Starbucks: Back the $##%@ Off

It is Friday. The four grueling days that exploded into each other to create an evil, doppelganger Voltron from hell (one really long day) lay strewn across the Toll-Tagged path in my rearview. It is Friday. It's dry-cleaner's day. It's garbage day. It's, "What are we doing this weekend?" day. It's also Starbucks day.

The green, digital microwave clock blinks 6:59; the green digital microwave clock right beneath it blinks 7:00. I didn't care enough after the most recent power outage to completely synchronize the two down to the second. I'd half-assed it, which in many ways summarized my life.

I begrudgingly grab my black leather work bag, a low-carb protein shake from the fridge and an arm full of dress slacks and button-down Oxford shirts. I kiss my son of the forehead, who's beginning his day with a six-episode run of the 2002 'Masters of the Universe' reboot before choking down a gallon's worth of breast milk. I pause briefly as Skeletor threatens Teela with the destruction of Eternia, and think for a moment, "Didn't Frank Langella play Skeletor in the Dolph Lundgren live action version?" After five seconds and no answer I commit the question to memory in an effort to jog the mid-commute 'check IMDB on my cell phone' forty-five minutes later. Screw you, Oprah. When's the last time you've driven anywhere?



On my way through the utility room I fumble a red Van Husen shirt and a pair of Greg Norman khakis. I curse under my breath before bending down to reach for the lost articles. My ridiculously heavy work bag slips off of my shoulder and crashes to the floor. I curse under my breath, again, but this time I add a few extra hyphens to the tapestry of profanity.

I slam my work bag and armful of four-year old clothes into the trunk. At the same time I'm proud and ashamed of my wardrobe. Ashamed because I've spent approximately $5,000 on videogames since I've last spent a dime on dress attire (WWE t-shirts not included in this estimate), yet beaming since I could still cram my steadily expanding ass into an ancient pair of slacks I've owned since 2006.

With the household garbage can positioned at the right-hand corner of the driveway (it's got to be on the right hand side or it won't be picked-up; no kidding), I wheel out of the driveway toward my weekly cup of the world's finest premium blend.



Starbucks: You either love it or you hate it. It's became the catch-phrase, main stream embodiment of a Microsoft-like empire, ripe for an anti-trust declaration and socialization of assets. It was the coffee house that all of the enlightened hipsters went to before Starbucks 'sold out' and went mainstream, thus causing the beatnik-crowd to seek out Ma and Pa coffee shops that nobody goes to. Now that everyone over the age of 13 patronizes Starbucks regularly, it's a social cliche wrapped in a metaphor wrapped in fable. To me, it's a great cup of coffee; but with that great coffee comes a few thorns.


So this coffee Friday, the local Starbucks on Sawdust Road in Spring, Texas came to behold all that is good and bad about America's favorite coffee chain. The following is presented in first person narrative form.

The drive-thru line seemed to stretch longer than the cars stacked behind each other in, 'Field of Dreams.' Reluctantly I pulled into the log-jammed parking lot, which resembled I-45 at 5:30 P.M. on a Wednesday, and luckily found a spot on the edge of the parking lot. In the all-time history of parking lots, this spot would likely be considered in the bottom fifth. But at Starbucks on a Friday morning? Golden.



I turned of my ignition and watched as a hunter green Dodge Caravan pulled in next to me. A squatty, middle-aged woman looked at me behind Sally Jesse-Raphael eyeglass frames. We sized each other as we got out of our cars. I paced around the back of the minivan. You guess it: Soccer Mom. Three kids, 'Jaden', 'Baden' (WTF is Baden?) and 'Kayden,' were stuck to the tinted rear window of the pitiable family wagon. Jaden was number 9 and he played baseball. Baden was 11 and she was a cheerleader for the youth football league. And little Kayden? She was a Girl Scout, while another in the band of 'Adens' was on the elementary honor roll.

While I was wasting time pondering the 'Aden' epidemic (and the ridiculous amount of people just flat out making up names for their kids, Soccer Mom was in full power walk glory. Her flat, brown sandals were plodding against the concrete while the excess from her Zack Morris leather braided belt flapped wildly in the breeze. Soccer Mom beat me easily to the door and into the Starbucks. With Soccer Mom in front of me, I knew I was screwed (more on that later).

The interior sounded and looked a lot like the floor of the New York Stock Exchange. There were an assortment of employees, running around crazily and shouting esoteric terms that mean absolutely nothing in English.

'Venti Half-Caf No-Whip Soy Mocha Latte with no Sprinkles!"

