Oh, Don McLean. How could you be so very wrong?

Jon, where is the couch?

Jane Eyre is a cocktease.

At twelve hours and sixteen minutes, driving home from Ohio has to rank as the most mind-numbingly boring thing I have ever done.

Dear potential Marshalls of Nashua browsers,

Please. Fucking. Shower.

There are few things sweeter in this world than returning home after an evening of cavorting around to find a law enforcement officer talking to your father and having it transpire that your father called into the police station and insinuated that the local police are racists.

My driveway is being torn up and redone, but having seen Lords of Dogtown on Saturday, I want to shred that and an empty swimming pool (which I don't have) so bad. I don't even own a skateboard.

I hate how easily influenced I am by cool Hollywood films.

I totally just totalled the car!

This is possibly the greatest fucking night of my life.

Employed, and Liverpool come back from three goals to force penalties and win it.

It is nights like this that make me realize how much I love football. Fucking hell.

I mean, seriously!

Yesterday concluded the worst season of soccer in recent memory.

Five games, two divisions, thirty-two goals allowed, two goals scored, and I was joint-top scorer with one goal.

Thanks for the memories.