Posts Tagged ‘sandwiches’

Aretha Franklin is best known for having a first name that looks eerily similar to the word Urethra. Second on her accomplishments list is being a singer. Her biggest song was one called “Respect” where she spells out the word and chaos ensues. It’s a catchy song everyone knows. It also raises an interesting subject, what does respect mean to each of us?

(Hank Hill has a narrow urethra, not a narrow Aretha)

I’m not someone who demands respect. Sure, I’d like if people respected me more. Fact of the matter is I don’t respect myself enough to feel it necessary for others to respect me as much as they probably should. This is called self-respect. Whenever you want to figure out what the word is for something you do by yourself just add the word self in front of it. Mutilating yourself is self-mutilation. The esteem you have for yourself is self-esteem. Touching your private parts is called self-sex. Make sure you don’t have too much self-sex, you could go blind/lose respect for women.

Adults demand respect from younger children. In school I always heard about respecting elders and other nonsense I had no time for. The thing about respect is it means something different to all of us. To me respect is letting a person do what they got to do and not judging them or standing in their ways. To many people respect means bowing at their feet and treating them as if they’re gods. Behaving this way and making someone else more special than they really should be will make you lose your self-respect and in that way you are being disrespectful. So the next time some high and mighty dope tells you to respect them more remind them you respect yourself enough to never respect them.

I have a code I follow to help me remain at least somewhat respectful. I never disrespect someone in their home or houseboat. That’s their turf. I have no right to say anything degrading about their lifestyle even if their home is messy or their houseboat has a leak. I would not want someone coming into where I live and telling me I have to do things their way. If I’m at a religious person’s house and they pray, I’ll appease them and not make a deal of it. If I’m at a person’s home where they don’t swear, I’ll watch what I say. If I’m at a dangerous black person’s house, please call the police. I’m probably in danger.

(You think John Stockton ever buys Magnums just to fit in with his peers?)

Being respectful also goes both ways. It also means you should not live your life in a “My Way or the Highway” sense. Do you want to be like Limp Bizkit? Of course you don’t. Their singer is a fat Ginger. I’m fine with people having a set of morals they like to instill in others but at the same point to be truly respectful I think they need to allow and understand not everyone chooses to live their live the same way as they do. To be truly respectful you must let people be who they are even when you know they’re nuts.

(Wearing a red hat all the time qualifies to me as being a Ginger)

Musicians, sports stars, and other idiots seem to toss out the word respect a lot more than ever before. You never heard Jackie Robinson complaining about how no one respected him. The guy had to put up with more than any other athlete ever had to and not once did he go on Twitter complaining about how the fans don’t respect his ass. Demanding respect is the most pitiful thing on the planet and I’m including New Zealand in my discussion. Why should respect be demanded? Shouldn’t it, like everything else in life, be earned? If people don’t respect you they probably have a fairly good reason for it.

Who do I respect? I respect anyone who can be honest about their flaws. This is the one quality in people I always find endearing. That’s not to say someone who always whines about how much they suck has my respect. Whining never gets on my good side. I also automatically respect anyone who ever takes the time to make me feel special, important, or sexy. I can’t spend every day having self-sex, I need others to make me feel like I have more value than that. If you’re reading this you have made me feel special, important, and sexy. Thank you.

What makes you respect a person? Or better yet, who is someone in your life you could never lose respect for? I could never lose respect for Jared Fogle of Subway fame. The guy became famous for eating sandwiches. I feel like that was my destiny.

(Jared Fogle proves you can lose a ton of weight and still be incredibly gross looking)

I’ve written before about all of my celebrity sightings. I have a new one. Do you remember a little film starring an angry Australian man named Russell Crowe called “A Beautiful Mind?” Of course you do. It won a lot of awards. I never saw it. I know what it’s about basically. A schizophrenic man helps the military and teaches at Princeton University. I’m sure it’s much more exciting than that. Jennifer Connelly runs around in a wet t-shirt at one point which always seemed out-of-place in the trailer. Anyway, that movie is based on a true story. About a man named John Nash. A man who eats lunch at the same place I do.

(My lunch buddy. Genius, autobiographical movie star, and sandwich connoisseur)

The first time I saw Mr. Nash he was wearing short shorts and had an oxygen tank. The second time I saw him he was driving very slowly and stopping completely at a yield sign. He drives a red car in case you’re stalking him. I’m not sure of the make or model. I’m retarded when it comes to cars. It’s something that would probably be a teenager’s first car though. Nothing fancy. Something very simple.

I didn’t know that this was John Nash for a good year or so. I knew he lived in the area and I knew he was old. For some reason I was looking up pictures of him online and thought “Hey, he looks like that creepy guy in the short shorts that I see at Subway.” Turns out, I was right.

