The picture has nothing to do with the article. Who cares. By who I mean you. I don’t.
What is up. Don’t answer I don’t actually care. That’s just the way I introduce myself, and if you androids don’t know by now, you may never know. So typical. Anyway, I’m here to talk, and you’re here to listen. So do your job correctly for once, and of course, my job is guaranteed (to be well done).
The Kentucky Derby is upon us. By us, I of course mean me. Not you. You don’t own a horse do you. Guess what. I do. For the purposes of full disclosure, I will not reveal my horse’s name to you androids. That would be a conflict of interest. By interest I of course mean mine. What I will do instead is talk about the Derby. You know…well, then again how could you, you don’t know much. But, after the Derby, there is a race called The Preakness. After the Preakness, there is a race called the Belmont Stakes. If and only if a horse is great enough to win all three does he become the champion. Not a local champion like you androids, but a Triple Crown Champion. Not a recipient of the little participation trophies you droids buy at the Droid-Mart and give your kids. No. The Triple Crown Winner gets a real frieking trophy. As a matter of fact, androids, take notice, ban all participation trophies now.
Now, back to the derby. There are 20 horses running in it. I would give you the rundown and tell you how to bet, but I know nothing about the horses (or horses in general, because really, why should I). I don’t have to. I am pretty rich. Pretty frieking rich. You are not. Besides, why would I want to give you potentially life-changing information, I already give you this column, this manna from frieking heaven, but look at you. Frieking take a look at yourself. And you want derby predictions? Dream on. Androids.
My sources tell me about a horse named Big Brown. The horse is supposedly named after, of course UPS. This fact, of course leads to puns. I hate puns. Puns are not funny. Puns are not punny. Little sportswriters who want to capture the glory of my hilarity make these stupid puns: Can Big Brown deliver,? Said, the little sportswriter? No he can’t lesser sportswriters, so stop asking. Stop Already. Thank you. Anyway, if we compare Big Brown to UPS, then there is nothing to speak of. Big Brown sucks. I am a FedEx guy.
Big Brown once delivered a package to my palatial estate when I was at the office writing one of these columns from the bottom of my heart and the top of my head. Do you know what happened to that package? That’s not a rhetorical question androids. I know you’ve been brushing up on your list of things people with brains say (the list I gave you), but you anticipated (anticipation: item number 22) incorrectly. I wasn’t going to tell you what happened to the package, it was not a rhetorical question. I actually want to know. This is info I don’t have (imagine, with all my insider info and insider status, laugh out loud on that one). What the hell happened to my package, androids? Your cohort delivered it on a day when I wasn’t there, and on a when my servants were off. I never saw the package again. But I digress (digress: item number 87). Big Brown stinks.
How did I go from the Kentucky Derby to UPS? Versatility (versatility: item number….that’s not on the list…I can’t give it all to you androids. Know your place). But anyway, brace your ears for a scorching hot bold prediction.
BOLD PReDICTION: dun dun dun.
Big Brown will not win the Kentucky Derby. Why, you ask? Wait. Are you kidding? Do you actually have the gall bladder to question my prediction? Fine. Question it. I won’t answer. I really don’t have to. I don’t know why you ask all anything at all, you’re not Mike Wallace. Anyway, just know that the Big Brown spot on the carpet won’t win. Because Big Brown=UPS and UPS=bad. If I am wrong I will come, in my next column, to face your droids head on. Whether or not I am wrong, it doesn’t matter. Because I’m John August. And you are…well…I think you know by now.
