Crunch Time

People feel loyalty to the weirdest things. A guy who would cheerfully cheat on his wife, sell out his country, and deny his God can go all twitchy when he can't get his favorite brand of toothpaste. Or pickup truck. Hell, I think it'd be easier to teach a chicken to play chess than to get a Dodge man to drive a Ford. Or you know how sometimes you'll find yourself eating the same thing for breakfast for months at a time before switching to another product for a while? My friend Scott calls this ...wait for it... cereal monogamy.

SpokesPersons

I'm confronted with a cognitive dissonance: bike racks on SUVs. I live real close to a bike path, so every weekend I get to see folks pull up, unload their bicycles, check their little bicycle shorts, lace their little bicycle shoes, and take off for their weekend bicycle ride. Okay, I know they didn't get a bicycle to reduce their consumption. They got it so they could have more stuff. The only dissonance is my own. I'm torn between my inclination to laugh, and my passionate desire to sneak up behind them and administer the mother of all spandex wedgies.

The Human Piñata

Guys can be so competitive. That's why Bush had to actually kill more Americans than Osama Bin Laden - even if he had to lie, bully, and line the pockets of his sponsors with billions in squandered tax money to do it. I swear to you, when it comes to pure-D meanness, Bloods and Crips, the Russian Mafia, the Taliban got nothing on this White House Frat Pack. Now they've decided to leave one of their own to twist in the wind. Of course, a 56 year old man who's still called “Scooter” is probably used to it by now.

Spare The Rod. Please.

What’s worse than hearing a song you hate? Hearing a song you love performed by a singer you hate. I’m referring, of course, to Rod Stewart’s absolutely dire versions of songs made famous by performers like Ella Fitzgerald, Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennett. You know… singers. Rod’s renditions are quite popular these days in grocery stores, possibly to keep shoppers moving briskly. But why? Maybe Roderick figures these great tunes will absorb and obscure his lack of talent, much like kitty litter clumps up and ameliorates the odor of cat urine. But the pungent reek of limey has-been is overwhelming.