Patrick Swayze Sleeping With Jesus

The Bodhizoffa is no more. Unlike most celebrity deaths, this one takes the wind out of my sails. I grew up on the Swayze. Outsiders. Red Dawn. Youngblood. Point Break. And his masterpiece opus; Roadhouse. I even sat through multiple viewings of Dirty Dancing because it taught me that a) spoiled bitches should get credit for carrying watermelons and b) nobody puts Baby in a corner. Nobody. 11:14 made me realize how much I missed the Swayze in cinema. Fucking cancer. Both my grandfathers and Patrick Swayze? I guess it is your way or the highway, cancer. I cannot help think that if cancer manifested itself in the form of a human fighting opponent the Swayze would have torn its throat out with his bare hands and thrown its lifeless body into a backwoods lake and then scream, “Cancer! Cancer! Fuck you!” Sounds about right to me.

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Infectious Disease 1, Infant Son 0

My mom called this morning to inform me that the boy was exposed to some form of a coughing disease a few weekends ago at her house (my young nephew being the little monkey from Outbreak in this scenario). I told my mom that this weekend the boy was exposed to the drunken stupidity of my sixteenth annual fantasy football draft, his dad repeatedly calling the Rockies a “bunch of dirty ball sacks” for getting swept in San Francisco and the assorted programming of the History Channel including Gangland and one very disappointing show about prison tattoos that mostly focused on the Aryan Brotherhood of Texas. She said I should get him get him “checked out” just to be safe.

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Save Swayze

I was saddened to learn today that Patrick Swayze has pancreatic cancer and may not have much time left. Damn. Some of my favorite films include the be-mulleted Mr. Swayze. Whether he was waging a guerrilla war versus the Soviets in Red Dawn, kicking some drunk redneck ass in Road House, robbing banks and surfing the edge in Point Break or pulling Baby out of her corner in Dirty Dancing, Patrick Swayze taught a generation American boys how to be men. So, in order to honor his struggle to beat cancer, I have created some Save Swayze gear. Fuck you, Patrick Swayze’s pancreatic cancer.

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Can Whipped Cream Binging

An eating disorder expert was caught doing whippits at a local supermarket. Two things bother me about this:

  1. A 49 year-old woman is doing whippits at a local supermarket. She is 49 years old for the balls of Jesus. She can afford to do better than a cheap inhalant high at the grocery store. Have some respect for yourself and get hopped up on goofballs or drink a bottle of cheap vodka like McCormicks.
  2. How does one become an eating disorder expert? Is there an accreditation process? Do you have to spend a month with Lara Flynn Boyle to become qualified?
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We Are The World

Life expectancy is dropping in Africa thanks to the AIDS. In Zambia, 17% of the population has the virus and a child born between 2000 and 2005 can expect to live just 32.4 years. Damn. We need some altruistic condom company to bring relief via free prophylactics. The time is nigh to rubber up on the Dark Continent.

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Daytime Vomit And Diarrhea

The past few days my intestinal tract has been ravaged by the flu and I have been confined to my town home. Today I was finally able to hold down chicken noodle soup and saltine crackers. I mostly rested and watched daytime television. Yesterday on Divorce Court, an older gentleman explained to Judge Ephriam why he needed to take Viagra to keep up with his young wife:

I usually come to the plate with a wooden bat. It is reliable and it hits the ball far. When I take Viagra, it is like upgrading to an aluminum bat, you can play the game longer and hit the ball further.

After he said that, I turned off the television and went to sleep.

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