And of these employees, two looked like f*&$ing vampires (more on that later, too).



The line was longer than usual for a Friday, with a lot of faces I didn't recognize from past Friday runs. In a perfect world, with each of the folks in front of me getting coffee, I'd be out in less than five minutes. However, people don't order coffee at Starbucks. They order drinks.

For example, let's take Soccer Mom, who was standing in front of me. Now, by the looks of Soccer Mom, I put a Caramel Macchiatto on her, with the potential for extra whip. Now this on it's own wasn't too bad. Yes, the assortment of Lattes and Frappes at a Starbucks can potentially add an additional three minutes per customer worth of wait, but it's a calculated assumption when ordering at a Starbucks. However, Soccer Mom comes with some risk. For Soccer Mom it's Friday, and with the flock likely at baseball camp/Mother's Day Out/summer school, it could be scrapbooking day, or bridge (card game) day with all of the other Soccer Moms. You know what that means? Instead of one 'drink' that adds three minutes of wait time, there're six drinks that add 18 minutes to the wait time. You catch my drift?


The line slowly began to dwindle, and the 'barista' at the espresso machine asked Soccer Mom what she wanted. Right on cue, Soccer Mom rattled off five drinks, three of which were hot chocolate, however (meaning that the kids were likely still waiting in the car) and two lattes.

'Not too bad,' I thought. The barista then turned to me.

'What'll it be, bro?"

I wanted to scream out loud.

'All I want is a cup of F*&$ing coffee. Plain-ass black coffee.'

I didn't say that, though. I answered politely.

'Just coffee for me.' What a douche.

There were still two people in front of myself and Soccer Mom, so I took the free time to survey the 'dine-in' crowd at the Starbucks on Rayford Road. All of the old standbys were there. There were, "Morning-Meeting-At-Starbucks-Business Guys" at one table. 'Unemployed-But-Hanging-At-Starbucks-Because-My-Wife-Is-On-My-Ass Guy' lurked in the corner, cramming a bagel whilst wiping his hands on the want ads. Then there was my favorite, "Working-On-My-Manuscript-On-My-MacBook Pro-Guy." This guy is in every single Starbucks on the planet 24 hours a day. Not only is he so cool that he has to be seen working on his manuscript, but he also has the audacity to drink his coffee out of a mug instead of the provided to-go cups. MacBook Pro + Brought-From-Home Mug=complete, total doucher.



My turn in line was fast approaching, with only Soccer Mom's 1988 hair do absconding me from the endgame. The cashier was clad in black save for his green Starbucks apron. Two of his fingernails were painted black, and he wore dark eyeliner around both of his eyes. On the front of his apron were two buttons, "Team Edward", and "Team Jacob."

Now I think I've been pretty outspoken here in my criticism of 'Twilight' and everything it stands for, so I don't want to stray too far down that path. But it's alarming to me the number of young adults these days fancy themselves as actual, true-life vampires. Pale skin, eyeliner, dyed black hair...you all are single-handedly making vampires out to be total soppy douches.

More than one person has pointed out my Star Wars fandom as a counterpoint to my hatred of the Twilight epidemic. This point does have some validity. However, are there adults living their daily lives, or better yet working at a Starbucks dressed as Jar-Jar Binks or Ephant Mon? Didn't think so.

Just as I finished pondering Twilight and it's relative lameness, Soccer Mom grabbed her tray of drinks and did the PTA walk out of the building to meet her cast of 'Adens' Finally, it was my turn.

'What are you having?' asked one of the ranking members of Team Jacob/Edward.

'Large Coffee.'

'Just a coffee?'

'Yes. Just a coffee.'

I Know they say there's Only like, 5 original stories, but c'mon...

Two weeks ago suburban married 20-something wannabes (chicks) put on their skaniest cocktail dresses and sauntered out to Saturday matinees in droves to catch the latest exploits of Sarah Jessica-Parker and her merry band of sea-hags as they attempted to bring their unique brand of Western sleeze to the Middle East. Trust me, these women exist in all age brackets, skanking-out and dressing-up like their favorite film stars in public.

While it's socially acceptable for these women, these bastions of what's socially acceptable what's not ('videogames are for kids', 'fantasty football is stupid', etc.), to play make believe, it's apparently the height of all geekdom to dress like Grand Amdiral Thrawn and attend a Star Wars convention. At least the Star Wars nerds are doing it behind closed doors amongst their own.

