Perfect Explanation -- It's the Media's Fault
One thing we should probably mention in modest defense of coach Jim Boylen, for those who believe he has continued to make too big a deal out of the Wyoming dunk at the end of the game the other day ...
While he did persist in complaining about the move during his press conference on Monday, he did so only when posed a question, about 18 1/2 minutes into the press conference. So it wasn't as if he brought it up on his own, or launched into the topic right off the bat. Of course, he hardly tried to skirt the question, either, but for what it's worth, he did not bring it up himself as part of his usual scripted set of talking points.
While he did persist in complaining about the move during his press conference on Monday, he did so only when posed a question, about 18 1/2 minutes into the press conference. So it wasn't as if he brought it up on his own, or launched into the topic right off the bat. Of course, he hardly tried to skirt the question, either, but for what it's worth, he did not bring it up himself as part of his usual scripted set of talking points.
posted by www.sltrib.com @ 7:02 AM |
2 Comments:
I'll always be happy to blame the media. No you, though, Mike. You rule.
lifestyle guides of the 21st century
HOW DO YOU DO... PERFECTION
Yeah, that easy
Target
Your aim is to be that person who you always despised due to their unflinching competency, leaving your top ten attempts at even wiping your arse as a 34 year old, stained and tragically rubbed in. This guide makes you to come back from your smeared, indivisible talentless wreck of a embittered self-esteem and be that unimaginable saint of a half arsed dream.
Definably low
Perfection is the reaching the highest attainable standard. You aren’t this, because your reading this you aren’t even close your actually getting further away from ever reaching this by every word read on this page. You’re so useless you can’t even heed the advice this page is saying by not stopping reading this, duly lowering your intelligence and abilities every second, every letter, every lack of mindful understanding of your unending search of perfectection has lead you to persist unaware in that you have just completed the first goal, belligerence.
You have to fight, fight to be perfect, because rubbish is for tramps and seagulls, and you don’t shit on pensioners or blow people for kid’s meals, anymore. Listen to your heart unless it’s telling you to blow people then listen to your soul and find everything you need to find without acting like a dickhead or visiting the Samaritans, unless it is to volunteer because your so god damn selfless and unjudging, even if someone rings up saying they’ve just got aids while working with gorillas.
Scarred by normality
Look at yourself,
go on.
Any lumps bumps, pumps, veins, scars, cysts, warts, fix and fast with the wonder of our modern suppressive age, yes Playdough surgery . Any lazy sack can move their swollen sausage fingers into their equally bulging wallets and get an immoral surgeon to suck, sow, staple, and burn off their imperfects and make you look like you’re caught in a unending wind tunnel. Faaabulous, aparently.
Divinity
Perfect people seem to have a glow about themselves. MFI’S lighting department or Russian reactors are the quick fix versions, even if it’s pitch black your benevolence will reach small fishing boats and large fireflies negotiating the treachery that is water and air.
Look at you
When you walk down the street feeling pretty chuffed about yourself cos you just got your new jacket from eBay and two admittedly scally sluts have just stared you up and down without even a husky snigger.
You turn onto the main road to be greeted with the sharpest, colour wheel coloured, outrageously understated entity of beauty. Your initial decision to fling yourself sacrificially shouting “take me, boy/girl, do anything you so wish until your finished with me.” Has been subsequently revised to a glance of ‘hey’ and a slight sneer if the glance wasn’t reciprocated which it invariably isn’t which implies that in future you should drop the whole ‘hey‘ and just sneer.
That‘s what you need to look like. I know, looking at that thing you call a wardrobe only because of the dimensional shape, you instantly conclude you could scarsely construct an outfit without a suspiciously white stain adorning some part of it. There seems less than no hope. Just remember one thing, everyone looked shit at one point in their lives. That perfect specimen of corture had a perm, too much foundation and some cargo pants once.
Resurected
Everything you now buy should be chose because it makes you look more like you’ve breezed in from a aftershow at Amy Winhouse’s house than sat cramped round a student flat with damp shoes using your tried and failed technique of non conversational flirtation over the only unattractive slutily dressed dreg of a appalling night in Scumthorpe . Don’t dress because you need a shirt and their two for one and It kinda looks ok on you even if the size you wanted isn’t in stock and xl is the only one left so you have to tuck the back in like you pitching a army field tent in a Glastonbury festival sized plot of shit-mud.
Complete-
-ly fucking useless. As your probably blatently aware Perfection, regardless of perceived celebrity fallacy, or self-improvement ideologies is only true in diamond sunsets and on planet out-of-your-fucking-tree. Everything else is joyously imperfect, scared and human. So be glad that everyone in the world hides inperfections because they know, if you found some of them out, before you’ve already slept with them, then you’d guiltlessly, unflinchingly bolt.
Everyone, even your super cool mate with the bow ties has personality flaws that at times makes even their closest friends cringe with “ohhh, geez im not with that.” We love to atone to our self defeating facets that regardless of success, happiness, career-house-family, want to leave everything and move to Botswana, kill wilderbeasts and wear misguided loin cloths. We get bored, we do half arsed work, we still maintain commitment our prime program to hunt a fuck or converse to be fucked (lie as you do, you all think it.) We slack, we lie, we do things that we can’t even tell ourselves, but after all that, we should be glad of it, because that makes us interesting.
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