Sunday, December 27, 2009

Blame President Bush

We Wouldn't Want To Offend...
After all, Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab is probably not even a Muslim. Indeed, it would be so damned offensive to members of the Religion of Peace if he had been stopped, searched, or prevented from flying. That is, if he is even a Muslim.

After all, if people were stopped based upon their names, then people like Mohammed Atta, Barack Hussein Obama, or Ziad Jarrah would have trouble flying. (Curiously, one of the three is not a Muslim; however, all three have had airplane incidents involving New York City.)

Israel regularly profiles travelers, and El Al is the safest airline in the world. American carriers do not, largely due to fears of lawsuits and of offending the people who are trying to kill us.
And, strangely, Mr. Abdulmutallab was on a Terror Watch List; but, was not subjected to any enhanced screening.

And, frankly, I can not help but think that if Mr. Abdulmutallab had waited just two hours more--until he arrived in Detroit--no one would have noticed (or cared) if he blew himself to bits.

Friday, December 25, 2009

Merry Christmas!

The Lifeguard Says...

Merry Christmas to you and yours.

May the peace and joy of this season bring you much happiness.

Thursday, December 10, 2009

Put me down for a 12...

"Where Da White Women At?"
As someone who"dated" a number of Swedish women, I will say this in Tiger's defence. They are beautiful, sexy, and very desirable. Also, after a while, the accent becomes so annoying.

'Nuff said.

Saturday, December 05, 2009

The Horror...

Kill Them All, Let God (or Allah) Sort Them Out.

An adherent of the so-called Religion of Piece--as in piece of suicide bomber--has one more request for those 72 Virginians.

A man, dressed as a woman, blew himself to bits in the midst of a graduation ceremony in Mogadishu, Somalia, killing three government ministers, three journalists, and seventeen others. (And we want to let Muslim women have their driver's licence pictures taken in their modesty-preserving garb?)

First, it was the warlords, stealing food and terrorising the poor (read, "everyone in Somalia").

Then, it was the so-called Blackhawk Down incident, with the attendant embarrassment to the United States of America.

Next, it was the rampant piracy, originating in the coastal towns of this lawless country.

Now, we have Al-Shabab (who deny any involvement in this cowardly act) committing a cowardly act that killed future doctors, engineers, and other students. (Yeah, good move. Kill the people that will most likely help to improve the plight of their fellow countrymen.)

Honestly, we have reached a point--and not just in Somalia--where drastic measures are called for. This is not a law enforcement problem, this is an education problem. A religion problem. (Actually, a problem stemming from a religion that loathes education, especially when it includes women.)

The solution? Drain the swamp.

The Lifeguard knows that it is just not fashionable (or practical) to send a large force to every Third-World shithole that needs, well, a large force. So, rather than waste valuable human resources, we should make use of some of the wonderful toys that come from the Military Industrial Complex.

Predator Drones, Tomahawk Cruise Missiles, and other smart weapons are just the cure for what ails the world. And no worries about rules of engagement or collateral damage. (Hell, Somalia is a one big piece of collateral damage. A little more won't matter.) Of course, our Nobel Peace Prize-winning President, Barack Hussein Obama (who remains not a Muslim) has neither the will, nor the sack to light up Somalia.

Now, if The Lifeguard were in charge...

Sports Saturday...

Alabama Beats Florida. Tebow In Tears.
Alabama's Crimson Tide beat Florida's Gators in the SEC Championship, handing the Gators their first loss of the season. This was the most anticipated game of a rather mundane college football season.

Florida QB, and Heisman Trophy winner, Tim Tebow, was crying at the end of the game.

The Lifeguard could not have cared less.

Friday, December 04, 2009

Say What?

It's An Outrage! An Outrage!
President William Jefferson Clinton, America's first black president, sodomises a chubby intern, and it's no big deal. Just a little sex between the most powerful man in the world...and that woman.

Tiger Woods plays a few rounds away from his home course, and the world is turned upside down.

Sunday, November 29, 2009


American poet, Edna St. Vincent Millay, had it right. There is a lot to love about the human race; but, the people? Oy vey! Indeed, The Lifeguard used to say, about the practice of law, "It'd be a great profession if it weren't for the clients."

The Lifeguard, after celebrating an entire weekend of being thankful for various crap, wanted to remind the reader of one of the many things for which The Lifeguard is not thankful.

Like Real Housewives of Atlanta. I mean, I don't have a problem with housewives, or Atlanta. But, these broads get nothing but my undying scorn...and ridicule. I first discovered this train wreck while scanning the channels for some good re-runs of Hogan's Heroes or The A-Team. Instead, I had to watch this abortion (which will not be funded under the obamination that is Obamacare). I never knew that there was a single show that could sour me on an entire sex...or, at least a group of that sex. Thank Christ that there are other, less ugly, examples of womanhood.

Really, all that needs to be said on the subject is, "Ne Ne."

Come to think of it, The Lifeguard is saddened by the fact that he missed Edna St. Vincent Millay by so many years. She sounds like The Lifeguard's kind of woman.

Saturday, November 28, 2009

I Crashed The State Dinner...
and overheard Indian Prime Minister, Manmohan Singh, say to President Barack Hussein Obama (who is probably still not a Muslim), "Oy vey! You's darker than us! Woof!"

Thursday, November 26, 2009

Happy Thanksgiving!

The Lifeguard Can't Go In The Water!*
After eating enough food to feed a Somali family for two weeks, The Lifeguard dozed off on the couch, a steaming cup of coffee growing cold at my feet. And, as The Lifeguard drifted off, thoughts of friends, old and new, occupied my thoughts.

