Everyone Is Entitled To My Opinion

Did you ever tell a little fib as a kid and it grew and grew until it became a large, haunting presence looming over your life? And then you embellished it more and more and people kept asking you about it so, of course, you had to answer their questions with made up stuff and it continued to grow bigger and bigger? And then you kind of forgot what was real and what wasn’t -and really, does it matter anyway?

Well of course it matters - truth must triumph. I can’t live with this any longer, so here’s the truth: I may NOT be Annette Funicello’s cousin.

Both Annette and I were born in Utica, New York at Faxton Hospital. But she was born in 1942 and I was born in 1950. When she was three, Annette and her family moved to California although she left behind a lot of Italian relatives. My family continued to live in Utica and my relatives kind of mingled and married some of hers - maybe. I think that’s what Aunt Lil said. Something like that.

When the Mickey Mouse Club began in 1955, I was five. Annette proved to be very popular and received over 1500 fan letters a week. I think that’s when the little fib began to grow. By the time she started singing and dancing in a bikini, she and I were close “cousins” and 3rd and 4th graders all over my school were jealous. I hope their opinion of me doesn’t change too much because of this.

I truly am sorry for pretending to be someone I don’t think I ever was (probably). But I would like to reconfirm that I went out with Judy “Sock It To Me” Carne’s movie double when I lived in New York. Greatness has always shadowed me.

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Do you remember your worst job? A “position” which probably included minimum wage pay, horrible hours, a lousy boss, and meaningless, repetitive work? If you were unlucky, maybe the rude, demanding public and lots of grease were also thrown into the mix. And if you were REALLY cursed, you also got to wear a spiffy hat and dork uniform. If your friends showed the least bit of pity, they stayed away from your workplace or pretended they didn’t notice you mopping the dried crud from the floor. But of all the lousy jobs of which I’ve heard, the WORST had to be held by my friend, Stan, years ago.

Stan was a Human Dummy at a school which trained attack dogs. It was winter in the late ‘60’s in the frigid north country somewhere in the Adirondacks and Stan was paid $1/hour, minimum wage at the time.

At dawn, in the snow-crunching cold, he would trudge to the school, put on the flimsy “protective” pads, and go into the large, fenced yard. There, the trainer would yell, “Run!” and Stan would take off with a large, untrained dog or two at his heels, trying their best to take him down with their teeth. When they tore him to the ground, the trainer would yell, “Stop!” - and they would - or not - depending on how well they learned that command. Then the trainer would step over Stan’s cringing body and reward the dogs with treats. Of course, the more quickly and viciously the dogs attacked, the more treats they got. Stan went home black, blue, and bleeding every night.

Well for two nights anyway. Stan only lasted two days and didn’t even go back for his pay. He figured ANY job he could get would be better than that one.

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Another Lousy Job? Copy & Paste One Lousy Job. into the Search Box.

I like the Republican Party as much as I like the Democratic Party - which is not at all. But even though they plow mainstream mush throughout America and have thrown up a Presidential candidate who’s a Bush wannabe without the laughs, I feel sorry for them. They just can’t get anything right.

The GOP recently ran a new campaign theme up their flagpole to see who would salute. The people who didn’t laugh out loud shook their heads in disbelief. The slogan?

“The Change You Deserve”

Of course anyone with an IQ higher than room temperature knows a ‘Change’ theme - any change theme - is already associated with Democrats. And trying to capitalize on America’s mad quest for change - when you’re the dolts from whom we’d like to change - is dumb - real dumb. WORSE? The new slogan is ALREADY the trademarked ad copy for the antidepressant drug Effexor! Uh-oh.

EVEN WORSE? Believe it or not, it’s unlikely the GOP will change the new theme. You see Republicans just aren’t very good at admitting and then fixing embarrassing blunders. Does the word “Iraq” ring any bells here?

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My best friend, the late, great Sunday the Cat got into everybody’s business. If you came to my apartment, you’d have to deal with her - one way or another. And this began when you first walked through the door! Many people who met Sunday told stories about her filled with words like ‘relentless’, ‘funny’, ‘a pest’, ‘moody‘, ‘scary’, ‘unpredictable’, and ‘nutcat’.

