Hitting myself in the marbles with a ball peen hammer.
Listening to Rush Limbaugh/Glen Beck/James Carville on a continuous loop for days on end.
Watching the Yankees sweep the Padres in the World Series over and over and over again.
Having to watch Oprah Winfrey for 48 straight hours as she features "Why Men are Parasites."
Laying down in the road and letting Rakes drive his Go-Kart over my body repeatedly.
All these things are more preferable than what I'm currently doing.
Which is watching the White Sox beat the Red Sox at the most recent score of 12-1.
For the love of all that is just, why can't I turn it off and go to bed?
Rumor has it that Tim Wakefield and his knuckleball are back for tomorrow and for the sake of my sanity and health I really hope so.
'Cause the shadows are getting longer, the nights are getting cooler, and the flipping Texas Rangers haven't gone away yet. The AL East may be a pipe dream but the Wild Card race is there for the taking.
And I'm not giving up on anything until Terry Francona tells me it's over.
All That Dunbar-ian Stuff Again
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