When You've Got It, You've Got to Flaunt It.

It appears as though another week is upon us, but this one bears that of the Thanksgiving holiday.  Just as turkeys will baste in the oven on Thursday, so also do ideas cook themselves to a crisp in my mind until they are roasted and ready to feed a famished family of four.  Figuratively speaking, it is time to take this blog post out of the 350 degree oven and dish it out into the suggested serving sizes to those hungry enough to eat of its portions.  Dig in before it gets cold and supplies last.

Status symbols:  These are the equivalency to the bratty, red-headed stepchild that, if you could, b*tch slap and haul their sorry rear-sided seat cushions back to reality.  Whether it’s as hot as a Styrofoam cup of Starbucks coffee or versatile as a Blackberry, status symbols hang on our social life like overly priced ornaments on a waste-away Charlie Brown Christmas tree.  Each weigh down the individual with the misconception of amplified elitism. Words of these vain-constructed, self-followed folks such as “My accountant”, “First class”, “summer home” and “Refi” (short for refinance) get tossed around in the conversation like a baseball during warm-ups in the bullpen.  Am I supposed to be impressed with your persona that is stuffier than a fogged-up bathroom during a hot morning shower?  Because if that was your intention, sorry, please try again, muchacho.  They drive a vehicle that parallel parks itself, knows where they’re going better than the one in command, has temper tantrums by setting off an alarm and flailing its senses like Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man as he enters a stage of panic, and also demands a high allowance (A.K.A. car payment) each month in order to not walk out on the owner.  Did it ever come across your mind that you, the bearer of bogged down social statuses, are a walking jewelry store? Hooker-like hoola hoop ear rings dangle from your lobes like a circus performer on a swinging trapeze.  Not to mention, the half-dozen rings on your fingers because you don’t want any one of those phalanges feeling left out of the mix.  A redistribution of wealth among the meat hooks if you will.  Sitting very distinguished, not showing any emotion because Heaven forbid you break your face by cracking a smile; recycled plastic in surgery isn’t composed with high strength like it used to be.  Doctor’s orders:  Pluck out the stick that is up your tail feathers which is making you have a hitch in your get-along.  Unless you are doing a remake version of the movie Jesus of Nazareth, please walk like the mistake-filled human you were born as.  Hidden meanings camp out in the activities that make up some status symbols.  I would be more than happy to discuss this in greater detail.  For example, “Lunch meeting” is an expensed face feeding.  “Committees” are a glorified and upgraded session of the stupid convention.  To playback one of these recorded, pop in a blank VHS tape.  “Business trips” is an all inclusive vacay paid for in part by those that grunt the formation of the company line.  And, “Tax write-off” could very well be the sense of giving the dog a treat, Mr. IRS agent for doing a good deed to charity or plea for a reimbursement of an item you needed in the first place.  After pulling the gun’s trigger for yet another zinger, it had become apparent that the buck stops here. 

I have come to the conclusion, and will now dissemble myself into a corner inside Funny Bone Laugh Lines inserting a foot into my mouth for that which was previously stated.  It will house the five toes like a mansion considering the vastness of the offensive speech that can be disbursed from such an opening. 

The Armchair Passer of Judgement

My apologies for not posting an entry sooner; unfortunately, I had to step through security at the door of this blog.  Refusing to walk through and participate in a full-body scan, I was asked to move to the side and allow my jaw-dropping bootay to be groped.  Agreeing up to a point, I looked Funny Bone Laugh Lines square in the eyes and told him, “If you touch my junk, I’m going to have you arrested.”  Where was the online survey that I could have taken in order to critique that performance?  Everybody’s a critic dot com. 

