The Minuet Continues

So, you thought maybe after my last epic, I was finished? There’d be no more rambling coming from the keys? I had moved past that, and gone on to something more productive, like...stabbing corpses, or maybe taping fallen leaves back on to the tree branches to stave off winter? Well, HAHA! NO! Once I finds myself something I likes, I sticks with it, muchacho! So now, let the dance continue.

“Gavin Rossdale...like Kurt Cobain, but without the guts to pull the trigger.”

-James, during a music discussion. REAL big Bush fans, we are!

Okay, here’s one. Any time a guy gets laid, he brags about it. Yes, I know, ladies, this makes us piggish subhumans. You know what? We ARE piggish subhumans, so, hey, why not try and boost ourselves up in that effort to become the ‘alpha male’? Anyway, while the guy is telling all of the other guys in the room, we listen, absolutely riveted. Now, what do you suppose would happen if some guy one day piped up and said something like, “You know, guys, I had a pretty wild night last night. Yeah, I got home from the gym, and I’m pretty sweaty from the workout, so I step into the shower. Next thing I know, I’m all over myself! Christ, I did it in the shower, in the bedroom, on the couch...I even bent myself over the fucking dining room table! It was wild! I was insatiable! Afterwords, lemme tell ya, guys, I couldn’t move for, like, an hour, I was THAT good.” You see, ladies, masturbation for men isn’t a hobby, it isn’t ‘something we do’, it’s the REAL national fucking past-time. We just don’t wanna pay a bunch of athletes six million a year and watch em wack off, that’s all (although the case could be made that baseball isn’t all that far removed). It could basically be an Olympic sport for men. Really, would it be any worse than watching a horse and rider spend ten minutes dancing around a big pen? Makes me yearn for sophisticated horse-based entertainment, like Mr. Ed. “Did we win the gold, Wil-burrrrrr?”

“Writing is a weapon, more powerful than a fist could ever be.”

-Denzel Washington as Rubin Carter in ‘The Hurricane’.

You know, practically every time you flip through a magazine, or turn on the TV, you’re confronted with some sort of diet/exercise fad. It seems that our greatest goal as a race is to achieve ‘the ideal appearance’. We’re willing to pay some guy who couldn’t make it as a REAL surgeon to shove sandwich baggies full of god-knows-what in to ourselves, suck globs of built up fat out of us with his Hoover, and make like Picasso on our faces with a spatula and a crowbar. Yet, we never ask ourselves, why? Really, who comes up with the idea of what the perfect appearance IS, anyway? A bunch of anorexic Hollywood types, busy attending cocaine socials and desperately trying to find fat free water, since the consumption of a single calorie will throw off their body chemistry, and drive them in to a deep pit of despair with a Zanax/Prozac/Ritalin/Heroin/Bourbon cocktail as the only rope to escape. We’re talking about people whose days consist of fucking wannabe starlets doggie style so they won’t see their pathetic faces when they try and sleep in their hyperbaric chambers the day after that ‘bitchin’ time’ over at ‘Enrico’s Big Pile o’ Crack’. Morals for these people likely extend as far as ensuring that their crank shooting whore daughters are cast only in hard core porn flicks that are ‘tastefully done’. “No daughter of mine is sucking four cocks at once! Two, with one in her ass, sure, but come ON! Let’s keep this reasonable!” All of this, of course, brings up the question, WHY DOES ANYONE LISTEN TO THESE PEOPLE? You wanna start exercising or eating better to look and feel better for yourself, hey, good luck, hope it works out! You wanna do it to enter a circle of people to whom the biggest thing in life is finding ‘the right’ twenty thousand dollar Oscar dress, to avoid being cut to pieces by Joan Rivers (although, really, being comedically bitchslapped about by Joan fucking Rivers IS pretty sad), maybe it’s time to invest in some pre-emptive solutions. I’d suggest a bullet and a gun to put it in.

“Even God needs a fullback.”

-Liam, during a football discussion.

