It's Sunday

This is the day that I spend the morning making food packed with enough cholesteral to kill 22 oatmeal addicts, break out the beer, come up with some new cheers for the kids to yell at the TV and sit down to watch the Detroit Lions get whipped like an incontinent Shi-tzu on new carpeting.

Now, I'm not a pain freak. I normally don't seek out this level of excruciation unless there's the threat of an orgasm at its conclusion. So why do I do this? Why do I subject myself to such agonizing week after week after week? Why can't I just give up and start watching the Red Wings (besides the fact that I can't get them on my sattelite dish without handing over my first-born)? Why am I unable to resist this weekly football fisting?

Who knows, or at this point, who cares? Anyway, here's the pre-game Limerick:

The Lions can not make them scared,

Any more than get passes well aired,

But those cruel Cleveland clowns,

Will see six shades of Browns,

Up the back of their stained underwhere.

Detroit Lions vs. Cleveland Browns. 1:00pm.

This is gonna hurt.