*

The baseball that Barry Bonds--late of the San Francisco Giants--hit to break Hammerin' Hank Aaron's all-time home run record was bought (for $752,467.00) by fashion designer, Mark Ecko. (Bonds referred to Ecko as a "fucking idiot" for paying so much for the horsehide-covered sphereoid.)

After over ten million votes were cast, Ecko is marking the ball with an asterisk and donating it to the Baseball Hall of Fame, in Cooperstown, NY, where it will be displayed.

This raises three interesting points:

First, I wish that I had thought of this...and that I had a spare $752,468.00 tucked in my mattress.

Second, regardless of what one thinks of Barry Bonds, he is an amazing athlete and a great hitter, with superlative timing, unbelievable hand/eye coordination, and a tremendous amount of natural ability. Sure, he may be an asshat; and, he certainly was on the juice; however, no amount of steroid use makes him better. Stronger, yes. Better, no. In order to hit a baseball, you have to do a million things right. None of those things are improved by steroids.

Finally, what other enhanced items will be donated to the BBHOF? Pete Rose's betting slips? Wade Boggs' Hair Club For Men membership form? Butch Hobson's FedEx envelope?

Beautiful, fucking beautiful.

New Jersey Nazis? I Hate New Jersey Nazis!

(Or, MoveOn.Org Welcomes Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad To The United States)

A group of ignorant fucktards carved a giant swastika into a cornfield in Mercer County, New Jersey. The discovery was made at the start of Yom Kippur, and is similar to crop swastikas found in 1998 and 1999.

Said Iranian President, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad from his plane as he flew over the swastika, "I am so pleased to see the warm welcome from the Great Satan."

"I am hopeful that the imperialist dogs of the Great Satan will join me in the eradication of Jews and fags, of which Iran has none," President Ahmadinejad cooed.

The New Jersey State Police continue to investigate.

To Continue This Blawg In English, Press 1 Now.

To continue this blawg in Spanish, hang up and dial 411 and find a class where you can learn to speak English, then call back and press 1.

Why, in the name of all that is holy, must we "press 1 for English?"

I doubt that calls made in France make you press 1 for French.

This is still the United States of America, and even though the politicians are too drunk on power (and afraid of the non-English speaking populous) to make English the official language, we should not have to press 1 to have lousy customer service in English (albeit English with an Indian accent).

Hell, the majority of those who can not speak English can not vote, so why the politicians are afraid escapes me.

So, if you are bored, write a letter to your Congressman, your state representatives, to Comcast. Tell them that you don't want to "press 1 for English."

Or, you can just sit and stew.

Whatever.

Honky!

Now, I have heard every motherhumping thing.

The Reverend Jesse Jackson, a presidential candidate way back in 1984--and consumate race-baiter today--criticised Senator Barack Hussein Obama for "...acting like he's white."

Is that a bad thing? He's smart, he's employed, he's engaging, and he stands a better chance of getting the Democrat Party's nomination than the Reverend Jackson did 23 years ago.

Now, I thought that we had moved past the whole question of whether Senator Obama is "black enough." Really, what the hell does the Reverend Jackson want? Michael Vick? Is he black enough? What about Secretary of State Condoleeza Rice? Oops, wrong party, and we know that she is not black enough. Maybe P. Diddy? The Reverend Al Sharpton? Mike Tyson? Mumia Abu Jamal? Maya Angelou?

What the fuck does "black enough" even mean?

I don't ask if Senator Hillary Clinton is white enough. (I don't even ask if she is man enough. She is, by the way.)

President William Jefferson Clinton was the self-proclaimed "first black president." No one bitched about that claim. And, if he is the standard by which blackness is judged, then Senator Obama is most certainly black enough.

If we are to ever be a colour-blind society, we all (I'm talking to you, Reverend) need to stop this nonsense. The electorate of the United States is, in the main, not concerned with six juveniles in Jena, LA. Rather than claiming discrimination and prejudice, perhaps the Reverend Jackson should look at the root causes of situations such as that in Jena. Like joblessness, lack of education and literacy, and skyrocketing illegitimacy rates. Maybe he should applaud Senator Obama for coming so far.