Thank you for your friendship, your love, and your concern. Y'all make life brighter, better.

May you have much peace, happiness, and turkey sandwiches for lunch tomorrow.

Oh, and don't forget the pie.

*I might cramp up if I do. Don't worry, the sentimental Bravo Sierra ends in about 54 minutes. Tomorrow, the assault on the coming Christmas Season begins. You want Black Friday? You'll get Black Humour Friday. And you'll love it.

Sunday, November 22, 2009


What's Next?
Some moron thought that Muslim girls (who can't, in many places, attend school, or show their faces) would like to play with Burkha Barbie.

What's next? Suicide Bomber Barbie? (A Burkha Barbie wearing a suicide bomber's vest. The whole thing explodes fifteen minutes after you leave the store, sending rat poison coated ball bearings and roofing nails into every nook and cranny of your car.)

Wednesday, November 18, 2009


by his "unfriend."

It's funny, but the "unfriending" happened just days before "unfriend" became the 2009 Word of the Year. (In the eyes, at least, of the Oxford Dictionary.) A week or so before Thanksgiving. And, it was so easy. One minute, friends. The next, no evidence that the friendship ever existed. (Except, of course, for those nude photographs.)

It kind of hurt. The Lifeguard, after all, is a friend to all...except to those who "unfriend" him.

The Lifeguard just hopes that no one else "unfriends" him. (At least not today.)


The Lifeguard Saves...
The administration of President Barack Hussein Obama (who is still not a Muslim) gave the enemies of America an amazing opportunity to show The Great Satan for what militant Islam thinks it is: A brutal, oppressive nation that bullies lesser countries, tortures Muslims, and spreads its own brand of incorrigible malaise and immorality to the far reaches of the world. (You know, stuff like letting women attend school, for example.) Allowing Khalid Sheikh Mohammed to be tried in the United States (New York City, even), shows just how idiotic the Hussein...I mean, Obama...Administration is.

The next two years are going to be an absolute clusterfuck as our favourite alleged terrorist--and his court-appointed legal dream team--captures the headlines and manipulates the American judicial system for his own purposes (and for Al Qaeda's recruiting efforts).

If I were his lawyer, I would immediately seek a change of venue. Clearly, KSM can not get an impartial jury in the former shadow of the Twin Towers. And, it is not unreasonable that a Federal Court Judge, in New York City, would grant that motion (for fear of being flipped on appeal). I would seek a more friendly venue, like San Francisco--a long way from the East Coast--or Detroit--where there is a large Arabic population.

Then, I would be seeking to suppress all sorts of admissions and evidence against my client. Clearly, KSM was not read his Miranda rights when he was taken into custody. He was not given access to counsel, and his rights under the Fifth Amendment may have been abridged. Further, his coerced confession came as the result of torture, in violation of the Eighth and Fourteenth Amendments to the Constitution of the United States.

Next, I would file discovery requests for all information related to KSM's activities. Of course, knowing that this is all classified information, vital to national security, I would further tie up the Government, forcing them to argue countless motions, while having my minions (and you know there would be minions on my Dream Team) file FOIA requests. There would be more paper in this file than in the Democrats' Health Care Reform Bill.

Additionally, there would be visits to various news organs, who would doubtless love a chance to see just how horrible the Bush Administration's policies were to these poor folks. Indeed, Bill Maher would be champing at the bit to get me on Real Time; and, I can see a series of interviews on CNN, MSNBC (Olbermann is salivating), and the rest of the liberal media.

This would certainly soak up some serious time--and some serious coin. The judge will grant every request, every motion, for fear of presiding over the trial that led to the conviction that is tipped on appeal. (But, if The Lifeguard were at the helm, there would be no need for an appeal.)

Next, The Lifeguard gets ready for trial.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

The Lifeguard Is Not Alone...

If You Engage In Any Of The Following Behaviour...
you deserve an ass-kicking of Brobdingnagian proportions. If you engage in this behaviour in a church, you should be killed.

1) Wearing a Bluetooth earpiece makes you a douche. I so wanted to say something to the parishoner who had his earpiece on, blinking away, while the priest gave his homily. Unfortunately, I was so fixated by that blinking blue light that I couldn't pay attention. I prayed for his unfortunate (and untimely) death as the hands of a gang of meth-crazed high school students. (And, I think that God will answer my prayers.)

2) Fucking around with your iPhone prior to Mass, then showing the clever YouTube video to your pew-mate, deserves a beating that would have made Sister Benita Mussolini proud. (We used to call her Il Douchebag.)

If you can't be disconnected from technology for one measly hour, then you should politely remove yourself from the human race.

That is all.

Monday, November 02, 2009

The Lifeguard Wept...

I Just Don't Know What To Say...
The Lifeguard was in the local big-ass pharmacy and saw one of these babies.

The Lifeguard, wanting to make a difference in someone's life, is thinking about buying one, then shaving and donating his back hair to Locks of Love. After all, nothing is more detrimental to a young Italian boy's recovery from cancer than losing all of his back hair as a result of chemotherapy. (That, and having to remove his gold chains, bracelet, and pinkie ring before going into the MRI scanner.)


To be perfectly honest, The Lifeguard shaves his body for no man. (Which is to say, The Lifeguard does not shave his luxurious chest--or back--hair for anyone.)

All I Want For Christmas...

Is That Too Much To Ask?
And, if Claus comes through and I find one of these puppies under my tree--it's a really tall tree--I'll be looking for crew.

Interested applicants must be willing to spend hours, in the luxurious salon of the Gunboat 62, with The Lifeguard. As we will be visiting various exotic ports-of-call, the successful applicant must have a sense of adventure.

