Seed: D Motion In The Ocean
Saddam Hussein Abd al-Majid al-Tikriti has left the building. Boise State doggedness triumphed over Sooner Magic. Britney Spears, as it turns out, is not just a disgusting person. She’s a disgusting person wearing no panties. But perhaps the most surprising revelation of the year was that Pluto will no longer be given planetary status. Ouch! That’s gotta hoit!
Life is strange. For twenty-five years, seven months, four days, and three seconds of your life, Pluto is a planet. You bend down to eat a Cheeto off the floor, and zap! Pluto is now a “dwarf planet,” or the galactic equivalent of Simon Birch. Now Neptune can resume the role it has always desired, the Biff to Pluto’s McFly. I can just imagine it now. Pluto, with its’ horn-rimmed glasses and ducktail, getting pushed violently against a solar locker, the sound of “Hey shorty, give me your milk money or I’ll knock yer block off!” echoing in his dwarfian mind. Perhaps I’ve gone too far with my bully metaphor. I blame myself really.
So this got me to thinking, or rather it got St. Fiacre to thinking. What else should suffer the same tragic fate as Pluto? Well for starters, let’s rid ourselves of the most useless New Kid on the Block. No, not Joey McIntyre. No, not Jonathan Knight. That’s right. Danny Wood. Ughhhh. At least Leif Garrett had a few vocal chops. This guy couldn’t sing if his life depended on it. Actually, his life did depend on it which is why the last time you heard the name Danny Wood, you were wearing a Hypercolor t-shirt, triangle patterned jams, and turquoise Converse. Quite frankly, he took away from the group’s image of innocence and teenage grace. He was a thug, a Bostonian thug no less. The worst kind.
For my second demotion, I’d like to call the Greek goddess Demeter to the stand. Do we really need a goddess of Agriculture when we have John Cougar Mellencamp and Neil Young championing the rights of the modern day farmer? That whole jazz about her being brokenhearted causing the crops to wither and a perpetual winter is just plain B-O-R-I-N-G. Give me the vengeful and sexy Hera, or at least Hermes, the messenger god. I mean that guy was useful. He delivered stuff.
And last but certainly not least, can we get rid of the Mountain Time Zone? It’s still throwing me off. I can’t stand having to account for it when traveling. I realize this may seem grossly inconsequential to the average person, but it’s just so damn tiny population wise. I propose we split it down the middle, with the left half going to the tree-hugging, closet-shunning, no-panty-wearing Pacific Time Zone, and the right half going to the gun-toting, bible-thumping, double-panty-wearing Central Time Zone. I’ve never admitted this before, but Mountain people scare me. Food gets caught in their beard when they eat and they smell like pencils. Either they release their clutches on their own time zone and join the rest of us, or I’ll sick a grizzly bear on them.
So what say you, Four Ways’ contributors? What or who else would you like to see demoted into the realm of obscurity? Just don’t Pluto me. I don’t want to end up writing on the Tecumseh Horseshoeing blog.
posted by A Contemporary Bunkshooter @ 8:03 PM,
2 Comments:
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At Friday, January 12, 2007 12:54:00 PM,
said...
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This is hilarious, brilliant! Loved the Demeter part!
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At Thursday, January 18, 2007 3:32:00 PM,
Adjective Queen said...
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I loved your comparison of Simon Birch to Pluto. So funny!
