Rumblitis--Chapter Thirteen

  
   As always--my books:  King's Books! 
  
   THIRTEEN:
  
   Lieutenant Commander Spinoza scattered across carpeted suburbia, the frigid chill of a Montana Winter clinging to the cemented red brick outside; plus, penetrating the interior of the spacious household, driving a tame , loving, and CONSCIOUS hedgehog to get frisky, playing the part of a true rascal, eagerly hunting for a package of LIFE SAVERS or something in any nearby trashcan.
   Ray came in from his jog.  Elated.  Smiling Sunshine amidst the overcast Alaska of it all, knowing a country with a Bigger Sky eclipses the sexually attractive Sarah Palin's House of Worship.  Anyway, settling into a mediocre loser-like lust for life, Ray got on the Internet and decided to chat up the ladies.  But first, personally insisted, as possibly the asshole author of this toxic tale, praying:
   --Dan Dierdorf --I apologize.  You said that the multiple-named, teleporting Rob Johnson was just as good a running-QB as the divinely dexterous Doug Flutie during the Tennessee Titans' "Music City Miracle" Game; moreover--that is Egyptian balderdash.  Still, while playing for the lightning bolt ornamentation of the now powder blue, sometimes, San Diego Chargers, you offered the illumination of intellectual speech concerning the swift-elfness of the fast-footed Flutie, somewhat proclaiming:  "Doug Flutie just won't go away.  He may not be the best, but he just won't go away."  Awesome, Dierdorf.
   I just hope the NFL doesn't tragically morph into the NBA--it only highlighting the genetically obscene, while pro football remains the only sport without the axiom of a definite weight and height class, more or less--get me?  You got David Beckham weight guys mixing it up with the freakishly large "J.J." Watt of them Houston Texans, him on his way to the Hall Of Fame.  Sincerely, the most common of men would be wise to shoot steroids all night if having to play against that gigantic, smoldering fortress of defensive domination.
   Then, Ray crashed.  This uplifting brainstorm of life soooooooo much better than things macabre; alas, he huddled close to his hedgehog, beeping the sweet sounds of its ambiguous noisemaker, Spinoza offering a "Vroom" of the cute soothe for a pet owner.  Next, Jimmy Kimmel erupted on live television, and Ray was soon sleeping like a rocked-to-rest infant underneath the celestial shimmer of a neon-glittering night.