Saturday, January 16, 2010

the burger king and the apocolypse

he creeps. he sneaks. he startles.

he's "the burger king," and he is the embodiment of my greatest fear.

picture this is the real world: you slowly awaken on a sunny saturday afternoon, without a thing on your schedule and a lazy day on the docket. the birds are chirping happily and the sheets rustle with every slight movement. you slowly open your eyes on this glorious morning and peek at the sunlight as it sprays through the window as you roll over to give your wife a 'good morning' kiss.

all is well with the world.

But, as you roll towards the love of your life, you notice the familiar smell of scrambled egg and bacon. you quickly ask yourself questions. did my wife bring me breakfast in bed? how lucky am i? is this going to be a reflection of the great day i'm about to start?

then, just as you roll towards the warm body in the bed next to you and your eyes groggily open with anticipation, your focus finds something other than your wife. something, well, sinister and evil: "the burger king," laying on his side and holding a breakfast sandwich on a small dish. his frozen eyes, reminiscent of a great white shark, and his evil grin, a perfect rendering of the devil's smile.

he can't be killed by conventional means, much like ozzy osbourne...only bone fragments from actor vincent schiavelli (look him up and you'll know what i mean) can kill "the burger king."

in other words, the end is nigh...fear the reaper? take your cowbell and shove it. FEAR THE KING!

Thursday, January 14, 2010

Fearing the coming night...

Cries pierce the night air, without discrimination or favoritism, from the old and young alike. Rubble kicks up nearly-toxic dust, poisoning the air that has been taken for granted for so long. Death hovers nearby, his work already plentiful but more of his task still at hand. Crimson water runs down the gutters in trembling waves and there is a sense of foreboding doom, that this already-ravaged city is still shaking from its shanty core and the rest could give way at any minute.

Welcome to a night in Port-au-Prince.

We, as a society, can't comprehend the damage, death, carnage or destruction covering over Haiti as I write this. The horrifically gaudy numbers continue to expand, bringing a sense of temporary hopelessness to those who didn't experience the quake but felt its tremors deep within our souls. So much life, smothered out like a campfire without campers or a singular candle in the honeymoon suite lacking its intended lovers. Gone in an instant and so much more thereafter.

Cities rise, and empires fall but the common thread that binds us as humans will always be our conscience. It governs our actions and, though we stray from them far too often, we know they are there as a blueprint to a life worth remembering. When our own fall, or are buried by the reality of a flawed world, it is in our DNA to rush to their aid, to comfort them in time of need or send out prayers to the skies, if we can't be there with them. Suffering spirits see eye-to-eye, and the bondage of human suffering extends to those living outside of the magma residing within its center.

This life-altering tragedy is gut-wrenching but can be a defining moment for so many. There are heroes, right now, working for the sake of others. Fighters, lifting blocks of concrete with every ounce of their being, praying that under this stubborn obstacle will be another life instead of the rampant death misting over the city. Caretakers comforting the broken children, lost without parents and shaking from the overbearing fear.

Heroes, one and all...

So frail is the human condition, yet so precious. I find myself wondering, wandering, and look to the moments ahead. Life is more than a gift; it's a calling and challenge to make the most of what we have during the minuscule moments we're given. To ignore this call and allow it to fall on deaf ears would be remiss...or better yet, cowardly.

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Liquid dynamite to get me into my ‘Dolomite’


There may not be anything better than liquid explosives in a can.

Now when I say “liquid explosives,” I don’t mean anything that can be used by moronic quasi-terrorists trying to blow up their own foot (and flight) that even Al-Qaeda won’t associate with. I’m talking about Rockstar, Red Bull, and Monster: 1.21 jiggawatts of energy in an aluminum container the size of a tall-boy but full of delicious raspberry-ish flavor.

Seriously, Doctor Emmett Brown would never have needed a bolt of lightning or Libyan plutonium if he had this stuff. It’s science at its best and I won’t lie: I spent the better part of my post-college days looking for a drink that could replace “big slams’ of Mountain Dew in my life, providing me with that extra bit of energy when the day starts dragging. I hate coffee for the most part, but LOVE sudden bursts of energy that turn me into the olive-skinned offspring of Dolemite: Swolemite.

If you fill my stomach with a can of no-carb, no-sugar, double-strength Rockstar, Rudy Ray Moore doesn’t have a thing on me. Willie Green and Mayor Daley would no longer be able to contain my quest to regain ownership of my club, “The Total Experience,” Queen Bee would comp my visits, detectives Mitchell and White would get nothing but a human tornado from me and Creeper would get all the hamburgers I could find without him having to ‘creep’ very long in his dirty old wife-beater. In essence, these energy drinks get me going like the Energizer Bunny.

And while I understand this is probably not the healthiest choice for natural energy, I haven’t been able to find an alternative – stead for quality physical fitness, but who’s got the time to become Steve Prefontaine these days. Let’s stick to nutrients in a can. Opening a single tall boy of Rockstar at the beginning of my day is instant joy, likened to the startling morning sound of a beautiful woman’s laugh from the left side of my own bed, or the feelings a fat man gets when he accidentally stumbles into an all-you-can-eat buffet instead of a personal trainer’s office.

If I were Popeye: Rockstar would be “me spinach.”

Modern research still hasn’t figured out the dangers and benefits of this, but – by now – it’s too late for me anyways. I very well may have this purple propellant coursing through my veins but either way, energy drinks have become my generation’s coffee. While the younger generations pump themselves full of lattes and frappuccinos teamed with energy drink chasers, I am fine with a cold beverage that can get my engine going while I clear away the morning cobwebs in my mind. If the FDA lets them sell it, why not drink it? Our government wouldn’t fail or deceive us, would it?

I’ll keep drinking these bad boys as long as I can. Perhaps this numbness I feel in my shoulder is merely a pinched nerve. You gotta love 240 mg of caffeine mixed with 2,000 mg of taurine. Gee, not sure why my forearm hurts nor can I explain the loss of feeling in my fingertips but the tingling is probably normal, and this shortness of breath? It's common during this time of year – hay fever or something. I’ve not heard one major warning from the medical community regarding energy drinks, but I would like to know who the wise guy is that’s spinning this room. Odd, I hear feint sirens in the distance, must be a fire in the neighborhood or something, and this energy drink sure isn’t doing a good job of keeping me awake. In fact, I think I’ll take a short nap right here on the spiraling floor.

Well, as I float into this unexpected yet magnificently bright light, I’m wondering if maybe I should cut down on a beverage where there is little evidence or research regarding long-term side effects. Taurine, Vitamin B, Green Tea: all couldn’t be bad for you, could they? Oh look, Saint Peter is waving at me, or is he just simply signaling for me to go back down the way I came. Well, good-bye, pearly gates, and hello, hospital room. As I wake up with all these tubes in my arm and nose along with a fresh scar on my chest, I notice I am still a little groggy.

Excuse me, Doc? Do me a favor: snag a few of your best looking nurses, go grab me a Rockstar, and meet me at The Total Experience in one halfa-hour, you bad muthu…*gasp!* Shut yo mouth!