Whiskey Tango Foxtrot?!?

Snow White. Snow Day. Whatever.

Friday (usually) means the end of the work (or school) week. Not so, in these United States. This "...nation of wusses."

It must surely be a sign of the apocalypse that the mere threat of five to eight inches of snow causes schools (in New England, where it snows) to cancel school...before the snow even starts falling.

When The Lifeguard was but a lad, growing up in the Mountain West, the threat of a blizzard simply meant that some kids might piss off and go skiing, not that school would be canceled. The Lifeguard recalls going to bed with snow falling, and waking to see the roads clear and sidewalks shoveled.

The Lifeguard has friends from Alaska who talked of school being in session, even when it was thirty below. (The Lifeguard did, however, call Bravo Sierra on the part of the story that involved walking to school in the snow, five miles, uphill...in both directions.)

So, why can't New England (where it snows) cope with snow?

Why must kids sit home (rather than in school)?

Why can't The State of Hawaii find President Barack Hussein Obama's birth certificate? (Wait, that is a different post. And for the record, he is still not a Muslim.)

But, since we are no longer hearty Puritan stock, able to weather the...well...weather, The Lifeguard proposes the following modest solution to the problems of snow removal and the budget impact it has on cash-strapped cities and towns in New England.

In return for not having to make up the snow day in June, students (over the age of 10) will be required to report to the city or town offices, schools and other public places to shovel, sand, and otherwise clear snow. It would free up the plows and other municipal workers, saving overtime and wear-and-tear on equipment. It would also provide an excellent lesson for the children, satisfying the twin goals of teaching the pleasures of hard work and physical fitness. (Snow shoveling burns approximately 400 calories per hour.)

As for the faculty and staff? Give them shovels, too. (The unions would go bugfuck crazy, but it would be worth it.)

So, as The Lifeguard watches the snow, and recalls Governor Rendell's comments, he knows that it is just about time to fire up the snow blower.

Bollocks!

The Lifeguard Needed Help With Something

While watching prime time television last night, The Lifeguard saw a PSA that discussed the importance of self-examination to check for lumps in the testicles. Indeed, testicular cancer can be a killer, if not caught early. At the very least, it can lead to becoming a one-balled freak. At the very best, it can be cured (and one can win the Tour de France...seven times).

So, this morning, The Lifeguard started the initial examination, which took only about an hour. Then, he started on the second testicle when this young woman stopped by the house, looking for directions. Fortunately, she had a hard hat, and was appropriately attired to assist with The Lifeguard's examination (although the gloves were a bit rough).

All kidding aside, The Lifeguard recommends that everyone participate in an effort to eradicate the scourge of testicular cancer.

Check yourself regularly--or get some help from a friend.

And, if you have any questions, don't call The Lifeguard.

Problem Solved!

Although There Wasn't A Hell Of A Lot Of Sleeping

At about ten thirty last night, The Lifeguard received an urgent telephone call from Nurse Dagmar, formerly of Lufthansa, now of the local hospital.

Apparently, there were some abnormalities in The Lifeguard's physical exam, and he was required to present, immediately, at The Four Seasons for a thorough evaluation of The Lifeguard's medical concerns. (Unlike Lance Armstrong, there is no risk of the media learning about The Lifeguard's use of performance enhancing drugs.)

Following something like twelve hours of intensive testing, as well as frequent hydration (with a crate of Pol Roger), The Lifeguard stumbled into the chill January morning with a better understanding of his insomnia, as well as a solution to the twin problems of colo-rectal cancer and airport security.

All passengers will be required to fast for at least twenty four hours before flying, and to report to the airport at least six hours before their flight. The passengers will strip down to their underwear, and will don a hospital johnny before the pre-flight security screening and colonoscopy. As travel sucks already, this seemingly onerous burden will reduce to zero the likelihood of some crazed adherent of the Religion of Peace sneaking a shoe, underwear, or asshole bomb onto the flight; and, it will ensure the health (and regularity) of the traveling public.

Nothing says "refreshing" like a diet of clear liquids and a high colonic.

Nothing says "safety" like passengers who have had every cavity examined before flying.

And, for absolute peace of mind, the frequent colonoscopies will provide a baseline of the colons of every traveler, and will do it without the increased risk of cancer which has been linked to the full body scanners now being deployed at airports around the world.

Indeed, this new policy would be no less inconvenient than the grief endured by The Lifeguard as he traveled through Chicago's O'Hare International Airport.

Travel Sucks Already Agent: "Please (and The Lifeguard is not making this up) remove your shoes, your belt, take off your watch, empty your pockets, take off your coats, and any other metal items and place them in the bin."

The Lifeguard: [Stage Whisper] "The only thing in my pocket is lint."

TSA Agent: "Take that out, too. Seriously. Otherwise, you will be subjected to a pat-down by Karl."

[Karl smiles, waves.]

The Lifeguard: "If I get patted down, I probably won't even get a drink out of it."

[Karl licks his lips, smiles.]

Fortunately, The Lifeguard was cleared to travel, without the need for a pat down. (The Lifeguard, however, did feel a little like Karen Silkwood.)

The Lifeguard suggests that this will be the silver bullet, ensuring safe travel, and safer colons.

Until his dream becomes a reality, The Lifeguard is due for further testing with Nurse Dagmar and six of her colleagues.

Life during wartime...

The Lifeguard Gets A Physical.

For the first time in something like five years, The Lifeguard made an appointment for a physical examination. (The Lifeguard figured that with ObamaCare, it might be another five years before he could once more get into the doctor's office.) And, with the anticipated health-care rationing, it seemed likely that the next prostate examination might be a lubeless endeavour, with leather gloves and a miner's light. ("Sorry, Mr. Lifeguard, your particular health plan does not cover the added cost of lubricant.")

