. . .the phrase ‘clean as a whistle’ has never been a coach or ref.
Whistles are nasty.
. . .the phrase ‘clean as a whistle’ has never been a coach or ref.
Whistles are nasty.
How’s this pussification thing going, eh?
I glanced at the front page of the local paper and above the fold (where all the important news begins) is the headline:
BOMB THREAT FOUND AT HIGH SCHOOL
What was the threat? A headphone wire was found hanging out of an ALF lunch box? Someone found a block of clay in an art class and thought it was C4? A carburetor was left on the ground in auto shop and caused a panic?
No. And it wasn’t even the old classic: a phone call. To quote the newspaper:
“Today at 10:17 a.m. two students discovered graffiti in the third floor boy’s bathroom. Lightly drawn in pencil were the words “bomb 12:00” with no other information.”
Really? We’re frightened of graffiti now? Not only graffiti but ‘lightly drawn in pencil’ graffiti. What kind of threat is that? Sorry, it can’t be a threat if you can use a pencil eraser to get rid of it. How serious was this kid about his plan? He didn’t even have the dedication to take along a Sharpie what’s the possibility he’d scour the world for bomb making components? Then learn how to make a damn bomb? Then make a bomb. Then carry it to school. Then find a place to put it so it wouldn’t be found so the janitor wouldn’t throw it away thinking it was some careless kids dropped art project? Trust me, I’ve met the kids of this community, they bitch if homework is too hard.
And why did he pick noon? Does he have an eating disorder and wanted to skip lunch?Now that’s something we should look into for the kid. Maybe it was sloppy joe day and even you can remember how revolting that shit was. Either way noon is stupid because kids aren’t doing anything at noon anyway so all you’re accomplishing is ruining lunch for kids without anorexia (I’s pretty sure ‘kids without anorexia’ is an extra curricular activity).
When I was in school bomb scares happened so often the entire class would groan. Not at getting out of class but at having to walk out of the building then stand in front of it. Where, and I’m no expert on building demolition, but I’d have to imagine if the building really did blow up the entire student body would be killed by falling bricks, gym teachers, and petri dishes. Most of us would have lived if we’d stayed in the building because we wouldn’t have been near the bomb. So thanks for putting us in harms way school administration.
If the amount of bomb scares we had was happening today that’s the only news the beleaguered reporters could have covered. In my day a bomb scare didn’t even make the school paper. We’d go home and get the, “How was your day?” And when we’d answer, “There was a bomb scare.” We’d get the automated, “That’s nice. Now go off to do your homework.”
Now I’m sure some parents call the kids shrink the moment they get the danger in the school call to see if they can be squeezed in to help them alleviate this trauma. Because of a kid who had lightly drawn in pencil the words ‘bomb 12:00’.
Now I’m not making light of violence in schools. I’m just saying the focus should be where it belongs. And it doesn’t belong on a knucklehead with a number 2 pencil. A search of school bombings in the United States gave me a total of six actual bombings. Whereas school shootings in the same country had it broken down by decades. But even with all of that I’m sure more kids have graduated high school without being able to read than have been shot.
So I guess I should be thankful the kid who lightly drew in pencil the words ‘bomb 12:00’ spelled it right.
11AM Tom Brady, after a mornings vigorous workout, arrives at his ‘special room’.
11:01AM With childlike glee Tom enters his room and immediately begins playing with his balls.
12:12PM Tom, almost ecstatic in his exhaustion, completes the ‘Rogering’* of his balls.
* The NFL, after diligent investigation, discovered that Tom calls what he does to his balls ‘Rogering’ because of a gentle, older man who taught him the way around his balls, Roger Staubach.
12:13PM With his hands firmly upon his balls and his head on his playbook, Tom falls asleep.
1:03PM Bill Belechick gently raps upon the door of Tom’s special room hoping his doesn’t startle Tom in fear that he may rupture his balls.
1:03:30 Tom wakes knowing only his friend and life coach Bill would knock on the door of his special room. Tom asks Bill if he’d like to see his balls. The both give out hearty laughs because they know Bill doesn’t want to know anything about Tom’s balls.
1:04PM Tom asks Bill what he wants knowing it must be important for Bill to interrupt him during his ball fondling session.
1:04:10PM No, Tom responds, he did not borrow Bill’s Bon Jovi CD. Satisfied Tom, as always, is telling the truth, Bill goes back to his pre-game business and to let Tom bring his balls to completion.
4:00PM Tom’s official ball handler arrives at the door and asks if Tom is done with his ‘hand jive’. They both laugh at this inside joke as Tom adjusts his balls in his ball sack.
4:01PM Tom opens the door and places his ball sack in the hands of his official ball handler. Tom’s official ball handler carefully massages Tom ball sack as he turn to deliver Tom’s ball sack to the NFL sanctioned game ball storage location.
4:03PM Tom gently closes the door to his special room as he puts custom made ear plugs into his ears to block out all sound until game time. Tom learned of these nearly invisible sound stopping ear plugs during a rather long Fashion Week with is wife Giselle.
