[Author’s note: I was recently asked to give a talk at my 50th high school class reunion. I attended an all-boys’ military school called the Albany Academy from first grade through 12th. The Reunion event organizers who asked me to give a speech failed to provide any guidelines or constraints about topics. So, if you ask me, anything I said in my speech that turned out to be upsetting or embarrassing, well, that’s on them. Below are excerpts from my actual class reunion remarks to my fellow classmates from my high school Class of 1973. – Tim Jones]
I was recently invited to give a prepared speech at my 50th high school class reunion. I graduated 1973 class valedictorian (honest). Needless to say, since I went on to pursue a career as a humor writer, many of my classmates pulled their grandkids aside and used my career choices as a cautionary tale. Happy to help those kids learn from my mistakes.
Hello. I’m Tim Jones. It is great to see so many of my former classmates from the class of 1973, some of whom still vaguely recall who I am. Over the next couple of days, I look forward to reconnecting with many of you, to learn in great detail how you became so much more successful in your career than I did.
I’ve never been one to toot my own horn, but in our senior year, my classmates voted me “Person Most Likely to Disappoint his Father.” Given that I’ve been a humor writer for the past 15 years, I feel I truly nailed this award. So, thanks to all of you who voted for me back then. For what it’s worth, I voted for Hirschberg. Heck, he’s currently in prison for embezzlement, so I kind of feel he deserves this award more than me.
I want to acknowledge a few individuals. First, I want to congratulate my classmate Drew Rider on being inducted into the school’s Athletic Hall of Fame. Well deserved, Drew. But to be perfectly honest, many people have said that the ONLY reason I was not inducted last night right alongside you was due to my overwhelming lack of athletic talent, speed, stamina, and strength. But I disagree. If you ask me, I was blocked due to my bad penmanship.
I want to acknowledge my friend Ned Reinhardt. Ned initiated a series of periodic zoom calls when the Pandemic happened. It was his idea to try to bring our class together to share stories about our lives. Fun fact: Throughout all those many Zoom calls, Ned never once wore pants. Maybe it’s a German thing, I honestly don’t know.
That’s me on the right, along with a classmate on the left in a scene from our high school play, Inherit the Wind, a courtroom drama. One of us went on to a distinguished acting career. The other one wrote this caption you’re currently reading. I’ll let you guess which one was me.
I guess I should also congratulate my classmate Brad Williams, who unlike me, got accepted into Princeton. I only made the Waiting List. Way to go, Brad. Thanks for taking my spot at Princeton, you son of a bitch.
Then there’s Blake Pickett. Not exactly what you’d call a jock back in high school, if we’re going to be honest here. But a few years ago, in his sixties, this guy actually rode his bicycle from his home outside of Washington, DC all the way across the country, eventually showing up at my doorstep near Seattle. Over 3,000 miles! Very impressive, Blake.Although I heard a rumor he rode Amtrak from St. Louis to Boise, Idaho. Probably not true.
As for me, I had a wonderful experience at the Academy. I served a 12-year sentence – which is almost six years longer than the sentence Hirschberg is currently serving. I mean, I attended the school for 12 years. The Academy, with its strong emphasis on a military education, taught me many useful life skills, like how to disassemble an M-1 Rifle. I can’t count the number of times I’ve made use of that unusual knowledge over the years. No wait, um, actually I can. Never. Not once.
I guess my proudest accomplishment while at the Academy was being selected class valedictorian. I like to think it was because of my impressive GPA… and not at all because I had threatened to release a batch of seriously incriminating photos of members of the Board of Trustees if I was not chosen.
Most past valedictorians of our prestigious institution went on to distinguished careers such as heads of companies or university professors. Some even went on to impressive careers as philanthropists. And I….. um, well, I followed a different path. You see, I eventually became a humor writer.
