I heart the Internet

Open Letter to Al Gore

Dear Mr. Al Gore,

Since leaving public office, your activities in the area of global warming and global climate change have been well documented. As we bid farewell to the summer we never had, I must confess that your endeavors have been most successful. Global warming has been reversed. The climate hasn't changed where I live since April.

Mission accomplished.

Please stop now before things go too far.

With thanks and all sincerity,

mike

Another BM

Brandon Marshall is an idiot. For those of you who don't read sports news like it's a religion, Brandon Marshall is a wide receiver for the Denver Broncos. Like Jay Cutler, Marshall wants out of Denver. Unlike Jay Cutler, it hasn't happened yet. Unlike Jay Cutler, Marshall is acting like an idiot. Here's an excerpt from a Don Banks article on CNNSI.com regarding Marshall's conduct:

"He walked as the rest of his teammates ran in pre-practice warm-ups. He booted the football skyward instead of handing it back to the team's ball boys. He knocked down passes instead of catching them in receiver drills."

Banks argues that Marshall is hurting his cause by acting this way. No one wants to trade for a guy who is acting like a lunatic. Of course, Banks makes a good point. On the other hand, if Marshall is successful in getting a trade, he will have done his new team a great service, because they won't have to give up much to get him.

Brandon Marshall: Ridiculous lunatic or manipulative genius?

Pitino Blames...Media?

FoxSports.com: Pitino blames media for 'pure hell' amid sex scandal

Seriously, Rick? You're going to try to blame the media for this? Dude, keep your pants on, and that'll solve all your problems. And as a devout Catholic, if you're cheating on your wife I'm pretty sure the Pope would advise you not to do so in the middle of a restaurant, either. That's not even sanitary. I'm pretty sure that (regardless of his advice on the matter of sex in a restaurant while cheating on your wife) the Pope would also tell you that if you get some chick pregnant, you shouldn't give her $3,000 to go take care of it, whether you intended for her to get an abortion or health insurance or whatever. You have a responsibility to take care of that child.

I don't care how much "pure hell" the media causes for you, Rick Pitino. They can't possibly give you more than you deserve.

I Solemnly Swear

I hereby solemnly swear....

...that because G and T are so close on the keyboard, I will never again conclude a work email with "Regards." Sorry, guys.

...that the next time I hear the word "bitter," no matter who says it, when, or where, and no matter how inappropriate it may be to do so, I will say, "Bitter!? Yeah, I bit 'er. She loved it!"

...that I will always respond to your claims of being "a self-made man" by saying, "I accept your apology."

...that I will keep reminding you of how terrible your ex was so that you will love me more, if that were possible.

What I Meant To Say

It turns out that I frequently say something other than what I actually mean. For example, today I asked my dad if there was any more rhubarb left in his rhubarb patch. He said that there was, so I said, "Don't let it go to waste!" That means, "Well, then, make me a pie!" (He's good at that.)

I have been saying something that I haven't quite meant for a long time. In fact, when I actually say what I mean, it causes confusion. In high school, I used to tell my parents that I was "the good son." There was some confusion that perhaps, in my usual style, I was trying to say something else. Dad definitely thought I was referring to the movie "The Good Son." How could I mess up that badly?

When Dennis Rodman played for the Bulls, coaches gave him a rubber band to wear on his wrist. If Dennis was angry at a call the refs had made, he was to snap himself on the wrist with the rubber band to distract himself from the refs. Of course, it was Dennis Rodman, so it wasn't long before he was just snapping himself on the wrist all the time.

I feel like when I talk, I'm like Dennis Rodman snapping his rubber band. Everybody knows what he is doing, but no one knows why. Everybody knows what I'm saying, but no one knows what I mean.

Job Opportunity

Wanted:

Life Coach


Duties:

Follow me around all the time. Make decisions for me. Tell me to shut up when I'm making a fool out of myself (which is rather frequent). Other duties as required.


Pay:

Compensation will be based on performance. Make me rich and I'll make you rich. Actually, I'm terrible with money, so it should be easy for you to embezzle all you need.


Requirements:

Hot chicks are preferred. After all, I'm going to be seen with you in public frequently. Male candidates may apply, but you better be a specialist in hot chicks.

Must be willing to work long hours for no apparent reason to make sure I don't screw up.

All candidates must be willing to conduct an online interview.


To Apply

Leave a comment.

Open Letter to Everybody

Dear President Obama, Members of Congress, and everybody else,

I am one of the 46 million Americans living without health insurance. I think that's great. Please just leave me alone.