So, a few months ago, I turned on some late night TSN viewing, and was greeted with...the world series of poker. This ‘spectacle’ was hosted by some nobody who is conceivably the most boring man on Earth. But hey, no need to worry...Dick Van Patten was doing the commentary! (note to Dick...Eight is Enough...was enough.) Did I just not hear about the twenty year period of his life he spent in boozy cardhouses, swindling would-be poker fiends out of their money? For some reason, I get a vision in my head of him wearing some cheezy Zorro-knockoff type costume and delivering the money to old ladies swindled out of their social security money by unscrupulous telemarketing schemes. (And, knowing that damnable Van Patten, likely bedding them in their weakened emotional state, as well. Erm...yeah.)

Anyway, after I came out of my “Dick Van Patten is a fucking POKER COMMENTATOR?” fog, I finally noticed the collection of mouth-breathing missing links who were playing in this game. Two of these guys look like drunken hillbilly truckers. For chrissakes, one was wearing flannel PANTS. (I have a suspicion he may also have been clad in a flannel thong, but, really, really, REALLY, don’t need to know.) The interesting thing...one of these hillbillies was British. During their breaks in the game, he would usually loudly shout something like “Right then, I’m gonna go fizz my wanker!” in one of those really strong accents from somewhere on the British Isles. I took this to mean he was going to take a piss, but maybe he was trying to get it on with Tina Yothers, who I’m sure was somewhere else, commentating on the World Series of Bingo. (“If Roy gets a B27, he wins the game! Now, let’s go down to the guy who played Nick for an update on the condition of Ellie May, who took a tile from a nearby Scrabble tournament in the eye. Nick?” “Ehhhhhhh!”)

Joining these two yokels was another guy clad in all dark denim, and those horrible orange-brown sunglasses last seen on an episode of Chips. Judging by his appearance, I figured Kansas must have been playing a benefit concert, and their bass player dropped by. Another was a little Japanese guy trying to look like a hillbilly trucker from Montana. Dick happened to notice that this guy did an amazing job of masking any eye movements that could given him away. Well, no shit, Dick, the fucker’s wearing goddamn Blu-Blockers! He might not HAVE eyes! There was also the lovable eighty year old woman who must have choked back about twelve gin and tonics over the course of the game. (Incidentally, I think I may have recently gone out with her equally alcoholic grand-daughter. What a fun evening that was!) Finally, there was some flailing spasmatic named Mansour, who looked like a Pakistani Beethoven trying to play about six different pianos at once, with the way his limbs kept flying around. I suppose it did make for an interesting distraction for the other players. Anyway, in the end the little Japanese guy won. He won something like a million bucks, and this brings up the scariest part of all. Where in the Hell did this collection of second rate circus sideshow attractions collect up this kind of money?!?! Did I miss the TV special featuring a weeping Sally Struthers (is this woman actually capable of NOT crying? I swear, she has a switch located somewhere near her eyes that turns her tear ducts from “Closed” to “Gushing wide open like the Hoover dam’s been breeched”.), urging me to donate my hard earned money to “save the losers!”?

“Sex is like Chinese dinner. It ain’t over ‘til you both get your cookies.”

-advice spoken by Alec Baldwin in the movie ‘Outside Providence’.

Just a few quick things to unload.

Why when certain morons are slowed down while driving by construction, do they shake their fist? I mean, what, the entire crew is going to shut down and move to the side so that ‘His/Her majesty’, in their royal Elantra can cruise by without interruption to his/her busy day of answering phones and yelling at office toadies to “Get the coffee right, dammit!”? Really, if you find yourself doing this, well, it’s time to realize that, hey, you’re taking yourself WAAYYY too seriously. I hate road construction as much as the next person, but I hardly expect them to move everything to help me get where I’m going!

If someone suffering from a multiple personality disorder is afflicted with amnesia, do they forget the other personalities? Or does just one personality actually GET amnesia, and the rest are fine?

