So Many Targets, So Few Bullets

Over the last few weeks I’ve developed a little appreciation for a cretin unnamed…I mean certain unnamed host of a sort-of televised talk show. I’m going to tread carefully on the name-providing here, as I’m not big on providing easy exposure for people whose current state of widespread not-exposed-ness is of great benefit to the public. Let’s just say his name sounds like “shears organ,” and the channel that features him has been known to have Crappy Nielsen Numbers.

Whatever deed did the man in question do that could have caused this minute gastral bubble of amusement to percolate in my stomach? Well, he just came out and made my job here a tad easier. I mean, it’s not every day that one of the questions posed to you by your interviewer is “you’re an unbelievably stupid man, aren’t you?” as 2^ndAmendment advocate Larry Pratt had the pleasure of experiencing last month. Also a precious rarity is hearing someone proclaim his respect for the 2^nd Amendment on his program, and moments later snottily refer to a pocket copy of the U.S. Constitution as “your little book,” which Breitbart.com’s Ben Shapiro was treated to. What I’m saying is I get a little more enjoyment out of this gig when I don’t have to search long and hard to find a writing subject (read: someone subjected to my writing) who is especially ripe, and this guy practically had sweet citrus juice trickling from his pores. More importantly, I experience a whole lot more enjoyment when the subject apparently doesn’t have any redeeming qualities that might otherwise cause me any hesitation or guilt. Factors like these are why I’d end up writing something like, oh, I don’t know, say, “Up until now I thought it wasn’t possible to sound like an abject moron while speaking with a proper British accent.” Or perhaps, say, “he’s just like Chris Matthews, only more obnoxious and minus the Obama tramp-stamp.”

Sonia Sotomayor, the “wise Latina” Obama put in the Supreme Court with help from the “unwise Congress,” was at the University of San Diego on January 27 to talk about her new book, “My Beloved World.” In the Q&A session following her reading of choice excerpts, the audience asked the usual fare, like her approach to her job and being a woman in mostly-man field. (Why did Chris Matthews suddenly come to mind again when I wrote “mostly-man”? Probably a coincidence.) If there were any non-liberals in the audience asking challenging questions, which would be plausible in the Roman Catholic USD, my newspaper’s article didn’t mention it. I’m not ruling out the possibility the article’s writer was giving the leftist judge favorable treatment—I read somewhere that liberal bias affects news reporting, at least once in a white moon. My question to Sotomayor, had I attended the event, might’ve been seen by some as a tad direct: “In your line of work, you are certainly in the minority; what is it like standing out amidst a sea of male, white, non-bigots?” You gotta admit, that’s a far better question for the venue than the first one I thought up: “I assume you feel about our country’s founding the same way you feel about firefighters facing discrimination, so would you say it’s cheaper to buy U.S. Constitution toilet paper online or at one of those trinket shops in San Francisco?”

You can go ahead and mark down Tuesday, January 29 2013 as a noteworthy date in your lifetime. It was on this day that Barack Obama’s supreme arrogance was matched by another human being: San Francisco 49ers wide receiver Randy Moss. In yet another example of a football player seemingly damaged by years of repeated blows to his melon, Moss named himself the best receiver in NFL history. When my house’s windows rattled for a few minutes that day, at first I thought there was a Marine pilot from Miramar in a routine training flight, but it turned out to be millions of people who’ve heard of Jerry Rice and Lance Alworth, simultaneously rolling on their floors laughing their asses off.

The president’s recent rental of several prop-children for his anti-gun speech turned out to be sort of an inspiration for me, only not in the same way as his drooling legions. I thought about putting together a similar speech of my own and posting it on YouTube, only I’d be talking about the economy, and it’d be individuals more qualified than Mr. Obama on the subject sharing the stage with me. It didn’t take me long to round-file my idea; there ain’t enough lumber, carpet, and staple guns in the world to build a stage to accommodate that many people.

Well, so much for inspirations, as far as I’m concerned. The next time I’m inspirated by anything our prop-children-renter-in-chief does, I’ll quickly change my mind to something more deserving of my attention…like which applied science I’d pick for a topic if I find myself sitting down for a chat with Snooki. Of that I can be cretin.