Sure, curing these problems will be hard. It will take more than just some legislation and some pontificating; but, if the Reverend Jackson cares about blacks in America, he will use his bully pulpit to effect change, not to promote another generation of victims.

Point out the successes of black men and women--like Secretary of State Rice, former Secretary of State Colin Powell, Indianapolis Colts coach Tony Dungy, actor Bill Cosby, media mogul Oprah Winfrey, and countless others--not the failures. Explain that each of these men and women got to where they were through hard work, education, and a strong sense that America is the greatest nation on earth, and that anyone can do anything they want, if they try.

When black children are held up to scorn and ridicule--acting "white"--for studying for tests, for speaking English, working hard, the black race will sink deeper into the soft racism of low expectations.

Sure, I am white; and, I have had advantages that others didn't. But, I have also been excluded because I am not "black enough." I was rejected at several law schools as my black friends (with similar grades and LSAT scores) got accepted. I was not hired for a position because the firm was "seeking greater diversity."

As an aside, I worked on the Reverend Jackson's 1984 Presidential Campaign (before I worked against him).

As a then-citizen of the great state of South Carolina, I was precluded from voting in the Republican Primary because President Ronald Wilson Reagan (the greatest president of my lifetime) was running, unopposed, for re-election. With the prodding of some friends, I changed my registration and went to work on the Jackson campaign.

I registered voters, held signs, and stuffed envelopes. I was, along with a bunch of other white Republicans, responsible for his victory in the South Carolina Primary.

And, when it was over, and the dust had settled, I went to work for President Reagan. The rest, as they say, is history.

I AM A FUCKING MORON

When I purchase a new car, I carefully run-in the engine. I drive at varied speeds and RPMs, occasionally taking my foot off of the accelerator to allow the engine to spool down, and to ensure thorough distribution of oil throughout the powerplant. At 1,000 miles, I change the oil and filter, replacing the factory-provided lubricant with full synthetic Mobil One. Then, I run the car out of gas. All the way out of gas. Bucking and stuttering and stalling out, so that I can know, within a mile or two, the range of my car.

Of course, this assumes several things: That I started with a full tank of gas, that I have driven sanely, and that all of the other variables that determine the mileage are similar.

So, tonight, I was not the least bit concerned when I got on the Mass Pike in my Volvo XC90. I had an empty tank, and was into the reserve. I figured that I could make it to the Natick Plaza, where I could fill up with some 87 Octane fuel (or maybe I would splurge, pumping a little 93 Octane). Unfortunately, I didn't notice the mileage at which I went into the reserve, and soon, my car was once more bucking and stuttering, just before it stalled out in a parking lot entrance.

And, there I sat, blocking traffic, while my hazard lights beat out a warning to approaching automobiles.

"Shit!" I said. "I can not believe that I did that."

"Fuck!" I said. "I can not believe that cop just rolled past me."

Then, a kind gentleman asked if I needed help. Another car stopped. Then, another. Soon, four people were helping me to push two tonnes of Swedish steel into a parking spot, and out of the way of the people trying to enter the lot.

Next, the man asked if I needed a ride to a filling station; and, if I needed a fuel can. (I note that he had three.)

And so, this man, after a hard day at work, drove me to buy gas, poured it into my tank, and made sure that my car would start. Then, he set off, accepting my thanks as his reward. And, something about "paying it forward."

So, I first want to thank the fine folks who helped me out today.

"Thank you."

To those who ignored a fellow human in need, I want to say, "Fuck off!"

Instead, I will say...

aw, forget it...

"Fuck off!"

THE MAIN DIFFERENCE IS THAT CAL RIPKEN, JR. NEVER KILLED A WOMAN



Senator Edward M. Kennedy (D-MA) cast his fifteen thousandth (15,000th) vote in the Senate, becoming only the third senator to achieve such a milestone. His colleague from Massachusetts, Senator John F. Kerry (who served in Viet Nam) honored the bloated one in his remarks to the Senate.


