Donkey Punches Dole: Lawsuit Likely in Banana Wreck

(Donkey Kong in happier times)

By Jah Banni

A beloved member of the Nintendo family is facing a long recovery after suffering two broken hoofs and a cracked sternum in a nasty dust-up over the weekend. Donkey Kong, 26, was hurt Saturday when his kart struck a banana and veered off the road on a rural section of Toad’s Turnpike. Lead investigator and close friend Koopa Troopa said that Kong was lucky to be alive.

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“Honestly, I don’t know how he made it,” said Koopa, a state Troopa for 15 years. “He lost two of the three hovering balloons when he hit the banana, and the last one went after he spun into the fence over there,” Koopa said as he pointed at the crash site.

- Koopa Troopa

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“Honestly, I don’t know how he made it,” said Koopa, a state Troopa for 15 years. “He lost two of the three hovering balloons when he hit the banana, and the last one went after he spun into the fence over there,” Koopa said as he pointed at the crash site.

“This kind of thing has to stop.”

Diddy Kong, a nephew and close confidant of Donkey Kong, believes there was foul play involved - on the part of the banana company.

“I don’t think there is any doubt the banana company has shown gross negligence in this case,” said an obviously shaken Diddy Kong. “We have been seeing this very same incident repeated over and over for the past 15 years. It was one thing when people like my Uncle and Yoshi and Toad were on the track doing it for the entertainment of others, but we are seeing an increased amount of banana related accidents and something has to change.”

(Toad's Turnkpike)

Donkey Kong’s racing past, including repeat appearances in the Mushroom, Flower, Star and Special Cups could not prevent the accident, something his nephew also blames on the Banana producer.

“The bananas, they are actually grown strictly to blow up the hovering balloons on the side of the karts we drive. How many corporations can say they produce something strictly to hurt the way of life of the public? Apparently only Dole,” said the angry younger Kong.

“It is early, but the odds of a lawsuit are high. We need to sit down as a family with Uncle Donkey and our team of lawyers and decide where to go from here.”

Donkey Kong was not racing, nor dueling, at the time of his accident. According to Koopa Troopa he was on his way home from Dr. Mario’s office, ironically hauling a large load of barrels in his kart, when the banana positioned itself just onto the road near a bend in Toad’s Turnpike. After the wreck, Kong was returned to Doc Mario’s office where he was treated and sent home to rest.

Representatives from Dole told The Truth Brush they would have no comment on the incident.

Tuesday Tidbits - No Gameplan Necessary Edition

Today, the band is truly back together. A hiatus of epic proportions … over. And by “epic” I mean the way Waterworld and Pearl Harbor were epic.

Benefits of having the band back together:

1) Frank Stallone picture back in the fold of day to day activities
2) Terrible injustices of society revealed
3) Possibility of a Candace Bergen, Frank Stallone, paper plate ménage a trios
4) Good hard American French fried truth served with a side of Ranch

The return of the Tuesday Tidbit is also noteworthy, but most likely only to me. Sorry. To my 1.5 loyal readers, I am sorry you had to see that. Daddy loves you.

So here we go.

April O’Neil Switches Sides

According to Pittsburgh’s WTAE, two females dressed as Ninjas robbed a Richland Township gas station (Strictly for these...). Wielding a sword and a dagger, the two entered the store and tied the attendant up, most likely using a space age dental floss grown only in Montana. Yes, they were in the traditional black wrap garb, but most likely substituted the Merrill Clog for the traditional ninja footwear, citing bad backs and lack of arch support in the process. The local chapter of the Foot Clan is claiming no responsibility, but me thinks that April O’Neil has finally gotten over Raphy and moved on to a life of crime to support her smack habit. Just a thought.

Kim Jong Il and Bin Laden to Headline Warped Tour

Don’t think it is a possibility, huh? Well what about Iranian Prime Minister/President/raving-lunatic-homeless-man-talking-to-himself-on-the-street-about-coffee-without-pants-on Mahmoud Ahmadinejad speaking before a Columbia University student section … at the invite of the school president, Lee Bollinger? Still nothing? Well in the words of Ricky Bobby, “That just happened.”

