In the Garden of Eden, everything was going great until Eve tempted Adam to disobey God and eat the apple. That’s when all Hell broke out. The moral of the story: It’s all the girl’s fault – at least that’s what I got out of the story. Maybe I’m wrong.
I discovered there are some extremely helpful life lessons found in the Bible. For example, the story of Adam and Eve and the Garden of Eden. When the serpent tempted Eve to eat the forbidden fruit, she selfishly convinced Adam to do the same, even though this was strictly against God’s direct order not to eat the apple. When Adam caved to her unrelenting nagging, God banished both of them into the wilderness and destroyed the Tree of Knowledge. I think the takeaway lesson from this story is clear: Adam may have screwed up, but technically, it was really mostly Eve’s fault. Like 90%.
Just as Adam blamed Eve for his ill-advised decision, there have been a spate of recent news stories about other men throwing their wives under the proverbial bus, blaming them for the husband’s own bad behavior. New Jersey Senator Robert Menendez was indicted for a bribery scheme involving hundreds of thousands of dollars in gifts and cash. When the Feds caught him red-handed with the loot, including actual bars of gold bullion, the Senator manned up and took the fall. I’m just kidding. He denied everything and blamed his wife for the entire scandal, claiming she kept him in the dark about her scheme.
Then there’s Samuel Alito. This nice man is a justice on the U.S. Supreme Court, holding one of our nation’s most trusted positions of power. It was recently reported that for several days in the immediate aftermath of the January 6th storming of the U.S. Capitol, he flew an American flag upside down in his front yard. The upside down flag is widely known to symbolize support by people sympathetic to the “Stop the Steal” election-denying cause.
When confronted by journalists as to why a Supreme Court Justice would prominently display such an obvious symbol of political protest at his residence only days before Biden was sworn in, Alito did the noble thing: He blamed his wife. He claimed he had nothing to do with it and that his wife had put up the flag due to a spat she was embroiled in with an anti-Trump neighbor. Well played, Sammy. Well played.
Left: NJ Senator Robert Menendez; Right: Supreme Court Justice Samuel Alito. What do these men have in common: Both their wives hate them, since they both blamed them for their own bad behavior.
The obvious takeaway for husbands is that it’s perfectly acceptable to blame your wife when you get caught doing something reckless or morally egregious. For too many years, we husbands have been held accountable by our wives simply for making boneheaded, impulsive, and poorly thought-out decisions which we hoped our wives would never find out about. It’s time we held our ground and shifted the blame for our many failings squarely where it belongs: with our wives.
Let me explain how this works. Say you’ve been jonesing for a 20-foot power boat for years, but your wife keeps pointing out that “we can’t afford it.” This despite the fact that you’ve never once complained about all the times she’s gotten her hair done at that fancy salon.
My advice, following in the footsteps of inspirational men like Menendez and Alito, is to ignore her protestations. Go out and buy that boat anyway. You deserve it. And if she ever finds out (which is possible since it’s hard to hide a 20-foot boat in your garage), just blame your impulse purchase on your wife.
Point out that when she said, “You really shouldn’t buy that boat,” you thought she meant, “Oh, my, you really shouldn’t, my darling” the way southern women in the movies often blush and say things like that when what they really mean is “Oh, my, Thank you, darling. How did you know? I just love it. Of course, I will have sex with you tonight.” Explain how you bought it for HER, not even thinking about yourself, and how you plan to name her boat “Beautiful Gal” in her honor. And how the dealer doesn’t accept returns after the sale.
But be careful about trying this technique if you’re thinking about buying those top-of-the-line titanium Calloway golf clubs without her permission. She might not be convinced you bought them for her, given the last time she played golf was 1994 – and all the holes came with castles, clown faces, and pirate ships.
Let’s say you just put half of your retirement nest egg into some convoluted cryptocurrency scheme your buddy Artie told you was sure to quadruple your investment in five months. Say it tanks, becoming totally worthless. Remember, it’s not your fault. It’s HER fault. After all, your wife was the one who once said, “Gosh, I wish we’d invested in Google back when it first went public.” So, clearly she was giving you her tacit permission to try to load up on the next unicorn buying opportunity.
Is it your fault that it turned out that your $200,000 investment in BUBBA BUCKS crypto turned out to be pyramid scheme run by an ex-con named Bubba who had recently served ten years for defrauding people by selling them non-existent condos on the moon? Okay, technically, yeah, it IS your fault. But that’s beside the point. Your wife planted the idea in your brain with that Google comment. So, she’s at least half to blame.
See this poor husband? He’s grossly overweight from eating junk food and never exercising. But it’s not his fault. Blame his wife for serving him his favorite foods and letting him lie on the couch and watch football for hours on end without ever complaining.