Notable is his "...titanic record of legislation affecting the lives of virtually every man, woman and child in the country." (Note the delicious irony in the use of the word, "titanic", another vessel that sank, causing drowning.)


Indeed, Senator Kennedy has affected countless millions by his misguided politics, his bloviating, and his idiocy.


Senator Kennedy has compared American soldiers to Saddam Hussein's goons, has sold out the American working class with immigration and minimum wage legislation, and has criticised an education bill (No Child Left Behind) that he authored. He has allowed, in his 1994 re-election campaign, his attack dogs to question Mitt Romney's religion, and has put party politics above the needs of the American public.


He has become the antithesis of Franklin Delano Roosevelt in that he has fought to pervert the intent of Social Security, welfare programmes, and national pride.


President Roosevelt interned tens of thousands of Japanese-Americans for national security reasons. It is hard to imagine Senator Kennedy supporting such a measure. President Roosevelt ensured the execution of German (and German-American) citizens who were determined to do America harm during World War II. Senator Kennedy has criticised this administration for steps far less draconian.


And finally, as to the comparison to Baltimore Orioles shortstop, Cal Ripken, Jr., who played in 2,632 consecutive games, it is true that both feats are amazing. It is, however, unfortunate that there is not the Senatorial equivalent of a Roger Clemens/Pedro Martinez fastball, thrown high and tight.

Nadine Learns That Being A Bean-Eating, Pot-Smoking Naturist Has Severe Consequences...

Nadine Fortune, a life-long naturist, had just twisted up a fatty and fired up for a few quick hits before her 2:00pm volleyball game. What happened next was the stuff of science fiction, or James Bond.

Much to Fortune's chagrin, the match was still glowing as she squatted to get a little "taste of nature." A pocket of methane, lingering in her small intestine, was released, and was ignited once it hit the glowing stick.

"The next thing I knew, I was flying," said Fortune. "I knew that Northern California Sinsemilla was great, but this was amazing."

And even though she suffered second-degree burns to her anus, she is eager to fire up for another trip.

WAKE LOSES 38-28 AT THE HEIGHTS

Announcer wants to have Boston College QB, Matt "Matty" Ryan's baby.

In a relatively short period of time, the announcer said the following:

1) The pro scouts will really be looking at Matty Ryan after that pass;

2) Matty Ryan has just moved into contention for the Heisman Trophy; and,

3) I love Matty Ryan almost as much as Brent Musberger loves Pete Carroll.

I note that Numbers 1 and 2 have been paraphrased. Number 3, I made up...but it is not too far from the truth.

At least I am not my friend M, a U of M grad, who is probably, at this very moment in time, contemplating a leap from a very tall building (after the #5 University of Michigan Wolverines lost to the Appalachian State Mountaineers--an NCAA Division 1-AA team).

IT IS THE FAULT OF THE ROCKET AND THE WANG

The Boston Red Sox, my favourite baseball team, just completed a three-game breakdown against the Evil Empire (a/k/a The New York Yankees).

Thanks to thoughtful pitch selection by Jorge Posada--and excellent pitch delivery by the elderly Roger Clemens--the Boston Red Sox were stymied, allowing the 7,000-time Cy Young Award winner to carry a no-hitter into the sixth. Clemens threw an uncharacteristic 98 pitches, and moved to 6-5 on the season, as the Yankees won the second game of the series, 4-3.

Then, in the final game of the series, an afternoon interlude--the way baseball is meant to be enjoyed--Chien-Ming Wang took his no-hitter into the seventh, before he was pulled by Yankees' manager, Joe Torre. The Yankees went on to win by a 5-0 margin, allowing them to pull within five (that's 5) games of the Sox.

Sort of like the Summer of '78, all over again.

Except, instead of Bucky Fucking Dent, we have Roger Fucking Clemens (7,000-time Cy Young Award Winner and AARP Member) and Chien-Ming Fucking Wang. And A-Rod.

