So Rmurdera’s sitting on his couch, watching King of Queens (best that TV has to offer at 3:30 in the afternoon when you skip out on work early), and trying to come up with 1 more blog post before the weekend. As of 6pm tonight, he’s off to Tahoe for a bachelor party, so of course he wants to leave you all with 1 more juicy post to eat up over the next 4 days. Problem is Rmurdera can’t think of anything to write.
Write about sports? No thanks. Red Sox season is starting soon, but Eric Wilbur from Boston.com already summed up the Boston sports fans’ feelings with this captivating article: Red Sox sweeping regret under the rug (Rmurdera is totally joking here. Eric Wilbur is a no-talent douche bag who has no idea what Boston fans are thinking right now). Not only does this clown miss the mark on the Sox by inferring that fans are still pissed and want the Sox players to own up to the end of last season (all we really want is for them to get through spring training healthy and start off better than last year’s 2-10 mark opened the season), but he’s also the same jackass that wrote this column after the Patriots’ loss 11 days ago: Blame Brady for this one. Actually, not only are we NOT upset w/ Brady after that game, but we’re actually dying over anticipation for next season, knowing this team is on the verge of another 3-championships-in-4-years run.
Sorry, that paragraph really had nothing to do w/ this post. Rmurdera’s just been fuming lately over certain Boston media members trying to cause a rift between the players & fans.
So anyway, Rmurdera thought writing something about bachelor parties would make sense. Then he thought, “why not go on YouTube, find some crazy bachelor party videos, tell the world this weekend’s party was gonna be similar, and scare the shit out of every wife & girlfriend who has a guy going on this Tahoe trip.” That would be hysterical, right?
What the fuck is wrong w/ everyone? When did “hey dude, let’s throw Jeff a crazy bachelor party” turn into “male strippers grind all up on Jeff’s shit,” or worse, “Jeff’s friend dresses up like a female stripper and gives him a fucking lap dance?”
If Rmurdera ever got married and his friends did something like this to him, he’d calmly get out of his chair, walk out the front door, douse the porch with gasoline and put a match to it.
No one gets out alive.