4:06PM Tom is walking down the hallway looking at his playbook when he passes a Ref for today’s game. The Ref attempts to get Tom’s attention to thank him for the 496 8×10 autographed photos Tom gave to him for the sick orphans the Ref teaches origami to during his off time.
4:06:15PM Tom passes the Ref without hearing or seeing him.
4:06:16PM The Ref becomes enraged. He figures if Tom’s too good to talk to him Mr. Football might just have to be taught a lesson.
4:06:20PM As Tom turns a corner the Ref pulls from his pocket a ball inflation needle. The problem is this time the needle will not be used for inflation.
4:06:25PM The Ref starts running to catch up to Tom’s official ball handler. He does just feet from the NFL sanctioned game ball storage location. Being a dutiful employee of an NFL franchise Tom’s official ball handler gladly hands Tom’s ball sack over to the Ref.
4:07PM Once Tom’s official ball handler is out of sight the Ref begins reaching into Tom’s ball sack. With precision he begins sticking the needle into Tom’s balls which causes them to deflate way below their normal size and potency.
4:09PM The Ref arrives at the NFL sanctioned game ball storage location and knocks on the door. He’s attempting to deflate the last of Tom’s balls during this time. This ball is snugly nestled in Tom’s ball sack and is difficult to manipulate. Just as the Ref reaches Tom’s ball the door to the NFL sanctioned game ball storage location swings open. The Ref swiftly takes his hand off Tom’s balls and places Tom’s ball sack into the hands of the NFL sanctioned game ball handler. The Ref smiles and turns away. Slipping the ball, now, deflation needle into his pocket.
6:30PM Kick off. The Ref is gleeful about what he did to Tom Brady’s balls.
Most national chains are dying so they’re trying anything to get asses into seats. Most of it silly, some of it counterproductive. But there is one segment of the industry that’s doing amazingly well. The so called Breastaurants. Places like Hooters, Twin Peaks, The Tilted Kilt.
So I got the idea to get some buddies of mine to open up a chain. We’ll call it “Boobs”.
The kicker, and what sets us apart from all the rest, is our staff will be loaded with only moronic men.
. . .the bartender put on the Golden Globes. He had the remote, he had the beer, he had the control. Case closed.
During the opening segment it was said that George Clooney would be getting a humanitarian award. The woman beside me snorts,
“Why would he be getting a humanitarian award? He’s just an actor.”
I looked at her for a moment wondering if I should enter her world. I hesitated but, you know me, let’s take that journey.
“Well,” I began slowly. “There was that work he did in Darfur.” I paused. I watched. I noticed nothing. She just stared back at me so I figured I must add some additional words. “And it’s sequel, Darfive.”
She threw her hands in the air. “See? Just like I said. They don’t care about anything other than making money.”
It was at this point in time I ceased talking to her. But, more importantly, I stopped listening to her.
It might be normal and, although it happens to me quite often, I find it odd. I wonder how many other professions have people come up and ask what they’re working on?
“Hey, Doc, what are you working on?”
“Well, today I took shards of glass out of a drunk frat boys face after he head butted a glass table. Then I had to reposition an eighty year old ladies uterus, which had fallen out, into her. . .”
“. . .thank you very much. That’s all for today, Doc.”
But I’m asked it quite a bit. I don’t know if they think I’m going to regale them with a tale so immense even I thought it was entertaining. But I’m not. If I’m working on something long it means I’m not done with it. So talking about it is difficult. But if it’s what I do mostly, boring writing for businesses, edits and punch-ups, or greeting cards it’s not a very interesting story.
“So, Chris, what are you working on?”
“Well, today I wrote greeting cards for 40-45 year old woman to be given to them by a 30-35 year old female friend. The tone has to be mocking but not insulting.”
Have you ever heard the sound of someone’s eye blink? I have. And it’s always after I answer a question like that.
So what should I talk about? A recent thing? An old thing they may not have heard? A bowel movement? Because I know I’m always working on one of them.
Usually, because this is how my brain works, I rattle off some wise ass answer. The reason is it’s easier for me. It’s never an answer they want. Many times they get angry. But I do it because it’s the first thing that comes to my head. A wise ass anwer is always the first thing that comes to my head.
A couple of hours ago someone was talking to me and asked the question. I get that queasy feeling in my stomach, my head gets numb, more so than usual, and my brain’s put up the no enter sign. It’s decided to go solo on this adventure. Any sense of decorum is gone. Any chance I’ll be embarrassed for the person has evaporated. There is no chance I’ll care if this person ever speaks to me again.
“What are you working on, Chris?”
A second passes. I don’t know what I’m going to say but I can feel it coming. Have you ever thrown up in your mouth, just a little? It’s like that. Only it tastes better.
“I’m pitching a show sort of like Naked And Scared.”
“Oh yeah,” they say thinking they’re getting a scoop. “What’s it called?”
“Scared To See You Naked.”
I think they cried a little.