Blood pressure? Normal.

Temperature? Normal.

Weight? Need to lose a few pounds.

Then, the serious questioning began.

Doctor: "Do you have any concerns?"

Lifeguard: "Ummm. Well, there is this small problem. The Lifeguard has an...um...erectile issue...he thinks." (Former Senator Bob Dole is right. ED is a difficult matter to discuss, even with your physician.)

Doctor: "Tell me about this dysfunction." (The Lifeguard so wanted to wipe that smirk off of her face.)

Lifeguard: "Well, when The Lifeguard was in his twenties, he'd get an erection that he could not bend if he tried. Now, he can bend it a little. Does that mean The Lifeguard is getting stronger?"

And, so, The Lifeguard explained his difficulties achieving an erection after having had sex six or seven times.

Doctor: [Gasping in disbelief.] "Six...or...seven...times? Over what period?"

Lifeguard: "Twenty four hours."

Doctor: [With a HFWTFMF look on her face...and stammering.] "Seriously? That is not what I would consider erectile dysfunction. That's pretty amazing function, at your age. What do you think is normal?"

Lifeguard: "I dunno. Nine, ten, eleven times. And what the fuck do you mean, 'at my age?'"

Doctor: "Nine times a week?"

Lifeguard: "No. A day."

Thus ensued a discussion on what is in fact normal and what is normal for The Lifeguard. And for the record, the only time that Cialis was mentioned was when one nurse said to the other, "See, Alice, I can do a handstand on it."

The doctor was amazed. The nurses...well, let's just say that the No Smoking policy was lifted for the thirty minutes immediately following The Lifeguard's examination.

And, for some reason, The Lifeguard has to go in for a follow-up on Monday.

Whaaaa????

It Must Be Opposite Day?

The Internal Revenue Service (whose motto is, "What's yours is ours") announced that we, the poor, down-trodden working men and women of America have a few extra days to hold onto our money.

It seems that (Republican) President, Abraham Lincoln signed the Compensated Emancipation Act on April 16, 1862; and, this is a holiday in the District of Columbia. It also seems that our federal government (whose motto is, "We never met a holiday we didn't take) will celebrate that holiday on April 15, 2011.

Notwithstanding the irony of Emancipation Day coinciding with tax day, The Lifeguard thanks the Great Emancipator for a brief respite from the largest orgy in America. (You know, April 15th, the day we all get fucked.)

Maybe for that Gupta guy.

Sex Once A Week?

So many couples asked Dr. Gupta how often they should have sex, he wrote an article about it. He enumerated the reasons, the benefits, and the rationale for his conclusions. In all, it was a very thoughtful piece, which made The Lifeguard say, "HFWTFMF?!?"

Once a week?

Seriously?

Maybe for some, but The Lifeguard has a far different perspective on this topic. Once a week is not nearly enough. A more reasonable number is four or five times...a day.

Sure, once a week is nice, if one is trying to have sex once a week. But, like so many other endeavours, the bare minimum is a cop-out.

Regular, frequent sex is good for the body and mind. Once a week is good for the prostate? Five times a day is fucking awesome for the prostate. Once a week is good for work performance? Five times a day? Well, maybe it leaves one a little tired; but, who gives a shit. You got laid five times today.

Morning sex gets the blood flowing, energises the spirit, and helps start the day off right.

A little noon-time nookie is better than any lunch.

A romp before dinner? Builds an appetite.

After dinner? You won't need that bowl of ice cream.

Before bed? You will sleep the sleep of the dead.

And, with sex burning about 200 calories at a time, The Lifeguard sees this as a good way to burn off a cool grand a day. (Better than going to the gym. More fun than doing squat thrusts with a sweaty guy named, Ramon.)

So, you can go with Gupta (and a membership to Planet Fitness); or, with The Lifeguard (and an extra $30.00 a month to buy Vitamin E).

Your choice.

Happy New Year?

2010 Ended The Way 2011 Began...
...in a Pol Roger fueled binge involving at least five of the women in the above picture. (The other two are not into dudes, and were having their own party in the hot tub.) The best part of the weekend (it was the weekend, right?) was that The Lifeguard was able to clear out eight of his ten 2011 resolutions. (Nine and ten are pending results of the DNA test and the arraignment on Monday, respectively.)

That having been said, The Lifeguard has resolved to make several (positive) changes to his life this coming year. (The Lifeguard knows that you don't care; but, he's going to tell you anyway.)

First, The Lifeguard will be more tolerant of stupid people. The ignorant? Not so much.

Second, The Lifeguard promises more regular postings. Really. This shit is one giant catharsis, and The Lifeguard finds it much more satisfying to post here than to ramble on to Cinnamon or Allanah. ("HA" and "NE", in the picture above. They are such nice girls, but they aren't that smart.)

Third, The Lifeguard will continue his charitable work with unwed teenage mothers. (Helping them get their start.)

Fourth, The Lifeguard will cut back on his alcohol consumption. (He learned that, "Drink Canada Dry" was an advertising slogan, not a challenge.) He'll start as soon as this Bloody Mary is finished.

And, finally, The Lifeguard will be a better friend to all. (Except those of you who really pissed off The Lifeguard in 2010.)

Peace!

Well, it wasn't quite like that.

Mother Nature Opens A Can Of Whoop-Ass!

Typical of New Englanders, there were myriad complaints of cold weather (in December) and snow (in December, in the northeast). Then, a massive snowstorm was forecast, causing New Englanders to flock to the stores (to stock up on bottled water and shitty beer) and to forget all that they ever knew about driving in the snow.

