Tuesday, February 7, 2012
If you can't find a seat on the bus, there's plenty of room underneath it.
Rather it is our response to amorphous brown matter which has accelerated in our direction subsequent to striking the whirling blades of a fan.
-pulled out of his ass five seconds ago.
Does it make sense what I'm saying here? Most of us eagerly accept credit when things go our way:
We attribute our recent thirty-pound weight loss to mental toughness and discipline...oh, yeah, and four weeks of Legionnaire's Disease.
We coach our four-year-old's T-ball team to an undefeated season. Fully realizing that the score wasn't to be kept and most kids run to third after hitting the ball, we intuitively knew that these youngsters are nonetheless fully cognizant of the point tally.
Hence, as a favor to our burgeoning athletes, we employ invisible dog fences as instruction tools for running the bases correctly. Soon, no collars are necessary, the kids look sharp and a championship banner adorns the coach's wall next to his high school varsity awards from the Seventies.
We take credit for our child's placement in her school's gifted program. Understanding that we need other parents who share this accomplishment, we enroll in a yoga class in northern West Seattle.
But what about those times when things don't exactly pan out for us? What are we supposed to do when someone whose accomplishments for which we normally accept full accolades, doesn't come through?
That's when the bus pulls up. And that's when we throw said individual directly under it.
By the way, does the term "throwing under the bus" imply the luggage compartment beneath the seating area or actually down there where the axles and wheels and filth are?
Because, you know, the results are different.
Gisele Bundchen, Earth's highest-paid super model and super wife of super New England Patriots' quarterback Tom Brady, managed a little unter-bus dwarf tossing of the Patriot receivers after being heckled by a drunken Giant's fan directly following New York's' 21-17 win in Sunday's Super Bowl.
The fan claimed that Brady had proven himself ineffective when paired against the Giants' Eli Manning, or more accurately, "Braydy sssssuckkksssssssss!"
After attempting to smile and take the high road, she finally snapped, her twiggy little arms dead lifting New England' receivers and shot putting them one-by-one below the motor coach.
"My husband cannot (expletive) throw and catch the ball at the same time," she spewed at her tormentor. "I can't believe they dropped the ball so many times!"
Last I checked, football is a team sport, and I'm sure Tom will be highly popular with the guys at the office for a little while.
But actually, it's not just sports; it's everywhere.
Our society has grown so callous about deflecting blame and responsibility, that its difficult to discern whether we're watching a political debate or another installment of the reality show, "Who Wants to be a President?"
How different is Newt Gingrich's subterfuge on questions of personal integrity and a loose alliance with Rick Santorum than a game of "Survivor—South Carolina?"
It's nothing more than an all-consuming desire to dispatch your competition and await that magical "thud-thud" sound of a human speed bump under a large steel vehicle.
I never realized that America's most renowned colonial phrases of defiance, "Don't tread on me," actually meant, "Please refrain from relegating me beneath the footings of the carriage."
Oh, and one more thing. Gisele, it's five dollar footlongs at Subway all month. Eat a freaking sandwich. You probably had to lie down after that tirade.