Nancy is on vacation, so that means Kevin Lynn, aka Chia Kev is being forced to go it alone all week on WILK radio. Yup, his trusty sidekick is enjoying some rest and relaxation. Good for her.
Not that it really matters. Nothing’s changed. Take this morning’s inane ranting for example. Chia bashed George Bush, Rick Santorum, Lou Barletta and not a one of his three or so callers. What was it, now? Oh, yeah. Bush is a liar. And Rick is pimping for Lou, or Lou is pimping for Rick on the illegal immigration issue. Chia couldn’t decide who the pimp was, but he did his level best to suggest that their motives are not pure. But he did reiterate that, in Chia’s vacuous mind, Lou Barletta is a bigoted racist of a bigot. Something like that.
On a side note, unlike Chia Kev, I spend a lot of time in Hazleton. That’s what is so infuriating about Chia’s baseless charges of bigotry and whatnot. He’s going on and on about a town he knows absolutely nothing about. Go figure.
What else is new? Republicans are evil. Democrats are above reproach in every imaginable way. That’s the totality of Chia’s demented sub-world. You know. He’s a sh*t-for-brains. Or a mass of sh*t covered by skin. Pick one.
By the way, he was clearly overreacting to the following typical, typical partisan filth published by the agenda-driven Citizens’ Voice today, but he’ll mischaracterize anything for the purposes of bashing that one “evil” political party.
Anyway, Chia‘s inexplicably predictable mediocrity was on full display for us thinking persons to chuckle at, and for the partisan myrmidons to march to. Sad. Very sad.
First thing Monday morning, he said something that proved he is totally out of touch with those he accuses of being droolers every chance he gets. Namely, everybody. He said this past weekend was a “big weekend in sports.” This is laughable, stick with me. (Giggling) Sorry about that. Anywho, he said it was a “big weekend in sports”…get this, because of the Wimbleton tennis finale and the World Cup soccer final.
Now, excuse me for being too completely American (Soon to be illegal) by way of my thinking and my habits, but professional tennis and world soccer finals do not make for a “big weekend in sports” by any stretch of the imagination. Well, that is, unless you happen to dine on fly patties somewhere in the war-torn sub-Sahara and happen to own a gas-powered black-and-white television set. Or, unless you’re one of those ex-hippie, Euro-centric bed-wetter types.
Tennis? Soccer? Sorry, Chia Kev, but tennis and soccer are to sports in this country what tossing off is to having a real sex life. As a matter of fact, watching tennis is about as exciting as playing video Pong. And nobody ever accused video Pong of being even remotely exciting. And soccer? Soccer is the only sleeping aide known to have zero side-affects. You can take as much soccer as you want without your hair falling out in clumps, your skin peeling off in sheets or your genitalia developing some heretofore unseen form of Tourette’s Syndrome.
If tennis and soccer were the only sports available, I’d just assume invent Toddler Tossing or try skeet shooting with the neighbor’s cat reaching escape velocity right quick.
Tennis? Kids who don’t want to get hit gravitate towards (run away to) tennis. Kids who can’t grasp the concept of waiting on a curveball play tennis. Kids that don’t want to get cold cocked by a hurtling puck settle for tennis. Kids that can’t fit in go for tennis. The kids too cowardly to shower in a crowded locker room play tennis. (Well then. That ought to piss off plenty of folks.)
But soccer? Pl…ease! Spare me. Watching soccer is seriously akin to watching toddlers scurry around aimlessly right after the Pinata finally blows apart. There it is! Get it! Darn!
And Chia Kev just loves to repeat this not so clever assessment of baseball as was passed along by his father. The way Kev smarmily tells it, “Baseball is two 2 guys playing catch while 16 others watch.”
HA! HA! HA! Chia Kev, you are sooooooo funny. And so staunchly against hot dogs, apple pie and Chevrolets. Why is that? You’ve got as much in common with your average American as Vladimir Putin does. In fact, less. We know. We know. Baseball, football and basketball all suck. But soccer…oh, soccer is the sport of choice all around the world. Beheadings, genocide, legalized everything, woman with hairy armpits and enslavement are also very popular the world over, but why quibble? If the entire world prefers soccer to those sports that require well-honed skills, why should us silly Americans put up further resistance? Relent, comrades. Relent. Learn the metric system, cease with the bathing bit, get a stupid looking haircut and relent.
“Baseball is two 2 guys playing catch while 16 others watch.”
Euro-centric weenies such as Chia Kev often tell us ignorant Americans that we’d fully embrace soccer if only we understood it. In other words, we’re not nearly as smart as the lot of them. Arrogant, ain’t they?
“You don’t like it because you don’t understand it.--Chia Kev
I should point out that the same illogic neatly applies to Chia’s obvious loathing of all things American.
