So you’re all here hoping to be entertained, maybe hoping to chuckle even. Hoping that just for one second you can choke down the pain and wipe the tears away and keep from sucking on your thumbs just long enough to relax and laugh at the silliness of something.
Well too bad, this is going to be yet another disappointing, misleading, time and money eating venture, so strangle any fledgling hopes you had for this posting.
Money. That’s right, you paid to read ridiculous babble like this in one way or another.
Maybe you even used one of those new 20’s. Believe it or not, the new ones are worth more than the old 20’s. Really, they’ve got 10% more cocaine residue than they used to. Look at it, Jackson’s got a nose bleed. It’s sad really, even our founders are getting retroactively hooked on the go-go powder.
But that’s not the answer, maaaaan. You’ve got to embrace life. Well, first you have to catch it, then you have to embrace it. Not a loving embrace, you have to squeeze it until it’s uncomfortable and starts to push you off, and thinks to itself, ‘Oi. I remembered hugging was bad, but not that bad. Forget it, I’m telling the next person I have leprosy or something.’
Regardless, I digress, allow me to progress ‘lest I agress. Hear a lot of empty threats these days? Or is it just me? People have to believe people think they’re tough. Oh, me man? ME?!!! You don’t wanna. . . haha. You don’t even know. I’ll find your dog, I’ll give it a treat and pet it. I’ll tell your grandmother she’s the nicest person I’ve met all week. I’ll bake you. . .cookies! Whatever kind you like. I swear to God, man, don’t even think for a millisecond that I won’t.
It’s all so impressive. This brave, new American culture. It’s torn from the pages of a sadistic Dr. Seuss wannabe’s story. Speaking of sadistic, rape . . . Yeah, apparently it’s still happening. People wonder why; they want to argue about who is to blame. It’s got to be someone. The mentally ill, the schools’ lack of armed teachers, the sundresses, the beer, the person who rapes the other person, or the person who gets raped. Which one is it? It’s a maddening conundrum. Definitely not the society that accepts girls to go out half naked, get drunk in public and private, glamorizes having one-night-stands each day of the week, and doesn’t penalize attackers in many cases.
One can only imagine that feeling if you haven’t experienced it. The feeling of being blamed. Think of Great Men such as Tiger Woods, Bill Clinton, Kobe Bryant, Ben Rothelisberger, Charlie Sheen, Rod Blagojevitch, OJ Simpson, Bernie Madoff, and the latest edition, Lance Armstrong. We truly do crucify our heroes. Wait, did I say Great Men? I meant Depraved Devils. I’m sorry. Why do we idolize some of these men, think their transgressions comical, and not others?
Because life in this country is one big prophylactic commercial. But like LeVar Burton would say, “Of course, you don’t have to take my word for it, go and read it for yourself.”
Yes, good old Geordi has a bead on it. He traveled the universe. He must have traveled by Uranus, which reminds me of a favorite saying of mine about the planet, “Uranus: making people choose between saying ‘urine’ or referring to someone’s anus since 1781.”