-Lawrence Peter Berra
Taking
a page outta the playbook of KISS, The Who, and the Clintons… We are back! This
blog has died and resurrected more times than Bill Murray in Groundhog’s Day. Lazarus is sick of our
zombie tendencies, but Doc Holiday is excited because our hypocrisy knows no
bounds too.
I quit apologizing years ago for dragging Jaron into my failed
attempts at weight loss. However, he knows when a weight loss contest is on the
horizon there are two sure bets: first, fun Jarvis takes second chair to grumpy starving Jarvis. And second,
the dust will be blown off of No Fat Jokes
Please.
This
blog reanimates more than Bernie in Weekend
at Bernie’s. For our younger hipster crowd, that is Bernie Lomax of the
1989 subcult classic. Not the bastard Vermont socialist love child of
Doctor Emmett Brown and Larry David. For the next 12 weeks I am competing in
two weight lose contest. One at work, and one with Jaron “The ODJ” Krause himself.
The latter is because the pending pool season requires Jaron to renew his subscription to the doctrine
of when the suns out, the guns shall be out.
The
work contest has yet to determine prizes. I am guessing a 5 night 6 day
Mexican Riviera cruise, or possible a $5 gift card to Chili’s. The contest prize with
Jaron is the same as in the past; the fatter fool at the end buys all-you-can-eat sushi. Trophies aside, both contest are grudge
matches with no restrictions on creative gamesmanship. No holds barred. If you
ain’t cheating, you ain’t trying. Call the Tijuana nutritionist. East German
female Olympians. Nuff said!
What a momentous weekend to fire up this ole digital dumping ground. Today is the 25th anniversary of the Rodney King riots. The matchstick to the powder keg of racial tension in the land of smog, sponsored car chases and NWA. Ice Cube has really gone wealthy white guy with his cash cow Are We There Yet franchise. I still can't afford Dre's earphones.
Ironically, today is the continuation of the National Football League’s annual slave trade… better known as The Draft. Replaced are the shackles and cotton fields with Rolexes and football fields. Billionaires making more millionaires than Ed McMahon. In twenty years most of the current gridiron gladiators will be drooling shells of their once greatness. Pissing in the stove as a result of years of brain trauma. No need to fret over this annual Faustian ritual… the money will be enjoyed by children, spouses, and agents for years after eulogies are delivered. No motivational post here.
Enjoy the fat shedding reunion tour!