Please forward your application, along with photographs, to The Lifeguard.

We leave on December 26th.

Saturday, October 31, 2009

Mad Dog's Tentacles Are Long...

His Street Cred Grows...
Mad Dog, sentenced to life in prison, is running a global criminal enterprise once more. Now, instead of cash, he's dealing in cigarettes, contraband, and a stable of prison bitches. But, you can't keep a Mad Dog on the porch. (Even when that porch has steel bars, sixteen foot walls, guard towers and razor tape.)

When Mad Dog learned that his former associate, Jeffry Picower was being pressured about the $7 billion he had made from Madoff-related investments, Mad Dog took matters into his own hands.

It's amazing what a couple of cartons of Newports will get you these days.

Jeffry Picower was found dead last weekend, at the bottom of his swimming pool.

A victim of a heart attack. (At least it looked like a heart attack.)

Sunday, October 25, 2009

Dynamic Douche-o

Batman and Robin?
I was talking to my friend, N., who said she pictured these chaps, attired in tights, sliding down the pole, to jump in the Batmobile. (Which, coincidentally, is shaped like a giant bat.) Then, racing off to fight crime and against good baseball commentary.

I can see it now: Commissioner Selig has the searchlight, which illuminates the skies over Gotham, with a beam in the shape of a baseball. This tells the Dynamic Douche-o that there is a baseball game to be broadcast, with all sorts of annoyingly stupid remarks to be made. For three hours and forty two minutes. On Fox.

"Holy Hardball, Batman! Joe Girardi is not making a pitching change."

Saturday, October 24, 2009

Tool Catalogue...

The Lifeguard Offers These Suggestions:

Regardless of your political orientation, sexual orientation, or point of origination, here are three basic rules to avoid being laughed at by The Lifeguard.

First, don't wear your hat backward. Not only does it look stupid (unless you are Jorge Posada, and you are on a baseball diamond), it...well...looks stupid. It looks even worse when the hat is over-sized, the brim is flat, and it covers the tops of the ears. Or, if you are the President of the United States.

Second, if you are over the age of 16, don't wear a Posada (for example) jersey. (Unless, of course, you are Jorge Posada.) This is another one of those douchey things that guys do (in hopes of impressing girls who are impressed by losers in replica jerseys). The only possible exception would be the guy who wears a New York Knights jersey, bearing the number 9. (Bonus points if you know which Knight wore number 9.)

Finally, don't piss me off.

That is all.

Friday, October 16, 2009


Last weekend, The Lifeguard journeyed to dear old Wake Forest to partake in the Homecoming festivities, see old friends, and make a few new ones. Oh, and to see the Demon Deacons beat Maryland.*

The beauty of the Wake Forest campus, even after twenty-two years, still brings a tear to my eye, especially given the fondness I have for my alma mater. And, truth be told, this trip meant more to me than any other. If only I could go back....

But, I can't.

*Sadly, The Lifeguard could not stay for the game; and, as such, missed the opportunity to see a Wake victory--a rarity when I was at university--and to roll The Quad.


Not Only Do I Hate The Fox Sports Broadcast Team...
Erick Aybar and Chone Figgins fail to communicate, allowing Hideki Matsui's infield fly ball drop, impotently, to the dirt in New Yankee Stadium. This allowed Matsui to rack up an infield hit--and an RBI--putting the dreaded Evil Empire up, 2-0, in the first inning.

This prompted me to consider a couple--actually, three--things:

First, how do you get "Sean" from Chone? What are they putting in the water in Leary, Georgia that makes mothers give their children ridiculous names? Where is Leary, Georgia?

Second, is it fair that Hideki Matsui's cousin scores the game? How in the name of sweet Jesus was that a motherhumping hit?

Finally, do they not know the "Rule of Nine" in Bani, Dominican Republic? Shouldn't you make that catch for $460,000.00 a year? Shouldn't you make that catch if you want to make more than $460,000.00 next year? Hell, my 11 year old makes that catch (most of the time) for free. (And, if he doesn't, at least he called it.) Oh, and I almost forgot...47 degrees at game time is not an excuse to wear the hood. There are people who go to see the Green Bay Packers play, in December, without their shirts. He's playing baseball, and the excitement of playing in the ALCS should keep him warm. (Plus, he might have been able to hear Figgins tell him to take it.)

F^%$ing Evil Empire.

Sunday, October 11, 2009

And The Lifeguard Wept...

I Hate Norway!
Barack Hussein Obama, America's 44th President, who is also not a Muslim, won the 2009 Edition of the Nobel Peace Prize. Said one member of the committee, Olaf Knudsen, "We gave the award to President Obama because he hates America as much as we do. He is just like Jimmy Carter."

Yes, great. BHO gets a cool mill (after taxes), gets a medal, and guarantees himself a steady stream of invites from the likes of other America haters such as Robert Mugabe, Hugo Chavez, Raul Castro (and don't forget Fidel), and any other tin-pot dictator who laments America's (or the West's) pre-eminence in the world.

I mean, really...why BHO (except for the fact that he talks a good game)?

President Reagan defeated communism. President Bush 41 presided over the dismantling of the Berlin Wall (and formed a coalition of nations to kick Saddam Hussein's ass back to Baghdad). President Clinton got tons of ass. (Literally, tons of ass. I mean, really, did you see Monica Lewinsky?) President Bush 43 finished the job his father started, forming another coalition, enforcing 17 breached UN Resolutions, and driving a murdering, raping thug from power. Did any of these guys get the Nobel? Not a chance.

