People with Signs at Sporting Events- I’m already giving them more attention than they deserve, damn!
Cupcakes- When the hell did they become important? How did the baking equivalent of Sammy Hagar become such a hot stock? Their invasive prowl has conquered TV, the blogosphere and White House press luncheons. The resultant brick and mortar spread of cupcake boutiques is making those hyperactive Starbucks location planners look like slackers.
It’s a cupcake!
In my day- think Reagan in a bullet proof Members Only Jacket- cupcakes were frilly excursions you dabbled in as a last resort, or when you were high; same diff. Cupcakes were something you associated with Girl Scout fundraisers or dangerously suspicious Halloween treats.
Now? Cupcakes are status. Which makes less sense than David Spade’s career. I mean, if someone were to create a cupcake that could split an atom, inside of which was the secret to life, I still wouldn’t take it seriously. Why? Because it’s a fucking cupcake, that’s why.
Cutthroat Kitchen– I love food. I love cooking. But this show? . . . Ain’t that. And then there’s Alton Brown who is nothing BUT annoying.
Johnny Manziel- Olbermann is right about college football being nothing more than pro football with dorms and hazing rituals. So little Johnny may or may not be selling his autograph? I don’t give a shit. In an age where the economy is shifting gears and graduate degrees are blue shirting it at Best Buy just to make ends meet until they can catch a break? Big time sports is mattering more than it really should be mattering. And as far as little Johnny’s future is concerned, let him supplement his family bank account with some pen money, cause if some defensive lineman out of RIce can get under his skin like this? The NFL will eat him for breakfast.
Elvis Impersonators- It’s a big sham. They’re getting paid to sport craggy ass mutton chops and hog up buffet lines.
Sports Talk Radio- Dave Barry was right about one thing. Nothing ever gets accomplished on sports talk radio. It’s C-Span for jersey wearing Stub Hubbers who co-opt their girlfriends for Fantasy League Draft Day so’s they can present a menu that isn’t exclusively Doritos and Big Gulps.
Sports talkies are good at making inane statements and yelling down anyone who disagrees with them. So I gave up listening to sports talk radio. Hey, If the heads of pro athletes begin exploding as a result of the PED’s they’re filling their faces with, I’ll tune in. Eh screw that, I would need to see the video!
PED backlash- It’s post traumatic instant gratification syndrome. We were willing to overlook the cooked numbers back when it was so much fun to do so. NOW we’re indignant? Too late. The countless billions- yes, billions- that resulted from PED usage over the last twenty odd years turned MLB into fat city. It helped build baseball palaces and it helped teams land huge TV contracts and it helped turn the salary scale on its head. See . . I can’t bring myself to hate A-Rod now when I was so in love with Sammy Sosa back then.
Alright, there are annoyances and then there’s Miley. Or as I like to refer to her, Dante’s worst bar joke. So . . yanno . . . she gets her own section.
Miley Hair- She’s currently sporting the Betty Boop Meth Head look. How annoying.
“Twerking”- Annoying term for a dance move that’s been around forever. Miley didn’t invent these moves, she simply made them annoying.
The fact that Miley has a career?- Annoying.
A very lucrative career?- Highly annoying.
With no end in sight? . . . Shoot me please, and don’t stop until David Caruso makes the scene.
Interested in learning about the Miley Rules? Click here . .
Porn- In my day . . yeah, the Members Only Reagan days . . porn was vile smut. It was condemnable sin whose abject purpose was to sentence those fiends who breached the curtains of their local video stores to hell. Man, you really don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone.
Thanks to the internet, porn has gone designer. Like cupcakes with private parts . . and ambitiously sleazy names. These days, porn is an acceptable hobby rather than a damned activity. So tell me, where’s the fun in that?