Opinion » The Rant

The Rant



Hello, again, Dalai! And hello, again, people who worry about the size of their penises. Yes, those men in charge in China got mighty upset about the dangerous Dalai Lama visiting and meeting with Barack Obama in Washington the other day and, in fact, had asked him to cancel it. Seems they just can't forgive the dude for wanting human rights violations to stop and for wanting Tibet to be independent of them. It's kind of like Texas, only the women don't have really big hair and Tibet doesn't breed as many crooked politicians.

And while he didn't get fist-bumped like he did when he was in Memphis (I still think that was one of the coolest things that's ever happened here), he did meet with Obama, not in the Oval Office but in a somewhat less significant room of the White House, to downplay things a little. All of this seems ridiculous to me. If we want to have the Dalai Lama visit the U.S. capital and meet with the president, so what? Let Beijing get a life. And while they're at it, they might want to do something about that haze of pollution hanging in the air. It looks like the cigarette smoke in my house, just on a much larger scale. And let them come on and join us. Bring on Iranian president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. Let's see what he has to say — and get him off in the corner and let him know that, ahem, yes, there are homosexuals in his country.

The point is to not let old grudges take up so much time. Communicate. When I first heard that China was pissed off about the Dalai Lama's meeting with Obama, I laughed out loud and thought it must have been a joke. But I guess when it comes to land, power, money, religious views, and such, they take things pretty seriously. Sounds like the United States, the country where if you are a white male and you intentionally fly a plane into a building you are a criminal, but if you are Middle Eastern and you wear funny shoes you are a terrorist.

And what about that guy? I'm telling you, people better watch out. It wouldn't surprise me if that starts happening more and more. You can screw with some people until they snap and can't take it anymore. When you've got the government taking and taking and taking from you and you work hard and try to be fair, and then they give it to large financial institutions to bail them out and then officers of said financial institutions go on over-the-top, lavish retreats and get bonuses of hundreds of millions of dollars on top of the hundreds of millions of dollars they already make, some people are going to get mad as hell and not take it anymore. Dear God, I am starting to sound like Sarah Palin! Someone give me a Percocet, STAT!

It's like when I am trying to watch Law & Order rerun marathons and every six or seven minutes Marie Osmond appears on the screen hawking that diet food you can order. First of all, I don't want to be reminded that I am fat, and second of all, she is wearing more makeup than I wore when I was a guest clown in the Ringling Brothers Circus. It looks like a Halloween costume. She freaks me out. I bet she has the spices in her kitchen cabinets arranged in alphabetical order. And I am tired of her being thrust upon me without my asking. I could easily snap. I'm not going to fly a plane into a building because I get dizzy driving on interstate overpasses, but I could snap in my own way. I could drive out to one of the mega-churches and put "I'D RATHER BE HITTING MY CRACK PIPE" bumper stickers on all of the cars. I could hack into Mark Sanford's e-mail and send him naked photos of Jack Black. Or I could just break into Marie Osmond's house and rearrange her spice cabinet and send her over the edge so she would have to be locked up and never, ever appear on television again. That way, there would be more airtime for Toby. Yes, Toby, the dog that scoots his butt across that woman's carpet and makes her scream. Now, that is a great commercial.

Oh, well. If only it were a perfect world. Maybe I'll get in touch with the Dalai Lama. If he can straighten out Tiger Woods, maybe he can keep me on track.

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