Archive for February, 2010

A THEOLOGICAL QUESTION THAT, I SUSPECT, MANY WOMEN AND MORE THAN A FEW MEN CAN RELATE TO

February 26, 2010

 

The believers tell me most earnestly that, “God loves you, God loves you.”  But, looking back over my life, I wonder.  Does God truly love me?  Or does he just keep me around because he knows he can fuck me whenever he wants?

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PROBABLY AN OLD JOKE, BUT TIGER HAS GIVEN IT NEW LIFE

February 19, 2010

He just completed a month at a rehab clinic for sex addicts.  The word is, he’s going to have to quit cold jerky.

Curling is the haggis of Olympic events

February 17, 2010

Or, to word it perhaps a bit more acutely, 

Curling is to sports as haggis is to dining.

Either way you phrase it, my argument boils down to two points, which are:

(1) both curling and haggis were invented by the Scots, and

(2) the rest of the world can’t imagine why they bothered.

AS TEA PARTIES GO, IT’S ONLY SLIGHTLY LESS COMICAL THAN THE MAD HATTER’S

February 10, 2010

 

I like to think of it as Rovemary’s baby.  

The whole Tea Party song and dance, I mean.  The Tea Party is, of course, very little more or less than a canny and calculated play by the GOP to establish itself, by contrast to the TPsters, as the “rational conservative” rightwing option heading into 2012.  If you truly think that Uncle Karl and his ilk are not pulling more strings than a kite flying contest here, all I can say is: please contact me ASAP about your investment and insurance needs.

The Repulsican Party’s  problem, alas, is how to mold the teabaggers into their foils by portraying them as the extremist alternative during the primaries without so alienating them that they fail to return to the fold when general elections come around.  As Baron von Frankenstein or the parent of almost any teenager will tell you, “Be careful about what you choose to give life to.”  

Regional Tea Party conventions have been or shortly will be held in Nashville (who could have guessed?) and at least a couple of other cities (I grow vague about things I have trouble convincing myself are worth thinking about) and it could hardly be more pitiful.  The TP has, without bothering to wait to become some discernible percentage of the electorate,  already begun fragmenting into several factions: the fanatic true believers, the career political hacks looking for paychecks, the compulsive manipulators ever on the lookout for manipulatees, the entrepreneurs who envision a whole new t-shirt market, nutcake obsessives rejected by every other segment of the political spectrum, etc.  

In a way, of course, this fragmentation is fairly impressive.  It took the Republican and Democratic Parties decades to fracture themselves along utterly inane and self-negating internecine lines.  The baggers have accomplished this in a matter of months.  And it couldn’t happen to a nicer movement.

IF THERE IS A GOD, AND THAT GOD APPRECIATES IRONY, OR IF THERE IS NO GOD BUT THE UNIVERSE IS JUST:

February 8, 2010

Tim Tebow gets drafted by the Raiders.

TEMPEST IN A TAMPOT…UH, IPOT…NO, IPAD

February 4, 2010

 

“iPAD: Giant iPod or miniature laptop?  One thing’s for sure: it’s a bad name.  Period.”  —  Newsweek, 2/8/2010.

Get it?  Period?  iPad.  Period?  Pad!  Hah?  

If you don’t, you are probably like me, at least when it comes to genitalia, meaning that you are also male.  

In a nutshell: Apple introduces the iPad.  Within 24 hours, a great clamor is heard to arise, expressing displeasure over a name that reminds the clamorers of feminine hygiene products.  The clamor has a distinct soprano tone to it.  This has been reported in more than one serious news medium.  Women are upset that the new Apple wundertoy calls to mind a stancher of bodily fluids.  Specifically, their bodily fluids.

In one sense, this may reflect a fine and good underlying reality, which is that the media is more equitably represented by, and expressive of, a female world view.  In another sense, and not to put to fine a point on it, but what the hell is it with you broads?

