For a change of pace, I decided to 'get real', regarding some often neglected 'truths' about certain elements of your daily life. That's right, thrilled spitless Sparky, this week, the FSOP is going to 'fix' what ails YOU. Fear not, PIGsters, this one won't hurt, much, unless you laugh.
I know that you're too busy, scurrying to and fro to cope with the day to day essentials of your life, to just sit and 'think', so I'll do it for you. Giving until it hurts, the PIG Staff is hunkered down in the PIG Bunker (it's not located in mom's basement, as one Snarky PIGster sniped), doing all the heavy duty thinking on certain vital issues, which can make, or break, your quality of life. This one is for YOU, PIGsters.
Put on your thinking caps and have your pencils and paper ready, because a pop quiz is not out of the question.
Television wasn't really 'better' in the good old days. The passage of time cauterized those painful, "just shoot me", memories of "My Mother The Car" and "The Arsenio Hall Show". Admittedly, the cable dial is littered with numerous, unrelenting, circles of hell, but, with so many channels to choose from, this stampeding suckage appeals to a much smaller audience. If anything is better, it's the ample display of sweater puppy cleavage on your channel surfing pit stops. This source of optical delight is a distinct improvement over the 'mom and apple pie' shows of the 50s and 60s. Best of all, it is equally 'enlightening' with the mute switch 'on'.
Talking heads on the boob tube are not fonts of life-enhancing knowledge. Instead of feeding their ego, when you need sage advice, dial up an episode of South Park, The Simpsons, or a rerun of Married With Children. If you do that, you'll get all the real life 'wisdom' you can handle.
There's no happy ending when you get trapped in a cabal's automated "press '1' for..." call answering system. The odds of getting to a live person are so daunting that they make winning the lottery seem like a slam dunk. When you play the game correctly, after repeated trips back to 'square one', one of two things is destined to happen: the 'live' person you seek is 'out' and you get a voice mail box that he, she, or it never empties, or, you get the 'there are too many people in the queue ahead of you, please try again later', click, dial tone.
If a stranger shows up at your door selling salvation, magazine subscriptions, or some kind of unwanted professional services, you need to view it as an opportunity, not a pain in the butt. This clown has invaded your life, uninvited, so why not take this golden opportunity and run with it? After all this time sitting at the feet of those FSOP gurus, Porcus and Hambo, you should be filled to the brim with things you're dying to say to somebody, but never had the chance...until now. Go forth and spread that PIGish joy, no guts, no glory, Sparky.
All those whistles and buzzers on your favorite wireless communications device(s) are, in reality, the telecommunications equivalent of quicksand. Wireless communications capitalists aren't really in the communications business. They're in the business of enticing you into flushing a critical mass of MINUTES from your life down the drain, by using their 'service'. The more lures they deploy, the more likely you are to buy those pricey minutes from them. They really don't give a rat's ass how you spend them, as long as you squander those enriching - for them - minutes sinking deeper into their bottomless pit of telecommunications quicksand.
Impulsive, 'I could have her in a New York minute, given half a chance', notions are the express lane to an unpleasant justice system encounter. You may be convinced that Megan Fox is yours for the taking, if only she could meet you, in person, but that doesn't make following her around 'an idea whose time has come'. Those black robed killjoys have a word for that, "STALKING". If you go down that road, your next horizontal and squishy encounter will be in a cell as Bubba's Bitch.
It's not paranoia when 'they' really are plotting to get you. You're 'jumping' between several boob tube shows when all of them go to commercial AT THE SAME TIME. Or, you're sampling the yammering of several different VRWC boom box babblers while you're in your ride, when all of them go to commercial AT THE SAME TIME. The only radio show worth listening to on a weekend is, regularly, kicked to the curb for some asinine reason. Your weekend boob tube choices range from "sucks", to "just shoot me". Your phone, which has been silent for most of the day, ALWAYS rings when you're in the bathroom. Is someone out to get you? You better believe it, it's a plot against me personally Sparky.
Sucking in your belly to impress that hottie is a waste of time. The only reason she smiled at you is because she's too much of a lady to laugh out loud, in your face. If you catch yourself doing this one, we suggest that you make the best of the situation. How? You start by smiling back, letting it all hang out, then laughing at yourself. If she smiles again, she's sharing the joke 'with' you, not laughing at you.
It's never a spiffy idea to put all your electronic 'eggs' in one, cable provider basket. If it takes your cable provider a week, or more, to fix your boob tube connection, why would you entrust them with your phone and Internet service, too? Why not go for the gold and let them provide your gas and electricity, so your life can turbo suck?
Don't be a schnook, you know you're gonna look. One of Newton's least known laws, states that sweater puppies create their own gravity well, after they cross a certain 'size' threshold. Women, by and large, have a natural immunity, but men don't. That's why, no matter how hard a dude tries, no matter how gross the sweater puppy packer, the bigger they are, the more impossible it is for him not to stare. It's not bad manners, it's science, Sparky.
