OUR RELIGION CAN KICK YOUR RELIGION'S ASS!

It's quite evident that my group of worshipers are spiritually superior to your group.

Whether you belong to The Church of Spiritual Enlightenment, Church of the Bible Crusaders,The Most Holy Redeemer Church, St. Gregory the IIluminator Armenian Church, Church of the Crucifixion, the Tabernacle of Deliverance,the Church of the Holy Agony, the Temple of Understanding—or any other church, synagogue, or mosque—the chances are pretty good that you think you're better than the easily duped and pitifully misguided who have other religious affiliations.

In the interest of honesty, forthrightness, and calling a spade a spade – I would like to start a church that comes right to the point and avoids the hypocrisy of piety and pretense.

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to THE CHURCH OF HOLIER THAN THOU.

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MORONS WANTED FOR ANNUAL BULL RUN

Every year a sizable collection of imbeciles gather together to take part in the traditional running of the bulls in Pamplona.

Injuries are inevitable and every so often a tragedy strikes. Somebody is fatally gored while other nitwits, in the spirit of good will and sportsmanship , pull the bull's tail and strike him with rolled-up newspapers in order to divert his attention.

The rolled-up newspaper, by the way, is the only defense the rules allow against a thousand-pound beast on a mindless rampage.

This Spanish Fiesta, which began 400 years ago, was made famous by Ernest Hemingway in his book, “The Sun Also Rises”-- the classic story of Jake Barnes and his pilgrimage to Pamplona.

“Papa” Hemingway was a hell of a writer, but a ninny when it came to sensible solutions. Instead of backing my statement up with several examples, I'll just leave you with this. He solved his problems with a shotgun blast to the head.

The Bull Run contestants are not, as you might suspect, limited to a family of first cousins. This is a week-long event involving hundreds of runners from around the world.

To clinch my lunatic theory, many of the misguided machismo elect to drink all night prior to their early morning run through the crowded and dangerous streets.

The poor dumb bulls are simply rushing to get to the bull ring, where they will be slaughtered-–much to the delight of the simpletons watching-–by dolts in tight pants waving red capes.

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HOTDOGGING ON CONEY ISLAND

There are people walking among us who stuff themselves with a food whose consumption should probably be avoided entirely or sampled rarely at baseball games with a cold beer.

But instead, franks are wolfed down by these grandstanding hotdoggers in staggering numbers.

The best place in the world for binging on hot dogs is Nathan's Famous on Coney Island. In 1916, Nathan Handwerker borrowed $300 from two famous friends, Jimmy Durante and Eddie Cantor, to open a hot dog stand and unknowingly set the stage for a lasting Independence Day ritual.

The frankfurter tradition supposedly began on July 4th of that same year when four immigrants decided to have a hot dog eating contest at Nathan's.

The story goes that they were trying to settle an argument over who was the most patriotic. A determined Neer Sengal won in dramatic fashion. In a bizarre twist of reasoning, Neer proved his loyalty to America by downing 13 franks.

Now, every Fourth of July, Nathan's has a contest to celebrate our holiday. And what better way to commemorate our nation's freedom than to show grown-ups scarfing down red hots as rapidly as possible.

It's difficult to grasp why contestants would be motivated to test their stomach-expanding skills and pummel their digestive systems as if they belonged to people they couldn't stand and needed to punish.

Training for such an event is brutal and the disciplines vary. Some of the contenders don't eat for days. Some drink a lot of water prior to the gorging. Others feast on cabbage, a training technique that expands my diaphragm just thinking about it.

There was talk of one enterprising adversary who tried to reach his pinnacle of gluttony by engaging in eating races with his dogs.

Some 45,000 people attend this annual spectacle and over a million have watched it on ESPN television. I guess because of the training involved, the physical effort, and the crowds it attracts, ESPN considers it to be some kind of sporting event.

Although roughly twenty people compete, two main showoffs have emerged.

A fiercely competitive and surprisingly slim contender from Japan named “Tsunami” Kobayashi–who will apparently travel a long way for a bloated abdomen and a wicked case of indigestion–first appeared at Nathan's on July 4th in 2001 and owned the hot dog eating record for six consecutive years.

You might want to add to these impressive credentials that he also won both the Alka-Seltzer Open and the highly respected Glutton Bowl.

Then in 2007 a professional overeater showed up named Joey “Jaws” Chestnut, who took away Tsunami's beloved and bejeweled Mustard Belt by eating 66 hot dogs and an equal amount of watered-down buns in just 12 minutes.

