This Week's Sign of the Apocalypse.

So I’m sitting at the bar last Saturday morning. It’s 10:30am. We’ve had our snacks. Now we’re having our pre-tailgating-pre-game beers and shots. Yes, that’s how we roll in Blacksburg. 33oz schooners and jager bombs before the sun passes the tree line is just what we do. Then we go to games and curse our offensive coordinator for 58 minutes and then rejoice like madmen when we score late to win. Either way, like a sprinter’s world records can be tainted by “wind aided” – our cheers are specifically “drink aided”. And if you have to start early, you have to start early.

So anyways, we’re sitting at the bar – me, Mrs. HokieJayBee, and four of our best friends. For the sake of the brevity of this post, we’ll just call one of the friends, “the Player”. No further explanation, just call him the Player. Our friend, the Player, has cycled through some girlfriends in recent years. Recent years? Ok, you’re right, since I’ve known him. And he’s pretty much always got something going with someone, in any city, no matter where I’ve been with him. See, too much explanation. You’re right. Ok.

This week’s sign of the apocalypse: So we’re sitting there drinking away, watching College Football Gameday. And Mrs. HokieJayBee turns to the Player:

“Hey, do you still talk to [INSERT GIRL’s NAME HERE]?”

[snickers] “nah, things didn’t end well there.”

“Man, I need to unfriend her”.