Talk is not only cheap, it’s ineffective and for pussies without guns. The time for compromise is over. It’s time to strap up and put your manhood where your mouth is. Let’s see how committed to your political beliefs you really are, by finding out if you’re ready to die for them. As opposed to listening to someone else’s. You want to defend your party? Then do so. On the front lines and in the trenches.

We can fight wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, why not here? Why do we have to outsource all of our wars to foreign nations when people would die for a job right here in our country? If we learned anything from World War II, it’s that war is one hell of a way to pull a country out of a depression. A civil war is not just a great way to knock us out of this political quagmire; it’s a perfect way to jumpstart this economy. Let’s get America working again, by killing one another.

If our discourse can no longer be civil, then at the very least we should have a war that is. That’s why I’m not talking about unmanned drones and secret torture prisons, I’m talking about two opposing sides lining up across from each other in a large, grassy area and then charging. I’m talking about a good, old-fashioned classy war. The kind that can be re-enacted for years to come.

We are a nation that loves conflict. We were built on it. So in times of trouble we must return to our roots. We must lace up our boots. We must fight for what we think we believe in. Look around you. Watch the news. This country is angry. It’s about to boil over. And we need somewhere to channel that rage. So why not at each other? In a constructive way. Where we can determine a winner. Once and for all. Or at least for about 150 years.

 Think about that, it’s been exactly 150 years since we had our last civil war. Isn’t it about time for another one? Honestly, it’s completely ridiculous to believe that a 150-year-old war could settle all of our current problems. Think about how different our country is now. Then the nation tore apart at the seams because a thoughtful, well-spoken president was elected who many saw as a threat to their way of life. Now we have a 24-hour news cycle determined to make us all hate each other. Clearly we need a new civil war, to deal with all the issues of now.

How else could we hope to get this stagnant political system moving? Another election? That sure seems to have been effective lately. Throw the bums out? And let new bums in? I’m not so sure we want the House of Representatives to be a temporary shelter. No, the only thing that seems to ever bring this nation together is tragedy. And what’s a bigger tragedy than a neighbor killing a neighbor, a brother killing a brother, a wingnut killing a wingnut. In a grand scale. We need this war. For the sake of our country. For the sake of our future.

Drasticonian times call for drasticonian measures. If the politicians can’t get us out of the mess, then it’s up to the people to. By taking up arms and killing one another. It is our patriotic duty. This civil war is not just for our prosperity, it is for our very preservation. Our future as a nation hangs in the balance. And if we’re not willing to fight for that, than what I ask you, is worth fighting for.

                Wasn’t it just under 3 full years ago that we were all so full of hope? And now, nope. None of that. We have given up. It’s over. Finito. This country’s going to hell in Hyundai hand-basket. And, why? The economy stupid idiot. You moron. Everyone knows this country is an awful place to be because the economic recovery has been slightly slower than was hoped for by many economists according to some economical data. In other words, this place is a real first-world shit-hole. And there’s no saving it.

                That’s what the people are whispering in line at Whole Foods. A huge supermarket full of whole entire foods. Every vegetable you can ever want, and more that you never would, every fruit you’ve ever heard of, and some that you never will, every spice that you could ever add, and some that you never should, every organic cereal you could ever hope for, all as bland as a cardboard cutting board. And you should hear what they are saying in the countless other gigantic and more affordable super-markets super-packed with super-foods. This country is an awful place to be.

                That’s what the people are whining about in lines at waterparks. Huge parks based around wasting water. Slides as tall as sky-scrapers with water pumped to the top of them, then dumped down, with jets of water shooting out of the sides, all leading to a pool at a safe depth to receive the flying body of a fat teenager who just flew off an inner-tube, so he can swim safely to the water-covered steps and then go to the lazy river, a man-made river that flows at a man-made pace, until he’s rested up enough to go to the wave-pool, a giant pool that makes waves without using the moon. Man, this country is a disaster.