My 12 years at what was then an all-boys’ school taught me the importance of self-discipline, perseverance, and leadership, not to mention how to behave extremely awkwardly around girls because I was never around any of them. After I graduated, I went onto the University of Virginia – mainly because someone took my spot at Princeton. But I’m not mentioning any names. I went on to get a law degree. But I never did practice law – which is a shame, actually, because the legal profession uses lots of Latin legal phrases – many of which I already knew because my high school Latin Teacher pressured me into taking THREE YEARS OF LATIN at the Academy. Here’s the sum total of what I remember from three years of Latin: Carpe Diem. Yeah, that was worth it. Sigh.
Many previous class valedictorians from my prestigious private college-prep school went on to pursue distinguished careers as diplomats and doctors. By contrast, I went on to produce humor videos dressed up as a cat. My father would have been so proud.
After law school, I smartly decided to pursue a career in sales management in an up-and-coming industry with a bright future – daily newspapers. I later joined a series of dotcom internet startups, most of which eventually went belly up. Finally, at age 54, I decided to leave the corporate rat race and become a humor writer. I’ve done well over my career. Not to brag, but according to my math, I’m almost certain I am one of the 50 wealthiest members of our entire… 42-person class.
Unless you’re measuring success by net worth. In that case, I did much worse.
But I have had a wonderful life. No complaints. My wife of 37 years is from Canada. We adopted two beautiful baby girls from China. Our daughters are both grown up now. And this may surprise you, but to this very day … they’re both still embarrassed to be seen with me in public. And when they learned that their dad was Valedictorian, they both agreed … there must have been some irregularities in the vote count for valedictorian that year. Yeah, they’re probably right.
But, deep down, I believe with all my heart that, if my father were still alive today to see how I turned out after the Academy, he’d probably put his arm around me, and with tears in his eyes, say, “My dear son. I paid for 12 years of your private school education at the Academy… And you became a HUMOR WRITER? … Hell, for God’s sake, son! Even your class’s laziest slacker, Benny O’Donnell, became a doctor!”
Thank you very much.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
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It’s your pal Tim here. I’m one of your biggest fans. I’ve seen Randy Travis, Brad Paisley, and John Denver in concert. Okay, so you’re saying John Denver is more folk than country. Fair point.
My point is that I’ve loved you, Country Music, my entire adult life – even the really old stuff, like Eddie Arnold, Hank Williams and George Jones (no relation). That said, I’m not quite sure what you were thinking when you came up with songs like Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer, or Drop Kick Me Jesus Through the Goalposts of Life. I assume you were probably going through a rough patch. It happens to the best of us.
I’m writing to you today because, well, I think it’s time we had a serious chat. You see, I’ve been noticing a disturbing pattern lately, and I’m starting to worry about you. It seems like every time I turn on the radio to listen to your music, there’s another ballad about drinking. Just today, I heard you play Drink in My Hand, by Eric Church. Then not 15 minutes later, you were back at it with Toby Keith’s I Love This Bar, followed five minutes later by Miranda Lambert crooning Tequila Does. Are you trying to tell me something?
Let me get to the point, Country Music. I’m starting to get concerned. I think you may have a drinking problem. Now, before you get defensive, hear me out. I’m not saying this to be judgmental or to rain on your parade. But lately, it just seems like you can’t go a single playlist without mentioning whiskey, beer, or some other form of liquid courage. As I was typing the last sentence, I had you playing in the background. And right out of the starting gate, my Alexa app delivered Merle Haggard wailing I Think I’ll Just Stay Here and Drink.
Country Music, I know you like to party, drown your sorrows in a shot glass, and reminisce about the girl that broke your heart. But do you always have to have a drink in your hand when you sing your stories?
Country Music, have you noticed your songs tend to devote an unhealthy amount of air time to day drinking, whiskey, tequila shots, and drinking your sorrows away? I’m no physician, but I’d say you’ve got a drinking problem. Why not do a toe-tapping melody about the pleasures of downing a chocolate milk shake, for a change?
