Dear Liverpool and all their supporters,

I'm sure you would feel hard done by this completely surprising title sweep by Manchester United. I understand your concerns and emotions wholeheartedly. In fact, I do feel some sorrow on your part for the fact that you didn't win the title you deserved to.

I mean, who could have predicted that the only two players in your team capable of doing something decent would have been so untimely and unfortunately injured at your most crucial time. It was unjust that you were penalized based on your incompetent financial planning and spent your bulk load of your transfer kitty on a player you sold back to the club he came from for a 8 million pound loss. I mean, it's not your fault you didn't buy a real player that could have helped you win the league. It's not your fault you had to hinge your entire team on two individuals. It really isn't.

And for you to beat the Champions away by 4-1, that really proved that the title deserved to be yours. It really did. Let's be frank, you whipped a team you lost to 3-0 last season by 4 goals. The FA should have just hosted the celebrations and handed you the trophy the moment the final whistle blew. After all, the league is won in one game right? Clearly a victory of such dignity would merit an immediate reward in the form of the league title. How unjust and unfair. You deserved to be champions based on that single fantastic showing of mind-blowing, world-shocking, galaxy-shattering football. We all had 30 orgasms watching Vidic get sent off.

It's not your fault you unjustly drew 11 times out of 36 games and lost twice. It's not fair that you had no teeth or threat in scoring goals. It's not your fault you failed to score to Villa, West Ham, Boro, Fulham and Stoke (twice). They are all reigning European supergiants who were unfairly pitted against you and demonstrated a level of football far beyond your class. It's just not fair that you had to face teams of such quality and depth. Your failure to score a single goal against all of them really didn't merit United winning the title instead of you.

Of course, it's not your fault you lost 2-1 to Tottenham after taking the lead in the 3rd minute. I mean, ALL teams just randomly implode on occasion. It's not fair you lost 3 points against the massive Middlesbrough. You didn't deserve to lose! The ball just oddly found its way to the back of your net without any reason, twice!! The 4 goals you conceded against Arsenal wasn't bad defending, it was mere luck. Also, forget that you lost 2 points on that game, you earned a kazillion points based on "team spirit" and "effort" to score 4 goals against the team that depended on Mikael Silvestre to save their ass. Those kazillion points would have definately won you the title by a mile, had the FA remembered to tally them in.

It's not your fault your team didn't have any depth in the squad, and it's not your fault that you were constantly on the end of bad refereeing decisions. Refs just hate Liverpool. All of them. It's not fair all the refs were against your team in all the games, all the time, in all the occasions. It's not your fault you lost the title to the world's best team. It's not your fault you lost the title based on your own demerit. It's not your fault that you succumbed under the pressure of a year-long league. It's not your fault the EPL isn't won based on a single 4-1 result. It's not your fault, Liverpool. Don't cry over it. Robbie Keane isn't. You shouldn't too. After all, Rafa will never admit defeat and the Kop flag will keep flying high...as long as things remain fair, of course.

You'll never walk alone, Liverpool. You have the other 18 losing teams to walk with you.

Dear all who reads this blog,

This is the most serious post I have ever written.

I know it is wordy, but please bear with me, as I share my true heart's contents, and struggles.

Thanks in advance, for reading. Would love your feedback.




I have made a crucial decision in my life. I have come to a stage where my life seems meaningless and pointless. Everything that I am seems small and insignificant in the eyes of the common world. I am depressed beyond cure, and shattered beyond hope.

Encounters with "friends" this week have left me in a dire state. The people I once called my "bros-and-homos" and "bestest-best-buddies-that-make-pinky-promises-that-last-forever-and-ever-amen" have now turned their backs on me, literally. I spent an entire 7 minutes today in line at the cafeteria, with all their backs facing me. I am shattered.

If that were not not enough to destroy my pitiful self-esteem, I believe I have lost all sense of pride and dignity. Once, I was a superstar. But alas, it was not meant to be. Today, I lost the "who-can-make-the-loudest-fart-sounds-via-rapid-and-forceful-armpit-motions" challenge with a fellow acquaintance. He scored 29. I scored 2.

