The maintenance guys, especially, were the best. I’d always run down to their work shed and bang on the door as loud as I could. Then they’d come out and yell at me for it, and tell me that my last start sucked, or that they didn’t understand why the team was even keeping me around.

I’d bust their balls, and they’d give it right back.

Every time I saw them changing a lightbulb, or fixing something in the clubhouse, I’d mosey over, stand real close, cross my arms, and say, “It’s about time you guys did some work around here.”

Then they’d tell me it was “about time” I won a game for a change. Or hit the weight room.

This registered sex offender I regularly converse with on the internet just said something really stupid

Our hotel smelled like dead hooker vagina (before you ask I had gotten a detailed description from beardown)

I have MANY years of experience in trying to appreciate steaming piles of dogshit.