Much like the old dare of saying "Bloody Mary" three times in front of the mirror, the word "Favre" has become an evil chant to summon my ire.
I can't stand that name anymore.
I work at the newspaper in Hattiesburg and ever since the Favre fiasco has started, all I hear is "Favre, Favre,Favre!"
Much like "Marsha, Marsha, Marsha!"
The reason the newspaper has been in such a Favre uproar is not just because it's a big deal because of the sports thing, but because Favre lives in Hattiesburg.
So, everyone's been on Favre watch.
I'm not a sports oriented person. I like hockey and I like a little soccer now and then.
But the spectator sport I've always enjoyed is sitting back and watching my dad (a super, hardcore sports fan) scream and throw things at the TV as he watches sports. Any sports at all.
Even golf, a sport you're supposed to be quiet at.
Also, I went to Pensacola with my dad and sister and got talked into getting a tattoo: a teeny little crab I designed and had them copy. It's like I have a permanent friend with me. A tiny, one inch little friend.
I'll post a picture when Blogger's not rejecting all pictures.
Oh yeah, and if anyone says that tattoos don't hurt is a liar. A big, fat liar.
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