How could I lose in my best event to a relative unknown stranger? And what hurts more is the margin of which I lost. It was so close. I could have easily conjoured up 27 more fart-sounds within the given time of 48 hours. My distracted mind led me only to finish with 2. (Actually 1, because I really farted on the second one.)

What makes matters worst is my love life. My long-term relationship with my partner has thus ended from today. My heart, which I have so lovingly gave away to the love of my life, has been broken beyond repair into a million pieces. Save me the agony of describing how I counted them. I didn't. It was a rough estimate. (I believe the real figure was five and a half). You see, she cheated on me. Yes, I know. A million pieces. (or 5.5).

I found her sleeping with someone else today. When I entered the room to check on her sleeping in bed, I saw her with another man. Before she had the time to explain, I dashed out into the yard, screaming and writhing on the ground and my soul yelled in distress over my broken heart (and broken femur too: I tripped over the dog's leash and fell over a mini potted plant before rolling 20 yards down the sloped porch onto the main road where my leg was run over by the ambulance that was rushing to save me.) It turns out that Ms. Teddy wasn't in love with me at all. She had been falling out of bed every night to see Mr. Bear, a stuffed animal of mine that I had not seen for years, obviously spying on us from below my bed.

And so, with anger and fury after returning from treatment for my broken femur (which was not covered by my insurance as accidents involving ambulances are protected under a certain clause), I threw Miss Teddy Bear (her full name) out of the window, only for her to rebound of the 6 foot wide pole in front of the window into my face. Once again I rolled out the porch and onto the road. (but no broken femurs this time, just a pelvis).

Friends, as you can see, my life is no longer worth living. With all hope drained from my life, I have made the conscious and wise decision to end my life here. I shall be leaving whatever propterty and belongings I have to Mr. Bear, Miss Teddy's lover (he's the only one left I know). So, goodbye pitiful world. Thou shalt not miss me, for I shalt not miss you. I shall now kill myself and go to heaven. As a wise man once said, "Two minutes in heaven, is better than one minute in heaven."

Goodbye and farewell.

It's been nice living.


P.S. By the way, what's the date today? (I just want to know before I murder myself by listening to Britney Spears' "Womanizer" a thousand times over.)

Quoted wholesale from another blog:

Imagine this:

You're on an airplane, sleeping with your head against the window, your heart set on being home this time three hours from now. All of a sudden, something goes very wrong. The plane stops moving across the air and instead starts falling through it. The lights are flickering and the movie is skipping. The plane dips hundreds of feet in seconds, and the yellow cups fall from the ceiling. They're a brighter shade of yellow than you remember, because unlike the demonstration, these cups have never been handled before. "Flight attendants take your seats now", you hear, the pilot's voice trembling over a cacophony of alert tones. You get that smell in the bridge of your nose like you've just been hit with a football. That's what the fear smells like. The plane is going down.

Four more drastic drops in under a minute. People are crying. For all the folklore about how your life flashes before your eyes, you're remarkably fixed on one vision - your parents. They're sleeping at this very moment, in a bedroom so quiet they can hear the clock in the kitchen. And you can see them, clear as can be. You wish you could see a playground or a first kiss, but all you can see is your parents sleeping. Huh. Well, that's that.

Several long minutes go by. Then, all at once, the lights come back on and the plane somehow rights itself. Some people cheer, but most people cry harder. The plane lands about an hour later, and as soon as you feel that touch down - hell, even when you were within 50 feet of the ground and could still technically survive a fall - you realize that however you brokered the deal between you and God worked; you've just been granted life in overtime.

Here's the question: what do you change? Whom do you call that you haven't spoken to in years? Whom do you realize has been toxic to your heart and drop with surprising ease? What trips do you cancel, and what trips do you book? What can't you be bothered with anymore? What's the new you like?


Think about that, and then ask one more question. Why not just change it all right now?

(Working on it...)