I would have much rather the headline been "Ortiz, Sox Beat Wang."

WANG SOLID ON MOUND AS TIRED YANKEES STOP TIGERS...

Is only a part of this headline baseball-related? It sort of reminds me of the dirtiest sounding thing said on television (that wasn't dirty). You know, "Ward, don't you think you were a little hard on the Beaver last night?"

And, the excellent movie, Murder By Death, starring (among others) Peter Sellers, as Inspector Sidney Wang.

Unfortunately, I can not do the great scenes justice, so watch it. Often. The Lifeguard gives it three liferings (out of five).

He's Baaack! And He's $20m Richer...

Asshat radio personality, Don Imus, settled his wrongful termination suit for $20m today, paving the way for his return to commercial radio. And, I am sure that there will be plenty of advertisers willing to plunk down the cash to be a part of his triumphant return to the airwaves.

As I have said before, he's an idiot, but he is free to say stupid things, in an effort to be funny.

So, welcome back, Don. Maybe you can offend someone else next time around, get fired, and parlay that into another $20m windfall.

The Gash In Endeavour's Heat Shield Runs Deep

(Or, "God, I Wish I Had A Pitcher of Martinis!")

The NASA Space Shuttle, Endeavour, suffered a gash in the protective tiles on lift-off. A chunk of insulation, which is sprayed on the liquid fuel tank* before lift-off, ripped off, slamming into the heat shield. Now, NASA, and the (presumably) sober astronauts are left with significant repairs--and serious concerns--before re-entry.

All of the astronauts are cognizant of the end suffered by Columbia's astronauts; and, are now steeling themselves for long spacewalks and tough decisions.

Astronaut-Educator (or is it Educator Astronaut?), Barbara Morgan (Christa McAuliffe's back-up for the ill-fated Challenger) is likely wondering why she gave up the safety and security of a classroom for this nonsense. Come to think of it, if she taught in an urban district, this might just be easier...and less dangerous than going into a classroom.

And, the worst part? We are powerless to do anything. The repairs proposed--other than painting the gash--have never been tried in the cold desolation of space. And, having the same engineers that built the Space Shuttle, with all its inherent flaws, telling you how to fix the problem that they (in part) created is not the least bit reassuring.

So, we all sit, and wait, and pray. Pray that the Endeavour astronauts have a safe return to Earth.

God bless, and God speed.

*Interestingly, the insulation sprayed on the fuel tank is more prone to breaking apart because NASA uses an environmentally-friendly formulation, rather than the CFC-laden mix that they used in the past.

Why People Hate Lawyers: Reason 9,650

A Morgantown, W(by God)V man, his mother (who may also be his sister) and a friend (who is, most certainly related, in some way) are suing McDonald's for $10m.

The man, Jeromy Jackson, a twenty-something slacker, ordered two Quarter Pounders--without cheese--and got, instead, cheese. Jackson, who took "...five independent steps to make sure that the thing didn't have cheese on it" said Timothy Houston, Esquire.

Apparently, Jackson, who is allergic to cheese, told everyone in the Star City, W(by God)V McDonald's that he was allergic to cheese.

Then, he went home, to watch a movie in a darkened room, where he ate the Quarter Pounders. In the dark, where he could not see what he was eating. You know, no light, so he was not sure that he had his tasty burger, and not someone else's.

"Jeromy took one bite (in the darkened room) and started having the reaction," Houston said. They tried to call the restaurant to advise that the order had been FUBARed, then rushed Jackson to hospital, where he incurred $700.00 worth of medical bills. $700.00 in medical bills?

So, this is, somehow, worth $10m? West (by God) Virginia is barely worth $10m, exclusive of Senator Robert Byrd's (D-W(by God)V) earmarks, bribes, and graft, brought home from Washington, D.C. There is no mothereffing way that this case is worth $10m.

Where does the lawyer get off seeking $700.00 in actual damages, (probably) $10,000.00 in compensatory damages, and the rest in punitive damages? He knows, sadly, that McDonald's is evil, that juries are stupid, and no one will fault Jeromy for eating his sandwich in the dark, after fucking up his own order at the McDonald's.

