It’s been a bad year.
First there was the Mayan End of the World thing that didn’t really pan out as expected. I was so sure I wouldn’t be around writing this today. So in anticipation of the end I had emptied our bank account and 401K. I maxed out the credit card, sold the wife’s jewelry and bought all kinds of shit I couldn’t afford. Now I find out I won’t be going anywhere except to Title Max to hock my car and that I have one really pissed off wife. I now own a $10,000 barbeque grill, a turbo charged riding lawnmower equipped with air-conditioning, Blueray player and a fully stocked wet bar. I also have 12 pairs of diamond encrusted tennis shoes that I need to get rid of on e-bay before the mortgage is due.
I really did think the end was near. Others have prophesized doom and I never paid any attention, not even Harold the Christian nut bag who has been wrong about the apocalypse at least three times. He’s simply crazy, (not batshit crazy like Tom Cruise and the Scientologists, but still certifiable.) I figgered, any group that is into full body scarification, virgin sacrifice and appeasing the gods by cutting people’s hearts outs should be taken at their word. Well, I’m stuck here now and it’s the Mayans’ fault.
Sign of the Times:
Then there were the signs, signs of aging. At first it’s the small things. Like when some little something is on the floor and needs to be picked up. Picking up requires bending down, so I ask myself, do I really need that? Maybe it needs to stay right where it is and let’s just move on. Or when I get up from a chair, I make noises, not normal noises, noises that inspire anyone within earshot to ask “are you ok?” When I rake leaves I’m in intensive care for two days.
Small signs are usually followed by larger signs. Case in point, the damned colonoscopy. When someone says they need pictures of you … from the inside, it’s a sign, and not a good sign. Furthermore they insist you sparkle for the camera; they flush you out with a heavy duty drain opener purchased from the shale fracking industry. Most of my organs went down the toilet that night. When there was absolutely nothing left, I began expelling things from other people’s bodies. The rest I won’t speak of, only that I wept softly through the humiliation.
When you don’t listen to the first signs the universe sends you another, but includes an exclamation point. So, while playing basketball, the cosmos sent a sign, politely asking me to stop what I was doing and listen … and that’s when my quadriceps ripped clean off my knee. When your muscles decide to detach themselves from your bones everything changes. Your vision goes all white and snowy like a TV without any reception and you feel like you’re screaming in slow motion… believe me, “that’s a sign you’ll pay attention to.” Most importantly, it’s a sign to get your ass to the nearest hospital.
Then of course there’s this gun brew-ha-ha:
I have been listening carefully and I now have it on good authority that “guns don’t kill people, movies kill people.” (And I admit you could have killed me during that stupid Avengers movie I and I wouldn’t have complained.) And since it is music, video games and movies that are killing people, not guns, the NRA feels that rather than messing with the Second Amendment we should instead ditch the First Amendment (aka: Freedom of Speech) and ban unpleasant movies and socialist Hollywood types. I have to say, I feel safer already. And while we’re at it maybe ban Freedom of Assembly, too. That way there wouldn’t be anyone around to shoot, for as we all know, an empty school is a safe school.
They have proposed “armed volunteers” to shelter us from the bullets. I’m referring to folks like your co-workers, your neighbors, your best friend’s wife. All those people you wouldn’t remotely consider lending your lawnmower or a chainsaw to because they would destroy the thing in minutes. But apparently they are well equipped to take down a mad shooter at a seconds notice. These are the well armed, well trained, always careful, right to carry bunch whose sole purpose in life is to keep us safe by packing while going to places like movie theaters. Such as the dude (sporting a valid permit mind you) in Nevada who while adjusting himself in his theater seat managed to dislodge the (improperly secured) handgun from his pocket. As the gun hit the floor, it shot him in his well armed ass. And I do say “the gun shot him” because there was no person attached to it at the time, so maybe guns do shoot people, who knows? Soon we’ll all learn to “hit the floor” when the “sounds of safety” ricochet about us. It will add that exciting element of reality while watching Rambo XXIII when you’ll ask yourself is that the movie or is someone shooting at us again?
