So I made a good run at it with my fantasy football. I lost in the big money league and I'm still alive in the other. I've got Wayne and Ocho Cinco going against Harrison tonight. I'm up by 7 right now. We'll see. Anyway, I've taken it much better than I thought. My dog isn't even limping. Kidding. I beat off not pets.

But what has really made this blow a little easier? A few things. And one of them is called Daytona 500 - the fragrance. You see, I can't count the mornings I'd wake up with Marlboros and Budweiser on my breath, a black eye, and fried chicken, mascara and tar stains on my shirt, and say to myself, "Man, someone ought to bottle this!" Finally, some genius of a man did. Just in time for Christmas. Hint, hint.

Speaking of slutty stenches, the other thing that's got me forgetting about my loss is that now I'm only half as worried about banging that whore down in Daytona. Man, someone ought to bottle that! Really? Fantastic. Maybe I'll write something about it . . .

Oh, and the fact that I am Time's Person of the Year! I've heard of copouts, but I've never seen one on the cover of a magazine.

1. His name is Jeff.
2. He used to work at Erwin Penland.
3. His last name is weird.
4. He lives in Atlanta.
5. He gives horrible handjobs.
6. He Tivos The View.
7. He does not steal things.

Sorry I've been out of touch lately, but I've got two teams in the second round of the playoffs, so I've been really hard at work managing my retirement plan. Here's to Hobo Bush and The Bozard Mountain Daredevils . . . one more victory for each and I'll be a nervous wreck for the finals and what would amount to around $3,000, which I'll certainly report on my taxes if I win.