[I'm going to try my best to get through the rest of this post without referencing Bill Pullman's speech to the pilots in the American cinema classic Independence Day, but it is absolutely killing me. --Ed.]
Tomorrow is zero hour, where “zero” implies “vajayjay”. As agreed, the Ladies… will have the run of Kissing Suzy Kolber for one glorious day. A day of bunnies. A day of Bedazzlers. A day of kittens and puppies and rainbow sunsets and unicorns fucking in grassy fields. The KSK Mafia are doing their best to put on brave faces. Fear not, boyos. Our mission statement promises we don’t kiss nice, but we won’t leave any marks on your back that aren’t purely recreational.
Hey Holly, no pressure here. You and Unsilent Majority are in the lead and the rest of your picks could be difference between Maxi-Pad slippers on KSK, or them peeing with the lid down over here Ladies.
First the standings, and then the breakdown of the Final Four picks.
When will I learn that the vodka tonics at Big Wangs, (served in pint glasses), always seem like they don’t have any booze in them but really do? When will I realize that drinking while watching the Sweet Sixteen games, the Cavs-Knicks game, and the Sabers-Leafs game while talking shop with my guy pals is going to lead to sensory overload? When will I stop trying to involve strangers in my Bryce Taylor cheers?
Ladies, I don’t know about you, but I am worried. Sure we are leading the KSK guys, but this is when brackets always go to poop. A few of us, including myself, have lost at least one of our Final Four Teams. I’ve watched enough basketball this weekend to question every single choice I have ever made. (Including my then high school crush on then Pitt superstar Sean Miller to now Xavier coach Sean Miller.) I just do not feel confident.