Instead, President Obama wins it.

If he were really that smart, really that patriotic, he'd have told the Nobel Committee that he didn't want their stinking medal. Instead, a president with nearly no accomplishments in nearly a year in office takes the medal, shits on America, and gives the post-American world something to cheer.

The sad part? There is no where to run. No where to hide.

For their efforts, The Nobel Committee wins the coveted "Dumbass of the Week" award. Unlike the Nobel Peace Prize, this award comes with absolutely nothing but The Lifeguard's scorn and ridicule.

Friday, October 09, 2009


jetBlows is more like it.
Cheap seats, 35 channels of DirecTV in the seat back in front of you, leather seats, no baggage fees. All good things, indeed.

However, cheap travel also brings with it a glorious collection of retards and nitwits that would, without jetBlue (and AirTran, et al.) be doggin' it.

As I boarded my flight this morning--a short hop from one Northeast airport to another Northeast airport--I endured (albeit with 35 channels of DirecTV in the seat back) the twentysomething couple next to me who attacked each others faces like a ravenous wolverines attacking a...well, whatever ravenous wolverines attack. I might have suggested that the two lust birds get a room; but, that seemed redundant since she had her own pillow.

Now, The Lifeguard is not one to judge anyone (well, yes, I am); but, who in the crikey fuck brings a pillow on a plane? (Especially one that quite clearly doesn't have a clean pillow case and the 3000 threadcount linens that The Lifeguard prefers.)

Across the aisle, the African couple, complete with native headdress and obviously fake gold jewelry, sat down to enjoy their repast of goat fritters and emu egg omelets. The smell--which is to say "stench"--of their sustenance polluted the cabin air for the duration of the short flight. I am rather certain that their carry-on bag contained the family chickens and a small collection of native herbs and plants (or, what passes for health care in Sub-Saharan Africa).

Finally, The Lifeguard was forced to endure the indignity of the day sans Starbucks (since The Lifeguard flat out refuses to drink Pike's Blend), or a tall glass, filled with ice, Grey Goose, and tomato juice.

Fuck, the flight for the next leg of my journey is now being called.

Although The Lifeguard is traveling, The Lifeguard is back.

Regular posting resumes today.

(And, as my friend J might ask: "Are ya busy?")

Thursday, October 08, 2009

It's been awhile...

The Lifeguard Has Been Doing His Part!
October, as y'all know, is National Breast Cancer Awareness Month. (Frankly, The Lifeguard is aware of breasts twelve months a year, but that's another story.)
So, learn how to perform an exam, ladies. Have a mammogram. Call The Lifeguard. Whatever. Early detection is the key.
Next month, Colorectal Cancer Awareness Thursday. (Face it, the asshole is just not as appealing as a beautiful pair of breasts.)

Thursday, October 01, 2009

I was pissed....

They Gave Me A Rolex!
My next-door neighbours, a young lesbian couple, asked me what I wanted for my birthday.

I told them I wanted to watch.

Saturday, September 19, 2009


The First Lady, the Empress Michelle Obama, was in a pickle. (An organic pickle, naturally.) She was out of organic Tuscan kale, so she fired up the motorcade, grabbed a crack team of security personnel, and fucked up Washington D.C. traffic so that she could run to the local farmers market to buy some certified organic veggies.

Now, I don't have a problem with the First Family eating healthy foods. I don't even have a problem with the enormous cost of eating foods that are certified organic. I do, however, take exception at the mobilisation of men and machines so that Mrs. Obama can have a photo opportunity.

So, after a long hiatus, The Lifeguard awards First Lady Michelle Obama the coveted "Dumbass of the Week" award.

And, for the record, she does not have great arms and a fantastic figure.

Thursday, August 27, 2009

It wasn't what I thought...

The Lifeguard Was So Excited To See This!

I drove a little farther, hoping for something to break up the monotony of the Chevy HHR and my holiday.

Sadly, it wasn't a quickie. It was a speed bump.
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The Chevrolet HHR...

The Lifeguard rented one of these beauties when he was on holiday. It was ugly, uncomfortable, shoddily assembled, ugly, underpowered, (most assuredly) overpriced, cramped, ugly, lacking storage, and ugly. There is no doubt in my mind that the woes at The General are due, in large part, to the fuckwits who designed cars like this one.

Really, as much as The Lifeguard wants to blame the unions for the decline of the American automobile industry, I just can not. It is the fault of the designers who cobbled together this abortion (and others like it). In fact, this car was surely supposed to be a Chevy Tahoe...before it was aborted in the second trimester.

I was happy to have the vacation end so that I could turn in this piece of crap.
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Sunday, August 23, 2009

Kinda makes me wish I were French...

The Chickens Come Home to Roost
President Barack Hussein Obama (who is not a Muslim) gave British Prime Minister Gordon Brown some DVDs that wouldn't play, and took many opportunities to shit on our oldest--and best--ally. Now, we find out that the PM was working, behind the scenes, to see that Pan Am Flight 103 bomber, Abdulbaset al-Megrahi's release--on humanitarian grounds--was not hampered.

To make matters worse, President Obama (who is still not a Muslim) had no objections to al-Megrahi being freed on humanitarian grounds.

It is enough to make The Lifeguard scream, I tell you.

This murdering son-of-a-bitch participated in the deaths of 270 innocents, then went home to a hero's welcome after being freed because he had terminal cancer. Because someone thought it was the humane thing to do.

As noted previously, if it was a hero's welcome he was going to get, the US Air Force should have provided the fireworks. Or, perhaps today, a little present, delivered on the nose of a cruise missile.

