perpetual four-day week and three day-weekend. Make it happen, people. I don’t know who we have to talk to, but I know no one would vote against it. Write a Congressman.
Alas, the forest behind Pete’s hath runeth over. The kindly old gentleman who owned that plot of land passed on last year (pour a little off), and while his kids bicker about who gets what tract of shitty swamp land, the grass is about ye high. With all that vegetation, it’s only a matter of time until the rodents start hanging out.
As a preemptive strike, the boys and I went to a local animal shelter to get our version of pest control. They loved us over there because we were willing to take the meanest tabby off their hands. The feline we picked out was the “Pet Sematary” type. Totally grey with the yellow eyes. The kind of eyes that haunt your dreams.
The whole way back to the bar we argued what we should name her. Dave initially came up with the best name considering the little lassie we picked out was adorably crazy. Amanda Bynes. We thought it was perfect. The best laid plans of mice and men often go astray, though.
We got back to the bar and noticed that the power had gone out from a thunderstorm and the jukebox had been fried a bit. After trying repeatedly to get it to play any thing else, it appears that our jukebox would only play Fleetwood Mac’s greatest hits album. Naturally, we felt it to be a sign from above that the cat’s name should be Stevie. That’s plenty crazy. Not Bynes crazy, but cocaine butt crazy is fine.
The jukebox was the gift that kept on giving all weekend long. If I never hear “Landslide” again, I’ll be a happy man. After a few days we eventually had to call a repairman. Jokes apparently can get old. Wazzzup!
Anyhoo, cheers to the four-day week, it just makes Fridays get here quicker. And we know what Fridays are for: Crushin’. To the lineup.
Make some room on the podium of best young talent in baseball, Mike Trout and Bryce Harper. This sweet swinging Miami native isn’t even old enough to buy his own beer but apparently is old enough to win a batting title. With a batting average of .336 on the season, Machado only trails Super Miguel and teammate Chris Davis for the AL lead. Machado leads all the land in doubles at 25. Manny also leads the majors in WAR at 3.4. The ultimate test of a man. Sabremetrics, son! A slick fielder along with a doubles machine? What’s not to love? Are the Baltimore Orioles actually figuring it out? Hell must be freezing over. Next you’ll tell me the Pirates are good. Wait, what?
Averaging 20 and 10 against the love-to-hate Heat, Hibbert has become Miami kryptonite. Questionably left off the floor in game one when LBJ drove for the winning lay-in, in my heart I think that Hibbert would have stopped James. Big is bad for Miami. And bad for Miami is a loveable quality. And Hibbert is big. Love that circular logic. But we’ve been a fan of Hibbert since his days of working with possibly the best fringe character on TV, Jean Ralphio of “Parks and Recreation.” While Entertainment 720 was hemorrhaging money Hibbert did this and this. Hibbert is a 21st century man. Versatile.
Send it in big fella. Our first 7-footer in the crush stable, welcome aboard Hibbs.
“Arrested Development” burst back on the scene over the weekend via Netflix and with it came the spectacular George Oscar Bluth Jr. Is there anything better than a lousy magician with a nasty case of sibling rivalry? If there is, I don’t know it. Arnett is always great in nearly every role he’s been in. Whether he’s playing a dickhead in “Hot Rod” or he’s playing a dickhead in “30 Rock” or he’s playing a dickhead in “Blades of Glory,” we know who is our favorite dickhead. The only issue we have with Billy is his real-life marital breakup with Amy Poehler. Dickhead move, Arnett. But we are used to it.
Other Sweetness from the Week:
Roger Sterling’s Plaid Jacket
Norris Cole’s High-Top Fade
The ancient Spurs of San Antonio
Enjoy the weekend, tip a glass, and let a little love into your life.