So, once more, reactionary government officials and parental groups are decrying the violence on television. Apparently, viewing violent things makes people DO violent things. Well, if this is true, I’m gonna watch me some more porn. Cause, hey, if that’s all it takes to get myself fucked by a bunch of ridiculously well-endowed, drug addicted, professional sluts, I am THERE!

Here’s a creepy guy fact. At some time in his adult life, EVERY male has at some point checked out a fifteen year old girl, and thought to himself “Man, I wanna meet (meat?) her when she’s grown up!” Now, luckily, 99.9% of us promptly feel dirty and quickly think of something, anything, that will make the guilt shudders stop. The other .1% go home to jerk off to anime porn, and are later arrested due to their ‘enthusiasm’ for girls’ soccer at the junior high level.

What’s with lifetime smokers suing the tobacco company when they develop throat cancer. What, they didn’t realize that SMOKE is bad for you? Think, morons, do you people suck in the fumes from a campfire? No! Why? Because you know it’s not good for you! See, those masks that firemen wear? Guess what, geniuses, they aren’t filters to give the burning building that ‘cool menthol flavour’. They’re to keep the smoke out. You chose to suck what you HAD TO KNOW were noxious fumes in to your lungs, well, fuck you, live with the damn consequences.

“Without struggle, there is no progress.”

-Frederick Douglas

So, awhile back I spent a lunch break eating half-rate Chinese food in the food court of Bonnie Doon shopping center. First observation...the aged have taken over the world! Really, there are so many old people here, it is the only mall I have EVER seen featuring a stand selling BURIAL PLOTS. “So, enjoying your shopping experience? Yeah? You know, you’ll be dead someday...probably soon! Why not invest in your future? Care to buy a hole in the ground?”

Second observation...old ladies have the strangest conversations I have ever heard in my life. At least, the group seated near me certainly do. They had branded one woman ‘the proverbial community chest’ because she apparently patted some attractive male nurse on the ass. (Firstly, I have to commend them on their inventive degrading nickname. Good work! Second, when I’m that old, I hope I’m grabbin me some nice ass! Female, of course. Well, then again, I’ll be some damn senile I’ll think I’m petting a dog anyway, so who cares?) Also, some old guy down the hall, as they put it ‘had the audacity to eat chocolate cake! Can you IMAGINE?’. My reaction...”Hey, you’ve got teeth, congratulations, old guy! Now stop flinging your shit at people.”

Third observation...it still amuses me how women can be placed easily in to different appearance classes at a place like this. First, there’s the heavy contingent of giggling schoolgirls. Someone walks by, they giggle. Someone says something, they giggle. Someone screams “Shut the fuck up, you perky little bitches, before I come over there and take each and every one of you up the ass!”, they giggle. Well, they probably would have, anyway, had I...errr...that crazy looking guy seated near me...shouted something like that. HAHA!

Then there’s the ridiculously scantily clad ‘ladies’ from the trailer park. Now, normally, I, like every other straight male, has no problem with lack of clothing. (I should make the addition “so long as they’re around my age”. I recently watched in horror an episode of Maury Povich. The topic? ‘My ten year old dresses like a slut’. I was actually rendered unable to finish my sandwich. And it was a good sandwich!) However, these ‘women’ weigh approximately fifty three pounds. I can’t speak for all men, but I’ve always followed a strict ‘no ogling skeletons’ policy. It works for me! I mean, who exactly is finding these women attractive? Maybe ninety-five year old Nazi war vets who have so far eluded prosecution for war crimes, who are reminded of the ‘pleasant potpourri of burning flesh’ outside their country estate in Auschwitz? (Well, THAT is sure to get a good response. Please send your responses to that guy who played Screech on Saved by the Bell. He didn’t come up with it, but he just needs some death threats.) Anyway, why do women who don’t actually POSSESS a figure feel the need to show it off? And they never really come across as intelligent. The thought processes of these ‘wenches fit for a scarlet letter’ (I must once again thank those old women for that reference) range all the way from “If I don’t cut these shorts shorter, I’ll NEVER get an even vaginal tan!” to “I wonder if I CAN overdose on semen?”