Friday, August 21, 2009

Now I know where the Size 28 stewardesses went...

The Golden Days of Air Travel Are Gone!
In a rare departure from the norm, The Lifeguard boarded a USAirways flight from Logan, headed to parts unknown. From the twisted policy that demands a $20.00 per bag handling fee to the aged, dumpy and overweight flight attendants, it is no wonder that the airlines are in such bad shape these days.

First, the airlines have adopted a policy that encourages people to carry bags on the plane. Add the infrequent travelers to the over-privileged douche bags that already carry on their luggage and you have one crowded aisle with people struggling to lift their personal possessions into a tiny luggage bin. Imagine two hundred people stuffing three hundred bags into space for one hundred and fifty, and you've got modern air travel. And, should your checked bags (for which you have paid a hefty premium) fail to arrive at your destination, do you get your money back? I don't think so.

Second, the flight attendants were all old, dumpy, and fat. (I was particularly fond of the peroxide blond with the short skirt and tight sweater...both of which were just too damned small.) Now, I have nothing against people who are a little heavy; but, when I might just have to rely on an old, out-of-shape woman to save my ass, I get a little leery. (I note that I feel much the same way about policemen and women who have had one doughnut too many.) When the flight attendant can not get down the aisle because of her size (I am not joking about this), it's time for her to go.

Finally, when the flight attendants can not make coherent announcements, as relate to the safety or general operation of the aircraft, I think we have a problem. As we were on our final to Large North Carolina Airport, the connecting flight information was read...poorly, and inaccurately.

Then, this:

"This aircraft is continuing on (argh!) to Cancun, Mexico. All passengers continuing on (again, argh!) to Cancun must deplane from the airplane (huh?!?) with their personal belongings, then recheck-in (can you do this?) with the agent at the top of the Jetway. This is due to security concerns because this plane will be going into international waters."*

The plane was going into international waters? I am glad that I got off when I did.

Fortunately, The Lifeguard arrived safely at his destination. Just in time to hear that the Libyan terrorist responsible for blowing up Pan Am Flight 103 (who is also a Muslim) arrived home to a hero's welcome. If The Lifeguard were in charge, I would have arranged for some fireworks for his arrival. I would have had the US Air Force deliver them.

*I wrote this down right after I heard the announcement. This was confirmed by at least one other passenger.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

The Michael Jackson of His Day!

The Questions Surrounding Mozart's Death Remain
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, in late November of 1791, took ill. By the beginning of December, he was dead.

The death of Mozart has led to much speculation: Was it an overdose of laudanum administered by his doctor? Was it syphilis caught while banging groupies in his carriage outside of the Vienna Opera House? Or, was he capped by Franz Joseph Haydn because he tapped Mama Haydn?

Few remember the tortured recovery after Mozart's hair caught fire while performing in Leipzig. And, few remember his bouts with addiction to everything from opium to sex. From wine to sex. (Hey, what can I say. Wolfie loved his poon.)

But, historians have done it. They have learned the true cause of The Great One's death.

It was Antonio Rosetti, a contemporary of Wolfie's, who bust a cap in he ass. All because Wolfie had done dirty, dirty things to Rosetti's twin daughters.

Mystery solved.

Friday, August 14, 2009

I barely understood a word...

Damon Weaver Is Eleven Years Old...
and is a reporter (which is good, because most reporters these days have about the same degree of intellect). Because he is eleven, I hesitate to make any mean comments. But, because he has decided to grab his fifteen minutes of fame, I figure the little scamp is fair game.

Mush-mouthed Weaver, a fifth-grader from Pahokee, Florida, became the youngest person to interview a sitting President of the United States...and, he became the President's homeboy, too. (Whatever the fuck that means.)

Weaver asked questions about school lunch (it sounded like he wants every lunch to be something incomprehensible and French Fries), whether he could meet the First Daughters, and how to make schools better with less money. (Okay, so I made up the shit about the First Daughters.)

You watch it and decide.

Wednesday, August 05, 2009

Things to do before I die...

Former President Bill Clinton Secures Their Freedom!

Then, when they got on the airplane home, the former president said, "I got you off, now you get me off. Heh heh heh."

Tuesday, August 04, 2009

Conjugal visits, my ass...

"Thanks, Helen."
The tray had a china cup, filled with strong, black coffee, a croissant, and The Wall Street Journal. Mad Dog propped his feet up on the desk and snapped open the paper, sipping the steaming coffee as the warden's secretary closed the door behind her.

Moments later, the door opens, and the warden, arriving a few minutes late, drops his attache case.

"You're late," Mad Dog says.

"You're in my office," says the warden.

"Yeah, about that. I'll need the desk for at least three hours a day. I am handling some investments for the guards, and I need to be able to take care of business."


"Warden, are you forgetting who runs this place? Oh, and I think Nushawn slipped in the shower. Damned mess, if you ask me."

"Yes sir, Mr. Madoff."

"Call me 'Mad Dog,' warden."

Mad Dog collects his things and leaves the office. Over his shoulder, he says, "I have a conjugal visit this afternoon. Can you see that a bottle of Pol Roger is on ice for me? My wife loves champagne."

Next, Mad Dog gets busy....

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Shawshank II: Mad Dog Gets His Ink

Mad Dog = Bad Ass
Mad Dog sat impassively, smoking a Camel, as DeShawn finished the tattoo, a snarling, evil-looking bulldog. Even some of DeShawn's hangers-on were frightened by the sight of the cur, which seemed ready to leap off Madoff's sinewy forearm and rip out their throats.

