Johnny Manziel Suicide

Johnny Manziel Suicide Story

    Despondent after his dismal debut against the Bengals, Cleveland’s much heralded quarterback, Johnny Manziel, couldn’t shake his depression      and wrote a suicide note.  When finished, he left his home and went to Euclid Avenue and stood in a bus kiosk with several extremely disappointed Clevelanders.

As a bus approached the stop, Manziel took a deep breath, and threw himself in front of the Mayfair bus … but missed.  He landed on the far side of the bus as it passed..  His tremendous athletic ability got him out of trouble.  Again!  Of course, Manziel , didn’t consider it trouble, just a temporary setback.

Still determined to end it all, he walked down the busy street and took a cyanide pill out of his pocket.  Ever the showman, Manziel chose not to just swallow it.  Instead, he tossed it up, opened his mouth and waited for the pill to drop into it.  However, a passer-by, Marvin Lester, intercepted the pill before it reached his open lips.  “Hey, Johnny,” said Marvin, who later explained that he was just passing by, “fast hands, huh?”  Lester claimed he saw the opportunity and took it, asking Manziel to get him a tryout as a Browns cornerback.

Manziel continued and contemplated alternatives.  He walked along South Roadway and came upon the the Sailors and Soldiers Monument.  Pretty tall.  It should do the trick.  He ran toward it with the intention of climbing it and then throwing himself, head first, into the concrete below.  Even if he got a concussion, so what!?  As he ran to the statue, a troop of Boy Scouts on a park tour were so excited to see Johnny Football, they swarmed him and in the hubbub, he was thrown to the ground.  A sack!  He graciously signed autographs all for them and wrote on each one, “This will be a collector’s item by the end of the day. You wait and see.”

IMPROBABLE REVIEWS

From a piece published in PLAYBILL magazine.

PlayBill – Casey Stengel

 

 

AT LAST, A LIFELONG DREAM COMES TRUE

MY NAME ON A MARQUEE

 

 

The Spring Bunny, 2014: Reprint (a cautionary tale)

Fluffy the Easter Bunny
R.I.P. Fluffy

We are coming to the end of another Easter season and the politically correct, leftist, Godless crowd known as progressive leftists (or something) are out in full force.  And not Islamists are making a fuss in Dearborn, Michigan.

So much tradition has been associated with Easter, the holiday that defines the Catholic Church.  We have Easter bonnets, Easter Seals, Easter Sunday, Easter baskets & cards, the great MGM film The Easter Parade — movie and song (written by a Jew, the great American, Irving Berlin.)  He gets it and he wasn’t even born here.

A few years ago, a victim  of the predatory, secular left was the Easter bunny.  See, these people have nothing in their lives except to stick their whiny buckets into their reservoir of complaint and come up with something else to piss people off.  Since 2007, they’ve been trying to replace the Easter Bunny with the Spring bunny because the Easter Bunny might offend some people.  Easter eggs have been redesigned as “spring spheres.”  You can find dead Easter bunnies in Walnut Creek, Ca., St. Paul, Minn and the Shops in Plano, Texas, where the Easter holiday is now the Spring holiday. More Easter bunny deaths are expected.

These holiday name changes are getting harder to keep track of than all the places renamed after Martin Luther King.

It will take awhile before people start calling this furry little rodent the Spring Bunny when Easter time rolls around. First, the President will have to change the name of it’s traditional White House egg hunt on their lawn to the Spring Egg Hunt or the Holiday Egg Hunt. The former name is preferable so as not to confuse this holiday with the holiday we hold in December.

UPDATE ON MASCULINITY

A current story making the TV rounds is the upcoming premiere of “Friday Night Tykes,” a reality show that’s basically a boot camp for young Texas wannabe football players. The kids are as young as five or six and they’re put through grueling exercises that seem beyond their capabilities. Some cry, some crawl to the goal of a particular exercise under the urgency of a coach (think Marine drill sergeant) screaming at him.

TV pundits and talk shows are up in arms about the show. Many excoriate the show and the coaches for child abuse. (Incidentally, parents there are all for it.) Others say that the regimen instills in the kids a needed sense of accomplishment through ordeal, a growth in their journey to manhood.

In relation to this, I offer a piece about “masculinity” I wrote on this blogue back in 2009. It takes no sides, but it offers an understanding from my POV of how gender differences have been morphing over the past five or ten years.  I think  the morphing has reached a new level.

The Pettiness Of Democrats

It’s being reported that Senate Democrats will block a resolution to honor Margaret Thatcher.

If so, I’m asking whether there is a limit to their pettiness.  What a churlish, smug, unfeeling bunch they are.  They are so bewitched by their cultish agenda that they have no room in their shriveled souls for decency.  They have lost whatever capacity they may have had for humanity.

When talking about these hypocritical, soulless, agenda zombies I’m reminded of a young lady I dated when I was a young man living and working in New York.  She lived on the Upper West Side, which is a coven of liberalism.  Her mother went marching for Chavez on a couple of times I visited them.  She was ardent, almost hysterical in her support of Chavez.  She refused to buy grapes … even grape jelly.  What a committed heroine to the cause she was.

And yet, I many times witnessed her treating her Hispanic maid like shit, with no courtesy, kindness or consideration.  She used her authority like a cudgel, insisting she work extra hours when she had a whim to include a never-before-mandated chore, preventing her from going home to prepare a meal for her family.  She humiliated her in in my presence a number of times and then headed out for her cause, her love of Chavez and her hatred for grapes.

