As a result, Jeff (a) dropped the seldom defended Intercontinental Title to Chris Jericho this past Monday night; (b) will be forced to forgo his spot in the "Money in the Bank Ladder Match" at WrestleMania; (c) will spend the subsequent six months worth of Monday night's in sports entertainment purgatory, i.e. laying down for an assortment of talentless youngsters like Santino Morella, Cody Rhodes, and DB Smith, and grizzled lugs like Hacksaw Duggan and Sparky Plugg; and (d) will have ample free time to pursue his other passions -- penning cryptic poetry*, strumming melodic protest songs on his boss acoustic guitar, designing and sewing his own ring attire, laundering his jizz rag, offering hand gesture coaching to underprivileged youngsters, and scrap booking a career retrospective.
To paraphrase Yogi Berra, this whole situation is like deja vu...all over again.
I think Hardy's poem "A Lot in Common" is especially poignant and encapsulates the array of emotions that a nation of Jeffaholics are grappling with in this difficult time...
You're beautiful...but strange...So am I.
You're smart...but still slow...So am I.
You're impatient...but fast...So am I.
You're tired...but still last...So do I.
You're hot...but still cold...So am I.
You're established...but not old...So am I.
You're waiting...but happy...So am I.
You're leaving...but staying...So am I.
You're amazing...but weird...So am I.
You're yourself...but still feared...So am I.
We both want to be...A forever seen star.
I have to say...a lot in common is what we are.
*The person that hosts this site believes that Jeff's "work is as good as any that I've read." Clearly, he/she is not much of a reader.
2 comments:
Tsk tsk.... Hardy is clearly loaded in that picture with the Make-A-Wish kid.
Whatever. The kid's high as a bat, too.
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