Apologies

The blog has not died. I've just been traveling/moving/suffering three migraine headaches this week. Next entry will be on Monday or maybe Sunday, but most likely Monday.

Again, sorry.

#3a. - Tuesday

LOL, I'm writing about Tuesday needing to die on a Tuesday. ROFLMBFGAO,I (Rolling on the floor laughing my big fat gaping asshole off, idiot)!!!!!

I hate Tuesdays. Hate them like a Jewish family that forgot to rub lamb's blood over their door on the night of the tenth plague hates plagues. Hate them like a gay Muslim hates getting stoned to death. Hate them like Oprah hates dieting.

Iranian fugitive

Sure, you probably think Monday is the worst day of the week, but you also probably think Two and a Half Men is funny. I know your type. You wake up Monday morning, you drink some coffee, you complain to your wife that your weekend is over. Then you go to work, quickly glance at your email, and then spend the first two hours talking to your co-workers in the break room about how their weekends were, how their kids are, and whether they caught the Eagles game, which they didn't, because the Eagles had a bye week and you were too busy being whipped by your wife to even know that.

Then, somewhere between 11am an your early lunch at 11:20am, you respond to the emails, groaning all along that you have to do work because you want to be in bed, even though if you weren't at work, you'd be rushing your son Timmy to the hospital because he has a 103 fever and just threw up on the new carpet, which your wife did not have any time to clean. For those of you not in the United States, Liberia, or Burma, I have no idea how many Celsium 103 Fahenheit converts to. But I digress.

*1st world countries
*3rd world countries

At 11:20, you go to lunch with Tony, the only guy at work you can truly tolerate, even though your wife slept with him before you married her. You talk about preparations for some big meeting on Thursday, but mostly you just discuss random nonsense.


At about seven minutes after 1pm, you stroll back into your office and for the first time, actually commence work. You know your boss doesn't expect you to do much; it is Monday after all. Hell, he's actually leaving at 2:00pm to go golfing with an old buddy from his MBA program and discuss the upcoming merger, so as long you look busy until then, you could probably sneak out when his assistant sneaks out at 4:00pm.

But Tuesday is different. Tuesday's the middle of the week. Tuesday is the middle of the week and still four days from the weekend.


You get in at 8:30 and your boss berates you for leaving early. He had returned at 4:15pm because the greens at the local club were unplayable, at which point you remember that Timmy had been in the hospital. Your boss feels bad for berating you and invites you to come with him golfing on Friday, but that's only because his old buddy from the MBA program had left and he has no other friends.

And Neither Do You

You go get a cup of coffee from the break room, but you don't stay. You remember that you hate those people. They're nice to talk to once a week, but that's it. You spoke to them yesterday and that's enough until next Monday. Plus, you have to finish your report by 3:00pm and finish your presentation for the big meeting on Thursday. Worst of all, your wife is now sick too and you have to take a late lunch hour so that you can pick the kids up from school since your other son, Alex, isn't allowed to take the bus because he punched a kid for being Canadian the other day.

Canadian

You work your ass off, finishing the report and picking up your children at school, but you don't have a chance to meet with Tony to prepare for the meeting. So you agree to buy him dinner so you can discuss the presentation, then realize that you left your wallet at the school when you picked up your kids.

You never get your wallet back.

So the next time you think that Tuesday is better than Monday, just pull that twig out of your ass and smell the coffee you don't have time to drink. Monday is the Cayman Islands to Tuesday's Canada. It's a day on the beach with titties flying everywhere.

Not sure why I'm surprised that I was actually able to find a picture of flying titties, but I am

Tuesday on the other hand is like trusting a Kennedy to fly a plane or drive a car or ski down a slope or travel through Dallas in a convertible, just good old fashioned suicide.

#13. Sexy

To be honest, I did not know sexy was dead. I really didn't. Until, of course, Justin Timberlake tried during the summer of 2006 to revive it.

