Read Cautiously

You know what’s stupid? The phrase “drink responsibly” is stupid. You know why? Of course you do. It’s stupid because the whole entire point of drinking is to escape responsibility. Like anything else, drinking should be engaged in with unflinching dedication and a wholehearted commitment to getting this damn thing done right. By “right” I mean waking up with teeth that taste like tiny ashtrays and a vague awareness that at some point in the recent past you have done something absolutely unforgivable. Drink responsibly? Then what - nap resolutely? It could probably be done, but what would be the point?

I am risen, too. Barely.

Yesterday I observed my traditional Easter fast, subsisting entirely on chocolate and hard boiled eggs. As a consequence, this morning I find myself morose and dyspeptic. Plus, this ain't a good day for reading the news. The guy who made up the phrase “clams got legs” is dead. And in France, this politician whose name sounds like some kind of inoperable malignancy is convincing voters that a get-tough immigration policy is what's needed. Which is pretty bold talk coming from a Magyar halfbreed. You know what they say: Any time you meet a Hungarian, kick him. He'll know why.

A Plague of Fries?

Here's a trivial factoid that will likely leap to the top of your “I will never need this knowledge” list: There is a kosher McDonald's in Buenos Aires. My source gives me very little additional information, but I'm assuming you can't get a cheeseburger there. A Big Mac would be out of the question. Maybe a “Big Mo,” a kind of glorified Hillel Sandwich, plus some kind of wine smoothie to wash it down. Print a Haggadah on the placemat. Really, the idea is no more sacrilegious than the McRib. Now there's an abomination in the eyes of the Lord.

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.