Fly Me #3 "The Resurrection" Sports Talk,Good Tunes,Great Times, Anything Goes

[Fidel_CashFlow]

Chuck Norris threw a grenade and killed 50 people










then it exploded

[KVB]

[KVB]

I laughed at the grenade joke, but I'm still laughing at the dude with the nachos.

[Fidel_CashFlow]

was hopin to get a few of the 1000+ lurkers a day with Daggles lil trick
but it seems most of them already know about it

[Fidel_CashFlow]

I laughed at the grenade joke, but I'm still laughing at the dude with the nachos.

http://i.4cdn.org/gif/1505354449299.webm

[KVB]

That thread is still running hot. Just look right now.

[KVB]

http://i.4cdn.org/gif/1505354449299.webm

Ummm, I don't think she's using that gym equipment properly.

She should be spanked with butt glitter...

[Fidel_CashFlow]

http://i.4cdn.org/gif/1505589117043.webm

[Fidel_CashFlow]

That thread is still running hot. Just look right now.

[Fidel_CashFlow]

just did a live wagering play

Top 8th

5-4 game

took under 10.5

+155


TOTAL u10½+155 (INDIANS LIVE vrs ANGELS LIVE) ( ACTION )

[Fidel_CashFlow]

<iframe src="https://openload.co/embed/-1pT7DaeSAo/" scrolling="no" frameborder="0" width="900" height="630" allowfullscreen="true" webkitallowfullscreen="true" mozallowfullscreen="true"></iframe>

[Fidel_CashFlow]

Check that movie out above, watched it last night it was good

[Fidel_CashFlow]

Pujols

[KVB]

... TOTAL u10½+155 (INDIANS LIVE vrs ANGELS LIVE) ( ACTION )

[KVB]

Well, I did it. I took the Fukkin 49ers tonight BTP, even made it a X2.

It's all or nothing for BTP.

[DiggityDaggityDo]

Well, I did it. I took the Fukkin 49ers tonight BTP, even made it a X2.

It's all or nothing for BTP.

My Heart is with you here, KVB.

My money is on the other side though.

[KVB]

It's only week 3, but the numbers as I have them...

The sharp forecast has LA Rams winning 23-20.

The stacking forecast shows an 18-18 tie with the Rams getting a slight moneyline edge in the raw score.

The non-predictive public gauge has the Rams winning 21-20.

It's a pretty tight line tonight in regards to the numbers and a lot of games were like that last week. Last week, there were 4 games that showed a tie on the adjusted sharp forecast. The market is right around the forecast in most, I can't wait until week 5.

Then things will open up as the sharp forecast is designed to battle the sharper market. I expect the forecast for nearly every game to succeed against the moneyline in week 5, with the few losses coming early in the rotation.

[DiggityDaggityDo]

[KVB]

Oh wow, nice set up.

DDD watching the NBA in style.

[KVB]

Hey DDD, show her your TV and maybe she'll show some interest...

[DiggityDaggityDo]

Hey DDD, show her your TV and maybe she'll show some interest...

I think I will have to get a tan too, JVB.

[KVB]

I think I will have to get a tan too, JVB.

Not if you're TV is big enough, nomsayin'?

[dlowilly]

Hey DDD, show her your TV and maybe she'll show some interest...

5 points floozy if I ever saw one

Wait that's Bruce Ellington from the Gamecocks. He played there like 5 years ago. Real good chance she weighs around 200 now and is married to a short balding white guy (the only one who would have her) and lives in constant fear when he surfs youtube.

[KVB]

[DiggityDaggityDo]

She definitely has a lady boner.

[DiggityDaggityDo]

It's not even real and I want to bang it.

[DiggityDaggityDo]

[turtledoves]

brewers lock city

[KVB]

Good luck doves, I'm passing on that one.

[DiggityDaggityDo]

I am a public defense attorney from a small town in the Midwest. I won’t say where, or who I represent. My client has been a friend for a long time, and I’m hard-pressed to believe he’s guilty of the things he’s accused of. He’s asked me to pass on this statement, which I’m doing here with anonymity. All I ask is that if you recognize the case, please do not share who he is or where he’s from. I feel obligated to share his story, but I pray that he gets the help he needs.

—

Up until very recently, we still subscribed to the local print newspaper. I imagine I was their last customer. There was something enjoyable about it in an anachronistic way. Sure, you can get the news from Facebook like everyone else - but where is the fun in that? And the kid who delivered my paper would give me a few extra coupon inserts on Sunday. He had nowhere else to deliver them anyway.

It had become a ritual for me. I’m a morning person, up at 4:00 AM most days. Coffee in hand, I’d head out to the porch to enjoy the morning air and wait for the paper delivery. By the time the sun came up, I’d know what was going on in the world. It was my moment of zen.

