Hey, friends. It's Friday. You know, I'm down with the weekend. But you and I both know that unless you're taking the day off, work a weird schedule, work from home or are unemployed, the weekend hasn't started yet. She be teasing us like being seated at center stage while Cinnamon and Heather shake what the good plastic surgeon gave them...but just out of reach.
So dear commenters, what's bugging you on this the second to last Friday before the Blues play a game that counts in the standings? Click the jump for all the Fs and Us.
- Fuck you Oct. 1, Oct. 2, Oct. 3. Oct. 4, Oct. 5, Oct. 6 and Oct. 7. You eight days stand between me and the home opener. The only one preseason game until then, tomorrow's matinee, isn't going to scratch my itch. The next week is going to feel like half of August when it didn't matter the links were posting at noon. I mean, it's going to be a wasteland. At least we'll have playoff baseball to occupy our time. If you're into that sort of thing. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Of course not.
- Fuck you red light cameras that allegedly caught me doing a right turn into Forest Park while three fucking green lights were shining bright for the lanes to go straight. What kind of country do we live in where I can get a ticket turning right...on green? The terrorists have fucking won.
- Fuck you being out of shape. If you read my story this week about what I'm worried about this season (fuck you, hyperlink), you may remember I've taken up running. I started July 29. I'm running in my first 5K the morning of the home opener. I'm going to run the whole thing, no walking. No promises that I will be only marginally faster than if I was actually walking, but that's another F - U for another day. I've never been a runner. Ever. I didn't know how people could train a little and not hyperventilate the first mile. Now I can run half an hour without stopping. If it doesn't kill me, I may live forever. Fair warning.
- Fuck Detroit. I'm out of practice.
- Fuck all the people on Twitter who fucking grovel for an athlete to retweet them on their birthday or because they are the person's biggest fan. Fuck you, I like David Backes more than you. Ian Cole is not your friend. T.J. Oshie doesn't want you bugging him anymore. I hope you get followed by Barney the dinosaur.
- Fuck you sleep. Six months of West Coast games and 1,500-word cover stories and Top 11 Lists is just around the corner. I ain't got time for your nonsense, sleep. Give it up. Here's my motto. Learn it. Accept it. You will be defeated by it: SWYD.
Let the fucks and yous fly. It's F - U Friday.