Business…this month’s BSN piece is on legal prostitution. Not all pimps wear gators, and not all hoes wear skirts and stilettos. Know dat, shawty. There isn’t a column entry this week, but that will go up on the 9th. The schedule’s being tweaked a little bit, and as soon as I understand the tweak, I’ll let you know. For now, though, I’m a tad lost.
But February will be busy…another BSN joint, a few extras for BV, and maybe one or two for ESPN. Wonder how I’ve got the time for all of this? More on that later…
Anyway, speaking of prostitution…
I must admit I’m fascinated by pimpin’. I don’t think it’s cool, but it’s interesting to me. I follow it the same way some historians follow the Third Reich. None of them think Hitler was cool–at least I hope not–but there’s still something valuable in understanding how that game works. It’s the most bizarre use of psychology for profit, and it’s something a good economist could write a great paper on. At the same time, it can be a bit tough for many to observe pimpin’ without praising it.
Just a passing thought, but I figured I should mention that. More on that later, though.
And it seems that the Mr. Perrilloux I mentioned in that BSN piece decided to go to the school that the WMD refers to as Loser State University. He’d be well-served to stay on his side of the Sabine River for the rest of his life. Trust me. Just the say way that Peterson should stay above the Red River. I’d really like it, though, if he kept that up during the Texas State Fair, even if he don’t do it any other time. I’m so tired of losing to Oklahoma. At the funeral, I kept seeing that OU logo everywhere I went (I was in OKC), and it made my blood boil. Never mind that my mother’s an OU alum. I do really like Switzer, but you can have the rest of those suckers.
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I just saw that Tom Brady’s grandmother died this week. I have no idea how these cats can ignore something that big for only three hours to play football. I’m just not capable. Wow.
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And Rudy T. quit his job with the Lakers. After my accurate prediction that him taking that job would be a bad idea, I’ll be picking lottery numbers for those who want my psychic powers to work for them.
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Five days ’til we beat Dook. Yay-yuh. See ya soon.
