The Angry Czeck

“This is it. This is the stupid way it ends,” I thought as my own car rolled towards me.

I bought new glasses – clear plastic frames vaguely similar to the kind of goggles you wear when you build a bird house. I chose them over a plainer brown pair because the cute girl behind the counter said the clear frames were “funky.” Funky like you, she didn’t have to say aloud. It was implied.

A week later, the lenses for my glasses arrived, and the pair of specs was waiting for me at the optometrists. I zipped my 2001 Honda Accord into a parking space behind a pizza parlor across the street. It wasn’t quite lunchtime, so I didn’t think I was creating any trouble for the pizza parlor, which did a zesty lunchtime business. I turned off the ignition, grabbed my paper cup half-full of coffee, exited the car and locked the door. I then nimbly crossed the street.

The optometry office featured an all-glass facade that reflected my image to spectacular effect. I’m such a good looking guy, I thought, flexing my arm muscles and sucking in my gut. I must have looked awesome, standing on the sidewalk with a cup of coffee in my hand, my gut strangely caved-in and my arms locked like a robot’s. But I looked terrific in the window. A real Adonis. Perhaps if I hit the gym harder and ate more baked chicken I –

“Hey! Sir! Is that your car?”

See? This is what happens when you park your car behind a pizza parlor before the lunch rush. Its a little known fact that pizza makers are unusually stingy about their parking spaces. I turned ready to defend myself against a verbal barrage from an irate cook.

Instead, I saw my own car rolling across the parking lot.

To my good fortune, the parking lot was empty. But that also meant there was nothing to stop my Honda Accord from rolling into a very busy street. If, by some stroke of chance, my car avoided the traffic, it would eventually pop onto the sidewalk across the street and plow through the walls of a frequently visited fashion boutique.

In a flash, I saw myself on the local evening news. Man leaves car in neutral, kills everyone! The camera would get a close-up of burning chunks of old-lady body parts as the police made a half-hearted attempt to rescue me from a furious mob. I saw the story being picked up on FOX News. Heartless liberal worse than the terrorists! I wondered if I’d meet Nancy Grace before frying in the electric chair.

I cast a quick glance to the guy who warned me – a squared-faced blond man who dressed like a magician. If he knew a spell that could freeze a runaway car in its tracks, he wasn’t wasting it on me.

I raced to the curb and assumed a position similar to that of a basketball player’s – bent knees, hands waiting for the pass. But instead of a basketball, I was about to catch a Honda Accord. Also, I was still holding my coffee.

A 2001 Honda Accord weighs about 2975 lbs. (I looked it up.) I only weigh about half that much. In addition, I’m cursed with inferior upper-body strength. And my back was sore. I didn’t have much of a chance for stopping the Honda, but I figured that it was far better to be run over and crippled by my own car than to be introduced on Fox & Friends as the Communist Bastard Who Hates America.

The coffee exploded in my hand as metal met flesh! I was immediately pushed backwards five or six feet, but I had stopped the Honda from destroying the city! My might was mighty! I was owed a key to the city! And free meals!

The magician finally appeared at my side (after I had completed all the necessary heroics), and he held the Honda in place while I put the car in park. Peril averted! And the world had my incredible strength to thank.

Then I saw some teenagers laughing at me and the whole damned thing was ruined. Stupid punks.

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To my surprise, we’ve celebrated Earth Day for 40 years. Forty years! Did you know that?

No you didn’t. Because you barely know that Earth Day exists, just like me. Why? Because we celebrate it by doing things we don’t want to do. (That’s why Prostate Day and Sarah Jessica Parker Week have never caught on either.)

With reluctance, I toss stuff in the recycling bin – but only after the sanitation department made it easier. It wasn’t long when we were asked to “fold newspapers into paper bags” and to practically sterilize aluminum cans before the final dispatch. I have yet to get around to installing the solar panels to my low-capacity water heater, but I have replaced about 60% of my light bulbs with those horrendously ugly florescent bulbs. Why can’t these things look any better than the tights worn by Captain Planet?

There’s nothing visually appealing about saving the planet.

Mrs. Angry is hot for a hybrid car, but I’ve seen them in action and quite frankly merging a three-wheel golf cart onto the freeway looks more fun. Plus, hybrids cost more money and so far none of you have agreed to pay for this blog. It’s your fault that the Earth suffers.

Earth Day makes some people surly. We don’t like to be told what to do, and we don’t like to be told that what we’re doing is wrong. (This is why Coitus Interruptus Month was such an abysmal failure.) Making it a holiday just makes it more insulting. If grandpa poured old car oil into the woods, why can’t I? Isn’t it my right as an American to drive a car with seating for eight people by myself? Not only is banning asbestos, fluorocarbons and leaded gasoline a major inconvenience, it’s just plain French.

