Monday, March 9, 2009
MY MCNUGGETS ARE AN EMERGENCY
You deserve a break today. I always thought Barry Manilow wrote that little tune for McDonalds which is well remembered as an advertising jingle in the 1970’s. Now they are playing Barry’s music in New Zealand malls to scare away the teenaged nogoodniks. Have you seen Barry lately? He has morphed into Barbara Walters. Have you seen them together? Nope. And he didn’t write that McDonald’s jingle. Another youthful myth shattered. Next someone’s gonna tell me that he didn’t write the American Bandstand song either.
The Press Journal has turned into total crap. I’m not going to cancel my subscription but the next time we get a renewal notice it will fester. It has gotten to a point where the most reliable thing about the paper is the daily horoscope. What passes for news is downright embarrassing. They have a guy who apparently goes through the police reports and just looks for the goofiest stuff he can scour and then pumps it up to call it news. Crack pipe hidden in a butt crack? News. Crack pipe hidden in a shoe? Not news. This guy is a bottom feeder and if he bothered to invest in an education to get this job, I feel sorry for him. We have this guy to blame for the 911 nugget emergency getting national publicity.
While Will Greenlee is waiting for his Pulitzer, there is money to be made on the pearls uttered by the mouthy McNugget muncher wannabe. If someone is hauling in the cash on such primo statements as “Your mom goes to college” and “Don’t taze me bro’”, the t-shirt world of gullible buyers is just waiting to snag “She said she were the manager” and “My McNuggets are an emergency”. You can bet we’ll be printing these jewels up and selling them on e-Bay. By the way, don’t call 911 if McDonalds screws up your order. Making a police report may be the right thing to do, but calling 911 three times will get your picture in the paper and yes, you will be laughed at.
Maybe the Press Journal is trying to become the National Lampoon of the 21st century. Our friend Russ Lemmon has surpassed mere buffoonery and has ventured into village idiot territory. This past week alone we have Russ having his picture taken standing by a stop sign, demeaning short people, counting license plates and getting his boxers in a crunch because Craig Callan has a vehicle parked at what used to be Dodgertown. I’m surprised Russ isn’t chasing down every car with a Maryland license plate so he can get an exclusive interview on how the Baltimore Orioles can be manipulated into coming to Vero Beach. Many of my ancestors lived in Maryland and migrated South before the “War of Northern Aggression”. My brother, Biff, is on the Orioles payroll. Guess what? They ain’t coming to Vero! So leave the retired state senators and the clown who took his own picture with a cell phone alone. It looks like anyone who might have something intelligent to say has the good sense to leave Russ hanging with a dial tone.
If the Press Journal could reach the golden heights of the National Lampoon in the 1970’s, Russ would be “Bernie X” in the popular feature “My Meter Is Running”, without the humor, intelligence and insight.
While I am ragging on the Press Journal, what’s the deal with the religious wars on the opinion page? A typical letter: “I believe in God.” Typical response: “You’re an idiot.” This goes on for several pages. I made the mistake of joining the fray a few weeks ago simply because the writer of the letter is an old friend of mine.
When a person has to throw in that he is a Ph.D. to garner support for his position, it is pretty safe to assume, that he has lost the argument.
It is either fortunate or unfortunate that I work in a place where I get most of the news first hand. There is plenty to report on in this county other than wasting space on the village idiot posing by a stop sign. I also work with folks who live in St. Lucie and Martin counties. On occasion they will bring in their home town newspaper and it is the same damn crap with a different masthead. People that rely on this tripe for “the news” will likely end up as moronic as the dolts that are pumping it out.
So I say a fond farewell to what used to be the Press Journal. We have been a subscriber all of my life. My first job was delivering the paper on Wednesday afternoons as a ten year old with a bicycle. In college, my girlfriend and I would wait anxiously for the Thursday mail to see what was going on in our little town. Now my kids are asking if they have to take the plastic wrapper off before it goes into the recycling bin.
Now that I have this out of my system, it’s time for a healthy breakfast of driveway gravel and razor blades. It’s too early for McNuggets. Maybe I’ll call 911 and ask for a personal delivery.