It has come to my attention that overthrowing the government is quite popular these days, so I was thinking of overthrowing someone just to be trendy. Sadly, I’ve no one to overthrow. I don’t want to waste time on the US government because it would be too difficult to kick out every single congressman and start over. That’s what I would want to do. I would want to put all my friends in the government, and then every US citizen would be required to do yoga and eat cheese and make fart jokes and not judge anyone except the few people I stipulate like Slow Shoppers or Ghayters. I recently saw some old friends who told me I should really get married and that I would regret not having kids. And then they proceeded to talk shit about their husbands and complain about their kids. Kids. The New Kids on the Block are on tour again, but I think some things are best left where they lay. Why try to recreate something that was already so good, Jordan Knight? Don’t do it. Leave me with sweet memories of that tail you once coveted, the one that cascaded down your back in its centimeter width, the one every sixth grader tried to mimic. Once I had a New Year’s Eve Party in sixth grade. My mom made everybody virgin margaritas, but she didn’t tell us they were sans alcohol. Everyone proceeded to get “wasted.” Nick Pope and his curly locks even fell into the shower curtain, pulling it down and making a mess. He apologized and blamed it on the alcohol. He’s bald and almost has a sixth-grader now. Time just keeps going and going and going like an express train to Barcelona. Why don’t I live in Barcelona? Es algo que tengo que hacer porque es algo que QUIERO hacer y el tiempo pasa. I think I’m scared of time, which is why I don’t wear a watch. Time still finds me and reminds me that I’m late. Always late. Late to overthrow the government. And late for yoga. Gotta go. Big day planned. So much to do. Like check Facebook and ponder my existence, really just one in the same.
Category: Espana
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Campeones del MUNDO. El MUNDO! That’s huge.
I never get to brag about my ethnicity because I’m always unsure of it. I know I’m American, born in a sterile American hospital like the majority of us. But my father’s side is Spanish! I am half Spanish! And I really love that half. Because it drinks wine and eats tortillas and dances flamenco and takes cafes-con-leche at all hours and tried Marlboros at an early age and calls juice ‘zumo’ and eats grapes at midnight and loves tapas and stands at the bar to eat churros y chocolate and shares bocadillos in the park and takes strolls through plazas and rests in the day and occasionally reads El Pais and La Guia del Ocio and is in love with Javier Bardem and wants to be like Almodovar and expects olives and nuts with every bar order and calls underwear ‘bragas’ and glasses ‘gafas’ and hates gilipollas.Maybe these things are too stereotypical. Because I’m HALF Spanish, I always feel on the fringe, like a Spanish faker.
But today, I abolish this ethnic insecurity. Today is the day that I reclaim my Spanish roots. Because I’m fucking Spanish. And we’re champions of the world! EL MUNDO! And I’ve always wanted to be a champion of something! So now I am. Gracias, Epaña, por darme los bragging rights. I love you and your men and your passion for soccer and emotion and tight pants and food.Campeones del Mundo!
Even after all the hullabaloo of the Spanish victory, though, I have to say that [this] is my favorite part of the World Cup hysteria. Who knew that one day Fozzie’s words would grab a global audience? Wocka Wocka.
