Better foosball tables equal superior, smarter people
Dom Jewardski
Issue date: 2/7/07 Section: Spin
- Page 1 of 1
My foosball table is way better than the one you have at your house, and for one thing, I'm not about to take my superior bar-sport-amenity for granted. I'm going to harbor this feeling of gratitude inside until it bursts into an outrage of how much sweeter my table is.
Mine is sleeker, cleaner and sturdier than that poor excuse for a place-to-put drinks table at your crib. I'm going to harp on this for a long time, milk it for all its worth.
You always say how everyone loves to play on your foosball table but that's not true. It is only because they happen to have nowhere to set a drink that they choose to stand anywhere near it.
The drinks are not even safe on the edge of the table. If, and let me emphasize if, anyone chooses to play on the table - God help them - a drink is sure to find its way off the side and onto your carpet. Don't even try to act like that mother-of-pearl space rug around your unit is not stained. There is a very noticeable faded crimson stain to the right of the east edge.
Like, 'member that time when Chuck was all hyper and swung the pool cue around his head claiming he was "King Arthur?" And then he bumped the table and spilled that drink? It was red and it stained and I told you to get some club soda and salt and it would be no problem but you didn't. And 'member all those times that the ball kept getting caught in the corner out of reach of the foosball guys? You never leveled out your table.
Mine, however, features the coolest cup holders built right into the side. Drink-spillage is not even a threat. Plus, I took it upon myself to have my area rug scotch-pined for maximum drink-spill protection. I did this, of course, because I wanted the award for best foosball table ever. And I got it, last week, at the award show, "Best Things Ever," that was televised. Oh, you mean you didn't see it because you don't get the Awesome network on your stingy cable plan? Tough break. Looks like there's another petty competition that I have won.
Your table will probably never be in the running for an illustrious award like that because it's lousy, and you don't even care. If I were your goalie, I'd de-attach myself from the long rod and hide under your dictionary; you would never look there, dummy.
My table is perfect. Literally, if you were to hit it with a tuning fork the note would be a perfect A at 440 Hz. Hello!? Concert pitch anyone? Bring it. My table has a multitude of positive attributes associated with it. Like improving one's finger dexterity, it bridges the gap of intellect for those that usually fall into the pits of uncoordination.
You sir, are stuck down in the pits of un-athletic oblivion and will not soon be able to get yourself out. Good luck. I win.
Mine is sleeker, cleaner and sturdier than that poor excuse for a place-to-put drinks table at your crib. I'm going to harp on this for a long time, milk it for all its worth.
You always say how everyone loves to play on your foosball table but that's not true. It is only because they happen to have nowhere to set a drink that they choose to stand anywhere near it.
The drinks are not even safe on the edge of the table. If, and let me emphasize if, anyone chooses to play on the table - God help them - a drink is sure to find its way off the side and onto your carpet. Don't even try to act like that mother-of-pearl space rug around your unit is not stained. There is a very noticeable faded crimson stain to the right of the east edge.
Like, 'member that time when Chuck was all hyper and swung the pool cue around his head claiming he was "King Arthur?" And then he bumped the table and spilled that drink? It was red and it stained and I told you to get some club soda and salt and it would be no problem but you didn't. And 'member all those times that the ball kept getting caught in the corner out of reach of the foosball guys? You never leveled out your table.
Mine, however, features the coolest cup holders built right into the side. Drink-spillage is not even a threat. Plus, I took it upon myself to have my area rug scotch-pined for maximum drink-spill protection. I did this, of course, because I wanted the award for best foosball table ever. And I got it, last week, at the award show, "Best Things Ever," that was televised. Oh, you mean you didn't see it because you don't get the Awesome network on your stingy cable plan? Tough break. Looks like there's another petty competition that I have won.
Your table will probably never be in the running for an illustrious award like that because it's lousy, and you don't even care. If I were your goalie, I'd de-attach myself from the long rod and hide under your dictionary; you would never look there, dummy.
My table is perfect. Literally, if you were to hit it with a tuning fork the note would be a perfect A at 440 Hz. Hello!? Concert pitch anyone? Bring it. My table has a multitude of positive attributes associated with it. Like improving one's finger dexterity, it bridges the gap of intellect for those that usually fall into the pits of uncoordination.
You sir, are stuck down in the pits of un-athletic oblivion and will not soon be able to get yourself out. Good luck. I win.
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