ENOUGH WITH ANY PLAY ON WORDS INVOLVING THE WORD "FOLK", FOLKS!

[I am praying to the Angel of Death pictured above to gently take me away from this Hot Pocket-filled purgatory I am currently blogging from]


Let me start with a question. I'm not too familiar with the range of stuffed nuclear fallout pastries known as Hot Pockets. But boy the guy in the office across from mine is. He's a connoisseur. Now usually there's a generic "meat/cheese/sauce" smell wafting out of his office around lunch time. Once he breaks the protective crust open, it makes its' way into my office and lingers for about an hour. But today he has brought in some new flavor. Is there actually a "rancid garlic, old Whataburger wrappers and the urine of an army fed solely on a diet of asparagus for four score and twenty" flavored Hot Pocket? The answer is, in this small and not-so-well-ventilated office, YES.

So anyways, Cowboys won. Blah blah. Not really much to say. Kind of a yawn fest. No fluke-ish series of events that unfolded into the oddest football game I have ever seen. Snooze.

So Tony Romo is not infallible. One of the more depressing sights was seeing Romo sitting on an ice chest like a kid waiting to spend the weekend with his deadbeat father who is far too drunk to remember it's his weekend with the kid.

Terrell Owens - Please buy new gloves. Those ones aren't working. They appear to make you unable to catch footballs that fall into the cradle of your expensive arms. It's cool. Tires lose tread and gloves could probably get slick after a while. Please buy some new gloves.

Jason Witten - Good job. I guess.

Marion Barber/Julius Jones - Don't run TOWARDS the pile or line of guys that want to tackle you. They are actually paid to make sure you DON'T gain yards. Now that we've gotten that straight, I assume we won't have any more pesky "tackled at the line of scrimmage" faux pas anymore.

Nick Folk - I will buy you a soda. You did a good job.

Dick Jauron - I hope your decision to call that time out while Folk kicked his first (ultimately sucessful) attempt at a 53-yard field goal will lead to an unquenchable burning in your mouth like the heat of a million overcooked Hot Pockets. Yeah it's legal (for now) but not classy.

Sunday is going to be fun. Mostly because I am hoping to have regained the speech ability I lost when I screamed at the top of my lungs for the last minute of the game last night. But as far as my sense of smell, I'm afraid that's going to be a day-by-day de-Hot Pocketization process.