What Jerk is Pushing the Dollar Coin?

So I stopped at the post office over the weekend to mail a card. For some unknown reason, the last time I mailed anything, the cost of stamps was something like 29 cents, so I was woefully lacking in metal funds at the vending machine. Not wanting to walk the 40 feet back to my car for a dime, I popped in a $20.

This was a huge mistake.

The machine spat out 1 stamp and then blew up like I’d hit 3 cherries on the nickel slots on the senior gambling boat. At first, it didn’t seem so bad. I saw a couple quarters, a nickel, a few pennies. But then came the gold coins and more gold coins and even more gold coins. 19 Thomas Jefferson dollars in all.

A little pissed that the post office had the nerve to give back gold doubloons as change, I tried to exchange them for dollar bills at the window. The woman all but put her hand in my face. So I stuffed them into my white trash, mini-Crown Royal bag that I use for change (I’m a classy broad, I know) and forgot about them until this morning when I went into the BP for some milk. While fishing a couple $1 coins out of my bag, the illiterate, illegal alien behind the counter stopped me:

"Miss we don’t take no old coins."
"Oh no, these aren’t old," I responded. "They say 2007."

I grabbed 2 Thomas Jefferson dollars and a quarter and handed them to BP Clerk, who then had the nerve to scoff at me. "Pfft. Miss, we don’t take treasure."

"Excuse me?"
"No treasure alright?"
"This is legal US tender! Sanctioned by the government! It’s MONEY! It says $1 on the back!"
"Credit card or dollars or coins please."

I asked for the manager. He scoffed again and then stared at me like I was the one with the problem. We had a non-lethal Mexican stand-off until some hilljack with hairs on his balls older than my parents told me to "run along to school." After I shouted at him, I was asked to leave.

Perhaps it had to be thus.

But what kind of bullshit is this?? First of all, if I thought somebody had a sack of treasure and I worked at the BP gas station, I’d smack them with a roll of lottery tickets, thieve the coins and try to buy my own island. I wouldn’t stand around with my hands on my hips having melodramatic breathing fits behind the counter. That said, I’m still giving Paco a pass for our interaction. Though the experience left me a little heated, I did keep strange looking coins in a purple and yellow bag that looks like something pirates throw at the ruffians as payment for a kidnapping well done. That’s my fault. But what dickbag clowns are pushing these things at the U.S. Mint? There is no logical reason for the government to issue money that looks like you can unwrap it and eat the chocolate inside. Something has to be done!

Massholes Petition Final Ticks of Super Bowl XLII

So check this out – a throng of Massholes Patriots fans have united in petition over the outcome of the Super Bowl. Unhappy with three Super Bowls and an undefeated season, these spoiled gits now “demand that the National Football League and Commissioner Roger Goodell review the last 1:40 minutes of the Super Bowl held February 3rd 2008. At 1:22 in the fourth quarter, after Jacobs attained a first down the clock was stopped.” They then go on to list all of the rules of game time clock management, as if the NFL was unaware of how that all worked. After that comes the rationale that only a bitter rotter liquored up on Samuel Adams could provide:

“Nowhere in the above rules does it state that in the conditions of what was happening on the clock should be stopped. Also in addition to this six seconds were added to the game clock. Had this illegal clock stoppage not occurred there would have been 40 seconds less time on the clock, 46 seconds less if you consider the six seconds added on after the play. This means that after that play, if the clock was running the way it is supposed to by the rulebook, there would only be 42 seconds left on the clock. Furthermore if this was not enough on the subsequent play time was not taken off during the play followed by a random flashing of numbers on the clock.

What?

“The following drive took the Giants a total of 52 seconds on the game clock from the point that six seconds were added to the clock. However if the time was managed the way it was supposed to be there would have been no time left on the clock after Eli Manning was tackled at :50 seconds on the game clock. This irrefutable proof demands that Super Bowl XLII be reviewed from the point of the first illegal stoppage.”

The petitioners then provide the commissioner ways in which he is permitted to respond – again – as if he does not know.

All in all, the petition has been signed by 24,611 people thus far… Brilliant, reputable chaps like Dave Rosenthal, who “can’t believe this isn’t a big story. I mean, we should be 19-0, but the NFL hates that Pats, so instead we have to go through this the rest of our lives knowing we got jipped.” And others like “Number One Pats Fan,” whose intelligence serves as a true beacon of light with, “Good job Giants, you cheated and won a SB. Try to win one on an even playing field. Also, why don’t you try to win a game by more than 3 points once, then we’ll talk.”

Am I alone in thinking the sporting world would be better off if somebody dropped a strong sedative over New England? When the Pats started winning Super Bowls, that was one thing. But when the BoSox sent my Yankees to Hell on a shutter in 2004, these people became completely insufferable and about 180 miles past out of control. And year after year, they suck more innocents into the fray, transforming them into obnoxious, irrational fanboys without a lick of sense.