Then there’s those bitter old housewives. you know, they sit off in the corner of the food court, sort of checking out every male in the room like they’re prey, because they were last dicked by their husband about nine months before their recent high school graduate daughter was born. And of course, the couple of ridiculously attractive women who have that intimidating air of “I can make any man do anything I want”. Good thing they’re wrong, right? Ummm...anyway...I have to go get one of them her root beer. Hey...hey...I’m not doing it cause she wants me too...I...I WANNA do it. Hey, I’ll have you know she ASKED...for a COKE...so...so THERE. HA! Free will, baby! Whazzat? Hurry up? Yes’m.

“Leave it to the Catholics to destroy existence.”

-spoken by the character of The Muse in ‘Dogma’.

Seeing as how every single news company in the world now offers ‘News as it Happens’, it seems, to me at least, to be inevitable that soon some bright, forward thinking, coke snorting executive in TV land will come up with ‘News Before it Happens.’ And I think it may go something like this...

“Good evening, and welcome to the news, I’m Brock Shoemaker. And now, we go live to the scene of a great disaster, where our own Tad Canterberry is standing by. Tad, can you fill us in?” (view on screen changes to that of a tranquil mountain vista shot. A few trees are visible in the distance as the camera pans to Tad.)

“Yes, Brock. I’m standing here on the long dormant peak of Mount Hellik, which, scientists say, COULD POSSIBLY ERUPT IN A FOUNT OF BURNING MAGMA AND HOT ASH...in about a thousand years.”

“My God, Tad, this is indeed startling news for those at home.”

“I thought so too, Brock. Seeing as just below the peak of this BURGEONING DISASTER, COILED LIKE A SNAKE THAT’S READY TO STRIKE, is the town of Bixbury, we went to see the state head of the National Guard to ask about preparedness. The interview...may shock you.” (View changes. Tad, off camera, is questioning a high ranking officer in his office on base.)

“So, General, what do you plan to do regarding the impending doom hanging over the small town of Bixbury like the sword of Damocles?”

“Uhhh...pardon?”

“You can’t hide the facts General! We know ALL ABOUT the little secret the government is trying to hide about Mount Hellik!”

“Well, yeah, there were those three rabid deer. We just didn’t realize that was such a big deal...”

“This has nothing to do with deer, General, but rather...the impending eruption of the mountain itself, which will destroy every living thing on...Gen...general, could you please stop laughing, sir? I hardly see how this is...good lord, General!” (View back to Tad in the field.)

“Well, Tad, that certainly was a frightening glimpse at the lack of preparedness on the part of the military.”

“Well, it’s not just them, Brock. When we questioned the townspeople about their evacuation plan, they chased us away from the township with rocks. Big ones, Brock.”

“Glad you’re okay, Tad. Now, we go to out eye in the sky, hovering high over Mount Hellik. Gina, what can you tell us? Can you offer any insights from your differing viewpoint?”

“Hi, Brock. Well, I can tell you with absolute certainty that Mount Hellik is very high...very high, indeed. I can see, as can the viewers at home, thanks to he camera mounted beneath the chopper, a lot of rock. And...oh, there appears to be someone...oh, I believe it’s on scene reporter Tad Canterberry...Hello, Tad!”

“Hello...Gina...”

“Anything else to tell us?”

“Well, Brock, the town is clearly in view, perhaps...three miles down the slope from what could at any time become a smoking crater of death. We...”

“Gina, we take you back to Tad with some breaking news! Tad, can you hear us?” (view changes to that of massive eruption.) “My God, Tad, are you all right?”

“Oh, I’m fine, Brock. Actually, this is some stock footage taken at Mount Pinatubo, just to give the viewers at home an idea of what it might look like when THIS mountain goes up.”

“I see. You had us worried, Tad.”

“Well, really, the people SHOULD be worried, Brock. Actually we did have a bit of a scare just a moment ago. The ground began to quake beneath us, which is a sign of IMPENDING VOLCANIC ACTIVITY.”

“Tad, your bravery astounds us. But perhaps it’s time to leave the scene.”

