Who Will Cheer Busch?

Good evening, citizens of the Universe. And a special wave of congratulations to our new NexTel Cup Champion, Tony Stewart, and the whole Home Depot/Joe Gibbs Racing Team. With the end of the Cup season, it in effect brings to a close the entire racing calender. Between now and February a lot of changes will be taking place among our Cup heroes. There will be a lot of ride switching, new faces, and new teams to get used to come Daytona Speed Weeks. And this brings me to my little commentary for this evening.

With the out-flux of veterans from established rides, replaced by the so-called "Young Guns" of the sport, it makes me wonder where these tried and true fans are to turn their loyalties. I ask, as Rusty Wallace steps away, are his fans expected to change their alligence to his replacement, Kurt Busch? Or to Penske teammate, Ryan Newman? Do Miller Beer fans have to cheer for Busch, even though they do not like his "Do you know who I am?" attitude? I do not see it, not with Rusty's fans.

With Dale, Sr.'s death the vast majority of his fanbase went over to his son, Junior, although Kevin Harvick's dramatic first win at Atlanta earned him a fare share of that base. But are Mark Martin's fans expected to remain loyal to Jack Rousch and root on his Rouschketeers, regardless of who they are? Are Bill Elliott's fans now Kasey Kahne fans? Are Terry Labonte's fans Kyle Busch's? I think not.

Over the past six seasons, fifteen currently active drivers have come into the series, into top-line equipment. That's over a third of the field, and does not include the come and go dozen or so. Two of this group, Rouschketeers Matt Kenseth and the aforementioned Kurt Busch, have won championships, though not much fan support. Of the remaining "Young Guns", only Dale, Jr., Kevin Harvick, Jimmie Johnson, and Ryan Newman have any fanbase, and all four have larger groups than either past champion. This leaves us with Greg Biffle, Kyle Busch, Carl Edwards, Brian Vickers, Kasey Kahne, and Jamie McMurray. All race winners, but who are their fans? The remaining three, Casey Mears, Scott Riggs, and Scott Wimmer, have yet to win a race, and have no fanbase to speak of.

To further dilute the entire Cup fanbase, a group of seven more "Young Guns" will be vying for our fanship next season. Will Martin Truex, Jr., Clint Bowyer, J.J.Yeley, Denny Hamlin, Reed Sorenson, Paul Menard, or David Stremme become our next Jeff Gordon, Dale Jarrett, Bobby Labonte, Kenny Schrader, Jeff Burton, or Ricky Rudd. Only time will tell. Oh, and of course, wins! Just ask Casey Atwood, Jason Leffler, or Ricky Craven where all their fans have gone.

It would not surprize me to find that NASCAR's Cup fanbase has peaked. It will not be long before we begin to see a decline in the entire fanbase. In fact, I believe with the retirements of Wallace, Rudd, Martin, Schrader, Jarrett, and Terry Labonte over the next couple of years, the majority of these driver's fans may not find another driver worth their loyalty. I personnally know of one Jarrett fan who does not plan to look. On the other hand, I have been a Geoff Bodine fan, and then a Schrader fan, and now I am a Bobby Labonte fan, though I find myself rooting on Elliott Sadler more and more. I will continue being a fan of the sport, and its drivers. Will you?

Think about it, my fellows. Until the morrow, Good Night.

T.O. and the Millionaire Boys Club

As I sit in my great reclining golden throne here at the Center of the Universe, I enjoy watching all the frivolity that makes headlines on the great wide-screen of life. With all the problems throughout the universe; the wars, the famines, the brutallity, the natural disasters; what in the Big Guy's name are we doing giving any play to a whiny little BOY who wants more money. Yes, my fellows, that whiny little BOY goes by the letters T.O.

I call him and his like BOYS, and by that I mean no disrespect, I do mean it as a place in the greater view of things. These athletes play GAMES. BOYS play GAMES. These GAMES are nothing more than entertainment for the masses, masses that work hard to earn a living, to pay the bills, to feed a family, to clothe and shelter them, to give the children a handful of new toys for Christmas, Kwanzaa, Hanukka, and Birthdays, to take the family to a major sporting event to root for their heroes playing their GAMES. And these BOYS makes millions of dollars each year, sometimes playing as few as sixteen GAMES for those dollars. Their millions come in part from the very wallets of the masses who work themselves to exhaustion each and every week, 40, 50, 60 hours put in to make $35,000 a year. A pauper's pay compared to these BOYS.