Look, I get it. Alcohol has been a staple of your repertoire since the beginning. From Red Foley to Tammy Wynette, it’s been a central theme in many of your greatest hits, like Drunk on a Plane or It’s Five O’clock Somewhere. But times change, my friend. And maybe it’s time for you to put down the bottle.
Now, I’m not saying you have to go cold turkey or anything drastic like that. I’m just suggesting that maybe you could branch out a bit. How about a song about drinking Mountain Dew instead of whiskey? Or maybe a ballad about the joys of herbal tea? I hear chamomile can be quite soothing. I’m just saying every third song doesn’t have to be about day drinking Tequila shots.
What really worries me is that right after I hear you deliver one of your boozing songs, then you’ll often play a song like Willie Nelson’s On The Road Again or Commander Cody’s Hot Rod Lincoln. Do you really think it’s a good idea to combine drinking and driving, buddy? And it seems you can’t even go fishing without case of beer on board. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. Or did you forget that Ray Stevens song, Too Drunk to Fish?
But hey, CM – can I call you CM? – don’t take this the wrong way. I still love you even though I think you may be in serious denial about your drinking (and driving and boating) problem. I wonder sometimes, do you even hear yourself? I mean, you even came up with a song called DRINKIN’ PROBLEM, in which one of the lyrics goes, “People say I’ve got a drinkin’ problem, but I got no problem drinkin’ at all.” If you ask me, this sounds like a cry for help.
Hey, buddy, normally’ I’d be the first one on the dance floor kicking up my cowboy boots when Garth Brooks’Friends in Low Places comes on. But I can’t do it anymore, for two reasons: First, I simply can’t encourage your reckless binge drinking song habit. And second, I’ve never been able to pull off cowboy boots as a look.
Some of Toby Keith’s songs include Beer for My Horses, I Love This Bar, Get Drunk and Be Somebody, Beers Ago, Whiskey Girl, and Get My Drink On. Personally, I think this is a cry for help. Either that or a cry for more beer. Yeah, that may be more accurate. Sigh.
So, what do ya’ say, Country Music? Can you finally ask for help? I want to be there for you but first you have to come clean and admit you have a serious drinking problem. You need to look in the mirror and face the fact that songs like Ten Rounds with Jose Cuervo (yet another Tequila song – seriously, what is it with you and Tequila, dude?) will only make your alcohol addiction worse.
I believe in you, Country Music. I know you can turn things around. How about cranking out some sober ballads about how much you love your momma or maybe a tearjerker about watching your little girl grow up? Those are healthier choices.
But if you refuse to make serious changes in your song selection, you may leave me no choice but to distance myself from you for my own emotional wellbeing. I hear that there are virtually no Gregorian Chants about getting hammered. Please don’t make me resort to that. Those chants are so depressing, they just might make ME start drinking.
Your biggest fan – for now,
Tim
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
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I’m a big believer in tipping generously for quality service. I never would have been able to afford college were it not for the tips I earned waiting tables to pay for school. But lately, it seems tipping for services is getting out of hand.
The tradition of tipping service providers has been around for at least four centuries. Evidence suggests it first began in Europe during the 17th century, when aristocrats would give people in lower classes extra money for their services. In the United States, the practice of leaving tips began shortly after the Civil War, often in the form of added remuneration paid to freed slaves working in difficult conditions.
It is speculated the word “TIP” may come from the phrase “To Insure Promptness” – and not, as I had long theorized, “Totally Inexcusable Piracy.”
Okay, enough with the history lesson. While I appreciate the noble origins of this practice, it’s starting to feel like it’s getting out of hand. Is it just me or does it seem like everybody is expecting to receive a tip these days? I have no problem tipping waiters, taxi drivers, and the occasional bellman who errantly brings my luggage to the wrong hotel room.
I routinely give my stylist at the hair salon a 20% tip – which is generous, given how little hair I have left anymore. I’m a believer in the importance of tipping, especially for low-wage earners. I waited tables for three years during college. Without tips, I never would have been able to pay for my education and would probably have dropped out to become a Walmart greeter.
