Point of No Return
My fellow Americans,
We reached a point Tuesday evening where we were forced to face the inevitability of the day’s events, and accept the reality that we came up short in our bid to lead this great nation over the next four years. This is not a time to mourn our loss, or wonder what could have been.
Well, my fellow Americans, this is it. The last chance for me to speak directly to the voters before Tuesday’s general election, and my final opportunity to convince you to vote for Sam Harvey and me to lead this nation to a new beginning.
Well, that was a bit of a metaphorical kick to our campaign’s groin.
There was no Hurricane Susan this time. No Sue-mommy blowing in and out of the office, causing peril to all in her wake and creating a general disturbance wherever she rolled.
Well, my presidential campaign marches on as we near November. Currently, we’re lagging a little bit in the polls, as we seem to be trailing Obama, McCain, Nader, Michael Phelps, the guy who played Kramer on Seinfeld and Cap’n Crunch. Undeterred, we will continue our mission of spreading our message to the masses.
Now that the McCann-Harvey campaign is in full gear, and our supporters number somewhere between three and 74 million strong (depending on which scientific poll you believe), we’ve decided to continue our efforts of full disclosure leading up to the election.
We are living in a time of great uncertainty and turmoil. War rages on in the Middle East, our economy is in a mess like no other time in recent memory and reality television continues to pollute our airwaves.
There are certain truths that we indeed hold to be self-evident.
Oh, that statement does not necessarily need to focus on grand-scheme issues such as individual liberties or the practices of efficient and fair government, it can also center on those things we encounter in our day-to-day lives that we just know are factual.
I still get a little amazed at the Internet.
As Labor Day passes and the summer season comes to an end, it’s time to take in a breath of fresh air, enjoy some satisfying moments outside and prepare to hole up indoors for the next several months to enjoy the National Football League in all its splendor on the television. And, inevitably, someone in the living room will say something about the game that makes absolutely no sense.
So, many in the state have been buzzing over the past week with reports that Sen. Joe Biden has been named running mate for Sen. Barrack Obama in the upcoming presidential election. Surely there are those who are excited because of Biden’s vast experience in foreign relations, and others who think the selection is prudent based on Biden’s long tenure in the Washington inner sanctum.
I live in a house of ill repute.
There’s just something missing with the Olympics.
Today I begin living a lie.
It’s a common thought that, in football, a referee or offensive lineman is doing a great job only if you never notice he or she is on the field. Oh, it’s thankless to be lauded for anonymity, but the only times those people tend to get attention is when there is a major mistake on the field of play.
There are certain points in life when we all know we’ve indeed hit rock bottom. For nudists in France, this could be that point. According to a Reuters story earlier this week, France’s data protection authority has granted permission to a nudist colony to “black list” certain guests, and bar them from the facilities.
It’s been argued that there are three entities that are uniquely American — the Constitution, baseball and jazz. For some, Budweiser should also be included on that short list.
We all want to be part of a group, right?
I once held a dream of becoming a stand-up comedian.
Ours is an ever-changing world. What was acceptable in the past may be frowned upon today. What existed in the past may not exist today. And what wasn’t there yesterday might be there today.
Life is filled with metaphorical peaks and valleys. Inevitably, we all face those sacred moments in time that lift us to great heights, or sink us into seemingly endless despair.
Cal Ripken Jr. and Eddie Murray each hit approximately 14,276 home runs in my neighborhood. Art Monk and Charley Taylor made about 10,000 touchdown catches apiece on the same pristine field. And Len Bias probably dropped 100,000 points on our local basketball court.
There are times when I’m seated at my desk with a vacant look in my eyes and a smattering of profanity dripping off my lips. The truth be told, that’s my general make-up at the office, but it just escalates on those uneasy Wednesday mornings when I can’t think of anything to write about at all for that week’s column.
“A firearms instructor in southern Massachusetts has been assigned to other duties after his gun accidentally went off while he was teaching a class on weapons safety.”
Have you ever had that metaphorical bucket of cold water poured on your head just when you thought things were going as well as they ever have?
How about 18 million gallons of cold water?
It’s been suggested that I’m a bit of a “Momma’s Boy.”
Despite my rampant cynicism and me-against-the-world philosphy on life, I’m somewhat easily astounded.
There comes a time in each man’s life when he must look himself in the mirror, take an honest appraisal of himself and come to terms with what he truly is in the grand scheme of things.
At first, I thought it was merely an aroma-induced mirage. There I was, sweating and cursing to myself as I was slogging through some yard work on Sunday, when the sweet odor overwhelmed my senses. My original thought was that I was having some kind of imaginary sensation coursing through my veins because my body wasn’t used to the physical toll I was putting on it.
Tired of hearing about Barrack Obama’s vile-spewing preacher friend? Fed up with stories about Hillary Clinton dodging imaginary sniper bullets on her way to a tea party? Has your stomach taken as much as it can when envisioning the very thought of John McCain having an affair with, well, anybody?