So, I’m at work tonight—working hard, obviously. During a moment of respite, I turn on my BlackBerry. I’ve been away from my phone for a few hours, so I need my CrackBerry fix. Naturally, I’m expecting to be flooded with hundreds of missed calls, texts and Tweets from people who wanted to talk to me. Ultimately, I am disappointed. Thankfully I conquered my lack of popularity back in middle school.
There is, however, an e-mail from our fearless editor, Daniel Buerge. “New Article” is the title. I open it up, and basically, it’s a link to a Yahoo! article. He wants a response to it tonight. I click the link to the article. Unfortunately, Verizon has me on that half-G network where I work, so all I could load was the title of the article.
“Miami fan: Kobe Bryant is no Dwyane Wade”
My first thought? “You’re damn right he’s no Dwyane Wade.” I agree with this guy—why would Daniel need my response to this? I’ll figure it out later, I told myself, and e-mailed him back that I would do this piece for my usual fee: $100,000. He said the check was in the mail and I went back to work.
It wasn’t until I got home, showered, plopped down in front of my CPU and loaded up the article that the nausea truly hit me. I’m talking nausea to the point where you don’t feel like you’re going to puke, but rather, you know that you’re going to puke and you’re resigned to your fate. It’s just a matter of figuring out the quickest route to the nearest toilet.
My nearest toilet? Happened to be my trashcan. And when I say “trashcan”, what I really mean is an empty Penn Station bag. (I’m on that South Beach diet).
Between heaving into the empty bag, I turned to God.
“God,” I said, “WHY YOU DO ME LIKE THIS?”
Finally, after I had expelled everything I had eaten the previous 15 hours, it hit me: this dude believes in his heart Dwyane Wade is better than Kobe Bryant. (Ugh, I almost puked again just typing it).
….
[phpbay]Kobe Swingman, 3, “”[/phpbay]
