I couldn't believe the rinky-dink trophy the chicks got for winning the World Cup soccer championship.  I thought they should just get a baseball testicle-protector, strap it around a globe and call it the World Cup.  I said to a guy in the bathroom, "You know, this is cool, but it would be cooler if it was the Women's D-Cup Championship."     I'm sure I had more, but I'm not remembering right now.  I fell asleep last night after one chapter of Hemingway.  That Harry Morgan sure is a mean, self-serving, murderous bastard.  Helicopters buzzed all night.  I woke up at 7:30 this morning and read the newspaper.  I argued with Shirelle about how much of my pot she smokes.  I made a sound when she asked for it, so when I gave it to her, she didn't want it anymore.  She tried to give it back, and I wouldn't take it.  She said she would flush it down the toilet then, and I said if she did I would knock her lights out.  I may have even meant it.  So, I wanted to get out of the house fast, and I waited on the curb for Carlos to take us to our game, and we were somewhere around Montebello when I realized I'd forgotten my glove.  I borrowed one from Stoner Junior.  It wasn't a first-baseman's glove, but it worked and I ended up in left field midway through the game anyway after Stoner Junior pulled his hammy.  I struck out twice, got two bloop singles knocking in a run, scored from first, pulled my calf muscle, made some routine plays, one error, ugh, and we won ten to seven.  Carlos and I came home and drank a couple of Tecates each.  Then I ate a bowl of spaghetti and went over to Getoff's to get my Bible.  Getoff was talking about how photo-memory guys read by seeing the whole page, and I said the only way to get the true meaning and emotion was to read word-by-word. He talked about Yogis who make the temperature in one finger go up ten degrees and down ten degrees in the one next to it.  I read Acts 7-21 when I got home.  Demona and Bernice are here.