Joey, who won again in 2008, is also well-known for devouring enormous portions of deep-fried asparagus, chicken wings, pretzels, waffles, burgers, pizzas, and matzo balls.

Another serious rival of both Joey's and Tsunami's–and one to keep your eye on–is Pat “Deep Dish” Bertoletti, a chef from Chicago. So it looks like this year's “smack down” on Coney will be more dog-eat-dog than ever.

In the interest of a healthier and safer Fourth of July, I hereby propose that somebody sponsor a Broccoli & Cauliflower Eat-Off.

While this veggie concoction won't be as tasty or patriotic as the good old American hot dog, it will certainly be more nutritious and no doubt prevent people from eating to excess.

Note: People who enjoyed this post also read War and Peace, Moby Dick, Ulysses, The Great Gatsby, Pride and Prejudice, Lolita, The Sun Also Rises, Lord Jim, Great Expectations, Thus Spoke Zarathustra, and Goodnight Moon.

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THE CURSE OF "SQUARE ONE"

Knots start twisting in my stomach when I hear that odious expression.

Those two little words fill me with dread, contempt, and an urge to curse at anyone who aims them in my direction.

When someone suggests that you go back to SQUARE ONE, they're really saying you're a loser and that your plans and hopes are idiotic and pointless. All of which may be true, but they don't have to wave it in your face and rub your nose in it.

And it wouldn't surprise me if they shamelessly borrowed the lyrics from a popular old song just to finish you off and reduce you to an inert lump.

So take a deep breath,
Pick yourself up,
Dust yourself off,
And start all over again.

For centuries, mathematicians have used the term, “Squaring The Circle.”
Years ago it was proven to be a mathematical impossibility. The term now refers to someone undertaking a futile task-- like Don Quixote and his arch enemies, the freaking windmills.

While all this has little to do with my SQUARE ONE story, I thought the diversion might be of interest to those captivated by SQUARE trivia.

And just so you know, I have no problem with SQUARE JAWS, SQUARE KNOTS, SQUARE DANCES, SQUARE DEALS, SQUARE MEALS, being ON THE SQUARE, SQUARING off, or even being a SQUARE.

But now let's rejoin SQUARE ONE. What does it really mean and why are we always going back to it? The term originated with board games that had numbered squares. When a player made a mistake of some kind, he was advised to return to his starting point, or SQUARE ONE.

Naturally, this is a lot easier to do in a board game than it is in real life.

Let's suppose the shape on those aforementioned board games--instead of being square--had been triangular, rectangular, or circular?

Would we be going back to TRIANGLE ONE? RECTANGLE ONE? Or ROUND ONE?

My money would be on ROUND ONE, given that starting over is a battle and you could easily get hurt. Speaking of boxing rings, why is it called a ring? Obviously, it's a bloody SQUARE !

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AND NOW A WORD ABOUT LOUD COMMERCIALS

TV commercials enjoy screaming at us. And we respond by having conniption fits. It's been that way for as long as I can remember.

Back in the early 80s, they had some ruling by the people in charge of cockamamie rules. It said that commercials couldn't be louder than the programs they appeared on. Oh yeah, that'll work.

Of course, that rule was ignored immediately by the advertisers paying big bucks for the programming.

My current theory, if you can identify with it, is that today's commercials are louder and more frequent than ever. I'm sure, unless you're lightning fast with the remote or make frequent trips to the bathroom, that you've noticed it too.

And those shrieking hucksters, the guys who often make $400,000 a year to shout their product messages, aren't helping with stuff like this:

AGAIN THAT'S – ZERO TO 90 MILES IN 3 SECONDS FLAT!

Since I did voice-over work for three years after my copywriter phase, I know that even in soft-sell commercials, a certain amount of energy is required to put your story across in an engaging way.

But with hard-sell announcers, any attempt at charm or being cool or friendly is thrown out and replaced by YOU CAN'T IGNORE US SO DON'T EVEN TRY!

If you contacted a TV station, they would look you straight in the eye and tell you that the commercials are no louder than the programming. And by some warped standard of measurement, they're telling the truth.

But there's a loophole in their claim you could drive an SUV through. It seems that every program has different audio levels – soft, medium, loud and loudest to build or sustain the dramatic or comical effect.

