Monday, June 14, 2010

World Cup Commentary Cliches

Scottish brogue: Ach, lads! You call that football?

Washed up Brazilian superstar: (demonstrates the fancy footwork, the "samba soccer" of his nation, while the camera cuts to a photo montage of topless girls in Rio.)

American: The US team looks great this year, what a surprise and more Americans than ever tuned in to watch us tie England!

Englishman in three piece gray flannel: Blimey! It's not a tie, mate, it's a draw. The field's the pitch, the goalie is the keeper, the game is footie, and what we're watching is a match.

Scottish brogue: Lads, was Germany not touched? Ach! They were a tanker were they not? Poor wee Australia.

American (to the Englishman and Brazilian): What did he say?

Englishman: Australia was absolutely buggered.

American: Hunh? Are we talking about soccer?

Brazilian (waving to some completely naked fans): It's futebol. Say it.

American: Football.

Scottish brogue: Well done, Yank. That din' hurt much did it? Ach, nay. You're one of us now.

Extremely well-groomed Italian: Welcome to the global familia.

American (uncomfortable): Uh.

Italian: Kiss the ring.

American: My Nike track suit contract prevents me from doing that, this is an every four year thing for me, I usually commentate on basketball...

Scottish brogue, Italian, Brazilian, Englishman (disdainful, and eyeing the American suspiciously): For us it's a life thing.

American: Well, yes! That's what I meant.
(Uncomfortable silence.)

American: Um. Uh. let's talk about something else uhh, how 'bout them Dutch!?!
(Continued uncomfortable silence)

American: How 'bout them vuvuzelas?!? Right? Really annoying, guys, don't you think? Ha! They sound like a nest of bees. Don't you think, guys? Guys?

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

Cocktails for Father’s Day

The Power Mower: to a kiddie pool, add shredded hope, grass clippings, and as much vodka as it takes to fill it up.

Man Cave: This concoction of dark ales and dark wood paneling, garnished with Led Zeppelin should be drunk smugly, and alone, in the middle of the day, with not a mote of sunlight coming through the shed window that you have plugged with towels.

Tool Shed: First oil all the wrenches till they gleam, then arrange them in descending order of size. No one will notice, in fact your child (or possibly the neighbor’s stinking brat) will mess it all up. But for the moment, open a can of beer and imagine the order and decency that could have been.

The World Cup: sit on the couch in a Holland jersey, with all your muscles twitching in memory of your high school days as a soccer star. At halftime, mix together the most famous alcohols of the countries that are playing each other, down it, cry “Goooolll!” and return to watch the second half of the game.

The Ego Stroke: Fill a highball glass with ice cubes, pour on a thick layer of manliness. Who took out the garbage? You took out the garbage. Thassright. You. Big guy. You. Yeah.

The Insecurity: Yours is definitely bigger than your neighbor’s power mower, isn’t it? Ponder the importance of size, ponder the thrilling joy you get watching men play soccer, and wonder why sometimes though you really want to order a frozen margarita because they taste good, you don’t order one. Why is that?

Dear Old Dad: Onto a blow-up dinosaur-shaped pool toy, add two children under five who will pull your chest hair and screech over and over again, watch this Dad until your ears ring and the warm fruit punch juicebox is the best thing you ever drank.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Romeo and Juliet Live, Have Children, And Bicker About Laundry

Juliet: I thought you were going to take out the trash.

Romeo: It’s your turn for the trash, my week to bag the recyclables. Look at the chore wheel on the fridge, for Chrissakes.

Little Tybalt (looking up from his Legos): Mommy, Daddy swore!

Romeo: A greater power than we can contradict hath thwarted our intents to be the best husband and father, I’m sorry, Little Tybalt. It’s just that Mommy and Daddy have been through a lot.

Juliet: I’ll say. There was a plague on both our houses.

Little Tybalt: Hunh? What’s Mom talking about?

Juliet: Never mind. Why don’t you go play Wii?
(Little Tybalt takes his Legos and sulks off)

Juliet (reminiscing while drying the Ikea china): Remember how in love we were?

Romeo: Do I! It seemed to me you were a rich jewel upon the cheek of night.

Juliet: It seemed to me that parting was such sweet sorrow, and now I can’t wait for girl’s night out.

Romeo (slapping his palm to his forehead): O woe!

Juliet: What is it, honey?

Romeo: I forgot to take out the clothes from the washer. They’ll be all mildewy.

Juliet: Again? Didn’t I tell you not to forget to take them out of the washer? Little Tybalt’s gym clothes were in there and he needs them for gymnastics tomorrow. O woeful, woeful, woeful day! Most lamentable day. Most woeful day that ever, ever I did yet behold O day, O day, O day! O hateful day! Never was seen so black a day as this. O woeful day! O woeful day!

Romeo: Is there no pity sitting in the clouds that sees into the bottom of my grief? I’ll rewash them.

Juliet (collecting herself): Good. I’m going to go upstairs and read. You coming up?

Romeo: No, I’m going to watch ESPN and probably fall asleep on the couch.

Juliet: Oh.

Romeo: Yeah.

Juliet: Well then, goodnight, hon. (Romeo gives her a chaste, long-married peck on the cheek. She returns the affection with a non-lingering rather limp hug.)

Romeo: We're so lucky.

Juliet: Aren't we?


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