Bi-winning!

Vatican Assassin Warlocks!

Witches and warlocks united to save Charlie Sheen from himself, casting spells intended to turn his life around and save him from "...bangin' seven gram rocks..." and porn stars.

The Lifeguard had hoped for something a little more sinister, like voodoo dolls and animal sacrifices. (The Lifeguard assumes that these are good witches and warlocks?) And, if there are any virgins who are afraid of falling victim to some sort of crazed human sacrifice, please feel free to ring The Lifeguard.

Converting virgins is just another way that The Lifeguard saves.

Boom!

Speedos

Bastards!

Yesterday, The Lifeguard was watching the end of the awful Miley Cyrus vehicle, The Last Song. Like watching a thirty car pileup, September 11th footage, or any interview with Charlie Sheen, The Lifeguard kept watching, wondering if Greg Kinnear really did die, just to get away from the wooden and talentless Ms. Cyrus. Indeed, if she weren't kinda hot (and worth a bazillion dollars), she wouldn't have anything going for her. (Well, she does have a pretty good voice...and great legs.) If this crap graces your TV screen, change the channel...or gouge out your eyes.

Another great film, Daylight, was on recently. The Lifeguard wonders why, in the interest of appeasing the part of the world that hates us, the World Trade Center's twin towers weren't digitally removed from the film's ending scenes. Seriously, The Lifeguard still gets pissed whenever he sees a picture of the New York skyline.

Indeed, had The Lifeguard been the mayor of New York City, (almost) the exact same towers would have been rebuilt with all due dispatch. Except, they'd have been taller, stronger, and more visible as a sign of America's might (and New York City's resilience).

Any Stallone film, with the possible exceptions of Rocky V and Stop! Or My Mom Will Shoot, is worth watching; and, if the Rocky series is playing, give The Lifeguard a 30-rack and a bag of White Castle cheeseburgers.

Finally, why, in the name of all that is holy, does everyone from Buenos Aires (in the movie, Starship Troopers) look Anglo?

HFWTFMF?!?

The Lifeguard was looking to see who was looking at the site.

He noticed a first for the blog. Even more surprising than the number of readers in the Islamic Republic of Iran, imagine The Lifeguard's shock when he learned that there is a reader at The Vatican. Below is a link to the entry page.

http://jurypoollifeguard.blogspot.com/2010_03_01_archive.html

Does this mean that The Lifeguard is going to heaven?

No, probably not.

Pleasantly surprised.

Coal Free Future Tour

Last week, The Lifeguard was strolling around The Hub and he saw M/Y Arctic Sunrise, a Greenpeace icebreaker, moored at Rowe's Wharf. After scanning the horizon for French warships, The Lifeguard made his way down the quay for a quick look around.

Attired in jacket and tie, and a bespoke cashmere overcoat, The Lifeguard expected fully to be escorted away by the Greenpeace volunteers manning their posts at the gangway. Instead, The Lifeguard was enticed with a free tour of the vessel, along with two other visitors.

The Greenpeace volunteer said, "Just fill out this form, so we know who has visited. Would you be interested in signing a petition to encourage Governor Deval Patrick (D-MA) to close the Salem (Massachusetts) Power Plant?"

There were no high pressure sales pitches, no outrageous pronouncements. There was, instead, reasonable dialogue about the need for reliable and clean energy.

After a brief conversation, in which we discussed clean alternatives to coal (wind, solar, and slave labour), the Greenpeace position on the Cape Wind project (Greenpeace has been an outspoken supporter of the wind farm on Nantucket Sound), and nuclear power (in spite of nuclear power's stellar safety record--fewer deaths attributed to nuclear than the number that die each year because of coal-fired plants), The Lifeguard was piped aboard M/Y Arctic Sunrise.

A stroll to the bow was without incident, and the tour guide, a Greenpeace volunteer, was relatively knowledgeable about the workings of the vessel. She even managed, without pause, to identify "bow" and "stern"; "port" and "starboard." Interestingly, the hawsers holding the ship did not have rat guards. (Boston is known for its rat population, so perhaps they figured that a few additions, either way, would be all right.)

Next, we mounted the ladder to the bridge, where we were entertained by the second mate, a pleasant Australian woman who has been with Greenpeace for about eighteen months. She demonstrated the steering gear, as well as other features such as manoeuvring thrusters (bow and stern), and the tower, from which a lookout could watch for ice, whales, or French warships. She also talked about how the 50m vessel performed at sea, noting that since it was an icebreaker, it "...was like a bathtub in heavy seas."

Finally, we strolled to the stern to see the helipad, as well as the mechanism for launching and recovering the RIBs (Rigid Inflatable Boats).

