It’s a new year, and that means another opportunity for us all to assess our lives and confront some difficult and unfortunate shortcomings. We all have them, and in past years, I’ve resolved to stop peeing in my neighbor’s garden at night, start wearing socks to work, and stop singing Billy Joel hits in a high falsetto while waiting in line at Safeway.
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It’s time again for the winter Olympics, that special occasion every four years when the world comes together to pretend like they care about figure skating, bobsledding, and cross-country skiing. The winter Olympics are as if a Mumford and Sons album were televised as a sporting event, it’s just that boring, although special exception should be made for luge and ski jumping accidents, which are the Olympic equivalent of NASCAR crashes.
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In light of America’s newfound place as an international laughingstock as a result of Donald Trump’s recent escapade through what he believes were at least eight of the world’s seven continents and during which he succeeded in living up to all of our worst fears as to how he would embarrass America in a way that could only have been exceeded if we had dispatched either Larry the Cable Guy or James Woods in his place, I thought I would take this opportunity to address a nagging issue that has gone too long overlooked.
Namely, the question of which national flags look the best, and which are in dire need of a makeover.
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In light of recent autocratic orders issued from our (with all due respect) doughy, midget-fingered troglodyte of a 45th president for whom the rhetorical complexity of a season of Here Comes Honey Boo Boo represents an intellectual bridge too far, I thought I would take this opportunity to suggest that in the interest of “our country’s continued safety and security” we implement not religious tests for incoming migrants but science tests instead.
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It’s election day, better known as an opportunity to sleep in, show up late to the office, and pretend like you voted on your way in to work.
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Some of you may recall and others of you may neither remember nor care, but I taught high school on the west side of Chicago for almost 10 years. Teaching inner-city high school presents all kinds of unique challenges, not the least of which is having to pretend to be enthusiastic when your students show you ultrasound pictures of the fetus presently gestating inside of them.
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When I’m not trying to induce alley rats into fighting over a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup behind my apartment, I actually like to read. It’s all a part of being unemployed and wearing glasses, and I recently came across an article that described how there is only a 2% difference between the genomes of humans and chimps.
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My name’s not Steve, it’s Stephen. Next time you presume to know someone well enough to abbreviate their god-given birth name, you might do well to pick someone without a criminal record and an undiagnosed personality disorder upon whom to test the bounds of your familiarity.
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Ever wondered how your next door neighbor has more Twitter followers than Rihanna? The answer is quite simple, really: In the truest of American spirits, they bought them.
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This is going to be the absolute greatest militia the state of Oregon has ever seen, and I for one am excited that you all have decided to join.
As the founder and head of this militia, I would like to establish some ground rules.
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