Imagine you arrive home at 2am, after playing poker with your buddies – instead of 10pm like you promised your wife – and your wife notices the car’s front bumper has been badly smashed in. Once again, it’s not your fault that you forgot to press the garage door remote, and as a result drove straight into the closed garage door. It could have happened to anyone who was as drunk as you were.
This is clearly your wife’s fault. She should have called you to remind you when the clock struck 10pm to come home NOW! But she didn’t. She deliberately let you keep playing poker and doing tequila shots. So, why should you be blamed simply for failing to notice the garage door was shut when you rammed your Ford F-150 pickup truck into it at 32 mph?
In any healthy marriage, the wife needs to accept at least 50% of the blame for your mistakes. If she really loves you, she’ll agree to take more like 75%. Remember, guys. We’re just men. We’re designed to fuck up. It’s in our caveman DNA. If your wife couldn’t figure that out by the time she agreed to marry you, if you ask me, that’s on her.
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.
If you’re an American thinking of traveling to Pakistan, perhaps I can help steer you in the right direction, because I recently returned from that amazing country myself. Don’t believe all the media hysteria. People there are amazingly kind and welcoming. But before you go, remember the following travel tips:
1st, Try to learn a few basic words and phrases of Urdu (the primary language spoken there). The locals will deeply appreciate your attempt to talk in their language, even if it’s just to say hello, thank you, or “Where is the nearest McDonalds?”
2nd, Remember you’re a guest in their culture. Show respect for their traditions.
3rd, You might not want to wear your favorite “HEY, HEY, USA – WE’RE NUMBER 1” t-shirt. Our two governments are not big fans of each other at the moment. And if you’re a woman, cover your arms and legs. They don’t need to see your Batman Forever tramp stamp or, for that matter, the tattoo that reads “Jesus Saves.”
4th, No beer keg parties in your hotel room. Pakistan, like most Muslim nations, is a dry country. Alcohol is forbidden by their religion. But Mountain Dew soft drink is not, I’m relieved to report!
5th, And perhaps most importantly, whatever you do, do NOT bring me along with you on your trip. You’re liable to end up in jail, or worse yet, have to sit through a three-day cricket match (their national sport).
Let me back up. When I told people I was going to travel to Pakistan – by myself, sans my wife or as part of a tour – the reactions from just about everyone I told ranged from “Seriously? Pakistan? By yourself? Are you insane?” to “Pakistan? By yourself? Are you insane? Seriously, are you insane?”
L to R: Hafiz, me and Hammad dining overlooking the world-famous Badshahi Mosque in Lahore, Pakistan. Helpful travel tip: While it’s fine to hug your friends, don’t hug every local just because they smile at you. Start by offering to shake hands.
No, I’m not insane. And I had a wonderful time. But I have to say, I did screw up a few times. The reason I went to a country that few American tourists frequent is because of two young Pakistani friends I have come to know over the past three years. Let’s call them Hafiz and Hammad… because well, that’s their names.
Back in 2020, I discovered Hafiz while doing an internet search for a video editor. I was about to start my YouTube channel of VFTB video commentaries. I knew how to record my videos, but I needed help editing, adding background images, inserting photos, captions and sound effects. Hafiz offered these services, and I’ve been working with him ever since.
After a few months, we started creating educational videos in a series called Across the World in which each week we would record myself and Hafiz’s good friend Hammad, discussing various topics from sports to courtship & marriage to our nations’ historic ties to and rebellions from Great Britain. Our goal was to educate Americans about Pakistani culture and vice versa. In the process of all this collaboration, I became good friends with both of these very smart and extremely kind young men. Over time, we forged sort of an Uncle-Nephews kind of bond.
So, in November 2023, I flew from Seattle to Istanbul, changed planes, and flew from there to Lahore, Pakistan in a span of 23 hours. Lahore is a city of more than 12 million people. All this to see my friends in person for the first time. Neither one of them has ever left Pakistan. I cannot say enough about the remarkable warmth, kindness, and patience displayed by the two of them, and every other Pakistani I met.
Oh sure, I had to deal with a Muslim culture very different from my own mostly Christian world back home. I had to navigate my way in cities where most of the people barely spoke English. But keep this in mind: They had to put up with a 68-year-old American humor writer with the maturity of a 17-year-old, who could barely speak a word of Urdu, and who travels around the world with a stuffed animal teddy bear named Grumpy and tries to hug everybody. So, if you ask me, they had the much greater burden to bear.
