You know how you hear baseball players talk about how they love to sit on the fastball and the inside heater is right in there wheel house. Well this chick is right in my wheel house. Let's go through the check list of what she has. Blonde hair? Yup. Looks phenomenal in blue? Check. Can she rock a belt that melts your dick and heart at the same time? Yes and Yes. Does she tilt her head every so gently that it invites you in and suggests where to sit? Uh-huh. Just an all around cutie. Not too skinny, not plump at all. And it's like a stab wound to the heart knowing that she's out there on ABC swapping spit with some jerk off from Chicago because he puts gel in his hair and writes a fantastic poem. You know who doesn't put gel in his hair and writes a belly aching blog? Me. This guy. You might even go to the extreme and say I don't give a fuck what my hair looks like, I curse like a sailor and I'm technically unemployed. What is there not to like? She'll look at me and say, "Winner, winner, take me to a chicken dinner." Only to Applebees, though. Money is tight.
