Nobody makes us wait

So round two is tonight. Wish us luck, will you? There's a chance we won't play because we're an alternate, but it's worth the wait. We figure a little Cash, Ryan and Adam never hurt anyone. Right?

Right?

Right, then. On to the week that was. We keep secretly thinking the world is ending because of the weather and what not, and the whole we're still at war thing, but we must soldier -- oof with the word choice -- on, one and all. Or something.

* For any new readers, and at this point we're bleeding them more than retaining them, wethinks, this is when we honor our Heroez (catchy with a Z) and Not so much with the Heroez (again, Z, catchy) as we look back on the past week. Laugh accordingly.

Heroez
We thought she was graceful. Mostly because she's Jennifer Garner and she is a sweetheart. Don't go pickin' her apart because of a li'l slip. That's all we're saying. Well, she's hot, too. But that's all we're saying. Promise.

Good for him. Seriously.

Faith and Tim. Nice. We dig country questioning country. But just one thing, we ask from our soon-to-be completed home in Canadia: where's the Dixie Chicks backlash this time, eh? Why aren't we talkin' aboot this, eh? That's what we thought. Even from Canadia we can smell the hypocrisy.

Thanks, cube dude. You may regret it, but we like our cube. It reminds us that the future is still bright. We also love us some Doughboy, but that's another story for another day.

Not so much...
Last sentence. Worst punchline ever. Couldn't they at least go with President Bush ain't about the woodfloors and something about a big rug? We're just thinkin' out loud here. Work with us.

Life. Over. Not for nothin' (oh how we hate this term; don't you?), but we once watched Debbie Does Dallas through the scrambled screen. But we were housesitting with nobody home but us and maybe the cat, so it's completely, utterly and totally different. Oh how we long for the days of scrambled screens but not even remotely. Oh how we long for the days when this kid toucher would get punched in the face.

Now where do we even start with this? Back in the day, we watched the Baseball Bunch. We learned how to field grounders and backflip like Ozzie Smith, but not so much with the fat-kid-backflipping. We learned how to breathe from Mike Schmidt. We learned from the whole bunch what team is.

Never once did we learn that taking the ol' steroids will make us better. So this whole Barry Bonds thing has us all kaphlooey on the inside. It's not racism or witch-huntism (although we'd love to see an investigation in to Mark McGwire). Both deny, deny, deny, and one is allowed to ride off into retirement seclusion. But we digress.

Either way, the two reporters nailed this. Where's his denial? His legal threats? His beat-them-to-a-pulp-with-Hanz-und-Franz threats?

Silence. That's what we thought.