"Who knew that you could make a tattoo gun out of an old Nintendo," Mad Dog said.

"Nushawn's lookin' fo' you, man," said LaTonda, one of the prison bitches that Madoff runs as a part of his growing prison enterprise. "He say he gonna cut you."

"Fuck him," said Mad Dog. "That, by the way, is rhetorical. I don't actually want you to fuck him."

LaTonda giggled, handed Mad Dog a carton of Newports, then scampered off to take care of the next of Mad Dog's growing list of customers. "At least you didn't rat nobody out, Mad Dog."

The inmates respect a man like Mad Dog. He had the balls to screw everybody, then take the fall, like a man. None of this pussy-ass shit where you sell out your co-conspirators to get a better deal. He was a stand-up guy, and for that, he has become the boss of the prison. He is the man, more powerful than the warden. He handles investments for the guards, he controls the cigarette market, and he has a string of prison bitches that he farms out like so many...well, prison bitches.

And, Nushawn don't like that one bit.

As Mad Dog makes his way to the shower, he is cornered by Nushawn, still smarting from the ass-whuppin' he got just days earlier.

"Yo ass is mine, Jewboy."

The bulldog seems to grimace, then snarl, silently, as Mad Dog's body switches itself on. His muscles ripple--he is, after all, trained in Omnite--and his hand tightens on his soap-on-a-rope.

There is a shiny, black flash as Nushawn seeks the advantage. Mad Dog, however, bends like a reed, allowing Nushawn to overshoot his objective. Grabbing the rope, and pulling, Mad Dog pulls eighteen inches of thin wire out of the soap--his cleverly crafted garrote--and moves behind Nushawn. There is a gasp, and a sickly moan.

In an instant, it is over, blood flowing freely from Nushawn's almost completely severed head. Mad Dog walks away, calmly, and to the shower, where he disposes of the wire in the drain. As the warm water beats down upon him, he lathers away the dead man's blood, leaving him clean and new.

"Don't fuck with me!" he says, to no one in particular...but, they hear him. Loud and clear.

Next, Madoff makes his first million (cigarettes)...

Saturday, July 18, 2009

Sunday, July 12, 2009

I Don't Want To Be On That Flight...

Another Reason To Hate Unions...
The union that represents former Northwest Airlines flight attendants has filed a grievance because the Richard Tyler designed dress (supra) is only available in sizes up to a Size Eighteen. That's a one and an eight, sports fans. 18.

The union would like to have the dress offered in sizes up to (and including) a Size Twenty Eight (28). After all, other dresses are offered in sizes up to (and including) Size 28.

Now, flight attendants are responsible for our safety in the air; and, I am pretty sure that if a passenger who wears a Size 28 is required to buy two seats, then a flight attendant who wears a Size 28 is too effing fat to be a flight attendant.

Hell, airlines want to shed weight to save on fuel. Why not bring back weight requirements for flight attendants. They used to have severe penalties for being over weight (as I know from my days of dating flight attendants).

It would accomplish three goals: 1) Lighter planes, 2) healthier employees; and, 3) happier passengers.

And, for the record, that dress would look shitty in a Size 18.

Saturday, July 04, 2009

Happy Birthday, America!

God Bless The U.S.A....

Shawshank II: Bernie "Mad Dog" Madoff

As the electric door at United States Penitentiary, Lewisburg slides shut with it's ominous metallic clang, Bernard Madoff finds himself alone, lacking the freedom, money and power that exemplified his life. An aging, white Jew--scion of society--sentenced to 150 long in the harsh world that is the Federal Correctional system.

But Madoff is an enterprising, resilient type, and soon, he settles into the prison routine.

He learns, quickly, that it is best to not make eye contact with other inmates, to listen to the screws, and to avoid the confrontations that cause lesser men to become a prison bitch or worse--dead.

Soon, Madoff settles into his routine. He takes a job in the prison's library; and, he helps other inmates learn to read, encouraging them to check out books, and improve themselves in ways that they never imagined. Sure, there is resistance, but Madoff is wise enough to walk away....

One afternoon, while shooting hoops, Madoff is approached by several large, mean and very black inmates.

"Yo, Jewboy, give us the ball," says one--an inmate called Nushawn Gonzales.

Madoff knows that people are watching, and he pauses, then continues dribbling. He puts up a sweet fade away jumper that hits the bottom with little more than the rustling of the net.

"Yo, Jewboy. I'm talkin' to you," Gonzales says.

"And, I am playing basketball." Madoff grabs the rebound and lays the ball up, watching it kiss the backboard, finding the hole. He knows that he has crossed his own Rubicon.

Gonzales moves toward Madoff, who stands his ground.

"Some one's gonna get hurt, Kike."

"And," says Madoff, "that someone is you." Madoff grabs Nushawn by his loose-fitting shirt, pulling him closer. Bernie gives up a good six inches, and a cool hundred pounds, but he knows that there are times to keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

A crowd gathers, watching Bernie commit (in their minds) suicide.

They are surprised when he delivers a punishing blow to Nushawn's solar plexus, which causes the large, sweating man to wince in pain. Then, another to the stomach, followed by a knee to the testicles.

Nushawn crumples to the ground as his crew watches, in horror, as Madoff kicks him in the face, shattering his nose, and spilling his blood.

The guards, who have been watching from a distance, come rushing to break up the melee. They spirit away Madoff, none too gently; but, with respect for this man who had proven not only to be money from fifteen feet, but a badass as well.

"Into the hole, Madoff," says the warden.

"It's 'Mad Dog'," says Madoff.

After his time in solitary, the inmates give Madoff a little more room, a lot more respect.