For the most part, these gifted BOYS, and GIRLS, go about their lives of fame and fortune quietly. This quiet majority has a keen knowledge of their place in this universe. They remain humble to their fans, knowing that it is our adoration of their skills that puts that money into their accounts. It is only when that vocal, arrogant minority of BOYS open their whiny mouths do we, the masses, find out just how big of BABIES they can be. When one of these attention needy PLAYers feels that living on $9.5 million is just not acceptable to him any more, and he feels that $19 million is more to his liking, well, those of us making $13 an hour could not care less. And yet, they get in front of the cameras and nearly come to tears when they plead their case to us. They whine about how they are being treated poorly by their employers, with whom they made a contract with, mind you. How can they possibly live the life of a super star at only $9.5 million dollars a year? I weep for them all. Yeah, right I do.

It is too bad these arrogant PISS-ANTS can't come down to the level of the fans in the stands. They have absolutley no idea how to live paycheck to paycheck, when that paycheck it only $750 over two weeks. They all would crap themselves into a wrything, spit-flying, curled-up mass on the floor of their million-dollar homes if they got paid a miniscule $750 to PLAY their GAMES. The real world, with real problems and fears, it is completely outside of their ability to grasp, reguardless of their skills. Take away their Bentley's and Mercedes' and BMW's, hand them a bus pass, and see how fast they find themselves crying for their equally-arrogant sports agents/parasites to come hold their hands and take them home to mommy.

It is the way of the universe that all of these BOYS will eventually loose their abilities, their fame, and probably their fortunes. Ten years from now nobody will give a second thought to T.O., Allan, Barry, and their like. They will have begun to fade away into the stat-books of their lives, little more than a number for trival-pursuitists. We will have a whole new crop of BOYS to root for while playing their GAMES. And, as today, their will be that minority of PLAYers who do not remember the idiots who came before them, and will try to pass their tales of under-paid woe onto us via the ever-listening media, through the get-rich-quick-on-the-backs-of-others parasitical agents.

I leave you with that, my minions. Think it over the next time one of these BOYS shows his face on the boob-tube. Fare Well and Take Care.

Aeromaticus Most-phoulus

Sitting here at the Center of the Universe I see a lot of things, here a lot of things, and experience a lot of things. One of these experiences is often endured in the workplace. But before I begin, I must explain. It is true that in my appointed position as Center of the Universe I must also hold down a side job to bring income into my household to support myself and my family. Being the Center of the Universe does not pay very well. In fact, for those of you out there thinking about laying claim to this title, it pays NOTHING! Tell that sob story to the bill collectors and see how fast you get evicted.

Now, to continue. I must work and as a result I must interact with my minions, albiet on a small scale. I like these fellow mortals, and they seem to tolerate me somewhat. Unfortunately, there is an aspect with working with humanity that can, at times, become somewhat distracting. That annoyance is flatulance. Correct, my minions, this blog is about farting in the workplace.

Hey, everyone does it, we all know this as fact. It is to what degree of stench that is presented that really gets to us. Those of us that work in the middle-class laugh about it when it happens, even telling stories about some of our "greatest releases". But I wonder, is this same jovial responce found it the chambers of priests? How about on the floor of the Senate or Parliment? And would an ill-timed effervescent emition set an undescided jury into a hasty conviction? Or aquittal? Makes you wonder about those O.J. and Blake juries, eh?

A rather nocuous gaseous release on an assembly line can slow down, and even hold up production. People will drop whatever it is they are doing to vacate a contaminated area, for as long as it takes for the offending fumes to clear. This I have witnessed first hand. And believe me, The Center of The Universe, when I tell you that there is nothing worse in life than walking unaware into an invisible cloud of death-smell. And I have experienced some of the worse aromas the human body can vent and still remain alive.

Smelling the stench released by others happens to all of us, everywhere in our daily lives. It happens to you while standing in line at the bank, or sitting in the confession box on Sunday morning. It arrives while at dinner with your new boy/girl friend's parents, as well as during a job interview. Let us all face the fact that if we suddenly find our noses assaulted with the fragrance of fresh road-kill skunk, we immediately, if not vocally, pin the stench on the nearest person. Whoever that person may be. The President, our Rabbi, the foreman, the bank teller, your kid's teacher, the waiter. It doe not matter. We always point our offened noises to the nearest and judge them guilty. Unless someone happens to be giggling as they quickly move out of the area, that is!

