Round 1 is done (almost) and 64 players are drowing their sorrows in champs and berries.
In the grand scheme of things, that doesn't suck.
Yeah, you fuck that air, Daveed. Vamos!
Aw, shit. Game on.
And by "Game On" I mean, "I'm leaving Wimbledon drunk, poor, and working off my debt owed to Pimmy by doing things that I dare not write on a blog that my parents read."
Slow and steady wins the race, Andy.
You know, for all my talk about not being able to stand Caro's game, I have to give her mad props for being a universally liked player. It's always nice to see. That doesn't mean that I don't think she sounds like a retarded Muppet when she speaks, but props.
In Serena's world, this is on her currency.
Take some much deserved and needed time off. And in that time off, how about you put your "banging chicks" schedule on pause for 15 minutes, take a hot shower and go for a shave and a hair cut. You'll feel like a new man.
And more importantly you'll *look* like a new man. Because right now you look like you smell like a can of Axe Body Spray exploded in a gym bag full of dirty workout clothes that has been sitting in my musty garage for over a year.
Apparently queuing for tickets is no different than sitting in my living room.
But with more grass and fewer pizza boxes.
You still rock a rad tan and killer legs. Fuck the haters.
Oh. She's just drinking water. Nevermind.