I Know Everything

I have the solution to all of our problems, at least in terms of Iraq. What is the first rule of warfare? Know thy enemy? Probably. What do our enemies fear? Why, naked women and pork-based products, of course. How do we incorporate naked women and pork-based products into our military campaign? By airdropping millions of copies of the finest in "men's sophistic publications" and tons and tons of Grade F bacon (we will keep all the Sizzlean here, in America, for our consumption). As a result, our enemies would go berserk. Weapons like these would be more effective than anything our nation's defense contractors could devise. And why not up the ante by including used tampons? The war would be over within a week. I think I will call the Pentagon tonight.

In conclusion, the National League's reluctance to institute the position of "Designated Hitter" is ridiculous. Besides the fact that most pitchers are terrible at batting and thus tend to be an automatic out, why have pitchers use their arms any more than is necessary? Really. Explain it to me. I dare you. Without quoting Bull Durham, please. Thanks.

Cheese

I always enjoyed the Monty Python skit entitled "The Cheese Shop." Basically, it consists of a customer (John Cleese) asking a cheese shop proprietor (Michael Palin) for cheese, but the proprietor does not have any cheese in stock. In fact, the customer asks the on-hand availability of over forty types of cheese (including Venezuelan beaver and cheddar), to all of which the proprietor responds, "No," except for a bit of confusion over "wensleydale," because that happens to be the proprietor's name, Mr. Wensleydale. (There is also a small group of business men in the front of the shop performing a traditional Greek dance while all this is occurring.)

My favorite exchange in the skit is when the customer claims that the cheese shop is not much of a cheese shop. The proprietor immediately protests that his cheese shop is the finest in the district. The customer asks what leads the proprietor "to that conclusion?" The proprietor says, "Well, it's so clean," and the customer replies, "Well, it's certainly uncontaminated by cheese."

Another E-mail from Brett

"I just heard on the radio about a shooting that was caught on video. The shooter drove off in a 1973 AMC Gremlin, and the police tracked down the owner through the DMV. First, the guy shot someone. Second, he was caught on video. Third, HE DROVE AWAY IN A 1973 AMC GREMLIN. No one drives a friggin' Gremlin any more. Not even your dad. I mean, if you are going to shoot someone on camera and drive away, get a Ford Focus or Hyundai Accent or Honda Accord, preferably in silver. But I have to give the shooter props for driving a kick-ass retro hatchback."

Funny to Me at Least

Here is an excerpt from an e-mail from my friend Brett:

It's good that we became friends after I bought the [Ford] Ranger. You wouldn't have liked me as a Chevette owner. I was really cocky and arrogant. Driving such a fast, sexy car does that to folks, you know? Plus, Pentucket wouldn't have been able to handle TWO old, ugly, tan Chevy bitch magnets like the ones we had. That's right! Yours with four doors, and mine with two and a hatchback, pussy galore, man, pussy galore!

Michael!

On Sunday night NBC showed the TV pilot movie for the newly revamped Knight Rider, known in Germany as Schnelles Automobil des schrecklichen Mannes. (Important: Make sure that you are shouting when discussing the Knight Rider using the German language.) Yes, that Knight Rider: The one that featured the harrowing adventures of one Mr. David Hasselhoff as the perfectly coiffed Michael Knight, a special agent equipped with special chest hair for the mysteriously nondescript Foundation for Law and Government, and his forever–faithful sidekick, KITT, a talking, robotic, and utterly gay 1982 Pontiac Trans-Am, as they traveled across the our fair country—or at least southern California—fighting crime, attending the theater, and helping people (usually Gary Coleman) with their personal problems, much like that other contemporary NBC program, The A–Team (known in France as L'équipe de l'A). Or so I have heard. Sorry about that previous sentence containing more than 100 words. Anyway, this new Knight Rider is quite different from the old show: it has much higher production values and uses a new Shelby Cobra Mustang as the talking homosexual car. Yes, it is a two-hour car commercial. Enjoy!

More to come on the return of this national treasure.

He Saw the Light!