Yep. Soccer is just too complicated for me to be able to follow. Or is it?
Let’s see. There’s like 90 guys on a grassy field chasing a ball around. Actually, in too much of the world, there’s like 90 guys chasing an infidel’s head around, but that’s a whole other sport unto itself. Anyway, if you really watch what’s going on, there’s usually 4 guys running after the ball, 4 guys almost jogging after ball, 12 or so guys walking in the general direction of the ball and the rest are watching the proceedings from some distant corner of the grassy knoll. The argument that is always made to us non-believers is that soccer players are fantastic athletes because they are in a state of perpetual motion. Um, that’s complete bunkum. Hogwash. They are in no more fantastic shape that one of those silly, ignorant Americans who might go jogging every morning.
What skills are required to join in? Well, you need to be able to run in short bursts and be able to kick at the ball every once in a while. Oh, and you need to kick the ball through the goal posts, but nobody ever manages to do that. So, if you play in 100 soccer matches and score, say, 2 goals…you’ve got some serious soccer skills goin‘ on there. What else? Oh, yeah! You’re going to need to find an epileptic barber.
The rules? Well, you cannot kick, trip, strike, jump at, charge at, push, or accuse an opponent of being a terrorist. And if you do, the referees will start playing Uno right there on the field.
Gee, that was rude. Yellow card! You’ve been warned, Luther.
Then there’s the really flagrant fouls drawing the dreaded red card.
Oh, no. Not on my watch! Red card! Didn’t your socialist nanny-state teach you to make nice like?
Basically, contact if severely frowned upon. That’s why we’ve been bailing out and protecting all of Europe militarily for generations now. They are afraid of contact. And their denuded version of football proves as much. In a nutshell, they think jogging around in circles for damn near two hours somehow passes as a sport. And after the game clock has expired, they are thrilled with the oft-typical high-scoring…1-0 affair.
Chia, what’s to understand? Soccer is beyond boring and takes little or no talent to play. If running is supposedly proof of heaps of athleticism, I’d like to see the world’s best soccer players hang with some inner-city kids on a basketball court on a hot afternoon. They’d wilt like the non-talent, non-athletes that they are. I know it and you know it. But you won’t admit it until America is finally spelled Amerika.
No thanks. I prefer real sports.
Sue Henry brought the following up on her show today and much noise was made about that now-defunct but thoroughly quaint notion of personal responsibility.
I heard the mayor being bashed. I heard much about that illusive personal responsibility thing. And I even heard Walter Griffith going off about the shuttered firehouse all over again. He’s predictable. In fact, I don’t know why he even bothers to call when we already know what he’s going to say. Whatever.
Let’s do this. Let’s explore what goes on down at the end of this street. The white trash on the corner have a pool that can be assembled and disassembled in a blink, but no fence around it. And while they’re always out and about pretending not to be the white trash that they are, kids from the neighborhood feel free to take a dip in the smallish pool now and again. Mind you, totally unsupervised.
Down on Penn Ave. resides a confluence of renters who never have a clue where they’re kids are. They wander aimlessly through the neighborhood and their parents do not care. And it’s quite normal for the single moms to come a looking for their kids, aged anywhere from 4-10 years-old, around the time I’m watching Tom Clark give us the 11 pm weather forecast. Forget the pools. How about if we pass an ordinance whereby you would need a permit to procreate?
So, if we can’t outlaw poor parenting, what’s the next best idea whereas the very possible drowning of unattended to small children is concerned? How ‘bout is we mandate that the various and sundry pools within the city are as inaccessible as possible?
Me? I got me both a pool and a fence. And if I didn’t have a fence, I wouldn’t have purchased the pool without first procuring a fence. Trust me, the very last thing I want is your toddler floating face down in my pool. Unfortunately, the thought a small child drowning in close proximity does not seem to faze too many of my neighbors. Honestly, it seems as if nary a thought is given to where their children might be at any given moment. Sad, but true.
You want a pool? No problem. Get a permit and fence first.
Excuse me, but are the people at the Citizens’ Voice deliberately trying to make Wilkes-Barre into a laughing stock?
We can still grill ‘em and eat ‘em, no? We just can’t have them pecking the eyes out of our puppies. Is that too much to ask in a third class city?
|Under the ordinance, police and animal enforcement officers can fine anyone who harbors or feeds wild, “exotic” or non-domestic animals, including pigeons, deer, raccoons, skunks and squirrels.|
Gage will still be feeding the pigeons on the square. You know, the dirty chicken-like winged thingies.
He so loves doing so.
It’s about freaking time.
R/C Theatres may have failed me completely by not offering the necessary Junior Mints, but Copper Dude did not.
I shall be eternally grateful.
(Where’s the Bugels?)