The Blob's Revenge

Imagine this setting; A sultry Montreal night, 30 or so people gathered in a visual and aural gem of a small chapel to hear artfully interpreted baroque music for 2 violins and guitar, a thoroughly enjoyable 1st half and then, post-intermission, all hell in it's own freakish and maddening way, breaks out.

Someone had taken my seat so I moved across the aisle to a pew who's only occupant was a very attractive woman, unfortunately she didn't return for the 2nd part. Still...a pew to myself, an aisle seat at that and an empty row in front of me. Let the show commence!!

"Not so fast" said God as he sent yet another trial my way, this time in the form of a couple of very-much-in-love, fat cretins. They had been sitting away from me and behind earlier but now they plunked themselves directly in front as the musicians took the stage. I managed to find an acceptable sight line but then the two round, jut jawed, ham fisted (like this guy)

lovebirds started their own show a mere 2 feet from my face.

Whisperings followed by knowing, oily, glances, a fat, raised eyebrow here, a tender rub of the arm or haunch there, a touch to the nose followed by a mimed picking of same nose followed by laughter and an audible slap to the arm, head scratching, incessant program reading (they shared one and it was only one page long), a lull for some hand holding which quickly led to some sort of lover's thumb wrestle.

Changing seats in a such a small and intimate setting wasn't really an option, nor was closing my eyes for an hour. It was technology that rescued me...the powerful combination of my cell phone camera and The Blob's global outreach..... the world would feel my suffering and know of their sinfulness, I would have my revenge!!!

Then I heard yet another voice, it seemed to be coming from the altar!! "Jesus, is that you??" (this guy)

"Yes, my child" answered the voice. "Behold the miracle of love before you. These two lonely, portly souls whom I have joined as one. Look not askance, nor cast ye not aspersions as thou woudst stones unto a sinner for they share with you the mystery and glory of their union. Thou shalt not be given to vengeful acts for that is my Father's dominion and his alone...we have this good cop bad cop thing going!!" "But Jesus" I implored, "come sit a while in my shoes" and at that I felt overcome by a warmth that seemed to radiate outwards from deep within me. (skeptics have attributed this to my Bean 'n' Beef burrito grandé combo) 15 seconds later it had passed and the voice returned. "Jesus??" I asked. "yeah, it's me. On further review, go for it and by the way, my Dad just sterilized her. Up, up and awayyyy!!"

The Perfect Mistake and other Oxymorons

Mikexxxster said...

Hey, Blobber; HELP!!!

Graham James, the notorious hockey coach/sexual predator, a number of years ago was granted a full pardon by our Federal Government...

Thanks for your question or in this case, cry for helpful advice, Mikexxxster. For those of you who want to read his unedited and lengthy letter please refer to the comment section in the previous post (bring pyjamas!!)

I, along with many other right minded folk, have been pondering this question of late in light of the recent upswing in Catholic church sex scandal news. It seems his holiness Pope Benedict, when it comes to priestly pedophelia, has a history of at best benign neglect and at worse complicit cover-up. This from a man who today we are supposed to see as infallible. Sure the word "infallible" only applies to matters of Catholic doctrine and where in the manual is there a passage that prohibits rogering boys? Where I ask you??

At any rate, maybe he just made a mistake here and there, nobody's perfect.

"Perfect mistakes" do exist of course and should be rightly distinguished form "lucky breaks" and "fortunate errors". Serendipity as exemplified here (check the undoctored name of the Times Berlin correspondent covering the latest Vatican scandal)

http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/comment/faith/article7065824.ece plays a part but it's only part of the story. It's as though the mistake, in confluence with it sorroundings, leads to more than the sum of its parts. Here is a small but perfect example:

At least in Tiger's case there was informed consent and porn stars.

The abuse of power by the clergy is a shameful and ongoing story with a CEO at the Vatican who seems to have little ability or interest in defeating the problem and not enough oversight and quality control over his branch offices.

One man who seems to have found a solution, albeit in the realm of science/fantasy, is noted author David Jerome who's Turd Stuffington boy's adventure series has thrilled readers for almost 20 years. Says Jerome: "It's high time that I dealt with this issue in a way that would educate, entertain, and appeal to my core audience of pre-teen boys. After all, what boy wouldn't want to be rescued from a vile villain by the likes of a dashing astronaut!!" As for the introduction of a new character he continued: "Batman had his ward Robin, Dr. Quest had his associate Race Bannon. It's high time that Turd Stuffington had a sidekick of his own!"

To Hab and to Hab Not

We Jews llike to tell the Hannukah story once a year...you know...the miracle of the little vial of sacramental oil that lasted eight days when there was only enough for one.

Montreal's beloved Canadiens, the standard bearers for the last viable religion in Quebec, just ripped a page out of the Jewish playbook with a fairly miraculous post-season run. A team that was supposed to last into the first week of April but was still playing in the 3rd week of May has, as of last night, seen its vial run dry!

It's time to move on, go for a bike ride, play a litle golf, maybe even fire up the old barbecue but before we do there is a tradition to uphold. With that in mind let the recriminations begin!!

Pundits, commentators and the like, both professional and amateur, will praise the team and immediately thereafter start the chorus of "that being said". Blame will be parceled out, axes will be sharpened and the miracle will be all but forgotten.

I'm no Jewish ethnocentrist but couldn't we all learn a thing or two from my people (besides philosophy, science, art etc.) and simply celebrate a miracle, as we do even centuries later, rather than dump all over it.

