On the morning of the NFC Conference Championship, I’m having a genuine crisis of confidence as a pet owner/role model. I mean, this isn’t quite as awful as coming home and finding your kids listening to Salem Tennis these motherfuckers, but it’s still pretty jarring.
Wait, we’re not supposed to listen to Tennis?
if you’re not under my roof relying on me for dogfood or Cheerios you can listen to whatever you like.
Fair point. Should I ever find myself in that situation, I imagine the trade-off will be worth it.