And I'll spend the next two paragraphs describing how he brought it back, in case you were vacationing in a communist nation for the past three years and have not seen random fratboys enter parties saying “I'm bringing sexy back” before they pass out on a couch and get raped by one of the older pledges.

Frat Boy after a quiet Tuesday night

Justin would enter a club, look for you (but only if you qualify as a “motherfucker”), and then steal your girl so that she can “burn it up” for Justin. Oh, that's a fact.

Moreover, Justin discovered new ways to rhyme words, no doubt adding to his attempt to revive “sexy.” He discovers that you can rhyme “babe” with “way” and “behave,” although that's not the most astonishing revelation. He also patents the mix-matching of “back” and “back.”


But when did sexy die? Somewhere, at least one day before July 7, 2006, it had to croak. And that's what I'm here to tell you.

Now, if there's one thing I know about Justin Timberlake, it's that he's capable of time travel, because let's be realistic here: he's a moron. And the only way he could write a song as catchy as “SexyBack” would be to have come back from the future after someone else wrote it and tried to pass it off as his own.

And there is only one person who has possibly been able to kill sexy in the history of mankind and then bring it back, and that one person is Britney Spears.

For those of you who, as mentioned earlier, have spent the last three years in Commieland, Spears shaved her head during the winter of 2007. Then she grew her hair back, appeared on How I Met Your Mother (which is great for its abundance of facts about Canada), and regained a high level of sex appeal for any heterosexual male who's not whipped by his girlfriend.

National motto of Canada

And in the alternate universe, Spears wrote a song about bringing sexy back, where she probably switched the pronouns, but you never know.

So what better way for Justin to get back at Britney for outing him as a homosexual, I mean for only having sex with him once than to steal her song and go back in time and turn it in as a hit.

Suddenly, Britney never gets to bring sexy back after she killed it and Justin can have a smash hit that required no creative effort of his own. Moreover, he gets to show off that he's such a man, he can bring sexy back even before Britney kills it in the first place.

Now, you might be asking how I know all of this, and as I said in the last blentry (blog entry), I'm a history major, so I just know it.

This is important shit, people.

#12. White Supremacy

Here's one of those entries that you could argue either way on, and since you love nit-picking my selections, you're going to say this one shouldn't be here. You're gonna say, “White supremacy still exists, just not on the same scale as it used to.” And you are technically correct.

But for the most part, there's no mainstream white supremacy left, other than from Rush Limbaugh, people in Mississippi, and the sport of hockey. And Rush Limbaugh's a douche, Mississippi is a tumor, and hockey is Canadian, so none of those really count.

Rush Limbaugh

Now, for the most part, it's stuck in a bathroom stall in the men's room at an all-you-can-eat buffet in North Carolina. When I was there, I saw that someone had etched “Nigeration, 1/20/08” on the wooden door, obviously refering to the fact that a black man, Joe Biden, was gonna be nigerated on that day.

And that's just terrible. Misspelling nigger? Good god man.


Yet still, that's really nothing, or at least it used to be considered nothing.

It used to be if a black man looked at a white girl, a gang would go, kidnap the black man, tie him up, play in one-on-one so that the white guy can say, “I beat a black man one-on-one!” and then massacre the body using only the most rusty household appliances. And those were the lucky victims.

The unlucky ones had to watch lesbian curling

Black people had to walk on their side of the street, sit in the back of the bus (part of Alabama's policy of Aliterative politics, Black boys' behinds on back of bus), use their own powder rooms, and consent to being lynched at least twice a month.

On the other hand, white people had the obligation to dress up in white sheets and burn crosses on black people's lawns. They also controled the government and could seize the black peoples lawns, but white southerners were always too dumb to think of that.

All of a sudden, all this shit died. And everyone attributes it to the Civil Rights Movement. But that's wrong, and you have to trust me because I'm a history major.


