MLKin' It

Hey, reader, have you ever seen one of those lists that compare some weird coincidences between JFK and Abraham Lincoln? You know, like:

Abraham Lincoln never shaved his face.
JFK never shaved his balls.

Well, I felt it necessary, given the upcoming holiday, to honor Martin Luther King, Jr. and another outstanding American citizen, so I’ve decided to reveal some of the similarities between MLK and myself. What say we just jump right in?

MLK was born in Atlanta, GA.
I was born in Atlanta, GA.

MLK was killed on April 4.
I was born on April 4.

MLK married Coretta Scott in her parents’ yard.
I married my wife in her parents’ yard (my wife’s parents', not Coretta Scott King’s parents’).

MLK was an ordained minister.
I am an ordained minister.

Some of MLK’s demonstrations resulted in people being sprayed with a firehose.
I have a cousin who is a fireman.

MLK was supposedly killed by James Earl Ray.
I know like, two or three guys named James.

James Earl Ray was captured at London Heathrow Airport.
I’ve been to that airport.

MLK gave his “I Have a Dream” speech in 1963.
I frequently have dreams…sometimes several in one night.

MLK vehemently disagreed with the Vietnam War.
My stomach vehemently disagrees with Vietnamese food.

MLK was wiretapped by the FBI.
I can’t say anything for sure, but I have my suspicions…

MLK attended Booker T Washington high school in Atlanta.
Booker T was one of my favorite WWF wrestlers when I was in high school.

MLK has received many posthumous awards and honors.
Unfortunately, I cannot yet reveal the details of what a post-ablakalyptic world will look like.

MLK had an older sister named “Willie.”
I think “Willie” is a terrible name for a woman.

MLK had a son named Dexter.
Dexter on Showtime is one of my favorite shows.

MLK did an interview with Playboy in 1965.
I read Playboy entirely for the interviews.

MLK was a Baptist.
I’ve been baptized…twice. That’s right. Dubtized, I call it.

Well, there you have it. I reckon we have some sort of cosmic bond. Actually, the impact I'll make on this earth next to MLK is meaningless, but who's counting? God?? BAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA! Enjoy your day off.

Oh, and if you want some dessert, I made a couple of pictures for this week's blog that my conscience (read: wife) wouldn't let me post. If you want to see them, all you gotta do is ask.

It's All Good, Man

Awhile back, my friend Marco said “I wish John Goodman would die of a heart attack.” I’m sorry for sending you into a tailspin of emotions right off the bat like that, but I wanted you to feel the same shock and horror that I felt when I heard it. Did I mention that Marco is not my friend anymore? Well, he might be now, but that’s only because he somewhat recanted after I forced him to watch The Big Lebowski. I would have made him watch Goodman’s most acclaimed work of art, King Ralph, but the DVD has been sold out at every single store I’ve been to. Anyway, I can't tell if I'm mad at Marco because that's such a terrible thing to say or if I'm mad at John Goodman because he probably WILL die of a heart attack if he doesn't slim down a bit. Whatever the case, I've decided to take my anger out on Marco. Aside from telling everyone I know that if they see Marco in public, they should kick him in the ass (that reminds me, if any of you see Marco in public, kick him in the ass), there really is only one proper way to combat Marco’s unjustified hatred of everyone’s favorite actor. I now present to you my pictorial tribute to a man who gives the gift of laughter to his fans, Indian leg-wrestling defeats to George Wendt, and pregnancy to women everywhere. Shomer fucking Shabbos.



















I totally would, too. Long live the King!