This is the reason that they have "Order by Number" at McDonald's. ("I'd like a Number Three, please.") McDonald's realises that the people who work there are not all that much smarter than the idiots who place the orders at the clown. That is why McDonald's has screens that show the order, to ensure correctness. That is why every person in the McDonald-eating world looks at their order to make sure that it is correct. And, what kind of a nimrod calls the McDonald's upon learning that the order is wrong?

It is all too perfect. Too much like a bag-job.

I am betting that: a) this is a phonied-up case (like the finger in the Wendy's chili or the rat in the Coor's Light; b ) that Jeromy (or his friends) will roll-over like Lindsay Lohan for booze and crank; and, c) that in spite of a and b, some stupid-ass jury in West (by God) Virginia will give these cretins an assload of money to punish the evil McDonald's.

I met them at a bar. They were doing shots of tequila. It devolved into something ugly. Body shots off of the shoulders, off of the thighs, off of me.

After they had downed eight or nine shots, the two blondes, in unison, began telling me about how they liked to screw people. "At home. In the car. In the office. Front door, back door, clothed, naked, sitting, standing, your place, my place. We love to screw men. We have been doing it since we got out of college."

My eyes grew wide. My jaw dropped.

"No shit?" I said.

"I can't believe that you two are lawyers. What firm are you with?"

KWTF?!? KUNT, THAT'S WHAT!

The irony was delicious.

Kevin Bae, the Vice President (no shit! President of Vice) of KM Communications, Inc., requested...and received...KWTF and KUNT as call letters of two television stations. The former, in Arizona; the latter, in Maui, Hawaii.

The FCC granted the request, since the assignment of call letters is computerised. (Nudge, nudge, wink.)

In reality, someone at the FCC saw the request and said, "What the fuck?!?" Then, that person said, "Sure, I have deniability. It'll be funny. And, most importantly, I have deniability."

KUNT's slogan could be, "Kan't Understand Normal Television? Watch KUNT."

KWTF's could be, "Where Television Flows!"

Frankly, I think Bae should grow some balls and tell the FCC that he intends to keep the call letters for his company. And, that only someone with a dirty mind, or too much time on their hands, would object.

NASA = Need Another Seven Astronauts

On January 28, 1986, I walked into my local in Hampstead, ordered a pint, and settled in for a few hours of drinking. One of the patrons, noticing that I was an American, said, "Hey, do you know what NASA stands for?"

"No," I replied.

"Need Another Seven Astronauts."

And so, I learned that Challenger had, spectacularly, disintegrated just 73 seconds into its flight. I rushed back home, and turned on the telly. Shortly after the end of "Nude Yoga," I found the news, and watched the footage...over and over. STS-51-L ended before it began, and all seven astronauts perished.

Fast forward to the next NASA disaster, the loss of Columbia, on February 1, 2003. Again, seven died as a result of a situation that caused the mission, at its end, to be FUBAR. Again, I remembered the asshole in the pub.

So, when I read that NASA was taking "swift action" to deal with the drunkenness of at least two astronauts, who were shit house when their mission commenced, I thought, "What's the big deal??"

If I were about to go up into space on a giant Roman Candle, I might have a few pops, too. Especially since the twelve-hour "bottle to throttle rule" is a bit anachronistic (sort of like NASA) given the automation of the modern space mission. Indeed, a few drams of a fine single malt whisky might actually prompt me to suit up and fly, given NASA's abysmal safety record.

In the meantime, the investigation continues...

Tempest In A B-Cup...

Senator Hillary Clinton (Victim-NY) recently appeared on the Senate floor wearing a rose-coloured blazer over a black top; and, we saw Cleveland. There it was, on your TV screen. Hillary's cleavage. You had to look--sort of like looking at a car accident, or the ball going through Buckner's legs, or Bucky Fucking Dent's home run back in '78--because it was both horrible and titillating, all at the same time.