If you were a woman Sunday liked, she’d bond with you in a special way. If you used my bathroom, you’d probably hear a few scratches or quiet taps on the door. “One moment, please” you’d politely say thinking someone wanted to use the facilities. But Sunday never heard of the word ‘no’. There would be louder scratches and taps. “ONE MOMENT PLEASE!” you might shout.

If I heard the fracas, I would probably yell,

“It’s OK! It’s just Sunday the Cat. You can let her in.”

And then (from what I’m told) Sunday would trot in, get into her litter box directly across the toilet, look right at you, and pee.

Of course different women had different reactions to this “honor”. Most would come out with puzzled looks on their faces and say, “Why did Sunday do that? I’ve been here over an hour - why did she have to go just then?”

But some women knew. They just laughed and shook their heads at my best friend. These women were invited back often.

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The Best Sunday Story? Type: Cat vs. Stripper in Search Box

(for Amy)

2 -WORD CLICHÉS
“Mediocrity at Hyper-Speed”

Why must things be:

• long overdue • perfectly clear • dangerously close
• terribly wrong • overly dramatic • bitterly cold
• seriously harmed • prematurely gray • pleasantly plump
• insanely jealous • exceedingly dull • finally done

How come people always talk about the size of tumors in terms of citrus food? “The doctor said he removed a growth the size (of a lemon) (of an orange) (of a grapefruit)?

“His breath came in short pants.”

“Ave Maria” with a Disco Beat.”

Did you walk to school or bring your lunch?

Q: What’s a Jenna Bush?

I just figured out why they named it Subway - Subs! Oh shut up - you never put it together either.

Last year I went through a 3-hour course on ‘How to Be a Poll watcher’. BORING! And then they told me I couldn’t be one because I was not registered to one of the major parties. ROTTEN! (I like to waste my own time, THANK YOU.) BUT I found out people who are mentally ill still have the Right to Vote. TRUE - maybe that’s how we got Bush. Hell, some of these people might even vote for him a 3rd time.

Don’t CC: me. There hasn’t been a Carbon Copy floating around since you had a 28-inch waist.

I just lost $145-million in the Mega-something lottery.

The punch line was, “MY Mother? - I thought she was YOUR Mother!” - but I’ll be damned if I can remember the friggin’ joke.

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Hillary Clinton is on the crazy train to Sorelosersville. A year ago, political pundits said her nomination was so sure, the Democrats should just call it a ‘Coronation’ and focus on the general election. Right. But then along came BaBa. Today, Hilly’s the longest shot in the race. Is it possible she could still win the nomination? Sure. And it’s also possible you could win the Lottery tonight. But don’t quit your job just yet.

I am not an Obama fan and, to me, McSame is a joke. Again - one more national election in which I don’t vote - or hold my nose, vote AGAINST someone, and then go home and take a shower.

One thing that has always bothered me about Hilly is her relentless, ruthless, quest for the gold ring of American politics, the presidency. Why do you think she stayed with Billy after being humiliated by Jennifer Flowers, Monica, and the rest of his good-time girls?

Why, after Bill’s second term, did she feel a compelling need to move to New York and become our savior? How does it feel to be a stepping stone for Hillary’s lunge for power?

I think she’ll throw in the towel well before the convention - but not because it’s the right thing to do. It will be because her campaign has run out of money and the delegate gap is even bigger than a Clinton ego. Listen to her ‘good-by’ speech. It will be all about her sacrifice in getting out of the race for the good of Democrats everywhere. It will also be the usual crock of political horseshit.

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Unlike Latinos, Arabs, and Greeks, Americans aren’t known as a passionate people. Certainly our blood runs hotter than Brits, Scots, or Swedes - but as a nation, we don’t really get excited about much. Sometimes our national blood pressure can be raised by gas prices, Superbowls, or bouts of Brittany baloney - but usually we favor words rather than fists to express ourselves.

Except when it comes to Flag Burning.