Love,

mike

Worst. Dunk. Ever.

This is what I look like when I try to dunk. At least when I do this, I'm not on TV.

Customers Love Me

Customer: "What does your wife think about you working all these hours?"
Me: "She left."
Customer: "Really!? What's wrong with her?"

True story. I love it.

Join Ron Artest

Ron Artest wrote a rap tribute to Michael Jackson. The rap, which is so bad that YouTube has yanked it, includes the lyrics, "I know you in heaven. I hope to see you next year." We all hope you see Mr. Jackson next year, Ron. We're with you.

Come on now, Ron, you know I'm kidding. Anybody who puts his multi-million-dollar career in jeopardy to throw some punches at a Detroit Pistons fan is alright in my book. You're my homo.

Although, it seems like the prudent thing would have been for the NBA to ban every player in that fiasco from the NBA for life, as well as to pursue criminal charges against everyone involved. But, why should the law apply inside the sanctity of the Palace of Auburn Hills?

Life: Comedic Fodder

One thing I have learned about jokes is that even the worst joke on earth is acceptable if you are joking about your own life. When I was fat, everyone laughed when I made fat jokes. However, now that I am not fat, people seem to be deeply offended when I offer the same fat jokes. You see, if I am not joking about my own life, and only joking about yours, I have crossed the line.

It turns out I'm not fat anymore. Well, not by American standards, anyway. It also turns out that I'm a divorced father of one beautiful little girl, though. The door to fat jokes seems to be closed, but the door to marriage, divorce, and baby mama drama seems wide open.

Am I bitter? Maybe. Do I need to "get out of the bitter barn and play in the hay" as I have been advised? I doubt it. Here's why. Think for a moment about the biggest mistake or series of mistakes you've made in your entire life. Now think about the most special gift that God has ever chosen to give you. Imagine that the one gift was a byproduct of those mistakes. How bitter are you about that? Not too bitter. God is good.

It still makes for good comedic fodder.

Fat Interferes with Brain Function

This one time, at band camp, a guy hid a Snickers in his fat roll. Okay, well, it was actually a gun. And it was in county jail. Check it out. The thing that gets me is, why would you ever admit to having it (charges were filed) if you can get away with it? There must be fat rolls between the brain cells, too.

Love Game - Sister Gaga

I've heard this song one too many times, so I've ruined it for myself and for everybody else. You'll never look at this song (or Sister Martha) the same ever again...


Let's have some fun, I am so sick
I wanna get it on with you, kinky nun.
Let's have some fun, I am so sick
I wanna get it on with you, kinky nun.

I wanna spank you
And if I do then I might get spanked, too
She slaps my knuckles every day
But that's just because she wants a lay
Guess she wants wants to play, wants to play
Habit-less, habit-less

Hold me and love me
Just wanna touch you a bit longa
Maybe three seconds is enough
Sexy Sister Martha!

Let's have some fun, I am so sick
I wanna get it on with you, kinky nuns
Don't think too much just bust that stick
I like it rough that's why I smack your buns.

Let's play a love game, play a love game
Do you want love or you want pain?
Are you in the game? Doin' the love game.

Let's play a love game, play a love game
Do you want love or you want pain?
Are you in the game? Doin' the love game.

I'm on a mission
And it involves some heavy touching, yeah
You've smacked me around, I'm educated in pain, yes
And now I want it bad, get you back
A love game, a love game.

Hold me and love me
Just want to touch you, not the friar!
If I ever tell anyone
Call me a liar.

Let's have some fun, I am so sick
I know you like to beat me with that stick
Don't think too much just bust that stick
I wanna get it on, don't tell Father Rick.

Let's play a love game, play a love game
Do you want love or you want pain?
Are you in the game? Doin' the love game.

Let's play a love game, play a love game
Do you want love or you want pain?
Are you in the game? Doin' the love game.

I can see you staring there from across the room
With a smile on your mouth and your hand on a broom.
The story of us, it always starts the same
With a boy and a nun and a you have no shame
And no shame, and no shame, a love game, a love game.

Let's play a love game, play a love game
Do you want love or you want pain?
Are you in the game? Doin' the love game.

Let's play a love game, play a love game
Do you want love or you want pain?
Are you in the game? Doin' the love game.

Let's play a love game, play a love game
Do you want love or you want pain?
Do you know my name?
(Let's have some fun, I am so sick)
Doin' the love game
(I wanna get it on with a kinky nun)

Let's play a love game, play a love game
Do you want love or you want pain?
Do you know my name?
(Don't think too much just bust that stick)
Doin' the love game
(I wanna get it on with a kinky nun)
Doin' the love game.