Before flake one fell, The Lifeguard's neighbours were idling their cars (to warm their car interiors and the planet (with the emission of greenhouse gases)) and preparing buckets of sand and salt, organising snow shovels, and fueling snow blowers. They were filling their larders with staples, anticipating weeks--or months--of being snowed in by the Blizzard of 2010. A visit to the local supermarket was not unlike a shopping trip in Cuba: Empty shelves, and surly workers. (The only thing missing was a copy of Granma and a picture of the Maximum Leader.)

As the storm took hold, the plows began patrolling the streets, blades up, as empty Dunkin' Donuts Styrofoam accumulated in the dark recesses of their cabs. Indeed, America (or, at least the snowplows) run on Dunkin's. Indeed, with several inches on the ground, the plows were doing little (or nothing) to help the situation, as the blades were a good foot off of the ground; and, sand trucks were not sanding. (It is all a part of the Governor Deval Patrick's austerity plan, designed to close the Commonwealth's budget deficit.)

At midnight, the snow was still falling; and, The Lifeguard was settling in for a restful night with a tumbler of single malt and a good book. (That, and thoughts of digging out of the mess that will be left when the plows start plowing, in another hour or so.)

Then, came the morning, and an end to the snowfall. Gusting winds had caused the snow to drift against the house, and the plows had closed the end of the drive. (Thank Christ for snow blowers...and sons.) And, with the sun shining, and winds blowing, The Lifeguard took to his own little piece of Global Warming, and cleaned up.

Christmas Hangover...

The Reason For The Season...

...is apparently to spend assloads of cash on (often) meaningless gifts, for people we love (but, on whom we would never spend money). Then, there are the children.

The Lifeguard is all about the children, and ensuring that they have safe, happy homes. That they receive thoughtful gifts, and that they understand that the presents are merely an ancillary benefit of the day.

The Lifeguard knows people who brag about spending many thousands of dollars on their children, "...so that they can have a good day."

Now, truth be told, little eight year old Savannah is probably going to make the same life choices (including unwed motherhood and some sort of exotic dancing) regardless of whether or not she gets the new iPhone 4, or the newest attire from Hollister. And, clearly, when an eight year old receives $1,000.00 worth of gifts for Christmas, the bar is set so high that each subsequent Christmas requires greater and greater expenditures. (Not unlike the Obama Administration's effort to stimulate the economy.)

Much more agreeable to The Lifeguard is the friend who gave her daughter cards indicating donations to various charities. "Well done," The Lifeguard says. The meaningful contributions teach a variety of desirable behaviours, and ensure that the future generations have a true grasp of the real meaning of Christmas.

That having been said, The Lifeguard offers this final thought for this December 26th:

It's not too late to do something to make the world a better place. Rather than spending more cash at post-Christmas sales, give $50.00 to the local food bank. Maybe $25.00 to the church. Perhaps $100.00 to The Lifeguard. (Hey, it was worth a try.)

Life is good.

The Lifeguard offers this hope that every reader had a happy and joyous Christmas, and had the opportunity to reflect on the wonder of the season.

Santa, The Pimp!

Merry Christmas, Y'all!

The Lifeguard wishes you and yours a very Merry Christmas. One filled with peace, love, and good will toward men.

Peace!

(And, for the record, Santa is a pimp because he is always talking about "Hos.")

Need a gift for that special Muslim woman in your life?

Call 1-800-Burqa-Gram!

All orders come gift-wrapped in a beautiful organza gift box, along with a card written by our own team of professional greetings-writers. Greetings, such as:

This burqa is blue

Roses are red

With any luck

The infidels will be dead!

Order by December 7th to get free FedEx shipping and toner cartridge.

Orders over $100.00 get a free Spanish passport and suicide bomber vest.

Call 1-800-Burqa-Gram, now (since the electricity in your Third World shithole is likely to be shut off for the night, soon).

Another hiatus ending?

The Lifeguard has been receiving a lot of correspondence from his fans--all six of them--and there are a few common themes to the messages.

And, while The Lifeguard is not quite ready to "fuck off and die", he is ready to resume a more regular schedule of posting; and, a little Tweeting, as well.

You want more? You got it.

More to follow...

The best one-loss team in the nation?

President Barack Hussein Obama Is Still Not a Muslim...

...but his Kenyan grandmother prays that he will be. (This is opposed to his "...typical white person..." grandmother.) The big question is whether or not he will cede America to the ash heap of history before or after he converts.

The Obama administration has done much these last twenty-two months to speed the process, from over-seeing profligate spending (which made even President Bush fils look like a piker) to tolerating Janet Napolitano's incompetence. From the bailout of General Motors (wouldn't a mandate for diesel cars make more sense than the Chevy Volt?) to the insistence of letting the Bush tax cuts expire. On top of that, President Obama presided over the Democrat Party's biggest ass-whooping in something like fifty years.

The American public (living outside of New York, New England and California) have had enough of taxing, spending, silly-ass government mandates and turn-your-head-and-cough before you board a plane. (The Lifeguard notes that his eighteen-year-old Irish-looking nephew got his first rectal exam as he flew home from college. But, then again, maybe the IRA is back in the game.) And, having had enough, the electorate sent folks like Marco Rubio (R-FL) and Rand Paul (R-KY) to Washington. (Interesting that Senator-elect Rand Paul replaces a guy, Senator Jim Bunning, who pitched a perfect game and was elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame.)

And, a better man--former President William Clinton, for instance--would have read the tea leaves and started planning his move to the centre. This douche, however, grabs his Teleprompter and heads to India, confident that his agenda is right for America.

