What the hell was that council onfamily focus-pocus commercial that I heard was supposed to be for theanti-abortionthe one where the uber-Christian college football star outof focking Florida, Tim Tebow, mistook his mother for a tackling dummy? Cripes,my buddy Little Jimmy Iodine was over by me to watch the game, and neither oneof us could exactly figure what the message was supposed to begranted, weweren’t paying the strictest of attention, after all, it was a goddamntelevision commercial, not a judge reading the jury verdict at your murdertrial.
On his way to the can to take a leak,Jimmy thought to bring closure to our perplexity and mentioned that maybe thead meant that’s its OK to administer a blindside smack-down on a female familymember as long as she’s not pregnant ’cause if she were, she might need to goto the hospital and have an abortion for health reasons, except there’s nomention of hospitals in the Bible, what the fock.
But I’ll tell you, if some righteousorganization or group is interested in a snappy commercial to have for theSuper Bowl, I offer the following for the drink-responsibly crowd:
Three late-20s dickweeds are in alively sports bar talking about how wasted they got the night before at a partythat served beer in cans. First guy says, “I drank so much of that good beerlast night that I got pulled over on my way home. I couldn’t recite thealphabet backwards while trying to walk a straight line with one thumb on mynose and the other up my ass; so the cop arrested me for a DWI, or maybe it wasa ‘poc’ and I got a ‘IWD,’ fock if I know.”
Second guy says, “That’s nothing. Idrank so much of that good beer that when I was driving home I picked up aprostitute, my wife caught us in bed and then she wouldn’t join in even thoughI asked her all nice-like, the bitch.” Third guy says, “Big focking deal. Idrank so much of that good beer last night that when I got home, I blew chunks’til the sun came up.”
Cut to a shot of a big ol’ bad-assGerman shepherd standing in front of a backyard doghouse. Camera pans up to thetop of the doghouse where there’s this nice, homey sign that says “Chunks.” Ba-ding!
Now, tell me that’s not focking funnierthan a bunch of high-chaired babies with big-people voices telling you how youought to invest your hard-earned dough in a corrupt and unregulated stockmarket. I dare you.
Then there was the half-time showfeaturing the remnants of The Who, whose Magic Bus transports the two survivingmembers no longer to self-administered heights of consciousness but rather tothe Country Garden for the early-bird special.
Jeez louise, when it comes to theseSuper dinosaur-rock half-time shows, who’s next? They already had the RollingStonesone-dead original membertheother year. This year, The Whotwo-out-of-four dead original members. Maybenext year it’ll be Lynryd Skynyrd ’cause I’m guessing somebody in that groupmust still be alive. “That Smell,” you betcha, it’s the Super Bowl half-time showafter all. And the year after that, how ’bout Otis Redding? “Oh she may beweary” as a half-time show goes, but nothing so weary that the “King of Soul”who’s been dead for 42-focking-years can’t liven up, ain’a?
Anyways, I hear that Valentine’s Day isupon us. And I’ve read that the ladies really go for a guy with a sense ofhumor. So gents, how ’bout you try a little humor with your gal when you go outfor the fancy-schmancy dinner on Valentine’s, especially if you don’t know hertoo well. For that reason, I include the following storyto be memorizedsothat you don’t get caught with your pants down in the humor department:
Thisguy goes to the doctor’s the other day ’cause he’s having trouble putting onthe big ol’ honking woodie for the ladies. After the exam, the doctor tells himthat he’s got a problem with the muscles “down there” and suggests a newexperimental treatment for the problem. So the guy goes back the next week andthe doctor takes the muscles from the trunk of a baby elephant and implantsthem in his noodle de la limp.
Coupleweeks later the doctor gives him the green light to try out the new equipment.So the guy takes this gal to a fancy restaurant for Valentine’s and rightduring the middle of the meal, he gets this stirring in the genital groin areathat keeps going on to the point of pain, I kid you not. So to release thepressure, he unzips his fly and lo and behold, his schwanz shoots out of histrousers to the top of the table, grabs a dinner roll and returns to his pants.
Thegal could not focking believe it. She says, “Wow, do that again!” And the guysays, “I would, but I don’t think I can fit a second roll up my ass.”
Good luck and God speed with your loveand romance for the Valentine’s. And don’t forget what the Greek philosopherAnonymous said about that: “The ideal relationship can only be achieved whenone partner is blind, and the other is deaf,” you betcha, ’cause I’m ArtKumbalek and I told you so.
