Monday, August 13, 2018

Some incisive social commentary here.

A plurality of Americans call sneakers tennis shoes although we don’t wear them for tennis but with a polo shirt to go shopping. While wearing a baseball cap. You may not be old enough to remember this, but until pretty recently the only people who wore baseball caps were actual ballplayers, children, and peculiar older men riding the bus in ratty overcoats. Some of these men knew how to miraculously retrieve nickels from your ear. I’m not sure this happens so much anymore. Apparently there was a time when little boys’ heads contained nickels, but those days are long gone.

Monday, August 6, 2018

Baseball player or jazz musician?

Roscoe Tarp. Robert “Pete” Roberts. Boozy McAllister. Norb Fenstermacher. Todd Lumbar. Fats Rotunda. Scoopy Maxwell. Schmuck Delafontaine. Bud “Hammertone” Case. Stuff Smotewell. Marzipan Doop. Dwight Spittle. Alonzo De Havilland. Culpable Tom Boxout. Monk Armbruster. Aramis Ramirez. Skrote Penumbra.  Fieldmarshall Marshall. Blotto Kirkpatrick. Spanky Molybdenum. Harper Snoo. Uncle Joe Rosenzweig. Toledo Joe Rosenzweig. Big Joe Rosenzweig. Little Joe Rosenzweig. Infinitesimal Joe Rosenzweig. Snapdragon VanOrpp. Biff “Anteater” Wexler. Fantomas Lopez. Spats Muffuletta. Thorpe “Thorpy” Thorpner. Aquafina Akimbo. Mopey Figg. Pancreatitis Jones. Walt Fidget. Sweets Underhammer. Kleek Quigley. Topaz Ambrosia. Bo Foy. Doc Sphagnum. Euclid “Nibbles” McGee. Halliburton Embarcadero. Ajax Weft. Eeph Crimple.

Monday, July 30, 2018

e(n)tymology

Down in the colony, every worker is considered one of the queen’s sisters. They care for the little baby workers, their nieces. That’s why they are named ants. It’s spelled that way because there is no U in team, and these gals are nothing if not dedicated team players, spending so much time swarming on kitchen counters that we call them Formica. Then there’s this: Back in Bible times, ancient Hittite warriors who had successfully pillaged Israelite towns would get home and lord it over the rest of the folks, tending to act sort of snooty. Hence the term Haifa-lootin’.

Monday, July 23, 2018

the fine print

By reading any word in this sentence, you have agreed to the following statement: I accept the terms of the 100 Word Rant User Agreement, which I have never seen, including any and all future additions and changes. I further hold 100 Word Rant free from any legal, moral, ethical, or emotional liability for damages including but not restricted to hailstorms, papercuts, vague feelings of doubt and anxiety, mass extinctions, and unnerving encounters with extremely sketchy door-to-door roofing contractors. It is obvious to me that this contract is totally legit and would certainly be admissible in a court of law.

Monday, July 16, 2018

New jobs for unemployed ICE agents

A stay at Auschwitz, the global gold standard for shitty experiences, left Viktor Frankl with this thought: “Freedom, however, is not the last word. Freedom is only part of the story and half of the truth. Freedom is but the negative aspect of the whole phenomenon whose positive aspect is responsibleness. In fact, freedom is in danger of degenerating into mere arbitrariness unless it is lived in terms of responsibleness. That is why I recommend that the Statue of Liberty on the East Coast be supplemented by a Statue of Responsibility on the West Coast.” I say let’s build it.

Monday, July 9, 2018

Plus, who named this thing?

I’m unhappy to learn that the pink fairy armadillo may be threatened. You just need to look at one to know that it’s not going to threaten you back. It looks like a chipmunk on Halloween or a crappy cosplay gerbil at a rodent sci-fi convention. It has pink armor about two sizes too small just draped over its shoulders like those European guys do with their sweater. It’s got disproportionately large pink turtle feet, like a toddler wearing her dad’s sneakers. If hamsters ever decided to make a low-budget horror movie this is what the monster would look like.

Monday, July 2, 2018

Sit. Stay. Speak.

What’s so great about passive longevity, like “third generation farmer” or “family-owned in the same location for 75 years?” When you brag on how long you’ve stayed put, it seems to me you’re kind of saying, “My grandparents were driven by some blend of determination, desperation, grit, gumption, necessity and just plain stupidity to uproot themselves and start from scratch in a place where everything from the food to the language to the smell of the dirt itself was strange and new. But not me. I’m nothing like that.” Meanwhile, we got folks exactly like that waiting at the border.