Rather than firing Big Sis and leading the charge to renew the expiring tax cuts, President Obama talks about the importance of the TSA's efforts to stop terrorists (while trying them--and losing--in civilian courts) and the need to tax the mess out of the people who create jobs.

Seriously, if the administration wants to remake America as a Third World shithole, they are doing a pretty good job. (Lots of illegal immigrants, high taxes, and economic malaise. Like Sweden, only without the handsome, English-speaking population.) At least General Motors is not being sold to the Chinese.

Rather than fret about the racism and stupidity of the Tea Party, the administration (and the Democrat Party) need to think about making a few changes. (And, if they need help with the tea baggers, they can call Congressman Barney Frank, D-MA.)

A starting point? Fire Ms. Napolitano, and adopt some sane measures with regard to airport security, before the next plane flies into a building (or blows up, mid-air). Make permanent the tax cuts, and reform the corporate tax structure. (America is a horrible place to do business, as compared to other countries.) Start clearing the stables that are Guantanamo Bay, and fire AG Eric Holder. (Civil libertarians will only complain briefly, and we won't be faced with the prospect of juries finding terrorists not guilty.) Tell Senator Harry Reid (D-ip Shit) to cut the shit and find some sane means of dealing with the problem of illegal immigration. (Hint, it involves deportation, and enforcement of the present laws, not more goodies for the illegals who voted for Senator Reid, et al..)

But, The Lifeguard is pretty sure that the Administration will continue the status quo.

Bastards.

Thanksgiving Redux

The Lifeguard Saves...

...room for pie.

Thanksgiving is The Lifeguard's favourite holiday, for a reason.

No presents, no songs, no trees to decorate, and no garbage bags of crumpled-up wrapping paper. Just one big-ass turkey, trimmings, and pie. Lots of pie.

So, at this moment--two days post-holiday--The Lifeguard wants to mention a few of the things for which he is thankful:

Living in America. (Living in the United States, as well as the fabulous James Brown tune.)

The soldiers, sailors, airmen and Marines who keep us safe. (Coastguardsmen, too.)

The Lifeguard's friends (and the people who actually visit this site). But, mainly, The Lifeguard's friends.

Janet Napolitano. A special thanks to you, Big Sis. You managed to unite America against the government in a way that no other single person could. (Oh, and thanks to Keith, who gave The Lifeguard a very thorough pat-down...and a lovely meal at P.F. Chang's.)

Off to make turkey omelets.

Peace, y'all!

Gawd, I love multiculturalism!

More Good News From The Religion Of Peace!

The highest court in the United Arab Emirates has just okayed wife beating. The one caveat: Don't leave any marks.

O.J. Simpson, who has tentatively selected "O.J. X" as his Muslim name, has asked if, perhaps, he could become a judge in the U.A.E., upon his release.

"No one understands the nuances like me," Simpson said. "I'm not saying that the guy was right. I'm just saying, 'I understand.'"

Supreme Court Justice, Ruth Bader Ginsburg, who has derided the use of torture, but has defended the use of foreign law by American judges, could not be reached for comment.

And the answer is...

What's The Question?

The citizenry of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts is in high dudgeon over Question 3, which will appear on the November ballot. The initiative will roll back the Commonwealth's stupid 6.25 percent sales tax rate to 3 percent.

The folks are torqued because they fall into one of two camps. On one side, there are the liberals who never met a tax that they didn't like (and who make statements like, "...it's not illegal to be [an] illegal [alien] in Massachusetts."). The other camp, led by The Lifeguard are pissed because, even if passed, they know that the governor and the General Court (which, like General Motors, is a wholly-owned subsidiary of the Democrat party) will raise their collective middle finger (and, possibly, our taxes) at the voters.

From The Lifeguard's perspective, lower taxes are a good thing. (Ask Senator John Heinz-Kerry about taxes, especially with respect to sailboats.). Consider, also, that the Commonwealth shares a border with tax-free New Hampshire (state motto, "Fuck off and die!"), which attracts Massachusetts shoppers who are looking to save 6 percent on TVs, washing machines, and other items. For 3 percent, more of those shoppers will stay home.

Further, the Massachusetts Teachers Association ("Association" because many public school graduates don't equate associations with unions) opposes the reduction. "It'll clearly lead to larger class sizes and more illiteracy," they argue. (As if there is some sort of magic correlation between the two.)

Sure, it might mean less money for state government; and, possibly cuts in non-education services. (Call The Lifeguard for a few ideas.)

But, if the unions and the tax-fattened hyenas are opposed, then The Lifeguard is not.

Vote to roll back the sales tax in November.

My Name is Earl

For We New Englanders

who endured wall-to-wall coverage of the arrival of [Insert Storm Type Here] Earl, the storm itself was a bit of a disappointment for all of us. Not because we didn't get a Katrina-like ass-whooping; but, because we had to listen to the chattering skulls, standing in front of green screens, and had to tolerate all of the hysteria associated with the anticipated arrival of the storm. In the end, it was nothing. Nothing at all.

Business or Pleasure?

Pleasure!

The Lifeguard took a ride, to Ogunquit, Maine, to enjoy a tanning opportunity in the waning days of this New England summer.

The sun was bright, the air temperature was close to 80 degrees, and the beach was crowded. The Lifeguard did a brief talent-check, and found things to be seriously lacking.

Three observations from the Lifeguard's beach towel.

First, if you are over the age of sixteen, you probably should not wear a bikini (unless you make a living by appearing on the pages of Vogue (or Playboy)). The Lifeguard noted exactly one (that's right, one) woman who had the figure to pull off her bathing suit choice. Wait, bad choice of words. One woman who could actually wear the bikini without looking like a tramp (or a fucking retard).