No, white supremacy died not because of changing political movements but because white people found another group to put down.

Blacks had become too strong, too well-organized, too foul smelling to fight. Why fight the New York Yankees when you can fight the Kansas City Royals? Why fight the British when you can fight Canada?

No, the whites in the south turned their attentions onto belittling the Hispanics, more commonly known by the derogative nickname of “Mexicans,” (except in South Florida, where the old Jewish people chose the much more sexy name of “Cubans”), who were quickly arriving from a place called “Latin America.”


And the best part of the Mexicans arriving were that the black people didn't like them, because they were willing to collect paychecks to sleep on the job for less money than the blacks were willing to do the same for.

White supremacy, once the preeminent feature of a southern Democracy, became White and Black co-supremacy over the Mexicans, and that's just not as fun to say as White supremacy.

So that too died, and we're all back to hating the Jews.

#11. Kenny McCormick

Of all the blog entries so far, none has reeked of deadline writing as badly as this one.

And this entry sucks most of all. Just stop reading. I'm serious. I was too busy to write a good entry. So go fuck yourself.

And of all the blog entries so far, none has had such a high profile nor been as prolific at dying as Kenny McCormick. I mean, Kenny has died approximately 78 times, including the two times his character died playing World of Warcraft, but not including the time his look-alike died in some woman's snatch.

That's a lot of times.

By comparison, Johnny Carson, Josip Stalin, and Babe Ruth all died once each, and Jesus Christ, including his various reincarnations as Joan of Arc, Martin Luther, and that alcoholic coach in Hoosiers who gets sober and dramatically returns for the title game, has died 19 times, or 59 less than Kenny.

Now I know what your thinking. You're thinking “why the fuck does he always say he knows what I'm thinking in every blog entry,” but that's besides the point. You're also thinking that Kenny's not real, that Kenny's a fucking cartoon character, that he keeps coming back to life, and it should not count.

And you are Dead-Fucking-Wrong (DFW, which also stands for Dumb-Fucking-Women and Daily-Free-Women, but not Dallas-Fort Worth, which is a shitty airport. They charge you $2 to drive through the airport, let alone to park. I mean, really? I can't drop somoeone off without paying $2. That is bullshit.)

Kenny McCormick counts as much as the U.S. Dollar, Disco, Reaganomics and Ron-Ron. He's died here just as much and then some.

Kenny's been shot, had a tree fall on him, crushed by a chandelier, lit on fire, and gotten syphilis from his girlfriend. And those are just the boring ones.

He's been motorcycled, laughed himself to death, gets crushed by a tombstone, and microwaved.

You name it, and it's been done.

He committed suicide after seeing Kathy Bates naked

And eventually, Kenny died for good.

Kenny died after a lengthy battle with some muscular illness and for an entire year he was gone. Disappeared for good, right? Sure, some die-hards (pun intended, although it wasn't really intended, I just have never said “pun intended” before and wanted to say it here) were upset, but really, Kenny was only a prop character, one created so that he could die. Kind of like all of Michael Vick's dogs.


But nonetheless, he was created for our entertainment, so that we could enjoy his presence and bask in the cleverness of his deaths, and celebrate with laughter every time he got killed by “you bastards.” We enjoyed him dying and he made our lives fuller. Kind of like how Michael Vick's dogs made Michael Vick's life fuller (and his ass fuller once he was in prison).

So every time Kenny McCormick dies, at least every time he dies in America, especially when he sacrifices himself so that American lives won't be lost fighting something as retarded as Canada, laugh and cheer, but remember also what he has given to you in terms of enjoyment. Yeah, I have no idea what I'm getting at either.

The moral of this entry? Don't wait until the last minute to write an entry while watching a very important baseball game. It's bound to be shitty and not make any sense, kind of like Canada.

#10. Ronald Reagan

Yesterday, we discussed the death of Reaganomics. Naturally, today we'll discussed the death of Ronald Reagan.