“Well, Brock, actually, the tremors were caused by a convoy of gravel trucks passing behind us, but NEXT TIME IT COULD BE THE END!”

“I understand you have footage of this excitement?”

“Indeed we do, if can just roll that tape...” (view changes to that of the same camera shot panning around the mountain, when the view begins to shake violently. Suddenly, crudely drawn pieces of debris appear on screen.) “This might be what it would have looked like, had the top of the mountain blasted off, raining down hot ash and rock upon us. Oh, and this would be our own eye in the sky chopper crashing in the background...”

“I understand that this is just a simple artist’s rendition, Tad?”

“Yes, Brock, no need to be alarmed...but when the REAL ERUPTION OCCURS, it won’t be just screaming stick figures suffering a tortuous death.”

“Thank you, Tad. We’ll keep you at home updated regularly as the grim deathwatch in the town of Bixbury continues. And now, Jim and Greg with highlights of the 2007 World Series! Guys?”

“Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in awhile, you could miss it.”

-Matthew Broderick in ‘Ferris Bueller’s Day Off’.

And now, for something goofy. Well, goofier. I’ve prepared a list of events that could possibly take place sometime in a person’s life. Let’s see what the outcomes would be if these events took place in...real life, an episode of Friends, a romantic comedy movie, a porno...

At the office, a man walks in on a female co-worker just as she’s changing in to her workout wear, in her office, for her post work tennis match.

-The woman beats the man with her racquet and purse, then promptly has him fired and jailed for sexual assault with his eyes

-Chandler screams “I’m sorry!” repeatedly as Rachel covers herself with a towel. Later, to get even, she tries to see HIM changing, but accidentally walks in on Ross, thus allowing the producers of the show to rekindle interest in their possibly getting back together.

-Meg Ryan screams until Tom Hanks stops saying goofy things and tripping over office furniture and finally leaves. But deep down, she knows she loves him.

-the man asks the woman if she needs a rub-down. Then he screws the shit outta her on the desk.

A pizza is delivered.

-The delivery guy struggles to find the proper change combination for 35 cents. After ten minutes of brain racking math, the customer angrily shouts “just keep it!” and slams the door. He then opens the pizza box to find that, rather than the pie he ordered, he has been given a dead cat.

-Joey tries to pick up the pizza girl, ends up sleeping with her, but then discovers that she’s got an even hotter sister. The hijinx continue from there!

-Pizza guy Tom Hanks stares at Meg Ryan for about five seconds before he gives her her food, then regretfully leaves. But there was some chemistry there!

-The female customer informs the delivery guy, clad only in an apron and hat, that she “only accepts deliveries in the rear”. So he comes in and does her up the ass.

Two guys are trying to drive somewhere, but quickly realize they are totally lost.

-They give up on trying to reach their planned destination, and just find something to do where they are.

-Ross keeps telling Rachel’s new boyfriend that “he has no idea where they are”, while he skillfully gets further and further away from where the guy is supposed to meet her for dinner.

-Tom Hanks and his friend yell at each other and, while they’re struggling to find their location on a map, he nearly runs over Meg Ryan. She yells at him, he mumbles something, then proceeds to stare as she walks away. He then talks about her to his buddy for the next twenty minutes. His friend tells him “Forget about her. No way will you ever find her again!”, but Tom knows that fate will intervene.

-The two guys ask a couple of scantily clad women for help. After the women promise to help the guys ‘Find what they’re looking for’, they are soon made to realize they REALLY wanted hot sex all along.

A man comes home from work to find that his wife and the secretary he’s been having an affair with are sitting together.

-The guy panics and confesses everything. Whether she knew before or not doesn’t matter, as she immediately forgives the other woman, who was ‘obviously used, and had nothing to do with it’, and they proceed to gang up and remove his genitals with a Garden Weasel.

-Another wacky divorce for Ross!

-The wife, played by Meg Ryan, gets teary eyed and asks her husband, “How could you?” He basically gives her the kiss off, and divorces her for the secretary. Finally, she is convinced to go on a blind date setup by her best friend. Her date, Tom Hanks, seems to be a bumbling fool, but is also such a sweet guy, she can’t resist him.