In a modern version of inviting Chairman Mao to speak at your second daughter’s pre-school commencement, Ahmadinejad took shots and gave a few himself during his town drunk/hall style meeting. And yes we are the country of free speech, but since when is it a good move to invite incendiary dictators onto the home-turf for a free publicity stunt? Not to get too political or too preachy, but at a time when we are not thought of as anything but a nuisance to the world, at best, it would seem that we should go out of our way to keep the representative of a country who despises our way of life as quiet as possible. Instead, we offer a pulpit from which he can spew rhetoric to impressionable youth itching for a cause, and at the same time receive media attention that carries his wayward message ever farther than he himself could have. Misguided to say the least. To put it in perspective, does anyone really believe the same courtesy of a public forum would be afforded to President Bush in Tehran? I didn’t think so.

Despite our fundamental flaw in the scheduling, there were more than a few highlights from Ahmadinejad, such as:

- Still not enough research to prove the Holocaust as a reality (Hasn’t seen Schindler’s list)
- Called for free elections to determine the fate of Israel (Wonder if the Israeli’s will get a vote?)
- Usual anti-American rhetoric, with a twist of lime (Lemon is too acidic)
- Claimed women have highest amounts of freedom in Iran (If by freedom he meant the freedom to cover everything but their eyes or be buried to their neck and stoned to death, then yeah, I’m in)

But he saved the biggest bomb (no pun, I swear) for the revelation that – sorry Lance Bass, Rosie O’Donnell, and Tom Cruise – there are NO homosexuals in Iran. Zero. This, in my opinion, is the biggest thing holding Iranian fashion back. And dinner theater in Tehran leaves a lot to be desired. Low brow humor, however, still lives here. Regardless, this is a stunning assertion. Mathematical evidence is non-existent. This is like President Bush going public with “There is no such thing as wind.” And really sticking to it. I can’t wait to see how this plays out, but my guess is ABC will be running some type of “Guy-ran: Growing Up Gay in The Middle East” special. Keep and eye out, it is on its way.

Next week, look for Hugo Chavez in a one-hour comedy special on HBO.

Milton Bradley Doesn’t Play Games

San Diago outfielder Milton Bradley (too easy) blew up at an umpire Sunday, and consequently blew out his knee, all while completely blowing the Padres’ season. The volatile Bradley was allegedly verbally attacked by a sneaky umpire after reaching first base, but managed to call time, walk back to first base, touch the bag and then launch himself into a tirade for the ages. Padre’s manager and upcoming beer Bud Black attempted to intervene and in the wrestling match that ensued Bradley tore his ACL, costing him the rest of this year and part of next. This all had a very Vince McMahonical feel to it as Bradley overreacted and then was felled by a middle aged man in tight pants. What I believe will happen is Bradley will quit baseball and eventually wrestle in a main event match against PacMan Jones, setting up an 80’s name match in which the winner receives a Rubik’s Cube and a pair of Adidas.

Speaking of Tirades for the Ages

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aoMmbUmKN0E

Coach Gundy was speaking to, and pointing at, Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. Whatever Ahmadinejad, I’ve downgraded you because I’m a man. I’m 40.

Favorite Person in the World Update

I’m not even entirely sure if this is updating anything, but I have my new favorite person of all time. Ever. For all eternity.

I will slowly list hints about him so that you at home can guess along the way, however it is likely at some point I will become overly excited and accidentally blurt out his name. And yes I know it is hard to blurt out while typing, but just grow up and deal with it. It’s happening.

This person is a man (sorry James Van Der Beek, congrats Hillary Clinton).

This person is currently in jail (sorry Jose Offerman).

This person is from the south (Hillary, you are still in it – though you are currently faking the funk by saying you are from New York).

Jonathan Lee Riches.

Damn. I only made three clues. I told you that would happen. This man should also be your favorite person. Why?

He issued a hand written law suit (from jail) to Michael Vick, suing him for “63,000,000,000 billion.” See the document itself... Why? Duh! Because Vick apparently stole his pit bulls, sold them on E-Bay and then used the money to buy missiles from Iran! And honestly, I agree. I think Vick owes all of us at least that much. Look, we originally were ready to put Vick in jail for fighting dogs. Bad enough right? Apparently not – because he is selling the dogs to the enemy and stockpiling what could be a huge cache of missiles. Luckily, if Vick is throwing them, they are unlikely to hit their intended targets, but I digress.

And in case you were wondering what the personal effect was on Mr. Riches, he provided that in the suit as well.

“Michael Vick has to stop physically hurting my feelings and dashing my hopes.”

Mine too, Jonathan Lee Riches, mine too.

