Monthly Archives: January 2009

The Army to recruit flabby soldiers – The end is near

Considering the News…

The common American (to say nothing of the extraordinary American) has come to expect very little of his fellow countrymen, and doing so has enabled meager standards and expectations to fashion comfortable homes in every sector of society, something for which we are all ultimately worse off.

From regular consumer services to exotic dance clubs, as a nation we have wholeheartedly nurtured mediocrity, earnestly praised the half-ass-ed-ness warts of society. Now even the most modest of expectations are often greeted with some brand of failure, and yet as Americans we have grown perfectly accustomed to these regular shortcomings.

One must no longer even exert an ounce of energy to earn our deepest sympathies, if not our unbridled respect and admiration. Simply existing in a given place and time suffices these days.

Hey, you son of a bitch, at least you tried. Oh, what, you didn’t even try? Oh well, at least you showed up. Oh what, you didn’t even show up? Well, frankly, I say screw it then. I’m sure you’ll get ’em next time.

But they likely won’t get ’em next time. Or even the next time after that. We know this fact quite well and choose to forgive it rather than redeem it. Yes, it is likely beyond redemption at this point.

Seemingly only televisions, handguns, and breast augmentations consistently achieve new heights of quality; meanwhile just about every other industry fails miserably in its own respective way, which, I suppose, is somewhat of a victory in itself.

Nonetheless, few seem the least bit concerned by this troubling phenomenon, while others refuse to even acknowledge its destructive implications.

The endemic has gotten so severe that even the military appears prepared to accept inferiority. Struggling to maintain adequate troop levels, whatever those may be, The Army has elected to expand physical entry requirements – meaning the chubby dreamers turned away in previous years are now entitled to a handsome signing bonus should they choose to be all they can be.

The next great American war – assuming one looms – will be won not with our country’s best, but behind a hodgepodge of flabby, acne-riddled runts incapable of lettering in any high school sport other than perhaps ping pong.

Perhaps future American victories cannot safely be assumed. The brazen search for war is unwise with a well-trained and fine-tuned army, but it should be avoided like Malaysian syphilis by those feeble nations boasting a flimsy force comprised of the fatigued and the breathless. No, the fatigued and the breathless have won few wars through the course of history.

Should The Army begin lowering its standards today, I shiver in pondering how far it will stoop by the year 2020 or 2030. Surely no “fit” teenagers will still grace the country’s population by then, but the thirst for war will still necessitate the need to recruit someone. Anyone.

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Tim Tebow, future President of the United States?

Considering the News…

I’m now convinced Florida Gators football superstar, American legend, and Christian goodfella, Tim Tebow, will be President a day not too far from today. No doubts. No reservations about that one.

The guy exudes confidence. Spouts leadership. Is to charisma what Amy Winehouse is to crackheads – the definition.

Now some will say, hey, what about him being born in the Philippines? No way he can be President. Just not constitutional. Can’t happen.

Well, such minutiae, no matter how damning, is never impugn to the smearing and twisting of a genuine spin doctor – at least not one worth his or her weight in venom and wax. Was Barack Obama born within domestic borders? Kenya? Malaysia? Hawaii? Ah, who cares, the guy weaves rhetorical gold at the podium. The same will hold true for Florida’s chosen son, the natural hybrid of Abe Lincoln and Johnny Unitas.

Then some will say, hey, the guy’s like 21 years old. That’s way too young to be President.

Yes, such restrictions can hinder progress at times. But what about the Chinese Olympic Gymnastics team? Talent can make 12 the new 16 with few hardships when the right people rework the script. Thus I’m confident Tebow can smile and fist-pump his way to 40 in no time. Little effort required, to say the least.

Then some might say, hey, can he even win any southern state other than Florida after pummeling their football teams every year for seemingly an entire decade?

Football is next to religion down south, and Tebow’s dominance makes him somewhat of a demagogue in the region. Touchdowns are the new doctrine, you see. He’ll sweep every state by at least 95-5, with the other 5 percent going to Mike Huckabee and Jeb Bush.

So there you have it, Tim Tebow is destined to become President. No force, formidable as it may be, is going to impede his mystical ascension to the pinnacle of national prominence. Not even  a few minor rules and technicalities can stop him. Maybe not even Jesus.

Ok, probably Jesus. But nothing else.

Either way, I can’t imagine voting for him. Can’t stand the Gators.

