Dear Tango:
A few years
ago I found myself positioned in front of the television set standing
tall. This was very out of the ordinary due to the fact I do not like
television. However, I was viewing the Super Bowl game so this was the
exception to my rule. Everything was going according to plan for a while,
or so I felt. I became very disgruntled with the football personality
during the third. So pissed in fact, I just about threw the second half
of my Anchor Steam, bottle and all, through the face of the television!
I found myself in a rage over the comment John Madden made when the
Blue Angels flew overhead during a play in the third quarter of the
game.
Madden continued to talk trash about the Blue Angels flying overhead throughout the rest of the game. One comment Madden said over and over again was how he wondered why anyone would want to be a Blue Angel "What...does some kid just wake up one day and say, 'I want to be a fighter pilot?'"
Now I'm no flyboy, however, each part of the military has its importance in the overall outcome... Victory! What can be done if this situation ever arises again?
-
Fat Man Hater
- San Fran, CA
Dear FMH -
First of all, understand that I'll be missing this years Superbowl due to obligations overseas. I'm writing this via laplink from Kandahar, so my input is going to be a bit tight. However, with the impending 2002 Superbowl between the Lambs and the Democratic Patriots, and the fact that everyone is going to have to suffer through this obese creature's diatribe throughout the presentation of this All-American affair, I'm sincerely sorry that I didn't have the geographical opportunity to take out the Fat Man myself, but I've been busy.
Here's my suggestion to contain the problem and then eliminate it: First, wear leather gloves with light cloth lining during all methods. Second, you need to get into DJ Gear (have a slew of CDs, turntables, speakers and shit with you - and dress in lots of Kenneth Cole garb) and walk your way into the big party going on outside of John Madden's "I'm Afraid To Fly" bus in New Orleans... play the part of the DJ that's been hired for the big affair. You need to find a time that the jolly fat bastard is happy to join the masses and whoop it up with the common folk. This is likely to be a few hours after he eats a live, featherless chicken slathered in butter... intelligence tells me he gets sleepy after the chicken-eating frenzy and he usually needs a nap, so I'm thinking 3pm is prime time.
He will undoubtedly be quaffing chocolate ice-cream milkshakes injected with cheap-ass Ten High Whiskey for dessert. Shortly after that, he should burst out of the bus, staggering around like a demented ox. The man is going to be a freaking maniac - just whipping that mass of blubber around, dancing with teenage girls and making a complete over-stuffed ass of himself.
Immediately put in "let the Bodies Hit the Floor" from Drowning Pool and crank it so loud that the people start to openly sob and beg for mercy... The Fat Man will try to fit in no matter what, so he'll start dancing with the die-hards in the crowd - and when Drowning Pool starts the second chorus of "Let the bodies hit the FLOOR!" you ram a 24-inch kettle fork into the fat man's ass and leave it there. It might cripple him for a moment, but do little damage due to the colossal cushioning. You're just setting the scene, so take it easy. Take a deep breath and try to drown out the fat man's screaming - it will be awful. Just dance away like nothing happened. Sorry, you have to leave the kettle fork behind. I hate leaving them too, but sometimes it's just part of the duty.
The 24" Kettle Fork. Accept no substitute.
Pat Summerall will come stumbling out of the fat man's bus, leaving animals
and small children completely stunned in his wake because of the abundant
vapor from his over-indulgence of Gordon's Grapefruit-flavored Gin. He'll
be seeking his drunken, chicken-eating buddy. Let him find the Fat Man
thrashing around on the concrete with a circle of teenage girls in shock
(hands slapped to their faces like that little bastard from that "Home
Alone" movie), and let him motion wildly to security for assistance.
This is when you unleash hell from your "DJ napsack," which
is an extremely heavy load, due to the 25 already-stuffed clips you have
for your Desert Eagle .50 which I'm sending to you. Don't worry - you
can pay it back.
The Desert Eagle
Just start shooting at random to scatter authority and citizens, but make sure that you blow John Madden's right leg off just above the knee cap. That fat chunk of chow may take two rounds to pop off - but not if you're a good shot.
I'm convinced that Pat Summerall
is nothing more than a very expensive animatronic that the Fox Network
has put together to keep Madden into the booze and broadcast booth. Summerall
died years ago, and this goddamn animatronic is costing the Fox people
too much money. Since he's not real, it won't be a big deal when you surgically
remove all of his limbs with some well-placed shots around the shoulder/hips
area. That should finally pull the plug on that show, eh? I don't want
you to feel like you have to throw another Anchor Steam at another TV
again, my brother.
I hope you can help me with my problem. For a while now, these 3 Neanderthals have been bullying me at school. This has been mostly about lunch money and comic books 'til now, but they are starting to demand sexual favors, and I'm really not up for that.
My problem arises from the school's policy of no weapons on the premises backed up by metal detectors and doughnut-heavy rent-a-cops, so your usual advice - waste the shitweasels - is proving tough to carry out.
I am a 90 lb weakling in Harry Potter specs and these guys are linebackers...... what can I do?
- Desperate in Dothan
- Dothan, AL
It's difficult to tell whether or not you're male or female, DOD. You make reference to lunch money and comic books, so I can only assume that you are indeed male - and a freakin' geek at that. However, the sexual favors thing throws me a bit... and makes me feel a little sorry for you. After all, getting your ass involuntarily rammed by 3 linebackers isn't fun for anyone... but then again, you're in Alabama - maybe you've been raised differently.
Dealing with a superpower is incredibly difficult, because you need to mind the fact that it will always be there, even if you try to quash part of its intent.
The survival percentage of controlled nuclear strikes is about 1%. My advice is to leave Dothan and head to Tampa, and let a GLT220 short-range nuclear missile do its duty. Granted, everything that you know about life in Dothan will be gone, but you will be free and clear of this pesky problem of assholes trying to pop your anus.
If you prefer a more controlled method (doubtful considering the assets that you provided (90-pound weakling)) then we're going to need something more precise in nature - and the hazards of metal detectors and hulky security guards certainly tip the scales into the favor of the "Neanderthals."
The .44 version of the bang stick.
Simple fix: pack a "bang stick" into your long cardboard cylinder of well-crafted drawings for your Drafting 101 class. Make sure it is built well enough to sneak past the big boys at the gate. Also make sure that they hand-inspect the thing, otherwise it'll all be over if they force you through the metal detectors with it. Tell them the tube is packed with sensitive film and drawings and it can't be x-rayed. Just make sure that the tube is long enough and packed full of enough tightly rolled paper so the bang stick isn't clanging around in there the whole time. The stick is fairly light and shouldn't raise any eyebrows when you try to push it through the gate patrol.
The bang stick (in case you didn't know) is what divers use to dissuade sharks from eating them. It is, essentially, a 12-gauge shotgun slug at the end of a 3-foot aluminum stick that fires on impact with anything it is shoved into. Jam this stick into the sternum of any willing party and kablooooie! Lights out.
Hit the head honcho of this anal-happy group of Neanderthals and everything in his chest will be barfed out of his back between his shoulder blades. No one will ever mess with you again after they see that spectacle.