The great question here is a simple one. What can we possibly do about farts in the workplace? The answer is a simple one. Nothing! Absolutely nothing. God created us in His image, so the Bible says, and that includes digestive gaseous emitions, evidently. So, by venting we are doing nothing less than acting within God's wishes. And if our collective emissions are gathering above us to eat away at the ozone layer, so be it. It's not like we have a choice in this matter. Even tree-hugging enviro-Nazi's fart!

So, my minions, the next time you walk through your office, down your assembly line, or elseware amongst us remember this: Sometimes the Smeller's the Feller! Good afternoon, and good night!

Jihadiots!

From my position here at the Center of the Universe, I pretty much can see all and know all. At least all that is important to me, and thus the only things of any real significance. One of these items is in reality one of the most important in this day and age, and that is the current war in the Middle East.
Now, from where I sit at the Center of the Universe, it is rather plain to me that these Jihad Idiots, or Jihadiots, are being led to their own demise by cowerdly cockroaches by the names of Bin Laden and Zarkowi. These cockroaches hide in filthy holes, sucking the life from their followers by convincing them to kill innocent men, women, and children by blowing themselves up. All the while, they scamper away to hide again and again in their little holes, to praise these "martyrs" for their "sacrifices". And these mindless fools line up to do their bidding, all in the name of Allah and Muhammed, with the promise of eternal paradise and many dozens of beautiful virgins at their beck and call. Last time I checked, a true warrior of God must be slain in battle by worthy opponents to acheive these "gifts". I do not see how killing Muslim women and children shopping for food and clothing by a suicide bomber as worthy of God's gifts.
In 1991, the liberation of Kuwait by the Coalition Forces was followed by a short, six-month occupation. During this time the forces of Iraq, as well as those of the terrorists, were quiet. This led to a rapid pull-out of the Coalition Forces. It is really too bad the current band of cockroaches did not learn from this. If they had went to ground for a year or two, the current Coalition would have pulled out a long time ago, leaving Iraq to them to fight over. As it is, they try to chest-thump every day, all the while cowaring in their roach-holes, affraid to stand up and fight like true Warriors of Allah, as Saladin and his followers did years ago against the Crusaders. No, these modern-day "warriors" are little more than cockroaches, and not worthy of the title.
To continue, I wish to point out the continued ignorance of these bugs. In England, with the population slowly but surely turning against the effort to democratize Iraq, the Jihadiots decide to blow up public transport. Good job, Jihadiots! Turned the tide back against you, did it not? And now you take your "Holy War" to the very doorstep of the leading Anti-American nation on your side. Setting Paris and its environs afire will surely gain you all the respect and adoration you filthy cockroaches deserve from the world around you. Oh, and lest we forget this past week's bombings in one of your own nations. How many true Muslims did your mindless bugs kill, all in the name of Allah and Jihad? Good move, Cockroaches!
In closing, I would like to say that this world is truly big enough for all of us to live, prosper, and get along. What we need is a little respect, from all quarters. To give respect is the first step in gaining respect. Remember that as you travel through your lives, in My Universe.

Fare Well, my Minions!

Welcome to the Center of the Universe

Good evening, my minions! Those of you who have never been graced by my presence, nor had my acknowledgement of your existance, I now introduce myself: I am the Center of the Universe. Plain and simple. You can disagree all you want, but by that simple act, you have validated my position. I did not appoint myself to this estemed place, nor was I actively recruited by the All-Mighty, or His Colleagues. It just sort of happened one afternoon at work. I came to the realization that this entire Universe revolved around Me, and no one else. Talk about an epiphany! It was rather startling at the time, but now I have grown to accept this new place I find myself in Life, the Universe, and, well, Everything!

Now, I do not want you out there to get the wrong impression of me, nor my claim to being The Center of the Universe. I am not at all conceited, nor do I lay claim to being any God, or god, in any way, shape, or form. Quite the contrary. I am but a meer mortal, one of flesh, blood, mind, and soul. I have just been given an assignment, a place where the entirity of you have to revolve your own lives around. Unfortunatly, until I have acknowledged your individual existances, you do not exist! Not in My Universe at any rate.

So, until we meet in one place or another, or in one form or another, I bid you all good fortunes and good lives.