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Elliott and The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

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Hi everyone! My name is Elliott. I'm a law student in Texas, but not one of those nerdy, work-a-day law students, but a cool law student who totally goes out EVERY night and gets WASTED. I'm always right, especially when it comes to not being bad at basketball and/or basketball predictions. Plus, I'm hott. I'm usually really happy, especially with the Tech Red Raiders doing so well (NORM! I LOVE YOU) but yesterday was just a really bad day.

I woke up with gum in my hair. That gum was attached to throw up. My girlfriend told me not to do it, but I cut my hair around the gum and spew. Needless to say, it looks really good. Good enough to be on another magazine cover.

Then I turned on my TV and Barack Obama is on there. I hate that guy. Not because he's a Democrat or because he's black, but because he thinks he's better at basketball than me. No way that guy is better at basketball than me. I'm way better than that guy at basketball. I'm way better then everybody but Dirk "Heartthrob" Nowitzki at basketball.

Then the day got really bad. I check my other TV (yeah, I've got TWO of em) and my poop got wrecked by devastating news to the Maverick faithful: Mark Cuban is getting busted for insider trading. You don't understand. I bought $1,100 worth of Cubs paraphagnalia at the mere thought of Cubes owning the Cubs. Mark Cuban could put his bare butt in my Cheerios and blow bubbles, and I'd eat it and tell everyone about it. This Martha Stewart insider trading bologna can't happen. If Cuban does get sent to the pokey, I'm going to stand shirtless in front of his penitentiary, as an ever-silent and ever-good looking vigil until he is released. That should draw a crowd.

I thought my day was warming up when I went into a Wendy's to get some Baconaters. My mom lets me get two sometimes, but Woody lets me get three! So I'm standing there with a boner waiting for my Baconaters, when none other than the pirate man himself, Coach Mike Leach, waltzes in. He looks me up and down, stares into my eyes and says "Not today, mate," and cuts in line! I was blown away! All I could do was stand there with my mouth wideopen while he ordered. Then he threw his frosty in my face and said "Sorry...NOT." I wouldn't have cared but I was wearing my Dirk Jersey to work that day (Monday). I work in a law firm.

The Mavs didn't play on Monday, so I went to the bathroom and took a two hour dump at work. It was a good looking dump.

So I was looking to getting this day over with and I decided I needed to get home ASAP. As most of you know, I'm faster than most cars, so I left the Ford at the office and ran home at a full sprint. The day goes from bad to worse when who should be helping some little old lady across the street? Tony "I'm Homo For" Romo. If I'm wearing a Dirk Jersey, I'm wearing Romo underwear too. Apparently, I ran over him and re-broke his already injured pinky. I felt terrible about it, but he said it was cool, and we tag teamed Jessica Simpson. That actually happened.

Then I get home and the icing on the poopcake happens. I had a nifty lead on this cocknuckle from Arkansas (did I tell you I'm friends with Ronnie Brewer? Yeah, BEST FRIENDS) in Fantasy Football by 22 points. I had already lost five in a row, and knew God couldn't hate me enough to let me lose six.

Up my butt with a coconut. I lost again. Apparently, Marshawn Lynch is good at football and Zack Stovall owns me.

I couldn't find anything to drink so I drank some bleach and got totally hammered. I hope Tuesday doesn't end with a comically over-sized piano falling from the sky and hitting me in my good-looking head.