Though I was soundly defeated -- twice -- at Denver Nationals Championship Arm-Wrestling at the Bannock Street Garage on Saturday, it was not without a measure of hope: In yesterday's recap of my humiliating failure, I resolved that, next time, I would use the power of numbers to crush my future foes. But Elliott Batte, my second and final adversary in the contest (who I described as having "wolf-like hunger in his eyes"), would suggest otherwise. In the form of a reader comment on that post, he returns to taunt me with his victory and his god-like beard. Damn you, Elliott Batte!
Had I known my opponent had such a grandiose vernacular, I would've been a bit more intimidated. Though I channeled the power of Zeus through my god-like beard and crushed you with the ferocity of the Spanish Flu.
I am the wolf.
That may be the case, my friend, but as you sit there congratulating yourself and growing fat and complacent on your throne made of the bones of your vanquished enemies, I squat in the bush, growing stronger. We shall meet again, Elliott Batte -- and next time, I'll be ready.
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