I don’t ask for much. I truly don’t.
I’m fully lodged in the 21st century, unlike the Contrarian who often seems happier contemplating the 19th. (You should hear his rant about “episodal ” TV and how Dallas ruined television forever) But I digress.
You see, I spent part of Saturday and early Sunday morning, which need I remind you was the first freakin’ day of the new year! What I mean to say is that I spent hours in the kitchen making “tasty treats” to sustain us through the Rose Parade and numerous holiday bowl games, such as the Rose Bowl, and the Sugar Bowl, and the Orange Bowl, and various other bowls that they no longer call by their right names because somebody sold out to corporate interests who thought it was a good idea to plaster their stupid name over traditions that have existed forever (as long as I been alive), and I will never be bothered to learn their stupid names anyway or buy their crap products.
Where was I?
Oh yeah, so I am making paté and a cheese ball (which I did not put in the shape of a ball at all and did not cover with walnuts cuz I think that is stupid and so 60’s), but I digress. And I made two, mind you, two varieties of chicken wings, one teriyaki-ish and the other Caribbean-ish. And then I made these things called pizza cups, which was not my creation, but I changed the recipe enough to declare it was really mine after all. And then, I ask a simple, a simple and ordinary question:
“Isn’t it about time for the Rose Parade to start?”
And do you have any clue what I got as an answer?
Well I’ll tell ya.
“Rose Parade? I don’t know about that babe, the pre-game for the Packer game is coming on in five. Big game ya know? Well, not really big, big, cuz they are in the playoffs already, but big for the Little Brothers, I mean Lions.”
“Well I don’t care about the game, and certainly not the pregame, just find the Parade,” I merrily yodel to my beloved.
“No parade today sweets. No rose bowl either as far as I can see. Double header on today, lots of important games. ”
“No Rose bowl? You gotta be insane! Well, you are insane; been there, established that. What about the other bowl games?”
I hear a long sigh, and the remote goes into action with its search element.
“Rose bowl is on tomorrow, and so is the parade.” he mewls in some apparent triumphantal aplomb. (like that fancy linguisitic erudition did ya?)
“TOMORROW!!!! Are you freakin’ nuts? TODAY is NEW YEARS, they Auld Lang Syne’d and all that crap last night. If it’s New Year’s in the daylight, it’s the Rose Bowl. “
“Nope, fraid not.” (I can HEAR his grin from the kitchen!)
“It’s SUNDAY! ” he shouts as if that is an explanation.
“So what? Who cares what day of the week it is. It’s January 1 and it’s Rose parade and Rose Bowl day. Do you think I made all this damn food just because it’s SUNDAY?”
“Hey don’t yell at me, I’m just the messenger!”
I hear a bit of a giggle.
“Well, I never<” I lamely start, and then fail to finish.
“Well I think that’s what they do when it’s Sunday,” he offers in apology.
“Never did it before,” I rant.
“Bet they did,” he mummers quietly, but with that swagger than only a wife can detect.
“Was wrong then, then.” I bellow. ” All this is the fault of stupid football and its becoming a year round thing. Should be off now. Stupid football.” (Oh Homer would be proud–not the Illiad guy, the Simpson one, doh!)
“Are those wings ready? I’m hungry!” says he who is indifferent to my misery.
So, just so we got everything else straight. Here is where we stand:
- Herm Cain is still irrelevant
- Perry is still dumber than a dust mite
- Bachmann is still deluded into thinking she’s married to a straight guy.
- Newt is still trying to find an angle to work.
- Mittens is startin’ to believe his own bullcrap.
- And Santorum? Poor thing, he thinks it’s his turn to fly. You will find him dead at the base of the tree. Ya need wings dipshit.
Oh, I now got a powerful rant building up sufficient to last the whole year. See I told ya, the GOP has polluted my air and I’m losing my mind. Get those jackasses out of my state! NOW!
So beware. Tread further with great care. This year is gonna be one long rant. As Capt’n Jack Sparrow would say: “I’m naming fingers and counting names!”
You have been warned.
And just so you know I mean it—Does this scare the crap out of you? Go rinse your eyes out now.