In a distinctly out-of-character move, I turned on the television tonight while I was eating, only to see a breathtaking display of incompetence and stupidity by Wolf Blitzer. Let me preface my thought with the disclosure that while I was eating lunch today, I stumbled upon CSPAN caught in a rare moment of excitement: Rep. Patrick Kennedy screaming and pointing in a tirade against the media’s coverage of the war and of Congress. Kennedy was expressing frustration at the fact that political news had been covering Eric Massa’s labyrinth of inanity for nearly two days; Kennedy decried the fact that the war in Afghanistan receives almost no coverage nowadays.
Later, at dinner, Wolf Blitzer brought up the video to two “political analysts” who Blitzer had been asking to give advice to President Obama. Blitzer played the video (embedded in page) , in which Kennedy steamed,
If anyone wants to know where the cynicism is, there’s two press people in this gallery! We’re talking about Eric Massa 24/7 on the TV. We’re talking about war and peace — $3 billion, 1,000 lives — and no press, no press. It’s despicable, the national press corps right now.
The responses of the two guests were tepid and uninspired, as if they were hungry and wanted to go home and play in their cribs. Then, immediately after the video showing this forceful tirade against the failure of the press, Blitzer turns to his side: “Next, we have actress Reese Witherspoon on to talk about women in the world,” or something—-I threw the channel-changer at the TV as soon as I saw Reese Witherspoon. Really, Wolf? You just heard Patrick Kennedy screaming about the press covering petty, puerile shit like the Eric Massa debacle, and then you immediately cut to Reese Witherspoon, a CELEBRITY who doesn’t know DICK about, well, ANYTHING? I don’t even have anything to say. So I drew a picture.
Dear Wolf Blitzer,
Sincerely, all thinking human beings
Dearest Jonathan Thomas Bonfiglio,
How naive of you to voice such opinions on the beating of weeds (weed whacking, for those unfamiliar with landscaping vernacular), the esoteric discipline underlying all believed “basic tenets” of the American Dream. When you said these things to me, blasphemous as they were, I did not turn my back on you–nay, I held my tongue in order to better present to you the heavenly visage of weedbeating. Shall I start with your obvious lack of weedbeating experience Your ungrateful opinion of a long day spent whacking plants? Or your hasty stereotyping of a concept so existential, you cannot wrap your thick neck around it, let alone that vacuous head of yours. And, for your own sake, I will not delve into your nascent view of protective eyeglasses, so that none of our contemporaries, save me, will ever have to look upon that hideous eyewear more befitting for an insectoid version of Frankenstein. Continue reading
Growing up, I figured I would probably get to 5’8 or so. Respectable size. Choice of small or medium shirt, depending on the tone I wanted to give off. Small: I’m tough/Medium: I’m tough, yet casual. Unfortunately for me, I’m done at 5’4. I don’t even hit the 5’4 mark on most rulers. It’s really my dad’s fault–he should’ve swallowed his pride and married a woman of equal/greater height. With my mom being 5’1 (and shrinking daily as she ages), I was invariably doomed from the start.
But really, being short isn’t bad at all. There’s just one thing I’ve yet to come to terms with: t-shirt sizes. You’ve surely noticed that XXL and above will run you an extra $2 when buying a run-of-the-mill t-shirt. But why the fuck should I pay the same as some fat motherfucker who needs a large? There is certainly a discrepancy in material used, perhaps as much as 45%. The whole world’s against me, and there’s nothing to do but give the deadbeat cashier tramp a scornful look as I watch my Hanes ring up at $5.99, while peering over to the next counter, where a 5’8 200 pounder, diabetes and heart disease affiliate, gets his XL for the same price.
Life doesn’t always have to be an uphill battle. Some people just make it that way. Take, for instance, those who elect to use the poorly laid-out and time-consuming ramp at Ralph’s ice cream in Lincroft. (Refer to image 1-A for situational layout. Ramp route is shown by red arrow, and is conducted on a 52 degree incline.)
Customers at Ralph’s are privy to two choices of ascending the 7 foot platform that the ice cream fortress sits upon. Most people, upon stepping down from their cars onto the gravel parking lot, will instantly realize the efficiency of the 5-step staircase that leads up to the ordering window. Others, whether unconsciously or by an errant thought process, will inexorably take the ramp. I always want to say something to these antichrist figures that ruin my faith in humanity…but I never will, mainly because I am a staunch proponent of natural selection, but also mainly because I am probably engaging in some form of tobacco and I know they’ll just judge me. But if I could jsut reach out to them once to ask them…WHAT ARE YOU DOING? SOMEBODY GET HIM OUTTA HERE. EVERY FUCKING TIME I COME TO THIS GODFORSAKEN ICE JOINT AND I’M SITTING QUIETLY AT ONE OF THE WROUGHT-IRON ROUND TABLES ENJOYING MYSELF I SEE ONE OF YOU FUCKIN IMBECILES TRY TO TAKE THE RAMP. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? DO YOU WANT TO DIE? DON’T YOU REALIZE GOD WILL PUNISH YOU FOR YOUR DISGRACEFUL ACT OF WASTING 15-20 SECONDS OF YOUR TIME? SERIOUSLY, GET OFF THE GODDAMN RAMP AND JUST GET BACK IN YOUR CAR. YOU NEED TO TAKE A GOOD HARD LOOK AT WHAT YOU’RE DOING WITH YOUR LIFE AND RE-EVALUATE YOUR PRIORITIES. YOU’RE A DANGER TO SOCIETY AND A THREAT TO OUR CHILDREN. I HOPE THE NEXT TIME YOU TAKE THE RAMP ITS PLANKS CAVE IN AND YOU FALL INTO AN ENDLESS ABYSSAL PIT OF SULPHUROUS FIRE AND TORTURE.
So get your Vanilla Swirl and get the fuck out of my town. Don’t trip on the way down, asshole. I hate you.
I was coming home from work when I came across one of my co-workers. He was slumped over on the side of the road with an altoids case in his hand. I was confident he was dead and because of the fact I didn’t like him, I walked past him. I’m about ten feet away from him when suddenly he’s right behind me asking if I wanted to do something sweet. This is where my life will completely change, forever. Main reason…: Continue reading
I really wish global warming would affect my toilet seat. I’m tired of sitting down to relieve myself, only to feel as if I were receiving a rim job from a polar bear. Companies have tried to invent something that would warm one’s toilet seat, but none have succeeded. To be honest, I don’t see what’s so fucking hard. I just want to… Continue reading