Wait for it. Up through the ghoulish blue liquid the tiny icosahedrenal piece begins to settle against the plastic window. Appears to be “Outlook not so good.” Wait, or is that . . . “My sources say no”? With a wishful slight of hand I jostle the ball but can’t improve on “Better not tell you now.” I’ll take it.
Either this coming year is going to be pretty great or my Eightballin’ song is just kicking the can of bad news farther down the road. Like, it just doesn’t have the heart to tell you.
Regardless, it’s sort of hard to improve on some of the greatest soothsaying since Prince John was jilted out of his rings by the fox, Robin Hood, and the bear, Little John. My iPredict 2011 anticipated some of the seminal events in human history: snake bites, tornadoes . . . oh and a little thing called the Dallas Mavericks in 6. And, there was something else . . . hmmmmmm . . . what could it have been? Oh, that’s right the death of Osama bin Laden!
So, this year is sure to be a let down. I was going to predict an alien invasion but I couldn’t see clearly enough as to whether or not they would be hostile. And, I didn’t want to run the risk of my premonitional powers inadvertently calling down an extraterrestrial armageddon on us. And, I couldn’t think of any thing else really cool to predict, like an ice cream thunderstorm or a remake of Family Ties.
In the end, I just played it straight and predicted all the things that will actually happen this year. Important pugilist bouts (possibly from prison) and the summer games and the presidential election. You’re welcome. And, any ill-gotten wagering earnings from Intrade as a result of my recommendations should be made directly depositable into my PayPal account. (For those new to the site, no word is safe from my reckless, and heretofore never heard, conjugation of it.)
DISCLAIMER: The ipoetlaureate does not condone or otherwise advocate the recreational use of divination, fortune telling, hokus pokus, or mumbo jumbo.
In other news, it’s a pretty big day.
First, the Houston Chronicle won’t quit their sort of embarrassing infatuation with me. I mean a couple weeks ago they had this really fawning bit about my Tim Tebow song and now they’ve gone and put in actual printed ink this obsequious story that goes on and on and on about how great I am and how awesome and innovative and cutting-edge and revenue-generating and forward-thinking and ground-breaking and well-worded and muscle-building and small-animal-rescuing and the greatest-thing-ever this site is.
I almost didn’t want to tell you guys about it. I mean, I guess, if you wanted to link over to the website or drive to Houston itself to purchase 3 or 4 hundred copies of the in-print paper, just to laugh at the Chron’s obsession with me, then that would be cool. But, it’s all pretty pathetic if you ask me.
See what I mean:
Just to be nice, I suppose I could theoretically give a huge, ginormous thank you to Sketch the Journalist and his editor for doing such a flattering and complimentary and well-done piece on me. But, I don’t want to lead them on. So, I would never say anything like that. Sometimes a clean break is for the best.
Also, it’s my birthday on Saturday and me and my boy are going to see the Kentucky Wildcats at Rupp Arena (His Christmas present, not mine; I mean I’m making a pretty, pretty big sacrifice to have to watch the second best team in the country play my favorite college team on my birthday. But, that’s what you do when you’re a dad, I suppose.)
Lastly — uggh my fingernails have carpel tunnel — I was at this conference in Atlanta, earlier in the week, where a handful of college students raised a modest $3 million dollars in four days to fight human slavery worldwide. I’d like to say something typically snarky here to act cool for my blong readers, but I can’t. It was all just too emotional. Praise God.
I guess the only thing left is to rattle this eight ball and whisper encouragingly, “Will I finish my real job work tonight and get some sleep?
“Don’t count on it.”
Performed by the ipoetlaureate. Music produced pumpkinFoot.
Today’s song blog here:Eightballin' 2012