VolleyFail

 

I’ve been putting a lot of thought into what I would wish for if I had one lusty wish, because I have tons of time to do that between working, drinking, and just being a bitch all the time. Genies are cropping up everywhere nowadays. Considering my volleyball teams epic fail of an appearance last night at league finals, I think I would probably wish for handeye coordination.

 

When it comes to my hand eye coordination, I have none. Sports have always been one of those areas that makes me look stupider, less coordinated, and not as advanced as the rest of humanity. I couldn’t dodge a donut if you tossed it at my face with plenty of warning. A potato would have a better chance of catching a frisbee than I. I’m bad at arm-sports. Being able to hit a wiffle ball or serve a volleyball would have really helped me fit in better during middle school PE, and would also increase my chances of survival during the event of a zombie takeover in which I may be required to fire a handgun.

 

Speaking of my hand-eye coordination (or lack thereof), Yesterday when I was avoiding working at work I came across this video.

 

If this dog can play basketball, why the hell can’t I? This pooch would literally school me in a game of H-O-R-S-E as if he were Shaquille O’Neal and I was a kid in a wheelchair. Seriously.

 

I think when God was making me, he took a short break to change his Facebook status and forgot to include some very basic, fundamental elements that make a human capable of simple activities, such as catching a ball, throwing a frisbee, playing catch–you see the problem? Then he tried to make up for it by making me unfairly attractive, which I must admit I do appreciate. Still, Air Bud over here doesn’t even have aposable thumbs, and he can make free throws. What’s wrong with me, ma? At least I have an awesome personality, a great ass, and a rapist wit. In that aspect, I am untouchable, so I guess I’ll stop complaining.

 

I don’t think this wish is so much to ask. I’ll be rubbing my lamp in the privacy of my bedroom now.

 

(That’s what they’re calling them these days. Wink.)

 

Gross.

 

Lusty Mess Out