Saturday Morning Caffeine-Fueled Rant
OK, now we can add my suggestion – give-another-gold-medal-to-the-South-Korean-Gymnast - to my list of things, including my prediction of Olympics construction fiascos, Madonna’s career, the longevity of rap and Dr. Phil’s show to the seemingly endless list of things I was wrong about.
Apparently gymnastics is one sorry mistake ridden sport. In review, the guy whining about the judging mistake was way over-scored anyway and shouldn’t have won even with the extra point for the degree of difficulty.
The F.I.G. (Federation Internationale de Gymnastics) makes the C.I.A. look like the tightest run ship since the Constitution, Old Ironsides. The F.I.G. screws things up tighter than a Joan Rivers face-lift, and they send an annoying ode-to-passive-aggression missive passing the buck to Paul Hamm to save their bacon.
In case you were wondering:
If you want an explanation for the decline of U.S. Olympic basketball fortunes, look no further than the wild, deliriously happy dance celebration by the Lithuanian men following their win over our N.B.A whiners. The one and only time our players have probably ever danced-for-joy like that was after they signed their first shoe deal.
No kidding, there I was, working out on the bike at the gym - like the aerobic grinder that I am - watching the U.S. men’s hoop team mire in ignominy, when person after person, from teenagers, to senior citizens, would walk by, look at the score and make remarks that ranged from; “Who cares?” all the way to; “It serves those spoiled jerks right.”
Not exactly the nationwide heartache followed by the tragic rip-off loss-at-the-hands-of-the-crooked-refs of the 1972 Olympic basketball team. (My buddy Woody messing with the lights, is why they lost, by the way)
Good lord, get dressed
How about those nothing-to-the-imagination-track-body suits? Man. Not to put too fine a point on it, but, as a slightly disgusted heterosexual male, some of those guys look like they are packing a lunch.
Good thing they didn’t have those suits back when Edwin Moses ran. Even in those old school shorts – granted they had the Daisy Duke shortness thing going, at least they were fairly loose – Edwin still looked like he had a stowaway.
Were Edwin running today, the announcer would have a perfect segway:
“And here is Edwin Moses. Which reminds us, folks, “Anaconda 2” is now playing in a theater near you.”
Bar talk
What was your most hated pop song ever? The Seventies had some that were hard to beat. The song that went from good to worst, due to sheer over-play, had to be Elton John’s; “Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me.”
However, for my money, it was, without doubt, Starland Vocal Band’s “Afternoon Delight.”
At the start of that summer, a hot girl I was seeing (By "seeing" meaning that horrible, smitten, puppy dog-like state before you know what you’re doing, if you know what I mean, kind of way) “broke up” with me before heading up to Michigan to be a camp counselor for the Summer.
Her ex-boyfriend also happened to be returning to the camp; every time I heard that nausea and diabetes inducing “Afternoon Delight,” I would picture those two going at it, all sun-burnt and sweaty in some musty cabin, probably named "Pine Cone," like a couple of bunnies on crack; it would make me rage with the kind of white-hot-hysteria that fuels Libertarians, serial murderers and soccer moms who are late for Palates.
But the song was kind of catchy, especially the way they rhymed skyrockets in flight with afternoon delight. You can really almost hear the Pepsident smile in their voices.
Here you go. See if you can decifer the clever double entendres and share the pain:
Gonna find my baby, gonna hold her tight
Gonna grab some afternoon delight
My motto's always been 'when it's right, it's right'
Why wait until the middle of a cold dark night?
When everything's a little clearer in the light of day
And we know the night is always gonna be there any way
Thinkin' of you's workin' up my appetite
Looking forward to a little afternoon delight
Rubbin' sticks and stones together makes the sparks ingite
And the thought of lovin' you is getting so exciting
Sky rockets in flightAfternoon delightAfternoon delight
Afternoon delight
Started out this morning feeling so polite
I always though a fish could not be caught who wouldn't bite
But you've got some bait a waitin' and I think I might try nibbling
A little afternoon delight
Sky rockets in flight
Afternoon delight
Afternoon delight
Afternoon delight
Please be waiting for me, baby, when I come around
We could make a lot of lovin' 'for the sun goes down
Thinkin' of you's workin' up my appetite
Looking forward to a little afternoon delight
Rubbin' sticks and stones together makes the sparks ingite
And the thought of lovin' you is getting so exciting
Sky rockets in flight
Afternoon delight
Afternoon delight
Afternoon delight
Aaaaaaaaafternoon delight!
Feel free to puke like you just ate an entire box of Hostess Ho Ho's washed down with a bottle of Tab.
