Updates: Coming Out of The Dark

1) Yes, Anonymous, it's true. A little more than one month after my initial posting (back when the Wizards had a losing record), my fair Buffy, as if through ESP (or self-Googling?) heard my cries of pain and reached out to me via email. Her message reads as follows:

A friend of mine showed me your webpage. It is a hilarious story but none of those things are true. Sometimes better opportunities arise, that's all.

So, what better opportunities might she be speaking of? Perhaps Dean Witter finally called. Perhaps her small business loan was approved and she's opened a small stationary store in Silver Spring.

Or perhaps... no. I shouldn't say any more. I should just keep my mouth shut. A gentleman doesn't tell.

(sigh)

Fine. But you didn't hear it from me.

Let's just say that, one week from today, a certain dynamically talented, former Washington Wizards Dance Team member and a certain mustachioed Eastern European gentleman of questionable nobility, dressed in nothing but a Speedo and his faithful smoking jacket, will be lounging by the pool on a private estate in Mustique eating frozen grapes, sipping on Thug Passions. By night, the two will dine by candlelight on lobsters and truffles, and dance to an oft-played Gloria Estefan mix CD. It will be a magical week, and neither will want it to end. But both will know deep down in their hearts that it must end. For the dynamic former dancer will have to return to her struggling stationary store, and this random European noble will have to put his pants back on and start smoking his pipe once again. And the owners of the private estate will arrive for their weekend stay, only to discover two sunburned strangers passed out by their pool with "Y-Tu-Conga" playing on repeat, blasting out of a CVS-purchased boom-box.

A better opportunity indeed.

2) I am pleased to report that, despite earlier reports, Kevin Federline did not eat Rocky in order to gain strength in his quest to defeat John Cena. I may have overreacted on that one. Turns out Rocky was just pulling his yearly mini-Rip Van Winkle/Costanza, sleeping underneath his desk, where I never thought to look.

3) Wizards v. Suns. Tonight. I'll be wearing all seven of my Tough Juice t-shirts as I scream like a 13 year-old girl, trying to get Gilbert's attention in the nosebleeds, though I don't think he can throw his jersey that high. This game is Derek Foreal - it's gonna be awesome. Not only are the WizKids on a tear at home this season, having only lost three, they've already beaten Phoenix once at Phoenix (ending a 15-game win streak). The Suns currently have a 13-game win streak that will have to end at some point, and this is the first game in a five game East Coast road trip. They're ripe for the pickin'! Needless to say, I'm styched.


Update: Ugh. That wasn't very much fun. At least I got upgraded this afternoon to awesome seats, giving me the opportunity witness the glory of Clinton Portis (who was at the game with a lady friend) from up close.

I'm Losing Everything, Including My Mind

In my frantic attempt to locate my one true love, I've managed to lose track of my co-worker and this blog's co-founder. Where are you, Rocky? It's been over a month since your last post, and we're getting worried.

Here are the facts as we know them. My last contact with the 'Coon was right before he left the Styched offices to attend the epic WWE RAW! event at the Phonebooth on the evening of December 18th. I was following along throughout the night via the USA network's live coverage of the event and through a furious text messaging session with our roving reporter. Our final correspondence came into my cell phone at 10:37 PM:

K fed just walked in

That was it. Those were Rocky's final words to me.

I've put in calls to the DCPD, WWE, and Kevin Federline's publicist. Apparently, a band of rogue double-parkers had trapped the police in their squad cars, and the WWE provided only a recorded message from Vince McMahon, thanking me for my support, which was appreciated, but not quite what I was looking for. As for Kevin Federline, it seems that things have gotten even more desperate than anyone could have ever imagined. His publicist initially denied any knowledge of KFed or his whereabouts, but when prodded further, she grew quiet, and in a frightened tone, warned me, "do whatever you have to do. Lock your doors and your windows, and just know that he's grown immune to conventional weapons and methods of self-defense. Guns don't work anymore. Bullets don't work. I even tried stabbing him in his sleep." Then, in a panic, she hurriedly signed off: "good luck, and Godspeed."

I think it's clear what's happened: without money to purchase Cool Ranch Doritos, Federline has turned to human flesh to satisfy his hunger, which has in turn given him the supernatural strength he will need to take the Champion's belt from John Cena. Rocky was clearly one of his first victims. By the time the authorities take action, it will be too late: KFed will roam the streets wearing his WWE RAW! United States Championship Belt, and we'll all be doomed.