It doesn’t help that saving the Earth is so confusing. Take those ugly florescent light bulbs, for example. They’re full of mercury. You have to wear a plastic bubble to dispose of them, preferably by launching them into the sun. Or how about nuclear power? One minor, half-ass meltdown in the 70′s (that resulted in zero deaths) has deprived us of clean power for thirty years. We love wind power because it makes us think of Holland, but Jesus, we’d need a wind farm the size of Connecticut to make a difference on the power grid.

And what the hell happened to solar energy? I remember when solar powered calculators became trendy in the mid-1980s. This is just the beginning! So far, it seems to be the disappointing end, too. Have you seen a solar powered car?  It looks like one of those rectangles that delivered General Zod to the Phantom Zone.

A solar-powered concept car from Dodge.

Unless Brad Pitt agrees to build everybody in America an energy efficient house, I’m guessing that Earth Day will continue to be celebrated with shrugs and a few extra soda cans tossed in the green recycle bins. Mrs. Angry will continue to vouch for a hybrid car, and I’ll say something like, “Let’s wait a few years so the engineers can improve the technology.” Conservatives will continue to dismiss global warming because Jesus never mentioned it in the Bible, and Al Gore will continue to tweak his powerpoint for the amusement of the conservationist choir.

In the spirit of Earth Day, I should have just recycled an old post.

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I know nothing about Health Care Reform.

Nothing!

I barely know anything about health care in general, and I admit it. (If being lectured by an idiot offends you, move on to another blog.) I’ve noticed that a big chunk of change is deducted from my paycheck twice a month, and that every year Mrs. Angry and I debate over what is an acceptable deductible. ($1000? $500? $250?) I know I visit a doctor less than once per year, and only at Mrs. Angry’s behest. I once arranged for a routine check-up at the age of 25, and somehow managed to come away with an abdominal cat scan.

Some people are mad about the recent vote in Congress to reform health care as it is. After a half-assed examination of the plan, the outrage still puzzles me. Those who have allowed this legislation to fill them with rancor seem to fall in one of these categories.

1. People Who Hate the Government. You don’t have to be a ultra-conservative to hate the government, but it tends to wash out that way. These are the people that do not trust the government because, well, I don’t know why. Some people just don’t like government. So anything that originates from government is met with scorn and criticism. You’ll find that most of these people say things like, “We need less government!” And by “less government” they mean fewer taxes. However, they tend to want more government if it means making abortion illegal, inserting religion in public schools, and bouncing Mexicans out of the country. Then more government is good.

2. People Who Are Afraid of Communism and Socialism. This was a legitimate fear – in the 1930s. People continue to cling to The Red Threat as if Dick Tracy wouldn’t stop those pinkos in time. Any program conducted with government funding is likely to be called “socialist” by this camp – even while they enjoy a government funded military, Medicare, and a national highway system. These things are not socialist. Providing health care coverage for everyone is.

3. People Who Hate Other Countries. “We’re becoming Canada!” these people moan. The thing is, even if the entire world but the United States adopted a policy that made everything better, these people would find a reason to hate it because it wasn’t an American idea.

4. People Who Never Had to Pay a Huge Medical Bill. The most popular argument in this circle is praising the United States for having “the best health care in the world.” And it is! You just have the dough to afford it. When Bill Clinton was rushed to the hospital recently for a heart procedure, smug anti-reformers chortled as a Democrat received the very best private health care on the planet. Yes. A rich celebrity has access to the best health care. I doubt if I’d be seen by the same crack staff of care givers.

5. People Who Hate President Obama. If President Obama invented a limitless source of cheap energy and found a new boyfriend for Sandra Bullock, these people would still hate him. Why? I dunno. Ask a person who hates the President. You usually get words like “shyster,” “Muslim,” “terrorist,” and “socialist.” I guess that’s why.

6. People Who Want Reform, but Not THIS Reform. The most rational of camps, these people recognize that health care is expensive and that everyone should receive coverage. However, in the current health care reform measures, they see attacks on the wrong fronts. Sure, easy-to-hate insurance companies harbor some of the blame, but so do prescription drug companies and a medical culture terrified by patient lawsuits. We need a plan that takes in account all the expenses – not just the cartoon bad guys.

I’m sure I’m missing a few categories, like People From Uranus and People That Like Jay Leno, but nobody reads long copy blogs anymore and I want to wrap this up.

Tiger Woods is addicted to sex.

So is actor David Duchovney. And former ESPN analyst Steve Phillips.

And Bill Clinton.

And Charlie Sheen.

And John Edwards.

And Mark Sanford

They’re all addicted. It’s terrible.