Your Government Sucks

Your great big government sucks.

The State of Illinois passed a law that will make it illegal to text while driving. No one disagrees with this law--except me. I agree that a person should not text while driving. It's simply good driving not to. It's common courtesy not to. It's not something I want the government to legislate. Tell your stupid government to leave me alone.

It's the same as the seat belt laws. Is it smart to wear your seat belt? Absolutely. Do I want the government to make me wear one? Absolutely not. If I fly through the windshield when I crash, what business is that of yours? People tell me that it's their business because if I fly through the windshield, they are going to end up paying for my medical bills, or for my child who will then gain government assistance because I am assumed dead for having not worn my seat belt.

That misses the point entirely. I want the government to leave me alone. If I die, I don't think the government should be taking care of my kid anymore than I think they should be taking care of me now. That's not the government's job! We need to shift our entire mindset. The government should not be up in everybody's business. The government should not be trying to fix every social problem in the world. The government should be as small, weak, and barely visible as possible.


I have a lot of views that no one is going to agree with. Here I go:

• I am against the war in Iraq. I haven't always been, I admit. Regardless of what we went in for, we have no business being there now. Stupid government, get out of Iraq!
  


• I am against the war in Afghanistan, too. Again, this hasn't always been the case. That 9/11 thing wasn't cool, but I think the "War on Terror" is ridiculous. Terrorists are not good for us--but second-hand smoke is a far more likely killer of Americans than terrorists. I am no more concerned for this so-called "War on Terror" than I am concerned with male pattern baldness. Stupid government, get out of Afghanistan!
  


• I am against anti-smoking legislation. I hate being around people while they smoke, but I respect their choice to poison themselves. I also respect the right of business owners to decide for themselves if smoking should be allowed in their establishments. Stupid government, get out of my business!
  


• I am against health care reform. I am an uninsured American and I like it that way. I'd rather die because I can't afford a doctor than die because my doctor is a politician. Stupid government, get out of my hospital!
  


• I am against seat belt laws. It's my business if I want to fly through my windshield. Stupid government, get out of my car!
  


• For governmental policy, I am against gay marriage--and heterosexual marriages, too. To me, marriage is a religious issue and not a policy issue. Morally, I have an opinion on the matter, but I am all about the separation of church and state. The government should neither recognize nor deny marriage, partnerships, or tag team wrestling duos. Stupid government, get out of my bedroom!
  


• I am for legalizing drugs. It's not that I think these substances should be readily available, but I don't think the government should tell us what we can and cannot put into our own bodies. Stupid government, get out of my skin!

I don't know how we screwed up and got an entire culture full of people that go around saying, "There should be a law against..." whatever tiny little annoyance they can come up with. We're "the home of the brave" but we aren't brave enough to live without laws designed to protect us from every little possible perceived danger.

"Land of the free"? Free from what?

Do Nice Guys Still Exist?

Today, I ponder the question, "Do nice guys still exist?" The answer is, "Heck no."

Of course, that is a total lie. There are some nice married guys. And there are a bunch of nice guys that want to marry each other, but you people won't let them (that's a subject for another blog, though). I suppose there might be a few single nice straight guys--but precious, precious few.

Why in the world would I say such a thing? Single guys deal with women--that's why. A guy can start off as sweet as pie, but if he has dealt with a few women, that ship has sailed.

You're going to think I'm going on a tangent here, but hang with me for a minute.

I read biographies about US Presidents. Right now I am reading about John Adams. If you read about John Adams, there's always a lot about his wife, Abigail Adams. You might think that would be an obvious statement, but it's really not. Most of the Presidents you can read entire books without learning much about their wives. They are no more major players in their lives or in their presidencies than their Secretary of the Interior.

Interior!?

The thing that strikes me about John and Abigail Adams is that their relationship truly was a partnership. She was a smart, educated, confident and thoughtful individual in her own right. She could carry her share of responsibilities. Their marriage featured love and respect.

Compare that to other First Ladies. Ronald Reagan loved his wife, but Nancy Reagan was certainly not an equal partner. She was troublesome when she meddled in serious matters (largely due to her beliefs in astrology and various forms of ridiculousness), but offered her husband emotional support. Jackie Kennedy was there for JFK to look pretty and for the easy lay when a mistress wasn't readily available. Hillary Clinton and Bill Clinton were political allies, but that is all their marriage has ever been--they don't love each other. That's why she didn't care when he cheated on her. Repeatedly. Unabashedly. With fat interns.

