And now we are gonna have another stupid and uplifting edition of If I Could Ask Barry. As always, it would go something like this -
Barry - You there, my man. In the shades today - you hiding out? Laying low? What's shakin' my young friend?
TBFH - Not much sir. I am trying to avoid detection from the CIA though.
Barry - Good move on your part. I gave Panetta your description and I bet he's hounding your ass. Right brother? Am I right? I'm onto you, you blue eyed devil. You working for the British? the Germans? I know you got to have something up your sleeve. White dude walking around with shades on. You look suspicious. Damn brother!
TBFH - I guess so sir. I have no idea. But thanks for the infringement on my civil liberties. Along those lines, I was curious what you were thinking when you and Big Joe went to that burger joint the other day? I mean is it possible for you to realize what a hassle that was for the regular customers there?
Barry - Well, on 2nd thought we maybe shouldn't have done that. Joe had been bugging me to take him to lunch in public and I got so sick of listening to him whine about it that I went ahead and took him to that burger joint. Had I known how put out the people there were going to be by the two of us showing up with secret service and all the media guys, I wouldn't have done it. So, my bad there.
TBFH - No problem dude. I guess what I'm really wondering, in light of this burger excursion, is how juicy do you like your meat?
Barry - Well, that's a little personal. But juiciness is an issue that all us meat lovers grapple with. And I want to talk a moment about how much juice is too much juice.
TBFH - How sir? How can we know when juicy crosses the line to too juicy?
Barry - Calm down my young protege. I will explain it to you. When the juice drips down off your chin and onto the sheets or sofa or carpet or wherever you like to eat it at, that's when you know it's too juicy. Also, when the juice bursts forth suddenly and cascades all over your face and not all down your throat, that's also a sign that what you're eating is too juicy. Have I enlightened you brother?
TBFH - I guess so. Thanks. But, if the juice is flowing all over you as you eat it, isn't that a sign of the amount of pleasure being derived by whatever you're eating at the moment? I mean, I'm not a guy who is into a lot of juice in and around my mouth, but it seems to me that lots of juice just coming forth and settling all over the upper body might be a sign that whatever you've got in your mouth at that particular moment is enjoying the eating you're doing.
Barry - You're right there. That's true. Now that you mention it, bring on the juice! Bring it on baby! Juice me up! Juice me up!
TBFH - Calm down dude. That's a little overboard there. I've got to run. Hiding from the CIA is a lot of work. See you on the flip the side.
Barry - Peace to you my son. Now, I'm cutting this press conference short. I'm gonna get me some juice! Get Oprah on the phone...
Well, Cavs did cover last night going away. What an impressive 6 games they've plated in the playoffs so far. Hell, I'd consider taking them tomorrow. The only problem is that line is 8 and you gotta take a home dog in game 3 down 2-0 for the series getting that many points. You've got to. Tonight, the lines strike me as off. Orlando is favored by about 2 &1/2 too many and the Lakers should be underdogs and they're favored by 1 &1/2. Take the Celts and the Rockets.
I got an email from Keith about the picture on Wednesday's blog (titled -The Night With The Smelly Waiter). And he was quite smitten with the girl in the photo. And you can't fault him or anyone else for that. You really can't.
I saw where the NBC family of networks has banned Ann Coulter from their airwaves. And that's fine. They can have whoever they want on their awful news shows. But, I would take being banned by NBC as a great compliment. It means they're scared to death of you. And that's a good thing. I hope to be banned by NBC some day myself. Hell, I bet I already am and just don't know it yet.
Elegantly wasted.
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