THE SOUND OF ONE HAND TYPING:

"No No No… don't come in here Sweetie! Daddy's busy
watching the Super Bowl… with his pants down."

First off I wanna congratulate Tom Fucking Brady for masterfully leading the New England Patriots to an awesome victory over the hated New York Giants last night in Super Bowl 47. After scoring a record-setting 126 points in the first half of the game, TFB kindly took a moment to smile and wink into the camera, thereby impregnating every fertile female watching the broadcast. During the halftime show he jumped up on stage and taught the men of the world how to satisfy a woman by making Beyonce say his name in seven different languages that she hadn't previously known. Then he capped off the 238-0 victory by single-handedly ending terrorism with that same wink and smile.

Thanks TFB, I feel so much safer now… and a little bit pregnant.

Don't believe any of that really happened? Well don't tell it to my fragile mind because that's the way it went down in my head since I didn't give a chalky white shit about what was actually happening on the TV last night. Except for when the blackout happened at the New Orleans Superdome, that was pretty funny. Betcha everyone was having Katrina flashbacks for the first couple minutes. Okay, Katrina wasn't funny but panic always is… to me anyway. I'm just twisted in that way. So who won the game anyway? Never mind, nobody cares. Baltimore is a depressing place and San Francisco is America's stickiest city, so fuck them and their teams.

But even though I have no idea what really happened on the field last night, I did sit in front of the big screen with my dad and he seemed to enjoy it so I guess it must have been a good game. We had a nice time though, I made some killer chili, the wife made some guacamole and there were chips and things. Only thing missing… chicken wings. Oh sure we wanted some, would have loved to have had some, but we didn't even bother trying to get any since we heard the news of a big chicken wing shortage going on in the country. And by news of course I mean a bit that I saw on The Colbert Report.

Because the news just seems more real when delivered with jazz hands.

Well it turns out that Stephen Colbert pushed the panic button prematurely, there was no wing shortage, the crisis was averted, no one had to sell their dignity for a 20-piece pack of fried tangy goodness. But we didn't know that so Dad and I never ventured out to find any. A shame really because I do love a good batch of wings. And Dad would've loved to just go out for any reason at all, as long as I stayed well below the speed limit because he's old and yells at me when I drive too fast. But you know how the older folks can be, always ready to go for a ride. No wait… that's dogs, dogs are always ready to go for a ride. Which means my dad must be part canine… which means I must be part hound as well. Which explains why I sniff people's asses when I meet them for the first time. Yeah… that's why.

According to Ancestry.com this is a pic of
my great grandpa… and some jackass in a hat.

That's just the thing with the folks of the earlier generations, they spent their lives out and about, they did stuff, they went places, that's how they were used to living. That's why my dad jumps — well not really jumps, more like a barely perceptible skip — at every opportunity to get outside because to him, that's where life is. And in direct contrast there's today's generation, groomed by technology to stay the hell indoors and do everything via the Internet.

Meaning the future's looking bright for the elder-care professionals of tomorrow because we're currently training ourselves to be the most complacent residents any old-folks home has ever seen. Where my parents fear that one day I'll put them away in some home and never visit them, (WHAT? NO… NEVER… kinda.) I'm most likely not gonna give a damn when my son shoves my 75 year-old ass into some place called Shady Graves or Final Acres. Just so long as I got a place to charge my 22nd generation iPad and a decent data plan, I won't give a crap if the boy don't come around with his slut wife and his rotten kids. I'll be completely content as long as there's still porn to be downloaded. There will still be porn in the future, right? I swear to God, there'd better still be porn in the future!

"Relax Ron, we'll always be here for you."

Besides, who the hell's gonna want to even go outside in the future anyway? Look where we are today. All of China is currently obscured under a blanket of smog so thick they didn't even notice when a factory burst into flames a couple weeks ago. And speaking of bursting into flames, Australia's so close to doing that very thing that officials there had to come up with new color designations to describe the temperature. Seriously, how fucking hot does it need to get outside for the color red not to be enough of an indicator? Still, neither of these situations might even be true since — again — I heard it all on The Colbert Report. And after this chicken wing scam I'm gonna be a little more skeptical about what comes out of that guy's news-hole in the future. FOOL ME ONCE, COLBERT!

"I'm sorry Ron, did you say something? I was busy having a
conversation with your Uncle Buddy here."

For now though I think I'll take my dad out a little more often, let him enjoy some time in the sun while it's still safe to do so. Probably won't be so for my tired and wrinkled ass. And I'm not even talking about what my ass is gonna look like when I'm his age, it's tired and wrinkled right now. More than likely gonna look like beef jerky by the time I'm retired. Aw who am I kidding, in this economy I'm never gonna be able to retire. Be dragging my leathery beef rump through the smog and the burning ozone to spend my golden years as a cab driver, cruising around at 15 miles an hour with my left blinker on the whole time until one day I die at the wheel with passengers screaming in the backseat.

"Here we are young fella… that'll be $21.55…Uggggh."

Well this post has certainly turned into a Goddamned rambling mess of ideas and psychosis. Even the title makes zero sense. And as usual I'm gonna blame it all on those assholes at the People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals with their holier-than-thou attitudes, thinking their shit don't stink because they don't eat meat and judging the rest of us because we enjoy a good wing every now and again. I'll bet those bastards were somehow behind the whole wing shortage story in the first place. They're probably the reason I had to sit through the Super Bowl without the pleasure of going all caveman on a platter of tiny poultry! Those  lousy sons of…!

But for some reason I can never stay mad at them.