                That’s what the people are whimpering about in drive-thru lines at Wendy’s. One of 67 international fast-food chains started in America with a Wikipedia page and multiple locations where you can get a triple-hamburger, that’s three hamburgers in one, at any time of night without ever shutting down your car, or getting out, or doing anything, and a side of fries, and a milk-shake, and a stuffed baked potato with broccoli, cheddar, and bacon bits. What has this country come to?

                Is what they’re wondering in aisle three of Wal-Mart. Where you can purchase a cactus and a car tire, an ice tray and an ice skate, just one, a dog leash and a sack of soil, dirt cheap, and literally anything else you can ever want in a size bigger than you can ever dream for a price that can’t be beat in a store the size of a city borough that shares a strip mall with a place to get all the same things in a different variety should you not like the color of dog leash that Wal-Mart was offering. God, I wish we could just go back to a golden age.

                I just feel so bad for this poor country, and its poor inhabitants. And to think, they could live in Libya, or Latvia, or Lithuania, or all these other wonderful places, and they’re stuck living in this country where our GDP is only growing at 1%. We could be the millions of people living in abject poverty, but we’re forced to reside in this godforsaken nation where our obesity epidemic is contributing to our rising health care costs. It’s completely unfair that there are all these places that have no problems at all, yet we’re trapped in this problematic place where our politicians are mean to each other about the debt limit for all of eternity. It so sucks to be an American right now.

                No wonder were all so depressed. We’ve got it bad. We’re like caged animals trapped in the richest and most powerful nation in the known world. And we have no choice but to consume away the pain. To stuff our faces just to shut out the reality of our awful existence. To shovel sustenance down our throats to avoid speaking of the horrors that we witness everyday on our big screen televisions. To pad our stomachs while we tighten our belts. It’s truly a terrible time to be an American, and with our best days behind us, there’s nothing left to do but get in line to start complaining.

                I tell this story because I think it’s a fitting encapsulation of my upcoming nuptials. When I get married, in about 1 month, I will be willingly standing up and sacrificing 2% of my manhood. That’s right. That is the price a man must pay for love in his life—2% of his coolness. Which I think is more than fair. I clearly have plenty of awesomeness to spare, I think I can overcome a slight reduction. In fact, it might be good for me. And my gut. And if history has taught us anything, it’s that most men agree.

                2% of our coolness is what we must part with until our death. Let’s break-down the math that this entails. Let’s say that the most awesome man parties all the time. That would be a pretty cool dude, right? A guy who partied 24/7 365 days a year. Or 8,670 hours straight of partying. Now take that, and multiply it by 2%. Meaning you would be giving up 175 hours and 20 minutes of partying. Or 7.3 days. So, if the most awesome man ever got married, he would have to take off 1 week from the year and put in some real quality time with the missus. That seems about right. And probably a fair trade.

                As for the sex sacrifice? Very similar. Let’s say the most awesome guy tries to get laid every night. If he succeed 2% of the time, that would mean he would have sex 7.3 times a year. (A recurring number that numerous more numerologists who I won’t begin to enumerate should ponder.) Now this is an interesting statistic, because on the one hand only 7.3 wet dees seems like a pretty dry year, but 7.3 different women is a little over half a calendar. This is where the most fundamental question for every man emerges. Would you rather have sex 182 times a year (based on an average of 3.5 spousal intercourses per week) with 1 woman, or 7.3 times with 7.3 women? I know my answer. I do.

                There’s no way to deny that a married man is 2% douchier than a single dude. He has to go home earlier, he has to go Home Depot, he has to help clean his home, he calls his house a home, he’s a bit of a homo. Okay honey, you’re right honey, right away honey, here’s that organic honey you like from the farmer’s market honey. This is why I will never understand the argument against same-sex marriage. Because aren’t all marriages, by nature, a little gay? There is nothing macho about getting married.

