"Todd's 'Talking Point To Avoid!' - The October 2006 Edition"

"In a Post-9/11 World..."

Some of you may be thinking, "Hey, that's a good one, why not?" Why? Because it's pathetic that five years after a bunch of crazy religious fanatics took down the towers, all that's left of them are two big holes in the ground! Heeelllloooooo?! Is anybody home? Those two craters should be a reminder to the people of this country that this Presidential Administration can't even get a bag of frozen Peas to heal the black eye that this country has had ever since.

You know, in 1994, there was an earthquake in Northridge, CA that registered as a 6.7 on the Richter Scale that collapsed 9 earthquake-resistant freeway overpasses, killed around 60 people, seriously injured around 9,000 people, left over 22,000 people homeless and caused $44 Billion Dollars in damages that ranged from Santa Clarita to Anaheim, and as far west as Santa Monica. Do you know how long it took to fix all that damage?

Two Years.

I'll give you a minute to let that sink in...

Okay, are you alright now? I know that many people in this country still like to think of September 11th as some sort of unifying moment in this country's history; a stepping stone towards us all getting along. Well, those people would be wrong. There were three types of people that saw the Towers fall. The first group suddenly transformed into Captain America and put those stupid fucking flags all over their cars. The second just freaked out and shit their pants. The third group saw it all happen on T.V. and thought, "Fuck, they finally got us back...".

I'm a member of the third group, the realists of this country who realize the history that this country has with the Middle East that goes from the 50's all the way up until now has come back around to us. I'm not saying that I approve of what happened on September 11th, 2001, or that I think we had it coming, but if you stick enough fingers in enough pies for long enough, someone's going to do something about it.

Maybe something like: Running Planes into Buildings.

September 11th, 2001 was a horrible day for this country, yes, but there was a good thing that happened because of it: people here finally figured out that we're attached to the rest of the world. We aren't an island, folks... we don't have a missile shield or force fields protecting us, although it would be cool if we did.

I would personally like to make a suggestion in regards to that day in our history, and I hope no one takes this the wrong way: Time To Get Over It, Folks.

Our Politicians have been using September 11th as a tool to get sympathy from other countries and cultures when they shouldn't. We don't need pity, we need to suck it up, just like our Wrestling Coach in High School used to always tell us, and move on. I'm willing to bet that most people in this country are sick and tired of seeing these insipid "9/11 - We'll Never Forget" stickers on the SUV's that lumber around. You know why people can't forget "9/11"? Because they won't let us, because once you get over the being afraid part of it, they can't manipulate you with it anymore!

Do any of us give a shit what the Color-Coded Terror Chart tells us the condition is? Of course not! We all know that it only gets up to Orange or Yellow if a Democrat is running for the Presidency, right?!

All I'm saying here is that we all know what September 11th did to this country, why can't we just move on? After all, you don't learn from a bad experience if you just dwell on it for the rest of your life, do you?

"Not Much, Really..."

It just struck me the other day: I'm not much of a Man.

And here's why: I don't dig Sports, going out to Clubs and hitting on drunk chicks or watching episodes of Jackass, Viva La Bam, Wildboyz or Raising the Roof. I don't think seeing a mouth-breather jumping off a roof and hurting themself is funny, I don't smack other guy's on the ass during a game of basketball or think that sleeping with a woman who's cheating on her boyfriend/husband is cool at all.

So it lead me to me thinking, "What is a 'Man', exactly?"

Is it manly to think that the world is two-dimensional and that people should only think like you? Is it emblematic of some sort of masculine ideal to only serve yourself; spending your whole life only wanting to further yourself?

If that's so, that might be why I loath the striving, selfish "Business People" of this world; wandering through their hives/buildings, thinking that they're all unique while wearing the same suits and haircuts, allowing businesses like Enron to ruin hard-working people's lives because of the greedy, grasping avarice that they so long ago succumbed to. Man or Woman, I don't care for any human that immediately discounts the existance of another simply because they make less money, are slightly less-educated, or speak a different language.

It's kind of funny that all these self-centered worker drones with an over-blown sense of accomplishment rely on the same people that they tell racist jokes about in their cubicles (after looking left and right first, of course); buying a house that's way too big, and being too lazy to mow their own lawns or clean their own house. So they hire someone who works harder than them, and then quitely complain to their friends about how they hate "Illegal's" and how they're stinking up the country, all while enjoying a cigar on the freshly cut lawn and Pine-Sol smell in their home that was provided to them by the same people they castigate.

Isn't it ironic that life is the exact opposite of High School?

All the guys that got the best looking girls in school? They haven't done shit with their lives; loafing through life, never leaving the town they grew up in, hanging out with the same Alpha-Male asswipes they hung out with in School all while never quite kicking the habit of wearing that stupid Letterman Jacket that shows that they played Football for three years. They pine for the glory days of '91 when they got to the CIF Championship; when they had the hope of a bright future, and all the chicks wanted them.

Of course, all that could have been fixed if they actually did their homework and weren't given a pass through school because they mastered the "necessary" skills of running and catching a ball at the same damn time. Or if they just used condoms so they didn't have to drop out of college to support their kids, that would've helped them get where they wanted to go, right?

How about John? You know, the geeky kid that everyone made fun of because of his zits, braces, coke-bottle glasses and wiry frame that was so into computers in High School?

Well, John got LASIK surgery, cleaned up his zits, ditched the braces and hit the gym during college... guess what he's doing now? He runs a consulting firm for corporate data systems and was a millionaire by the age of 25. And do you know why? Because he worked hard and stayed true to himself, never becoming bitter about how shitty everyone treated him and do you know why? He didn't care what you thought of him. He was the exact opposite of the hulking gym-monkeys that played sports in High School; small, intelligent, funny, average-looking and honest... and all his good traits are exactly the same as they were back then, only now he's rich.

