Twists, turns in games, TV smarts
Let me start with this disclaimer. If this column does not come up to the usual level of excellence that you have come to expect, it is due to Russian interference in our democracy. The disappointment that you might experience today may be due to the same evil Russians who deluded me in the 2016 election.
Through their sinister manipulations, those naughty Russkis nudged me into abandoning a wonderful princess of a woman like Hillary Clinton. They made me vote for an ogre who says terrible and awful things about the wonderful opposition forces of the swamp. Somehow, those evil Russians turned me into a deplorable. I’m working on being less deplorable each and every day to make myself great again. I hope you are, too.
¯ A 35-year-old guy in Alabama was recently busted on a drug possession charge along with possessing an “attack squirrel” that he kept caged and agitated on methamphetamines. That makes me wonder what do you do with a ticked-off squirrel who’s aching for a fight? I suppose you could use it to attack other squirrels but to what end? Do you have a stash of walnuts that need protection from marauding gangs of squirrels who are not on meth?
I suppose an attack squirrel could remedy a neighborhood barking dog situation. When the dog won’t shut up, you could send the squirrel over to the dog’s yard with an angry warning. The squirrel could use some threatening paw gestures that could make the dog consider there’s trouble ahead if he keeps on barking.
If the initial engagement doesn’t bring doggie silence, my attack squirrel could stand on his hind legs and start throwing some warning punches. If the stubborn dog continues his obstinate attitude, then my trained squirrel would demonstrate his ability to crush walnuts in his feet with a sinister smirk on his face. If that doesn’t do the job then he could throw some walnuts. If need be, super squirrel could signal a full blown attack with teeth flying and vulgar chatters. Without the desired results, my attack squirrel goes into a full-blown dog ass-kicking mode. It won’t be pretty.
¯ At a recent meeting of The Congress of Humanities and Social Sciences, a major breakthrough in human conduct was made. It was declared that the childhood game of dodgeball should be banned in gym classes nationwide. The critics say it reinforces powerlessness, imperialism, and violence among other naughty behaviors.
Actually, I was little guy in elementary school but I loved dodgeball. What I hated was that silly game musical chairs. I never won one game of musical chairs in 4 years of third grade.
You probably remember how it was designed. There would be something like five chairs set up in the center of the school room and six kids would march around it as the teacher (torturer in my opinion) would play some forgettable tune on the piano. She would have her back to the group which would make her, allegedly, an unbiased participant. Allegedly, she wouldn’t know which student would be near which chair.
When the music stopped, it was the duty of each student to dive for a chair and sit in it. But the big fat guys would always shove me to the side and make me a loser once more.
I also suspected the teacher of getting hand signals from an “observer” kid telling her when to stop the music designed to make me a loser over and over. I know she hated me
So all the big fat guys who would bully me in musical chairs, and in other ways, were now nice big fat targets in dodgeball. I had been throwing rocks for years at grandpa’s farm so now I could nail these musical chair champs on my turf. Fat guys were nice targets in dodgeball. I would especially thrill to the hits that were ball on ball. Long live dodgeball.
¯ A new survey was just released by the company called Pretzel Crisps. And who doesn’t appreciate surveys by pretzel companies? They’re the best.
The survey found that 88% of American adults are “zombie eaters.” I confess, my wife and I are zombie eaters. I bet you are, too. Zombie eaters are ones who watch a screened device while eating a meal, See I knew it. You are one, aren’t you?
I myself would rather not be a zombie eater but my wife insists that we watch the TV show “Frasier.” I would rather go back to our traditional dinner practices which I thought were richer and endearing.
For example, this is what our Monday evening dinners used to be. Our dining area was adorned with candle light and soft music. I would recite carefully selected poetry of Hampstead resident John Keats. My favorite was the inimitable lines of his poem “To Autumn.” What a treasure. How can one dismiss the following line without a tear dancing along one’s cheek? ” Thy hair soft-lined by the winnowing wind.” I love the word winnowing. But now we watch Frasier yell at Eddie the pesky, annoying, and intellectually challenging Jack Russell terrier to stop staring at him.
On Tuesday evening, there used to be more candles and a red wine with a fine bouquet. I would caress her hand and recite a favorite sonnet like, “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and temperate.” Pretty cool, huh? Now we sit like zombies giggling as Niles Crane checks out Daphne’s booty.
Now we have hot dogs, chips, and ice water. I recite a section of the Mueller Report. Then we watch as Niles talks on the phone to Maris who is lost in the kitchen back to her living room, We are zombie eaters to the nth degree
¯ Finally, a recent study by two economists concludes that watching quality TV shows can boost the average person’s IQ by about 5 points. Being an average person, I decided to confirm that result.
To test the IQ bump, I watched a few minutes of “The View” with Whoopi and Joy; quality personified. I figured since it has been on TV for years it must be quality. I was anxious to witness my IQ surge but sadly, this is what I wrote.
Dick said to Jane. Look, Jane, look, See the people run. Run, run, run. They all run to and fro looking for the way to the White House. Look at Beto run. He runs and flaps his arms. Beto is funny. Look at Pochahantas, run, run, run. There’s Kamala running after Kulsi. Run, Kamala, run. What, is that a knife I see? Oh my. run, Tulsi, run.
Look at Bernie and Joe. They run very slowly.
There’s Mayor Pete running with his ever-present smile. He’s so cute. There’s President Trump tweeting. He tweets, tweets, tweets. So sad, sad, so sad.
Disgracing, running, blaming, attacking, investigating. See them run off the cliff, Jane, Run, America, run for your life.
Dick says, Stop, stop, with the tweeting and running. Oh my, here comes AOC and Three. Run for your life, Jane. Run away before the swamp gets you.
Nin Privitera is a Fredonia resident. Send comments to firstname.lastname@example.org