Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered

Frances Albert Sinatra was arguably the greatest entertainer of the 20th century. The man won an Oscar, numerous Grammys, and "banged more broads" than my man Derek Jeter could ever aspire to. He was close with JFK, and tight with the mafia. The man was an American icon.

A man of this stature and accomplishments surely deserves to be recognized with an official day in his honor. Members of the House of Representatives agree with me, so on Tuesday, May 20th they proclaimed Tuesday May 13th 2008 to be Frank Sintra Day.

What the hell is crap?! It took a week to get around to it? I fully believe that our government officials have more improtant things to do than honor a dead singer, but if they're going to do it at least have it be the same day. It's a slap in the face to an Italian American hero. If the "Chairman of the Board" were still alive he'd have one of his gangster buddies go down to the house and "take care" of those dames and suits.

Ring a Ding, Ding....

Political Rumination #1: Gimme My George Bush Money

Gas prices got you down?

Yeah, me too.

But like the silhouette of the Lone Ranger astride Trigger galloping toward the village overrun by the black-hat banditos, there is hope on the horizon: the Economic Stimulus Plan.

Yes, sir. With George Bush money in hand, we as a nation will collectively "kick the economy in the ass," stopping recession in its tracks and bestowing a cornucopia of economic prosperity and opportunity from sea to friggin' shining sea.

I love the smell of America in the morning.

Let's do the math. If I get 600 bucks from George I can buy a pony. Or maybe I could buy some sweet rims for my Toyota Celica. Or maybe, just maybe, I can buy some stock in alternative energy sources to help maintain a fuzzy, happy planet.

Or, I could pay off a smidgen of my astronomical student loans. You know, those bills that I have to pay because I invested in an education that would provide me with financial security. Or, I could use the money to pay off my mortgage in an attempt to avoid the plague of foreclosures that are sweeping the nation. Or I can use the cash to buy the new, expensive bread. You know, the same bread that used to cost 89 cents before the nation's farmers switched from wheat production over to corn because corn is more profitable. Afterall, it takes a lot of expensive gas to run a tractor. On that note, I could use the money to buy gas for my COMPACT car for THREE WHOLE MONTHS.

It seems George wants to give money to people who can't afford to spend it; It's like giving the obese comfort food to help them forget about being "big-boned."

The situation reminds me of my first real asthma attack. I'll spare you the minor details. Let's just say I turned a lovely shade of blue and wheezed my way to the nurse's office only to collapse on the floor in a gasping heap. I knew the nurse was an adult, infinitely wise in the ways of the world, and she would undoubtedly have the perfect solution for my precarious predicament. As I strained for every breath, I could only plead for respite by clutching my throat while tears streamed from my bulging eyes. She ended up giving me a cup of water and a friggin' Saltine cracker. She might as well have kicked me in my pre-pubescent nuts.

So while the nation chokes to death, let's make sure it has a cracker and a cup of water to wash it down.

Now am I going to send my check back to the IRS endorsed "FU, suckers" in a gestrure of righteous indignance?

Hell no. I'm gonna buy a motherload of booze and some beef jerky cuz it's gonna be a long friggin' year.

GIMME MY GEORGE BUSH MONEY!

Reality TV: Daily Affirmation Through Human Suckiness

I have an enduring faith in the human race. Never have I tried to meditate too intensively on the fallibility of my condition as a homosapien, nor have I sought the answers to the big questions that forever linger beyond my grasp. However, there is one ominous and enduring query that I would willingly forget if it weren't for the fact that it prods incessantly, cutting to my very essence:

"Why do I watch Reality TV so much?"

The "reality" is, I find this self-indulgent mind-vomit pretty friggin' hilarious. From Flava of Love all the way back to Temptation Island, I have been fascinated by this crap like a child is by a butterfly, or was it more like burning ants with a magnifying glass?

It doesn't matter. Viewing these shows is like watching the rise and ultimate destruction of Sodom and Gammorah from the comfort of your recliner...

"Man, that guy sucks. No, he really is a jackass! I'd kick that dude in the nads so hard if he ever tried that mess on me. No, she won't dump him. The chicks on these shows love scumbags, plastic surgery, and they drink more than Jose Cuervo himself. Can you pass the Cheese-Its, please. Thank you, honey."

And this is my nightly routine of choice. I love the bratty kids from My SuperSweet Sixteen all the way up to the meat-headed twentysomethings of The Gauntlet. And God friggin' bless Brett Michaels! You know why?

Because all of the people that are on these shows suck. Completely devoid of any moral decency, or common sense for that matter, these quintessential MTV crack-ho's proudly display their suckery for all the word to see.

Don't get me wrong, I have many faults. I am balding. Since I quit smoking I gained ten pounds. I suffer from Irritable Bowel Syndrome that causes uncontrollable flatulence first-thing in the morning... and during wedding services or calling hours. But you know what, if there's one thing that makes me feel like I don't suck, it's watching people who really, really do suck.

God Bless America! God Bless Reality TV!

Something To Think About #2

Why is it that some people have a dissability when getting onto escelators? Every morning in Penn Station, as I am half asleep, carrying my coffee with too little cream and too much sugar because NY Dunkin Donuts just don't care enough about the right mixture, I make my way to the exit with all of the other under caffinated, mindless, drones. For some reason I always get behind the guy who thinks that getting on the escelator takes exemplary motor skills. These people act like they're testing the water in a pool, sticking their toe out slowly until they deam it safe to step onto a platform moving at a brisk 1/2 mile an hour.

This is probably the same guy that walks slow in front of me on the sidewalk. I hate him.