With the coming of, 'Sex in the City 2', 'Iron Man 2' and the new Shrek film, it's obvious now more than ever that Hollywood studios lean a bit too much tried-and-true franchises before taking a step onto the ledge with new properties. While sequels are generally an okay proposition (according to me) considering that they're typically based on original properties, the newest epidemic threatens to undermine every single film we hold near to our hearts. That epidemic? The remake.



When I read that Will Smith's kid, Jaden (quick hats off to Will and Jada who were at the forefront of the 'choose a letter and end the name with 'aden' movement), I almost broke down into tears. It's bad enough that Will Smith, Jr.'s getting his own vehicle based solely on the fact that his dad is Will Smith (and that he plays a great whiny little kid in 'The Pursuit of Happyness'), but what's worse is that Hollywood is remaking films left and right, and ruining our classics in the process.

Want proof that Hollywood is out of ideas? Okay, let's start with the most recent, "Nightmare on Elmstreet" remake. Remember the "Halloween" remakes of last year and a few years earlier? What about, "Alice in Wonderland," "Clash of the Titans"?

And you want to know what's coming? "Total Recall", "Tron", "The Neverending Story" and now maybe freaking "Jaws"! Isn't anything sacred? It's bad enough that we have to deal with the F&$^ing "Twilight" epidemic and vampire craze that's running rampant across the landscape, now we're remaking bonafide classics. What's next, "Gone With The Wind" starring George Clooney and Halle Berry? (I know what you're thinking; a black leading actor in a Jim Crow Southern setting? Look, if Nick Fury can be black, then anything's possible).

So for anyone who still holds, "Sweep the Leg" near and dear to the hearts, here are a few films I think have to happen.


ALF: The Movie



Say what you want, Alf had a hell of a run in his day. A bonafide hit TV show that finished near the top of the ratings for years running is absolutely due for a motion-picture redux. So following on the heels of 'Miami Vice' and 'The A-Team', here's what I project for 'Alf: The Movie'.

Title: "Alf: The Movie"

Tagline: "What the *&$% not?"

Director: Ang Lee

Cast:

Alf-Sarah Jessica-Parker

Willie Tanner-Charles Grodin

Kate Tanner-Julia Louis-Dreyfuss

Lynn Tanner-That Chick From Twilight

Brian Tanner-That Guy From Twilight

Synopsis: The Tanner's world is rocked when a furry brown alien, Alf (played by Parker; no need for make-up)crash lands in their back yard. Willie Tanner (Grodin) and wife, Kate (Louis-Dreyfus) take Alf in to promote as a circus sideshow act across the country. Lynn and Brian (Twilighters) fight to keep Alf as a member of the family and save him from their parents' exploitation. In the process, Lynn and Brian fall in love and scheme to adopt Alf, who finds value to the SPCA as a cat-eater.


Punky Brewster: Brandon Strikes Back





Title: "Brandon Strikes Back"

Tagline: "Brandon's had enough!"

Director: Tim Burton

Cast:

Punky Brewster-Helena Bonham-Carter

Brandon the Wonderdog-Sarah Jessica-Parker

George Gaines-Johnny Depp (Who else?)

Plot:

All is well for George and Punky in their new found life until mysterious paranormal activites start ravaging their Chicago apartment. George consults a priest (Michael Keaton) who performs an exorcism on the abode. Brandon (Parker: Once again, no make-up) reveals himself as a long lost descendent of the Egyptian God Anubis, says that he requires the blood of a virgin to complete the ultimate pyramid in heaven. The entire cast is swallowed whole into the bowels of the Earth and turn into claymation.


Perfect Strangers





Title: "Dance of Joy"

Tagline: "Don't be ridikulas"

Director: McG

Cast:

Larry Appleton-Christian Bale

Balki Bartokomous-Sean Penn

Sheamus McEvil-Phillip Seymour Hoffman

General Frenzy-Sam Elliot

Plot:

When Larry Appleton (Bale) gets word that his cousin, Balki (Penn), is coming to live with him, things get raw. Appleton, wary of his cousin's past (secret agent for the Myposian government), begins to fear for his safety. General Frenzy (Elliot) catches Appleton off-guard, and ensnares Balki at O-Haire airport. Frenzy recruits Balki and Appleton to take down the evil Sheamus McEvil (Hoffman), an oil magnate obsessed with covering the East Coast of the United States in oil. Appleton is forced to come to terms with what his cousin is capable of, and must learn how to be a man in the process of confronting McEvil.

Okay New Orleans, Get the #$%@ over it...