This is how I view todays Democrats, or liberals or progressives or whatever they call themselves — anything but Socialists or Marxists.

They are totalitarians, brooking nothing they disapprove of.

As Denis Prager said, ‘The right thinks the left is wrong, very wrong.  The left thinks the right is evil.’

 

 

POPE FRANCIS TO CANONIZE PRESIDENT OBAMA

St. Barack Of Ward 42

In a stunning announcement, Pope Francis has declared that he will make Barack Obama a saint, glorifying this clean, articulate young President as the Church’s two thousandth six hundred and forty-first saint and the only one sanctified while still alive.

His official canonical designation will be St. Barack Of Ward 42. The Vatican’s holy people are consulting with the President’s holy people to determine what he’ll be saint of. Current speculation is that he will be named the Patron Saint of Celebrities.

Pope Francis first learned about Obama’s saintly qualities some years ago when rumors of his miraculous effect on people began to emerge after his trip to Europe.

“These were indeed wondrous stories of transformations,” said Vatican spokesman, Cardinal Annuncio Proclamma. “People in his presence came away in ecstasy, their minds clouded with ardor and blankness.” He added, “few people have the holiness to cloud men’s minds. Only The Shadow did that.”

Others were so frenzied they endlessly repeated the name Obama, often speaking it in tongues — Obama, Ojamba, Jamabun, Mabamba, Balloona, Ombajaba, Pahjamah, Behnihanah, Cinnabonna, Kakadoodie, Bubonah, Kokomomah, Peckinpaba, Cahwahbonga and Jub.  It was wondrous to hear the babble of his followers.

Soon after the initial reports of Obama’s fervent hold on the blank minded, stories of individual miracles began to emerge. Gunnar Schmidt of Munich said that after Obama walked past Schmidt’s Mercedes, the car started getting sixty-three miles to the litre — in city traffic. A woman who requested anonymity claimed that after fifteen years of being unable to bear children, she now likes them a lot.  She plans to open a day care center in her village.

What Do Brian Wilson & Benamino Gigli Have In Common?

Wilson

November 17, 2008

This past weekend, I drove my nineteen year old son, Mario, and his friend, Brian,  from Durham, NC to Glenside, PA. to see Brian Wilson in concert at the Keswick Theater. My son has had a passion for the Beach Boys and Brian Wilson for years, the kind of passion I felt at his age for an opera singer named Mario Del Monaco, after whom my son is named, incidentally.

Wilson’s new album is Lucky Old Sun, and while I didn’t attend the concert, I have heard the album. How could I not? Mario plays it constantly. And in my own geezer fashion, I was drawn to it because Lucky Old Sun was one of my favorite Frankie Laine recordings way back when.

While I don’t have the emotional and musical connections to Wilson and the Beach Boys that my son and other fans have, even I can hear that this album is special, extraordinary – maybe not Smile, but damned good.

Which is what brought me to the minor incident that inspired this little post.

After dropping them off at the theater, I had a brief dinner with a student of mine who happened to live nearby.  I then showed up at the Keswick Theater about a half hour before the concert ended and decided to wait for Mario and his friend at a small micro-brewery pub across the street. As I walked past the theater I heard some very loud guy, age maybe forty-five or fifty, shout to someone, “They’ll do four encores after they finish that piece of s**t new album.”

Well, Lucky Old Sun might not be Smile or Pet Sounds, but a piece of that stuff, it ain’t.

The Soldier

Came across this.  Appropriate for Veterans Day.

 

It is the Soldier, not the minister, who has given us freedom of religion.
It is the Soldier, not the reporter, who has given us freedom of the press.
It is the Soldier, not the poet, who has given us freedom of speech.
It is the Soldier, not the campus organizer, who has given us freedom to protest.
It is the Soldier, not the lawyer, who has given us the right to a fair trial.
It is the Soldier, not the politician, who has given us the right to vote.
It is the Soldier who salutes the flag,
Who serves beneath the flag,
And whose coffin is draped by the flag,
Who allows the protester to burn the flag.

 

HATE, HATE, HATE. Oh, and did I mention “Hate?”

Liberals, or progressives, or whatever they’re calling themselves these days,  like to think of themselves as caring, well intentioned people who are champions of  the middle class and poor.  Structurally, liberalism is supposed to be tolerant and understanding and certainly  not destructive.  That’s what the right does, right?  People on the right are the ones who do the really hateful things.

The left has a long and hallowed history of despicable behavior.  As a lifelong Democratic liberal, I protested against the war.   I wrote some satirical anti-Vietnam pieces when I was a contributing editor at National Lampoon.   And I was shocked when I saw so-called liberals mock, criticize and even spit on returning military personnel.   These were not isolated incidents.  It happened across the country as rabid anti-war liberals took out their legitimate frustrations on the poor guys WHO WERE DRAFTED and thrown into the swamp of the Vietnam War.

And now we have a later version of liberal behavior from the philosophy of tolerance and understanding.

Google “Defacing Romney signs” and see what comes up.

Yep!   Romney signs stolen, smeared with dogshit, and replaced.   Other signs peed upon.  A brick through a GOP storefront headquarters.  Much of it in Virginia, some stories about it in toney Malibu.  Not once, twice, but many times.  The perpetrators are even bragging on Twitter about doing it.  I’ve seen it here in Chapel Hill, an enclave of well-to-do liberals who’ve been Kool Aided all their lives to these causes.  I’ve seen it when I dated a lady who lived on New York’s upper West Side whose mother marched for Cesar Chavez and his grapes but treated her Spanish maid like shit.