Now, face it, bikinis are nice; but, The Lifeguard prefers one-piece bathing suits. (Are you paying attention, ladies?) Not only are they sexy, they leave something to the imagination. (And, The Lifeguard has one hell of an imagination.)

Second, men (with the possible exception of Michael Phelps at the Olympics) should never wear a Speedo. Ever. Especially if you are fat, forty, and French-Canadian.

Finally, tattoos on fifty-something women look...um...horrible. Remember that, ladies. That tramp stamp that looks good at twenty will look like a UPC symbol when you are fifty. Especially if you are a sun-worshiper, and your skin has taken on the colour (and texture) of fine Corinthian leather.

All right, ladies and gentlemen, The Lifeguard is going sailing.

Peace!

HFWTFMF?!?

Stupid Is As Stupid Does...

The Lifeguard is never at a loss for words. Of course, blazing stupidity causes an occasional moment of silence; but, then, he recovers. (And has a lot to say.)

Several years ago, The Lifeguard was in Nashville, Tennessee (for business, of course) and he was sitting in the hotel bar. There, off in a corner, was a karaoke machine (not unlike the ones found in bad Japanese movies) and a very drunk woman clutching the microphone like a crack whore clutches her pipe.

"I want to shing you a shong that remindsh me of thish wunnerful city," she said with a drunken lilt.

The music started...

...and she sang, "Walking in Memphis."

Which reminds The Lifeguard of a former client (and heroin addict) who gets liquored up in his local, then proceeds to slam his (rental) car into a telephone pole (just avoiding the local marked police cruiser).

Approached by the officer, the dazed (and very intoxicated) client stumbles to the back of the car and leans on the trunk, which has sprung open in the crash. Thinking it is latched, he stands and the trunk pops open. All the way open.

Their eyes meet, then turn to the trunk, and the gym bag containing 454 individually packaged hits of heroin, and his works.

Before the officer could say anything (or the client could say, "How did that get in there?"), he utters those immortal words, "I know what you are thinking. It's all mine."

Then, the officer uttered the other immortal words, "You have the right to remain silent."

Why?

In the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, it is possible to get extra time to take the written portion of one's driving test if you read slowly (or can not read).

In a state where driving a car is a blood sport (with unreasonably high automobile insurance rates), it seems that this is one of the most ill-conceived feel-good plans ever. Really, do we want a (possibly illegal) driver trying to negotiate 128 (at 80 mph, in a Toyota Corolla POS) while trying to read road signs?

This is reason number thirty why illegal immigrants (and the faint-of-heart) should not be allowed to operate a motor vehicle in the Bay State.

It also troubles The Lifeguard that a person with no licence can own and insure a car. The Lifeguard understands the rationale for the aged; but, for others? It's motherhumping insane.

But, then again, Massachusetts is the home of the late Senator Edward M. Kennedy. And that's all that needs to be said.

Things to do at work...

...When You Are Bored At Work...

The Lifeguard was waxing nostalgic this morning, thinking of a life way less ordinary.

Some thoughts from the deep, dark recesses of The Lifeguard's soul. (The names have been changed--but not by much--to protect the innocent...or the unwilling.)

Being funny is like hitting a 325 yard drive or a 95 mph fastball. If one tries to hard, the likelihood of a spectacular whiff or a long, loud out is virtually assured. That having been said, The Lifeguard's attempts at 325 yard drives and 95 mph fastballs are pretty fucking hilarious.

There is a reggae song about Barack Obama. Like his presidency, it has a beat that is, at first, catchy. Then, it just gets downright annoying. "Move to Switzerland" annoying. At no point do the lyrics mention his illegal alien aunt, his absent father, his "typical white" grandmother, single-payer health care, or the Reverend Jeremiah Wright. Listening to the song made The Lifeguard dumber. It also made The Lifeguard want to kill whitey.

Why is there Black Entertainment Television? Do they play slasher movies and provide an opportunity for the viewer to scream, "Don't go in there, he got a knife!" (Judging by The Lifeguard's recent trip to the movies, he thinks not.) Shouldn't there be White Entertainment Television? (The Sundance Channel doesn't count.)

Saving someone's life should earn a thank you, or a pat on the back, not a gun in the face. (Thank Christ it was a .25 and not something in the .30s or .40s.) In defence of The Lifeguard's crazy-ass client, heavy-duty anti-psychotics were involved.

And, if an employer can't legally hire illegal immigrants, why is said employer not allowed to ask a suspected illegal for his papers, especially since federal statute requires the holder of a green card to have it in their possession? Why does our legal system allow said illegal to sue his employer?

Which brings The Lifeguard to border security in general. Why not just shoot them as they come across? And, the United States government wants to build a fence on the southern border. Why not the northern border, too? Fucking frostbacks.

A half dozen years ago, The Lifeguard could have had a Social Security card, a birth certificate, and a driving licence in under an hour. I presume that if a white guy in the 'burbs could do it, an immigrant can as well. Target the purveyors of the phony papers and enforce the laws, as written.

Of course, that requires resolve.

Finally, The Lifeguard is reminded of a friend who dips Skoal. His wife, after years of hectoring him to quit, said, "Fine, if you want to die a slow, painful death, go right ahead." His reply? "I already said, 'I do.'"

Ripples on the Water

The Lifeguard Speaks

It is hard to believe, but The Lifeguard is frequently annoyed (and amused) by the actions and words of the world around.

