Things I’m Anti-Thankful For: 2011 Edition

Posted: November 23, 2011 in Pop Culture
Tags: , , , , , , ,

As Thanksgiving approaches one should reflect on all one has been given; take time out to smell the roses and taste the rich warmth that a holiday meal with loved ones can provide.  It is also the perfect time for me to cement my hard-charging bid for “Hater of the Year: 2011.” 

So without further ado, Ladies and Gentleman of Burnpoetry, here are they things that I’m Anti-Thankful for this year:

Jack and Jill

Starring Adam Sandler’s lack of dignity, this movie picks up in the 7th circle of hell where the Big Mama’s House franchise left off.  Once, when I was a sixth grader I made an errant joke to a girl in one of my classes.  She hauled off and kicked me squarely in the junk, punting me with the same level of effectiveness and form that Alex Henery displayed last year for the Nebraska Cornhuskers.  Jack and Jill appears to be that very sensation, captured in an hour and a half long cinematic version of a public impalement.

When Sandler’s right, he’s a crass an unapologetic humorist that plays “the dumb, loud guy” as good as anyone in the business.  But when he’s wrong?  He’s Jack and Jill wrong.

The NBA Lockout

I don’t know that there’s ever been a bigger cash-grabbing, bloody, senseless waste of a great league than this.  The NBA was at its high point, a true peak the likes of which we haven’t seen since Jordan retired for the second time.  (*Author’s note: I try to pretend that Jordan playing for the Wizards was some kind of weird, alternate ending to his actual career.  Like an extra on a DVD that, when you watch it, you can totally understand why the director cut if from the actual film.)

We had the South Beach LeBrontourage choking like they were hanging from a noose, Dirk Nowitzki becoming the most lethal German badass since Hans Gruber, and a variety of aging stars trying to push the limits of their bodies to make one last stretch run.  Then, right when the NBA was building momentum and popularity, both sides suddenly dug in their heels like a collective group of petulant children and ground the entire beautiful stretch of games and seasons to a halt.

My friends and I used to occasionally slip a Celine Dion song onto a CD that was chalk-full of rap music.  We called it the “Party Killer.”  Shortly after an entire houseful of people was dancing along to the song “Ms. New Booty” they would get a full, blasting dose of “My Heart Will Go On” and everyone would turn, slackjawed with horror, trying to reconcile the diva-like vocal assault.  That’s what the lockout is.  A Party Killer in the worst way.  It’s Celine Dion, directly after 50 Cent. 

With both sides locked into a standoff, holding their guns high and screaming at one another and entirely ignoring the world around them.  It’s an NBA-style Reservoir Dogs moment.  I’m pretty sure they’ve already started shooting and we all know that, in Tarantino films as in ridiculously dumb labor disputes, everybody inevitably gets shot.

Katy Perry

Katy Perry is everywhere.  She’s inescapable.  She’s on the radio more than commercials and is twice as annoying as the emergency alerts that buzz and drone for what always feels like just a little too long.  Her songs, presumably cranked out by a crack writing staff of 17-year-old girls who are hopped up on Franzia and love notes they got passed in the back of their algebra class, are aimed at a group of people susceptible to such horrid songs.

She sings about lost love, fake I.D.’s (*Author’s note: she hasn’t needed a fake I.D. for five years), and sneaking her parents booze to “go all the way” with teenagers.  Pretty hard-hitting, emotionally deep stuff.  Anti-thanks for that, Mrs. Russell Brand.

Urban Meyer

Maybe I am thankful for Inner-city Meyer. . .well. . .maybe I’m not.  Yeah, I totally am–wait. . .I’m not. (*Author’s note: see what I did there?  Eh?  Eh!?!?!)  Inner-city, famous for winning championships and for graduating from the Brett Favre Institute of Decisiveness — where he studied under the tutelage of Dean Jay Leno — has allegedly decided to unretire for the second time in the last few years and has had his name crop up as a potential head coach for Ohio State University.

While Meyer is certainly a coaching upgrade from Luke Fickell, who by all accounts has done an admirable job during his one tumultuous season at the helm, and is one of the best recruiters in the nation.  I am anti-thankful for inner-city Meyer for 2 reasons:

1.  He’s a really good coach and I’m supremely worried that if he gets his hands on the virtually limitless resources and talent-rich Ohio State program, the Big Twenve could be in for a rough few years.

2.  He essentially had a team, at Florida, that was full of more convicts than Burt Reynolds’ team in The Longest Yard.  While he was busy playing the competition like Felonious Monk his players were busy getting arrested, ticketed, tatted, and boozed.  Sound familiar?  Tressel got canned for the same stuff that somehow (*Author’s note: read: Tebowmania) got swept under the rug with Urb.

The McRib

Anyone who orders a McRib is essentially saying, “. . . And can I get a side of diabetes with that. . .extra diabetes, please.”

 

(*Author’s note: truthfully, I’m more thankful than words could describe for my beautiful wife, my loving family, to live in a nation where any dumbass can put his fingers onto keys and have a place to voice his opinion, and I’m thankful every morning for the breath that fills my lungs and the light that opens my eyes.  I’m thankful to be alive, thankful to love and be loved, and thankful for too many things to mention here.  Happy Thanksgiving, everyone)

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