-Finding his wife and mistress engaged in lesbian sex, the man shrugs off his clothes and quickly becomes the middle in a meat sandwich.

A man is shot during an armed robbery.

-He either dies from his wounds, or is hospitalized for months as he slowly makes a recovery, both physical and emotional, from the trauma.

-Monica and Phoebe spend an episode caring for Chandler, who is forced to lie face down on the couch after he was shot in the ass.

-Nurse Meg Ryan, who was been dating a guy for five years who shows no sign of ever committing, is assigned to patient Tom Hanks, who was shot while trying to stop the robbery. Slowly, she feels herself falling for him, and is won over when he makes some grand gesture.

-The patient is nursed back to health with a steady regimen of oral satisfaction.

Someone’s favorite football team wins the Super Bowl.

-Cheering erupts as the guy jumps up from the couch and leaps for joy, scattering orange Dorito dust and empty beer cans everywhere.

-Joey has to work, and misses the game, but tapes it. Everyone avoids telling him what happened, except Ross, who was out of town, and doesn’t realize Joey hasn’t seen it yet.

-While fans Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks, who attended the game separately, are celebrating, they literally bump in to each other on the street. He helps her pick up the remains of her giant popcorn and drink, and, as they stare in to each other’s eyes, they realize that they too have won, for they have met each other.

-The guy, while cheering, wishes out loud that the Cowboys cheerleaders could be there with him. And then, KAZAM, they are! And man, do those girls know how to party!

A person’s employer catches them shooting up on the job.

-Instant termination.

-On a very special Friends, the gang confronts Rachel about her problem, and convinces her to go in to rehab. Ross drives her there and they hug before she enters, giving fans hope they might get back together.

-After she’s sent to rehab, paid for by her employer, Sandra Bullock meets the charming, and equally drug addicted Hugh Grant, and sparks fly. (Hey, I got sick of Tom and Meg!)

-The director of the movie shouts to the starlet, “Hurry up, bitch, you’re on in twenty seconds!”

“You can’t see electricity, but this is what it looks like.”

-a line on an old episode of 3-2-1 Contact, and one the dumbest things I’ve ever heard.

So, the world series is on right now. And yet, somehow, I’ve managed to ‘drag myself away’ from the ‘constant excitement’ that is the ‘sport’. Now, I’ve tried to watch it. Sat through the first two games. And I’ve made a very important discovery...baseball is really quite uninteresting! WOW! Astounding! The audacity I must be filled with to dare watch a three and a half hour event, featuring a whole twelve minutes or so of the ball actually being in play, and refer to it as dull to the point of being cruel! First off, there’s the announcing. Now, the announcers themselves don’t bother me. what bugs me is the ridiculously detailed statistics that you just don’t find in any other sport, because baseball has already hired all of the clueless rotisserie geeks who actually rather WOULD debate the designated hitter rule than fuck Jenna Jameson.

“Well, Bob, Mike Piazza is hitting .327 in the month of October, in the seventh inning, with men on first and third, at home, in night games, with crowds exceeding 45,000 people, with winds between 10-12 mph blowing east to west, when facing a left-hander who has two kids and a dog and who drives a blue sports car.”

Does ANYONE find this at all interesting? Does anyone even understand how they come up with these stats? Somewhere in every stadium, is there a virtual legion of stat freaks, writing down every possible thing that could possibly happen during a game so that it can be used to collate totally pointless numbers?

“Hey, Clemens just threw a pitch after scratching his balls three times!”

“Hot damn, that’s the second time this year!”

And what’s with the crotch grabbing? Is Major League Baseball initiating some horrific plot against the players by lining the crotches of their uniform pants with poison oak? Or perhaps unleashing swarms of scabies in to the laundry? Maybe it’s bad luck during the season to wash one’s genitals or something. I would imagine that’d get pretty unpleasant after a short while.

