Chicken Little

So word on the street is that the economy is falling harder than Paris for Benji (in an equally surreal and nausea-inducing kind of way, but with less self-tanner), which is a bummer. But I'm not letting it get me down in part because the jokes on Laffy Taffy wrappers are the better than Prozac. (Why was the cat afraid of the tree? Because of the bark!) I don't plan on retiring for awhile and I'm not opposed to the idea of a community garden, so all-in-all I'm not terribly worried.

No, I'm bummed about (and I know this is Tim's blog topic, so I'll only do this once) because my AP fantasy football team (aka 85 Mafia, we're not going to get into the sad origins of the team name) has the same record as the real-life Cincy Bengals. I know. The worst part is that I actually put time into trying to make my team less worthless than dignity at a Pussycat Dolls concert, but to no avail. Brady Quinn and his brown eyes are still just taking up space on the bench (on my team and in real life).

Worry not, though, because Rise Against and the Gaslight Anthem are playing Cleveland on Thursday and if that's not the cure for a fantasy team with a worse prognosis than the national economy, then I just don't know what is. (Another Laffy Taffy joke? Okay. What does a pig put on his cut? hint: it's not lipstick, Sarah Palin. It's Oinkment!)

In other exciting news, I got married this weekend! (Sorry, no pictures, kids. I sold them exclusively to UsPeopleWeekly.) Jack is getting all settled into his new home. He's even found a spot where he can compulsively watch for pedestrians, other dogs, squirrels and plastic bags that may encroach upon our lawn so that he can bark maniacally to warn us of this disturbance.(Sorry, new neighbors, but you really can't hear the barking too much over the stereo, can you?)