I bet John Adams was a real nice guy.

So what's the point of all that? Well, Abigail Adams' are hard to find. I have said before that I can decide that a girl isn't for me in forty-five seconds, which is completely true.
I have come to the conclusion that I am more picky than most guys, but I'm not really sure how, because I think I'm pretty relaxed about my so-called standards. Seriously, if I had my way, I would have been in a serious relationship with a girl that's deaf, divorced, and has two kids. That's not exactly what most guys would call ideal, but I was totally fine with her. Oh, well. Crap happens.
Most girls scream out their imperfections. Sometimes at a glance, but usually with minimal yet careful observation, a girl's issues are completely obvious. She's insecure. She doesn't brush her teeth. She doesn't brush her hair. She's been around a bunch of blocks a bunch of times. She's desperate for the approval of others. She's a satanist. Whatever the case may be, it's often very obvious.

Okay, so a lot of girls have issues. What does that have to do with whether guys are nice or not? Calm the crap down. I'm getting there.

I try to be a nice guy. I really do. It's just not in my nature. (It's not in yours, either, so get off your high horse.) At least I try. I hate talking on the phone, but if one of my friends needs to talk, I'll stay on the phone for hours with them, and I'm completely fine with that. When I talk to those girls that are insecure and desperate for approval, I try to remind them of their good qualities and be all positive and supportive and crap. This, my friends, is a total waste of time.

Do you know what happens when you tell an insecure girl that she's attractive? She disagrees with you. She calls you a liar. Something along those lines. And then, the very next day, she wants to know if she's pretty. There's only so many times a guy can have this conversation.

If a girl has issues, she needs to fix that with herself. No one can do that for her. If she's trying, other people can help her, but it starts with her. That's obvious, at least if you passed Intro to Psych. But, as far as the dating field goes, that leaves the girls without severe personality-altering issues. One would hope that this slim field would represent a rather select group of datable individuals. Not so.

One of the sad developments in the modern American education system that has occurred as a result of emphasizing education as a means to better employment rather than personal development is that students concentrate on their chosen field and neglect all others. The result is generations of people who are not at all well-rounded. Instead, they are very good at their job and completely ignorant everywhere else.
I don't like roundness as a physical feature, but as a descriptor of one's intellect, it's a very good thing.
That kills good conversation. If you don't know about or care about anything outside your job, you become a boring person.

There are definitely a select few people that are really good at being ignorant. By that I mean that they are able to exist in a very functional way with their ignorance. They are interested to talk about things they are completely ignorant about, and they ask all the right questions--especially if they are the completely wrong questions, which is hilarious--to spur quality conversations. Usually, these people are the same people that can teach you all about something they have expertise in, and then you can reverse roles and it's a lot of fun. Everybody else? Terrible.

Dealing with the incredibly ignorant or people with serious issues takes a lot of energy. It's not easy. Exclusive or dating relationships aside, it gets tiring just being casual friends with some of you people. When I am asked by a girl for the seventeenth time if I think she is attractive, knowing full well that she isn't going to accept my answer if I say something nice, I just want to go the other route and be a jerk. Shut up. Go get a therapist or something. Deal with your father issues. Come back when you're fully functional. When a girl reveals that she is completely and utterly disinterested in anything more serious than her manicure and what movie Brad Pitt is in this week, what is a person supposed to do with that mess? I give up.

So, no, there are no more nice guys. Not over the age of twenty-five, anyway. We all got sick of your ridiculous crap, and now we just want to talk to interesting, fun, put-together people. We're nice to them. Go put yourself together and come back later. Maybe there will be some romantic sentiments remaining in our souls by then, if we haven't evicted it yet.

P.S.

My dear readers,

You are all wonderful and perfect in every way.

Love,

mike

Who Are You?

If you are looking for another blog of mine titled "Who Are You?" featuring a comment about the Maury Povich show, you can find it here. But, you aren't.

Quit being fake.

Stop trying to be who you think the rest of us want you to be, who you think you should be, or who you think is going to be the most successful. Relax. Find yourself. Come to terms with that crap. (Did I just call you crap? Maybe.) Embrace it.

Sure, you might have more friends if you are a more socially acceptable version of yourself, but what difference does that make? What good is a friend if they love you for someone that isn't you? If you can't be yourself with them, they are no friend at all.

Nobody is perfect, least of all you. God loves you, but if you can't love yourself, you can't expect anybody else to, either. If you tell me that you aren't worth loving, I'm almost obligated to believe you.