Just imagine, if there were multiple crows in a group, that piece would be murder on Jacksonville. Oh hello there, didn’t notice you reading this. Well, I am about as calm as a Buddhist cow right now, and the whole play-on-words stuff is just so much fun that I just wish I didn’t hock my banjo. So, last week was good, if that’s why you’re here, just careful on the back. (I have wings back there that are a little premature and tender.) One of these days, this whole spotlight on guys who aren’t getting enough starting love will take off, and I will tour the country on my tandem bicycle with my sidekick, Vito, who may or may not have been a “cleaner” before witness protection. So this week, we turn Isaiah Crowell, the complimentary running back in Cleveland, who is an overzealous fart from Ben Tate away from fantasy woohoo-ness. Even with Tate being healthy, I still recommend you find a spot for him. I can’t type it all in one sentence, so you are going to have to stay and read some letters that form words, that form sentences, and then paragraphs. What else are you doing?… Working. BWAHAHAH.
Please, blog, may I have some more?