L to R: Ik-Bal, Grumpy (in front), me, and Hammad. Ik-Bal was so funny and kind, I gave him my hat as a gift. (True) Then he reciprocated by offering to let me marry his sister. (Okay, that part was a lie. My, just how gullible are you?)
I read a fair amount about Pakistan’s culture and history before I arrived. But still, I committed more than my share of cultural faux pas. Let me list just a few of them.
Improper Hugging: I’m a hugger. Guess what? Pakistanis are not – unless you’re a family member or a very close friend. But I hug everybody. Here’s a useful tip to tuck away. If you’re an American man, visiting the home of a Pakistani family, DO NOT HUG THE WIFE. Just trust me on this. You might as well try to give them a French kiss on the mouth. It’s way too forward.
Language mistakes: You don’t have to learn a lot of words. Here is a phrase I used over and over: “Meera Nam Tim Hai.” It means “My name is Tim.” I also found the following phrase came in extremely handy: “Maaf Kee Ji Ye,“ which loosely translates to “Excuse me if I offended you. I’m an American tourist, and I’m an idiot.”
But whichever words you memorize, make sure you pronounce them correctly. A very useful word to learn is Alhamdulilah, pronounced “AL-Ham-Du-LEE-Lah.” It loosely means, “I’m good” or more literally, “By God’s grace, I’m good.” However, apparently, I kept pronouncing it “Al-Ham-Du-LOO-Lah.” I don’t know what that errant pronunciation means, but my embarrassed host explained it is essentially an Urdu curse word that should never be uttered.
At one point, I attempted to ask someone for directions, but my words came out so badly mangled in Urdu that apparently I had asked, “Please, may I eat your cat for breakfast?” After that, I pretty much stuck to Hello, Thank You, and Check Please.
One of the local street performers I came across. I asked if I could take his photo, and he said yes. Then I asked if he could play me any songs by Taylor Swift. Said he’d never heard of her. Isn’t that crazy?
Walking in bare feet: When you enter someone’s home, you must take off your shoes. The souls of shoes are considered unsanitary. That said, I found myself walking down the hallway of my hotel in my bare feet and was (politely) stopped by a hotel clerk reminding me (very nicely) that I needed to wear footwear. He immediately provided me with comfy sandals for my feet. I wonder if next time I walked down the hallway stark naked he might provide me with a cool Pakistani man’s outfit. Probably not. Forget I even mentioned the idea.
Despite my periodic stumbles, everyone was very gracious and patient. The Pakistani people I met were the nicest people I have ever met, kind to a fault. The only thing I would criticize about their country is their somewhat embarrassingly lax airport security. How else to explain the fact an American humor writer and his teddy bear Grumpy were permitted entry into the country? Just saying.
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.
BREAKING NEWS: THE END IS NEAR – at least that’s what people in Seattle feared upon a recent sighting of a terrifying giant yellow fireball in the sky. Residents were urged to stay inside.
Anchor: Hello. I’m Brad Anchorton with this Seattle area Action News BREAKING NEWS ALERT. As I speak, there is a truly extraordinary event that is sending shockwaves through our cloudy city. Brace yourselves, for today, a rare and perplexing sighting has occurred in the skies above us.
[Cut to footage of the Seattle skyline with ominous music]
Anchor: I’m referring to the appearance of a luminous, radiant, and suspiciously bright yellow celestial object. This object – known to some by its three-letter moniker, the “sun” – has made a daring cameo over our perpetually overcast cityscape. While it may currently be a balmy 64 degrees outside in downtown Seattle, scientists estimate that the sun’s surface is blisteringly hot at 10,340 degrees Fahrenheit. And that devastating heat appears to be heading our way. Our afternoon temperatures could soar to as high as 69 degrees, but experts have no idea how much hotter it could get by tomorrow.
[Cut back to the anchor, who looks like he’s just seen a ghost]
Anchor: Now, for those of you unfamiliar with this phenomenon, let me assure you, it’s a sight only a few Seattleites have ever seen. You would have to go all the way back to the infamous Sun-Aggedon Summer Scare of August 1973 for the last time the sky lit up this brightly during the day. Reports have been flooding in from all corners of Seattle, with citizens expressing a mixture of confusion, disbelief, and in some cases, downright terror.
[Cut to footage of a man on the street, nervously glancing up at the sky]
Man on the Street: I – I don’t know what’s happening, man. One minute, I’m sipping my artisanal coffee outside of a Starbucks under a blanket of gray clouds, and the next, BAM! It’s like the apocalypse. It is so blinding, What the hell is that up there? A giant alien spaceship? I wish I had something I could put over my eyes that would darken things but still let me see stuff.
Anchor: You mean sunglasses?
