Weekly Pooltable Blog...

...damn, people... this is becoming a weekly ordeal... every Wednesday, I post about shooting pool... ahh, well... after last week, and the total asskicking I received, this week HAS to be better... on the upside, more desensitization to the Flea's effects has been performed this week.. so, that might help.... it certainly didn't last week... but, hope springs eternal, children...

... on the downside?... my arch nemesis, Steve, just went and got contact lenses.. the bastard.... his first prescription renewal in 9 YEARS... which means, basically, I have been getting my ass stomped by a friggin BLIND MAN for the past year... and NOW, he has 20/20 vision... I'm in for it, I can already tell... still, it IS my house... so, if it gets too damn bad, I'll just pull an Eric Cartman on their asses.... "Screw you guys, you're going home"... or something like that.... heh... so, with disaster on the horizon... I leave you with the Mother Of All Pre-Battle Speeches....

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest English.
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument:
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest
That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'

...sometimes, Ladies and Gentlemen, it takes a little Henry V to motivate the soul....

by Eric on April 28, 2004 | Comments(3) | Psycho Rants

Comments so far:

It all went downhill after Henry V...

As a proud member of the Inept Poolplayer's Mafia, I know how you feel.

posted by: Maedhros on April 28, 2004 06:42 PM

They want a fight. Let's give them a good one.


posted by: Acidman on April 29, 2004 06:34 AM

...well, I rocked.. I managed to squeeze by Steve 7 to 5 in 8-ball... and 7 to 6 in 9-ball... and, I crushed Gary 14 to 7 in 8-ball.. some nights, it works... other times, I should just go drink Scotch and watch...

posted by: Eric on April 29, 2004 07:00 AM