Live from a dive in Pittsburgh

Note to Captain Caveman: the paperwork about my KSK expense account must have gotten lost by the courier since I never heard anything back from the home office. I told you guys, I don't have a real job and it took all of my cash just to get to Pittsburgh. Christ, I have to sell my blood just to afford my crappy dial-up internet. Where the hell are you guys?

I want to see if Pittsburgh fans are really the misanthropic fucktards that they appear to be on television. Undaunted by the aforementioned lack of an expense account, I took it upon myself to strike up a deal with the barkeep-- a fifty-something hose-beast who looks like she probably went down on half of the Steel Curtain back in the day. In a good light she looks like the Swamp Thing; in a bad light, kind of like Susan Sarandon.

Anyhoo, I told Elvira, with no small amount of self-importance, that if she took care of my bar tab, I would see that her establishment would be featured prominently in the most sardonic NFL blog on the internet. By the time I what explained what "sardonic," "blog," and "internet" means, it came as little suprise when she told me they didn't take credit cards, checks or the word of some "faggoty little writer."

Looks like I am going to have to make my final $12 last. Surely once the hardcore Steeler fans get here, they will have read my Browns preview from the other day (I hear they think dog-fucking-stuffed-animal videos are hi-larious), and I will be feted like a conquering hero. Until then, I'll nurse this Iron City. I hope Drew or UM returns one of the dozens of messages I've left in the last hour. It smells like fish in here.