The Case of the Goddamn Bath

If I were a religious man, I’d claim that God was trying to kill me. But if God was trying to kill me, he’d have made Scotch dangerous for human consumption in large quantities, and not the bracing pick-me-up that starts and ends every day. Besides, God’s too busy telling fat women and their ugly children that he loves them to worry about a sorry sonuvabitch like me. But come on: I called two winners out of thirteen matches this week, and Celtic drew in the Champions League. Two for thirteen. I’m so far in the hole I can smell my own ass. I need to sweep this weekend or I’m actually going to be in my own ass. Goddamn Hull went down hard yesterday, too. I can take the losing – it’s my natural state. But those sentimental losses, they’re taking years off my life. Tigers; Parkin. Parkin, I’m begging you – turn it around. Do if for your old pal, Baltimore.