And now, Hillary--who chose the clothes--is claiming that she is a victim of the male world. The world that judges a woman based upon her clothes, her looks, and her physical appearance. The former First Lady, the junior senator from New York, and the front-runner in the Democrat Party's presidential field is a victim because people noticed that she might, in fact, be a woman.

So, the Hillary campaign sends out a plea for money because, as Senior Clinton adviser, Ann Lewis noted, women were "insulted."

The fund-raising letter sent by Lewis begins:

"Can you believe that The Washington Post wrote a 746-word article on Hillary's cleavage? ..... I've seen some off-topic press coverage--but talking about body parts? That is grossly inappropriate.

"Frankly, focusing on women's bodies instead of their ideas is insulting. It's insulting to every women who has ever tried to be taken seriously in a business meeting. It's insulting to our daughters--and our sons--who are constantly pressured by the media to grow up too fast."

Except, after years of hiding her femininity, Senator Clinton chose clothes that were somewhat revealing. Clothes that drew every one's attention to her body. Clothes that showed us something that we had hoped never to see. So, of course people noticed. It was news-worthy, and timely, especially in light of all of the press that her husband, the former President, has been doing lately.

"Hillary is a woman."

"Hillary is a real lady."

Everything that Hillary does focuses on her sex. Her slogan in the You-Tube Debate was something to the effect that "...sometimes the best man for a job is a woman."

So, perhaps she, and her sex-baiting advisers, should shut the fuck up. Rather than counting on the "Boob Factor" (voters who have them, or are them) for her candidacy, perhaps she should show the world that she is a thoughtful politician, not a whore for every weird constituency or victim of the slightest insult.

If she is to be President of the United States, she needs to be driven by her oath of office, the Constitution, and America; not her pollsters, the Hollywood elite, and the Blue States.

Oh, and don't ever wear that again, Mrs. Clinton. Not without a little...um...enhancement. As an aside, I don't like looking at the Billy Buck footage, either.

Ed. Note: Due to various obscenity laws, and the bounds of decency, The Lifeguard has chosen not to publish, or link to, or ever look at again the footage of Senator Clinton's cleavage.

British Airways Is My New Favourite Airline!

The captain of a Milan-Heathrow flight booted Arab princesses (from Qatar) off of BA 563 after male members of the princesses' entourage complained that the women were going to have to sit next to men that they did not know. (Gasp!)

Apparently, this is against Qatari custom (as well as the custom of other Gulf States); and as a result, two men in the princesses' party stood up and caused a ruckus.

The passengers in Business Class, when asked to move so as to accommodate the princesses, said "no." Apparently, it is customary--in the rest of the civilised world--to sit in your assigned seat. And, frankly, it was an assigned Business Class seat. A seat next to folks who had forked over about a G-Note for the privilege of flying Business. Indeed, the princesses would have sat next to people more than a little well-off, not the hoi polloi.

Rather than knuckle under to this preposterous behaviour, the princesses, and their servants, cooks, and other assorted hangers-on were escorted from the flight. A diplomatic incident will surely arise as a consequence of the pilot protecting the safety of his ship, his passengers and crew.

Of course had it worked, I might have tried it on my next flight:

Me: "Sorry, stewardess, my religion does not permit me to sit next to strange/fat/ugly/smelly/goofy men/women that I do not know (or, in a window or middle seat--or in Economy)."

Flight Attendant: "Oh, sir, I am so sorry that will be remedied immediately. Let me move you to First, next to Scarlett Johannson."

Me: "Lovely, she is my third cousin (twice removed)."

For Allah's sake, a religion that finds suicide bombing acceptable has a problem with women sitting next to strangers? Drag yourselves out of the ninth century and shut the fuck up.

The 411...

Just in case anyone wonders, the Lifeguard is meant to entertain. As such, we live by the following credo:

Offensive? Often.
Juvenile? Always.
Puerile? Natch.
Funny? Occasionally.

Hunting the shibboleth to extinction.

Yankees Lose 3-2 After Torre Pulls Wang
Out In The Seventh

So, there is a correlation....