Dear professional Football and Basketball:
Screw you, you money-grubbing scum ponds, and everything you stand for, which really has nothing to do with competitive sport and athleticism. You have taken two fine games and turned them into absurd, circus-like, overpriced spectacles of douchery that makes me ashamed to be an American.
You do nothing but profligate the douche lifestyle, combining it with the thug ethic and cramming it down the throats of hardworking people who were only in search of a little escape and entertainment on Sundays. Add to that, the average American worker can barely afford a ticket to your bloated, absurd marketing-fests anymore. It takes tens of millions of dollars to pay these crybaby athletes who scream and howl for more money, year after year, when otherwise they would be in prison or turning wrenches at a greasy garage in Kansas. And who pays for these spoiled brats' Mercedes Benzes, swimming pools and cocaine? The guy turning wrenches at a greasy garage in Kansas, making 23K a year.
Add to that, both of your organizations harbor animal abusers, rapists, attempted murderers, drug dealers, addicts and violent thugs. And, not only are these scum scrapings NOT ejected from the leagues for their criminal antics, they are rewarded with new contracts, more money, and no consequences for their actions. Latrell Sprewell, anyone? Michael Vick? Need I make a list?
So, NFL, which stands for Numbskull Fucktard Loser, and NBA, which stands for Nothin' But Assholes, rest assured that your kind of operation is eventually taken to task. Just like Big Tobacco, Big Oil, and Big Food are being attacked, people will soon tire of your money-grubbing abuses. I couls find 1,000 men right now, construction workers, store clerks, cops, etc., who would gladly take 100K a year to play professional sports, and would play their hearts out for love of the game. If you think you're doing the people a favor by perpetuating this silly, overpriced charade, with your ten dollar dixie cups of beer and players so jammed full of syringes they can barely move, you're wrong. I know more sports fans than I care to admit, and more than one of them has tired of the nonsense and has moved on to more interesting fare.
Dads
It's not easy growing up with a crusader, and Paskowitz was something of a dictator, though also fiercely protective. The kids weren't prepared for the outside world, for mercantilism, jobs, traffic, living in a world governed by money. "Doc" may have done OK without it, but they couldn't. And when they found friends who got sugar doughnuts for breakfast or later who used alcohol and drugs, it was hard to go back to multigrain gruel and clean living. They were human. Adam wanted more than anything to become a doctor. But when he found out at 18 that he'd need about ten years to catch up on normal preparation for college and medical school, sadly he gave up on those ambitions. He is the one now who pledges to "keep the dream alive" and "put my kids through what Dorian put us through." One brother is a professional artist, two are singers, another is in Hollywood. Izzy/Israel who has an autistic son, helps run Surfers Healing, a program of surfing for autistic kids. Two of the other sons are involved in the family surfing school. They seem all to have done well. Some have pretty strong complaints about how their special upbringing handicapped them, at least at first, but they seem to agree that the good outweighs the bad and that what their father gave them was priceless and unique.
Woodstock
Could you say that one more time, I had mud in my ear from the "mudstock" festival.
Hey, there was rain, soaking wet girls and boys playing in the mud, and no bad LSD or babies born during the Rollins Band set--who could ask for more? Even Dylan, Joe Cocker and Crosby Steals The Cash showed up, Neil Young was setting up his train set and couldn't be bothered. Metallica jammed with Peter Gabriel but it didn't make the CD, I guess you had to be there, and you probably don't remember much more than breathing hard and screaming loud for a couple of days and buying a bag of maple leafs crunched up in lieu of reefer, then had to pay 30 bucks for a joint you subsequently dropped in the mud. At least the girlie in the muddy tank top fed you about a yard of tongue during Aerosmith's set. The music here is better than those folks too young to remember the original should be expected to pay homage to--hey, the marketeering folks who put this on missed the first one too, but not the opportunity to make some dough and bring in the cream of the best bands around. Let's see them do that in THIS decade--we'll have to put up with even worse bands that TODAY'S kids are crazy about. Buy this CD, it's cheap, but the songs are great live versions.
Avoid the brown acid.
Hey, there was rain, soaking wet girls and boys playing in the mud, and no bad LSD or babies born during the Rollins Band set--who could ask for more? Even Dylan, Joe Cocker and Crosby Steals The Cash showed up, Neil Young was setting up his train set and couldn't be bothered. Metallica jammed with Peter Gabriel but it didn't make the CD, I guess you had to be there, and you probably don't remember much more than breathing hard and screaming loud for a couple of days and buying a bag of maple leafs crunched up in lieu of reefer, then had to pay 30 bucks for a joint you subsequently dropped in the mud. At least the girlie in the muddy tank top fed you about a yard of tongue during Aerosmith's set. The music here is better than those folks too young to remember the original should be expected to pay homage to--hey, the marketeering folks who put this on missed the first one too, but not the opportunity to make some dough and bring in the cream of the best bands around. Let's see them do that in THIS decade--we'll have to put up with even worse bands that TODAY'S kids are crazy about. Buy this CD, it's cheap, but the songs are great live versions.
Avoid the brown acid.
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