Last night the boys and I had our own official men's night out which consisted of lots of jumping, running, and falling off of the big plastic spaceships and planets in the play area of the Tuttle Mall (as Jack's t-ball game was cancelled due to rain), some time at the book store, and of course the official eating of the ceremonial cookie which has traditionally marked the adjournment of the men's night out festivites. It's all very dignified. Next time we hope to incorporate pyrotechnical elements into the closing ceremonies. And probably dancing bears with little hats and vests on, carrying umbrellas. Or midgets boxing. The committee has not yet reached full agreement.
Anyway, as we were driving home and the boys were nodding off in the back seat, I was listeing to local talk radio wherre they were having a Final Four of annoying celebrities. The concept was some kind of bracket, whereby annoying celebrities and public figures were pitted against one another in order to determine just exactly who holds the distinguished title of most annoying person. The names callers proposed were largely predictable: Michael Jackson, Bill O'Reilly, Anna Nicole Smith, Barbara Streisand, Michael Moore... you get the point.
As I was listening, I couldn't help but think how totally awesome it would be to call up and suggest the names of individuals who are regarded with virtually universal respect and admiration. How hilarious would that be? Of course the trick would be to maintain an aura of complete sincerity:
"Yeah, this is T-Bone from the southside. Long time listener first time caller- Love the show, man. Thanks for taking my call. Alright, here's my Final Four-
Nelson Mandela- Ok. We get it. You were wrongfully imprisoned. Get over it already. And what's with the big baggy crazy print shirts? So when you got out of bed this morning you put on regular pants, but left the pajama shirt on? Nelson, buddy... it's called the Men's Wearhouse. Look into it.
And how about that Stephen Hawking guy- could this guy get any more pretensious? 'Oooh, look at me! I'm so smart. I've made greater contributions to mankind's understanding of the universe than anyone in the world and I did it all without the use of my lower extremities'. He's always doing that robot thing with his voice and he's all like 'I-INVENTED-BLACK-HOLES-AND-TIME-MACHINES-AND-I-CAN'T-EVEN-MOVE-MY-NECK-BUT-YES-I-WOULD-LIKE-FRIES-WITH-THAT-HA-HA-YOU-RETARDS-E=MC2' And what's with the wheel chair? Shouldn't he be able to levitate or something?
Next, I got Ghandi. Dude wait wait wait. It's totally not just cause he's a muslim. Seriously, dude. It's just a fashion thing. Whose this guy's stylist? It's like this, if you're going to roll with the whole "second-century tunic and sandals" vibe that's cool, but then you can't wear the little wire rimmed glasses. It totally breaks character! It's like that guy from cheap trick who wears a suit and tie with a baseball hat. You can't do that. Ghandi, my man. Either lose the glasses or get a coduroy jacket with elbow patches and a turtle neck. And grow a soul patch. You'd look like an english professor or something. Clothes make the man, my friend. Clothes make the man.
Alright and here's my last one: Mother Theresea. 'I help poor people. I give food to people who don't have any. I'm all short and old and whatnot'. I'm kidding! I'm kidding! No, really- I'm all about helping poor people and stuff. She's nice. But Theresea, I've got one word for you:
MOISTURIZER.
EXFOLIATION.
MICRODERM ABRASION.
I mean seriously... yikes.
That's it, dudes. Love the show. Catch you on the flipside. T-bone out!"
But I didn't call and say any of those things.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)