Ronald Reagan died on June 5, 2004, a day more commonly remembered as the day when Smarty Jones's Triple Crown hopes were dashed by Birdstone, a horse whose odds were the second-largest number ever known to man, behind only Reagan's age. The defeat hurt Smarty Jones so much, he quit his sport and decided to move to Kentucky and become a prostitute, selling himself to eligible mares for $100,000 a pop. Oh, he also gets fed, housed, and groomed and doesn't have to pay a dime for any of it. And he gets a dozen fan letters a day. Me, I get slapped with a lawsuit if I get within 20 feet of any woman who has ever posed for Playboy. What the fuck?

But I digress, on that grey Saturday on Long Island, news of Ronald Reagan's death spread like AIDS in Swaziland, except that in this case black people were happy of the result. Bedtime for Bonzo, like the non-personal, overexagerrated style of acting from the baby boom era, was dead.

And I'm crying foul.

You expect me to type "Fowl!" here, but that's a dumb joke and I'm above it.

Sure, everyone assumed it was of natural causes. I mean, he did have alzheimers and all that and no one had seen him in a decade. But let's get real for a minute: no one had seen him because he was already dead.

Right after Reagan's last public appearance in 1994, Reagan died. He must have. Reagan outside of the spotlight? That's as unheard of as someone saying he approved of the Double U presidency. It's like Braylon Edwards catching a wide-open touchdown pass. It's like NBC having a hit scripted program. It's like Michael Bay directing a critically acclaimed masterpiece. It's like Family Guy ending a joke before three minutes after it was no longer funny. It's like the Jonas Brothers getting laid. It's like someone being sexually attracted to Kathy Bates. It's like the Jonas Brothers masterbating to Kathy Bates while having a discussion about the merits of a Michael Bay movie.

For anyone who thinks the foot-breaking scene in Misery is the freakiest scene in movie history, I counter with this picture.

So, you must be wondering how I explain the fact that many people saw Reagan playing golf with Bob Hope or witnessed him enter and exit his office until he broke his hip in 2001?

Well, that's simple: he had an identical twin brother.

Every famous celebrity who ever mattered had an identical twin brother (not sister, of course, since celebrity women not named Anna Kournikova have never mattered, and if Anna Kournikova had a twin, I would know about it), and that twin brother stepped in for the celebrity whenever necessary.

Another thing that's never mattered

Do you think Barack Obama really had time in his busy schedule of attending meaningless sporting events like the UNC basketball practice or the MLB All-Star Game to make a trip to Europe to meet with all the world leaders? His twin of course did all that.

And Elvis? Oh he died, but that was in Vietnam (and he did serve in Vietnam; he reenlisted because Elvis is the best American ever). And his twin, who had gotten fat in the 1950s from working at McDonalds, overdosed because he was sick of his brother getting all the fame despite recording such notable hits in the 1970s as, um, well, yeah.

No, every celebrity for the past century has had a twin brother, and on that Saturday, Ronald Reagan did not really die. He was long since passed. No, it was his brother who died, and now it's time we give his brother his due respect.

Rest in peace, Ronald Wilson Reagan, Jr's twin brother. You might not have been as good an actor or politician or staunch neo-conservative, but gosh darnit, you played the role of the identical twin brother admirably. And for that, we salute you.

#9. Reaganomics

Every fairly recent president is associated with some term. Richard Nixon is associated with “Watergate;” Gerald Ford and “stagflation” are one and the same; Jimmy Carter can't be said without someone thinking “pathetic failure.” But Ronald Reagan? Gee golly, he wins this battle thanks to Reaganomics.

For those who idolized Reagan so much that they too got alzheimers and don't remember who Ronald Reagan was, Reagan was that old dude actor-turned-politician who thought all the worlds problems could be solved by bashing minorities and cutting taxes. Sound familiar California?