Funny how life turns things around every once and a while, isn't it?

"A Whole Life On Two Pages"

Okay, I'd like to say sorry to my regulars that have been checking in to this Blog just to see that I haven't posted anything in about a month. It's been really busy for me at work and in my personal life lately, and I haven't had the time to post any new segments. However, I felt that I could knock out a couple of things here and now in order to avoid Shmamber sending the RCMP to my apartment. After all, do you know how hard it is to get Horse Dung out of shag carpeting?

First, my cousin Matt is getting married this Friday, and I am the official-unofficial-psuedo-"Best Man"-type. I was given the opportunity to do the speech at the reception, which of course makes me over-joyed. "Why?" you ask?

Because I'm going to roast my cousin at his own wedding.

In front of everyone.

I hope someone brings a camera for this.

I told Matt and his fiance' this, though. The reason that I'm going to be roasting him is because I don't know his fiance' that well, and I can't really speak to their relationship, so... time to bring the funny!

I find that people that do their little speeches at weddings irritate me. All they do is go up there and start sobbing about how "happy" they are. The guilty parties here are typically the parents of the two people tieing the knot, and it's not pretty.

Weddings are supposed to be an expression of joy over the joining of two people, right? So what the fuck is everyone crying for?! It's not like you didn't know that your daughter or son wasn't gonna get married to the person they've been banging of the last five years, right?! Where's the mystery here?!

So, what the Hell, here's my latest draft of my speech that I'll be doing at the wedding (enjoy!):

Most of the people that are going to come up and speak tonight are going to speak in regards to Matt and Karla's relationship, their children, etc.

I’m not going to do that, though… I’d rather talk tonight about just one of these two people, about the Matt that I know, the Matt that I grew up with: “Matt-the-pain-in-my-ass”.

You see, for any of you to truly understand who Matt is today, you must first know the Matt that came before him. The Matt that was – as both a young man and child – so adept at getting not only himself, but all of his friends and cousins in trouble at the same time, that it borders on what can only be described as a “Superpower” all it’s own.

Think of Matt at that age as an interesting dichotomy of warring personalities; one, being the funny, gregarious and good-natured prankster, with the other being the face of the Devil himself. More often than not, Matt would display his prowess at getting us all in trouble with the deftness and surety of an Olympic-level athlete; bounding from one broken household lamp to another while at the same time leaving no evidence of his actual presence… in his prime, he was truly awe-inspiring.

And if Matt was the Jesse Owens of mischief, his Dad Bill was Gil Grissom from CSI; picking through the scene with a methodical precision, all the while knowing who really did it. But like most great Detectives, Bill didn’t want to just know the truth no, no, no… he wanted the confession.

And so he’d line us all up, Me, Matt, Matt’s sister Sarah and my sister Jennifer, in front of a piano that no one ever played. Ever… I think it was only there for one reason, you know, like the wall behind the target of the Firing Squad. And he’d take his time, playing both the good cop and the bad cop simultaneously, while slowly wringing the three-inch-thick Leather belt that he used exclusively for whoopings, but I had the feeling was previously used as a saddle strap. He’d lean in close and try to get you to snitch first, saying, “Y’know, Toddy, I know that Matt did it… just tell me it was him and it’ll all be over.” Invariably, I’d say I didn’t know who it was, since I didn’t, and Bill would become the Executioner, spinning you around while whipping you just once on the butt so hard that you’d think that all that’s left back there was bare bone.

This is the Matt that I grew up with, this is the Matt that I love like a Brother… a person who it seemed as a kid was so busy getting me in trouble that I often wondered what I did to deserve all this hassle just for sharing one-half of my Genetic make-up with him.

You could say that knowing Matt was a religious experience for me… it was the first time that I thought that maybe I was some deranged serial killer in a past life, and knowing Matt was my penance for the privilege of being reincarnated.

But knowing Matt hasn’t been all bad. I remember when we used to spend three hours doing yard work for his Dad during the summer weekends so he could watch his soaps for Five bucks, just so we could walk half a mile in the boiling heat for Slurpees at the 7-11, which typically melted once we walked outside. Or the times that we would stay up late at night playing board games, or tell jokes to one another in front of the fireplace that had become a blast furnace because Matt just had to throw one more Dura-Flame log in an already roaring fire. I swear, you could’ve made blown-glass sculptures in that Living Room.

This is my experience of the Matt that I know, but Matt can just as easily be described by telling you about a single picture.

In his parent’s hallway, there was an 8 ½ X 11 inch framed photo of Matt taken when he was 2 or 3 years old. In the picture, you could see Matt with an afro and a big, goofy grin spread across his face; looking up towards the camera with Matt half falling into the toilet while clinging to the outer rim of the toilet seat by his chubby little hands. Most parents would likely think that, “Hey, maybe I should help him out of the toilet…” But not Matt’s parent’s, they were probably thinking what Matt was thinking, “Damn, this is pretty funny.” And that’s the Matt that I know, half in trouble, half out, and enjoying it.

Matt’s Father, although he’s gone, is in many ways the primary reason that Matt and I still remain so close to this very day, and I know he’d be just as proud of you as I am Matt, and I wish you and Karla the happiest marriage that one couple can possibly have.

Cheers.

I hope you guys liked it, maybe it'll give you something to read for a couple of days, huh?

I'll have more stuff up soon, I promise...