Count me in the 'hates-puppies' camp, as I was among the three people outside of the state of Indiana (and the Manning family) pulling for the Colts to win the Super Bowl last February. The Saints had barely eeked their way past Brett Favre to 'earn' the right to play for professional football's biggest prize, and nobody on the Saints team really gave me the Rudy-vibe underdog vibe enough for me to cast my vote in their camp. Plus I just could not get over Drew Brees' year-long tape worm as it clinged to his cheek like the tattered shred of a pap smear gone wrong. (Counting down the seconds here until every boat-shoe wearing, greasy-hair-having dude whose last name ends in 'eaux' comments with a, 'it's from a birthmark you douchebag.' 5....4....3....2....)

Here we are four months later, and the tattered Saints flags are still waving from car windows at an alarming rate. Aside from the undying, unyielding purveyance of black and gold vehicle decor, the constant crowing of the once petrified and ashamed fan base is borderline insufferable. It actually reminds me of LSU fan, who now is out in full force after Nick Saban (take that) turned around the fledgling program and made it into a national power despite Les Miles' best efforts to ruin the 'Dynasty that Saban Built (more boat shoe wearers in any minute...).

But Drew Brees recently made damn sure to dismantle the Saints dynasty built on savvy personnel moves and Vicodin (I'm talking to you, Sean Payton) when he agreed to be the cover athlete for this year's NFL Madden 11 videogame, which is due to release this August. It's long understood that Madden cover athletes are cursed to some sort of demise, permanent or temporary. The laundry list is longer than Greg Oden's...


Michael Vick served prison time for running illegal dog fighting ring, lying to federal investigators and animal cruelty leading to a year-long suspension. Vince Young took a 9 millimeter pistol to eat a basket of chicken wings, was suspended by the Titans and had a 9/17 TD-INT ratio in 2008. Daunte Culpepper, Eddie George, Marshall Faulk and Shaun Alexander all experienced the genesis of their decline in their 'Cover Seasons', before becoming NFL has-beens. Ray Lewis, Donavan McNabb and Troy Polamalu were all injured for the first time in their careers. Cover of Madden an honor? Probably. Chances of you making it through the next season unscathed? Zero. (Except for Brett Favre, and to be honest, Brett Favre is a cut above the rest of these douchers. Brett Favre is a man. He wears Wranglers. He plays pick-up football games in muddy pastures with his best friends from high school. Oh, and he posts the best season of his career when he's forty. What's your dad doing when he's forty? Exactly.)

Given the obvious, indisputable evidence supporting the Madden Curse and all of its ramifications, it's interesting to ponder what the power of the Curse could wield if it were used for good. What would happen, for example, if we put Tony Romo on the cover? Could Tony quit choking like Nick Anderson in the playoffs? Could Jerry Jones and the Stay-Puft Marsh-----er----Wade Phillips hold a non-Landry/Johnson Lombardi trophy above their heads?

As much as I hate Tony Romo and the horse he rode in on (Jessica Simpson), I'm willing to put the 'curse' to good use. So I present to you, five years of the curse used for good as we all know the NFL looks more like an episode of 'Playmakers' than those stupid NFL Play-90 commercials.

Madden 2006-Ricky Williams

Actually a legitimate candidate to brandish the cover, Williams left the Dolphins to pursue his true-love; pot. Ricky loves getting high more than making millions, and if he had been on the cover of Madden in 2006, Ricky would have pulled the 'Stud' and 'Turd' role. Even though the only cover Williams has been in is 'High Times,' he's still somewhat rehabilitated his career, thus continuing the fine run of upstanding UT running backs in the NFL (sarcasm).

Madden 2007-Tank Johnson

While it's rare for defensive players to get the Madden Cover, it does happen (Ray Lewis, Troy Polamalu). In 2006, as the Tank had been arrested for unlawful possession of a fire arm and verbally threatening a police officer, sh&t hit the fan when police raided his house to discover six unregistered firearms (including two assault rifles. Nice, Rambo.) Not only did he illegally possess these arms, they were also loaded and easily accessible to the three children in his house.

Madden 2008 Dual Cover-Michael Vick and Adam ‘Pac-Man’ Jones

Perhaps the most beat-into-the-ground sports topic of the last decade, Michael Vick's arrest for animal abuse and running an illegal gambling ring out of his back yard still draws tense conversations to this day. Largely billed as a 'White and Black' issue due to the cultural ties of dog fighting to the African American community (thanks DMX) Vick was sentenced to prison and suspended by the NFL for an entire season following his release. Ron Mexico found his way back into the NFL as a glorified back-up behind Kevin Kolb (how far you've fallen, Madden 2004 Cover Athlete).

