Spur-ned

I sit here in my ranch house, surrounded by donkeys, horses and dogs, staring down the prospect of a morning 45-minute drive to a strip mall where I can worry about jewelry, and I am depressed because one group of seven foot tall millionares defeated another group of seven foot tall millionaires at a game involving putting a ball through a hoop in a city two hundred miles away.

It's foolish, silly, pointless, and in the morning it won't matter at all.

But right now, it hurts, stupid as it is.

Feh.

When the next series starts, I'll root for the Mavericks and their green-clad fans and their slope-eyed, hair-brushed-down-in-front flat-headed idiot owner, but for right now I plan on stewing in my own misery because my group of millionaires lost a stupid game.

Double feh.