Baseball Mitt Romney dropped out of the presidential race this morning or afternoon or whenever, and because everyone loves to listen to him talk, he gave some sort of speech after his announcement. I listened to a portion of it on NPR during my well-deserved lunch break. Goodness gracious; he is such a bag of stick fuck. Here is a summary of what he had to say, "REAGAN! EUROPE SUCKS! GAY JIHADIST IMMIGRANTS ON WELFARE THREATEN THE VERY SANCTITY OF OUR CORE CONSERVATIVE VALUES! DO NOT TOUCH THE HAIR!"

Yes, indeed. He apparently has some sort of issue with Europe. He referred to Europe in a manner similar to how many Americans refer to Africa: as if it were a single nation. He basically said gangs of godless hoodlums were roaming the streets of a cultural wasteland formerly known as "the Europe," raping, murdering, and drinking (coffee). I am no economist, but the last time I checked, the euro and the English pound were all worth more than the American dollar (hecky wecky, the Canadian dollar is worth more right now). Then he went on some obviously Mormon–inspired tirade against pornography and how it was a serious threat to our nation. So, pay attention, Stephen Colbert; there is a new number one threat: tits.

Super-Duper Tuesday (Wednesday)!

Yes. I did not vote yesterday because I forgot to register in my new city of choice and inhabitance, Somerville. Have no fear, my teenage satanic time bombs: I shall register before the presidential erection election this fall. I have voted in every presidential and gubernatorial (GOOBER!) election since I came of voting age in 1991. The first person I ever voted for was Jerry Brown in the 1992 Democratic primary. Basically, I voted for him because everyone thought he was nuts. That fall, I voted for Bill Clinton for president and for my friend Geoff Breton for light commissioner in our town. No one was running for that office, so I wrote in Geoff's name. Anyway, he is really good at determining if a street light is on or not. "It is dark over here."

I heard there was some sort of football game...

Goodness gracious me. All this bitterness about the Super Soup & Salad Bowl. I am a native Massachussettsiansson, a person of Boston, and not all that into football (approaching zilch), but I watched the game and was sad to see the Patriots lose. I congratulate the Newer City of York Giants on their win and their impressive playing. Their fans should be happy.

What bothers me—and since I am bothered, you should be very concerned—are some of these comments I have been seeing on the Internets, and in the media in general, about the New England Patriots. To me, these comments sound just like the profoundly learned commentary of the mildly retarded, severely inbred, Yankees–obsessed psychofuckwads I hear in every bar during every Red Sox game. Please, do not stoop to this level. I already hear enough of it from living here (and no, we Massachusettsianonites are not all like that).

I never bought into the anti-Yankee bullshit. The Yankees, until recent years, always played better when it counted, which is why they beat the Red Sox, i.e., stop complaining and beat the other team. For instance, what is this lame accusation of the Patriots "running up the score" double-douche shit? My goodness, it is professional fucking football! If you prefer not having the opposing team score, prevent them from doing so. I think that is what professional football players get paid to do. I am sure of it. I read it somewhere.

In conclusion, I say, "Good job, Giants. You beat our team, which is something no other team was able to do. Congratulations, you deserve it." The rest of the NFL? Suck it. You lost, too; but you lost to the Patriots. Now all of you go out there and do something important, like sheltering the homeless or teaching the blind to fly commercial aircraft.

Johnny Douche Bag's

Last night, we played trivia at Johnny D's in Davis Square. Johnny D's does not serve food during trivia. You are allowed to bring in food from another establishment or have a free slice of pizza, courtesy of Johnny D's, but do not ask for more than one slice of pizza, even if you are picking up a slice for someone else: the bartender will yell at you. Why? Well, besides the fact that the bartender is a royal prick, patrons are only allowed one slice each, no matter what. Is this rule made clear to all beforehand? No, not at all, but Johnny D's is not a professional establishment. Rather than make customers aware of this rule, Johnny D's rather have a dick-cunt bartender yell at members of the paying public. Fuck you, Johnny D's, fuck you. The "D" stands for "douche bag."

New Postings Coming Soon!

I've been busy with a class I've been taking. The last class is next week, after which I'll be able to post again for a little while...before the next class begins.