Ronnie Coleman/Yoo-Hoo

I LIKE: RONNIE COLEMAN


Despite the subtle "gay yuppie" overtones that eating fruit and French toast on Sunday morning evokes (or maybe because of them), I like brunch.

This is what I began to write, before I realized that this energy would be better spent praising "Big" Ronnie Coleman.
The "Big" moniker likely comes from the fact that he is, in fact, physically quite big. Big enough to win eight consecutive Mr. Olympia titles, which is more than I've done.
Mr. Olympia, by the way, is a competition in which bodybuilders spray on laughable tans and exhibit their grotesquely deformed bodies.
Why should I admire someone who has lowered his life expectancy by thirty years from rampant abuse of steroids/growth hormone/stem cells/Powergel?
I guess I just like what he stands for. He stands for America--a country where you have the right to get so large, that not even bullets can penetrate you.
A Google search has just informed me that gigantic muscles cannot deflect bullets.
I guess that makes sense.



I HATE: YOO-HOO


What the fuck is this stuff?
When I was young I always assumed it was chocolate milk. Yet, somehow, it contains neither milk nor chocolate.
It seems to be a mix of alkaline bases and corn syrup, which make it taste like chocolate milk that's been infected by botulism.

I went to traffic court today to answer charges for improperly turning left. Is there a proper way to turn left? Was I a bit crass in my turning? Should I have done it while wearing a dinner jacket and sipping some Lapsang Souchong? Shitheads.

After paying my ticket, I went to the lot where I had parked my car. This was a lot run by a homeless man who swore that he would watch over my car and maybe even wash it while I was gone--I just had to pay him $3.50 when I got back.
As luck would have it, I only had a 20. I went to make change at a neighboring Greyhound station, where the only product available was Yoo-Hoo. After having paid a hefty ticket and feeling a bit down, this lowered my spirits even further.
I returned with my change and drink, and I paid the guy. His response:
"Hey! How about a tip? I'm homeless you know."
"Uhh...alright. Here's a dollar."
"Great! Maybe I'll go by myself a Yoo-Hoo too."
He then burst into hysterical laughter.

When even the homeless mock your product, it's time to rethink things.