Tipping is as American as apple pie … and as confusing as calculus. When I was young, 10% was a normal tip. At some point, this changed to 15%. But lately, it seems servers get offended if you leave anything less than 20%. Some restaurants even tack on an automatic 20% tip surcharge. What are the rules for when you should tip, and how much? I have no clue anymore.
Not long ago, I was at a restaurant. When the server brought the credit card machine to the table, the readout gave me three options for the tip: 20%, 25%, and OTHER. I wonder what would have happened had I selected OTHER and entered 15%. I’m guessing my receipt printout might have read, “Wow, you are one cheap bastard!”
How long will it be before you’ll be expected to tip your local fireman for putting out your house fire? It looks like he did a crappy job. I wouldn’t give him more than a 10% tip, personally.
Last week I went to a fast food restaurant. I ordered my meal and paid for it at one of those new self-service kiosks. When I pressed the button to pay by credit card, it prompted me for how much of a tip I’d like to include. How about NONE? Yeah, that seems like the right amount for my having to punch in my own order on a computer touch screen, then wait 12 minutes at the counter for my order to arrive.
Recently, I’ve been invited to provide a gratuity for things I was never expected to tip for in the past. In the last month, I’ve been prompted to cough up a $weetener at a fast food drive-thru window, a shop that changes my car’s oil, the airport check-in counter, and even my physical therapist’s office.
There’s even a name for this phenomenon: Tipflation. There’s also another word for it: Tip shaming (okay, technically two words). I’m starting to feel like I’m hemorrhaging cash faster than a broken ATM. In many cases, I’m not even dealing with a human being at all, leaving me to wonder who is really on the receiving end of my generosity.
Is there anything we’re not expected to tip for anymore? I half expect to find a tip jar on my dentist’s reception desk the next time I go in for my semi-annual cleaning: “Don’t forget to tip your dental hygienist for a great job.”
Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for showing gratitude for good service, but where do we draw the line? I’m pretty sure it’s just a matter of time before I buy a pair of sneakers on Amazon.com, and as I check out, it will suggest I enter a gratuity of 20% to 30%. I’m sure Jeff Bezos could use the extra money.
On a future vacation, at the end of my flight, in order to be allowed to exit the plane, will l be required to insert my credit card next to the screen in the seatback in front of me, to indicate the gratuity percentage I’d like to use to thank the pilot and crew for getting me safely to my destination?
The future is looking increasingly unsettling. I can picture a time not too far from now when I may receive an email from our veterinarian reminding me of our cat Zippy’s upcoming appointment. And the email explains that it’s customary to include a 20% tip to ensure proper medical care. So, if I opt not to pay a 20% tip, might Zippy have “an unfortunate accident?” I can barely afford my own healthcare, let alone tipping my cat’s vet.
Every day it seems more and more people are expecting to be tipped, just for doing their job. What’s next? Paying your heart surgeon a tip for a successful double bypass? Hope you got an extended warranty.
You may accuse me of being hyperbolic. Perhaps. But it’s only going to get worse. I’m waiting for the day when we’ll all be expected to tip the greeter at Costco for letting us enter the store. Or the electric utility if we’d like them to restore our power sooner rather than later. Or our cat sitter for taking care of our cats while we’re away. (No, wait. I actually do tip her for that. She does a great job.)
My point is, I think we’re rapidly approaching the point when we’ll be expected to tip for just about everything – even when there’s no human being involved in the transaction at all.
On a completely unrelated note, if you’ve enjoyed reading this article, please show your appreciation by leaving me a small tip. The recommended gratuity is $50, but if you’re on a limited budget, I guess $25 will do. I also accept Venmo. Please give generously, won’t you? It’s hard to pay for my upcoming European vacation on a humor writer’s salary. Just saying.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
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[Author’s note for the humor-impaired: This week’s article is political satire. – TEJ]
The case before the Supreme Court is far from black and white. They must decide whether a former president is above the law or not. Okay, well, maybe it is pretty black and white, now that you put it that way.