And rather than dwell on school shootings and laws we all know we are going to do absolutely nothing about … there are more pressing problems.
I speak of Amish on Amish crime and the rash of horrendous “Drive by Snipping’s” taking place in the urban farm ghettos of Pennsylvania. Bearded perps in tricked out carriages, outfitted with a powerful, snorting one or two horsepower engine fueled with oats. Then pulling a concealed scissors from their gangland style suspenders, they snip the beard or hair from unsuspecting Amish men or woman who haven’t been god-fearin’ enuff or have been caught wearing a sporty red shirt or a dapper beret. The victims, who for some reason worship horrible grooming habits and an even worse sense of fashion, are left shorn and beardless listening to the fading sound of “Clip, Clop, Clip Clop,” as the perps race away. Can we do nothing to stop this? I don’t have all the answers; I just hope the right to wield scissors is protected in our constitution.
And it’s not just this week; the rest of the year has been a bit off as well.
Drinking problem or problem drinking – you make the call:
It’s the latest scourge to hit America’s college campuses. A unique form of hazing invented by Univ. of Tennessee frat boys who have embraced a peculiar way of getting drunk, the alcohol enema. Yep, you heard that correctly – Bassackwards drinking. It’s not enough anymore to suck down a small river of booze, run inebriated and naked through the town square and finally puke your lungs up in hopes of being admitted into Phi Beta Dumbass. No, apparently it’s more fun to sip an after dinner aperitif through your ass, ending the evening unconscious and near death but not before experiencing the full effects of your “Pinã Colonic” with an unspeakable release of your bowels. A Texan (any surprise here) died after his wife served him his evening sherry in this novel manner. I simply don’t know what to say about this, I’ve done some pretty stupid stuff in my life but when someone in your dorm says “Hey, how about an alcohol enema” and your response is “sure dude” … you not only don’t belong in college, the entrance exams at your school need to be tightened up a notch.
And yes, we survived another painful, endless, gazillion dollar campaign cycle. The outcome being another four years for Barry, who may or may not be a commie, socialist, Muslim born in Kenyan with a fake Hawaiian birth certificate. This of course resulted in general merriment, backslapping and all-round gloating or just a wee bit of vitriol, gnashing of teeth and much cursing depending on which political party you identified with. In one case a republican woman took the democratic win a little hard and had to be arrested. She, apparently thinking Barry won by only one vote, purposely ran over her husband with her car because he was apathetic and failed to cast a ballot. The husband, who ended up in intensive care, was expected to survive but would be well advised to never leave the toilet seat up in her house.
Most creative hate crime of the year: And the award goes to… the dude that scattered pieces of uncooked bacon on a field in New York where Muslims were to gather in celebration of the end of Ramadan. I know making fun of people’s religion is frowned upon these days, but I’m sorry, I found this hilarious. (For the record, the Muslims did not find it even mildly amusing) First, my religion reveres bacon and the thought of encountering an entire field of it is literally heaven to me. And second, just to show I’m an equal opportunity religious bigot, I have been known to “chew” the host at Catholic weddings, I’ve given aspirin to Christian Scientists telling them they were tic-tac’s and I once served a ham sandwich to a vegetarian telling him it was made of soy … he said it was the best damn sandwich he ever had, I have no doubt he was right.
And the most insane product launch of the year … Just at the age when men finally begin to calm down and stop playing football, sexually harassing women, punching out the neighbor and bungee jumping because their hormones have finally dropped to a safe level, we come up with Androgel. A “Smear It On” testosterone solution to ageing. I think we can all agree that one of the biggest problems facing our society today is we don’t have enough old, fat, bald guys having sex.
Just not feeling it guys? Can’t get your lard-ass out of the lazyboy? Just load a little Viagra into a crack pipe, smear some testosterone gel all over your bad-self to get the motor running and you’ll be ready to git all up in your wife’s junk …
Just hope she doesn’t invoke the “Stand Your Ground” law.