You're a towel!

A couple of years ago, I became fortunate enough to stumble across a particular towel in my linen closet. It was blue, big enough to make a skirt of absorption in which I could roam the house under the guise of actually being clothed, and best of all, it was absorbent.

I’ve found that in life, about 98% of towels made are not absorbent; they merely sop up the water from your skin and become a slosh of fibers and hard water from the shower. But this one, it’s different. I can dry every inch of every crevice of my wet and naked body without having to switch to another towel.

Now, I’m afraid that my beloved blue angel is no more. Mom convinced me to send Towlie to the great washing machine in the sky. It was time, though – he was tattered and torn so much that you would think Ive been using him to dry my pet porcupine.

In the meantime, I’ve switched to another towel. And while this one is much larger (I can envelop myself like a human burrito), it lacks the principle quality of absorption that I’ve taken for granted during the last two years of my high school career. This upsets me, so I think I will protest the absence of an acceptable drying device in my home by not showering for a while. Then, maybe someone with whom I reside will notice the wretched stench and toss a suitable towel my way.

And no, I do not have a pet porcupine.

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The Lowlight of my Day

I was never permitted to go to the big peoples’ doctor. I would always be sitting there, in a room full of little snot-nosed children whining to their mothers, waiting for my overly friendly pediatrician to call me in so that he could tell me how bad my acne was getting.

So today, I walked in because I had to get some paperwork filled out before I could go to college. I was the only person who could grow facial hair in the entire room. None of the secretaries could do it (I hope), none of the mothers who had to take the day off from work to bring their little bundles of joy in for medical care could do it (I hope), and none of the kids in the waiting room could do it, either.

So, while I was waiting for my appointment to get scheduled, I took a seat to check out the reading material. And you know what I hate?

Every doctor’s office in the known universe has a copy of Highlights Magazine. And every copy of Highlights Magazine has that sweet hidden picture puzzle where you have to find a baseball, canoe, and umbrella in a seemingly normal landscape. But the thing that gets me is that in every copy of this magazine in every doctor’s office across America, some stupid kid went and found them all for you. There you are, sitting there ready to play paper detective, and that fat kid with the mumps went and stole your glory.

Go spit, fat kid with the mumps. I’m sick of you.

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Unfortunately, he isn't REALLY burning…

You know, having a blog like this means that I have a medium through which I can reach an audience (however miniscule). And that means that I can do what every human with a penis has done at some point in his life: I can tell you all about my meaningless opinions about sports!

The Devil Rays will go .500 this year. They’ll still finish third or fourth, but they’ll win over half of their games.

The Lightning will make it into the playoffs as a wild card but lose in the first round.

Much to my chagrin, the Buccaneers will go 7-9 because they lack an offensive line and special teams.

Kasey Kahne will finish first this year in NASCAR. Not because I know anything about NASCAR, but because his name is Kasey and he drives a Dodge. I get sentimental.

The Florida Gators will remain NCAA Men’s Basketball champions, at least until next year’s season starts.

Maybe someone in the country will realize that the NBA is ridiculous and that no one should watch it.

But seriously. See how you don’t care in the slightest about what I just said? See how my opinion, the thoughts of one inconsequential speck on the face of a seemingly infinite universe, will never have any effect on how the sports world plays out?

That’s always been my take. Which leads me to ask: how in the world do bozos like Jim Rome (yeah, I said it) and Stephen A. Smith (who, by the way, has not totally convinced me that he knows the English language) get their own shows on ESPN?

Isn’t three hours of Rome’s incessant blathering about how anyone who disagrees with him is an idiot enough? During any given radio broadcast, Jim Rome has what most scientist estimate to be 45 seconds of actual new information and opinions. He then repeats this. Over. And over again. And if you raise issue with one of his points, you’re an idiot. He then lets us listen to him make these exact same points WHILE you watch him on TV! How lucky are we?!

Anyway, the point remains: people’s opinions about sports don’t matter. And if you don’t agree with me, you’re an idiot.

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