Blogalicious!

I started writing posts for several different topics, but then realized none of them were working for me. So, I thought, screw it. I'm just going to write whatever comes into my head.

Underdogs.
Hey, I just watched the movie, Invincible, in which some regular schmo from South Philly, who plays football with his buddies on weekends, tries out for the Philadelphia Eagles and makes the team. Not only does he make it, he becomes one of the team's all time favorite players. It's the whole underdog from Philly makes good story, made so famous by that other Italian guy. You know, the one with the boxing gloves and the cement skull. Sometimes these stories make me think about my own life and how I never really wound up as the victorious underdog. If I was the underdog in something, hell, I lost. So I try to avoid those underdog situations. Although I do like Underdog cartoons.

My Ears! Damnit! My EARS!
I have to endure American Idol every Wednesday night, because it's the night I have the kids, and my daughter loves it. Last night, the 10 female singers mangle classic songs from the '70s. Some frightening Lily Munster looking chick completely embarrassed herself singing Kansas' "Carry On My Wayward Son." I prayed the electricity would go out just to spare me the pain. The night before, I flipped it on only to see a few of the men slap on their incredibly annoying histrionics to such great songs as "Imagine." Okay, why can't anyone just sing anymore? Just sing the song. I don't need to hear every single note you can hit throughout the song. I mean, the kid sang well, but the song lost every single ounce of real feeling. John Lennon sang it with such simple conviction that it really meant something. This performance reduced the song to a series of voice exercises. Elvis actually shot the TV because Robert Goulet was on it, singing, as the King put it, "With all technique and no feeling." Too bad I didn't have a gun. Or a crossbow. Or even a water pistol.

Weather or not.
What is it about old people and weather? Where are they going that they need to be constantly interested in what it's doing out? While I'm on my old people thing, why do they insist on taking all the early appointments at doctors or dentists? I have somewhere to be, Rip Van Winkle! I have to go to work. You have to pass wind, eat saltines and watch the Weather Channel all day. Give me a break!

I like beer.
Really, I do. It's good. But not Bud. Bud gives me the winds. I avoid getting the winds as much as possible. Just as I spend most of my awake hours making sure no sharp objects come near my eyes and groin. Oh, and I like vodka too. Vodka tonics, vodka martini (a wee bit dirty), vodka vodka, White Russians. I'm no alcoholic, but I know what I like. And I don't like getting gas from Bud. Although farting can be funny.

Hold me closer, tiny digits.
I once took out this woman who had a really small fingers. Like, so small, they reminded me of those little cocktail wieners. But she had the nails manicured and perfectly painted with a bright red color. I wondered why she would want to draw any attention to those stubs stuck on the ends of her hands. If my fingers looked like that, I would try to keep all eyes away from my hands. I know, I'm no long-fingered godly-handed man, and she was very nice, and I guess I was being very mean and petty, but the fingers were just really creepy. I did try to call her for a second date, but she said we weren't a good match. She said she couldn't wrap her fingers around a reason why, it just wasn't there for her.

Ring-A-Ding-Ding!
My place of employment is doing some work for a local/regional snack cake company and we have samples of other brands all over the office. I am now eating a Ring Ding. Oh yes. And I've gotta tell ya, I haven't had one of these chocolate enrobed (love that word) cream filled goodies in a dog's age, but they have not changed at all. Not one bit. You know how Count Chocula and Alpha Bits and Coco Puffs all kind of changed their recipes to be a little more healthy or something. Well, those swell folks at Drakes gave the finger to the fat fighters and said, "We're not changing our ass swelling, gut growing goodness for you namby pamby joy killers. Our Ring Dings will stay exactly the same as they've always been!" And God said, Ring Dings are good. Going back for a Yodel. Let's hope they didn't fuck with those...

Until next time, when I'll have one topic to stick to, enjoy the weather before you get old and start complaining about it.