I’m mad as Hell. I’ve been watching nothing but News Max and Fox News for two weeks straight. They’ve got me so riled up, I’ve only had seven hours of sleep in the past three days. Perhaps it’s lack of sleep or the 12 Red Bulls I’ve ingested in the past 15 hours, but I’m feeling a little cranky. And I need to get some things off my chest.
One thing’s become clear to me: All 257 current and pending civil and criminal prosecutions being waged against Donald Trump are politically motivated witch hunts by the Deep State.
Based on that, I totally agree with the U.S. Supreme Court’s recent decision to hear Trump’s immunity claim.The issue before the court is this:
Can a former president who has engaged in a series of criminal acts break the law whenever he wants and get away with it?
Answer: Of course he can. And he SHOULD be able to get away with it. Because presidents can do whatever they want. Trump assured us it’s in the Constitution (I think in Article 11. Or maybe it was Article B). The verdict is still out as to whether this immunity protection would apply if the president were a girl.
If they can prosecute the greatest president in U.S. History (Lincoln was lame compared to Trump) merely for some minor lapses of judgment (aka “criminal acts”), then what’s to stop our corrupt justice system from arresting anyone who’s committed a crime? Where will it all end?
Some of history’s greatest men have been arrested and imprisoned. Think about it. They put Nelson Mandela away for 27 years. They prosecuted and murdered Jesus Christ. Our savior! (Well, at least if you’re a Christian, that is, which is the law in the USA, I’m pretty sure). And according to a commercial I recently saw on News Max, Trump is the new Messiah. Clearly, God wants him to be our king of kings. And God is never wrong.
If they can arrest Trump, they’ll soon be coming after you. Like Jesus before Pontius Pilate, Trump’s standing trial so you don’t have to. Such courage! And Donald Trump will do everything in his Constitutional power to keep you out of jail – just so long as you send $1,000 to his Legal Defense Fund.
Trump did nothing wrong. He was just trying to make sure that every vote was counted – including 11,780 extra special votes in Georgia. If the DOJ can go after Trump for every little miscalculation he made as president, who’s to stop them from going after other past presidents? In that case, Obama should definitely be prosecuted for wearing that terribly unpresidential tan suitat a press conference. Talk about fashion crime!
Who can forget this memorable, historic, patriotic day when President Trump urged his supporters to peacefully march to the Capitol, gently smash in the windows, politely break down the doors, and delicately hang Mike Pence.
The Supreme Court absolutely should hold that Trump is immune from prosecution. It’s the only fair verdict, since he gave a third of the court their jobs. They owe him.
Meanwhile, the radical, communist-sympathizing, woke, America-hating, God-denying anarchists on the left want to let in all the Mexican drug dealers, rapists, and LGBTQ supporters. And they’re furious the Supreme Court accepted this case in the first place, saying it was an open-and-shut case that no president should be considered “above the law.”
But it’s just not that simple. I mean, where do you draw the line? If you can prosecute Trump for inciting an insurrection and attempting to subvert an election, what’s next? By that logic, should prosecutors come after him for obstructing the Mueller investigation? Sharing classified documents with the Russians? Trying to strongarm Ukraine’s president Zelensky to lie about Joe Biden? Firing whistleblowers? Repeatedly violating the Emoluments Clause? Causing the death of hundreds of thousands of Americans by not taking the COVID pandemic seriously? Of course not! Jeez, you liberals are such whiny nitpickers.
On the other hand, presidential immunity should not be granted to Joe Biden – because he’s not even our real president, so technically it doesn’t even apply to him. I’m not really sure what all the Hunter Biden / Burisma / Ukraine stuff is all about. Kinda complicated. But Hunter admitted to using cocaine in the past, including when Biden was Vice President. Hunter’s supplier was probably his dad. Disgusting. So, if you ask me, Biden should be prosecuted for running a drug cartel out of the White House – something Donald Trump has never been accused of, I might add.