In what was a shock to me, as if the rest of this wasn’t, Mr. Riches is apparently well known for filing lawsuits such as these. Apparently he once filed a similarly hand written suit against the following people:
President Bush
Pope Benedict
Tony Danza
Fruit of the Loom
NASCAR
The Ming Dynasty
Skittles candy
The 2005 Philadelphia Eagles
The Doobie Brothers
The Congolese Army
The Magna Carta
WKRP in Cincinnati
King's Dominion amusement park in Virginia
Plato
and last, but certainly not least, the Liberty Bell.

Remember, this was just one lawsuit. Why? Apparently all of the listed defendants owed him money. Whether it was collectively as an entity or individually remains to be seen, but either way it’s a good thing. Really. It is.

By the way, people with three names always make me feel better about myself. I can think of a couple right off the top of my head:

Former NBA player Michael Ray Richardson – drug problems.
Former country star Billy Ray Cyrus – Spends long periods of time getting his hair done, and daughter is more popular than he is.
Jonathan Lee Riches – In jail.

All of these people have three names, all of them are in worse off positions than I am and yet one of them is my new favorite person.

And in honor of Jonathan Lee Riches, I challenge you the readers to post your top potential lawsuit right here at I’m Getting the Band Back Together.

As an example, I am thinking about suing Lady Jay from GI Joes for misleading my Grandmother into investing money in US Bonds, only to use the money invested to acquire large amounts of plastic so as to craft millions of her own action figures for sales around the globe and also for general slander and public defamation when she claimed I smelled bad. I don’t smell bad Lady Jay. I just don’t. The amount? $2.3 hundred thousand million cents.

PS – I have also sued myself multiple times.

Now GO. Post your lawsuits. The winner, judged by me, gets to file his or hers.

One a.m. Minus Three Hours

Equals 9 p.m. That's a fact. At least according to my girlfriend. Look you'd be bad at math too, or arithmetic as she likes to call it (her hair is in a bun and her name is Helen), if you had been up for 24 hours straight. See, it's vacation time. And we decided, along with 6 of our closest friends, to make the drive from Pittsburgh to Myrtle Beach. Straight through. After work.

The plan was to leave Pittsburgh at 8 p.m. and arrive in Myrtle Beach at 6 a.m. This was a great plan. Honestly, it was. Until 3 a.m. But we'll get there.

The first three to four hours of a road trip are what I like to call the honeymoon hours. You are excited to be on the road. You are charging through the "beach mix insert year here" mix cd's you made in preparation. You are having fun with your co-riders, possibly by having a contest to see who can make the highest pitch noise, or possibly not. Just giving you an option. The point is, you are full of vacation adrenaline - happy to be on the way to where you are going.

The 2 - 3 hours following are like the first anniversary. The bathroom is a little dirty, but you are still just excited to be there. You're in love with the thought of vacation. And you have downed an Amp energy drink to celebrate and keep it going.

Then hour 8 hits. Hour 8, by the way, can be sooner or later depending upon what your departure time is. For us, it was hour 8. This is when you start finding other vacations' numbers in your vacation's panty drawer. You are ready to be done with it. Ready to end the trip. Problem is, you can't. You have to keep going. You have to make it. So you take down another Amp, but this time to try hiding the reality. And while Amp, or any other energy enhancing (read: liquid cocaine) drink is to travellers as spinach is to Popeye, it has as much downside as it does up. Yeah, you forget that you still have 2 or 3 hours of pitch black straight ahead road left, but your innards have turned to jelly and you end up forgetting how you even got there in the first place. There is no destination now. Just two headlights, the occasional stray animal, and eternal blacktop.

Luckily the final 2-3 hours are like counseling. You recognize that you have done something to get yourself in this position, but at the same time you recognize that there may be light at the end of the tunnel. There is an end. And its happiness. And milk and cookies.

For me, it was a life's journey in 11 and a half hours. And I had a full car of 4. My buddy Diddy, however, made the trip with just one passenger. This can be a make or break point in the trip. But for Diddy, the co-pilot in the journey boils down to, "...three judgeable criterias. Sex, average hours of sleep needed to function, and the third and most important: motivation." And his logic here is stellar. Travelling with someone of the same sex allows for constant interesting conversation. If you're a guy, you don't have to worry about hearing thoughts on a new Barenaked Ladies CD, or make up. As a girl, you miss hearing about every sports figure in the Western hemisphere. According to Diddy, this is close to fact. Actually this is what he said. "It's not a proven fact, but if someone tried to prove it, then it would proven." And who could argue with that?

