Imperfect Ten

Liebe Freunde,

Sorry for the absence of a post last weekend, but it was Christmas, and I was busy stuffing pie into my piehole. The last time I blogged was before the holidays, so I hope you had a merry Christmas. Oh, and a real horrowshow Hanukkah to all my, like, yahoodie droogs. It was our first Christmas without Kim Jong-il, but we got through it OK. Actually, my Christmas was fabulous, and my Grandmother’s behavior over Skype was especially delightful. Her country-fried charm was not lost in translation, and she was as thoroughly offensive as ever. The new year is here, and now it is back into the snake pit for another year of travels and travails. Apart from failing to pour Eggnog over a bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats, I think I accomplished everything I set out to do this holiday season.

This last month of 2011 was especially successful for my zany little blog, and I wanted you to know how grateful I am that you are reading it. I’ve learned that most people find my disgusting perspective quite refreshing, like a cold beer on a hot Christmas morning, as Homer once mused. I can’t remember of that is from The Odyssey or The Simpsons, but whatever, it is a minor detail. I guess being a shallow jerk it is nullified by my comedic honesty, and for your forbearance and willingness to enable my bad behavior, I am much obliged. I think I bear a foul standard that most others do not even want to touch, but are happy to salute in some way. This much quality has not been jammed into a small vessel since Commodore Nutt took the stage with P.T. Barnum. A million points if you got that.

Actually, one of the only “real” complaints I’ve encountered from this blog occurred the other night. A lovely young woman, whom I had never met before, was introduced to me by a mutual friend. She had apparently been reading the blog on the recommendation of an unrelated, second mutual friend (meaning I am going to keep the pistols holstered for now) and was less than amused by my pontificating, or by the way I vulgarize common sense. Fair enough. I like to think I mostly go after the fifth-columnist wieners in this country, not anybody worth defending, but whatever. She took a few subtle jabs at me, claiming that I was “brave” for posting the content of the blog. Yet, is somebody really brave if he simply does not care about the consequences of his actions? I think the obvious answer is “yes”, and I am probably one of the most heroic people you will ever meet for it. Thanks for pointing that out, lady. Anyway, she and I exchanged words, then she offered to buy me an (ostensibly) reconciliatory drink, which I declined. Normally I don’t pooh-pooh drinks (I usually have the drink then do that in my trousers later on), but I was about to excuse myself from the establishment, since my face was about as red as the obnoxious pants I had on, due to my liberal imbibing. I then vanished into the obscurity of the crowd, having offended the one girl in the place who wanted to talk to me. Nice going, shithead.

The whole exchange was kind of odd, because a different friend of mine recommended I “let loose” and stop “holding back” when I write.  I am not sure what else I could write about without actively trying to offend people. I feel like nobody reads this blog and agrees with more than 10 percent of it at any given time, but people are just tickled by the brutality of it all. Even still, this guy wants me to get rude, eh? Well, be careful watch you wish for, Chinaman, because I have enough dirt on you to fill the Mariana Trench.

I guess one of the most remarkable things of this past year is the death of all the bad guys. Osama bin Laden, Muammar Gadaffi and Kim Jong-il all bought the farm in 2011. All that is left is Fidel Castro and and a couple of despots in Syria and Iran living on borrowed time. Those scumbags in the Middle East are still on the front page of the papers, but Fidel is nowhere to be found most of the time.  Castro is now like George Steinbrenner in his final years: the family is running the show, and he only shows up to press conferences once in a blue moon, usually in a track suit, and he is kept away from the cameras and the press. While all of these tyrants are most easily united by their common hatred of ‘Merica, many of them were also quite the fashion nuggets.

Muammar Gaddafi was killed by Libyan rebels, and Kim Jong-il died of some undisclosed malady.  Much like Saddam Hussein, who was executed in 2006, these men denied themselves no pleasures, and had an eye for fashion. Legend has it Saddam Hussein used to dress up in a cowboy outfit and watch reruns of The Love Boat.  His stylish black beret and Tom Selleck mustache were fancied by the whole of Arabia, rivaled only by Muammar Gadaffi’s brilliant pairing of Hawaiian shirts and Captain Crunch jackets. His goatee, Jheri curl and reflective, Georgia State Trooper sunglasses only added to his bold and intimidating public image. What sex appeal! A stud like that makes a guy like George Clooney seem like a bumbling clod. And compared to Kim Jong Il? Well, Clooney has the sex appeal of a fart in the bathtub.

Apparently, the Libyan compounds were adorned with paintings of the tyrant locked in combat with most ferocious wild beasts, often depicting a shirtless Colonel Gadaffi (in order to expose his chiseled abs and toned arms) vanquishing lions and tigers with aplomb. Lets talk about our more lately late leader, Kim Jong-il. This was a man of fashion. Similarly, he also had dramatic portraits of himself in state buildings. Kim Jong-il’s paintings were a little more tasteful, though, with depictions of the leader in a white, First Communion suit, sitting at a Steinway grand piano. That’s class. There is no way around it. Sure, he was a violent madman who brutalized his people, but the guy had style. He was truly an iron fist in a velvet glove. The olive drab, Dr. Evil suit alone must have dampened every pair of panties north of the 38th parallel. Great armies marched before him, and the seething masses bowed and kneeled before his majesty as he impassively gazed upon his groveling people through those sunglasses they give you after laser eye surgery. Do we even need to talk about he haircut? Now that the supreme leader is gone, the most fabulously coiffed megalomaniac in the universe is probably Donald Trump.

Remember the beginning of The Naked Gun? When all the evil world leaders are having a summit meeting about thwarting the United States before Lt. Frank Drebin, Police Squad, shows up and cleans house on Mikhail Gorbachev, Idi Amin, Yasser Arafat and Grand Ayatollah Khomeini? I was always hoping something like that would happen in film to Vlad Putin, Kim Jong-il and the other totalitarians I went over. Sadly, between Leslie Nielson’s death and all these 3rd world events, I don’t think thats going to happen.

Happy New Year. Lets hope the Mayans got this one right. As they say in show business, always leave ‘em when you’re looking good -  and it doesn’t get much better looking than this, baby (rubs love handles, high fives everybody in the room)

You know I am right, and you love it.

MJG, his mark, January the 2nd