The Prattle, #3: Bombs Away!
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The sh*# hit the fan today. Not that we havenít been expecting it, but something about it strikes me as odd. I mean, doesnít President Bush have a TV guide? This is football Sunday after all, and Iíd like to pose the following question. What the hell was he thinking?
I spent the morning changing my wifeís brakes. Then I stopped off at a local fast food eatery to get my daily serving of meat-flavored meat and I sat down in front of the tube expecting to watch some oversized Neanderthals pummel each other into powder.
Life was good until I turned on my picture box. Did I see massive men in tights? No!
Did I see beer commercials with their buxom pitch ladies? Hell No!
Instead, I got that wrinkled old fart Dan Rather telling me weíre bombing. Fan-f*%#ing-tastic. Now I know bombs are flying, people are dying and children are crying. But this really pisses me OFF!
Maybe Iím being a little insensitive here, but footballís only on one day a week. That leaves six other days that are perfectly acceptable. G.W. Bush could have been a little more considerate and ordered this assault on a more convenient night, like Tuesday for instance. Hell, thereís no football and all the TV shows suck.
And as if cutting football off isnít bad enough, the news shows donít have any good pictures of shit blowing up. Whatís up with that, yo? Donít we have any reporters with big enough balls to get close up pictures of the action? Then at least di@*-head Dan Rather could use his tele-strater to point things out to us, a-la John Madden. I could sort of get my weekly violence fix, and in between explosions they could cut to beer commercials with their tight-shirted beer broads. Oh man, that would be sooo cool!
Now Iím really frustrated, and I know Iím not the only one. All over the country beer bellied men are pissing and moaning. If you stick your ear out the window, I sure you can hear it. It probably sounds like little girls crying, but trust me its men.
Well, Iíve got that off my chest, but now what am I going to do with the rest of my day? Maybe Iíll watch the Lifetime channel and get in touch with my feminine side? What the hell, it couldnít hurt.
(P.s. This was satire, in case you didnít get it. I just thought that a lot of people were actually thinking those things, and to put into words would be kinda funny.
To our military personnel, Iíd like to say fly high, aim straight and come home safe. Amen.)
If you have no questions or fears about your abilities, then you will learn nothing from your mistakes and know nothing about your limitations.