                But 2% is really a small price to pay. So what if 1 out of 50 people you meet you’re never allowed to hang out with again because your wife won’t let you? That leaves you 49 other jerks whose company you don’t really enjoy either. Who cares if for every 3 hours you’re watching a football game you have to devote 3 minutes and 10 seconds to your spouse. That’s just one call at half-time, some stupid errand during the second quarter, or a set of downs missed for that same argument as always. Does it really matter if 2% of your daily conversation is now devoted to talking about your cat? Not when she always does such cute things. Trust me men, 2% of our lives are definitely valueless. That’s why we die a little younger.

And you know what, here’s the true truth that no man will ever admit. If we’re willing to give up that 2% of radness for a relationship, our lives get 98% better. That’s why we all make the sacrifice eventually. That’s why we all give up one vein of our two balls. That’s definitely why I am. Because we are a better person than we would be without that someone else. Even if we do have 2% of a vagina. It sure beats just growing fatter.

Let everyone else think Bin Laden is dead; we Americans alone will know the truth. That he is alive and well, living in a cave in Afghanistan. Just where we suspected. We weren’t fooled for one minute. We’ll find him there soon and then we’ll kill him. We’ll shoot him right in his face. Whether he’s armed or not. We don’t even care if he’s got legs. We’re gonna get that bastard.

And then we’re going to let the world know the truth. That we killed Osama bin Laden. Then there will be pictures and a bloody corpse to prove it. Not just some pictures and a bloody corpse that isn’t available on Google Images. No, these pictures will be posted to every blog and Facebook page the Internet over. There will be banner ads with Osama’s bullet-ridden skull. There will be wallpapers of Bin Laden’s blood-crusted beard. There will be Istock images of Osama Bin Laden’s mutilated carcass without any watermarks. What a liberating day that will be.

We can pix-message our friends with Osama’s dead body: here’s what will happen if you’re late for happy hour! We can Photoshop in a cat sniffing his decaying corpse: Kitteh bin Lookin’ for wet fwood all day! We can even have a caption contest: If I knew I was going to have company, I would have shaved. We, the people, deserve to see these pictures! So, we can at least kill a couple of minutes.

Why would we believe for one second that Osama Bin Laden is actually dead? So we have less to fear? No way! That’s not how this country works. We want as much to fear as possible. Fear itself is not nearly enough. We need fear and a couple of his boogey-men friends. We like our fear constant, not with finite ends. No, I’m afraid the truth is that Osama Bin Laden is most certainly still alive. Sorry everybody. Please return to soiling your pants.

It’s ironic that were fighting a war on terror, when terror is really our greatest ally. Has anything helped us accomplish more in this country then being really super scared? Fear has always driven our success. Fear that the British would come back over, fear that somebody else would make something first, fear that some place else would conquer the world, fear that someone else would make more money. We shouldn’t be fighting with Terror; we should be thanking him for all that he’s done. We should have Terror over for a State Dinner.

Which is why I believe Osama bin Laden is getting dialysis treatment as we speak. Because it is comforting to me. It is reassuring. The world is not a safe place. Far from it. It is a horrible, awful, scary, frightening place and we should always remember to view it as such. Especially when there are people like bin Laden roaming rampant, or renting luxury space. Ah, I feel so much better already.

Just what this Internet needs. Another thing on this birther thing. Make sure you forward it to your friends. So they too can have another thing on this birther thing. Tell your family. There’s another thing on this birther thing. Please share on Facebook this other thing on this birther thing.

Because this birther thing has legs. With big birthing hips. This birther thing won’t go away.  It is the Big Birtha of smoking guns. This birther thing has become downright painful. Like being the birther of a big baby. Or the birther of Mr. Big. All four members of the rock group that gave us “To Be With You” all at once. Now tell me that wouldn’t hurt.

Oh no, my worst fears are coming true. This is now something about this birther thing this week. How could I have done this? I’m so sorry. I truly wish I were writing about absolutely anything else than this birther thing this week. But I’m not. I’m most certainly talking about this birther thing this week. Just like every other asshole.

