…and boy do the dead dream weird shit. I was passed out enough to not really remember the circumstances of my dreams, but there was something to do with Robert Pires and blogging. Perhaps I have gotten stressed out enough about coming up with daily entries that my subconscious is doing my legwork whilst I sleep?
For the eventuality that I get folks popping by from The Google looking for information about Pires’ parents–dude, I have no idea. Nor do I know anything about Ronaldinho’s grandparents or house, or what high school Zidane attended, or what *his* parents’ names were, or the names of Pele’s parents, or information about Ronaldinho written in French. Try this site for a start. It’s not that I don’t like the hits, but my OCD compels me to have answers for these questions and to be quite honest, I don’t need to know the names of footballer’s parents. Unless, of course, all of y’all want to pay me to do your Googling for you.
Anyhow, I’d write about Arsenal at this point but I missed both of their games last week due to travel. I did catch the Man Utd-Chelsea match today, and honestly the only result that could’ve possibly been satisfying was if somehow points were taken away from both. Why did I watch? A week without football is like a day without shitting. Or something. Watch, that will show up as a search engine term and I’m going to remove all references to sports entirely.