I’m feeling a little more A.D.D. than usual today. And being the super-spaz child that I am inside, I’m looking for answers to a thousand (and one) questions. Discuss amongst yourselves… please help me answer my most pressing doubts, concerns, and fears. Take your time… this is one of those new age classrooms where we give you all the time you need to finish your work…
2) How awful will Michigan be with Rich Rodriguez this season? 2a) How good will West Virginia be without RR? 3A) Will WVU take the buyout settlement cash and celebrate all the victories RR gave them?
3) Will Aaron Rodgers officially retire this season in Brett Favre’s shadow? 3A) When Favre sent a text message to Ted Thompson, did the Packers GM reply with WTF, OMFG, STFU, or TTYL?
4) Will Detroit declare Kid Rock its own Johnny Cash after his All Summer Long smash hit?
5) If the Yankees manage to earn a playoff spot, will the New York Post call it the Sticky & Sweet Tour? 5A) Will Jeter stop playing hard to get now?
6) When we’re all homeless during the NBA finals next year, will illegal immigrants teach us to grow and pick our own vegetables — or will they hold a grudge?
8.5) When the Cubs lose in the playoffs, who will dress up as the scapegoat mascot?
9) Will people stop pretending that tennis is exciting to watch on TV? 9A) If there were a grunt-off in women’s tennis, who would win Wimbledon? 9B) Is the art of grunting more valuable on clay or grass?
10) If the price of gas keeps climbing, will we have the pleasure of seeing less Nascar? 10A) Is it o.k. to discriminate against racing or is that reverse racism?
11) If two lesbians are making out at the ballpark, do you alert security or just pretend you’re in the porno Where’s the Italian Sausage?
12) If the aging veteran McCain knocks off diaper dandy Barack Obama this fall in the presidential finals, will he get a shoe deal from the Capitol Senior Living Center?
13) If no one is there to see it, does the NHL really make a noise when it falls in the woods?
14) If horse racing were banned, would anyone actually consider living in Kentucky?
15) Will Congress investigate performance enhancing vocals on pop radio?
“You’re looking down again
and then you look me over
we’re laying down again
on a blanket in the clover
the same boy you’ve always known
well I guess I haven’t grown”– jack white III
OK, this is going to be a pretty serious diatribe, mainly about the musical desecration that Kid Rock has graced us with in 2008. First and foremost, I don’t enjoy being a critic unless it is warranted. And this is a moment where I have witnessed another atrocity in the world of music, further driving home my point that musical taste has decayed into oblivion, causing me to think about chopping off my penis. But someone has already taken that joy away from me by whacking off his schlong and documenting it so carefully — which leaves me to deal with my own spiritual suffering. So my dear music lovers from far and wide, I am imploring radio stations across the world to stop playing Kid Rock’s All Summer Long (for the rest of the summer and all of eternity) from the Rock N Roll Jesus album…
Just based off the song alone, this should have been entitled Rock N Roll Judas. But in an effort to be fair and open minded, I watched one minute and 30 seconds of the video (all I could take) which was equally pukerrific as the song. And it made me hate summer! Which used to be a season I loved almost as much as spring! Go ahead and read the glowing commentary on Youtube about how this little number is so “catchy.” Why does it sound so damn catchy? Because it is a composition of two hits by someone else!!!!!! Wake up America!!!!!! (For those of you scoring at home, “Wake up America!” is my new homeland security system/slogan when I get pissed off about something really trivial.)
I don’t know if Kid Rock still knocks down “whiskey out the bottle,” but I do know this is a public urination on dead people — whether inspired by a drunken fantasy or not. Lifting Warren Zevon’s Werewolves in London and Skynyrd’s Sweet Home Alabama — while inserting ridiculously cheesy lyrics — doesn’t make a song. He could have pissed on Zevon’s casket and it would have been less offensive than this annoying monstrosity. I heard Zevon’s original playing today as I was about to eat lunch, and I prayed with all of my might to the real Rock N Roll Jesus that it wasn’t the Kid Rock tune.
The only message that I could get behind in the song was an utterrance about “we didn’t have no internet,” which I could at least appreciate since I’m blogging away in all my fury. In all its crapdom, maybe this little ditty was supposed to be some bizarre tribute to Zevon/Skynyrd, while purveying the sheer shallow and backwards innocence of high school?