After 'making it rain', and stripper was shot and killed by a member of Jones’ entourage in Las Vegas during NBA All-Star weekend 2007. He was also cited for reckless endangerment before being involved in another strip club shooting in Atlanta. When you think Pac-Man, you think of someone you’d want your daughter to marry. And you think of strip clubs.

Madden 2009-Plaxico Burress
So imagine you’re a Super Champion, emerging tier-one wide receiver and you decide to get krunk on a weekend in NYC. Well, if you’re heading to a club, you can’t roll without your strap, right? Well, Plax rolled with his pistol, and a shooting occurred. But the dumbass didn’t draw it on some clown looking to cause trouble; the gun went off in his pants and a bullet ended-up in his leg. Thanks to some of the strongest state and city gun control laws in America, Plax landed in the clank in is suspended indefinitely from the NFL. Nice.

Madden 2010-Donte Stallworth
Fresh off signing a multi-year, multi-million dollar contract with the Cleveland Browns, Stallworth partied the night away with his posse at a Miami hotel. Stallworth mounted his Escalade and killed a pedestrian. Of course Stallworth was hammered, he was jailed and the Browns voided his contract. Oh, and he was suspended the entire 2009 season.

Madden 2011-Ben Roethlisberger
Big Ben might not be guilty in a court of law, but he’s sure as hell guilty in the court of all-time creepy bastards. After beating a rape charge in 2009, Big Ben ‘had relations’ with a girl in the bathroom of a Georgia bar in 2010 when his bodyguard prevented a girl’s friends from coming to her rescue. Memo to Ben-Dude, you’re a multi-Super Bowl winning, multi-millionaire quarterback. I’m pretty sure you could score without raping chicks. The good news is, his public image is destroyed for the rest of his career. Serves him right.

They're not role models. So what?

In 1993 when Charles Barkley stated succinctly that he wasn't a role model, the American public went all wet and rubbery.

I knew who Charles Barkley was at the age of 12. Who didn't? The 6" 4' 'Round Mound of Rebound' had established himself as a bonafide All-Star and legitimate Most Valuable Player candidate every season. While PTA moms and ideologue fathers decried Barkley's honesty, I sat oblivious. Here's what I knew about Charles Barkley at the age of 12: If you picked the Phoenix Suns in 'NBA Jam' you were going to roll with Barkley and Dan Majerle.

I didn't care that 'Sir Charles' wasn't a role model. I couldn't have cared less about his personal life and his point of view. Did I look up to Charles? Sure I did. It wasn't, however, because he was what a man was supposed to be. It was because he rebounded the basketball like a beast as an undersized power forward in the NBA. Later on I learned he had a gambling problem and possessed the propensity to toss smart asses through bar windows, which did nothing to destroy my fond memories of glorious 'NBA JAM' sessions.


Amid the dreams of the adolescent youth that aspired to be like Barkley and the rest of his professional sports brethren laid an undiscovered secret long buried beneath billions in revenue and mistresses: Professional athletes are humans just like us, and boy do we all have problems.

As Tiger Woods worked his way through the hallowed golfing grounds of Augusta National earlier this month, I sat at home with my wife watching every second of the tournament I'd grown to love during the course of my fascination with golf. It'd been awhile since I'd seen Tiger, the whirlwind force that drove millions of kids to the golf course in the mid-1990s. It was his first appearance in a tournament since he came clean (well, unintentionally) that he'd slept with about 50 women that weren't his wife. Following the Thanksgiving TMZ-induced haze that had the nation gawking at the three-ring circus that was Tiger's sideshow, the American public (and Tiger's sponsors) firmly decided that Tiger was something they no longer believed in.

I'd made my mind up months before that I couldn't care less about Tiger's infidelity. After all, that's not why I watch him play. Sure he nailed some pretty stellar pornstar talent (and some questionable Waffle House waitresses as well) and made a mockery of his seemingly manufactured marriage to Elin Nordegren, but in the end Tiger is who Tiger is. He is the greatest golfer of all time, and he likes to have sex with women who aren't his wife. But as he played, hiding behind new Nike-branded sunglasses as if to hide behind a lonely mask, something felt different. The unflappable, distinguished glare and dedication that had led to 14 major championships and untold wealth was lost to a sense of vacated confusion. Yet there he was, one of the most amazing athletes in human history being condemned for a private life that's nobody's business but his own.




