We hop skippity on the flip flop dippity, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers
A new law allows guns in Louisiana churches. Parishioners have already begun to wear WWJP bracelets, What Would Jesus Pack?
Last week in Vienna, we traded ten Russian spies for four of our spies. And I’m not so sure of the quality of the spies we got in return. One of them only has a license to bitch.
Last week in Vienna, we traded ten Russian spies for just four of our spies. The news of this six- spy discrepancy left me shaken, but not stirred.
Spain beat the Netherlands 1-0 to win the World Cup. In Barcelona people grabbed and kissed strangers, chugged wine, women tore off their clothes and danced naked. When asked how long they plan to celebrate the World Cup win, they said; “What World Cup win?”
Country singer Carrie Underwood married hockey player Mike Fisher. You know who will really benefit from the union of country music fans and hockey fans? Dentists.
Last week in Vienna, we traded ten Russian spies for just four of our spies. It goes to show you we still have spies and they could be anyone. Isn’t that right, red lion nine, red lion nine? The long shark swims far from shore, proceed with necessary force, over.
Many of the countries who had a great World Cup were from smaller countries, like semi-finalist Uruguay whose population is the same as San Diego. It just goes to show, in soccer, it’s not the size of the dog in the fight, it’s whether the dog can fake an injury, flop and play dead.
BP is reporting it has finally put the cap on the oil spill. About time, even FEMA is saying; “Dudes, what took so long?”
I miss the World Cup so much, I decided to hang out at the pier and watch the fisherman haul in their fish just so I could see something flop.
Last week in Vienna, we traded ten Russian spies for four of our spies. And I’m not so sure of the quality of the spies we got in return. One of the male spies has the codename: Lady Gaga.
Last week in Vienna, we traded ten Russian spies for four of our spies. And I’m not so sure of the quality of the spies we got in return. One of them has a bad case of athlete’s ear from talking into his shoe.
A man in Boston was arrested after breaking into an ATM and then getting stuck. Apparently he forgot his PIN-code was: dumbass.
Sadly, New York Yankee owner, George Steinbrenner, died at 80 of a heart attack. This came as a shock to many. Steinbrenner had a heart?
Since you asked:
It doesn’t happen often enough, but it is wonderful when it does. You know that feeling when you feel great, you’re smiling, and suddenly it seems like you are in one big, sappy soft drink commercial, or, god forbid, a Disney sitcom?
For some people this feeling happens all the time, I suspect Barack Obama and Matthew McConaughey are guilty of that, for others it has never come.
The first time it happened to me, I was walking down the main hall of my high school. It was spring of my junior year, finals were just over, I had a great football and track season, a brief series of cute girlfriends and I was on my way to California to compete in the Junior National Decathlon.
There was a song in my heart and a bounce in my step as I high-fived strangers, waved at friends, whistled a tune and even danced a wee jig.
Later that feeling didn’t come again until I was at UC Santa Barbara, but then it came all the time. By my senior year I was in track, rush chairman of the top fraternity, waiting tables at a popular restaurant, a big brother at the hottest sorority and going to great classes finishing up my communications degree. Every stroll through campus felt like it was to the vapid 80’s song “Walking on Sunshine.”
Then when I moved to New York, it took a while to get my bearings, but once I did, I would stroll through SOHO and Little Italy listening to Dire Straits “Wild West End” on my (about to date myself) Walkman and window shopping on a crisp Fall day.
Now after a great session of Stand Up Paddle surfing at Torrey Pines or La Jolla Shores, or after a great workout, as I am pouring a nice drink and getting ready to grill for good friends at sunset, that same feeling comes coursing through my veins when the music from my outdoor speakers pumps out Stones, Clapton, Petty , Bruce or Zep.
You know that amazing, naturally buzzed, glad-to-be-alive, lighter-than-air, eating-an-apple-while-skipping, start-of-the-Stones' "Tumbling Dice", happy-go-lucky feeling?
Yesterday I didn’t feel one f*cking thing like that.