I wish that pain in my ass would be redacted...

First: The Powerthirst video. Without seeing it on this blog, I showed it to to my composition class. I was bored and out of things to talk about. We all had a good laugh. Glad to see it is elsewhere as well.

Sports: They hurt. Still. I take cold comfort that every member of the Fightin' Illini that matters is a descendant of people who deliberately massacred the actual I-Suck-At-Fightin'-Against-Smallpox Illini. They may have ruined my football season, but their namesake takes no pride in their actions. Perhaps they will rise up and smite [pain not redacted]. Like in that Thanksgiving episode of Buffy from season 4 or 5.

Also, I've realized that Mike Hart is the perfect adversary. If not for being the platonic Asshole, he would have no personality at all. Yet his very douchbaggery is the only reason his team isn't worse that Notre Dame this year. I want his life to yield nothing but unending suffering and disappointment, yet I never want him to go away.

I'll settle for the immortality that an 0-4 mark would birth.

If not, I'll be catatonic until next fall, so what will I care? This year has been good for nothing if not honing my skills at utterly burying sports disappointment.