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Thursday, August 31
Dude, I think I'm in 40-love with the US Open. Fo the first time mt everest I took the John Rocker 7 train to Willets Point and my final destination was NOT Chez Ghetto Shea Stadium. Instead I walked the opposite way to a wet dream pairAdice filled with sweaty women in colorful tight outfits: The USTA National Tennis Center. The early rounds are apparently where tits at, cause good playas play on small arsed courts. Spankfully, due to rain delays and your mother, my true game, set, snatcher, Daniela Hantuchova played on such a court. I was cheering her on like mad, and so much so that after a key point she won, she briefly turned and looked at me. Lettuce juss say that no Maytag in the world could eva wash the Ken Burns' jazz that stained my CKs. Too bad she won't be headed to the Lizadies Final, cause that's the next and last event me gots a ticket to. I guess Sharapova will do. Someone peas remind me to wear sum extra padding that night (methinks 5 pairs of Underoos, 10 Depends, and 20 rolls of Saran Wrap will do the trick), unless duhvs course Kim Clijijisjisstejsisters is playing... with herself!
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