TIE UP YOUR MOTHER-EFFING DOG.
I wasn’t even provoking the little beast. I was just running down the street. He attacked me out of sheer evilness.
Oh Internets. How do I love thee?
Let me count the ways.
Well, actually, let me restate: There’s no real need to do that.
You know I love you, right? Can you feel my eyes on you? Can you feel me look into your heart? Can you feel me in the pit of your stomach? Can you feel me in you? In your heart?
(and if you know where that creepy little speech comes from, then I heart you.)
But I digress…
Most of all, Internets, I love your randomness. Like that I was trying to think of some aging rock stars who tend to be shirtless and AREN’T Mick Jagger, Iggy Pop, and Keith Richards, and instead I found that post on some kind of Mormon blog site (where anyone Mormon is allowed to post their thoughts).
The mix of futility (as I think it’s highly unlikely that the shirtless old man would ever see this) and absurdity just makes my morning. And I also like that there’s accompanying photographic proof just in case – by some miracle – the old man should discover this post and want to protest the non-evilness of his little beast.
Don’t they have animal control in Salt Lake City?
Or is your only hope to post the details of your attack on a blog that no one is reading?
Bummer, if so.
In other news, my only real point here was (as I mentioned a couple days ago in a very short blog) that fate saw it necessary to soak my eyeballs with the images of a shirtless Mick Jagger, Iggy Pop, and Keith Richards…and all within less than 24 hours.
I don’t have to tell you: That’s a lot of 60-something man torso.
The first came as I was watching (once again) VH1′s Top 100 Hard Rock Songs of all time (although the higher numbers in the countdown this time) and then the next night, I was in a bar where they were airing the Rolling Stones 2005 Madison Square Garden show on TVs all over the place. I will admit that when I first walked in and saw Keith in all his decrepit glory, I felt a little saturated on the sight of older shirtless dudes.
However, once the camera panned to Mick – who at 66 years of age is said to run 12 km a day, kick-box, lift weights, cycle, and practice ballet and yoga – I started to come around a little.
And those images percolated and mixed in with the sight of really soggy YOUNG guys at the gym, and I had an epiphany.
That’s right. It came down to one revelation which I will happily share with you: Guns.
Your arms go to flab, and it’s all over.
It’s all about the guns, baby.
You can even have your stomach get a little…loose. And the lower half? Hell, that’s what Spanx are for.
Otherwise? I don’t care who you are. Even if you’re generally thin: If you lift your arms and it’s reminiscent of a Komodo dragon, you may as well be 150 years old.
So that’s it.
Not particularly deep or anything.
In fact, and in hindsight, perhaps I’m just rallying myself up to go do my own upper-body workout? I’ve given up on my dream of Linda Hamilton T2 arms, although I would say that as of late, I could give Michelle Obama a run for her money.
And that’s good enough for me.