Anthony Decurtis gave this review in Rolling Stone:
“As he well knows — and Rock N Roll Jesus proves — roaring guitars, truckloads of attitude and an unquenchable lust for life make up for a multitude of sins.”
Basically, I guess Decurtis is saying, that if you play real fucking loud, all is forgiven! I was having some kind of Spinal Tap moment when I read that. Mabye this album “goes to eleven.” I can dig that honesty I guess. Well, this dreadful song doesn’t make up for its sins — such as ripping off Zevon and Skynyrd, then calling it your own. I hate “sampling” or whatever plagiaristic form of musical looping this is defined as among the geniuses at Atlantic Records. I wouldn’t listen to the rest of the album (even if I owned it) after hearing this song. Well, the tune entitled So Hott (that’s with a double t) does sound very Paris Hiltonish, so I might be able to groove to that one.
As my new friend Sara so poignantly exclaimed, “I just want some music that doesn’t suck.” I wanted to tell Sara that everything is okay. But I knew it wasn’t; not by a long shot. Unfortunately, people keep paying for unoriginal, trite symphonies of yuckety-yuck blah. Enough American Idol! I tried to restore Sara’s faith in humanity by turning her onto Peter Cooper, and I reiterated that Tommy Womack was still playing in my car (for about the tenth week in a row). It’s all I could do to stave off her musical depression, but I knew she was right — because there is not enough music on the radio that doesn’t suck.
Kid Rock fans, I’m not picking on the man solely. It’s just a symptom of the industry, and I don’t want to direct all of my animosity his way — since the man has to get paid. But I speak the truth. You can see it in Nashville too — where country music has become a total mockery of itself. Quite frankly, I want to put a boot up its ass. I mean hey, What Would Toby Do? I remember when Jack White complained about the lack of radio play for Loretta Lynn’s Van Lear Rose (an album he produced) a few years back, while mentioning that Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy) could be heard incessantly on country radio. And Jack was right… except instead, Toby Keith is played 15 times a day on local radio stations everywhere, while the real Nashville musician struggles to get a paycheck.
I have written a lot of garbage in my time — and I plan to again (if not today) — which means I can see clearly on these matters. But I guess you still must take my critique with a grain of salt since my only real musical talents involve playing my Yairi Alvarez very badly, and singing obnoxiously loud, as only I can. However, I don’t usually get paid for it — which is how it should be!
Once I go to the ballpark, I will know the absolute truth about All Summer Long. If it is blasting loudly as Joe So & So steps up to the plate, I will have corroborating evidence that this song smells wonderturdly like an awful brand of unholy, new millennium teen spirit.
“Raspberry, strawberry, lemon and lime
What do I care?
Blueberry, apple, cherry, pumpkin and plum
Call me for dinner, honey, I’ll be there
Saddle me up my big white goose
Tie me on ‘er and turn her loose
Oh me, oh my
Love that country pie
I don’t need much and that ain’t no lie
Ain’t runnin’ any race
Give to me my country pie
I won’t throw it up in anybody’s face”
Carolinians are apparently dismayed about WTF appearing on their plates, which has made the NCDMV commissioner feel inside — and confused — especially since the dirty message was found on sample plates, on the agency’s website.
“Obviously, I didn’t know it was there,” said commish Bill Gore. Well, of course you didn’t, because when it comes to this newfangled technology jargon, you wouldn’t know your a$$ from a hole in the ground, like me, and a lot of old people. So who gives a flying fuk ya know? Well, I guess a 60-year-old “technology teacher” who relied on her grandchildren to point it out?
The good news is that you can turn in your plate and get another one. But some people are still begging the question, Why couldn’t the grandchildren keep their mouths shut?And what happens when the DMV discovers these license plates? KMA, POS, FCUK, FOS, F4F, and last but not least, the dirtiest of them all… M4M.
Look, I know Andy Griffith is from North Carolina, but it doesn’t mean we need a bunch of Barney Fifes runnin’ around all willy-nilly. WTG Tar Heels! Quick, call the AAAAA (American Assosciation Against Acronym Abuse).
Hey, I wonder if this technology teacher realizes there is a BUSH in the White House. And he’s a real MF. Recall! Citizen’s arrest, citizen’s arrest! Be sure to grab that DICK too, while you’re in there…
FFS, these kids are going to have us on the run by the time we’re really old. I’m seriously worried when the DMV gets a hold of the Internet slang dictionary. Then, we are seriously fukd!!!
