Not-quite-middle-aged man glances disapprovingly at cloud
A casual list of things I don’t care about:
- Tiger Woods had an auto accident. Seriously, people? Oh, wait! His wife blah blah blah… Fuckin’ eh, we are the saddest species.
- The dumbasses that crashed the White House State Dinner. Yes, I’m concerned that they were allowed in. I don’t care about them. I will never watch your dick-drooling “reality” TV show, so get a real job or go fuck yourselves while you’re on fire, assholes. You’re stealing Sarah Palin’s limelight, which means you’ll probably be dead in a week anyway.
- The Episcopal Church in Uganda. Like you fuckers don’t have anything more important to worry about than gay people? It’s Uganda, for Christ’s sake! It’s fairly apparent that God already hates you, in case you haven’t looked around for the last few decades.
- Sarah Palin on the Newsweek cover. I know a couple women who were raped or date-raped. The PUMA crowd can shove their “sexual violence” bullshit up their asses, roll over twice and see if a penny comes out. She’s a real American Hockey Mom, she’ll get over it.
- Carrie Prawnjoan or whatever the fuck her name is. You’re no Sarah Palin. Take advantage of that while you can – enroll in college, get a real job and salvage the last few scraps of your reputation you might find floating around. There’s not a thinking man on the planet who believes you wrote a book that fast, schatzie. Don’t push your luck, we’re a fickle crowd.
- Tom Cruise, Twilight, Tickle Me Hamsters, Cyber Monday (unless they mean “cyber” Monday, in which case, I have Skype, ladies), your Thanksgiving recipes, Brad Pitt divorcing Angelina Jolie (I have Skype, Ang), Dancing with Dear God Shoot My Brains Out Now! Please, just fucking PLEASE!, go away! You make us all dumber as humans, just talking about this stuff.
A casual list of things I actually care about:
- 7 bottles of wine and a bottle of Templeton rye in my kitchen. See, these are the kind of Thanksgiving leftovers that matter to me. If you’ve never had Templeton rye, do yourself a favor and find someone in Iowa who can send you a bottle. Or come out to Iowa and try some!
- I just bought some pants! What, a guy can’t look good? Hey, it’s not like the RNC paid for ‘em.
- I just bought some shirts! See above. Also, too.
- New Year’s Day. The boys and I are playing a little crappy bar in Smalltown, USA on New Year’s Day night. We rock. Mostly. Also.
- My poor old Mother. She’s pushing 90, living down at my sister’s. I saw her two weeks ago, for a few days, and recently saw pictures from their Thanksgiving gathering. It’s a tough thing, seeing your parents grow old. I’m not sure if it’s worse because they grow frail or because it reminds us that we’re growing older, as well. If I could let go and give her my youth, I’d do it in a heartbeat.
- I mentioned pants, right?
Here’s a message* for all you kids out there working at the cable news networks: If you’re anywhere near a producer or news editor, take this simple advice and make America a better place. Kick your producer or news editor in the balls. When he falls on the floor, kick him in the balls again. Then kick him in the head. If he’s still screaming, kick him anywhere your foot will reach. If someone tries to help him, kick them in the balls, as well. If someone else tries to help, kick them in the knee, then when they fall on the floor kick them in the balls.
If you’re in a production meeting and someone wants to go with 1) Tiger Woods had a car accident!, 2) The President is black! or 3) Where the white girls at?!?, just say this: “How bout I jump on [flowbee model's] desk and shit all over their desk on camera? Huh? How bout I do that? Ratings! RATINGS, motherfuckers!!!” Because, in all honesty, we will stand and applaud you. You will be our new hero.
Rip -
December 1st, 2009 5:53 PM - Impromptu Drinking Club | No Comments »
It’s drab here in Smalltown, USA, lately. Gray, damp, not terribly cold but just at that level of chilly that seems to work its way into your bones, as if out of spite because we’re not complaining about the temperature yet. Drinking coffee from a rocks tumbler because the coffee cups are all dirty and I hate washing dishes. Wondering how long I can avoid putting on big people clothes and running errands; it’s not a measure of time in situations like this but a measure of cigarettes. I just noticed that WP has a tiny Word Count indicator at the bottom of this section. I’d never really thought about the quanity of words I write, beyond “long post” or “short post”. Now I’m sure I’ll be monitoring that and wondering if it’s a fair metric for my thoughts, such as they are. 130 words and I haven’t really said anything. See?
