1. Wirkuswhazz, very nice tale of Woe in Pittsburgh. I expected more vitriol over the Brewers non-skull-bashing of the worst team in the NL Central, but we take what we can get these days. Thank you for using your mighty pen for the good of Whazzmaster.com.
2. Cal, you screaming twit, I’ve been calling you to do stuff for the last few days straight? Do you ever answer your phone? Or do you just scream at it “you no art-knowing motherfucker!” every time it rings? I called you about that baseball game the other day and now I want to know if you want to play golf this week sometime. I have off all week from work (more below).
3. I have all week off from work this week because my company wanted to get everyones’ banked vacation time off the books or some other accounting garbage. Anyways, what I thought would be an eventful week has mostly turned into me playing golf during the daytime and sleeping at night-time. At no other time during the last 72 hours have I been really, honest-to-god productive. I wanted to work on the website but I guess that too will have to wait until I’m back at my desk on Monday morning (which will also be my First Anniversary).
4. So since I’ve been playing all this golf I figured I’d alert the world that I broke my own best score (all-time) this morning. Up until today my best round of 18 holes stood at 90. This morning I knocked that score on the floor and stomped on its nuts. The result? A Zach-pleasing 82. That’s 10 over par, folks. In Fake Whazz, that’s very bad. In Real Whazz, where it is nigh impossible to shoot -26 in 18 holes, +10 is awesome. I think I’ll go masturbate to my scorecard.
5. Finally, the reason there was no posting last weekend was because I took my lovely wife Rock Chalk up to Sonoma for her birthday. So we went and stayed at a very nice Marriott where, when they do your turndown service, they leave your door unlocked and open when they’re done in order for the whole world to have access to your purchased wine and unmentionables. Overall it was a great 2-day getaway, though. Some wine, some golf (Erin’s idea!), some booty-tappin’, and some fine meal-eatin’.
6. To all who complain about the lack of color, sorry but Grey it is. Maybe I’ll throw some red or blue somewhere so you don’t want to die so much.
7. Weight Update: I was down to 187 at one point, but all the fine food and spirits in Sonoma fucked that one up. I weighed in at 190 this morning. Boo-yah to your momma’s house.