The Monday morning quarterback comes in more forms than an income tax return and some even appear in real-time.  We’ll just make somebody else do the dirty work because, what the heck, as Will Ferrell would exclaim, “I’m a divisional manager—I drive a Dodge Stratus!” then sit back and question their motives like an annoying backseat driver.  Well, in the ride of life, why don’t I pull the car over, call “shot-gun” and YOU can steer the ship if you’re such a hybrid of expertise!  Not only that, I will act like a Vegas casino slot machine slurring on an overdose of pocket change and spew out criticisms on every decision made.  How does the clog dancing non-orthopedic shoe feel on the other foot now?  Like O.J. Simpson putting on the black leather glove over a latex one during his trial I would probably assume.  Monday morning quarterbacks’ outlook on life is through the kaleidoscope of hindsight.  Sit on the sidelines and watch life flesh itself out on the replay screen, and then immediately categorize yourself as a guru demanding everybody vacuum the red carpet so you can pussy foot your obvious observations.  A framed certificate recognizing your achievement in slothful and drooling cynicism speech has been signed, sealed and delivered to your address for you to proudly display.  For a limited time only, receive a laminated smaller version of this, similar to the Gun Permit card, that can be conveniently stored in your wallet or purse notifying others of your way to exercising the First Amendment. 

In the fabric of society, you, the Monday morning quarterback are the worn- behind portion of the pair of jeans.  Instead of living off the seat of your own pants, you become critical of those who decide to actually function as a human.  My pointer finger extends itself towards your direction and mouths off, “Here’s looking at you, kid!” I’ll be sure to comment thorough constructive criticism your shortcomings and converse them to others first before including you in the “pin the tail on the donkey” routine. 

No Sense in Common with the Brain

Let me start off by saying that it has been a while since I polluted the blogosphere with content derived from the four little walls called my brain.  In fact, Funny Bone Laugh Lines came over to the door with a cocktail drink in its hand and introduced itself to me as I signed in.  It was nice of it to do so, but an even better gesture was that it finally paid the water bill and got the faucet flowing with sarcasm once again.  So, with that being said, dim the lights, watch where you step and prepare yourself because the tongue lashing will be like Free Willy performing tricks in the Sea World of satire.

Have you ever looked somebody in the face and point blank thought to yourself, Were you born a dumb a!# or does it just come easy to you?   It’s true.  After spending millions of dollars on research funded by a generic, Flavorite-type stimulus package, I have come to the conclusion that some people (underline “some” and dress it up with italics) do not come with the minimum requirement level of common sense that it takes in order to perform certain entry-level tasks throughout the day; such as, getting out of bed, getting dressed, DRIVING A CAR, conversing without one’s tongue being “all thumbs”, or simply just writing their name on a pertinent piece of paper.  In the 21^st century, a voiceover can be heard in the delivery room drowning out the crying baby as it says: “Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, meet the new addition to your family, a bouncing baby boy!—Common sense sold separately.” On the menu of life, the two side orders that come optional with this dish are common sense and street smarts.  Try not to spit it out on the bib, because to a select few, it’s like meat to a vegetarian.  A caption of the poster child for this type of individual would read, “Not thinking for oneself—it’s not just for the legally incompetent.” NBC once aired an expose on this quality and reported it working a 9-5 cube job as a telemarketer trying to sell its soul while cold calling selective prospects.  I urge some to give it a 30 day trial by typing “Der Der Derr” as the promo code.  Scientific findings indicate that common sense is NOT a creeper to the brain, and therefore should not have a restraining order put on it. The pay per view match that will leave you dangling like a bad hang nail involves two Abbott and Costello-like fighters:  Book Smart vs. Common Sense Dumb.  Come early.  Get a good seat.  This duo defines the meaning of photo finish. I hate to break it to ya, Common Sense, but you are about as outdated as the Hillary Clinton headband. Good Luck to you anyhow. 

With a curve ball thrown at a portion of society, I returned to the mound like Nolan Ryan as he tossed the first pitch of the World Series and realized that I may still have a little heat left in me.  I decorate the last portion of this passage with the retro-sheek look embossed in the title of a hit show from the 70’s, “Welcome Back, Kotter.”