To fully Americanize this experience the Fox television network will televise the entire "peace process" with the same level of coverage that the industry devoted to the OJ trial. In fact maybe OJ can be part of this. If the surgeries go as well as expected we could develop the first international, reality TV show. The winner gets to marry OJ. Will it be Saddam or the crazy Korean bastard that wins the love of the Juice? We could call the show WHO GETS THE JUICE or THE JUICE JUICES THE JUICERS or better yet THE JUICE LOVES THAT CRAZY KOREAN BASTARD WITH THE FINE TITS. Maybe we move the whole group to Utah and they all get married. Goddamn, I’m ready to join up with this freak show myself. This will be good for at least 2 seasons. We follow up with the entire peace delegation spending 16 explosive episodes with Dr. Phil to work out any petty differences and issues stemming from transgender mutilation. We give the world the television program that brings us all together, Live on Fox! The rights and residuals will generate enough money to rebuild both Afghanistan and Iraq and more importantly it will put our country out in front of the love race instead of leading the pack of jackals in the arms race. Lets give love a chance.
Next week’s installment: I love my SUV & relocating Israel to Iowa (hey, they both begin with an I).
Duct tape, schmuct tape! B.R. McEwen didn't win the gold, but The Spike liked his "mug shots."
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Nick Brunacini
I love J-Lo and Sean
- I’ll take "Mankind’s Greatest Achievements" for $500, Alex.
And the answer, there, is: "To find some conceivable way to sleep with Jennifer Garner."
BEEP BEEP
- Alex, the question is: What is the best incentive to survive a nuclear, biological, or chemical holocaust?
The very best part of my week came on Friday night when I was finally able to redeem my Caffe BoaChristmas gift certificate. I convinced my girlfriend that my Soho Sandwich would have tasted equally as good had I paid for it, out of my pocket. Still, there is some intrinsically sinful aesthetic pleasure to the simplicity of a guiltless account like dining on someone else’s dollar. Then again, simplicity is an endangered discipline. Oh, well. One can always remain optimistic. Maybe the time of simplicity did notexpire the day Seinfeldaired its last episode and Survivorpremiered.
I would be lying to say that I have an agenda to fulfill before I part from this place. Sure, a guy like me has unlimited potential. Still, don’t judge me on the things I have not done in life, or even the things I aspire to do in life. Rather, consider my case because I am perfectly content with the normalcy of my life – always. I find it reassuring to wake up each morning, snuggly nestled in my perfectly functional dysfunction. You’ll find nodelusions of world domination here. You won’t find 30 (or even ten) notches above my bed for each girl I’ve waxed in the sack. And, as much as I admire the machismo bravado of an H2, I find my 1990 Honda Accord simply adequate. Indeed, I happily serve my little community in Mesa. I am proud to have thoroughly enjoyed all eight of the women I’ve been with (that’s eight women – only two drunken one-night stands amongst the whole lot, if you’re keeping score). Moreover, I still get giddy whenever my odometer breaches 400 miles on one tank of gas. It’s true – part of me would love to steal Ben Affleck’s identity, his good looks, and his charm just to spend five minutes with J-Lo. My better judgment, though, contends that after five minutes as Affleck I’d probably be compelled to beat myself senseless.
I am a simple man, a proud American. I take my domestics in a bottle; I live for football on Sundays (don’t care much for twins); and I drool when I see a 1968 Dodge Charger. So, if I am not so fortunate to burrow safely underground, I say "Bring it on, man!" Maybe Phoenix will be lucky enough to host a Justin Timberlake (yeah, I’m an insecure male) concert the day the goods are dropped on the Valley. As for me, simplicity is the order of the day. I like this world, with all its foibles and friction. I treasure my God given right to bitch about the Cardinals. I delight in the enthusiasm with which Sean MacLaughlin feverishly delivers the forecast (40% accurate, on average!). I perk up anytime I see that guy, Howie, kick up his heels and "shoot down the competition." I boycott Starbucks and curse all the pretentious pre-teen Abercrombie zombies. So, what do you think? Am I worth your consideration? If not, would it be too late to appeal to your sense of sympathy for a future law school student? I thought so.
Kelly James Roman
Bring out your dead, bring out your dead.
The nation will finally give credit to the incredible screenplay and immortal words of Kareem Abdul Jabbar in Airplane. As Tom Ridge moves the nation in to "Hot Pink" status, Billy Bob runs to the local market for duct tape.