So with the lesbian kissing ban goin’ on in Seattle, I got to wonderin’ about whether or not they should play YMCA at the ballpark anymore, because we surely don’t need anything else that feels uncomfortable — shameful even — goin’ on in our baseball stadiums. But I’m a skeezy skeezer and I’m jonesin’ for something fresh, something with a little more flare. I thought maybe — in the interest of expanding our (musical and cultural) horizons — we should consider another hot anthem so I can get my Electric Six fix!!! Yeah!!!
I went to see the Asheville Tourists play tonight and I met up with a friend of mine who is so utterly homophobic that he canceled a date with me a few years ago to see Bridget Jones Diaries — mainly because some other folks bailed out and he thought it looked suspicious. I’m not saying that isn’t a little gay sounding — two heterosexual men going to see a chick flick — but I don’t worry about such nonsense usually. However, I’m still upset that I didn’t get to see Bridget Jones until this year. Where was I going with this? Sorry, I got all hot about Renee for a second and I was having some latent homosexual desires while reminiscing about the canceled date with my friend. I thought it would have been awesome if the A’ville Tourists cranked up Gay Bar instead of YMCA at the game tonight, so my friend could get all uncomfortable, like he does. Look, Asheville is a pretty liberal city, but I bet that would have sent some old folks home in the 4th inning.
Seriously though, doesn’t that make you want to get out of your seats more than the Village People? And I know that little E-6 ditty probably doesn’t get lesbians all lathered up — well, maybe it does I guess… kind of a sexy song if you ask me. I’m pretty sure I could get down to business with it — even while watching Bridget Jones in the background. But anyway, we can’t have an overabundance of girl-on-girl tomfoolery — and a total lack of man-to-man offense — in the cheap seats.
So, I’m petitioning for more Electric Six at the old ball game. I mean, I guess it’s enough excitement already when I have some heteros makin’ out in front of me. Hell, people of any sexual orientation tonguing in public is too hard to handle - because I can’t take the high voltage! But two dudes getting kissy-kissy at the ballyard would be en fuego — especially if it were a couple of teammates in the dugout. It’s my desire…
“San Francisco’s calling us, the Giants and Mets will play
Piazza, New York catcher, are you straight or are you gay?”
OK, Lima Bean posse, this is where I openly rant about anything and everything affecting our general mental health diet. We’ll call it Organic Sports Therapy…
Grocery bagger guy: I don’t need a bag for a banana dude! And I won’t feed your bagging addiction. Stop being such bagwhores. Baggers everywhere, grocery and retail: Please stop bagging my one item!!! This includes hand fruit, toothpaste, and condoms… maybe I want to put it on my banana in the store. And no, I don’t want my milk in the f#!&ing bag!!! I am protesting your invasive baggery by purchasing two cloth bags. I’m taking my manpurses to all your little shops, buying a tiny item from each of you, and then asking you to put it in my gigantic sack.
Cubs fan: Even though you guys are probably doomed to choke this year, quit whining every time the Cubs drop a ball game. You’ll have plenty of time to whine in October. So for now, leave that up to Cardinal fan who is boo-hooing about injuries, and all the Cards that are with the Cubbies now. If nothing else, just let Sweet Lou shoulder your frustration by going on some kind of crazy press conference tirade; he’d be good at that. It apparently works for Ozzie next door — so just go with it and you’ll put together another nice little streak, making your manager look like some kind of mad genius with coprolalia disorder, who shags blowup dolls.
Boston: Please no more damn contrived drama from any of your teams. You want attention… we get the picture… bloody socks, walking boots, knee knocks… I could go on. If somehow the Bruins make it to the Stanley Cup Finals next year, we don’t want to hear about a miraculous two-day turnaround from any player who had an artery severed by a skate. Enough is enough!
Jesus fish guy: No more damn Jesus bumper stickers on your car dude! Look, Jesus shouldn’t be pimped out on your ride or your license plate. Jesus is suing someone’s ass for trademark infringement and unlicensed use of the chosen one’s name—if they miraculously get to heaven.
Nascar: Stop praying before every race (also see above). When your fans are throwing up in the bathroom on their Dale Jr. t-shirts during lap 156, God is not listening.
Cedric Benson: Please do not enroll in flight school.