I was too lazy to find relevant pictures and make relevant graphs, so I just did a google image search for "funny pictures." Take that, bing.com.

Reaganomics, of course, was Reagan's economic policy. Put simply, Reagan believed he could fix the economy by taking money we don't have and giving it back to the people who just gave it to us, kind of like what Double-U did, except it worked, sort-of.

At the same time, Reagan also began spending more money. We built Star Wars and Star Trek and Star Bursts. We said we were going to tear down some wall. Oh, we also raised money by selling weapons to Iran, but since Reagan did it, no one cared.

Iranian National Guard

Anyway, back on track.

According to wikipedia, which was the first to transcribe Reaganomics, Reaganomics started by Reagan's elimination of price controls on oil. Next, he closed loopholes in the tax codes, as evidenced by the uncited third paragraph on the Reaganomics article.

Then the article goes into a bunch of numbers, and I stopped caring.

But no matter how you look at it, Reaganomics is dead. While “George” Double-U Bush tried to revive it, Barack Obama has put it out of its misery.

What Obama has done to Reaganomics

Now, instead of cutting taxes to the rich and giving money to the rich, we're giving money to the poor, complete blasphomy. Why should we be giving poor people a couple grand to buy an American car when they can go buy a used Mazda that was once owned by a lower-middle class white dude who now drives a Mercedes Benz?

I know, right?

And worst of all, we're helping the poorest of the poor with billions of dollars in aid. That's right, we're aiding the auto makers themselves.

lolcats

No, if Reaganomics were still alive, we'd be telling the poor people to go fuck themselves, the gay people to go fuck each other to get AIDS and therefore leave the planet, and all the women to go get fucked by their husbands so as to produce good Republican babies.

And trust me, that ain't happening.

Our economy is in the dumps and we still have the debt that was formed via Reaganomics, but we're helping the poor. It's wrong, but it's also proof that Reaganomics is dead.

I feel like I'm forgetting something.

Oh, that's right, Canada sucks.

#2a. Nickelback

Everyone has bands that he does not like. You might not like Aerosmith and Creed, your brother might hate Pearl Jam and Creed, and your sister might despise J. Geils Band and Creed. But for the most part, those bands either die or fade and you forget about them until you hear them on a Classic Rock radio station 30 years from now and go, “Oh yeah, I remember that kick-ass song.”

But Nickelback is different. Nickelback refuses to go, refuses to fade, refuses to roll over and rot, kind of like Joan Rivers and Dick Clark.

Joan Rivers, 158, after her 9:00am botox injection

No, Nickelback instead continues to spurn out garbage left and right, a new album here, a single there, and somehow, some moron goes out and buys their shit. And like the last time he bought their shit, that moron is going to go, “Oh yeah, they suck.”

Nickelback are the Chicago Cubs of rock bands. Everyone knows they suck; everyone knows they have no talent; everyone knows they're not going to win anything meaningful. But goddamnit, they're going to make a fortune because everyone is going to go watch them when they come to town. And like the Chicago Cubs, I don't get it.


This band is bad. It's flat-out awful. The lyrics suck. The music is stolen. The band look like Jersey shore muggers. Put simply, the University of Florida could win the national title, there can be a cure for cancer, Canada can be blown to bits, and it would still be a bad day if I have to listen to a Nickelback song.

Nickelback is that bad.

Stereotypical Nickelback fans

Okay, there are comparable bands. I'd rather listen to Nickelback than Creed, but at least Creed had the decency to break up.

Nickelback? No. They still breath.

Every time “Photograph” comes on the radio, I want to stab myself in both ears until I go deaf, then take a pistol and shoot my brains out. Naturally, I deafen myself first so that at least I don't have to hear that shit as I die.

Every time someone puts on “How You Remind Me,” I want to, well, I don't know. Just take a look at that first stanza. Please, look at those brilliant lyrics.


