John Madden is an obese piece of crap and his series of video games should be destroyed in the grand tradition of bonfires. The bonfire should be started when I build a giant wicker statue resembling Madden, dress in the garb of the druids, and shoot a flaming arrow through the enormous gut of that foul human being who has plagued my video game football career for far too long. Only this will make me happy, and finally put to end years of anger and bitterness that have pushed me to near homicidal rage. Putting these words down to type has calmed me to the point where I won't go next door and jam all twenty #2 pencils I illegally acquired today into Dan Bryan's lower colon. For that, I am grateful; hopefully, Dan is too.
This tends to be why the written word is such a wonderful tool for society. Writing down your thoughts allows these thoughts to be seen and allows for the minds of others to analyze said thoughts. Hopefully one can figure out if they are the rants of a lunatic or the works of a genius. One can do this with very little actual skill using the written word as well. I will guarantee that when this work is finished there will be a great deal of spelling and grammatical errors and will feature points where the thing simply does not make any sense.
Off to a new topic since there will be no set theme to the article today. The new topic will focus on the strange sculptures of an elephant and donkey/horse creature that reside on the lawn of a house in my neighborhood. The statues have been there for about two years and originally consisted of the two just standing there taking up space. This was not exactly normal, yet it also wasn't particularly odd. After a few weeks a car crashed through the gate of the home and knocked the giant elephant right to the ground where it has remained ever since.
One morning, while somewhat inebriated, I was walking to get bagels and tried to put an end to the elephant lying down on its side. I used all my might to try to lift the metallic being off the ground. Sadly I am a weak man and my attempts brought nothing but lower back pain for me, and a gentle rocking of the elephant. Disappointingly I purchased two everything bagels with butter and walked home a dejected man.
During a walk with my dog this past Thanksgiving weekend I found that the statues have now been painted. The elephant is the color yellow and the horse/donkey creature finds itself orange. Ever since seeing the painting, I am certain that these people have some kind of purpose for these statues, but what? What could these colors represent? They must be symbolic of something and I think its some kind of political message. The elephant represents the Republican Party of course, and the horse/donkey is actually a donkey/donkey representing the Democrats. The elephant is yellow for it represents cowardice and is on the ground because the Republican Party has fallen or is about to fall—a striking political message.
The orange donkey is still standing tall, but why? I went to DonkeyOrange.com and found this definition of donkey orange: Donkey orange ('dä[ng]-kE 'är-inj) a rare species of domestic ass with a yellowish to reddish-orange tint, recently added to the list of endangered species.
So I have now come to the conclusion that the giant donkey is orange and standing to represent the Democratic Party as still standing tall, but may soon go the way of the dodo. I would like to ask the people who live in this home if my conclusions are correct, but they never sit on their lawn chairs sipping Coronas so I will not approach their persons! There is also a strong possibility that these people, or possibly neighborhood hooligans, simply painted the two statues these colors for no particular reason. To accept such a conclusion may be best, but I refuse!
And now a conclusion. Concluding such a moronic piece should be fairly easy because I can't get much lower. However, why not go out with a BANG! Redeem the whole thing, let readers forget all the nonsense they have just read while I use the written word to forever change their lives for the better. Sadly, this will not be happening, and my only hope is to come up with something mildly entertaining, so I present this brief story:
On September the 16th, I went to see an old, Irish man about buying his dog for five nickels. The man was happy to sell me the dog, but wanted more than five nickels. Hoping that I could still buy the dog although those five nickels accounted for all my money, I bet the man I could stand on my head for three hours. Looking at me with the sad eyes one tends to save for those who probably deserve to be locked in a cupboard for the rest of their days, the man agreed. Finally, the three-hour mark passed and I won the bet. The man handed over his dog and I rushed home the happiest man in the entire world!
Gee golly, I love happy endings!