After a short film outlining Greenpeace activities, and a brief question and answer session, The Lifeguard left the vessel, and made his way to the nearest bar for a dirty martini and a chat with a few friends.

So, gentle reader, you are probably wondering, "Where's the joke?"

Well, there isn't one.

While The Lifeguard doesn't share the views of Greenpeace, he is a sailor. The opportunity to crawl around a working icebreaker was cool, and The Lifeguard was pleasantly surprised at the lack of crazies, kooks, or hairy women. In fact, to a man (or, woman), the crew and volunteers were actually pretty knowledgeable, very interesting, and incredibly devoted to their cause. For this, The Lifeguard applauds their work, and wishes the captain and crew of M/Y Arctic Sunrise a safe passage.

[Photograph courtesy of The Lifeguard.]

Here you go...

Speedos!

The Lifeguard has been watching the news with great fascination. This is truly an amazing time to be alive, and it is easy to miss the high-speed changes going on in the world. Thankfully, The Lifeguard is on duty. Fortunately, The Lifeguard saves. (Sort of like Jesus, without the beard, the disciples, the miracles, and the angry mob calling for his head. Well, maybe without the first three.)

Wisconsin, the Midwest state with the highest per-pupil spending ($10,791.00 per pupil), is facing a budget crisis that has galvanized the country. Governor Walker (R-WI) has indicated that teachers need to contribute to their medical insurance and retirement. Their union has objected. Governor Walker has suggested that the teachers lose their right to collectively bargain. The union has gone positively batshit. Teachers have staged a strike, of sorts, and have gathered at the capitol to protest. Democrat legislators, whose job it is to legislate, have staged their own strike by leaving the state.

And, while it may seem like a good idea to close down the government (because it keeps them from spending money), it short circuits the democratic process. Indeed, the teachers may have shot themselves in their collective foot by drawing attention to their salaries, their benefits, and their job performance. Fully two-thirds of Wisconsin's eighth graders are not proficient readers.

Indeed, this is not only a Wisconsin issue. Across the nation, teachers are failing to teach children to read, while the federal government continues to funnel money to failing schools. (In FY 2008, the federal government gave $670 million to the State of Wisconsin for school funding.)

If education were truly important, and students were learning, this would be considered a solid investment in America's future. Instead, it seems to be another example of the profligate waste that plagues American government.

Rather than spending money of anti-bullying programmes and multicultural education, money should be spent on helping teachers do their jobs better. If this means firing non-performing teachers, then fire them. If this means getting rid of top-heavy administrations, then trim those jobs. Spending on education is at an all-time high, and the problem is not getting better. Indeed, it seems that the problem is not with the amount of money being spent, but how it is being used by the states.

The Lifeguard has made numerous pronouncements in the past, and will continue to do so in the future. Teachers should be encouraged to teach fundamental skills, in whatever way works for their students. They shouldn't be evaluated by ill-trained or over-worked minions; but, rather, should be evaluated by outside teams of professionals. A twenty-year teacher, with stellar performance should not be graded by an individual without the same level of training and experience. A teacher should not be granted tenure just because they have stayed out of trouble for three years. Tenure should mean something more than it does now.

Professionals, with an aptitude for education should be welcomed into the ranks of teachers, regardless of whether they have taken college education courses, or passed a certification exam. A chemical engineer who wishes to teach high school chemistry, for instance, should be permitted to teach without having to go back to college. The Lifeguard recalls an uncle who taught high school maths after an illustrious career in the Air Force, without having to return to college for education classes.

Finally, the education establishment needs to look at new ways of providing their unique service, whether it is through same-sex academies, charter schools, or on-line education. There is no reason that, for $180,000 per class, schools can't deliver a quality product for all of their clients.

They didn't ask me...

How To End The Threat of High Seas Piracy

The Lifeguard has previously commented on the need to take a stand against hostis humani generis. High seas piracy threatens the world order (as merchant vessels are the targets of these vermin), and simply must be stopped in order to preserve the credibility of seafaring nations.

Not only do the pirates--mostly Somali--operate with impunity, there is no disadvantage to surrender. Indeed, being brought to a First World nation to stand trial is a decided improvement on the lives of these men and women. Add to the equation the short sentences meted out by the courts, capture and incarceration is an acceptable risk to the pirates. Even the recent 33 year sentence imposed by a US Court is merely a slap on the wrist for people who have no running water, no electricity, and no cable TV.

And, while it is true that the recent murder of four Americans is an anomaly in the business of high seas piracy, it is the harbinger of things to come. Sadly, four innocent lives were lost as a consequence of a failure of the nations to act decisively among acts of terrorism in the Gulf of Aden and the Indian Ocean.