Chad Kroeger never made it as a wise man. He couldn't cut it as a thief. He thinks he's been acting like he's blind. He's ill, but he can't feel anything.

Those lyrics are so original, so previously unsaid, so perfect, it makes me want to request this song so much that it goes to number one on every fucking chart in every fucking country until every fucking person with eardrums has fucking mutilated himself so he wouldn't have to hear that fucking song.

AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH PLEASE KILL ME NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Or better yet, God, please, kill Nickelback. Please, I'm begging you. Please....

Oh fuck it, God is dead. Oops, guess I gave away a future entry.

#8. Telegraph

About there being no entry yesterday, I was in fucking Canton, Ohio on little sleep and busy all day, then got a flat tire, got rained on while on the airplane (don't ever fly Airtran), and had to put up with little kids yapping in my ear all day. So cut me some fucking slack, will ya?

Back before such ground-breaking, world-changing inventions as Fascism, Communism, and the Confederate States of America, some guy, an American, invented the telegraph. And boy, was it a thing of beauty.

Suddenly, you could communicate with anyone, anywhere in the world, so long as you had access to a telegraph machine, they had a telegraph machine, there was a wire connecting the two, you had a few hours to wait to get the response, and you knew how to transcribe morse code. Never had communication been simpler.

Another type of archaic long distance communication

There it was, one machine to end them all, to overpower and make the world simpler. What could topple it?

But just like Fascism, Communism, and Confederatism, it fell victim to technology.

First we had the telephone, which eliminated the long delay between the two parties and the need to transcribe morse code, relegating morse code to the the military and promoting English, the last time the English system of promotion and relegation was used in this country.


Then we gots cars, which allowed us to actually drive and meet the people we spoke to on the phone.

Finally, the internet came into being, allowing computers to even replace telephone as a mode of conversation and Craigslist to replace Las Vegas as the number one source of prostitution.

Meanwhile, telegraph's use dwindled.

While it still held on for a while because of the brevity of its messages and the fact that you could send a message even if the recipient was not there, other less significant inventions destroyed even that use.

Like, for instance, the invention of that woman who does all the answering machine messages, forcing companies to make answering machines so she could record her generic messages.

As these inventions took over, the telegraph slowly died, eventually breathing it's last breath while I was in my AP U.S. History Class in January, 2006. And it was a sad day, as it is whenever something that old and decrepit departs us.

Speaking of old and decrepit

But like everything else that has died, it still left an impression. Plenty of things die, but don't leave a mark. The death of obscure things, like Morris Brown College or that building on the corner of Main and 7th that has been vacant since 1987 or the Canadian Prime Minister go unnoticed and therefore won't be mentioned on this blog. Telegraph, on the other hand, left an impact, and thus will be memorialized.

So rest in peace, telegraph, alongside the value of the dollar, political incorrectness, the credibility of baseball players, and your blog on Polynesian oceanic microorganisms. You deserve your high sport in inanimate heaven.

#7. Ohio

As promised, I've ignored my schedule again to bring you this shocking piece of information: Ohio is dead. Now, okay, parts of Ohio are alive, well, on life support, but on the whole, the state is dead.

Cleveland? Gone. Cincinnati? Please. Toledo? Well, to be honest, I've never been there, but it might as well be gone. Plus, who wants to go to Toledo?

The state that gained fame for looking like a toilet is as dead Edward Tiffin, the first governor of Ohio, who Sarah Palined his seat in 1807 after getting selected to serve in the United States senate. And to be honest, it's not much of a loss, at least for the average non-Ohioan, which, according to the 2000 census, is 95.6386472% of people reading this blog, assuming everyone is reading this blog, which of course is true.

For starters, Ohio is a dump. Cleveland is as abandoned as a black mother's baby. Housing projects are left uncompleted, exits to highways are closed in disrepair, and restaurants have more free seats than an MLS game.