The driver of the Prius, for instance, who had a "Somewhere in Kenya, a village is missing its idiot" bumper sticker, caused a good eleven minutes of mirth. That said Prius was on a Boston street made it all the more delicious.

A bag of airline peanuts bearing the warning, "Processed in a facility that processes peanuts" is just plain stupid. From where The Lifeguard sits, the deal with peanut allergies is this: If a person with said allergy can't look at a packet, marked "peanuts" and know that this is an item to be avoided, then said person might just need to go into anaphylactic shock (and, if they survive, be sterilised).

A bar with a sign out front that says, "Shot and a Beer, $2.00" is an oasis for The Lifeguard. Especially when in the company of a beautiful woman (or six).

Flight attendants who are obese and rude are rather annoying. Not only is air travel a service industry, it is a (generally) poorly managed enterprise, at that. That being said, why not hire folks who are polite, cheerful, and in shape. (The Lifeguard does not want to rely upon a nasty blimp to evacuate the airplane. And, if that is how The Lifeguard is going to leave this life, he wants to be looking at a hot chick, not an ugly, miserable fuck.)

And, please tell The Lifeguard why he can't buy his own beer and carry it on the plane. He'll drink responsibly.

Maybe They'll Stay on Holiday.

When Googling "Obama Vacation" Images...
seven of the first twenty pictures are of President Barack Hussein Obama (who is still not a Muslim) without a shirt.

The Lifeguard, who is all man, is not impressed. (Plus, it looks like he might shave his chest, which is decidedly most unpresidential.)

The Beatings Will Continue Until (My) Morale Improves

The World Needs A Good Ass-Kicking...

...and The Lifeguard might just be the man to do the honours. Indeed, The Lifeguard has been compiling a list of those destined for some serious ass-kickery.

First up, companies that establish call centres in foreign lands. Actually, that is not quite accurate. If the call centre is opened in the United Kingdom, or Ireland, then it's all good. It's when corporations that have a largely English-speaking clientele (e.g., Wachovia Bank or Bank of America) open customer service centres in India and Bangladesh that The Lifeguard gets pissed.

Not only are we being charged more for fewer services ("If you don't have an account with us, that will be $5.00 to cash that check drawn on our bank."), we are getting saddled with ten minutes on hold to speak with some assbag who doesn't speak comprehensible English. The Lifeguard suspects that if he pressed dos, he'd get someone who spoke impeccable Español. English? Not so much.

In a perfect world, "pressing two" would direct the caller to Rosetta Stone.

Asshats!

The second round of ass-beatings goes to those morons who use the (made-up) word, "irregardless." The Lifeguard knows many self-important windbags who use this word. In the past, he has laughed quietly at them. Starting today, The Lifeguard heaps scorn and ridicule upon them.

Also included are those who talk about spending "quality time" with their children, working "24/7", or "providing free health care to all Americans."

Shit, this is probably a pretty big list.

The Lifeguard is going to need some breakfast before he gets started.

HFWTFMF?!?

"Vegas Whore!"
The Lifeguard was contacted recently by a fan.

"What does 'HFWTFMF' mean?" she asked.

The Lifeguard told her.

"Well," she asked (after the wails of laughter had subsided), "when does one use this?"

So, Mel Gibson, one of The Lifeguard's favourite actors is caught out calling his ex-girlfriend, Oksana Grigorieva (who is probably a Russian spy, a horrible actress, a gold-digger, or all three) a "...Vegas bitch, a Vegas whore." He also used other epithets, including the so-called "N-word."

Now, aside from the fact that Mr. Gibson wants his chick to be a lady in public and a wanton whore in the bedroom, The Lifeguard can not really figure out what the problem is. Oh, wait, Ms. Grigorieva recorded the conversation, then released it to the press. What an ungrateful bitch. Not only does Mr. Gibson give the Russian one hell of a recommendation for her acting career, he also gave (or will give) her many millions of dollars for spitting out a child. His child. She also gets some scratch from Timothy Dalton (the Welsh James Bond) for being the mother of his child.

"I vass affraid he'd beat me," Grigorieva said. (Probably.) "I vass affraid that my acting career vould end up like Jesus in The Passion of the Christ."

Twunt.

Sure, people in relationships argue. They say some mean-ass shit. Stuff that might be a basis for breaking up with the person. Generally, however, this mean-ass shit is not recorded, then released to the press.

So, when Mel Gibson woke to the news that his Vegas whore had not only taped their fight, but released it to the press, he screamed, "Holy fuck! What the fuck, motherfucker?!?"

He also learned a valuable lesson: "Never write when you can speak. Never speak when you can nod. Never nod when you can wink."

Oh, and next time you bang someone, wear a condom.

And, for the record, The Lifeguard is buying the entire Mel Gibson collection.

HFWTFMF?!?

They Are Black. They Are Stars.

The Lifeguard was driving to work, listening to NPR, and I heard a story about the "...black stars of Ghana."

The Lifeguard stopped, thinking that this is some seriously racist shit. Black stars? It's an African nation, and I am pretty sure that the players on the national team were black, were stars.

Seriously. It's the World Cup. Nations from around the world coming together, and here is this self-important turd making race an issue when talking about the Ghanaian side. If the US team were called "The White Stars of America", there would be some hardcore stuff happening. Protests, boycotts, mayhem.

The Lifeguard was fired up about this.

Fortunately, one of The Lifeguard's employees is from Ghana, and an explanation was in the offing.

Then, The Lifeguard found out that the team is called "The Black Stars" because the star on the Ghanaian flag is...black.

Who knew?

Why we are fat.

What A Segue!