Thinking back, that Sunday was like most - I sat on the porch, waiting for the paperboy. I waved when he rolled past on his bicycle and he returned an indifferent nod. The kid’s got an arm - the paper landed right at my feet. By the time I bent over to pick it up, he had turned the corner and was gone.

The scent of strong, black coffee filled the crisp morning air. The sun made its way above the horizon, illuminating the light fog covering our neighborhood. Aside from the sound of crickets, the world was still.

I unfolded the paper with a flourish and paused. Was I dreaming?

The headline article had a photo of me and my wife. Black and white but real as life. We were smiling in the park - I recognized it immediately. It was from last summer at an outdoor concert.

The headline read “Two Dead In Murder-Suicide”.

I stared at that headline, slack-jawed, for the better part of a minute. It made me dizzy. I almost didn't notice when the heavy door behind me opened, hinges squealing in protest. I turned and saw my wife standing there, half asleep. She stared at me, a worried look on her face.

“Are you ok? You look upset,” she said.

“I’m…” I looked back at the paper. The photo showed President Trump waving to a small crowd. The headline was about his recent press conference. “I’m fine. Tired, I guess.”

“Did you want more coffee? I’m making another pot.” She smiled and walked back into the house, closing the door behind her. I checked the paper again. Then once more. Cover to cover. And no photo of me. I tossed it in the trash. Had I been dreaming? Maybe I fell asleep for a moment. The door opening must have startled me awake, and I’d never realized that I had dozed off.

Occam’s razor. Simple explanations, right?

I was a little less enthusiastic to get back into my routine of waiting for the paper in the morning after that. I’d sit inside near the door with the lights off. There was no mistaking the sound of rubber tires on wet cement as the paperboy rode up the block. Seconds later I’d hear a wet thud as the paper landed on the porch. That sound always made me think of meat falling onto a cutting board. It wasn’t natural.

I’d retrieve the paper and leave it on the table, unread. I’d let my wife read it first. I’m not saying that I believe in the supernatural, but I’m also not interested in taking chances. Once she had finished with it, I’d allow myself to read the news. Generally, I’d try to stick to the finance section.

Weeks passed and I realized how silly I was being. I missed the relaxing calm of my exposure to the outdoors. Sunday morning came and I found myself on the porch enjoying my coffee. The paperboy crept up the street on his bicycle. I waved. He didn’t. His eyes were cold and dark in the twilight of the early morning.

“Special delivery,” he said. The paper landed at my feet with a splat.

I watched him make his way around the corner. He never broke eye contact.

Fingers trembling, I picked up the newspaper. I turned it over in my hands a few times, but they refused to open it. I fumbled with the bag and the paper slid out, landing face-down on the damp wood. The moist newsprint felt like it would disintegrate. Part of me wished it would.

Without wanting to, I forced myself to turn it over. The same cheery photo greeted me. “Two Dead in Murder-Suicide.” The article showed Monday's date.

I strained to swallow, a knot of unease the size of an apple caught in my throat. My eyes darted across the page as I forced myself to skim the long article. The details were gruesome but not out of the ordinary, considering the headline. The story said he… I… stabbed my wife, eviscerated her. Then turned the blade on myself. A neighbor said they heard screaming and called the cops. They claimed they found both of us dead in the garage.

The paper fell from my grip and landed on the cold decking again. I slumped back into my chair. Was I going mad? I checked it again and the headline was the same. A thought popped into my head - I had to show my wife. If she saw it then it wasn’t me. It was someone at the newspaper with a sick sense of humor. But if it was another article about how people regret voting for the President, I’d know that I needed help. Even when faced with the unexpected, I’m rational to a fault.

Grabbing the paper, I ran into the house. She wasn’t in the living room or the den. I entered the kitchen and called out to her.

“I’m in the garage,” she said. Her voice was strained and sounded distant, despite only having a thin wooden door between us.

Forcing the garage door open I stepped through, holding the paper in front of me. The air was warm despite the cool temperatures outside, and thick with dust. “This sounds crazy, but what does the headline say?”

My eyes remained on the back of the folded newspaper, glued to the inverted image of us. A strange sound caused me to pause. I heard it again - a singular splat in the otherwise silent room. Something viscous and wet striking the concrete floor.

I slowly lowered the paper and saw her standing there. Holding a butcher knife from the kitchen. The ragged gash in her midsection wept crimson, threatening to tear wider at the edges where her intestines peeked through and attempted to escape. Blood ran in rivulets down her arm, falling off her elbow and landing on the floor in thick drops.

She was in the middle of making the second slice across her abdomen when the paper fell from my hand.

