|You can do anything, but lay off my ruby padukas|
I went to Wrigley Field this Tuesday to see AC/DC, and they were old, and I was old, and the beer was fifteen dollars, and my ears were ringing, and I hadn't been there in 35 years. The last time I was there I saw Jerry Martin hit two home runs over the left field wall while listening to Ronnie Woo a few rows behind us yell "woo, woo, woo woo woo" the entire game.
Back to these so-called Padukah Poets. I'm sort of on board with their message of first do no poetry, but it makes for dull meetings. Unless you got some of these golden ruby-encrusted padukas.
I've been to Paducah. By now I've been to all of the Holy Cities of American Comedy except Sheboygan. You see, there's no reason anyone in America would even be playing Knile Davis on their fantasy team, unless they sucked at fantasy football, but the irony is since he was on this person's team and the game was almost over I knew as soon as he took the field what the Universe had in store for me. It was then I had a vision The Padukah Poets were in my future. And iced cream. Because even if you don't care about fantasy football, if I were to explain to you there may not have been another fantasy team in America where someone was so bad that they had played Knile Davis, then he scored a touchdown, you might come to understand paduka.
Don't try, don't try, don't try.
|And you should have|