Grocery store produce guy: We’re out of fresh lima beans.
“The catcher hits for .318 and catches every day
The pitcher puts religion first and rests on holidays
He goes into cathedrals and lies prostrate on the floor
He knows the drink affects his speed, he’s praying for
a doorway
Back into the life he wants and the confession of the bench
Life outside the diamond is a wrench”
What was Seattle Mariners manager John McLaren so mad about this week? Maybe he decided there hasn’t been much on the highlight reel and just decided to drop some F-bombs in the effort to get the club some exposure on ESPN. I suppose it could be true that it was only because the Mariners truly suck this year. But I think there is something more to the story; because there is always something more to the story.
I think this has everything to do with Sirbrina Guerrero being asked by ushers not to kiss her date at a game back in May after a complaint from a woman, who apparently has issues with two women getting playful in public. I think McLaren let this frustration build up for a week or so and decided to let it out. I’d be pissed too if I couldn’t go to a Major League Baseball game and watch lesbians kissing. I thought that was part of the package.
What if Guerrero was an illegal immigrant? Wow, she probably would have been asked to stop kissing, then kicked out of the ballpark, and the country. I say let those lesbian aliens stay… the thought of two illegal immigrant chicks sharing tongue in this country is so intensely risqué that I forgot what the hell I was talking about. Oh yeah, two chicks kissing at the ballpark is very bad…
First of all, I see a lot of straight couples that are pretty skeezy in the P.D.A. department and nobody asks them to put it away or “tone it down.” I had to exploit the word skeezy here because my friend Mary educated me on the use of such word … not sure if it is properly applied here, but I had to throw it out there. She and I were victims of skeeze by a straight couple at a house concert a while back, and we never complained — no matter how uncomfortable and icky things started to get, right before our very eyes. In this case, I think it qualified as bona fide skeezery because it was clear this guy’s date wanted to enjoy the show and he was getting in the way of her good time. We didn’t want to see it anymore, but you couldn’t help but watch. You just sit there and take it like everybody else!!
Hell, there are a lot of things I don’t want to see in this world — like war! War makes me uncomfortable. American soldiers and Iraqi civilians getting their heads blown off makes me uncomfortable, and I don’t want that to happen. You think I get my wishes granted? No!! I’m told to deal with it because it’s the American way!! Wake up America! If two women kissing is the worst thing you have to look at, then just enjoy your voyeuristic tendencies, and be glad you’re not getting shot at by insurgents after some dope sent you over to foreign lands, so that two chicks might someday have the right to make out in an oil field while being discriminated against by some prudish hall monitor.
I have my doubts whether Ms. Guerrero and her date crossed some kind of imaginary skeezy line. But I guess that’s for the Mariners organization and MLB to decide with its code of conduct (announced before every game). McLaren — obviously noticeable in his remarks — disregarded the code of conduct too during the recent press conference, along with 2,000 other drunks at the game who were busy swearing at him because the Mariners are the worst team in baseball, despite the highly-anticipated Erik Bedard acquisition.
So chances are Mclaren is probably going to get canned over his penchant for girl-on-girl soft porn at the ballpark. And the worst part… it was all for nothing. Because apparently, the Mariners are still not going to allow lesbians to play “hide the garlic fries” during the 7th inning stretch.
“The fans are pissed off, and I’m pissed off, and the players are pissed off. And that’s the way it is.”
I’m not saying you’re not a vegetarian Prince Fielder, but I just don’t know a lot of 5′11″, 260 pound non-carnivores. I’ve been eating mostly vegetarian fare for the last couple of years, and I think you’re trying to pull the lima beans over my eyes.
I saw you play against the Cubs earlier this season, and I think you might have eaten a couple of vegetarians in between innings; that’s not vegetarianism, no matter how many bleeding-heart animal lovers you have swallowed up in Milwaukee. I’ve been there, and I’m willing to bet you could order wiener schnitzel soy milk.
How do I really know if your home run production plummeted because you went veggie — or if you stopped taking human growth hormone?
Sweet Jesus, you didn’t see Andy Pettitte go veggie in the effort to cover his tracks. He took the easy way out and just asked help from the Lord.
I know you apparently read this veggie book you got from your wife. But just because I read a book about body building, I don’t go around telling every poor schmuck I meet that I’m Arnold Schwarzenegger. “Yeah, Den, what have you been lifting? Your feet off the ground? Good one half-pint.” They just wouldn’t believe me, ya know?
