Hail to the… *psst, what’s their name again?*

I really do not want to keep writing sports-centric pieces, but the inclination for cracking wise got the better of me and I decided to scribble a little nonsense about the NFL team in the sights of the PC crowd: the Washington Redskins.

The owner, Dan Snyder, a not-so-great owner by most accounts, has vowed never to change the name even though many assert that the name is a racial insult perpetrated by the original owner, renowned racist George Preston Marshall. Slowly but surely, the drive to change the name among the general public has grown, but this is the world of high-finance sports and there will have to be a lot more voting with the wallet before any changes are seriously considered.

I have always maintained that if I was the owner of the team, I would change the name, but I would keep the basic design centered around the sweet spear insignia the Redskins wore from 1965-69.

photo by Walter Iooss, Jr., Sports Illustrated

photo by Walter Iooss, Jr., Sports Illustrated

However, the name would have to be good — excellent, in fact — and I would not call the team the “Washington Warriors”. Yuck!

My oh-so-very-clever idea for the team name would be to call them the “Washington Engines”, playing to the PC crowd by changing the name, explaining that the name has to do with Washington being the “engine” that drives the country or some other malarkey, while also playing to the racist crowd who didn’t find anything wrong with the native denigration. Racist, you ask? Just keep saying the name. Phonetics, thou art a harsh weapon of wit!

Now that I think about it, since “Engines” would be more appropriate for a city like Detroit, the franchises could switch locations and the Lions would move to Washington, except the spelling of their name would be changed to “Lyin’s” to make it a better fit to match the character of their new hometown.

Yeah, so I won’t be buying the team anytime soon.

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Waddle ‘Round the Wadi

Here is a little ditty I wrote as a faux Gilbert and Sullivan show tune. If the metre seems a bit strained, it’s because the music’s changing time signatures are tortuous! It works, believe me. So here is my passionate Persian poem:

Noon in the market square,
I saw you standing in red.
Haggling for cooking wares,
A burqa over your head.

I could only see your eyes,
In your Islamic disguise,
But I have to ask this question of you:

Oh, won’t you waddle ’round the wadi with me?
We’ll only go as far as that distant tree.
The riverbed’s mostly dry,
But I’m a refreshing guy,
And you’re the most attractive mound of cloth I see.

Behind your veil your passion’s burning secretly.
And you don’t have to scream for security.
Cause dear, I mean you no harm,
And you know that I’m not armed.
So won’t you waddle ’round the wadi with me?

I feel the warmth from your smile shining unseen,
And I thrill at your hair’s lovely hidden sheen.
When you avert your eyes what could that mean?
Beneath the reams of cloth you wear,
does your heart beat for me there?

I’ll never see your face,
Or feel the silk of your skin.
I’ll never give you chase,
Can’t tell which burqa you’re in.

But like a Persian star,
I’ll worship you from afar.
Oh won’t you waddle ’round the wadi,
waddle ’round the wadi,
won’t you waddle ’round the wadi with me?

©2013 James Montgomery

April Fool’s Day – A Pictorial Puzzle

Call it associative cognizance or the sophomoric tittering of a post-adolescence adolescent, but on this Day of Great Occasion, I have a puzzle: what does one picture have to do with the other?  As much as I like Melissa Harris-Perry, I have a long-held contempt for the chryon monkeys at MSNBC.  I don’t know what’s worse: them or the closed caption people at FOX.

Nevertheless, see if you can make the connection between these two pictures and why someone at MSNBC needs to be stooge-slapped.

How To Be An Ally

How To Be An Ally

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Trebek, I’ll take How to be Anally for $400.

So remember kids, just because you can make words fit a compositional layout a certain way, doesn’t mean you should make them fit together that way!

This Is Why I Need To Write For J. Peterman

I once found myself in the uncharted jungles of Indonesia surrounded by members of the Papui Gakau tribe. They were known as savages and cannibals, but I knew they had a taste for a certain carbonated beverage. When they found I had in my possession a case of the sugary elixir, we became fast friends and they supplied me with the wonderful sunbonnets they wove from the palm leaves above our very heads and now made available to you. And for that, I say, “Thank you, Dr. Pepper.”