"So, let me get this straight," says DeShawn Jackson, a triple-murderer from Newark. "I gives you a carton of cigarettes today, and in three weeks, you gives me two?"

"That's right," says Bernie. "And, I want a tatt. They say that you are the best artist in the joint."

"D'as a fact," said DeShawn, his chest swelling with pride.


Mad Dog gets his ink.

Thursday, July 02, 2009


Rene Descartes walks into a bar and sits down on the bar stool.

The barman asks, "Would you like a beer?"

Descartes pauses, then says, "I think not."

Then, he disappears.

Well, have we?

Michael Jackson Is Still Dead...
Has anyone seen La Toya?

I didn't think so.

Monday, June 29, 2009

Nicolas Sarkozy Bans This...
The burqa, not Mikaeel X (a/k/a Michael Jackson, who is still dead).

The picture, by the way, is of Mikaeel going through customs, in Bahrain, in a burqa. No, he wasn't the least bit odd.

Sunday, June 28, 2009

Smokin' A...

Is Anyone Even Reading This Blawg Anymore?
Alienating the readers, and spotty (read, "irregular") posting seems to have reduced the traffic on this spot significantly.

But, with summer here, The Lifeguard is on duty full time. Working harder, for you.

Which reminds me of two recent--important--observations.

At Number Two's baseball game one evening, I was overcome by the smell of stale cigarette smoke. Looking around, I realised that I was standing alone...with a baseball bat. An aluminum baseball bat that positively reeked of cigarette smoke. A motherhumping bat. Stinking of cigarette smoke. A mainly non-porous object that smelled like a dive bar from the 80s (when people could still smoke in dive bars).


A chap, weighing in at a cool three hundred pounds (at least), rode up to put some air in his tyres. (No shit.) Engaging me in conversation, he began making observations about global warming, the need for fewer cars, and more bike trails. Oh, and by the way, "Really, you shouldn't let your car idle. It's bad for the environment," he said.


"Letting your car idle contributes to global warming," he said.

Which made me think, as I stood there, engaged in conversation with this Brobdingnagian gent, why I was being singled out for this bullshit.

"You know, you are a bigger threat to the environment than I am," I said.

"Look at you," I continued. "A barrel of oil went into the making of those bike shorts."

[Query: Why do cyclists insist on wearing garb so tight they look like human sausages? Shit, Seven-Time Tour de France winner, Lance Armstrong barely makes the attire look good...and he's in shape.]

"And how many cows did you eat to get to this...this state."

My point? No one--except for Lance Armstrong, or world-class cyclists--should ever wear bike shorts. Ever.

Next week, a frank discussion on the choice of the Speedo by middle-aged and saggy men.

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

At Least She's Hot...And Over 18...

It's A Love Story Baby Just Say, 'Yes."
Number Two is a big fan of Taylor Swift. As such, I have been forced to listen to her music, which I am starting to find rather catchy. In fact, it's not too bad.

That probably makes The Lifeguard gay.

But, damn, Taylor Swift is hot.

Sunday, June 21, 2009

Happy Father's Day!

It Has Been Seven Long Years....

Seven years since my own father went gentle into that good night.

And, for him, I offer you one of my favourite poems, courtesy of Welsh poet, Dylan Thomas...

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Happy Father's Day, y'all.

Can't Understand Normal Thinking...

Obviously Her Momma Didn't Tell Her...
that she should be more respectful of men (and women) who serve our great nation under arms. (Or, that she shouldn't be such a snot-nosed bitch.)

Brigadier General Michael Walsh, of the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, was testifying before Senator Barbara Boxer's (D*-CA) committee, and he erred on the side of protocol, referring to her as, "Ma'am."

She stopped him, and upbraided him for not calling her "senator."

Notwithstanding the fact that even the Queen of England is properly addressed as "ma'am" (and she worked pretty hard for the title, too), this bit of snottiness demonstrates Boxer's contempt for the military (and the rest of us common folk).

And, she will not apologise.

It sort of reminds me of the time that I got booted out of a Constitutional Law class for saying, "Yes, ma'am" in response to a female professor's question.

Professor: "What did you call me?"

Lifeguard: [Still waking up.] "Huh?"

Professor: "Did you just say 'yes, ma'am' to me?"

Lifeguard: "Yes, ma'am."

Professor: "Please leave my classroom. That is offensive."

Lifeguard: [Stunned.] "You are kicking me out of your class for being polite?"

Professor: "I am kicking you out of my class for being sexist."

I spent the next several days, banned from her classroom, lobbying various members of the administration for support. Finally, a deal was struck where I offered (and she accepted) my non-apology. She never required my participation in class, never called on me, and I ended the year with a B.


[Ed. note: The picture above was taken while the good senator was discussing what she saw when she walked in on The Lifeguard in the men's room at a convention celebrating the 25th anniversary of Roe v. Wade. (We won't say any more about why I was at the convention, or why she was in the men's room.) Let's just say that Barbara calls me, "sir."]

Friday, June 12, 2009


LinkMiranda Warnings For Terror Suspects?
In his most recent bout of stupidity, the smartest man in the world has ordered that terror suspects captured on the battlefield be read their Miranda rights. You know, like the criminals on Law And Order: Man-Caused Disaster.

Frankly, The Lifeguard agrees.

"You have the right to remain silent...."


Then, shoot the motherfucker so he can't cause any trouble later.

Because dead men tell no tales.

Monday, June 01, 2009

I Was Wrong?

A couple of days ago, The Lifeguard applauded the choice of Javier Sotomayor as the latest Supreme Court nominee. Unfortunately, I was wrong.