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Applying for a dream job – FBI here I come

FBI:

It recently came to my attention the Federal Bureau of Investigation is aggressively seeking talented new agents, and I must say this joyous news couldn’t have come at a better time. Believe it or not, I have myself been aggressively seeking the right agency for my services, yet the economic uncertainty of today has made the task rather cumbersome and tiring (The search has forced several naps into my daily schedule).

As the FBI is the finest institution in the land, comprised of the most capable agents the earth has ever known (much more so than those bastards at the CIA – wink, wink!), I can fathom no better place to invest my prodigious abilities.  Our union truly will prove divine, as my qualifications easily exceed even your most stringent requisites.

Now I see in the job posting that fluency in a foreign language is desired, which incidentally benefits me a great deal since I recently mastered the lyrics to Feliz Navidad this past holiday seasonno small task, I can assure you that. I am also quite familiar with the French language, having twice taken an introductory course on the subject in college. Should any covert operations require an agent to order a baguette or express an affinity for soccer (football over there), then look no further than my sterling record.

The posting also indicated a need for advanced computer skills. Well, not only am I a wizard with Microsoft Word, but I can balance a checkbook and research porn super secret stuff per the CPU as well. Without sounding arrogant, I feel it necessary to note my No. 87 ranking in World of Warcraft, where I honed my combat skills with a variety of weapons and gadgets. Needless to say, the enemy shall fear my wrath.

And lastly, the posting was vehement in stating that only candidates with previous intelligence experience will be considered for the plethora of openings. Ho, ho, ho! Not only am I somewhat of an expert in everything James Bond, but I have also studied thoroughly the artistry of Axel Foley and Maxwell Smart – two of the nation’s finest intelligence agents.

Additional achievements and qualifications can be found in the attached resume. Should you feel like I feel (that was a bit Peter Frampton-esque, eh?) that I would fit seamlessly into your agency’s hierarchy, please contact me via the provided phone number or email address. Oh, and I also respond to the Bat signal.

Look forward to hearing from you,

God Speed!

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Six-Day Weeks and Failed 2009 Resolutions

Considering the state of things…

Unlike tens of millions of my fellow Americans who chose yet again to celebrate this new year by embarking on ridiculous quests for self-improvement –  like losing weight or quitting smoking or quitting drinking or limiting sexual conquests or quitting sex altogether or renouncing organized religion or endorsing the metric system or accomplishing any of a number of other preposterous goals – I elected to merely scrub clean the stubborn mind state that has devastated and stunted my growth and maturity since a very early age.

With but one benevolent twist of perception I truly felt great strides could be taken – no longer could I justify any reasons for delaying this necessary transformation. Change seemed certainly imminent, as I deemed the new year as a convenient time to finally confront my distaste for my least favorite day of the week.

You see, it has been documented rather exhaustively that my main, and perhaps lone, archrival in this cruel world is that annoying first day of the week, known by most in the English-speaking world as Monday. Given there are some Mondays I have grown infinitely fond of, such as Labor Day and Memorial Day and my birthday every 8 or 9 years, yet I would be errant in claiming to enjoy the day as a whole any more than I do a pint of bubbling sewer water.

I cannot rightly claim, however, that Monday has it out solely for me. I understand its indiscriminate nature. Monday never saves any of my counterparts in the workforce from the mental anguish of rising and realizing the weekend has become but a juicy memory, ripe with tales of drink, sport and perhaps some unexpected, albeit welcomed, debauchery.

Monday is eagerly awaited by few, and of those few I suspect three quarters suffer from some chilling mental disabilities we should all be so lucky to avoid. The difference, I am now certain, is that while I may not be alone in despising the day, I have been negligent in learning to accept its unholiness with a grain of salt like some of my stronger co-inhabitants of this planet.

Mondays, I feel, are for the assertive, the spirited, the eager-handed willing to wrestle the bull to the ground by its own menacing horns; Mondays are for the alert, the rested, the restless species of man that uses weekends not for celebration, but for preparation for the ensuing week.

Further self-analysis has alerted me to the demoralizing fact I likely belong to none of these esteemed crowds.

So there it is, not but five days into the new year and already have I abandoned my resolution, my futile quest to appreciate Monday – embrace every Monday – for the fresh, new opportunities found there within.

Indeed, Monday would be wise to avoid me at all costs, for I wish nothing except grave harm for its merciless being and all those willingly associated with it.

I say good day, day! Chalk up one more failed attempt at change.

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