Talk radio and media outlets burned with scorn for the once untouchable hero. Mothers blasted Tiger for his poor judgement. Some cried for Tiger to be banned from golf for life. More than one disappointed father openly lamented that their own children could never look up to someone like Tiger because he is what we aren't; morally bankrupt.

The problem is, America, our landscape is rife with moral bankruptcy. Our business tactics, billion dollar bailouts and bonuses to under performing executives; ashleymadison.com and interoffice affairs are freshly exposed for all to see. But we overlook our faults because we are average. We are not elite. We hold human beings with special talents to higher standards simply because they are different and they have more. It's sure easy though to overlook a drinking problem or an abusive personality amongst us regular people, but the second you lay a DUI on a Major League Baseball manager the world wobbles on its axis.

There was that time you were maybe a little too heavy handed with your kid, and maybe you got a little too close to your secretary at last year's Christmas Party. And in the end that's okay because you didn't get caught. There weren't 100 photographers hovering around like ravenous vultures waiting to get a piece of you. Don't worry about Tiger. He's paying for what he's done. He's lost millions in endorsements, his reputation is in the toilet and his wife is about to take him for half of what he's worth.

Tiger Woods isn't your problem, and he shouldn't be your kid's role model unless you want him/her to learn how to knock a 7-iron stiff from 200 yards. Leave Tiger to the golf, and you worry about who your kid is looking up to. It just might have been you when you didn't tell the checker at Kroger that they over-refunded you $20.

There's a line in a pretty famous book that says, "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone." Me? I'm keeping my stones in my pockets and enjoying the talents of one of the finest players the world has ever seen.

Obama Takes Aim at Next Target

Gang, just got the heads-up on this from one of my buddies who works at Fox News. This story will drop next week. Check it out!

March 31, 2010

Washington, D.C. (AP)- With massive healthcare legislation overhaul in the rearview, the Obama Administration has set its sights on its next agenda item: Cap’n Crunch.

Weeks of swarming rumors were validated Wednesday when White House Press Secretary Robert Gibbs briefly addressed Crunch’s stronghold on the children’s breakfast cereal market.

“What we’ve got to condition this country to, is that when you’re successful and better than everyone else, you’re going to pay for it. And by pay for it, I mean give your resources to those not as good as you so that everyone is on an even playing field,” said Gibbs.

For decades now, Cap’n Crunch has held the top 3 spots in the breakfast cereal market with his ‘Cap’n Crunch, Crunchberries and Peanut Butter Crunch cereals. Market experts have attributed his success to the creation of a proprietary preservative process that indeed makes his cereals, “the Crunchiest!”

“The dude’s a f------beast,” said Tony the Tiger, whose Frosted Flakes slipped to seventh this year behind Corn Pops. “I mean, when you’re 3-foot-4, rocking the top three brands and banging Britney Spears; you’re doing something right.”

While most expected President Obama to address the sagging economy and immigration, his move to curtail Crunch’s runaway success comes to many as a surprise. The Obama Administration has long resented Crunch’s success, deeming it ‘bad for the common good.’

“Obama wants to nail his ass to wall,” said an anonymous White House insider.

Crunch patented his ‘Crunchiest’ formula in 1977 following an acid trip induced with Willie Wonka and three Oompa Loompas. The seven-day event, which was dubbed, “The Sugar Shacktory’s Mystery Tour”, spawned ‘the Crunchiest!’ formula.

“It was all about love, man” said Steven Ware, Willy Wonka’s head Oompa. “What came of it was pure domination and a few STDs.”

Cap’n Crunch immediately utilized his new formula in every batch of cereal. Within three years Crunch had etched his way to the forefront of the breakfast food movement, thus leaving his competition in his wake.

The White House’s “Crunch for All” initiative calls for ‘The Crunchiest!’ to be made available to all cereal manufacturers operating in the United States. By 2012, it’s estimated that Crunch’s market share will dwindle to that of lesser-known cereals such as, “Billy’s Poopy Treats.”

“Vat it does, eez, it geeves us a shot, you know,” said Count Chocula whose cereal is now back in play along with Frankenberry, Booberry and Fruit Brute.

Brute of 'Fruit Brute' fame went out of business in 1983 after allegations of methamphetamine addiction. After multiple rehabilitation attempts and a failed love affair with Kirsty Alley, Brute was most recently seen on VH-1’s ‘Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew.’ The first episode featuring Brute never aired, as Brute’s altercation with Grease star Jeff Conaway led to his dismissal from the show.

