Tuesday, January 06, 2004
Welcome to the Club Dept.
IT'S NOT MY custom to get sentimental or dwell on the past, but today marks the 10th anniversary of skating sweetheart Nancy Kerrigan's knee-clubbing by rival Tonya Harding's goons.
In honor of this momentous day in history (and because I lack the ambition to execute the slightly more ambitious post I'd intended to write), here is a list of people whom I similarly would like to see clubbed in the knee with some sort of blunt object and the reason why I'd like to see it.
--B2K: I don't even know who you are, and you're breaking up? Your very existence makes me feel guilty about my relative ignorance of popular black culture, and I'm still wracked about the Kwanzaa jokes I made two weeks ago. I was raised Catholic and still carrying so much guilt around I cry every time I get an erection. (Of course all of this is dependent upon the assumption that at least a couple of the members of B2K are black.)
--That guy who was married to Britney Spears for approximately twelve minutes: Your name is Jason Alexander and I had to endure endless lame jokes in endless infuriating permutations which inevitably arrived at a punchline wherein Britney Spears married George Costanza. I'm still shitting myself from the hilarity, please call the bedpan police.
--Jerry Seinfeld: I just typed "George Costanza" and I can't think of Seinfeld without wondering why you, a guy who makes roughly $200 million a year, can't get a haircut that looks as if it wasn't done by a homeless guy masturbating on his shoes.
--That woman in Ohio who claimed she lost a winning lottery ticket worth $162 million: I'm feeling bad about my intelligence because I fell for your impenetrable ruse.
--Martha Washington: You fucking slut.
--Estéban, New Age musician and late-night infomercial guitar hawker: It was cruel of you to steal Johnny Cash's wardrobe, Don Dokken's hat, and Yanni's musical fire. Please return all three right now or the clubbing will commence presently.
--Jennifer Connelly: What's the use? You'd probably just find a way to turn that clubbing-induced limp into yet another way to bedevil me with those green eyes.
--Nancy Kerrigan: You inspired this stupid post, and you whined through the whole clubbing affair like a collicky, mongoloid baby. If you'd taken your medicine like a champion, perhaps you wouldn't be polishing that silver medal until the end of your days.
--Graydon Carter, editor of Vanity Fair: I need a self-satisfied white man in magazine publishing on here somewhere. Welcome to the "club!" LOL ;-)
--Jesus: Aren't I outrageous? (And for all the reasons I clubbed Graydon Carter.)
--Mount Rushmore: You couldn't be more gay if Carson Kressley were dangling out of Teddy Roosevelt's nose like the world's sassiest, most outrageously-dressed homosexual snot.
--"Antidisestablishmentarianism": You are a long word and no one really knows what you are, so you provide easy punchlines for people who want to sound smart and funny, and I have never been accused of being either of those two things. All that's left for you is for some snarky jackass to slap "meta" onto you as another prefix before the universe collapses under your multisyllabic gravitational pull. I'd sarcastically thank you for destroying the universe, but doing so now might actually destroy the universe, and that is a situation to avoid.
--A blunt instrument suitable for clubbing: You are likewise implicated in the creation of this nonsense people are reading right now. Next time finish the job, you pussy.