Or you could subscribe to a radical theory I’ve formulated just recently. Granted, I’m not a CNN expert and very little science is employed in my dubious methods. To be honest, I’ve only given it five-minute’s thought, but that’s four minutes longer than necessary.

Is it possible that these men are not actually addicted to sex, but rather are spoiled brats who can’t keep it in their pants?

Of course not! That’s crazy talk. Clearly, it’s not Tiger Woods’ fault that he banged 14(+) women, none of them name Elin. He has a disorder. He has an addictive personality. He needs therapy.

Tiger Woods is addicted to sex.

He and 3,000,000,000 other men on this planet. I’m one of them. It’s rough, too. I’m always jonesing. Just ask Mrs. Angry. My addiction has made her a victim. We get through it day by day.

But don’t rely on my heartbreaking testimony. I just write a blog that is poorly researched and seldom read. Put your faith in Steve Phillips instead:

“I couldn’t stop myself from doing the things I was doing, even knowing the consequences.”

It was like Steve was trapped inside an asshole’s body! I can imagine his pain as he pounded on the unfeeling walls of his conscious as Asshole Steve Phillips ordered more wine for his chubby intern. He couldn’t stop himself! It was like somebody else was in control. That’s sex addiction man.

But I think that David Duchovny’s wife, Tea Leoni, summed this terrible disease best:

“Men are like bulls. They gotta get the new cow. Maybe you’ve got to get the bull after he’s had a lot of cows, so you might just be the last new one.”

Yep. We’re always looking for another cow. That’s us sex addicts. We’re slaves to our erections. Fortunately, there is therapy for those with means. The rest of us aren’t so lucky. Instead of soothing pep talks and circle-time, we’re reduced to focusing on wedding vows and maintaining a level of dignity. We think about our wives and our children. We take in consideration our own self-worth.

But Tiger is addicted. Give him his space. He needs to heal.

One nipple ruined it for everyone.

When it happened, I didn’t even see it. During the 2004 Super Bowl – six freaking years ago – Justin Timberlake copped the most notorious feel in the history of groping. In the middle of it was Janet Jackson and her bizarre nipple ring. It looked like the sun. It blinded us like the sun. Don’t stare at it! Scratch that. It blinded us like masturbation! Or, at least, it did according to our nation of prudes and Puritans.

It. Was. A. Nipple!

Jesus, no!

A very nice, very conservative friend recently summed it up this way: “Children were watching.”

It. Was. A. Nipple!

Joe Wilson had a mouth malfunction, and he gets millions of dollars in campaign contributions from the nation’s conservative base. Something that vaguely resembles a black pearl is flashed on television, and we’re suddenly characters from a Nathanial Hawthorne novel.

And we’re still being punished for it.

Listen, I like The Who just as much as the next guy. But to dig up their corpses and have them perform for an audience of millions was a disgrace to them and to us. Thunder of Zeus! Peter Townsend could barely move. Roger Daltrey was a perfect Facebook doppelganger of Bea Arther! The Who didn’t deserve this! It was like unearthing the bones of Houdini, wrapping him up in a straight jacket, dropping him in the Hudson, and expecting him to leap onto shore a moment later.

The prudes won. They wrote a few letters, shouted some indignant proclamations, and proceeded to ruin the Super Bowl Halftime show for everyone under the age of 60.

Don’t believe me? Check out the antiquated acts that have followed:

2005 Paul McCartney
2006 The Rolling Stones
2007 Prince
2008 Tom Petty
2009 Bruce Springsteen
2010 The Who

You might be tempted to look at that list and say, “Well, at least we had Prince,” until you remember he became ultra-Christian about 20 years ago and refuses to sing any of the racy lyrics that made him famous in the 1980s. Prince is awesome, but he no longer rocks. No risk of menace! Prince is the Purple Pacifist now. Why not have Barney the Dinosaur perform next?

One nipple, and we cut the nation’s balls off in retaliation. Now we’re treated to obscene spectacles of elderly men forced to perform as though it were decades earlier. (There’s an obvious Viagra joke in here somewhere.) How many Super Bowl viewers in their 20s and 30s watched the halftime show in complete confusion? Who are these old men? What are these ancient songs they sing? Why is the guitar player wincing after every windmill move? Is the lead singer a woman? And if so, why can’t she hit any high notes?

It. Was. A. Nipple!

It wasn’t a clit or a dick or even an ass. Milk comes out of nipples. Like an earlobe, you can hang jewelry off a nipple. Watch an old episode of Friends and note how clearly one can admire Jennifer Aniston’s nipples. Nobody censures her! We didn’t replace her with some elderly vaudevillian. We just sat quietly and admired her nipples’ quiet dignity.

Who’s next for Super Bowl humiliation? Sting? The Beach Boys? Tommy Dorsey? If you’re old, white, near-death and non-threatening, there is a gig waiting for you.