It hadn't rained in Tucson for 50 days and 50 nights. The first time it did, my fucked up tennis friends "ran away" like they were being chased by a killer rabbit.
My little witness-protection friend may have to change his nickname. His "real" name is Ed Vegas -- or so he says, but how many "Venezuelans" have the last name Vegas? That's the US Marshal's office laughing their ass off as they make fake names for each Colombian drug lord they turn.
These goddamn pendejos from Tucson have taken body shaming to a whole fucking new level. This time we were renting a few days with the 1% in the LJBTC community. Fuck Disneyland, the LJBTC is the happiest place on earth.
I might have to break a couple of semi-famous thumbs.
Believe it or not, I have a friend, who recently became "famous" for quitting. Well, at least "internet famous" (in Tucson only) when he quietly retired.
If you see me being led away in handcuffs anytime soon, it was just life teaching me another little lesson about me. Here's my side of the story.
I've ranted, raved and complained like a 2-year-old with no cookie about the United States Tennis Association. And just when I thought I was out for good, they pulled me back in.
I learned something deep and dark about myself. If two of my friends ever go to hunt down the last white tiger on earth, the Bear and I would tag along, not say a fucking word, and laugh at all the wrong times. Sounds awful I know.
I fucking knew Josh and Angry Ed would not be able to let that go. I would have bet a month's pay it would be Angry Ed... but it wasn't.
After years of physical therapy and anti-inflammatories, followed by months of injections and finally artho knee surgery, I finally found my "miracle". Cortisone.