The moral of the story is, we made it. But it was rough. And now, after being up for 35 of the past 38 hours, it has taken its toll. Diddy just formulated a theory that Rocky IV is bad for America. If you're interested, it's based on Rocky not throwing in the towel when Drago was battering Apollo Creed - it made black people look bad because Creed ran his mouth, making white people look worse because Drago killed Creed and Rocky let it happen. This, obviously, is bad for America.

Ahhhh, vacation time.

All Over You, All Over Smee?

The Lindsay Lohan saga took a new turn this week when she was arrested for suspicion of driving under the influence, which was only slightly surprising considering she was voluntarily wearing an alcohol ankle monitor. Cry for help? No. Complete insanity? More likely. Oh, and Lohan also had coke in her pocket. Not a Tony Montana portion, but enough to make you wonder what type of service she received in rehab. She has single handily taken over the news – and for good reason – she was in a re-make of the Parent Trap originally starring Haley Mills (also known as Miss Bliss from the early years of Saved by The Bell). Oh and don’t forget the re-make of the Herbie the love-bug movie. Only Paris Hilton has gotten more attention for less talent.

Almost simultaneously, former media darling turned public break-downer Britney Spears allegedly cleaned dog poo with a loaned Chanel dress. And this was after she wiped grease from fried chicken on a separate dress, given to her for purposes of a photo shoot. Given her recent pink wig escapades, this would come in somewhere on the normal side of the spectrum. It was also reported that she was constantly fleeing to the bathroom, only to return with a red nose and different mood. Hmmm…colds are the worst aren’t they?

Around this time, NFL star Michael Vick was indicted on charges of operating a vicious dog-fighting ring. I hate to think about the full scope of this sickness, but I also have to believe that had his potential punishment been a fistfight with a pissed off grizzly bear, none of this would have happened. Alas, this was looked at so poorly that even Al Sharpton came out AGAINST him. You know it is a crime when Al Sharpton condemns you before the trial. Oh wait, yeah those Duke lacrosse players were innocent, huh? Hmmm.

Oh, and one day this week NBA commish David Stern woke up, stirred some Sanka, grabbed a knish (pronounced ka-nish) and sat down at the porcelain altar with the New York Times only to read about one of his referees fixing games in order to pay off Vito Corleone. My own prediction: David Stern is currently under doctor care for severe burns to his thighs caused by a Sanka spill during this episode.

Remember Bud Selig? The marble mouthed commissioner of Major League Baseball? He announced that he would make sure he is present for any game in which Barry Bonds has a chance to break the home run record currently held by Hank Aaron. This came as Bonds, along with Gary Sheffield, were accused again of being involved in the steroid ring that is gripping Major League Baseball.

Speaking of steroids, South African senior citizen and golf legend Gary Player chirped of multiple players on the PGA confiding in him that they use the performance enhancing drugs. A few things on this … 1) I was going to confide in Player about a few things, but I don’t want the press to know I own Anaconda on DVD. 2) Performance Enhancing Thugs = my new rap group. 3) Google image Brad Faxon. Steroids, huh?

Oh and another Tour De Farce, er France, rider was tossed from the bike journey race thing for “doping,” meaning obviously he had either partied recently with Lohan or Bonds, or possibly even Player. If only anyone cared.

Lost in all of this is that no politician has been smeared or buried by a scandal in the meantime. While we are busy condemning all the major sports and most of the major entertainment icons, we missed the usual suspects keeping their noses clean (honestly, no pun intended). Golf claps to them. But honestly take note of what the past week or two has brought us. I think I know what is going on … bear with me.

Santa Claus left a brick of coke in the chimney of Macaulay Culkin, who was on vacation with Jose “Chico” Lind and Dennis Hopper. Culkin returned to see the stash, and worriedly called Bam Morris and Lou Diamond Phillips. The three of them split the stash and went their separate ways. Phillips called Kevin Bacon, who he figured would be a good pusher due to his 6 degreeability. Bacon, through Todd Bridges (otherwise known as Willis from Diff’rent Strokes) planted a substantial amount of the white stuff in a pair of pants owned by Farrah Fawcet. Lindsay Lohan stayed at Fawcet’s house the night before her arrest.