I’m sure you spend a lot of time in the dugout eating sunflower seeds, but you just can’t put them in a bowl of ice cream. Sure, I guess that’s technically not eating meat. I just think you probably need to eat a couple of green beans to qualify for veggie status.
I wouldn’t doubt if Brian McNamee is injecting you guys with tree leaves. It’s not detectable by Major League Baseball yet, although giraffes can smell you a mile away. Maybe that is why Congress was asking Roger Clemens if he was a vegan earlier this year? Because you guys are so paper-thin now, and God knows Clemens looks like he’s been eating 20 years worth of black bean hummus. Good work Congress; that’s what we pay you for; your investigative reporting is on steroids. Last time I checked, Roger Clemens weighed in at 235, apparently overindulging in a strict diet of tofurkey and greek tempeh pitas?
Anything is possible I guess, since I read an internet article recently, suggesting soy is making kids gay and fat. Congress can go ahead and keep thinking Clemens is a vegan, but I think we all know he is not gay. Next season, I can’t wait for Prince to announce he wants to have sex with vegan men. His wife will definitely take that book away and cook up a fat steak.
Maybe we’ll see a trimmer Prince next season, who knows? But I think we need to cut you open and see if there are any license plates or old tires in there; and so I can get my left arm back.
Well, I opened up a real can of lima beans recently, with lots of worms in it. And as you might have guessed, I’ve taken a lot of shrapnel in the last few days for my self-parody column entitled Why Women Should Be Banned From All-Star Voting.
While it is certainly a ridiculous notion to suggest that women shouldn’t vote in any election, especially some stupid popularity contest like the MLB All-Star game, I am very serious when I say that I don’t want to see any more male reporters on the sidelines. It’s not to say that women should be put on the sidelines — no no, not at all — but there is entirely too much machismo already, for my personal taste.
I know I’m still a sexist jerk — now hating men too — but women just bring something fresh to the game, perhaps even a different perspective than the common drivel I hear every time I turn on a telecast.
First of all, most of you guys on TV are really not that good looking to begin with, and I’ve heard every sillycliché I care to hear: it’s do or die; it’s pivotal; there’s no tomorrow; such and such team draws first blood; you can feel the electricity; it’s gut-check time … yada yada yada. Seriously, is that the best you can do?
Again, sexist I know, but women make the game sexier than all of you men and your blatantly phallic-sounding, obnoxious commentary about penetration, being on top, scoring etc. Not only are chicks better looking than you, they are knowledgeable and more subtle too about their sexual urges — so why do I want to spend time listening to you and looking at the same old tired faces I’ve always seen? Seriously, have you seen Tony Kornheiser and Erin Andrews side by side? It’s not a tough call.
Another thing, where are all the female hockey reporters? What is up with that? I know there is some potential out there because I met a lot of hockey chicks on the Internet last week who can check you into the boards like nobody’s business; and then tell you about it. I’ll admit that I don’t get to watch hockey much because the NHL completely ruined the playoffs by putting games on networks that I don’t even get. But if I did get some hockey, I’d want to watch a chick talking back and forth with Gary Thorne while the Red Wings lose in the finals. Sorry Detroit fan, I’m a disgruntled former Blues follower, and we’ve been taking a pounding for years from you guys, and I just want to cry like a girl now.
So yeah, there needs to be more female sports writers and sportscasters, because quite frankly Steven A., it is getting harder and harder to listen to the same ‘ole shtick night in and night out.
The fact is, women are needed in sports, and you know when they have “the it factor.” See, you realize right away when a chick is badass with a microphone, just like when I pick up a White Stripes album and listen to Jack White tear up shit on the guitar. It might take a second or two to digest what you just heard, but you know it is top notch — and there’s nothing else out there like it.
So yeah, it’s more than just a pretty face. Ladies, I still think we can work this thing out. I know my brand of humor isn’t for everyone, but I’m an equal opportunity moron.
It is true that “any man with a microphone can tell you what he loves the most.” I know no one wants to admit it, but there is a little Colin Cowherd in all of us — whether you think he or I is a total idiot.
