I dunno ’bout the rest of you chaps, but whenever a day or two goes by without the guy we all love (despite his political views) checking in, my internal clock starts clicking. Like the ten second rule in basketball, or the three seconds in the lane rule. Or the thirty-second rule in football. Or even the ten second rule in boxing. After a short while, my internal clock starts wondering: “So. Where is Gramps?”
Where is Gramps? Is he gonna get up? Is he going to beat the charges this time? Will the Aryan Nation accept a skinny little liberal motorcycle aficionado who loves Polish wodka and who has a soft spot in his heart for a Vietnamese Mama-san into prison? Has he “fallen and I can’t get up?”
Okay, okay, I just called the local cops! No skinny little incoherent fuck has been reported missing.
So then I called the local VFW and talked to a “Missy” who a) wouldn’t tell me if ‘Gramps’ was there;” and b) is available [“after the kids go down”] tomorrow evening.
I then called the local Moose Lodge. Evidently there was a handsome, ass-kicking man of the world called “Gramps” who had been there, but he had taken all the women between the age of consent and menopause to “a better place.”
Figuring that I knew where the “better place” was, I called the local “Eagles.” “Yes, Gramps is here. Sure. Pay his bar tab and I’ll put you through to him.” Continue reading
by Ghana, by God! This is Exhibit #1 why Americans do not like soccer. Ghana? GHAAAAAAANA!!?? Have they even discovered the joys of toilet paper and cooking their meat before they eat it? They only have approximately 24 million people. And about 2% of those have AIDS. Don’t blame me, I’m just quoting the information that the CIA has up on their webpage about Ghana.
America loves a winner. If our soccer team can’t even beat Ghana’s team, that is all the proof we need that our team is not a winner. Sure, we wanted them to win. We cheered loudly when they scored that dramatic come back victory.
But we did not get too emotionally invested. Because we knew–we knew–that the best and the brightest Americans play real football, not soccer. And they play baseball and basketball and hockey and tennis, almost anything but soccer.
That’s all they do in most of those third-world hell holes. They grow up with only soccer balls and elephant dung to kick around. Of course they are going to beat our team. Sad but that is reality. So I’m so over it, and now I’m off to play in a Hold ’em tournament.
“Kevin Pereira’s special report on the devastating BP oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico continues with his look at the oil’s impact on the fragile wildlife.” See short video here.
Because we are a full-service blog, and we aim to please. I found this helpful and hope that you will too.
John “What is a P.C.?” Doe