The Lifeguard was recently in Washington, D.C., and was approached, at least twice, by strange men on Segways. The first looked homeless. He was in filthy trousers and a sweat-stained white T-shirt, dragging two of the strange conveyances by their necks. The second was clearly a tour guide, with a stable of the two-wheeled machines and nasty-ass bicycle helmets.

Later, while walking around the District, I saw the ultimate short bus tour of D.C., with overweight men and women tooling around in the afternoon sun on their rented Segways.

No wonder America is now the most overweight nation in the world. People who would have walked fifteen years ago (and who need the exercise more than ever now) have a means of transport that obviates the need for any physical activity. They can go straight from their Power Chair to their Segway and back again. Accessibility is now a right; and, the obese are the next protected class.

In another few years, America will be a nation of couch-sitting, Segway-riding, lazy-ass douche bags.

Not The Lifeguard, though.

He's going for a ride...

on his bicycle.

TSA?

Travel Sucks Already...
To The Lifeguard, a man with forty-plus years of domestic and international travel under his belt, flying anywhere blows. Not only does he have to deal with myriad fares and senseless restrictions when purchasing his ticket, he also has to worry about overweight passengers shoe-horned into one seat (when they should have two...or a gastric by-pass), paying $25.00 for the privilege of checking a suitcase, and a complete lack of anything once the wheels are safely locked in the upright position.

Now, the TSA, the people who brought you long lines at security and two-hour pre-flight waits in barren airports now bring you...longer lines at security and three-hour pre-flight waits in even more barren airports. One might think that between the airlines and the TSA, the goal is to deter terrorism by deterring people from flying at all.

Certainly, weeding out the morons who fly would be okay with The Lifeguard. (Really, any family that wears matching lime green T-shirts to travel should probably just go Greyhound. The Lifeguard saw you at BWI security, you know who y'all are.) In fact, The Lifeguard would be happy to see some means by which the traveling herd is thinned.

Perhaps an additional question--verified by the ticket kiosk or agent--about the frequency of travel.

Agent: "Sir, have you been given any items by a stranger?"

Lifeguard: "No."

Agent: "Have you flown more than ten times in the past two years?"

Lifeguard: "No."

Agent: "I'm sorry. Wait, it says here that you have flown over 400,000 miles in your lifetime. Please go directly to our special security line."

But, no....

The TSA, the people who brought us bare feet at security, laptops taken out of their cases, and 3/1/1 have now brought us...

THE FULL BODY SCANNER!

This magnificent device, purchased with American Recovery and Reinvestment Act (ARRA) funds aims to prevent terrorists from getting on the airplane by preventing terrorists (and everyone else) from ever getting through security.

What The Lifeguard means is that these babies cause such a drag at security that absolutely no one gets through in time to make their flight. If we can't stop the Richard Reids of the world from sneaking bombs onto planes, we'll stop everyone.

The millimeter wave scanners, also known as "naked scanners", are highly sensitive devices that detect concealed weapons by showing security personnel a virtual naked picture of the traveler. Sadly, in order for the geniuses at TSA to see the weapons, one is required to remove shoes (still), belt, watch, wallet, change, and any other items on one's person. It would be faster (and more effective) to simply ask the traveler to please place his weapon on the table before going through the checkpoint.

Recently, The Lifeguard encountered the new technology at BOS (and later, at BWI). In each instance, an additional five minutes was tacked on to The Lifeguard's wait at the checkpoint, leading The Lifeguard to conclude that a strip search would be faster.

The Lifeguard hates waiting at airports, and has been known to do a Full OJ (running through airports, jumping obstacles) in order to make his flight. So, the millimeter wave-occasioned delay at BOS was an unwelcome discovery. And, after the audible gasps from the back room (and the ensuing strip search by eight female TSA personnel, and a TSA guy called Bruce), he finally got to his flight.

On the return trip, the machine at BWI didn't work, after a half-dozen attempts to make it go.

This, after removing everything.

Shit, if the technology is so good, then why can't the machine tell the difference between, say, a watch and a Sig Sauer P226? A shoe and a shoe bomb? A belt and a box cutter?

The Lifeguard is going to have to discuss this with someone.

Maybe Bruce, when he takes The Lifeguard out for dinner and drinks next Friday.

Whiskey Tango Foxtrot?!?

Burst Pipe?
Blowout Preventer?
Broken Plans?
Big Problem?
No, just British Petroleum.

You're Out!

And You're Ugly, Too!


(With apologies to Durwood Merrill.)

The Lifeguard is a baseball umpire, working games at a variety of levels, in a variety of places. I will occasionally work a summer instructional league game, followed by a youth league game. It's not always the ideal situation; but, it sure is a lot of fun.

Over the course of the years, I have wondered about many things, not in the least of which are these.

Have you ever noticed that the people who are telling the batter--their sons and daughters, usually--how to hit probably couldn't hit water if they fell out of a boat.

"Keep your eye on the ball!" Sure, you have to watch the ball, but when the pitcher fires a 92 mph fast ball, most of these clowns are doing just that. Sometimes, they swing impotently. Other times, they don't swing at all. The best part? It's usually the umpire's fault.

"You weren't consistent" and "my pitcher didn't get those calls" are the standard excuses.

"Your pitcher didn't get those calls because your pitcher wasn't consistent," is my stock answer.

I love hearing "take one for the team," or "wear it."

"Yeah, tell you what, douchebag. Come on down here and let me hit you with a 92 mph heater...or, even an 82 mph deuce. We'll see how you like 'taking one for the team.'"

Of course, the coaches are the best, especially when they ask such knowing questions, like "what's the strike zone today?"

"Um, whatever it says in the rule book?"