So let me be clear, I’m not backing down. A Seven Nation Army and a 10,000 LB Elephant won’t stop me from having a Ball and Biscuit with someone from Detroit…
Let’s have a ball and a biscuit sugar
And take our sweet little time about it
Let’s have a ball girl
And take our sweet little time about it
Tell everyone in the place to just get out
We’ll get clean together
And I’ll find a soapbox where I can shout it
You read it in the newspaper
Ask your girlfriends and see if they know
That my strength is ten fold girl
And I’ll let you see if you want to before you go
Well, I obviously cannot answer that without divine intervention. But a source close to Jesus — speaking on the condition of anonymity for fear of the wrath of God and damnation to hell’s fire — tells me that The Chosen One is unhappy with plenty of things shaking out in the world, including the perennial letdowns of the Catholic church in the clutch, the college B.C.S. debacle, and Jesus Nation misusing his name.
While I had this limited lifeline to the Son of God, I thought I would find out what my source knows about the inner workings of The Savior, and what it’s like being the heart and soul of some of the biggest plays in sports. I quickly became disappointed to learn that God had absolutely no part in any Hail Mary play or Immaculate Reception. And he said that Notre Dame should never put faith in Touchdown Jesus, who was vacationing in the desert for more than 40 days and 40 nights last fall — clearly the wrong season to be acting holier than thou.
Meanwhile, my source confirmed that neither Jesus nor God is angry with ESPN’s Dana Jacobson for cursing at them and the University of Notre Dame during a drunken rant at a roast for talk show hosts Mike (Greenberg) & Mike (Golic) earlier this year. It is still unclear whether Jacobson actually said, “F*** Jesus,” “F*** Notre Dame”, F*** Touchdown Jesus,” or “F***em all.” But Jesus issued a press release saying “Notre Dame had an awful lineup last season and clearly, was F***ed without any help from Dana.” Jesus also acknowledged that Jacobson had turned water into wine at some point during the ceremony — so all is forgiven. He reportedly said he hadn’t seen anyone that drunk since Charlie Weis on Easter Sunday. Jacobson later apologized for the remarks and said she only wanted to know what it felt like “to be Catholic for a day.” And it is widely reported that, as part of her Lenten penance, Jacobson agreed to give up saying idiotic things while liquored up in public.
As expected, God announced that Rev. Jeremiah Wright is not — and never was — his agent. He reportedly said Wright was mainly a government experiment, and ultimately, will not change the course of religion, Barack Obama’s presidential bid, or the game of Scrabble. But make no mistake about it, he did intend for Hillary to have a fighting chance in the Democratic primary.
I was also surprised to learn that Jesus was quoted as saying, “The Saints sucked last year,” obviously animosity toward the Catholic church’s refusal to deal with its scandals properly. But he still doesn’t give a free pass to pastor and John McCain supporter John Hagee for trash talking Catholicism by proclaiming it to be “The Great Whore.” Jesus said Hagee also will announce his latent homosexuality — either proactively or in scandal — as punishment for his ridiculous statements blaming Hurricane Katrina on gay pride parades and sin in New Orleans. However, Jesus does agree the Wizards were well deserving of the Gayest Name in the NBA Award, as reported by the Serious Sports News Network. Jesus himself apparently is promoting a Hagee vs. Wright showdown, with the winner and loser being sentenced to 10 years of yoga in a godforsaken village where they will be officially rejected, denounced, disowned and deserted.
In somewhat of a conflict of interest, Jesus revealed he is a huge Devils fan and expects New Jersey to unleash a plague-like fury during the ‘08 - ‘09 NHL season. He likens his own style to that of goaltender Martin Brodeur, who has made quite a few quality “saves” in his career — but only those that will earn preferential treatment getting through the gates of the Prudential Center, and not the gates of heaven. Just another reason why both God and Jesus have become such followers of soccer, hockey, baseball, and those crazy hippies. But a very humble yet prophetic Jesus maintains that no one, in any league or all leagues of any kind combined, will ever break his career record for overall saves.
So I was getting a little selfish during the interview, and I wanted to know if Jesus could tell me what was wrong with my groin; and whether or not he could resurrect my B-league soccer career. My source said I probably didn’t have a real good shot at talking directly to J.C. without an appointment, but if I looked hard enough, I might find the answer in an unexpected place. And as I sat in the hospital, primed and ready for another C.T. scan, Pat Robertson appeared on the waiting room television. He was giving health advice to his followers, and said everyone should eat more peanuts and filberts. I wholeheartedly agreed with him for once, still wondering who in their right minds would actually take nutritional advice from a televangelist. But I knew he was right. And if I need a healthy dose of nuts, I can always turn on 700 Club when the cupboard is bare.