The savvy advertisers, not big on nuance or subtleties, electronically process the audio track and crank it up to its legal limits of loudness.

At times the decibel level of a commercial can be jarring to the nerves. Especially if one of those BLOW-OUT SALES comes on after a tender scene with critically-ill Timmy kissing his mommy and daddy goodnight and both of them praying that he survives the evening.

If you're one of those people who needs an upbeat ending, I read recently that Dolby Laboratories is busy developing technology that would put a lid on commercial abuse, or at least soften it enough to keep us from flinging bric-a-brac at our TV screens.

If you require more than that, I'm at a loss.

P.S. In an effort to minimize hypocrisy and bring some truth to advertising, I must make one confession. A dozen years ago, when I was still writing ads, I wouldn't have cared if my commercials were loud enough to shatter your favorite wine glasses.

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CLAPPING IS FOR IDIOTS

There's a quote from Tinker Bell, the little sprite from Peter Pan, that helps underline my point about clapping and why it should be avoided.

“Clap if you believe,” she says to Wendy.” Upon delivering the line, little Tink flies away leaving a trail of pixie dust.

This crock of twaddle, this meaningless flight into Never-Never Land reminds me of the Wall Street crowd. Watching CNN the other day, with the Dow down 400 points, the Wall Street goobers were furiously clapping at the closing bell like something good and magical had happened.

What is wrong with these people?

“Hey guys, put your hands together and applaud. The poor slob investors have lost a ton of money and they're watching the little savings they have left go down the drain."

To give the devils their due, they're not clapping because the Dow is down. That would be stupid and cruel. They're clapping because it's a Wall Street tradition to clap when the market is closed for the day.

What kind of mind comes up with a tradition like this? The concept of clapping wildly when something is finished should be ended.

You don't clap when sex is over. At least I hope you don't. Come to think of it, maybe the Wall Streeters could just sit there and puff quietly on their cigarettes when the bell rings.

If there's a need to be more actively engaged, let them whistle and cheer when the market rises, boo and hold their noses when the market tanks.

I don't even like clapping when a play ends--even when the story and acting are first rate. When done vigorously and for an extended period of time, clapping hurts the palms and pains the ears.

Besides, if I'm still sitting in my seat after the last act, that's praise enough.

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I SAY "HA" TO BROUHAHA !

For those of you who have not yet reached the b's in your dictionary, a brouhaha is a sensational event involving scandal, commotion, or turmoil.

It's my belief that tacking the extra “ha” onto the end makes a sham and a mockery out of a noun that takes itself quite seriously.

To maintain the intent and integrity of the word, simply lop off the final “ha” and shorten it to brouha.

And there you have efficiency achieved with no sense of loss and no need to suppress a snicker.

While doing research, I discovered that this French word (so often at the root of our problems) was used in early French drama to depict the devil laughing at misfortune by crying out “brou, ha, ha!”

Sacrebleu! I say we change the word now and to hell with the French.

Here's a thought, perhaps an idiotic one, but a thought nonetheless. Let's change the name to brouhoho. My new dictionary for the absurd and the foolishly inclined defines the word with an example: Santa, having a bad day, gets in a tiff with his elves. Or how about brouteehee? An encounter that breaks out between a stand-up comic and a belligerent heckler.

Speaking of silly words, what about shibboleth? A word used by an ancient tribe as a test word or password to separate the right tribe from the frauds who couldn't pronounce the sh and said sibboleth. “Oh, I'm sorry. Thanks for playing 'Say It Correctly.' You've been a good sport. But that faulty pronunciation is going to lead to your immediate demise.”

Hullabaloo is another word that sounds like it was hatched after a heavy night of drinking. A word that means “uproar” could just as easily be a new dance craze or a monetary exchange in a land not yet discovered. “Man, I'm so broke this week. I'm down to my last hullabaloo.”

How about bosoms? Now there's a word that removes all prurient interest from one of nature's glorious gifts. And then there's Uvula, which smacks of romantic possibilities, but is simply a dangling piece of flesh in the back of your throat.

Kerfuffle, a silly word used mostly by the Brits, is a disturbance or confusion of some sort. But it could just as easily be a board game, a card game, or a plump exotic bird with an extended beak, more feathers than you've ever seen, and legs the thickness of match sticks.

That about wraps up our nonsense words for today. Should you have any silly offerings of your own, don't be shy about submitting them. If I like them, I'll pretend they're my own, and give you no credit whatsoever.

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