Author: The Centaur

Since, frankly, there isn’t nearly enough hype surrounding Sunday’s Superbowl, I am going to do my part to clog cyberspace with a running commentary of the day’s events.

If you recall two weeks ago, during the NFC championship game, I started a post that I continuously updated throughout the day with the score, my blood-alcohol level and solicitations for a Seahawks Starter jacket, circa 1992.

That appeared to be a winning formula, at least for the Seahawks, so I’ll repeat the process this Sunday.

So, fellow Zillionaires, be sure to have your laptops handy during the game. And please chime in with your thoughts, predictions, color commentary or just express your desire to see a Mick Jagger “wardrobe malfunction” during the halftime show.

See you on Sunday! Go ‘Hawks!

Here’s a letter I sent to the President with a last-minute suggestion for tonight’s State of the Union address.

Mr. President:

I know this address is meant to inspire the nation. I’m sure you’re going to talk about plans like putting a man on Mars in ten years or improving literacy over the next decade. Great. Fantastic. I’m almost inspired enough to not change the channel.

Here’s another idea: I’m 28 years old. In ten years, as part of a middle-aged man’s routine health care, there’s a good chance I’ll be going to the doctor for my first proctological exam. I beg of you, let’s put our national resources towards fixing this situation.

I figure I’ve got ten years, maybe fifteen tops. Truthfully, I’m not exactly circling the date on my calendar. But I know it’s coming. And this issue concerns me more than deficits or terrorists.

Keep in mind, I’m not asking you to actually cure prostate cancer. Just remove the use of proctology to detect it. You should have America’s best scientists inventing some kind of prostate cancer Breathalyzer test.

I understand how fortunate I am. With the invention of Viagra a few years back, my second biggest potential health crisis has already been averted. That one was hanging over me in about 40 years. I’m glad it was taken care of early though, there’s no sense putting it off.

So now, it’s just a proctological exam I’m worried about. Simply put, we need this issue to come to the forefront of American politics. Imagine if a candidate ran solely on the election platform of removing the threat of a proctological exam from a generation of young men. It would be a landslide election.

I need your help. The nation needs your help. We need some true leadership. I know the proctology lobby is powerful in Washington. If you walk to the podium tonight and pledge the nation’s resources to eradicating anal examinations, history will judge your presidency kindly. Think about it.

P.S. One final tip, when you begin the address, maybe apologize to viewers that the usual sitcoms normally on at this time are being pre-empted for your speech. I always hated that growing up.

Thank you for your consideration,
The Centaur

I’ve been a Seahawks fan for 20 years. I’ve been unabashedly on their bandwagon all season. They’re playing the most important game in franchise history at home this weekend. All of this means one thing: I have a strong sense of impending doom right now.

I’m sure you’ve heard this one before, but allow me to share a very old joke that is part of Seahawks lore:

The police respond to a case of child abuse. Clearly, the boy needed to be removed from the home, as he had been badly beaten. The policeman asked the child where he wanted to live, and the boy said, “I want to live with the Seahawks, ’cause they don’t beat anybody!”

I admit it’s not very funny. It’s hard to find humor in child abuse. But, it’s a true story. You see; I was that abused boy, sent to live with the Seahawks 20 years ago.

And I know how the Seahawks operate. In the interest of fairness, I thought I would offer the Panthers some tips on how to avoid a beating:

Don’t Keep the Score Close: This was the Redskins’ first mistake. If you want to beat the Seahawks, you need to let them have a lead of about eight touchdowns with three minutes to play. Once it becomes clear that it will take the greatest comeback in NFL history to win the game, that’s when the wheels will invariably come off for the Seahawks.

Avoid Key Injuries: I’m not referring to your roster. I’m talking about the Seahawks roster. If you injure a Seahawks starter, be prepared for one of our backups to come in that is unaccustomed to choking in a big game.

Challenge Every Call: No matter how obvious the ruling on the field, there is always an official willing to invent a reason why the play should be overturned to go against the Seahawks. Sure, the referees will make the “challenge” appear to look authentic. The official will go in the little video booth for a minute or two, and emerge to say, “After reviewing the play, the Seahawk player clearly double-dribbled. The touchdown is overruled, and the Panthers will shoot two free-throws.” Seriously, if I were the Panthers, I’d even challenge the coin flip.

So this is it. If the Seahawks win on Sunday it will easily be my greatest thrill as a sports fan. I hope this post appeases the Football Gods to reverse-jinxing the inevitable Seahawk debacle. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go paint a Seahawks logo on my chest. Gotta support the team!

Cashier: “Welcome to Arby’s, may I take your order?”
Me: “Yeah… I’ll have the number three combo meal.”
Cashier: “What kind of fries?”
Me: “Homestyle.”
Cashier: “And what kind of soft drink?”
Me: “Pepsi.”
Cashier: “And would you like to upsize your order for only 49 cents more?”

Me (pausing for dramatic effect): “…Upsize? You want me to upsize? Let me get this straight: For 49 cents, Arby’s will moderately increase the size of my fries and drink, but leave the actual sandwich at its original size. And you call that an “upsize.”

Me (continuing): “Look, why would I want 10% more fries, 80% more cola, and no change whatsoever to the size of my original sandwich? Who finds this ridiculously disproportionate meal satisfying? Instead of calling it an “upsize”, you should ask if I want to “disproportionize” my meal… because really, that’s the end result.”

(Customers in adjacent lines began to turn their heads and exchange nods of agreement.)

Me (further emboldened by their reaction): And of all the items in my combo meal, the sandwich is the one thing I’d be most interested in having upsized to begin with. And yet it’s completely neglected in the upsizing process! Let’s be real here. The sandwich is the focal point of the meal. How can you offer to upsize my meal, and not include the most integral part?

(The cashier cocks his head to one side, as the logic of my rant is undeniable.)

Me: “And what’s the point of upsizing my soft drink at all? It comes with free refills anyway! All you’re really doing is increasing the size of my cup. If free refills are available, the only thing I’m interested in having upsized is the size of my bladder.”

Me (glancing at cashier’s nametag): “Brian, please know that this tirade is not directed at you. I’m just here to help. Don’t get me wrong; the upsize is a beautiful idea. But it has to be a true upsize. The sandwich, the fries, and the drink must all be increased in size proportionately. At burger places, I could understand the logistical difficulty in doing this. But this is Arby’s! All of your sandwiches are just meat and bun anyway. Are you telling me you can’t stock two or three sizes of buns for varying degrees of upsizing?”

Me: “Look, Brian, I know you’re not running this outfit. I need you to pass this up the chain of command: Arby’s can lead us to a better tomorrow… but it’ll take more than a talking oven mitt to get there. Arby’s has the opportunity to be the one fast food establishment with a legitimate upsize option. And let’s face it, that’s all any of us want in life… a true upsize of our combo meal.”

Me (clearing throat): “Ahem… So, to answer your question: No thanks. I am not interested in your so-called upsize.”

The restaurant was silent for a moment. Then, starting in the back, a customer began a slow clap that resonated throughout the establishment. One by one, the rest of the patrons joined in the applause. Even Brian and his fellow cashiers extended an ovation. I smiled in satisfaction and offered them a modest nod. As I turned around, the crowd parted in reverence so that I could make my way to the condiment station to load up on Arby’s and Horsey sauce unabated.

Author’s note: Most of this account took place in my imagination.