Meanwhile, Bam Morris called Adam West for help pushing his stash. West thought he knew of a way to mask the trade of drugs through a sporting event. Enter former NBA center, and Adam West confidant Darryl Dawkins. Dawkins, through a previous one night relationship with Tanya Harding, knew a guy in Virginia that ran a lucrative dog fighting ring. Dawkins contacted local legend and current NFL star Michael Vick for help. Vick, owner of the sole descendant of the spawn of the original Lassie and Rin-tin-tin, offered his help. Rin-tin-tin and Lassie’s son Fred eventually won the title of toughest dog in Virginia, allowing Vick to take over the ring and push Morris’ portion of the cocaine.

Culkin was still not convinced this was a good idea, although Santa had never led him wrong in the past. The two had a long history, meeting on the set of Home Alone, and shortly thereafter having Claus takeover as Culkin’s legal guardian after Culkin divorced his parents. But how could he be sure? Culkin called his friend Paul Giamatti, famed actor and son of former MLB Commissioner Bart Giamatti. Through Giamatti’s contacts, Culkin was able to arrange a sit down between Bonds and Selig and contacted Sheffield to create a diversion so nobody would know. Sheffield then opined that Latin American players were easier to control than African Americans, and Selig and Bonds met in peace. The result of that meeting was that Selig would be present for Bonds’ home run moment, allowing the aforementioned Chico Lind to push Culkin’s portion of the coke at stadiums such as Pittsburgh’s PNC Park, where almost nobody goes, with less media scrutiny.

Through his connections in the newspaper, Rober Duvall was able to reprise his Tom Hagan role and plant a story of new accusations made towards Bonds and Sheffield, thereby releasing the coke hounds to sell Santa’s stash in peace. He was also able to convince Kevin Federline to mend fences with Britney Spears by making him an offer he couldn’t refuse (7 more minutes of fame), which allowed Spears to horde more media attention to her train-wreck life. While security forces and media were covering this mess … the pieces fell into place.

It’s not over.

Lance Armstrong, longtime friend of Santa Claus, was able to convince the Russian rider in the Tour de France to get caught doping so as to create a massive media diversion. David Stern, legitimately embroiled in a controversy with the mob, turned to friend and confidant Bob Hoskins for help around this time. Hoskins told Stern to have a press conference and to make sure all media and security were present. So at the cross roads this week we had Lindsay Lohan getting caught with cocaine, Britney Spears doing the atrocious interview and wiping poo and grease on dresses, Michael Vick getting caught in a dog fighting ring, Barry Bonds and Bud Selig news, another bicycle doper, and David Stern explaining why the mob had infiltrated the NBA. All were due to a special present from Santa Claus to Macaulay Culkin. And all of these stories have dominated the news over the past week. Why? Because the media would be so busy they would hardly notice the pirate who had replaced Dick Cheney as Vice President. Smee. That’s right. Bob Hoskins is behind all of this. He loved his character Smee in the 1991 classic Hook. He was hell bent on overthrowing Dustin Hoffman, and once this happened, his sights were set much higher. The world.

So don’t blame Lindsay Lohan, Britney Spears, David Stern, Michael Vick, Russia, Bud Selig or Barry Bonds. Blame Bob Hoskins and beware “Smee ‘08” signs.

Tuesday Tidbits – Monday Movie Madness Madonna Microphone Madagascar Mania

Alliterations can be fun, but like anything else, too much of it can make you see leprechauns dancing on your dashboard while Sam Donaldson makes a California Roll in your laundry room. So scale back on the alliterations for your own good. Unless you like Sam Donaldson a great deal. Because then, alliterations are perfect for you.

If you are currently wondering, “What brought that on?”, or “Who, exactly, is Ruslan Fedotenko?” then you know that I saw Transformers yesterday and cannot contain my excitement/bewilderment double feature of feelings. Never before have I run the full gauntlet of emotional attachment to a movie like I did with Transformers. At times, during the height of excitement, I found myself staring at the screen with my jaw unhinged, tongue dragging slightly to the left, gripping the arm rest. At other times, I found myself laughing hysterically. This would have been ok if there had been anyone else in the theater sharing in the hilarity.

We’ll get a few things out of the way quickly:

1) Megan Fox. Google Image. Go.
2) Shia LaBouf is good as someone with that name could possibly be. He plays the annoying teenager thrust into an extraordinary circumstance surprisingly well. I felt awkward on his behalf, disliked him, and rooted for him simultaneously. He did a good job. I still feel awkward for him that his name is Shia LaBouf.
3) Rachael Taylor. Not Megan Fox, but repeat the Google Image.
4) Josh Duhamel and Tyrese are perfect guardians of this country.
5) I could listen to a robot voice say anything and laugh every single time.

