Dear Dear Diary
Monday, December 01, 2008
 
Dear Plaxico Burress:

You are an idiot.

You have failed at your job. You have disappointed fans everywhere. You fail as a role model. I'm sorry you're going to jail, but really- you deserve everything the NFL is going to do to you.

Your job as a professional football player is to *play* football at the professional level. During the season, you really should eat, sleep, and breathe football, focus on staying in top shape, and keeping yourself healthy. This does not mean going out to clubs until all hours every night. This does not mean skipping team meetings and showing up late.

The NFL has been happy to help you with security detail. They are more than happy to give you references to hire some men to guard your ass while in public. There is no reason to carry a gun yourself, particularly when you have no license to carry a gun, or for that matter *own a gun*. If you did have the proper licenses, one of the requirements is lessons on how to use and maintain said firearms. Now, I'm libertarian enough to where I think everyone ought to know how to shoot and maintain a gun, and I firmly believe if you own a gun, you should practice with it regularly. I have heard of several places in NYC where you can legally shoot all kinds of guns. Clearly if you had any safe gun handling lessons, you would have been able to carry your gun in a sensible manner, and if you had the proper licenses, you could have done so legally. But all of this was lost on you, because you thought you were above the law because you were rich.

You aren't rich. The people who sign your paycheck are rich. You are just a lucky bastard with a talent for playing football. And now that you have a hole in your thigh, you can't play football. What good are you now?

I hope you will learn something from all this. Unfortunately, I think you'll be crying about that chip on your shoulder about how all this happened because you were black and unable to get endorsement deals. No. It happened because you, Plaxico, are a frigging idiot.
 
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This rather schizophrenic blog was started as a fictional blog, written by a character of a story. I've since taken it over for writing personal stuff I don't mind sharing with anyone who cares. I am also writing thoughts about writing and stories that move me.


Other places I go:
Georg's Research
Help local kitties
I have relatives. Be afraid
Blessed is the One True Tami
Tata the Bodacious
Obligatory Yarn Harlot
It is impossible not to love Sandi Wiseheart once you've met her
The Tsarina
Holiday Yarns
Habetrot
I like the name Twiggi
Who to blame for my sock addiction
Maybe the cleverest blog title
Romancing the Yarn
Why I read Romancing the Yarn
Get an ab work out with laughter
My Kitty Obsession
Kittehs
You meet the nicest people playing video games
I'm such a fanboi
Rabbitch
One of my stalker targets
The other stalkee
I just love Josh (the cat)
Josh the Cat and friends
Pet politics
Pet Care
If I were a sheep, I'd be Delores
I live here now
Not Your Mama's Crafters
Make a Lily Pad


Anything not marked might be just me, Georg, posting as myself.

It's just this blog, okay? Some of it is story. Some of it is animals. Some of it is knitting. It's a blog.

For story #1, I do recommend starting from the beginning of this blog if you haven't read this before. Please start at the beginning.

I did mean it to be for http://www.nanowrimo.org - but I never got quite got it done under the wire.

CAST:
Jeannie is the author/main character.
Frank is her husband. Poor man.
Tony is musician/singer.
Angie is a teenager, who was Jeannie's best friend. Now currently dead.
Honestly, there is no connection between Jeannie and me and Frank and my husband.

Story #2
Frank and Ether. This will be much weirder than Frank and Jeannie. I like the name Frank. No one expects a Frank to lie.

Story #3
A desert story. Anna is the main character. Currently there is only her little brother and an old servant, and a mysterious redhead.

Story #4
The necro story. A young necromancer heads off to the Hated Ones to find her trousseau.

Story X
Reserving this for one-offs, poems, etc.


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Marriage is love.

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