I’m so scared this birther thing will just go away. What will we have to talk about then? We’re going to need a whole new thing. And I hate thinking of new things. I much prefer talking about the same old thing over and over again. New things are so scary. Especially when they have new names.

So I still think there’s some juice we can squeeze out of this birther thing. Some after-birther fluids, if you will. This birther thing is just at the beginning. I’ve got more questions now then ever. As soon as I think of them. I will ask them publicly. Then hopefully someone will pick that up. Then maybe someone will report on that. Then maybe those two people will argue about it. Then someone might post that. Then someone can comment on that. Then someone could ask more questions. Then we can demand more answers. Then someone can write about that. Then I can read it. Then I’ll have something to write about. Oh thank God for this birther thing.

Good rebounder. Kind of guy you want under the glass. But not really running the point.

Oh, not that Gary Johnson? The one who got murdered in Texas for murdering two guys?

http://bit.ly/dKsTIw

This Gary Johnson? This guy murdered two guys. Now he’s running for president?

Oh this Gary Johnson.

http://bit.ly/guJJdX

He wears a blue shirt. Much more colorful. He looks outward. He is confident in his Gary Johnsoness. He is the one true Gary Johnson.

Oh, I’m sorry, it’s this Gary Johnson?

 http://bit.ly/eMhw73

My bad, it’s actually this guy who is Gary Johnson. He’s some sort of soccer manager. Wait, he’s running for president? Was he even born in this country? Where does this Gary Johnson guy get off? Who does he think he is? Running for president.

No, no, it is this Gary Johnson. You must watch this.

http://bit.ly/ewG1IL

Look at those two stoners. She’s about to whip out his bong and suck on it. And he nominated his presidency on four twenty-one. The day the paranoia subsides and you feel okay about things. Go Gary Johnson. My new favorite politician, Gary Johnson.

http://bit.ly/fdofw9

Wait what, he’s a Heating & AC company in Jersey. You’ve got to be kidding me. Some guys from down the shore are running for president. As a collective? Can you do that? They also fix heaters and air conditioning units?

Jesus, I’m voting for those guys.

Oh, it’s not dinner-roll abbed men in tool-belts? Who is the real Gary Johnson then? Let’s go to Wikipedia! “He is well-known for his low-tax libertarian views and his regular participation in triathlons.” Triathalons, are you shitting me? Call me when he’s a Tough Mudder. Or can spell.  Then we’ll see how legit this Gary Johnson is. And his libertarian views. Or, we can just check his Facebook.

http://on.fb.me/gTaaNc

Oh, I didn’t know this guy was a joke.  My mom’s got more members than him.

So, goodbye Gary Johnson. It was nice knowing you. But I’m not wasting any more words on a candidacy that doesn’t even make cnn.com by 2:53. People like it short. Unless of course you get the weed thing going. Then give me a call. We’ll get you on the show.

Is that blasphemy? To not bitch and moan? To not shout and scream? To not demand more, more, and a whole lot more? Who would want to read about that? Either you’ve got an opinion of how things could be better, or you’ve got no opinion at all. No one wants to hear someone say, eh, stuff’s not so bad. That’s not what pundits get paid the big bucks for.

There’s always something wrong! That is fundamental to our political structure. Things are never just okay. There’s always something worth fighting for. If there wasn’t, then what would we have to fight about? And if we weren’t fighting, well, what fun would that be? We’d all just be getting along.

It is un-American to say things are all right. There’s always room for anger. It’s what America runs on. Even moreso than Dunkin. We got to be angry, or else we’ll just wind up apathetic. We’ll lose our edge. And then just end up as dull as the rest of the world. We must always be pissed. It is our civic duty.

But, I’m just not that mad these days. I feel like the country’s found a comfortable medium, and it’s hard to get that riled up when you’ve got the perfect amount of pillows. Obama has made us a pretty cozy bed. You want to cut the budget. Sure. We’ll cut 39 billion dollars, happy? And we won’t even cut anything that anyone cares about. Does anyone know what actually got cut? Exactly.