I tried to talk, to move, anything - I was frozen in place. Electricity spread over my skin, leaving behind a cold sweat. I stared, wide-eyed, jaw clenched, for what felt like hours. Panic gripped me like a vice, squeezing until black crept in at the edges of my vision. Smiling, she continued to slice through the tough layers of skin and muscle, exposing more of her digestive tract.

“Why?” It was all I could manage. My tongue felt like sandpaper against the dry insides of my mouth.

She continued to smile and cut.

The fugue subsided long enough to realize that I had to do something. I ran to her and tried to grab the knife. She wouldn’t let go, and in the struggle, I managed to cut myself across the forearm. Once I was able to get the knife away, I laid her down on the cold concrete floor. I tried to keep the viscera from forcing its way out further. The cuts were so deep and the damage was so severe that I couldn’t stop the bleeding. She was dying in my arms with that stupid, empty grin on her face.

I sat there, holding her until I saw the red and blue lights flashing in through the window of the garage. The police found me with my hands entwined in my deceased wife’s organs, next to the knife that had caused the damage. They didn’t ask what happened. They subdued me and dragged me away. Later, in court, their experts claimed the “defensive wounds” on my arms told the whole story.

I tried to tell them what happened. They said there was no newspaper in the garage. They think I’m crazy - they've left me locked in this goddamn padded cell for weeks. They keep me sedated. My lawyer managed to convince them to lay off long enough for me to write this statement. I’ve begged him to get it out there. I want everyone to know that I am not crazy. I didn’t kill my wife.

But people believe everything they see in the news. One of the orderlies is a sadistic prick and constantly tells me I deserve the chair for what I did. He brought me the paper from the day after my wife died. The headline read “One Dead in Attempted Murder-Suicide.”

They even used the photo of us from the park.

[DiggityDaggityDo]

[Fidel_CashFlow]

lolololololol

[Fidel_CashFlow]

I think the under 40.5 is a tremendous play tonight in NFL

[Da Manster!]

i am a public defense attorney from a small town in the midwest. I won’t say where, or who i represent. My client has been a friend for a long time, and i’m hard-pressed to believe he’s guilty of the things he’s accused of. He’s asked me to pass on this statement, which i’m doing here with anonymity. All i ask is that if you recognize the case, please do not share who he is or where he’s from. I feel obligated to share his story, but i pray that he gets the help he needs.

—

up until very recently, we still subscribed to the local print newspaper. I imagine i was their last customer. There was something enjoyable about it in an anachronistic way. Sure, you can get the news from facebook like everyone else - but where is the fun in that? And the kid who delivered my paper would give me a few extra coupon inserts on sunday. He had nowhere else to deliver them anyway.

it had become a ritual for me. I’m a morning person, up at 4:00 am most days. Coffee in hand, i’d head out to the porch to enjoy the morning air and wait for the paper delivery. By the time the sun came up, i’d know what was going on in the world. It was my moment of zen.

thinking back, that sunday was like most - i sat on the porch, waiting for the paperboy. I waved when he rolled past on his bicycle and he returned an indifferent nod. The kid’s got an arm - the paper landed right at my feet. By the time i bent over to pick it up, he had turned the corner and was gone.

the scent of strong, black coffee filled the crisp morning air. The sun made its way above the horizon, illuminating the light fog covering our neighborhood. Aside from the sound of crickets, the world was still.

i unfolded the paper with a flourish and paused. Was i dreaming?

the headline article had a photo of me and my wife. Black and white but real as life. We were smiling in the park - i recognized it immediately. It was from last summer at an outdoor concert.

the headline read “two dead in murder-suicide”.

i stared at that headline, slack-jawed, for the better part of a minute. It made me dizzy. I almost didn't notice when the heavy door behind me opened, hinges squealing in protest. I turned and saw my wife standing there, half asleep. She stared at me, a worried look on her face.

“are you ok? You look upset,” she said.

“i’m…” i looked back at the paper. The photo showed president trump waving to a small crowd. The headline was about his recent press conference. “i’m fine. Tired, i guess.”

“did you want more coffee? I’m making another pot.” she smiled and walked back into the house, closing the door behind her. I checked the paper again. Then once more. Cover to cover. And no photo of me. I tossed it in the trash. Had i been dreaming? Maybe i fell asleep for a moment. The door opening must have startled me awake, and i’d never realized that i had dozed off.

occam’s razor. Simple explanations, right?

i was a little less enthusiastic to get back into my routine of waiting for the paper in the morning after that. I’d sit inside near the door with the lights off. There was no mistaking the sound of rubber tires on wet cement as the paperboy rode up the block. Seconds later i’d hear a wet thud as the paper landed on the porch. That sound always made me think of meat falling onto a cutting board. It wasn’t natural.

i’d retrieve the paper and leave it on the table, unread. I’d let my wife read it first. I’m not saying that i believe in the supernatural, but i’m also not interested in taking chances. Once she had finished with it, i’d allow myself to read the news. Generally, i’d try to stick to the finance section.

weeks passed and i realized how silly i was being. I missed the relaxing calm of my exposure to the outdoors. Sunday morning came and i found myself on the porch enjoying my coffee. The paperboy crept up the street on his bicycle. I waved. He didn’t. His eyes were cold and dark in the twilight of the early morning.