Visually, this movie is as spectacular as you can get. The Transformers themselves look unbelievable, the cinematography is innovative and Megan Fox plays a character named Mikaela Banes. AND she has knows how to hotwire a car. I honestly don’t remember any of the music, outside of the Transformer Bumblebee playing songs to communicate because his voice box was damaged (seriously, it was). This was due mostly to being completely ingrained in the movie, but also a testament to the sound people who put together various robot noises and explosions.

As for the story itself, I remain unsold on it. Actually, I take that back. The story was fine. Good even. It just wasn’t needed. This movie was most likely made to target two groups of people, both of them being of the male persuasion: 1) 18-30 year olds who had Transformers for toys when they were young and 2) 6-18 year olds who were too young to remember the toys, but like robots and action movies so action movies starring robots are perfect. Because of this, the fact that they made the movie at all satisfied the 18-30 group and the fact that an 18 wheeler is able to be driving down the road and randomly become a super powered robot and fight a similarly powered, but evil, F-22 Raptor satisfies the 6-18 year olds. I guess taking a random break in the action to have Megan Fox’s character tell Shia LaBouf’s character, “No matter what happens, I’m glad I got in the car that day,” the story satisfies the 7-30 year old female group that was inevitably dragged along to this movie, but I am going to suggest they just make a series of films called “Robot Fights” to continually satisfy the 6-30 year old male demographic. And I don’t want to give away the ending, but here is the final line, uttered by Optimus Prime himself:

With the Allspark gone, we cannot return life to our planet. And fate has yielded its reward, a new world to call home. We live among its people now, hiding in plain sight, but watching over them in secret... waiting, protecting. I have witnessed their capacity for courage and though we are worlds apart, like us, there's more to them than meets the eye. I am Optimus Prime and I send this message to any surviving Autobots taking refuge among the stars. We are here. We are waiting.

Really?

Speaking of, or like, Optimus Prime – his voice, coupled with the other transformers’ voices, were the single most awkward thing in the movie. Prime sounded a little bit like a metallic version of Tree Beard, the walking forest creature from Lord of the Rings. He had similar wisdom and compassion for all living things, except he had a cannon and a massive golden sword. Kudos to Peter Cullen for his portrayal of a robot. Awards to follow. Some of the other characters took on weird modern day twists – there was an African American transformer! At least we were led to believe this through his use of Ebonics, apparently learned on the internet. We’re making steps here. I like it. But I could not get over the voices and conversations that would be possibly through the robot dinners. Especially after it was revealed that the transformers were going to stay on earth.

So it is feasible that at some point Optimus Prime, in full robot voice, said, “Oh, yeah, Mikaela – if you and Sam aren’t busy why don’t you come by for dinner tomorrow. I got some fresh pasta from Whole Foods and I make a mean marinara. Also, I just picked up the new Smashing Pumpkins CD. Yeah, it’s not as good as Mellon Collie, but I like it. Corgan has pipes. He can really wail. I just wish Nirvana would get together and make something new. But I guess with Grohl in the Foo Fighters and sometimes Queens of the Stoneage, it probably won’t happen. But yeah, come by for a good hearty spaghetti dinner…it’ll be worth it.”

Likely? No. Possible? Definitely. So my overall impression of the movie: incredible. It is unquestionably the Independence Day type blockbuster of 2007. It has unparalleled robot fighting action, otherworldly (literally) special effects, and good re-watch powers. And yet it provides me with the unintentional comedy that will dominate my overall thoughts of the movie. “Sam, put the all spark in my chest.”

And by Sam, Optimus Prime meant Sam Donaldson, who is still in your laundry room. Better put a bowl of water in there in case he gets parched.

Tuesday Tidbits: Gabe Kaplan Edition

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qrJrdBVx8XM

It’s been a while. You didn’t even know I was gone. It’s ok. But while you were sitting around being a putz, I was out making things happen. Yeah. Making big things happen. I walked the earth looking for an answer to life’s great question. I swam in the Yangtze. I climbed the MatterHorn. I lapped the bulls in Spain. I drank directly from Poland Springs (tasted like cabbage). I watched my buddy the Mick perform The Doors’ “Light My Fire” with BOTH hands on the mic while doing karaoke at the Beer Gardens in Niagara Falls, Canada. You know, all of the things you could only dream of doing while you ate Pop Tarts in your basement and listened to old Pat Benetar albums.

