With A Heavy Heart I Concede That Yesterday I Suffered A First Round KO From The English Language
Originalated: Of which, or to pertaining to something that has originated. Only ever inaccurately conjured up inside the mind of a toddler learning the alphabet or genetically deficient chimp.
Smitty vs. The English Language. It’s a war of attrition that’s been going on for decades, and still has no end in sight. Yesterday, I was beyond hangry while having to defend the correct baseball saying of “Throw it down the PIKE” (I’m right, btw, you heathens, or Webster’s is wrong). There’s still no excuse for confronting the English language like that. And after falling in the Battle Of Illiteracy during a Fanduel adread during EYAK, I have to concede. The English language fought the good fight yesterday, and I have to lick my sores and move on.
As a blogger throughout the years, we’ve had some issues with righting as I doesn’t do grammer good. The ol’ Barstool charm. Just like Alvin Mack, as long as I’m in The Program, I should be ok. Don’t like the lack of literacy? Well then fuck you doughboy. See that shoe? It says ADIDAS. Midas whale go somewhere else before the mind-bottling amount of questionable words gives you a Caesar and you fade into Bolivian. However, I feel like I’ve been improving in the spoken word. Of course I say things in the moment that are off the cuff and seemingly from the left field of Neptune. If you’ve seen any of my streams where pure raw emotion is not only featured, but abused, nobody knows what the hell I’m trying to say. Myself included. Salty vaginas be gone.
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But at least I’ve conquered my battle with Dr. Stutter. Kind of. Sometimes my mind simply moves too fast (or most likely slow) for me lips and I get caught up over words. This is what happened way back when I went to see Stallone and Michael B. Jordan at the Art Museum today while they’re pimping Creed. I am still ashamed.
“Clear Eyes. Full Stroke. I lose.”
That’s still embarrassing. It was the only chance I’ll ever get to meaningfully belt out a “Clear Eyes, Full Hearts!” outside of a barroom setting and I royally shat myself. It’s a great thing QB1 Vince Howard was there to bail me out or else Coach Taylor would’ve rightfully kicked my ass out of Texas, and America forever. Sure, maybe I should’ve went with a “Where the fuck is Wallace, String?!”. But even so, there were no excuses in this situation. Granted, I had a 3 second window and of course Vine (RIP) dicked out on me so I’m rattled trying to do salvage anything I can, but still. I know I occasionally on the rundown, podcasts, videos, and life, but is it this bad or am I a genetically deficient? It very well could be a happy medium. I don’t exactly think my impediment is necessarily a Stuttering Stanley or Billy Bibbet from Cuckoo’s Nest types of slurs. I sincerely think it’s just noises I make while I’m trying to comprehend legitimate thoughts…which is fucking worse. At least those full blown stutterers can think rationally and know what they’re going to say. They just can’t spit it out. I, on the other hand, was, and still am a fucking idiot, have zero idea what to think, and make sounds like a pregnant giraffe until a somewhat coherent thought is made. And THEN I start spewing. But there’s no excuse for what we all saw that day, people. That was your classic on-air stroke and shit. Solid one-two punch, Smitty.
There’s only one way to go, and I hope that’s one day reading, and thinking at an 8th grade level. And I don’t recall ever doing this but it’s definitely a power play from here on out. Can’t lose a fight over words if you don’t say anything.