Top Ten Things to do in Ohio 10. Pick a random street on a map and guess how many homes have been foreclosed. 9. Masterbate.
8. Set a river on fire. 7. Compare the state's corruption with that of Illinois. 6. Go to sleep early. 5. See who can be the first to spot 10 total white people in Cincinnati. 4. Reminisce about Connecticut. 3. Use the toilet. 2. Leave. 1. Talk about winning sports championships.

Continuing, the sports teams suck. The Browns? Sspphh. The Bengals? God, they might be the better professional team. The Reds and Indians and Blue Jackets and Crew? Need I say anything more? That leaves just the Cavs, and they don't count because LeBron is about it leave. And on the collegiate level, Ohio State always loses when it counts.

The rivers are brown when they're not on fire, the air smells of tylenol, and the winters are long, cold, and not filled with postseason football, Minnesota's one redeeming factor.

Winter snow storm in Ohio, or the late-June thaw in Calgary

Put simply, it's the biggest shit-hole this side of Gabriel Iglesias.

The state is so run-down, it makes vacationing in West Virginia seem pleasant.

West Virginia's top attraction

Of course, it has redeeming points, like, um, the fact that I don't live there. Of course, there are plenty of places in the United States that I'm glad I don't live, like the northeast, northwest, deep south, or Utah, not to mention the Dakotas, Iowa, Alaska, or basically any place not named Texas, but Ohio takes the cake.

I mean, really, what is there to do in Ohio?

It's cold, it's out of the way, nobody important lives here, and it holds the lofty status as America's armpit.

Sure, it has a bunch of Halls of Fame, like the NFL Hall of Fame and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and the Lou Holtz Hall of Fame, the latter of which includes such inductees as Lou Holtz and

But besides the Halls, the best part of Ohio is leaving and praying that you never return, because, really, if you wanted cold, dark, oblong, and awkward, you'd go to Canada, where at least you can smoke a Cuban.


That's right, Ohio is so bad, I complimented Canada. Take that, you ugly piece of shit.

#6. American Airlines' IQ

Two days and two changes to the schedule. I originally had a doozy planned for today; hell, I have it written already (a.k.a. what will become Saturday's entry when I'm too lazy to write one tomorrow night). But still, this was more topical.

So, this morning, I was set to fly out of an airport into another airport, but first I had to land and switch planes in another airport, well, second, because first I had to get to that second airport.

Anyway, moving on, I was set to fly on a very bad airline, let's just say it rhymes with Jamerican. And that airline altered the flight schedule without telling me so that my 70 minute layover would be just 40 minutes. Then the flight was delayed coming in because of inclement weather elsewhere, a decision that was made at 7:00 am eastern time when that flight out of Boston did not take off, taking off of course being necessary for that plane to arrive in my airport so I could leave it. Of course, when I looked at 10:00 am central time, Jamerican Airlines still told me my flight was on time. Liars.

And yet, I took it in stride, because this was, after all, Jamerican Airlines.

The same airline that overbooked my flight out of Denver on Christmas and offered me $500 to switch to a different flight, a flight that I would never have been on had Jamerican allowed me to pay anything less than $1,437.85 to switch my flight to one out of Vail. That flight out of Vail, in case you were wondering, had 73 free seats, also known as not overbooked.

The same airline that would not let me use any of my 82,000 miles to upgrade to first class when there were four empty seats in first class to alleviate the problem of the flight being overbooked, then threw four random stand-by shmucks into first class after a 20 minute delay to find someone to surrender his seat.

The same airline that, after I missed my connection because of their stupidity, would not let me alter my plans to fly into another airport when the one they rebooked me into was, guess what, overbooked, and the one I wanted to fly into, guess what, had 17 free seats.

Now, of course, there are worse airlines. Take Spirit Airlines, for instance, which got its name from the belief that if you fly it, that's what you'll become mid-flight. or U.S. Airways, which offered such bad customer service that it got taken over by American West, winner of the “Worst Airline Award” by Forbes nine times in ten years from 1993 to 2002, before the takeover. And, of course, AirCanada, which services Canada.