Artist’s depiction of a Seattle resident being shocked at the sight of a giant yellow ball in the sky. It turns out what he saw was just the sun, making a rare appearance in the Puget Sound region. It is not predicted to appear again until sometime in mid-2029.
Man on the Street: I have no idea what you’re talking about. What’s a sunglass? Will it protect me from the aliens?
[Cut back to the anchor, who is shaking his head solemnly]
Anchor: The sudden appearance of this bright yellow orb has left many Seattleites scrambling for cover, unsure of what to do in response to the unprecedented surge of cosmic radiation. For more on what the risks are – and what we can do to protect ourselves, I turn to University of Washington astrophysicist, Nigel Van Twerp.
Dr. Van Twerp, can you shed some light on what exactly are we dealing with here, and what are our chances of survival in the face of this overwhelmingly luminous threat? And is that giant yellow orb an alien spaceship?
[Cut to Dr. Van Twerp, standing in front of a whiteboard covered in complex equations]
Dr. Van Twerp: Thank you, Brad. No, it is highly unlikely that it’s an alien spaceship. More likely, what we have here is probably a rare celestial phenomenon involving the sun. The sun is so massive, it’s over 110 times the diameter of the earth. Believe it or not, about 1.3 MILLION planet Earths could actually fit inside of the sun.
Anchor: Are you suggesting there might be several hundred thousand planet Earths currently inside of the sun? How did they get there, Doctor? And is there life on any of them?
Dr. Van Twerp: No, at last count, there is only one Earth that I am aware of. The earth revolves around the sun once every 365 days. The sun is a rather fascinating celestial body, viewable from many regions of our planet almost every day. But due to Seattle’s unique meteorological conditions and nearly perennial cloud cover, we never see it. But I must warn you, prolonged exposure to this intense luminosity could potentially cause sunburn… and a strong desire to move to Miami.
Anchor: Sunburn? That sounds terrifying. The sun is so huge! Is it likely to swallow up the earth?
Dr. Van Twerp: Sadly, the earth – and everyone on it – is inevitably doomed to perish. According to my calculations, all life on earth will die a painful death as our planet is ultimately absorbed after the sun becomes a red giant and expands beyond our current orbital circumference.
Anchor: So how much time do we have left, Doctor Van Twerp?
Dr. Van Twerp:[Looks at his watch.] Hard to say really. I’d estimate around 7.5 billion years, give or take. In the near term, I’d be more worried about sunburn.
[Cut back to the anchor, who looks utterly horrified]
Anchor: Wow. Thanks for the warning, Doctor. One last question: Since most of our viewers have never seen this bright yellow ball in the sky before, is it safe for them to look directly at it?
Dr. Van Twerp: Good question, Brad. While some former presidents have been known to stare directly into the sun, I would caution against it. You see, the sun’s rays can burn cells in the retina at the back of the eye. The retina doesn’t have pain receptors, so there’s no way to feel the damage, which would be permanent. So, don’t stare at the sun like an idiot.
Nigel Van Twerp, noted University of Washington astrophysicist explaining how, in scientific terms, we’re all screwed. No matter what we do to try to prevent the sun’s encroachment, eventually, he explains, we’re all going to die – in less than 8 billion years.
Anchor: Sound advice as always, Dr. Van Twerp. We at Action News want to advise all our viewers to avoid looking directly at the sun or even being exposed to it. Make sure your family takes cover immediately. Do not go outdoors unless you absolutely must – say, to rescue a pet who has escaped outside and is staring upwards. But if you must leave your homes, be sure to apply sunscreen. We recommend SPF 100 just to be safe.
[Cut to footage of people frantically applying sunscreen and seeking refuge under any available shade]
Dr. Van Twerp: Um, it’s really not that dangerous outside. No need to panic. Just wear sun –
Anchor:[Cuts off Dr. Van Twerp] As panic spreads throughout the city, government officials are urging all citizens to take every precaution necessary to protect themselves from the sinister rays of this celestial interloper. No one is safe, especially our fair-skinned viewers with freckles. A special word of prayer for our pale Irish Americans out there.
You may be asking yourselves, “How long will we have to endure the terror of this sunny weather?” According to our meteorologist, Windy Storm, the good news is that the clouds and rain should return by tomorrow and we’ll have another long stretch of rain ahead for the foreseeable future, with life returning to normal – unless the aliens in the giant yellow orb attack.
This is Brad Anchorton reminding you to stay safe, stay vigilant, and above all, stay indoors. Good luck, Seattle.
PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by posting a comment, giving it aLikeorsharing this post on Facebook.
[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.
PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by posting a comment, giving it a Likeor sharing this post on Facebook.
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.
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 aLikeorsharing this post on Facebook.