“special delivery,” he said. The paper landed at my feet with a splat.

i watched him make his way around the corner. He never broke eye contact.

fingers trembling, i picked up the newspaper. I turned it over in my hands a few times, but they refused to open it. I fumbled with the bag and the paper slid out, landing face-down on the damp wood. The moist newsprint felt like it would disintegrate. Part of me wished it would.

without wanting to, i forced myself to turn it over. The same cheery photo greeted me. “two dead in murder-suicide.” the article showed monday's date.

i strained to swallow, a knot of unease the size of an apple caught in my throat. My eyes darted across the page as i forced myself to skim the long article. The details were gruesome but not out of the ordinary, considering the headline. The story said he… i… stabbed my wife, eviscerated her. Then turned the blade on myself. A neighbor said they heard screaming and called the cops. They claimed they found both of us dead in the garage.

the paper fell from my grip and landed on the cold decking again. I slumped back into my chair. Was i going mad? I checked it again and the headline was the same. A thought popped into my head - i had to show my wife. If she saw it then it wasn’t me. It was someone at the newspaper with a sick sense of humor. But if it was another article about how people regret voting for the president, i’d know that i needed help. Even when faced with the unexpected, i’m rational to a fault.

grabbing the paper, i ran into the house. She wasn’t in the living room or the den. I entered the kitchen and called out to her.

“i’m in the garage,” she said. Her voice was strained and sounded distant, despite only having a thin wooden door between us.

forcing the garage door open i stepped through, holding the paper in front of me. The air was warm despite the cool temperatures outside, and thick with dust. “this sounds crazy, but what does the headline say?”

my eyes remained on the back of the folded newspaper, glued to the inverted image of us. A strange sound caused me to pause. I heard it again - a singular splat in the otherwise silent room. Something viscous and wet striking the concrete floor.

i slowly lowered the paper and saw her standing there. Holding a butcher knife from the kitchen. The ragged gash in her midsection wept crimson, threatening to tear wider at the edges where her intestines peeked through and attempted to escape. Blood ran in rivulets down her arm, falling off her elbow and landing on the floor in thick drops.

she was in the middle of making the second slice across her abdomen when the paper fell from my hand.

i tried to talk, to move, anything - i was frozen in place. Electricity spread over my skin, leaving behind a cold sweat. I stared, wide-eyed, jaw clenched, for what felt like hours. Panic gripped me like a vice, squeezing until black crept in at the edges of my vision. Smiling, she continued to slice through the tough layers of skin and muscle, exposing more of her digestive tract.

“why?” it was all i could manage. My tongue felt like sandpaper against the dry insides of my mouth.

she continued to smile and cut.

the fugue subsided long enough to realize that i had to do something. I ran to her and tried to grab the knife. She wouldn’t let go, and in the struggle, i managed to cut myself across the forearm. Once i was able to get the knife away, i laid her down on the cold concrete floor. I tried to keep the viscera from forcing its way out further. The cuts were so deep and the damage was so severe that i couldn’t stop the bleeding. She was dying in my arms with that stupid, empty grin on her face.

i sat there, holding her until i saw the red and blue lights flashing in through the window of the garage. The police found me with my hands entwined in my deceased wife’s organs, next to the knife that had caused the damage. They didn’t ask what happened. They subdued me and dragged me away. Later, in court, their experts claimed the “defensive wounds” on my arms told the whole story.

i tried to tell them what happened. They said there was no newspaper in the garage. They think i’m crazy - they've left me locked in this goddamn padded cell for weeks. They keep me sedated. My lawyer managed to convince them to lay off long enough for me to write this statement. I’ve begged him to get it out there. I want everyone to know that i am not crazy. I didn’t kill my wife.

but people believe everything they see in the news. One of the orderlies is a sadistic prick and constantly tells me i deserve the chair for what i did. He brought me the paper from the day after my wife died. The headline read “one dead in attempted murder-suicide.”

they even used the photo of us from the park.

tldr

[DiggityDaggityDo]

I think the under 40.5 is a tremendous play tonight in NFL

Fidels we're on Rams ML and -2.5.