The Rockets Aren't Fun To Watch

Spend a few days away from the drumbeat of dipshittery and various dreary outrages of Online and something happens to your brain. A bunch of things, actually, but I am thinking of one particular one—the mind, even the most web-damaged mind, returns to something like a normal state. This is not to say that the sprawling collection of useless bullshit that accrues in there over years in the online wastelands goes away—it does not, and I have every confidence that the Dat Boi meme will be like the second-to-last thing I forget when my mind finally goes. But, in the absence of the factors that serve mostly to fuck-up and clutter, things can and do re-orient and reorder themselves. It’s natural, if only relative to how deeply unnatural all the aforementioned complicating factors are, but it is no less miraculous for that.

Drew is writing a book, and I took a vacation to Brazil to watch my friend get married and eat beef served to me by a man with a sword. We both, to a certain extent, are benefitting from this reordering and recovery. Or we were. We threw it away, heroically and also because it is our job to do so, in order to get all the way back on our bullshit in this week’s Deadcast.

This one’s got it all, friends: Drew howling “I don’t like it!” about the Houston Rockets offense—which I happen to enjoy, personally—an extended disquisition on breakfast buffets, dueling bad Mike Francesa imitations, and Drew somehow finding a way to perform most of Gerardo’s 1991 hit “ Rico Suave.” We’re back, in other words—damaged, ruined, torn, wrong, and very happy to be home. You all be safe out there and we’ll see you next week.

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