No matter which lane you pick, the other lanes are going to move faster. If you're in the checkout line at the store, or on the expressway, you'll be nailed by this one. I know what you're thinking, but you can't out think this one, no matter how hard you try. How does it work? I've discovered that, when you're in a lane, you exude a powerful force which slows down time, directly ahead of you. Its strength is directly proportional to your need for speed. I think this is covered in Einstein's VERY special laws of relativity, but don't bet the farm on it.
If some pinhead is determined to be offended, good manners - not to mention, good fun - dictates that you 'help them along'. If some self-defined victim is determined to be miserable, you might as well take advantage of this golden opportunity. This is especially true if you're dealing with a complete stranger who blundered into your life and will, quite probably, blunder out again, permanently. With strangers and family members, you can let it all hang out. When you're dealing with professional acquaintances or co-workers, you need to employ more subtle forms of expression, but that's outside the scope of this rant.
What we need to get our mind off 'things', is a Media Slut Olympics. The competition itself would be part obstacle course, and part survivor series. If we're going to crown a world champion media slut, we need to test the mettle of our competitors, to see which of them is really prepared to go the extra mile for some media face time.
If we're going to crown the Media Slut champion, Gloria Allred, and Messiah Barry are mandatory competitors. With them in the mix, my Media Slut Olympics becomes 'must see TV'. It has ratings gold written all over it.
Let's get real about Crop Circles. Crop circles? You better believe it, Sparky. Why? Because, after repeated assaults on my sanity by boob tube blights like the Hysteria Channel (you might be foolish enough to call it the History Channel), this one has finally reached critical mass. I'm up to 'here' with this crop circle crap, so I'm going to drive a PIGish stake through its heart.
Despite ample evidence - including 'yup, we did it' confessions, and demonstrations, by numerous HUMAN perpetrators - the Tinfoil Headgear Club insists that these intricate patterns are, in reality, the work of E.T. E.T., these THC twerps insist, is trying to tell us something, but we're too primitive to understand their message. Too primitive to understand it? Bullcrap!
If, for the sake of argument, any of these crop circles are the work of a marauding E.T., there's nothing complicated about the message. It's no different than the 'artwork' we find on freeways, and buildings, in gang infested outposts of humanity. The least irrational, THC-appeasing, explanation for crop circles is this: it's E.T.'s way of 'tagging' a blue green planet located in the boondocks of the Milky Way Galaxy. I'm just sayin'.
I had a rare moment of clarity, today, which allowed me to understand The One and his neo-Marxist Demoncrats. Suffering from a synaptic suffocating intellectual myopia, they exist in an alternative 'reality' where their actions never have consequences. From that twisted perspective, everything they do makes sense, more or less. Their deeds 'feel' good, and they never see anything bad happen as a result.
Boob tubes have parental controls to keep tykes from going where they don't belong. What, I ask, have boob tube purveyors done to establish meaningful communication with a dumber than a box of rocks pimple on humanity's butt? How can you make the thinking impaired understand, when a boob tube outlet is shoveling crap, instead of giving him, her, himher, or it, the 'straight poop'?
Just because, as a species, E.T. might be much more advanced than we are, it does NOT mean that E.T. is sending their best and brightest to pay us a visit. In fact, when you think about it, all these antics - crop circles, etc. - make perfect sense if, as I do, you assume the visiting E.T.'s are nitwits, morons, and joy riding 'teenagers'. We're not being visited, Art Bell fan Sparky. E.T. is, in essence, mooning us.
If anyone still wonders why dealing with Nanny State functionaries, at all levels of government, is such a non-stop thrill ride, wonder no more. When you deal with a Nanny State cubicle clown, you need to remember the three pillars of government bureaucracies:
Affirmative Action hiring
Government-schooled idiots with self-esteem
Job for life - once hired, never fired - positions of authority
If you must interact with these Nanny State nitwits, you might consider prayer - if you're so inclined. But, unless the deity of your choice intercedes, your fate is sealed, you're soooo screwed Sparky.
Here in the USA, we have two holidays which are, essentially, little more than an excuse to get gassed on adult beverages. I have some issues with them, but not the ones you might expect.
* Two drinking holidays for the whole year just isn't getting 'er done. We need more of them.
* Since we only have two drinking holidays, why are they located so close together? We get these two, within the first two and a half months, then we're expected to 'suck it up' for the next nine and a half months. Unacceptable!
* If we're going to have a holiday devoted to getting blitzed on adult beverages, it should be scheduled on the one day of the year when We the People need it: April 16th, the day after those Elected Tormentor scumbags raid our wallets.
* In addition to regularly scheduled drinking holidays, spread throughout the year, we should each be given one 'floating' drinking holiday, that we can use when the need arises.
We the People need to get this resolved, during the forthcoming election cycle, by endorsing a candidate who promises to get 'er done.
See, I told you that wouldn't hurt.