President Obama had nominated Judge Sonia Sotomayor, pictured above, to be the first Hispanic justice.

A self-described Newyorican, Judge Sotomayor is a graduate of Princeton (cum laude) and Yale Law School (where she was an editor of the Yale Law Journal). While she only high jumps a mere half-metre, she is well respected by lawyers who appear before her.

Still, The Lifeguard is a little nonplussed at this pick. As such, The Lifeguard reserves judgment on Judge Sotomayor until after he has read some of her decisions.




President Barack Hussein Obama--who is not a Muslim--took his baby mama to The Big Apple, for dinner and the theatre. (How sweet.) At least he didn't take the big plane, which had scared the shit out of thousands of New Yorkers earlier this year. And, since he went on the cheap, it only cost The Lifeguard (and the American taxpayer) about $45,000.00.

The best part, however, is that our star pupil did this on the eve of General Motors' Chapter 11 filing.

You know, right about the time that thousands of Democrat voters are sweating the details that may land them on the unemployment line, the Maximum Leader is eating, drinking and making merry with the First Lady.

What a tool.

And, for his unbelievable sense of noblesse oblige, President Obama (and Baby Mama Obama) win The Lifeguard's vote for "Dumbasses of the Week."


Saturday, May 30, 2009

The Lifeguard likes the pick of Javier Sotomayor to replace Justice David Souter on the Supreme Court of the United States.

If confirmed, the Cuban-born Sotomayor would become the first Hispanic (and Olympic medalist) on the Court. He is 42, and will likely have a long career on the Court. As perhaps the greatest high jumper in history, he will certainly raise the bar for his fellow justices. He is a devout communist, which makes him a top choice for the Senate Democrats which will have to confirm him. He is a supporter of abortion rights, banning guns, and imprisoning and torturing those who don't support the Maximum Leader.

He has a brilliant legal mind, and is a graduate of the Universidad de la Habana, where he took a law degree, with honours, from the alma mater of the Maximum Leader. He is also an Olympic gold medalist.

Sadly, Sotomayor was accused of drug use (the positive cocaine test is not the problem; but, the steroid use is). Still, if confirmed, Sotomayor would be an asset to the Court (especially at the Judicial Branch's summer picnic).

The Lifeguard is pleased that President Obama has not made a cynical pick of an Hispanic to fill Justice Souter's seat. At the moment, The Lifeguard is poring over Sotomayor's judicial record; and, when finished, will make an assessment on the merits of this nomination.

At the moment, however, The Lifeguard likes this choice.

Well done, President Obama.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009


The Lifeguard Raced In The Figawi...
and he is still tired.

Menage A Trois struggled with sustained 20 knot winds; and, we suffered because we stayed high on the course (expecting a wind shift that never arrived). Although we did not lack talented crew, we made tactical errors (staying high, even though the majority of the fleet started reaching off almost immediately), sail-handling errors (the sails never looked that great), and weather helm that kept Menage rounding up every minute or so.

As a consequence, we had our worst Figawi finish...ever. DFL.

But, Nantucket was a blast, and my liver survived.

Sunday, May 10, 2009

The Lifeguard Runs, Too!

These Women Weren't In My Road Race...
The Lifeguard, wanting to get back into top physical condition for the summer drinking season, planned on entering a 5K that was a fundraiser for a local charity. (Donate here, if you wish.) I talked about it for weeks, until finally Number Two asked, "Dad, when are you going to start training for the race?"

The Lifeguard's snarky (and, totally honest) answer: "When does the race start?"

So, on May 9th, The Lifeguard showed up at 1045 HRS (for an 1100 HRS gun). Stretching for two minutes or so, then pinning on my number, I started stalking the competition. Preferring to trash talk men and women pushing baby joggers, the seemingly mentally deficient, and the physically infirm, The Lifeguard took his place in the herd.

Hell, I knew that the crowd would sort itself out--the racers breaking from the pack, leaving the runners behind. And, the course was suited for that--one lap around the track, then out onto the local roads.

The Lifeguard started in the middle of the pack, getting out of starting area in 1:49 for the first quarter-mile. (A pace that still would not have put The Lifeguard in the money.) The first hill was nearly my Waterloo--I have never done well on downhills--when I started feeling a little knee pain. (The Lifeguard is thinking that it would be really embarrassing to drop out at the 1 mile mark, especially since there is no nearby bar; and, no way to pull a Rosie Ruiz.)

I started thinking, at the 1.5 mile mark about Richard Pryor (who talked about getting a cramp while running).

"Hello, I'll be fucking with you for the next hour or so. I'll be moving from side to side, down your groin, and up your ass. When you drop dead, I will stop."

At the 2 mile mark, the men and women pushing baby joggers were passing me (including one woman whose child was wearing a hockey helmet). Now, don't get me wrong, I get the whole safety thing; but, making your child look like a tool when you are wearing running shorts and a pink LIVESTRONG singlet is so wrong. Kicking my ass while you're doing it? Even more wrong, even more emasculating.

On the uphill to the finish, The Lifeguard was managing to stay focused, in spite of the tremendous buildup of lactic acid (and thoughts of having erred by not training for this race). I managed to pass a few people, too. (Of course, those people were receiving medical attention; but still....)

Then, the finish. Fighting off the pregnant woman (who later delivered her triplets on the infield), I managed to get through the gate in 33:45 (my best 5K time since my last 5K, in 1989). And, while I wasn't first, I sure as Hell wasn't that is something.

And, the day after, The Lifeguard's quads are still screaming; but, I finished.

Next up, The Boston Marathon...