Tepid Stove

Free agents flying around like confetti. GMs legitimately dreaming of big arms, big bats, big moustaches. And the San Francisco Giants land.... Steve Kline. Basically, we're looking at the same lineup as last year, with Moises & Barry & Edgardo one year older, plus.... Steve Kline in the pen. Sabes, you're a genius.

Hey, did I mention the Warriors are 12-6?

Also, you know what's really good? Chevre. I could stuff my fat face with chevre all day long, and I wouldn't get tired. I fucking love chevre. Seriously, don't get me started on chevre, 'cause I'll talk your ear off. It's ok by me, chevre is. My hat is off to the Basque shepherds whose squinty gazes and sternly wielded staffs keep their goats in line, so that I may cram pounds of creamy chevre into my drooling gob. Let's all raise a toast to those part-time farmers who set up overpriced chevre tables at yuppie farmers' markets in the big city. Did I say overpriced? You can't put a price on chevre, asshole. I'm gonna buy fifty kilos of chevre and roll around in the stuff, coating my hair and body with deliciously pungent curd. I'm gonna cram fistfuls of chevre into every cranny & pigeonhole in the city, spreading goaty goodness from Staten Island to the Bronx.

This is what happens when you force yourself to post despite no ideas. I mean, chevre is ok, I guess. Whatever.