For the record, life’s question turned out to be multiple choice, and the answer is “c”.

But a lot changed while I toured the world. And I need to comment. For me. And for Nancy (vague Pete Yorn reference). So I am taking a break from my Star Wars like golf trip saga (just a short one) to focus on some recent developments that deserve to run the gauntlet through my sarcasm.

(Ahmad Rashad voice) Iiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnn Reewwwwiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnd.

Bucco Breakup

I’ll keep this relatively short, and I don’t want to make too big a deal out of this, but the Pirates and I have broken up. Finally. After 25 years, I couldn’t take any more of the complaining, the jealousy, the drafting of the 5th best pitcher available 4th overall. You know, the normal stuff that breaks up a relationship. And I’m happy to say, I’ve moved on. I have. And the Marlins don’t treat me nearly as bad. They have pride. They take care of themselves. And they have the right values. I don’t know if we’ll stay together, and I guess you never know, but honestly … it feels good.

Sportscenter Sob Sentral

So central was spelled wrong. I didn’t have time to breathe each letter into my hand as I typed like the spelling bee girl from a few years ago. But Sportscenter, and many ESPN shows for that matter, have been making watching sports hard for me over the past year or two. I don’t know when it started, but apparently ESPN finds it to be a good idea to take something inane and mindlessly entertaining (sports highlights) and turn it into a docu-drama that makes you become emotionally invested and leaves you sobbing like a 5 year old who got his hand stuck in the toaster of his sister’s miniature kitchen set in his parents basement while trying to remove one of his Starcom toys (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Starcom:_The_U.S._Space_Force) after an argument with his brother over where the pilots ship could dock.

I first noticed this a few years back while watching College Gameday by myself in my college apartment. A story came on about a player who had been paralyzed and was preparing to take his first steps in public while leading his team out of the tunnel for their first game of the year. Being the emotional train wreck that I am, I cried for 10 minutes. This continued during a trip to Detroit for the Super Bowl in January of 2006, only this time CBS was the culprit. Sitting with 10 friends in Detroit’s biggest bar (Hockeytown), watching the pre-game for the big game, having sipped “chardonnay” since approximately 6:30 a.m., 8 gallons of tear juice escaped during a story about retired football players. And I wasn’t the only one. But it is a disturbing trend. And Sportscenter, as they are known to do, completely beat this into the ground with a series called “My Wish”. Making men cry during their “Sports Time”, these segments focused on children who have faced adversity, and in some cases unthinkable odds, to overcome and realize a dream to connect with an athlete of their choice. It has gotten to the point where my buddy Aaron has deemed this year’s round to be a disappointment for not being “as moving” as years past. I disagree. And they are sometimes tough to watch. But it is the best TV you will see. Unless you watch Science of Love.


Joking.

Plaster of Paris

She is free. I’ll leave the rest of the coverage to Larry King. Speaking of Larry King, he has to be a little upset with his life. He is the hard hitting reporter who gets the top guests for CNN. In fact, tonight he has Colin Powell. Last night? Paris Hilton. That’s like asking Wolf Blitzer to sit down with Dakota Fanning. Quit now Larry. Or soon you’ll be doing the Kids Choice Awards on Nickelodeon with one of the metro sexual Lawrence brothers and humming a Fergie song while you read the Wall Street Journal. Seriously, think about a change.

Lake 1, Jahbanni 0

I have to admit, this one is not on me. A few weeks back while fishing a state park in a pontoon boat, my buddy Diddy was using one of my fishing rods. Fishing to a steep rock wall with overhanging trees, everyone in the boat at one point or another managed to get a line snagged in a tree. At one point, Diddy cast into a tree. The tree, not wanting to give the lure back, apparently decided to win one for the lake. A wicked tug-o-war ensued until Diddy gave in, let go of the rod and sent it like a Robin Hood arrow to the bottom of the lake. I didn’t catch any fish that day, and the lake caught one of my rods. Kharma.

For his troubles, Diddy fell out of a chair three times that day. A cold, dark day in fishing history. Somewhere the evil Bob Barker is riding a Segway with no pants, a gun holster, and a lucha libre mask, cackling hysterically while holding a fishing rod in his left hand.