And really, the average major league at bat is truly something to behold. First, a bunch of old coaches start flashing weird signs to one another that take about thirty minutes and a Cray supercomputer to decode. Apparently, these all mean something to the batter and base runner...like there’s a whole lot of options. “Hey you, on second, run, don’t run, or try to steal third. You, at the plate, take the pitch, swing the bat, or bunt.” Yet it takes longer to instruct the hitter to swing at the next pitch than it does to maneuver an armored regiment on the battlefield.

“Okay...guy on second’s gonna run when the pitch is thrown...swing and...attack Berlin!? Shit! Coach is flashing back again!”

Finally, once this is understood, the batter gets ready to face the pitch. the pitcher decides what to throw, let’s go of his testicles long enough to palm the ball NOT attached to him, and he throws it. Following this, the pitcher stands around ‘enjoying himself’ for about 30 seconds. Once he’s ready to throw again...the batter steps out of the box, and proceeds to take some ‘practice swings’ for about another half a minute. What, is he worried he might forget just how to swing that big stick when the time comes? Is he working on his timing by taking half-ass swings at air molecules?

“Yeah! Smacked that fuckin’ oxygen atom in to the upper deck! Damn, these ‘natural’ supplements are workin’!”

During these breaks, the announcers ‘inform’ us with the aforementioned stupid figures, and the camera pans to one pointless thing to show after another. Like the fact that the pitchers are both throwing really well early on, so they have to display the fact that neither team has someone warming up their arm in the bullpen. Or of course, there’s the countless shots of the team manager looking bored out of his mind. Who woulda thunk it, seeing as he does about ten MINUTES of work in an average game? And of course, celebrities in the stands, also looking bored. (One sports channel used to pick a game of the week, remove all the content that just slowed things down, and show it. It covered HALF AN HOUR.)

Baseball also has the wussiest injuries of all time. Now, hey, if someone separates a shoulder or breaks something, Christ yes, they SHOULD be healing. But come ON! Where else can someone miss two weeks of work due to a fucking HANGNAIL.

“Well, fans, I dunno about you, but I’m stirred by the courage of Al Leiter to pitch through the pain.”

“I tell ya what, Bob, that papercut has gotta be aching something fierce right now. What a warrior.”

And, you know, I can’t speak for everyone else, but if someone EVER is pitching to me and throws a ninety mile per hour pitch at my head, assuming I’m not dead or vegetized, I’m taking my fucking bat to that guy! Come ON! But, such a thing would “destroy the purity of the game for the fans”. No, I think THAT happened when average pitchers who play once a damn week started making more than corporate CEO’s. Let’s face it, baseball is a JOKE. (And only partly because the commissioner used to own the Milwaukee Brewers. Boy, what a resume! That’s like a fry cook suddenly running the McDonald’s corporation because he knows how to make the secret sauce.) Let’s spice it up! First off, throw armour on everyone. Then, hitters KEEP the bats when running the bases, and use them at their discretion. Umpires will occasionally put in to play a ball loaded with explosives and given a random fuse. It’ll be like hot potato, only with someone loaded in an ambulance. A batter doesn’t like what the pitcher’s doing, or vice versa, they’re locked in a cage with weapons to fight until one is incapacitated, while the Star Trek gladiator music is blared from the stadium sound system. Plant landmines in random locations in the outfield. Oh, and if anyone is responsible, barring a REAL injury, for making the time between two pitches exceed thirty seconds, they are immediately stripped of their protective gear, tied to a stake, and shot. Maybe, after a few such changes, baseball might actually be interesting.

“Never hate your enemies. It affects your judgment.”

“Politics and crime, they’re the same thing.”

-A couple lines from Al Pacino in Godfather III.