But the airline that rhymes with Jamerican is right up there, and in terms of dumbest airlines, it's top-notch.

The website is a clusterfuck of clusterfuckable objects. In order to find out how to check-in online, you have to go to a page that tells you that you need to go back to the home page. In order to find the telephone number to call customer service, you have to do a google search. In order to book a flight, you really need to go to a different airline.

This picture defies comment.

When you get to the airport, you either need your account number or the confirmation number to check-in without waiting in line. While every other airline lets you either scan a credit card or enter your email address or pick your own account number so it's something that you actually know, Jamerican choses to be different. So I had to go stand in line.

And if you make it onto the plane, which I did not, more on which later, you better not expect anything glamorous. You have to pay $3 for headphones, or infinity times the amount you have to pay on jetBlue and 300 times the amount on Continental or Delta, both of which offer earbuds, a feature that, unlike Jamerican's bulky overhead ones, has been invented since 1726. You get a little bag of mixed nuts, a.k.a. 98% peanuts, which aren't actually nuts, and don't even think about asking for a second bag. Finally, you can't get iced tea, because the woman just looks at you funny when you ask for a glass of ice, hot water, and a tea bag.

Legumes, not nuts, although they're just as salty.

Anyway, I did not get on the Jamerican plane today because Jamerican found a way to actually get me to Cleveland (damnit, now you know my whereabouts): by putting me on Continental. It was my best Jamerican experience in years.

#5. Arena Football League

For those who don’t know, I make a schedule of what I plan to do on this blog. For example, I already know what will be happening on Labor Day, on Election Day, on Thanksgiving Day, etc. But at the same time, I’m open for change. Every now and then there will be a happening of such great importance that I have to alter my entire schedule just to announce its death.

This is not one of those times.

But nonetheless, I’ll alter the schedule because I liked the Arena Football League, sort-of.

Another thing I like sort-of.

I enjoyed it’s wide-open, high-flying, shootout offense with hard-hitting defense and 56-yard field goals, sort-of.

I looked forward to it’s fan-friendly policies and it’s emphasis on players playing both directions, sort-of.

Oh screw it, who am I kidding? So, the AFL has died, gone away, kaput, sad ain’t it?

The AFL had as big of a loyal following as the Andorran National Football team, as Dennis Kucinich during the 2008 Presidential Election, as Canada on Twitter.

Sure people went to the games, sometimes, but what else is there to do in Grand Rapids, Mich. or Albany, N.Y.? Nothing.

Grand Rapids has 2.04 times the national rate of aggravated assault.

But once the AFL expanded into such beautiful places as Los Angeles, Philadelphia, and Long Island, N.Y., it was only a matter of time before the league flopped.

Hey Mets fans, remember when Mo Vaughn flopped in New York? This is not a joke. Just me mocking the Mets, who are a joke.

It’s dangerous enough just going to work in Los Angeles, yet traveling half way across town to watch a minor league football game? Do you want to die? That’s like walking up to a black man and asking him to mug you: dangerous, but with a 100 percent chance of the expected result.

Nonetheless, the AFL decided to try to show itself as big-time and fell flat on its face. And sometime soon, the league will commit suicide.

The AFL joins Wall Street, my friend Robert on his bike, and the credibility of Fox News among things to have fallen flat on their face

(On a sexist side note, studies show that women are three times more likely to attempt to commit suicide and fail than men are, just more proof that men are more capable of completing tasks they start.)

Yet, it’s still a loss. No matter how mediocre the AFL was, it did give me a sport to watch in the spring. And come each June when there’s nothing going on in any major sport of any importance, the AFL provided postseason football. And I’ll miss it, sort-of.

But I’ll persevere, I’ll be strong, and on Friday I’ll be back on track with my schedule, sort-of.