OK, now we can add my suggestion – give-another-gold-medal-to-the-South-Korean-Gymnast - to my list of things, including my prediction of Olympics construction fiascos, Madonna’s career, the longevity of rap and Dr. Phil’s show to the seemingly endless list of things I was wrong about.
Apparently gymnastics is one sorry mistake ridden sport. In review, the guy whining about the judging mistake was way over-scored anyway and shouldn’t have won even with the extra point for the degree of difficulty.
The F.I.G. (Federation Internationale de Gymnastics) makes the C.I.A. look like the tightest run ship since the Constitution, Old Ironsides. The F.I.G. screws things up tighter than a Joan Rivers face-lift, and they send an annoying ode-to-passive-aggression missive passing the buck to Paul Hamm to save their bacon.
In case you were wondering:
If you want an explanation for the decline of U.S. Olympic basketball fortunes, look no further than the wild, deliriously happy dance celebration by the Lithuanian men following their win over our N.B.A whiners. The one and only time our players have probably ever danced-for-joy like that was after they signed their first shoe deal.
No kidding, there I was, working out on the bike at the gym - like the aerobic grinder that I am - watching the U.S. men’s hoop team mire in ignominy, when person after person, from teenagers, to senior citizens, would walk by, look at the score and make remarks that ranged from; “Who cares?” all the way to; “It serves those spoiled jerks right.”
Not exactly the nationwide heartache followed by the tragic rip-off loss-at-the-hands-of-the-crooked-refs of the 1972 Olympic basketball team. (My buddy Woody messing with the lights, is why they lost, by the way)
Good lord, get dressed
How about those nothing-to-the-imagination-track-body suits? Man. Not to put too fine a point on it, but, as a slightly disgusted heterosexual male, some of those guys look like they are packing a lunch.
Good thing they didn’t have those suits back when Edwin Moses ran. Even in those old school shorts – granted they had the Daisy Duke shortness thing going, at least they were fairly loose – Edwin still looked like he had a stowaway.
Were Edwin running today, the announcer would have a perfect segway:
“And here is Edwin Moses. Which reminds us, folks, “Anaconda 2” is now playing in a theater near you.”
Bar talk
What was your most hated pop song ever? The Seventies had some that were hard to beat. The song that went from good to worst, due to sheer over-play, had to be Elton John’s; “Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me.”
However, for my money, it was, without doubt, Starland Vocal Band’s “Afternoon Delight.”
At the start of that summer, a hot girl I was seeing (By "seeing" meaning that horrible, smitten, puppy dog-like state before you know what you’re doing, if you know what I mean, kind of way) “broke up” with me before heading up to Michigan to be a camp counselor for the Summer.
Her ex-boyfriend also happened to be returning to the camp; every time I heard that nausea and diabetes inducing “Afternoon Delight,” I would picture those two going at it, all sun-burnt and sweaty in some musty cabin, probably named "Pine Cone," like a couple of bunnies on crack; it would make me rage with the kind of white-hot-hysteria that fuels Libertarians, serial murderers and soccer moms who are late for Palates.
But the song was kind of catchy, especially the way they rhymed skyrockets in flight with afternoon delight. You can really almost hear the Pepsident smile in their voices.
Here you go. See if you can decifer the clever double entendres and share the pain:
Gonna find my baby, gonna hold her tight
Gonna grab some afternoon delight
My motto's always been 'when it's right, it's right'
Why wait until the middle of a cold dark night?
When everything's a little clearer in the light of day
And we know the night is always gonna be there any way
Thinkin' of you's workin' up my appetite
Looking forward to a little afternoon delight
Rubbin' sticks and stones together makes the sparks ingite
And the thought of lovin' you is getting so exciting
Sky rockets in flightAfternoon delightAfternoon delight
Afternoon delight
Started out this morning feeling so polite
I always though a fish could not be caught who wouldn't bite
But you've got some bait a waitin' and I think I might try nibbling
A little afternoon delight
Sky rockets in flight
Afternoon delight
Afternoon delight
Afternoon delight
Please be waiting for me, baby, when I come around
We could make a lot of lovin' 'for the sun goes down
Thinkin' of you's workin' up my appetite
Looking forward to a little afternoon delight
Rubbin' sticks and stones together makes the sparks ingite
And the thought of lovin' you is getting so exciting
Sky rockets in flight
Afternoon delight
Afternoon delight
Afternoon delight
Aaaaaaaaafternoon delight!
Feel free to puke like you just ate an entire box of Hostess Ho Ho's washed down with a bottle of Tab.
posted by Alex at
10:53 AM
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