During Hannukah we don't gather every year to bitch about what could have been: "If they'd played it a bit differently the oil could've easily lasted 12 days, like Christmas!! Judah the Maccabee should never have been in charge, I'd have gone with Avrum "the Scythe" Ben Kahan dammit!!"

No, we just eat.





That being said.....
I put the blame squarely at the feet of Les Canadiens' management for not going with a proven winning combination. The Montreal symphony brass have played the national anthems at the Bell Center on several occasions and when they do the team wins...period!
In the playoff run alone they played and the Habs beat Pittsburgh in game 6, they played again and we beat Philly in game 3, they were replaced by little 16 year old rising star, Nikki Yanofsky in game 4 and were soundly beaten.
Sure she's cute and sings well and is cute. In a year and a half she'll be 18, legal, and recording industry weasels will be able to pry her away from her parents guiding hands and finally get her to make slutty naked videos like Rhianna or Christina Aguilera. That's of course, another story.

In this case it's even worse than simply jinxing the team. Let's break it down: When the OSM brass play the anthems people in the stands sang loud and proud because they were being accompanied by a glorious sounding live ensemble, not singing along with someone who made a name for herself during the recent olympics and who many people may have wanted to listen to rather than drown out. The end result was a rousing, crowd stirring OSM anthem that had the house rockin' and home team that came out with fire in their eyes. Not so for Nikki's a cappela rendition. I'll show you the good one of the two....see what I mean??


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Wvut4Mbhco&feature=player_embedded


A special mention to Blob accolytes and regular comment section participants, Party Bear and Mama Callous for their stunning trombone work and for the former's brilliant arrangement of
O Canada. Take special note of the introduction, artfully and legally lifted from famed dead composer Richard Strauss' fanfare "Stadt Wien".



In Closing

Poor managerial decisions notwithstanding, there's one thing we can all agree on. It's been said before and I'll say it again; Canadiens fans are the most knowledgeable fans in the whole world. Possibly even more than you'd think......

Gulf of Messico

In the time it takes to type "BP" enough oil to fill your jacuzzi has blasted out of a drill hole on the sea floor. Under normal circumstances the public would be filled with outrage but during the year 2000, in a remarkable display of marketing foresight, British Petroleum changed their logo from a green shield with bold face, capital letters to a sort of green, leafy, salad with small case letters. It has proven more difficult than expected to get mad at this group of humble veggie lovers.

THE CRISIS SO FAR

No contingency plan was in place for for an event such as this, an event that BP officials assured was impossible (see: Titanic) so now the Louisiana wetlands and fishery are threatened and the plumes of oil seep into the loop current that will gradually spread the oil up the east coast.

All attempts at stopping the spewing slime have failed. The heavy encasement that was supposed too cap the well bombed, the detergent (also toxic) used to break up the oil into little beads was just plain stupid and now there's talk of filling the well with old golf balls, chopped up tires and some sort of thick sludge followed by cement. Given the unprecedented nature of this disaster, none of this has been attempted at depth, ever.

The worst case scenario may end up being the best case scenario; everglades and other wetlands destroyed, east coast beaches befouled, ecological and humanitarian crises of a nightmarish degree and THEN maybe the world will become serious about weaning itself from oil and put the proper amount of money and energy into a viable alternative. With any luck tornados and hurricanes will make things even worse, slathering oil , like globs of sunscreen, all over the fat ass of the US, the American south.

THE BLOB SOLUTION

Warning: the following section is graphic and revolting in nature. The young and the squeamish (not to be confused with the ABC soap opera of the same name) should look away.

This is an advice column so now it's time for me to weigh in.

Other well meaning do-gooders have offered ideas: Using human and animal hair to make booms that soak up or disperse the oil http://abclocal.go.com/wtvg/story?section=news/local&id=7455194 is a quaint and somewhat disgusting notion.

One woman has suggested using specially treated tea bags to do the same thing.

I synthesized the two ideas, hair and tea bags,

( Urban Dictionary definition of "teabag": The act of dunking into or pressing against any object, liquid or bodypart using the male scrotum.)

and discovered that the unshaven human scrotum, with all it's hairy folds and recesses, can mop up an oil slick 8 to 10 times larger than its own surface area!! Teams of appropriately large-balled men straddling low lying catamarans should do the trick. The Danes with their reputed testicular mass and boring, often depressing, Danish lives are ideal candidates.

An even better idea involves cutting our losses. Let's face it, the disaster is upon us and there's no turning back but there is a silver lining.

According to the American Oceanographic Institute of the Culinary Arts, the Gulf is naturally wok shaped and by mid-August it will be primarily filled with oil. It also happens to be the largest shrimp hatchery in the world. Do you see where I'm going with this....a tanker or two filled with soy sauce, a squadron of crop dusters loaded up with 5 spice powder, a lit match, an obese demographic with voracious appetites and voila, the largest stir fry in history!! The shrimp don't go to waste, most of the oil gets burnt off and an economically devastated population gets to hold their heads high once again when the Guinness Book of World Records people come to call as they most certainly will!

Sure this blog is here to entertain but every once in a great while duty calls. I urge all like minded citizens to head south, a brigade of hungry, chopstick toting volunteers that we'll call Appetite for Humanity. Tell 'em The Blob sent you.

Oh yeah, guys...you're welcome to try the first idea as well. If you're worried about your own hygiene there are people already on the ground ready to help with the delicate clean up job. You've seen footage from previous spills...brigades of women with soapy, gloved hands gently massaging the thick oil off of baby otters. You do the math!