Libya. We got in, saved some lives, got out. The deficit. Boom, here’s the plan. 4 trillion dollars, take it or leave it. The economy. That puppy’s growing. I got friends buying houses. You don’t even hear that much complaining about Afghanistan anymore. And that whole thing’s a disaster. Our president is killing it right now, and everybody’s so busy yelling no one’s even taking the time to notice.

I know, I know. There is nothing lamer than supporting the president, or our country for that matter. Why don’t you just put a bald eagle on your back window and take your date to the Dairy Queen? We all know patriotism is the realm of the right, and cynicism the law of the left. How dare you defy your brethren. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, not making snarky jokes and demanding unequivocal perfection. What are you trying to prove?

Goddammit, you’re right. I’m just being lazy. I’m sure if I tried harder I could find something to be upset about. I just need to consume more media. There’s so much crap wrong with this country. It makes me angry just thinking about it. In fact, it makes me want to just scream. Whew, it feels good to be a true patriot again.

We’d been away for a while. Some new places. We really saw the world. Strange and wild things. It got dark. But it was awesome. We made some friends. Got to know some really interesting people. But I was ready to leave.

I’m ready to yell at one another again. To understand what you’re saying. And then completely disagree. You racist. How could you even say that? I’m ready to ratchet up the rhetoric here at home. Where we’re all comfortable.

It feels good to be focusing on us. Our relationship with one another. How you doing Republicans? You really that angry? Democrats, how unhappy are you? Good, then let’s do it missionary style tonight. That was wonderful.

I’m sorry. I’ve got a thing for domestic policy. There’s something sexy about it. It’s the best reality TV. Foreign policy is like the History Channel; domestic policy is Bravo brought to you by Fox. Housewives, steroids, and swaps are our issues of the day. I’ll watch that.

Here are my views on domestic policy. I recently switched from whole to 2% milk. No big deal. I wouldn’t say I prefer brown rice to white rice, but it ain’t bad. And sure I’ll stay in Thursday night, but I’m definitely the playing The Drinking Game Show on Saturday.

It ain’t that bad back here in the States. I don’t know if anyone noticed, but were pretty comfortable, aren’t we? Nothing’s really going to hell. It’s not Camelot, but it’s not the Dark Aughts either. I feel like things have been going pretty good lately. We’re in perfect position to yell at each other some more.

So I hope we do. Stay here for a bit. Focus on those effing assholes across the aisle. You know, the ones with the suits. It feels good to be back to feeling angry. Instead of concerned, or nervous, full of pity, and a little bit scared about how to get around on public transportation. Yes, it feels good to be back home again in America. And be a dick.

I’ll tell you this though, if there is not pro football next season when there’s supposed to be pro football, I’m gonna be pissed. That’s right, this guy will be upset. I don’t know about everyone else, but this nobody right here is going to be mad as hell. I’ll probably even curse once or twice. And punch a pillow.

I might even swear that I’ll never watch pro football again. I might take my Revis jersey, ball it up, and stick it in the back of the drawer. I might try and get real into baseball. I might say you know what, screw football, what’s so great about it anyway? It’s just another sport. There are plenty of others.

I could even cancel my NFL Sunday Ticket. I could rip down my Fat-Heads and close up my man-cave. I could delete all my fantasy teams and tear up my season tickets. I could dump out my body-paint and deflate my inflatable chair with the cup-holders. What’s to stop me?

Don’t expect me to go to my favorite bar to watch the game. No way, no how. I’m not buying a new flat-screen TV. What for? Forget that fresh six-pack and salsa, I’ll stick to what’s already in the fridge. There is no way I’m getting that grill for the parking lot. I don’t even want a new ball to toss around.

See, I’m not powerless at all. In no way am I held to the whims of billionaires, millionaires, and their hundredthousandaires reps. If they don’t want to play football there are so many better ways for me to spend my time. Like with friends, not watching football. Or with family, not watching football. Or with complete strangers, not watching football.