Many on the subversive left also are up in arms – and not the good kind of arms like an AR-15 rifle – that by taking up Trump’s immunity claim, it will push the January 6th trial back until after the 2024 election. Sure it will, but that’s just how the justice system works. Cry me a river, you libs.
In my objective opinion, the Supreme Court should not hear this case until at least Spring 2027 at the earliest – to give Trump’s lawyers adequate time to prepare. After all, this is an extremely complicated case.
And let’s not forget the Supreme Court has a full docket of other equally pressing cases ahead of it in the queue, like whether a plaintiff can sue Buffalo Wild Wings for misrepresentation and fraud when they discovered the chain’s “Buffalo Wings” aren’t technically wings. (That’s an actual lawsuit.)
Supreme Court Justices are ordinary people, too. They have lives just like you and me. They need time to decompress, be with family, take a pottery class, or hit the road for a three-week vacation in their 40-foot $267,000 Prevost Marathon RV given to them by a rich benefactor with cases before the court. You can’t rush important decisions like this.
In the meantime, I hope you’ll join me in making a small donation of $500 to help Donald Trump’s re-election campaign. I’ve been assured that no more than 90% of your donation will be applied towards the $500 million in judgments Trump has been ordered to pay.
When Trump wins the election (with only minimal assistance from Russia), I’m confident his own Department of Justice will shut down all these frivolous prosecutions, so he can focus on Making America Great Again (just so long as you’re not black, trans, an immigrant, or Joe Biden).
Joe Biden, when that day comes, Trump’s Attorney General (who I’m hoping will be Marjorie Taylor Greene) won’t let you hide behind presidential immunity for all the Biden Crime Family’s misdeeds. In fact, I just learned on Fox News that you recently LIED by saying in a speech that the Grand Canyon was one of the NINE Wonders of the World. There are only seven wonders, and the Grand Canyon ain’t one of them. You lied to the American people – something Trump would never do.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
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If you live in the modern world, you’ll recognize this woman as Taylor Swift, the superstar singer. And if you live in a cave without Internet access, this is my college girlfriend, Donna. We’re still good friends.
Dear Taylor,
Like 53% of American adults (and 98% of girls between seven and seventeen) I’m a BIG Swiftie, as we fans call ourselves. If the situation were different – and I was not twice your age, I honestly think we could have had a future together. But please don’t try to start something. It would only break my heart (and seriously piss off my wife – not to mention Travis Kelce).
Let me be clear. I’m a HUGE fan. And not just because you’re young, stunningly beautiful, enormously talented, and so wealthy that you recently made an offer to purchase the nation of Luxembourg.
As close to perfect as you almost are, I have one deep concern about you. At 34 years of age, with all you have going for you, you still haven’t found the love of your life. (We both know you’re going to drop Travis before the next football season begins.) And no, Taylor, as flattered as I am that you might consider me to be your next special someone, I must tell you, I’m happily married (as is my wife, almost 35% of the time).
I’m worried about you, Tay Tay. No, I’m not bothered by the fact that, according to Fox News, you are apparently part of Joe Biden’s nefarious plot to steal the 2024 election by brainwashing your legions of adoring fans into voting for Joe for president.
No, I’m concerned because I hate to see you break up with yet another boyfriend, as I’m pretty sure you’ll do with Travis. That strapping young man went out of his way to hoist the Lombardi Trophy for winning the Super Bowl and present it to you. By the way, at some point, you’ll probably be asked to return the trophy to the Kansas City Chiefs. It wasn’t actually Travis’s to give to you. He just got caught up in the moment, I’m sure.
I can appreciate that right now, based on how you two hugged and kissed on the field at the end of the Super Bowl, things appear to be going just swimmingly for “Traylor,” as you two as a couple are called.
But trust me, we both know you’ll eventually break it off – just like you’ve done with every other guy you’ve dated over the past fifteen years. Need I remind you? It’s an exhaustingly long list – from Joe Jonas (of the Jonas Brothers) to Zac Efron to Jake Gyllenhaal to John Mayer to Harry Styles to Harrison Ford to Tom Hiddleston to… well, you get the picture. Okay, I’ll admit, you haven’t actually been linked to Harrison Ford – yet. I just wanted to see if my fellow Swifties out there were paying attention.