“Conaway is a douche,” said Brute in a recent issue of US Weekly, “but ‘Crunch for All’ means I’m back, baby!”

Cap’n Crunch is not the White House’s first attempt to bring down a cereal magnate. In February of 2009, the House Subcommittee on Children’s Foods began preliminary investigation of Toucan Sam of 'Fruit Loops' fame. Sam avoided congressional intervention following allegations of an extra-marital affair with House Speaker, Nancy Pelosi after Sam posted a picture of his penis on his Facebook wall with the title, “House Majority’s Peter.”

"The Captain and Speaker Pelosi are just friends," said a congressional spokesperson.

Crunch initially planned to fight the White House, but was recently quoted as saying, “I’m moving my s--- to India.” He declined to be interviewed for this story.

For now, the White House is excited about the change in our nation’s breakfast cereal competition, and hopes to attach a few ‘riders’ to “Crunch for All” legislation, including a federal mandate that all Americans must buy Band-Aid brand band aids or else face a fine.

“Band-Aid brand is outstanding,” said President Obama speaking to a 2nd grade class in suburban Washington. “You can have SpongeBob on your Band-Aids, and even the X-Men, too. Imagine what Wolverine and a little Neosporin can do to that scrape on your knee.”

As of press, the Trix Bunny, Snap, Crackle & Pop; as well as Dig ‘Em Frog and the Cinnamon Toast Crunch Chef have come out in support of Cap’n Crunch.

"Who's next," asked Crackle. "We're s-----g our pants, here."

America: Rise of the Empire

Let me be upfront before I get started: I did not vote for Barack Obama.

Call me out of touch, afraid of change or racist; I’ve heard it all. I was raised a Conservative Republican by Conservative Republican parents in Conservative Republican East Texas. Politics like religion are typically etched into the maturing psyche, and kids raised as Mormons typically end-up practicing Mormons. The same goes for Catholics, Buddhists, Muslims, etc. We are who we are primarily because our parents raised us to be that way. My mother and father raised me on Regan, Bush and the oil industry, and thusly; that’s why I am who I am.

On Election Night 2008 when the Western world celebrated ‘Change’, my wife and I shuddered to think what would become of my career. Just days before the FDIC ruled that my employer, Franklin Bank, was insolvent and no longer operable, the student loan industry that had constituted the nation’s higher education was squarely in the crosshairs of the Democratic Party. For years Ted Kennedy and his constituents hungered to make the Department of Education the only provider of student loans, thus driving private competition out to pasture and making Big Brother the only avenue to get a degree.

When Obama made his acceptance speech, I hung my head and muttered to my wife.

“It’s over.”

In 2008, like all years I’ve ever voted, I voted selfishly. Who was going to impact my bottom line and how? Who was going to enact policies that would most benefit my family? Obama and his party’s appetite to destroy the student loan industry made it an easy choice for me. I voted for John McCain in hopes that the Republican’s Party commitment to capitalism and private competition would stave-off a necessary career change. Unfortunately, Barack Obama’s overhyped rise to power couldn’t be stopped, and I was officially out of not only a job, but a career.

Fast forward 16 months and I’m doing just fine. I have a new career and a beautiful new son that keeps me up for hours on end. But it’s worth it. The American Dream somehow found its way into my life, and my continued pursuit of happiness drives me toward a better life for my family. As for our country? Well, the economy still blows harder than Paris Hilton after a lobster dinner, and the unemployment rate is soaring as higher than Robert Downey, Jr. circa 1990. Obama’s approval rating is in the toilet, and his ‘Change’ is on its death bed looking for a defibrillator. While the sluggish economy and failed stimulus initiative should be at the top of this Administration’s ‘to-do’ list, Obama and the Democratic Party has blown the last year attempting to ram a titanic health care bill down the throats of the American people.

I’ve always had healthcare. I’m going to venture that I will always have healthcare. It’s never been a concern or close to the tip of my tongue. Although I’m a ‘have’ as opposed to a ‘have-not’, I do recognize the need to reasonable access for those below the poverty line who simply do not have the means to acquire it. On the other hand, there are millions of parasitic-welfare drones sucking at the teats of government handouts that have no desire to better themselves simply because somebody else is going to do it for them. Universal Health Care has been the golden cow of the liberal Democratic Party for decades. Term after term they’ve tried to get it through, and finally after enough rule-bending, backdoor deal-making, Barack Obama’s legacy is near completion. Barry did it. He accomplished what Kennedy and Clinton could never do. He got a massive; almost $1 trillion healthcare bill passed that’ll insure 32 million uninsured Americans. It’ll restrict insurance companies from denying coverage to those with pre-existing conditions. Children will be able to remain on their parents’ policies until the age of 26. Those with health care plans will get to keep their own plan. What’s not to like?