Burn an American flag as a protest and you might as well spit on someone’s Mother’s grave. Flag burning is like dropping the “F -bomb” in church or calling a woman the “C” word. Congress endlessly debates stupid laws against the protest and editorial writers go into a dither over it. It’s a great front page or cover picture - the drama - the color - the boiling blood!

The funny thing is, the more you go nuts over the act, the more effective it becomes. Demonstrators WANT you to go nuts. They WANT you to become emotionally involved in their issues. Bad publicity is better than no publicity and flag burning is a surefire, over-the-top button to press.

So let’s take a breath here and use our heads.

Flags aren’t the country, they’re SYMBOLS of the country. They’re little pieces of rectangular cloth sold to retailers by wholesalers- just like any other product. Flags aren’t manufactured reverently and rabbis don’t make them kosher. If one gets burned, there’s an endless supply to take its place.

So the next time you see some protesting dolt burn an American flag, don’t get excited. Don’t let your buttons get pushed. Smile. Think about our wonderful Bill of Rights which allows the nitwit to express himself freely in the land of the free.

And then hope for a little breeze so the goofball will accidentally set his own clothes on fire.

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Italians don’t “talk”. Of course I don’t mean your Uncle Angelo whom you can’t shut up after four glasses of vino - I mean we don’t “talk” to save ourselves by implicating others. I always tell people “Italian kids learn NOT to talk - before they learn to talk.” We’re taught this at an early age.

As a kid, I walked to school and was to be home by 3:30 or so. Once, in the third grade, we had a substitute teacher who left the classroom just before the 3:00 bell to do a small chore. Robert _______ had the dumb, cliched idea of putting a tack on her chair. When the sub returned, she sat down, screamed, and glared at us.

“Who did that?” she snarled.

Silence - followed by the 3:00 bell. We started to get up and gather our things when we heard,

“SIT DOWN! NO ONE IS LEAVING THIS ROOM UNTIL I FIND OUT WHO DID THAT!”

We sat back down. Silence.

“I can wait longer than you can.” she said, “No one is going home until I find out.”

Although I can’t remember how the standoff ended, I do remember I got home late. Very late. My Dad met me at the door.

“OK,” said my Father, “where were you?” Even though his voice was calm, the well-understood idea behind the question was “And if you don’t have a good story, you scungile’s orphan, you’ll be grounded so long your friends won’t even remember what you look like.”

I told him what happened. When I finished, he asked me just one question. Not, “Did you do it?” or “Who did it?” - just, “You didn’t squeal, did you?”

When I assured him I hadn’t, he said, “OK, go wash up now. Your Mother’s warming your dinner in the oven.” And that was the end of that.

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OBSCENE? Do you know what’s really obscene? Horses that are raced to death beyond any civilized standards for sport, show, and money. Innocent civilians and soldiers killed in senseless wars like the one in Iraq. And 40,000+ people (mostly children) worldwide who die EVERY SINGLE DAY from starvation and disease. These are ALL disgusting facts - but do you know what’s really obscene?

The fact that a goddamn word offends you more than these atrocities.

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In 1998 Burger King took out a full page ad in USA Today announcing a “Left-Handed Whopper” specially designed for left-handed Americans. The new burger included the same ingredients as the original Whopper but all the condiments were rotated 180-degrees to accommodate left-handers.

Lefties were delighted! Finally - the world was recognizing that not all people are right-handed and the other 11% of the population was getting some respect. Thousands of ‘right - as a second hand’ customers rushed into BK’s across the nation requesting the new sandwich.

But there was no new sandwich. Surprised at the overwhelmingly enthusiastic response, a sheepish Burger King was forced to issue a press release the next day admitting the whole thing was a hoax.

Left-handers were not amused. Now, instead of being ignored, the overly-sensitive paranoids thought they were being mocked and ridiculed by a national restaurant chain. Of course they were “right” - 90% of us know they’re genetic mutants, not ‘getting with the program’ for their entire lives.

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Hungry for more fast food follies? Read: “Guarding the Mens’ Room for Ronald McDonald”, one of my first jobs in advertising. Type Ronald in the Search Box.