So, the American election was yesterday, and the new president is...well, frankly, nobody knows! Recounts are in progress right now, because the vote was so close. And frankly, of course it was. Why, because the candidates were both so good, and both had so many good points, it was hard to choose? Yeah, that’s it...”Let’s see...I can vote for the guy whose biggest qualification is that his dad was the president once...or I can help elect a man possessing a level of excitement equal to an Ayn Rand book reading festival.” Wow! Great ones! Of course, if you happened to be following what was happening in the media overnight, you probably awoke this morning to surprise upon discovering that George Bush isn’t yet the president, after all. Yes, shocking as it may seem, it appears the news media once again, MAY have jumped the gun A TAD when they just up and declared that Bush was the winner before half the damn votes in some important states had even been counted. Sort of tantamount to eating some bad takeout, then going on air to breathlessly report that China has obviously declared war on the U.S., and is attacking with wave after wave of improperly prepared ginger beef.

But, you know who the big winner is right now? Bill frigging Clinton. I mean, think about it. The entire news media is completely pre-occupied with the election right now. His wife is now representing the state of New York, so she’s a little sidetracked, too. Hell, I bet half the White House staff don’t even know where he is right now. You know what I’m doing right now if I’m Clinton? Hosting the biggest fucking knock down, drag out party in the history of the fucking world! Call up Billy Bob, Billy Joe, Billy Jean, Joe Bob, Clem, Jessie Ray and Cletus back there in good ol Arkansas, and fly em out on Air Force One. Call up every goddamn intern in the city and have them all come by, but only allow them in if they brought a minimum of a six-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon. Send orders to embassies in South America to “score us some good weed.” ‘Illegal’ Mexican Cockfights in the Lincoln bedroom, orgies in the Oval Office, convert half the West Wing in to a bar. Prank calls to NORAD headquarters, declaring nuclear war on everyone from The Vatican to ‘that damn Louis Armstrong’. Lock Jesse Helms in to a bathroom with members of the new Black Panther party, and lay odds on how long his fat ass lives. Then, for the clincher, bring in the Kennedies to REALLY get things rolling. Then, tomorrow, just pack up and leave the fucking mess for whoever wins this damn thing, and begin the second half of my life by writing my memoirs, entitled “Clinton : An Oral History”, with a big picture of a winking Monica Lewinsky on the damn cover.

So, what most Canadians right now are probably wondering is, will something such as this occur when OUR two party election occurs in a few weeks? And yes, it is a two party election, with a showdown between the Liberals and the Alliance. What, like Joe Clark will win? The guy is the only national leader I’ve heard of who was actually kicked out of office due to lack of support in the house after six months on the job, and HE is the best candidate the PC’s could come up with? What were their other options...The party headquarters janitor, and Brian Mulroney in blackface, under the alias ‘PM Dogg, rap impresario’? The guy’s election strategy seems to be “Hi, I’m Joe Clark. Standing next to me is my hot daughter. Please focus on her. She’s reeeeaaaaallllly hot.” What, perhaps for a ‘generous party contribution’...heh? HEH? And frankly, who CARES who the candidate is for the NDP. I have never seen another party whose backbone seems to be, year after year, whining. Whining about how they’re portrayed, whining about how they’re not portrayed, whining about the issues, whining about other parties’ complaints about the issues...it’s just a big ol funhouse for the NDP. And as tempting as it is to get those ‘Yogic flyers’ in office, I don’t think I have a local Natural Law candidate to vote for. So, that leaves me with Jean Chretien and the Liberals, and Stockwell Day and the Alliance. Sure, Chretien’s accent and way of talking used to amuse. That was about eight years ago. I think it’s time for something new, and perhaps something more politically oriented than being the only national leader in memorable history to get pied in the face. These people have run the country for two terms, and have managed to accomplish so little that the same issues that were dominating the election run in the early nineties are STILL the issues present today. And then there’s Stockwell Day, whose platform seems to sway from side to side so damn often, I often wonder if he is standing upon some sort of political seesaw. Stop trying to please everyone and hold a fucking opinion, Stock. They’re called balls. Equip yourself with a matched set. And all I can say to finish is...whatever.

“A man looks in to the abyss, and there’s nothing staring back at him. At that moment, man finds his character, and that is what keeps him out of the abyss.”

-spoken by one of the characters in ‘Wall Street’.