Re: U.S. Having To Return Its Stuff To Rent A Center

President Obama, much respect as I tell you please grow a pair. You say "Call your Congressman." Dude, that's what you do when you're trying to get weed legalized purely for "medicinal" reasons. Boehner and his ilk are whack job dillweeds; they're the kids who got pranked all the time 'cause it was so easy to do. You should be able to run mental circles around them... Wedgie the mofos before the American consciousness is convinced you're the cause of national destruction! Granted our nation's probably never been more gooberish than we are right now (somebody please tell me why the fuck my doctor went to medical school but I've gotta be the one first to tell him about Copafiel and then ask him if it's right for my sexual harassment issues!) and the goobers are so sensitive and defensive now about their goober proclivities that they’d even justify championing a crazy cat lady for important public office, or even Michele Bachman. Granted your scrotum’s choked by the Kobayashi Maru – no matter which way you go, prepare to be fucked. And I’m sure your advisors are advising you on this that and the other in matters of presentation, but search your feelings, dude, you know this to be true: you are being set up as the biggest scapegoat in the history of the United States. Either that or all that “change we could believe in” amounts to about the 85 cents we’re scrabbling to collect under the cushions. I voted for you, I reached out and figuratively touched Oprah’s hand as the nation cried for you (Don’t cry for me, Argentina?) and, barring a sex tape of you dressed as Tigger humping the effigy of Bea Arthur, I will vote for you again. You have done a great deal of good and my brain tells me you’re game for more. Screw the heart, which most people declare holiest of holies. The heart told me to date a crazy chick back in the day. My brain says to you, President Obama, be the Decider. Sweet Greasy Damn, I can’t believe I’m there, but it’s out now. The only earth the meek will inherit will be a toxic, billboard strewn eruption of a boil about to explode, while sex dreams are pumped into the cryo-sleeping bodies of rich folks on their way to Beta Antares. Yay for being meek. I’m not saying pull a Bush/Cheney ramrod (speaking of 2-to-the-head Cheney, I hope he’s pleased at the choice of actor playing him in the Smurf biopic) but definitely stop “leaving” things up to the American public! The American public is easily influenced by Cheetos! Why the hell do you think Boehner always stays orange??? Don’t tell me to call my Congressman. My Congressman’s a dumbass whose only job is figuring out how to keep doing the nothing that comes with the job and making sure his hair says precisely what it should about him on camera. The American public is stockpiling weapons and cheese preparing for another civil war – yes, folks, it’sa coming. Why else do you think (and I’ll be broad here) the rich have spent the last 20 or so years convincing you they have nothing to do with the sad state of your pathetic life, that it’s all those “others” out there, the gays and blacks and hot lesbians and Mexicans and Muslims (which come to think of it, also sounds like some kind of healthy, fibrous cereal hemp-wearing, braless women foist on home schooled children, freaking Commies!) and a liberal media that thinks your stupid, ADD-filled children aren’t God’s way of punishing us for not making sure the Fifties didn’t last? Why else do you think people without a pot to piss in are adamant about the gubmint not providing health care for them, no way sir! Big Gubmint, gays and Tom Cruise are keeping the average Joe down, and Pfizer knows this. Talk to your doctor if you’re experiencing emotional ennui, wrenching anxiety or the onset of righteous illogical tendencies as these may be symptoms of knowing you’re buttfucked. The tipping point’s on its way, President Obama. The thing about tipping points, though, is that things can go either way. The nation either falls and the South rises again (so to speak), or it falls on the soft bosomy-ness of “About damn time; we've grown up.” It’s your call, sir. Daunting as fuck, I know, but that’s why you’re the Decider. Or, as I’m sure some old guy has said at least once, “Don’t play into the hands of folks who keep their hands down their pants.” Wedgie up, sir, wedgie up.



Oh, and say hello to the wife for me!

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The Weight Loss Blog, Part 2

So I played tennis again yesterday. Took the niece with me. A half hour at the wall, a half hour on the court. Nice day, quality uncle/niece time.

I kicked her ass.

She's only 13 so I can't puff up too much, but when all is said and done this old gray mare totally owned. Totally. Paying for it today though; arms, legs and feet hurt like mofos. Old gray mofos.

But I swear I felt a pound drop off.

Venus & Serena, I'm comin' for ya!

The Weight Loss Blog

What I weigh is not important except that I could crush a 6th grader if I wasn't careful. What's important is my man boobs are sufficiently alluring to where checking them out with glimpses in the mirror thinking 'Hey, who's the hot chick?' is both shameful and mildly disturbing. Add to that the badunkadunk in the trunk and I'm not sure whether to do the Beyonce booty dance or go fix-slash-break stuff. Therefore: The Weight Loss Blog.

Yesterday I spent some time at the Belle Isle Park tennis practice wall (till I lost both balls, and no). Then I Zumba'd. Yes, dammit. Wasn't intentional, long story, and you would definitely have paid to see it. I'm 45 and tired of my belly having more of a social life than me.

So every time I do something weight loss-y you'll know about it. Yeah, I know, big whoop, but Oprah's retired, so you need someone to inspire you now.

I'm not going to track weight, I'm going to track feelings. Yesterday I felt powerful for having chosen to get off my ass, and fun for being the only dude besides the instructor shaking what his mama gave him in a small room of sweaty ladies. Please know that I dance like the character Elaine did on that one 'Seinfeld' episode(youtube 'Elaine Seinfeld Dance')so getting up and Zumba-ing is, like, worthy of the Congressional Medal of Honor.

Today I will do one-armed push ups in my dreams, but will more likely do a couple crunches, maybe some free weights, and y'know, finish off the Wife's blueberry pie (for the sake of morality, not a sexual euphemism).

Weight loss ain't for everybody, just the sexy people!

Things You'd Rather Hear From A Different Source

An ex girlfriend telling you she thought you were gay.

Your husband pointing out that your sister never wears a bra.

Your boss encouraging a wider consideration of career options.

Your kid making you realize that it's so easy having online aliases these days, Stackedforthat21.

A priest visiting your sickbed whispering to the family that he really wouldn't feel comfortable doing the eulogy.

"Do you know how fast you were going?" from a traffic cop whose wife left him that morning, her tail lights speeding away the last image of her he'll ever have.

"I read your book but I thought you were that funnier guy," from someone exiting your book signing line.

"I remember you now!" in church from some guy as you bend over to pick up your hymnal.

...and the band plays on...

Life Lessons From Star Wars #2

"These aren't the droids you're looking for."
"These aren't the droids we're looking for." Except they were.

Sometimes old people lie.

Life Lessons From Star Wars

What R2 wanted to say: "F**k you, Wookie motherf***er!"

What R2 did: let the Wookie win. There's a lesson in there somewhere.

The lesson: talk s**t privately but know when to shut the hell up.