Let's start off today with an R.I.P. to my man Jeff Healey, the blind guitarist from Road House, man that guy could rip it.
*Road House side note* That chick might be my #1 late 80's crush of all time, sorry Phoebe Cates your now number 2.
Sorry, back to the topic at hand, noodle arms. Not everyone is blessed with a cannon attached to their body, this I know. But it is no excuse for the travesty that repeats itself every day on my driveway. (Was that a haiku?) Each morning I wake up with that familiar blue plastic rectangle perched at the top of my driveway. Yep, the good ol' NY Times practically hanging out into the road.
How can your throws be so shitty? Who are you? Ryan Leaf? Akili Smith? Either way your arm sucks.
As the nicer weather approaches this becomes less of a nuisance but would it hurt you, (that means you NY Times delivery guy!), to heave that thing a little farther down the driveway? It's already pitched downhill just slide it down that beast. Are you saving your arm for a call up to the bigs? I thought the NY Times was the equivalent to the show? Even the guy who tosses the local paper gets more distance than you.
If every day can't be a good toss how about just the days of torrential downpours and white outs? Trudging through the monsoons is bad enough but now your going to make me hike up the driveway to get a rain soaked early edition? Fuck that. My house even has a sweet overhang above the front door to provide shelter for that archaic scroll known as a newspaper so start putting some mustard on your tosses.
Shit, you send a sweet little envelope every holiday begging for fucking tips, which I am totally willing to provide if I can get a little more in return. Maybe this Christmas I'll give you a coupon for some throwing lessons at the local batting cage. You've been warned NY Times guy, don't make me get the hose.
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