I honestly don’t care if football comes back at all. I’ll have already moved on. To bigger and better things. Like listening to new music. And seeing movies in the theatres. And having new experiences and adventures and seeing amazing sights and doing different things with my weekends. I’ll finally be able to truly live.

You can take your football and shove it. Laces up and all the way to the valve. You’ve kept me captive in your violent spell for far too long. It’s time for me to go out there and see the world. See what I’ve been missing. Nature and stuff. It’s time for me to re-connect with the earth.

Screw you football. I loved you. I gave you my all. I gave you the best Sundays of my life. I gave you my heart, my soul, and my gut. And now you’re just going to turn your back on me. Now you’re just going to walk away. Lock me out and throw away the key. Like none of what we had ever mattered. Like you don’t even care. Like you never loved me back.

Whatever, football. I don’t need you. I don’t need anybody. I’ve still got my mind and body in tact. I can still do whatever I want. I’m not dead. No way. I’m just starting to live. I’m going to set new goals. And I’m going to go after them harder than I ever have before. You’ll be sorry, football. Oh, you’ll be sorry.

Please, football, don’t go. Don’t do this to me. Please. I love you. I’m sorry about what I said. You’re the only thing in this world I truly love. Please, football, please come back. I promise it will be different this time. I’ll buy anything you want me to. I’ll watch the pre-season. Please football, don’t do this to me. I miss you so much.

Fine, football. I get it. You got to do what’s best for you. But I’ll always have a special place for you. I’ll always remember you fondly. I’ll always think about the good times we shared. When I flip back the channel to whatever new sport has replaced you.

Just so you know, the History section on the Tennessee Volunteers basketball Wikipedia page is the same length as the section called “Bruce Pearl Turnaround.” That’s right, I quoted Wikipedia. And if you trust those who use the Internet, this means Bruce Pearl was more important than 100 years of Tennessee basketball. In five seasons. He should be hung from the rafters, not chased out of town. His jersey, that is. Alongside Ernie Grunfield.

Do you know who really fired him? This guy called Jimmy Cheeks. Jimmy Cheeks the Knoxville Chancellor. Now that sounds like a guy I’d buy illegal booze from. Now that’s a name with some umph. He sounds like he belongs on Showtime. This guy Jimmy Cheeks, he didn’t want Bruce Pearl around no more. So, bye-bye Brucie.

This is the Tennessee Men’s basketball program were talking about here. For the first time ever. Why else would we ever have talked about the Tennessee Men’s basketball program before? Because they sucked? That would be about it. And Bernard King. But besides that, Tennessee men’s basketball was irrelevant.

Until Bruce Pearl. And isn’t relevance a coach’s greatest attribute? And the only thing any fan truly wants. I’d say so. It means the team is playing well, and younger players know. It means your team matters. Reputation is half the game. The first half. And then the players decide. In recruiting and rebounding.

Sometimes you just gotta let the dust settle. It was a cook-out for Christ’s sake. Not literally, of course. But, is that not the most wholesome rules infraction in the history of organized athletics? A barbecue. He was serving burgers and cole slaw. He’s gotta get fired for that?

Now of course he lied about it. But so what? The NCAA was gonna have to get off his ass at some point soon. Just so he could sit down. You got him NCAA. But enough is enough. Enough was enough, now enough is enough. Let the guy be. He cried on TV. I saw him do it. With Seth Davis. I think they were holding hands.

How is Magic Johnson the spokesman for Dove soap? The first association I have with Magic Johnson is never, ever, clean. C’mon Dove. Couldn’t you get Bill Lambeer? Or Barry Bonds? Or Pig Pen? Or, literally anyone else. I love Magic. I just don’t want him selling me soap.

So, goodbye Bruce Pearl. Until we meet again. Probably some time soon when you immediately take another school to the tournament. And goodbye Tennessee Men’s basketball program. It’s been great knowing you these past five years. I don’t think I’ll be hearing from you again for a while. And I definitely won’t stay in touch.