Or, in a fast pitch softball game, where the batter is trying to slap her way on base and gets hit by a ball bouncing off of the ground. "Didn't that hit her in the box?"

"No, coach. I think it hit her in the leg."

Or, after a batter goes down swinging. "Was that a strike?"

"Yes. Because he swung the bat, ya jackass."

But, the pinnacle of stupidity was the coach at a small New England college who came out to chat after the following situation:

Runner at first, bunt fielded by the pitcher, throw to SS (covering second). Bad throw, pulled foot (the plate umpire could see him off the bag from the plate), runner safe.

The coach comes out to complain that this was a "horseshit call." He said that since the SS was "...around the bag, trying to turn two..." the runner should be out. I told him that the throw was bad and everyone in the stands could see that the SS was off the bag.

To which the coach replied, "Well, what are you, the defender of the rulebook?"

I told him that I thought that was in the job description.

HFWTFMF?!?

The Lifeguard Is Never Judgmental...

unless it's funny.

The Lifeguard started some rant about pierced, tattooed and pregnant teens. It was hilarious--and incredibly mean. Really, it was downright cruel.

Then, The Lifeguard decided that with all of the problems in the world, his two cents worth wouldn't amount to a hill of beans. The girls would still have ten holes in their ears, tongue, nipples and nether regions. They'd get tramp stamps on their backs, barbed wire tats on their arms, and dolphin tats on their legs. They'd still name their children DeShawn, Jaydon, Shaylaine, and Corianne. It would be all for naught.

Plus, I noticed a couple of girls making out while I was editing the piece, so I pretty much decided to dump it and watch them.

Believe me, it was much better (for The Lifeguard).

I'm baaaack!

THE LIFEGUARD SAVES...
or, would have saved, if he would have been asked. The recent Times Square car bomb attempt had America abuzz. Reports that a "white male" were seen leaving the scene, and there were discussions about this being a plot by tea-bagging right-wing extremists.

The Lifeguard, however, advised that the suspect was likely an Arabic type, a practitioner of the Religion of Peace, and an advocate of the repeal of The Patriot Act.

The Lifeguard was pooh-poohed, called a racist, an idiot, and a tea-bagging right-wing extremist.

This morning, news broke that Faisal Shahzad, a naturalised US Citizen, was arrested at JFK Airport, boarding a flight for Dubai. Even better, preliminary reports indicate that Shahzad's bomb didn't explode because he had set the timer incorrectly--0700, as opposed to 1900.

Beautiful. Fucking beautiful.

Lifeguard 1, Terrorist 0.

The Lifeguard Is On A Break

The Lifeguard Will Return From Hiatus This Week!

Oops!

The Lifeguard Was Watching Television
He tuned into American Beaver, but it wasn't what he was expecting.

Wh-wh-what?

I'm Pretty Sure...
that there didn't need to be eight ways to ask The Lifeguard if he was, in some form, Hispanic.

The Lifeguard was responding to the decennial census, as mandated by the United States Constitution (Article 1, Section 2), and nearly shit when faced with the following questions:

[The Lifeguard paraphrases...]

"Are you Hispanic?"

"Cuban?"

"Puerto Rican?"

"Chicano?"

"Some other Hispanic? (e.g., Argentinian, Chilean, Salvadoran, Costa Rican, et al.)"

"Are you white?"

Whiskey Tango Foxtrot?!?

Why in the crikey fuck do we need to know precisely how many Argentinians, Koreans, Hmongs, or Guamians are in the country? [Rhetorical question.]

If we were asking in order to pre-plan the return airline tickets back to these countries, The Lifeguard might feel better about the extreme specificity; but, The Lifeguard knows that this is merely a means by which the government largess is divvied up amongst the raft(load) of minorities living in this country.

Maybe if the Census Bureau got back to taking a head count, there would be fewer problems, fewer dollars spent, and fewer race-based government programs.

Yeah, like that'll ever happen.

Rantings

I Suppose ObamaCare Will Pay For This, Too...
The Lifeguard is not averse to people with a need having access--even free access--to such contraptions. After all, if there is something that can help the individual who is paralysed get outside and live a more fulfilling life, then sign me up for that.

The Tank Chair, for instance, is one of those devices that would never have been invented anywhere but America. It's big, it's ungainly, and it's probably pretty fucking expensive. It can also allow the paraplegic hunter the means to get back to nature.

The Lifeguard's irritation, however, begins when people who are too fat to walk demand that Medicare (or Medicaid) pay for their power chair. (These things are pretty expensive, too. Prices for some start at $1,300.00. A pair of Nikes would be a hell of a lot cheaper.) Really, if you maybe took a walk once and a while, you wouldn't need to plop your 250 kilo ass into one of these rides for a trip around the mall.

Knees hurt? Then drop 20 kilos and stop complaining. Can't see Mr. Winky? Well, there's probably no cure for that, since penis implants are not yet reliable. Want to buy some groceries? Take a stroll to the bakery. Unless, of course, you are Donna Simpson, the 250 kilo Beast from the East.

This woman is on a quest to become the fattest woman in the world, which will require her to consume 12,000 calories a day, while minimising her physical activity. And, The Lifeguard will have to pay for her care and feeding. (The Lifeguard is pretty sure that he has already paid, in part, for her power chair.)

We'll all pay, unless, of course, there are enough sickos in the world to cough up a few bucks to watch Ms. Simpson eat. (There is already at least one site, where the viewer can pay to watch BBW Mandy Blake stuff her face.) Frankly, if one wishes to see this sort of train wreck, all one need do is peer through the window at the local Curves; or, hang out at the all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet.

Speaking of which, it's time to run down to China Dragon.

Noon is feeding time.