Those were really the only meaningful questions I had for Jesus. But my source stopped me, and said that God had one more important message for his people:
“While a fan of all teams of any race, creed, religion or sexual preference, God is very busy with many tragedies to dish out and fix up; and he doesn’t give two shits about championships in major sporting events including, but not limited to, the NBA, NFL, MLB, NHL, World Cup, NCAA, and especially Nascar … so you are wasting your goddamn time praying before the big event, assuming God cares or has time to miraculously affect the outcome, giving you some silly opportunity of shouting out ‘I just want to thank God,’ to a nationally-televised audience right before you announce your religious retreat to Disney World.”
Amen.
Let us go in peace.
“Your flag decal won’t get you into heaven anymore” — John Prine
First of all, let me start by saying that I am not LMAO right now. In fact, I want to kick you in your chuckling ass every time I get a reply via e-mail with Internet slang, jargon, shorthand, Tech-talk, Netspeak, Nu English, computer language or any other cutesy phrase that has been promulgated to describe this form of communication; or laziness as we called it back in my day when the teacher slapped you upside the head and told you to act right, damn it!
While we are on the subject of annoying technology, let me also tell you that instant replay in sports is a pain in my (!). You and your sports cronies think it makes the game so much better because referees will get the calls right — even though they still, sometimes, get it wrong. And it only delays my hip and groin therapy; and that makes me get a little crotchety.
Sorry, life is hard pal. The ref just FUBAR’ed your little fan party. Your team lost. Sometimes, you lose in life too — and there ain’t no rewind. Better learn it. Yeah, you don’t like it so much when the boss is using instant replay. “Hey, let’s watch Steve screw up the Happy Meal order for the forty-seventh time.”
Yeah, technology is wonderful. $6.00-a-gallon gasoline coming to a pump near you, fish genes in my tomato, pesticides on my peaches, global warming in the forecast, we’re paying for water, and Roger Clemens didn’t use performance-enhancing drugs in a house with a mouse (rat); or with his spouse.
Coca-Cola will be selling you fresh oxygen in a bag before you know it — just like the stuff we breathe every day. I think it’s called air — which is pretty contaminated, by the way.
I also think sports news — considered to be newsworthy — is completely and utterly ridiculous. ESPN is silly, but I still watch it. I’ve loved sports my whole life — even a sportscaster for a brief time — but if the Cards or Cubs lose tomorrow, I ain’t losin’ sleep. Honestly, I think I only watched the Cubs when I was a kid because of Harry Caray — to be entertained. And secretly, that’s who I want to be when I grow up; or grow old as I presume will happen. I just want to run around saying outlandish things and getting laughs whether I meant to be funny or not. But I guess I’m too peevish and cantankerous for that now. Maybe I can settle for being a crazy uncle.
I’m like the Grumpy Old Man skit from Saturday Night Live — vintage Dana Carvey — except I’m grumpier. The older I get, the more cranky I am. When I’m 70, I fully expect to be a complete alcoholic and/or drug addict since I won’t be able to understand anyone around me. The attendants at the nursing home won’t even speak to me anymore. We have chips in our brains, and we just relay messages to each other in the effort of saving precious time. Except, the Alzheimer’s keeps fouling up the transmitter — so the nurse keeps shaking me in hopes that everything will clear up.
So, now you know … technology is ruining us. We can go faster, foul things up faster than ever before — and for many of us, that means living in a more complicated world; a world where I can blog about nonsense from the comfort of my own home with a little box, which has lots of pretty colors and words scrolling across the screen.
I just wonder if we’re going to be walking around with no emotions and casually evoking the occasional LOL when somebody says something even remotely humorous. Every now and then, it would be nice if someone would send a little e-mail with something like… “Dude, you are one funny, grouchy bastard, and I’m laughing my ass off so hard right now that I won’t be able to sit down for a week.”
“We must talk in every telephone
Get eaten off the web
We must rip out all the epilogues in the books that we have read
And in the face of every criminal
Strapped firmly to a chair
We must stare, we must stare, we must stare”
inside — and confused — especially since the dirty message was found on sample plates, on the agency’s website.