Look, we (as in guys) are supposed to be the gender whose brain nestles within its underwear, not you.  And yet, good God.  I promise you that no man worthy of a jockstrap would make the pad-as-vaginal-acoutrement connection.  And with good reason.  Why should he?  Not when he is first confronted with so many more reasonable and obvious takes.  Bachelor pad being the runaway leader.  Followed by the likes of scratch pad, sketch pad, lily pad, knee pad, hip pad, launch pad, helipad, shoulder pad, note pad, heating pad, padlock and pad your expenses.

All very sensible synaptic responses to the “pad” trigger.  But what do women hone in on, like progesterone-fueled intercept missiles?  We are too discreet here at Humor Me II to enunciate it, but come on, ladies, get your heads out of your…um…never mind.

SPEED, DEXTERITY, STRENGTH AND QUICKNESS ARE ALL VERY NICE, BUT WHAT WE’RE REALLY LOOKING FOR HERE IN THE NFL IS RAPID HEALING ABILITY

February 2, 2010


Gloria, the woman to whom I am wed, is not happy.  She used to love watching the game of football, derived great joy and retreat from the grind world that its excitement and heroism offered, as do entire legions of us.  But now, the game makes her cringe as often as cheer.  It’s as if the fundamental premise now boiled down to:   Let’s take some of the finest physical/athletic specimens on the continent and see how efficiently, quickly, and brutally we can hammer them into a state of incapacity!

Football, at least the NFL version, may now be second only to jousting for serious, career-jeopardizing injuries.  Looked at it in those terms, you wonder why Budweiser is the primary, nine-figure sponsor of the games, and not Aetna or Blue Cross.  But hey.  Football of both the college and pro variety has become a dreary pageant of quarterbacks concussed into incoherence, tailbacks and receivers afflicted with lifelong knee/hip/shoulder injuries, and linemen so obese as to preordain lifespans foreshortened by stroke or cardiovascular disease.  

Worst of all, for both the players and the game, is a current vogue defensive strategy which, alas, makes perfect sense: to neutralize the most valuable player on the other team.  By hammering the poor bastard into the topsoil, or even better, the ER, if need be.   

As a consequence of this harsh logic, both the NFL and NCAA are staring down the barrel of a nasty reality, which is that those who are the best at the game are increasingly the most imperiled by it.  

The problem is fundamental: the most effective defense boils down to taking out the opposing player who is the single greatest scoring threat, but that is also the guy who sells the most tickets on game day.  We’re talking your Breeses and Mannings and Favres and flashy running backs, and they are the golden egg geese of football at both the college and pro levels, and if you have them carried off the field in a stretcher, you may have carried off a hefty source of revenue as well.  But more to the point, football is being degraded from something that America’s parents enjoyed watching their kids play to something that frankly scares the hell out of them. 

I have no solution to this problem, nor any particular reason to find one.  I just like to see an obscenely profitable, intolerably arrogant and increasingly imbecilic sporting combine have to deal with is own rapacity.

An eternal question, sort of

February 1, 2010

A sudden thought that occurred just now as I found myself washing the dishes and listening to the Grammys on the kitchen TV:  “Kill me!  Jesus God, just kill me now!”

Follow-up thought, once I got over the first one, and realized I didn’t need to scour the broiler pan after all:  “Could there be some fundamental, formative connection between one’s fear of death and one’s position on the political spectrum?”  

Of these two thoughts, the first one is clearly the most attractive in terms of dramatic impact and plot potential.  On the other hand, fuck you, my work on your world is not yet finished.   

But about that second thought.  What if the human race is divided into (1) those who can handle the factual inevitability of their annihilation by death and thus the end of their existence, and who tend to be of your let’s-aim-for-heaven-or-at-least-something-a-damn-sight-better-than-Bakersfield-on-earth progressive secular humanist do-gooder types, versus (2) those who cannot abide or psychologically survive the ultimate death sentence and eternal nonexistence of mortality and therefore embrace  such conservative principles as everlasting life through obedience (to scripture) and a conviction that our existence can be maintained indefinitely through magic and superstition (i.e. religion)?   

Whew.  Sure, it’s an annoying and damn near incomprehensible question, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t need to be asked.  Especially it you’re a graduate sociologist desperate for a hook for a grant application to buy your ass another semester in grad school, one of the last havens from the tar pit known as the job market.  There: you have been tipped.