Helping America not get anything done When I'm trying desperately to scrape up material for this column, I turn to the Internet, as I have a computer in front of me at work, just like most other Americans. This particular morning the Sultan of Silliness dominating the bandwidth of our nation is still Cliven Bundy, the rootin' tootin' gun-shootin' rancher in Nevada who recently blamed his racial insensitivity on the late Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., who, Bundy claimed, "didn't finish his job."
Ahem...that's because he was shot to death by a white guy, Cliven. Bundy is dumber than the endangered tortoises his cattle step on, or even Ted Nugent, is what I'm thinking.
So maybe I could scribble about him, but from the looks of my search engine, everybody else already has. High-mindedly, I could write about LA Clippers owner Donald Sterling, who recently upbraided his girlfriend for "associating with black people." The LA Clippers, for those of you not up on the world of sports, are a basketball team. Sterling could fairly be compared to the owner of a landscaping company telling his wife "Don't let me see you with any Mexicans," or the head of the math department at a major university telling his main squeeze "Don't be taking any Twitter pics with Asian guys. Especially ones that wear glasses."
Or I could comment on the fact that the Catholic Church is delivering two saints at the same time,the late Popes John XXIII and John Paul II, meaning that the One True Church is now adopting the same marketing strategy as Domino's Pizza.
But before I get too lost in the thickets of research required to compose something coherent on these subjects, I need to click on "Top Ten Sexiest Pictures of Kelly Cuoco," because, while I have seen plenty of sexy pictures of Kelly Cuoco, as any heterosexual male with an Internet connection who is not legally blind has, I need to appreciate the efforts of the person who has selected the top ten cheesecake shots of the sitcom star and then went the extra mile and ranked them in order of prurience. Having completed this task, I am ready to return to business, when my eye falls upon "The Top 7 Dexter Sex Scenes."
I never was really much of a Dexter fan, but my Significant Other is, or was, and me clicking through Dexter's sex scenes will be pure balm to our relationship, which is a tad rocky this morning because she yelled at me last night when she caught me watching "Freak Show," a program she apparently hates. I pointed out loudly that I don't yell at her when I catch her watching "Say Yes to the Dress," although I feel it would be completely appropriate and deserved.
Now it occurs to me that we were only fighting over the TV because we had quit watching the baseball game because our team was in the throes of another disgusting loss in which they proved they could probably not hit a double-parked panel truck with their bats, let alone a baseball. Better check to see if they managed an unlikely rally. They didn't, but sports sites really know their audiences. Now I see links to "Behind the Tanlines," "Kate Upton's Red Carpet Looks," and "Swimsuit Model Cris Urena Gallery." I've never heard of Ms. Urena, but one glance at her thumbnail is enough to see that her breasts are a marvel of natural selection, or at worst, a demonstration of surgical expertise of the highest order. I click onher first picture. She is resting on a fishing net on tropical sands, with a look of faraway lust in her eyes, while a Caribbean looking black guy in the background is stitching up holes in the fishing net, holes he and Cris have probably torn into it in the throes of their mad passions. This is a guy who looks like he probably has an annual income in the high three figures, loses all of his possessions and relatives in a hurricane every three or four years and has never been further off the flea-ridden island he lives on than he can paddle, but you can't help but think "There goes one lucky bastard," as you gaze at the picture. When you finally finish clicking through the Urena portfolio, you realize that the last page is fully of links inviting you to click on other swimsuit model's galleries, and when you do that, you figure out that still other links to other galleries await, and that you are on the brink of a labyrinth along whose twisting paths lie the pictures of every single attractive bikinied woman ever posted on the Internet.
See you at dinner.
Ahem...that's because he was shot to death by a white guy, Cliven. Bundy is dumber than the endangered tortoises his cattle step on, or even Ted Nugent, is what I'm thinking.
So maybe I could scribble about him, but from the looks of my search engine, everybody else already has. High-mindedly, I could write about LA Clippers owner Donald Sterling, who recently upbraided his girlfriend for "associating with black people." The LA Clippers, for those of you not up on the world of sports, are a basketball team. Sterling could fairly be compared to the owner of a landscaping company telling his wife "Don't let me see you with any Mexicans," or the head of the math department at a major university telling his main squeeze "Don't be taking any Twitter pics with Asian guys. Especially ones that wear glasses."
Or I could comment on the fact that the Catholic Church is delivering two saints at the same time,the late Popes John XXIII and John Paul II, meaning that the One True Church is now adopting the same marketing strategy as Domino's Pizza.
But before I get too lost in the thickets of research required to compose something coherent on these subjects, I need to click on "Top Ten Sexiest Pictures of Kelly Cuoco," because, while I have seen plenty of sexy pictures of Kelly Cuoco, as any heterosexual male with an Internet connection who is not legally blind has, I need to appreciate the efforts of the person who has selected the top ten cheesecake shots of the sitcom star and then went the extra mile and ranked them in order of prurience. Having completed this task, I am ready to return to business, when my eye falls upon "The Top 7 Dexter Sex Scenes."
I never was really much of a Dexter fan, but my Significant Other is, or was, and me clicking through Dexter's sex scenes will be pure balm to our relationship, which is a tad rocky this morning because she yelled at me last night when she caught me watching "Freak Show," a program she apparently hates. I pointed out loudly that I don't yell at her when I catch her watching "Say Yes to the Dress," although I feel it would be completely appropriate and deserved.
Now it occurs to me that we were only fighting over the TV because we had quit watching the baseball game because our team was in the throes of another disgusting loss in which they proved they could probably not hit a double-parked panel truck with their bats, let alone a baseball. Better check to see if they managed an unlikely rally. They didn't, but sports sites really know their audiences. Now I see links to "Behind the Tanlines," "Kate Upton's Red Carpet Looks," and "Swimsuit Model Cris Urena Gallery." I've never heard of Ms. Urena, but one glance at her thumbnail is enough to see that her breasts are a marvel of natural selection, or at worst, a demonstration of surgical expertise of the highest order. I click onher first picture. She is resting on a fishing net on tropical sands, with a look of faraway lust in her eyes, while a Caribbean looking black guy in the background is stitching up holes in the fishing net, holes he and Cris have probably torn into it in the throes of their mad passions. This is a guy who looks like he probably has an annual income in the high three figures, loses all of his possessions and relatives in a hurricane every three or four years and has never been further off the flea-ridden island he lives on than he can paddle, but you can't help but think "There goes one lucky bastard," as you gaze at the picture. When you finally finish clicking through the Urena portfolio, you realize that the last page is fully of links inviting you to click on other swimsuit model's galleries, and when you do that, you figure out that still other links to other galleries await, and that you are on the brink of a labyrinth along whose twisting paths lie the pictures of every single attractive bikinied woman ever posted on the Internet.
See you at dinner.
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