True, warnings have been given, both by pirates and the United States, relative to the dangers of sailing in these waters. However, if there is to be communion among nations, there must be an assurance of safe passage for all mariners.

Certainly, the presence of the twenty-four hour media makes such action difficult. Bombing villages and sinking pirate vessels yields collateral damage, which most countries (including the Chinese) are unwilling to accept. Sending soldiers is unpalatable, since it will likely lead to lengthy involvement by the invaders, along with other monetary and public relations costs. And, yet, something must be done, with all due dispatch.

First, the remaining pirates that seized S/V Quest must not be brought to the United States to stand trial. Instead, a military tribunal must be convened at sea, and the pirates hanged.

Second, any vessel suspected of being operated by pirates must be destroyed. The United States (and the navies of other countries operating in the region) must cooperate to sink (or permanently disable) these boats. While there is a risk of sinking a fishing vessel or coaster, the likelihood is small. Vessels engaged in legitimate commerce do not run when ordered to stop and be boarded. Those that do run should be sunk. (Any survivors can be interrogated and tried at sea.)

Finally, small teams of special operators should be tasked with attacking land-based hideouts; and, given impunity to drain the figurative swamp. The Lifeguard imagines that in short order, the instances of piracy will decrease significantly.

As for the pirate shown above, The Lifeguard intends a lengthy period of interrogation involving restraints and other "tools." And while it is true that this could be construed as "torture," The Lifeguard believes it is necessary.

Silvio!

Women Protesting Italian Prime Minister, Silvio Berlusconi's Bunga Bunga Parties.

But, only because Prime Minister Berlusconi wouldn't invite any of them to the parties. (And, he sure as shit wouldn't fuck them.)

Prime Minister Berlusconi, a conservative media mogul, is the bane of the leftists in Italy, who have vowed to remove him at all costs, including investigating his private life. Indeed, the deck appears to be stacked against Berlusconi, who has been committed to stand trial on April 6, 2011. Not only is Berlusconi facing a panel of female judges, he is facing a panel of left-leaning female judges.

There is only one thing to do in this situation, Mr. Prime Minister.

"Toga!" (Or, Bunga Bunga.)

Oh, and might The Lifeguard suggest the names of three women for the guest list?

VD!

The Lifeguard Hates Hallmark!

It's Valentine's Day, once more. The biggest crock of shit of a made up holiday...ever. The day when single people cry, and those in relationships cry harder.

It's all about expectations, which can never be met.

Either the card is not the right one ("But, you only paid $1.99 for this one. You bought me a $3.99 card when we first started dating."); or, the dozen red roses weren't long-stemmed enough. The diamond earrings are too small ("But, look at them. They'll go right through the holes in my ears."); or, the weather in the US Virgin Islands was shitty. It's never enough.

And, for The Lifeguard, it is the day that relationships end.

On no fewer than two occasions, The Lifeguard has been dumped--spectacularly--on Valentine's Day. (Not that being the dumpee made the day bad; it just made it emotionally taxing.)

Recently, The Lifeguard was reminiscing about one of these days.

Roses, champagne, and a fantastic meal were supposed to be the prelude to a night of enviable romance and, yes, hot cupid sex. Instead, the dumper--who shall remain nameless--told The Lifeguard, "It's over. Now, can you please take me home. I actually have a date at 10:00.") The Lifeguard was nonplussed, because things had been going so well. (Or, so he thought.) We seemed compatible. She was smart and sexy. The Lifeguard was, well, The Lifeguard.

We finished dinner, in relative silence; and, The Lifeguard paid the bill and carted the dumper home (with her roses in hand) so that she could get ready for her real date. Oh, sure, The Lifeguard thought about leaving her sorry ass at the table, with the bill and the roses; but, that is not how The Lifeguard rolls. Oh, no.

Instead, the ride to her place was spent, wondering, all the while, why she didn't tell The Lifeguard beforehand that she had found someone else. Wondering why she felt that my wallet was seriously in need of losing a couple of hundred bucks. Wondering what special place in hell awaited this amazing woman.

So, with ego crushed and wallet lighter, The Lifeguard walked her to the door and ran to his car.

The drive to the nearest bar was short, and soon, The Lifeguard was mingling with couples, all enjoying their night of love and romance. The Lifeguard wanted nothing more than to have a drink, to drown his sorrows in a booze-fueled night of self-pity and lament.

The crowd closed in around The Lifeguard as he moved through the crowd.

"Don't be an asshole," she said as The Lifeguard elbowed his way to the bar.

"Hey, sweetheart, The Lifeguard just got dumped."

