That's what I call anyone who reads this blog. I think it's appropriate.
This will be one of my typical, pointless/nonsensical posts. Let's start with a bit of good news, though. Clapp is back. There's no set of circumstances that make this a bad thing. His return to the Thigh indicates that he is beginning the process of righting himself after the senseless, pointless, and horrific tragedy of last week. Good people shouldn't have to suffer, and Clapp's good people.
It's also good news that he's back because he's the brains of this little operation. Acquitted did a great job of handling the Ladies Tourney while Clapp was away, a job that I would not touch (more on that later). Clapp's the straw that stirs the drink here, though. He is the dick in the gangbang that is Sharapova's Thigh. He's what makes it worth watching. That looks gayer in print than it did in my head. Oh well, it's out there now, and my backspace key is on the fritz.
Clapp takes care of all the things that no one notices. Nevermind the fact that he is the best writer here, as was noted a few weeks ago, and usually has to dumb down his posts to the "Fly Reading Level", but he also checks all the emails (except for the few that I get), handles the ministerial functions, and is in charge of design. I just found out 2 weeks ago how to add things to the sidebar, and I'm still a bit iffy on how to do it. Clapp makes this car run and we're lucky to have him and to have him back.
Now, let's talk about me. I've been gone for a bit (bad luck and circumstance that it happens to be when Clapp was gone). I will continue to be gone for another few weeks as I put the finishing touches (hopefully) on my Juris Doctor. But do not fret, I will return with the fervor and insanity that you have come to expect.
That said, let's...have a discussion.
As you may or may not know, I have something of an infatuation with Anne Hathaway. Clapp uses words like "obsession" and "stalker" when describing it, which I think is overly negative and a bit offensive to the nice man who sold me the night-vision goggles. Regardless of how you classify it, there is a certain realization that comes with age. The type of man that Anne Hathaway goes for, inevitably, is:
1) One with a killer job (HA!)
2) One with a killer dick (HA! HA HA!)
3) One with a modicum of self respect (Third strike)
It's not lost on me that I have now used "dick" twice in this little piece. I don't know if that's allowed. Nevertheless, seeing as I represent maybe .5 of the above 3, I have to set my sights a bit lower. It's hard to really explain in words...so I'll use song:
This morning when I saw those cankles, I had to think again...*ahem*. Moving on.
As some of our long time readers undoubtedly know, I know very little. I am a stupid, stupid man with a variety of problems that I simply cannot solve. Today, I woke up and immediately was worried about Nicole Richie. Is she tiny? Is she sick? Does she have a disease that is, apparently, hard to pronounce? I've been up six hours thinking about it. I just can't figure it out. Then, I had a "Come to Jesus" moment. One of those instances when your entire world comes into focus, has meaning, and the answer is right in front of you:
It's all good, baby. It's all good. See you all in a few weeks. I intend to go by Dr. FlyAtTheThigh. Tell your friends. Please?
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