I haven’t spoken to him. That would be a weird thing for me to do. I did take a video of him getting out of his car one time. One creepy thing is enough. I was hoping to turn the video into “A Beautiful Mind 2: Nash’s Revenge” but was turned down by the film studios because they are currently not accepting 10 second films shot on phones with my thumb in the way. I figured if the Wayans Brothers get to make movies, so should I. Lets be honest, Scary Movie was great when it came out. But it’s because of how shocking it all is. Look, a penis stabbing someone in the ear! After you do a penis stabbing someone in the ear gag you can’t possibly do another joke for the rest of the film or any other film. You peaked too soon Keenan Ivory. Go back in time and make your films less about shock value and even less about White Chicks.

(Looks like this copy has 8 bonus minutes of raw unedited material! Is it too late to order this for Christmas?)

There isn’t a bad thing to say about Mr. Nash that I wouldn’t say about any older gentleman. He’s slow, a little clumsy, and has strange knees. He’s at Subway forever. Sometimes he doesn’t even appear to be eating. Then he’ll get up and get a soup or a soda. Who knew that soup was a favorite among geniuses? I have to start eating/drinking it more. The last time I had soup I was 8, at a friend’s house, and I stepped on a fishing hook in his backyard. Who keeps fishing hooks lying around in their backyard? That reminds me, he had a hot sister. Holy crap I forget how I could see her lying by the pool from my back deck. Then they moved and I was forced to watch the two overweight girls play basketball in their backyard with a soccer ball. Ugh. This is why I hate U-Haul. They take love away from me.

Mr. Nash does enjoy his walks. He also enjoys his trench coats and briefcases. I’ll see him walking at times with his trench coat and his briefcase. He must have learned this from his days hobnobbing with the Hollywood elite. It’s kind of cool to know that I eat lunch at the same place that a genius with a movie made about his life does. They should put something in the window that he eats there. I’m sure they asked him, but he’s too humble of a man. He helped fight the Commies. If I ever even beat up a midget I’d brag about it. And yes, I can call them midgets. I was born before the year 2000. You can’t tell me to change something that I’ve done for more than half my life.

(Brushing my teeth, something I’ve done for over half my life. On an aside, she looks like she just did something naughty. I’m using my imagination)

Perhaps one day Mr. Nash and I will have a conversation. We can talk about Ron Howard or which of the five dollar foot longs we enjoy most. It’s nothing like physics or other science things that only he would understand and would not only go over my head, but would also come back around and nip me in the ass. But we do have that one thing in common. A place where we can go in the middle of the day to get sandwiches from Ecuadorians who work for Indian people.


Posted: September 24, 2011 in September 2011
Tags: , , , , , ,

I don’t have any heroes. I used to. In 5th grade we were forced into writing an essay about an inspirational person. It was to get on some council with no power. I wrote about then Philadelphia Phillies third baseman Scott Rolen. I mentioned how he always hustled and had a high batting average with runners in scoring position. The two kids that won wrote about Bill Clinton and Jesus. One of them dropped out of high school and has a drug problem. The other has severe depression. I’m satisfied with choosing the 1997 National League Rookie of the Year.

It’s not uncommon for a person to have no real heroes. The older you get, the more human you realize every one of those men you used to worship are. Athletes certainly aren’t my heroes. Neither are musicians. Actors and actresses make a living being something they’re not. I need a hero, bad.

I never liked doing reports on an inspirational person or a hero in your personal life. I usually would alternate between my parents, whichever one had more money to buy me gifts at the time. That’s heroic. Buying gifts. Santa’s a hero to lots. Kids love that guy. I’ve always wanted someone to do a report on how much of a hero I am to them. I don’t blame people for never doing it, I’ve never done anything heroic. I would love to. I sometimes fantasize about pulling a woman from a car crash. I’d go deeper into my fantasy and how she “rewards” me later on, but that would sound less heroic than me simply saving her life.

Deep down inside, I know that I have been the hero to someone, at some point. I know someone has said it to me but I can’t remember who it was or why they said it. I don’t think it was ever serious though. With soldiers fighting wars, police gunning down criminals, firemen saving cats, it’s tough for me to find a niche audience to be the hero of. Kids usually think I’m cool. They always have. Younger people always look up to me for some reason. I like that. They think my bullshit, spoken from the heart, is helpful. Maybe it is. Or maybe I’ve just thrown them down a path into a deeper darkened passageway.

Someday I would like to know that I am someone’s true hero. Perhaps have someone be me for Halloween. That’s how I’ll know I truly am a hero. When a child thinks to themselves “Who would strangers most like to give candy to?” and my name pops up into their head. Move over Spiderman, Batman, and Dennis Rodman. There’s a new man who children want to be.

“I can be your hero, maybe.” – Enrique Iglesias