04
Dec
if you can’t beat them
In solidarity with Gillian Gibbons, I’ve decided to name my son’s old teddy bear Muhammad. Also 3 of my lawnchairs, the kitchen table, the old skillet that the teflon’s peeling from, the brown patch in the backyard, and the keys to my truck. These are all henceforth renamed Muhammad.
The stuff that collects under the couch between vacuumings I rename What The Fuck Is Wrong With You People? .
I swear I need some symbolic something to go apeshit over, too. I’m totally lacking in symbolic apeshittery. I feel kind of naked because the only response I have now to somebody else’s godly freak-out is a kind of bemused anxiety, which I’m getting kind of tired of, frankly. Thousands of screaming townsfolk marching on my house with torches and stones in their hands, and all I get is bemused anxiety to fend them off? That rarely works. So that changes now, Jack.
From now on, I consider the act of shaking someone’s right hand an affront. AN AFFRONT TO EVERYTHING I HOLD DEAR. If I see someone, a Right-to-lifer or a Sudanese fringewit Muslim or who-have-you, shaking someone’s hand with his or her right hand, I reserve the right to call for their fucking heads. Because shaking someone’s hand with your right hand…why, you may as well have murdered puppies in my living room. Shat right there in the gumbo. The only way I’ll cancel the fatwa is if I get some serious fucking media play. The world has to realize the magnitude of the blunder before I’ll call it off.
While I’m at it, I also call for the heads of those people who haven’t named their various kitchen appliances or outdoor furnishings Muhammad. These people make my blood boil. And those who haven’t had an abortion or performed an abortion, who are high on my holy shit list? Death to them.
THE WORLD WILL ACKNOWLEDGE MY SYMBOLIC APESHITTERY.
In this spirit, I’ve decided henceforth to refer to “The Play” as “The Muhammad”. I refer to the head-scratchingest, soul-crushingest play-call in the history of me watching football, heralded by ESPN’s John Clayton as perhaps the worst play-call since 1978.
My son and I were celebrating the Saints’ improbable but near-certain win when Sean Payton called “The Muhammad”. My boy felt the crush, looked to me, and watched in horror as Dad silently went to bed at dinner time, not to emerge again until morning.
Muhammad is no teddy bear, he’s a cruel and capricious bitch of a play-call. Unless it was Jesus, in which case my sincere apologies go out to Muhammad. But it was one of those fuckers, I just know it.
December 6th, 2007 at 9:03 am