As unlikely as it is that they will have an shitacular season, what with them plowing over Florida’s whinaneers like the modern U.S. Army might overwhelm an army of thundering neanderthals armed only with clubs and rocks, it’s still my fervent hope and desire.

It’s not that I’m motivated by hatred for the Ravens, or love for some other football team. It’s not that I don’t have home city pride for this team. It’s not, even, that I wouldn’t pretend to like the sport come January if they found their way to the Superbowl (I’m a fair-weather sports fan). Rather: I’m motivated by that most American of motivations: money.

Last football season, I was the only day driver at the Franchise on Sundays. I made a lot of money, because that shift from eleven am until four or five pm I was the only driver. All of the runs were mine. Rare was the Sunday I didn’t leave with at least a hundred bucks.

And then Greg — beloved, amongst all of my bosses, for messing with that which doesn’t actually need mucking with — decided that he wanted two drivers to work Sundays. So, now, there’s a second driver every Sunday. Can’t get pissy at him, he’s just following orders. I made less than fifty bucks today. Sucked. Ass.

AND IT WAS BUSY! (Albeit, not like, “super busy”, which woulda been nice!)

So. Here’s where it stands. Either the Ravens need to start sucking immediapronto so that Greg stops scheduling a second driver, or the Ravens need to do so fucking well that we’re so fucking busy that, in addition to driving the inside employees to tears at the volume of phone calls, I’m leaving every night with a hundred bucks in my pockets (second day driver or no).

After the sink-overflowing issue from Friday night (which hasn’t entirely resolved itself, although it hasn’t overflowed since), I cleaned the cat food bowls and stuck ‘em on the counter opposite the sink so that the felines could still munch and sip.

Except, apparently, the cats didn’t realize the food was up there — even when I picked them up and put them on the counter and they saw the food, they gave me looks that said, “If it’s not on the floor, is it really cat food? Is this a trap?” and jumped down.

They woke me up about an hour ago atop the tv in my bedroom licking the plastic packaging on new socks I’d bought recently. When they lick plastic wrapping — why do they do this? — it’s a sign to me that they’re hungry.

I screamed at them, “FOOD IN KITCHEN!” and scared the fur off of them. Then I did what I should’ve done earlier — I moved the food bowls off the counter and onto the floor in the living room.

This time they gave me a look that said, “If it’s not in the kitchen, is it really cat food? Is this a trap?”

So. Fucking. Dumb.