And, as we dig our ways out of the humble abode, we begin to look to the outside world for amusement. Ya see, the sled dogs are now certifiably stir crazy, the avalanches have done their thing (and closed the mail route over the pass, as well as one of them fancy interstate thingies), so perhaps its Congress that can now occupy our attention. And baseball. Better yet, Congress AND baseball.
So, who's this young whippersnapper that's suddenly taken the main stage? He's not accused of dipping his pecker in the honey pot? No. He wasn't swindling the locals numbers fella, was he? No. And, he hadn't off'ed a ref? No.
His great crime? His trainer (a scoundrel of many hues, certainly) had injected his wife before a glamour shoot for that two-bit sporting magazine. And, for this he can make an ass of himself, his team, Congress, the FBI, IRS, and us mugs, the paying public.
Sheesh, its enough to make a man go back to skinning marmots . Your world ain't no crazier than mine, fo' sure!
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