(1 to 32) X 7 = Dear, God...take me now...

Hello, Merry Meridianites. Ricky “The Cougar” Crenshaw coming at you from Radio City Music Hall reporting on the 2009 NFL Draft and boy is my barn burning! My loyal readers, you all know that I’m an easy going, God fearing man, but I have a strong distaste for two things: tarnished silverware and repetitive sequential counting. So welcome to your fucking 2009 NFL draft: a guaranteed seven rounds of counting to thirty-two in as slow a pace as possible. And it is painful. Painful. And I hate pain.

And, my fair Meridianites, you all know I’m a take charge type guy. I’m a pass the biscuits one more time round the table type guy. The type of guy who’s first to laugh at a funny accent or a lost foreigner. Or even the type of guy who’s take charge enough to ask Ricky Jr.’s mother to let me skip another month of child support because I blew last month’s income on some antique silverware I got real cheap in Chinatown (it wasn’t tarnished at the time). So, as you can imagine, by the time we got to the number “14” for the fourth consecutive time, I was ready to take matters into my own hands. So I take one of my newly purchased Chinatown antique forks and I shove it up my ass. If I’m going to hurt this much, God damn it, I’m going to do it to myself…

All in all, the 2009 NFL draft didn’t get any more bearable, but at least I had a good reason to cry. I tarnished my forks…