But please understand, I don’t say this out of bitterness forged from rivalries in other sports and situations. Victors are entitled to bump their gums for as long as they see fit. It’s one of the perks of winning. But when you lose, gripe for a day or two and then shut the fuck up. It’s as simple as that. Trust me, I know. I’m a Yankee fan that went to one of those asshole universities. From birth through three diplomas, I have been trained in the art of self-righteous, obnoxious, irrational fangirl-ery. Hell, my sense of entitlement alone is bigger than your house. But even I understand that when defeat comes – and it comes far too often these days – there’s a grace period for sulking and then you need to admit defeat, shut your mouth and go home. And New England, that’s where you are now. You haven’t just cornered the market on post-season assholery, you’ve gone off the deep-end. It’s time to recognize that the Patriots lost, not because of a clock snafu in the final minutes but because Justin Tuck, Osi Umenyiora and Michael Strahan had Tom Brady on his back more than Giselle and Bridget Moynihan combined. If he could have completed more than 3 passes in a row, maybe you wouldn’t have lost by the skin of your teeth. But he couldn’t and now the world has to spend another season being reminded that Mercury Morris is still alive.

So instead of wasting your time with this, maybe you ought to petition the Giants’ speed rushing corps for turning Tom into a bitch. Better yet – why don’t you put together a petition requesting an explanation for why Richard Seymour, Adalius Thomas, Jarvis Green and the entire secondary were all but holding their dicks while Eli Manning was pulling a Joe Montana with David Tyree?

Might be fruitful.

God Hates Hillary Clinton

I’m not one to harp on politics around this joint. What the hell am I talking about? I haven’t harped on anything at all in ages. But in the interest of getting things rocking again in a suitable manner, we’re going to start with this painfully shallow, fairly obvious observation. 

I wouldn’t vote for Hillary Clinton if she promised me my own blue and red locomotive and then spearheaded a deal between Al Davis and the Devil that allowed Al to buy his soul back.  Now, 90% of this has to do with my being a government-hating libertarian, so it’s not like I agree with her on much of anything. But the other 10% of me is completely turned off for two reasons, 1) she’s a ball-busting, insincere, poll-catering dragon with the personality of a cold muffin, and 2) her voice sparks memories of my mum henpecking my dad into oblivion for not fixing that squeaky kitchen cabinet.

Look, I know that a double standard applies with the ball-busting issue. Hillary gets aggressive and she’s a bitch. Obama and McCain get aggressive and they’re strong leaders. Truth be told, being labeled as a bitch really isn’t so terrible. "Bitch" isn’t just a word; it’s a lifestyle. Embrace it. But if you’re gonna be a bitch, don’t be an insincere, poll-catering dragon and don’t have a voice that puts angels into the fetal position. It’s as simple as that.

When Clinton and Obama got into it during that hellish Democratic debate a couple weeks ago, I had to plug my ears and resist the temptation to clean my room or take out of the trash. I felt lazy just watching. As if there were chores to be done and I was futzing around with video games, Legos and cartoons. If my mum had called, I would have broken down in tears and apologized for having to be told so many times.

In some ways, it’s really too bad for Hillary. We can’t help the voices with which we’re born. I sound like a sultry English vixen. Hillary, on the other hand, sounds like a screeching harpy with a voice that makes me want to throw my brain into a blender. I guess God just hates some of us.

At first I thought Hillary had a tone issue or maybe she was just dealing with tough subjects. But even when she’s pretending to be comforting, I want to yell back, "Ugh! I know! I did it!!!" And then mutter "bitch" and something about how I can’t wait to move out under my breath. As a result, I can’t imagine the reaction of psychos like Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, Kim Jong Il and other chaps that don’t even like women when she scolds them for being hate-mongering killers. Hillary’s first words to these men may be her last.

What, too much? 

I know I’m way off topic here but in context of all of this, it’s really no wonder Bill Clinton couldn’t/can’t keep his snake in its cage. Close your eyes and imagine getting head from a woman that looks like the Witch in Snow White (when she was the haggard old woman with the apple, not the Queen. She was a hot bitch) and then looks up and asks if you like it. Not only does this translate into "Get the hell off my lawn!" but your penis has likely retreated somewhere near your liver and is quivering in fear.

Dammit. Now I’ve gone too far.

My original point to this post was to laugh at the following display of awesomeness. While perusing Paste last night, I spotted an article indicating that the Grateful Dead were reuniting for one show – "and one show only – in an attempt to Barak voters all night long." I didn’t even know these chaps were still alive. But I have to say that no matter how many high-delegate states Hillary wins, when the Dead are so offended that they come out of their ganja-induced haze to re-purpose their logo and motivate people to vote for your opponent, you’re in trouble.