At right, that’s Jake Gyllenhaal, one of the many famous celebrities Taylor broke up with, then wrote a scathing song detailing their failed relationship. Somehow, Jake found the strength to get back on his feet, later dating Reese Witherspoon, Natalie Portman, Rachel McAdams, and about 15 other glamorous Hollywood stars.
T-Swizzle, the reality is I am deeply concerned about your inability to stay in a long-term relationship. And then, when you guys break up, you have this unhealthy pattern of writing songs trashing your recent ex.
I learned that your song Forever and Always was about Joe Jonas. Your song Dear John was a biting rebuke of your former lover, singer John Mayer. Then there was your smash hit We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together, in which you eviscerated Jake Gyllenhaal. But I have your back on that one. Personally, I never liked the guy. Jake had it coming.
Where am I heading with this? Honestly, I’ve no idea. An hour ago I polished off a sleeve of Oreo cookies, and I’m having a serious sugar crash right about now. Oh, wait. Now I remember my point. It’s just a matter of time, my dear Taylor-made, before you break Travis’ heart, send him packing, and write another devastating song about your failed love tryst. If you do, have you thought about a name for your song? Might I suggest “You May be a Tight End, But You Can Kiss My Tight End Goodbye.” Do you like it, Tay Tay? If you use it, all I’m asking for is 5% of the royalties, okay?
Travis, with his heart irreparably broken, will probably slip into a deep depression, get cut by the Chiefs for a dramatic drop-off in his production, end up playing Arena Football for the Tallahassee Parrots, doing local TV commercials, and saying things like, “At Art Johnson’s Buick, every customer is a WINNER.” Don’t do it, buddy.
Then, Taylor, you’ll probably make $50 million in record sales from your song about your steamy, volatile star-struck affair with Travis. Hey, I just thought of a better song title. How about “You Wanted to Score a Touchdown, But My Heart Wanted to Punt.” No? Okay. I’ll keep working on it.
This got me to thinking, Taylor. What if your next target for a lover was me? I better nip this idea in the bed, I mean bud, before I have to do some serious explaining to my wife. Taylor, if you’re still reading this, let me stop you before your heart gets the wrong idea about pursuing an affair in which people would inevitably be calling us “Tay-Tim.” (Personally, I prefer Tim-Tay, but let’s not squabble.)
Please don’t knock on that door. I’m happily married. It simply could never work out between us – in part because at 5’11” you’d be an inch taller than me, so you could see my bald spot. Also, I hear you’re allergic to cats, and I have three of them. Here’s the deal. No cats? No Tay-Tim. It’s a package deal. So how about we both forget about this crazy notion and just remain friends, okay?
Poor Travis Kelce. He has no idea about the heartbreak waiting for him, just as soon as Taylor can think of a catchy song about their relationship. Taylor, I have another song title suggestion for you: “I Wanted to Cuddle, But You Just Wanted to Huddle.” Not catchy enough? Okay, I’ll keep working on it.
Besides, if I know you, I know what would happen next. After four months (or perhaps four minutes) together, you’d tire of my jokes. Maybe you’d even unsubscribe from my View from the Bleachers humor column. And you’d leave me for some other older man – probably Harrison Ford. People have been talking about you two, ya’ know.
Then you’d probably pen some catchy, danceable tune in which you reveal to the world my quirky habit of singing to my cats. I’m not sure I could recover from that embarrassment.
So forget about me, Taylor. Try to make things work with Travis. He’s a great catch. (Get it? Catch?) And besides, I’d prefer to avoid giving him a reason to beat the crap out of me for stealing you away from him. I hope you can understand.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by posting a comment, giving it aLikeorsharing this post on Facebook.
PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by posting a comment, giving it a Like or sharing this post on Facebook.