And, to the barman, "Jaegermeister, please. And one for the young lady, who is clearly in need of an attitude adjustment, a shot, and a good rogering."

"I'm waiting for my boyfriend," she said. "My boyfriend is amazing," she proclaimed. "My boyfriend will be here in an hour," she mentioned. "Well, one shot won't hurt," she purred.

Three Jaegers later, The Lifeguard was driving the chippy back to her dorm, not contemplating that she was leaving her boyfriend waiting for her at the bar.

And, at 3:00am, when her roommate arrived, she was begging The Lifeguard to stay. "My roommate won't care."

At 7:00am, she was pleading, "Don't stop."

The Lifeguard, however, had an appointment...and, a fantastic Valentine's Day, after all.

And, so should you.

Happy Valentine's Day, y'all.

HFWTFMF?!?

She Died For The American Dream

The Lifeguard is not really sure where the tragedy lies in the story of Claudia Aderotimi, an English woman who traveled to the United States for ass implants.

Is the tragedy that Aderotimi was willing to let someone inject silicone into her ass so that she could get more action in the world of rap videos? Is it that she had the work done at a Hampton Inn near the Philadelphia airport? Is it that she had the work done previously? Or, is it that more than one person has died from this procedure?

Seriously, who in the crikey fuck lets some unlicenced shitweasel they found online get near their ass with a tube of silicone and a spatula? Who gives that person $1,800.00 to complete the work? Why is The Lifeguard asking this question?

Now, truth be told, The Lifeguard is an ass man. (When he walks down the street, people scream, "Hey, you're an ass, man!") But, The Lifeguard does not want a woman with a tube of Dow Corning's finest shoved up her ass. (Or, injected, for that matter.) And, frankly, if there are women out there who seek a big ass, The Lifeguard can help them out for far less money than Aderotimi paid. Similarly, The Lifeguard is prepared to help out the women who seek a firm, tight ass.

Oh, sure. It'll take time. It'll take money. But, The Lifeguard gets results.

It's all good.

Something New?

When The Lifeguard was in high school, there was something called "Prue's Haikus", a collection of poems following the 5/7/5 format of the traditional Japanese poem. This was followed by The Lifeguard's own, "Bob's Briefs," the poetic equivalent of tighty whiteys.

Twenty years later, Jay Nordlinger has his own, "Impromptus," in National Review Online.

And, now, The Lifeguard introduces...

Speedos!

Brief comments on the state of the world, the union, and life in general.

For instance, is The Lifeguard wrong for vowing to never take his nephew to the movies? What about if said nephew spends the entire movie fucking around with his iPhone? What if said nephew walks out of the movie with his pants unbuttoned and his zipper down? It would be one thing if The Lifeguard's nephew were Pee Wee Herman; but, the kid is twelve, and the movie wasn't Doing Miss Daisy, it was The Green Hornet.

Speaking of kids with high-tech electronics, why the fuck do children today need the latest and greatest? How in the Hell did civilisation survive these past few centuries? And, what will happen when China's labour-class reaches a critical mass and starts demanding more money for assembling our cell phones, MP3 players, and televisions. (Not to mention our shitty costume jewelry, light bulbs, and slutty clothing for our whores-in-training.) Yeah, the new DingleBerry makes life easier; but, do we need it? (More to the point, do we need those stupid Bluetooth devices hanging off of our ears?)

Real Housewives of Atlanta has done more to make The Lifeguard hate real housewives in Atlanta than anything the housewives could have done on their own. And, The Lifeguard remembers when "NeNe Leakes" was a venereal disease, which was treatable with penicillin and preventable with a Durex. Now, NeNe Leakes is a...well...she's not real; and, The Lifeguard questions the housewife part. But, she lives in Atlanta, so I guess one out of three ain't bad.

The Lifeguard doubts that President Barack Hussein Obama (who is still not a Muslim) can produce a real birth certificate. The Lifeguard also believes that, three years ago, no one would have given a shit. But, once he dug in his heels, the game changed, forever. Flashbacks to when Bill Clinton wagged his bony finger at America, and denied having had sex with that woman. Dude, no one would have cared that you used her like a toilet. They cared that you lied about it. Americans are a forgiving people...if you ask.

Which reminds The Lifeguard that President Obama has risen to the highest elected office in the land in spite of being a horrible public speaker. Presidents Bush and Clinton...and Bush the Elder were weak, too. In fact, there hasn't been a decent orator since Reagan. Before him? Maybe JFK?

There is nothing worse than Dunkin' Donuts coffee...except, maybe, New Englanders who complain about snow...in January.

The Lifeguard needs a martini.

Goodnight, y'all.

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.