The crooked process taken to achieve the ‘dream’ of healthcare reform sours our entire political process. Obama campaigned on a transparent political process, and he even declared that all healthcare conversation would be aired on C-Span. Apparently our President had a change of heart when it struck him that some Americans would be appalled at sweetheart deals given to Louisiana, Nebraska, New Jersey and others to buy votes. After Scott Brown won the Massachusetts senate seat long-held by Ted Kennedy and openly declared that he’d vote against the proposed Health Care initiatives, Pelosi, Reid and Obama scrambled to find a backdoor route to get the Democratic ‘dream’ to go through. As the President’s dream lay dying, he spoke plainly to members of the House and Senate.

“My presidency is at stake, here.”

So much for what’s good for the country, huh? In a few simple words the President illuminated the number one concern for all of our politicians: How am I going to get re-elected?

Barry’s got a fight on his hands with the Health Care Bill. Thirty-six states are in the process of taking legal action against the federal government (on the grounds that it violates the Constitution when the government forces us to buy things; like health care) to stop this bill’s passage, so Reform isn’t a slam dunk just yet. But that won’t stop him and his cronies from moving onto the next item on their agenda. You’d assume it’d be unemployment and the economy, right? Think again. It’s an immigration battle where liberal lawmakers are seeking residency/citizenship for 10 million illegal immigrants. As soon as these folks are granted residency/immigration, they’ll qualify for health care under the Obama plan. And somehow, these 10 million illegal immigrants weren’t included in the Budget Office’s cost estimate. Odd.

We’ll see where the country is in a few years. The Democratic Party is likely to lose its grip on the House and Senate in the mid-term elections, and a Republican legislative body will likely stymie further efforts by the Obama Administration to socialize American institutions. Obama will lose in 2012, and the country will skew back toward the right. Too much of anything is not a good thing, including 8 years of Republican rule.

Tacked on to the Health Care Bill is a little piece about the government abolishing the private sector’s right to make student loans. It’s not a big deal, after all. It’s just that 90 percent of American students pay for their college education with student loans. When the Department of Education seized control of the consolidation loan business in 2007, they were so backlogged that they stopped taking applications for six months. When’s the last time a government-run social program has functioned more efficiently than private industry? Never, that’s when.

Before too long your hospitals, doctor’s offices and student financial offices will look like your local social security storefront. Just remember, America; you asked for it.

Setting the Record Straight

I guess this may come as a shock to some of you, but I love my wife unequivocally above anything in this world. She is what drives me to become a better person and be a better man, and I couldn’t be more thrilled to be kicking off our family any day now. She is the most important person in the world to me, and I can’t imagine living my life without her.

I don’t want anything I write to be misconstrued as vitriol toward my wife or women as a whole. Hell, I love women. Women are awesome, spectacular works of biological genius above reproach. When I sit down to write on my blog, I do so to entertain, whether that be to incite frustration or elicit a fist pump. Like I said in my Facebook post: “Mission Accomplished.”

My goal is this most recent rash of postings is to pave the way for my book, “The Plunge,” which has been in the works now going on three years. It’s all but finished now after seven rewrites, and after I rework the introduction it’ll be going out to agents and publishers. As I’ve been writing new blogs I’ve been thinking of topics relevant to single guys going into relationships, which is a lot part of what “The Plunge” is about. The last blog that I posted was about older, single men being run-off by older, single women due to overbearing behavior. It’s actually directed at two of my friends currently going through that situation. It had nothing to do whatsoever with my current situation or my marriage. And I expected to catch some heat on the ‘Slurpee’ blog, but not for the reasons I caught it. Oddly enough for all of the negative feedback, I got just as much positive.

Sometimes the things I say are misinterpreted and taken out of context. Other times they’re not. My wife edits any blog that may be taken as negative toward her. You know what? She put her stamp of approval on that blog and gets exactly where I’m coming from. When and if “The Plunge” sees the light of day, my wife will have read through every single line and given her stamp of approval. Trust me, there’s probably some stuff in there that will irritate folks as well; but that’s the point. Entertainment.

So in summation, I love my wife. She’s my best friend. Oh, and she approves my message. Have you had your Slurpee today?