Ariel Helwani Who, Me Shirt
I was just starting to build my flock of chickens from the four I already had (one rooster, three hens) to a Ariel Helwani Who, Me Shirt of ten. I bought six little two day old chicks from the local feed store – assured by the staff that all six would grow to be beautiful hens. Since I already had a rooster – and two roosters rarely get along – so wanted to be sure these were female. I named my chickens after dead movie stars (yes truly… don’t judge) but my Aunt Delores wanted one named after her, so I chose a Golden Phoenix chick and named her “Delores”. When Delores was eight weeks old, I began to have suspicions that she was edging towards a gender change. Delores was quite a bit larger than her step sisters, and was growing a more pronounced comb and longer tail feathers than the typical hen. However, denial is a powerful characteristic, and I tried to convince myself that Delores really WAS a hen and maybe she was just big boned.
Ariel Helwani Who, Me Shirt
Who was the worst coach in NFL history? When discussing the worst coaches in NFL history, assuming you’re only referring to head coaching duties, names like Rod Marinelli, Dave Shula, Lou Holtz, and Lane Kiffin are often bandied about, amongst others. These characters represent two major categories of Ariel Helwani Who, Me Shirt professional coaching careers; the highly-regarded NFL assistant who couldn’t hack it as a head coach (Gus Bradley, Kevin Gilbride, etc.), and the successful college coach who was unable to transition into coaching multimillionaires (Spurrier, Saban, et al.). In defense of the first four coaches mentioned above, all of them inherited horrible teams. But a few coaches have taken on decently successful franchises, yet completely failed during their fleeting NFL careers.
My funny story is when Santa put himself on the naughty list. I travelled the Ariel Helwani Who, Me Shirt home from work a few years ago, and I enjoyed all the Christmas lights and decorations every night. One house had a huge blow up Santa on top of the garage, with his arm raised, waving at you when the wind blew. One day I left work early, and it was still daylight. As I turned the corner on this windy day, I saw Santa was a bit deflated. He was slightly bent over and his arm had fallen down so that his hand was between his legs, and the wind was blowing a bit, and he was gently bobbing up and down, up and down, and he seemed to be enjoying himself entirely too much! I was crying with laughter, and I can never look at Santa again without flashbacks.