Jesus Is My Co-Pilot....For Now

I have never been a fan of bumper stickers. Sure I get the occasional giggle from a particularly witty phrase tattooed on someone's fender. "Unless you're a hemorrhoid, Get off my ass!" is a particular favorite. But on the whole I just don't care for the statement that a bumper sticker makes. And by statement, I'm not referring to the quip printed on the sticker, but rather the message a person sends about oneself by sticking a slogan on the rear of their vehicle. It is most certainly the sticking something on your bumper, and not the sticker itself that irks me. I became aware of this fact when I realized that I was particularly benign to seeing stickers on guitar cases, luggage trunks, surf boards, mail boxes, or any other random place one might stick a sticker(can you say that 5 times fast?).

As I see it there are three major categories of bumper sticker; political, religious, and humorous. Often times a bumper sticker may cross over two genres (after all if we can't separate church and state in Washington D.C. how can we expect to do it on bumper stickers). But most bumper stickers will in some way fall into the three main classifications (I've intentionally omitted all honor student bumper stickers as they deserve their own blog).

In the interest of brevity I have decided not to dissect each category in my usual angry rant. This blog has a point and it isn't to bash bumper stickers. I could go on about how I love to honk when I'm horny, or how nothing gives me a bigger smile than seeing some asshole who devalued their seventy thousand dollar car by slapping a Mondale/Ferraro '84 sticker on the bumper. But as I said, I have another purpose.

As much as bumper sticker users irritate me, there is one regard in which I have always respected them. Much like those who don tattoos, the bumper sticker junkie isn't afraid to commit to their beliefs. They will slap that stupid sticker (nice alliteration, eh) on their car knowing full well it would take an expensive laser surgery to remove it. I may not agree with your methods but I give you a polite nod of respect for your unwavering grit in standing by your beliefs (Even if those beliefs revolve around "nuking the whales").

But alas, ye that dons the rectangular adhesive message. Purveyor of slogans that can only be transmitted via a 10 X 2 piece of glorified duct tape. I have a bone to pick with you. For you see I am something of a purist who appreciates the nostalgia that comes with being true to form, and keeping things as they are. I like the original Pepsi can, I like my fire trucks red not yellow, and I like the first mom on the Fresh Prince of Bel Aire not her replacement. I like the old Tiger Stadium, the Quebec Nordiques, the Denver Broncos old logo, and it drives me bonkers that the Muppets didn't die with Jim Henson.

More than anything I disliked the whole bumper ribbon fad from the get go. Indeed I like the status quo, and it is my feeling that ribbons should be reserved for track meets and pig tails. I have nothing against supporting the troops per se, I just wish we could support them in the form of a parallelogram (symmetry is an obsession with me). Yet despite my reservations, I still could have looked past this grotesque dereliction of taste.

But, where I used to respect your testicular fortitude, now I merely loathe your cowardice. Because nothing could have prepared me for the horrible truth that I soon discovered about the new bumper ribbon fad. I was shocked and appalled to the point of violent dry heaving when I learned that these bumper ribbons were not stickers at all.....they were MAGNETS!!!

How dare a person attempt to sell me on an idea via the rear fender of their car, when they are not even committed to it themselves. I'm not going to be persuaded into supporting anything, by some shady waffler who can just change their mind (i.e. peel off the magnet) on a whim. How dare you insult the integrity of a long line of marvelous people, who have destroyed their vehicles for a purpose greater than themselves. You charlatans don't support the troops, YOU SUPPORT NOTHING!

With my faith in mankind destroyed yet again I have resorted to the only protest I could muster, which is petty larceny. So if I see your car with a magnet on the back, I'm going to steal it and then spit on your windshield. Hopefully you'll learn that if you're going to believe in something, to believe in it with a little backbone. I've already confiscated so many that I needed to build an extra room in my house just to store them all.

Here's five bumper stickers I'm currently manufacturing.

1. I just gave a can of botulism to your kid who beat up that honor student
2. I've got so much money, I don't care that this bumper sticker completely devalues my Porsche
3. The Moors will rise again. Tariq ibn-Ziyad LXVII in 2012!
4. Not even plastic surgery could make me as ugly as the person I see in my rear view mirror.
5. Bring back bumper stickers! (This one will be a ribbon, but you can bet your ass it won't be a magnet!)

Gale Sayers Eats Kugel. You Should Too.

POSTED BY BK
*NOTE--THIS POST IS MINDLESS RAMBLING AND NOT A WELL THOUGHT OUT LITERARY PIECE. REGARDLESS, BON APPETIT....

Different Families acknowledge special events in different ways. Here are some examples:

-Putting on your finest outfits for Sunday Church

-Taking the plastic off your furniture

-Breaking out a special bottle of wine you've been saving

-Using the good china

-Sitting in the Living Room

In my family nothing says it's a big time event more than the presence of a Kugel. I don't care if it's the Super Bowl, Yom Kippur, Sunday Brunch, Mothers or Fathers Day--if there is a Kugel there, you know it is BIG. The Kugel actually is bigger than the event itself. Meaning that if my family is entertaining for the Super Bowl and someone makes Kugel, the event goes from being a Super Bowl party, to a Kugel party which coincidentally happened at the same time as some game on TV. One thing is for sure with my family--if the Pope is coming, Kugel will be served.

What is it about this concoction of noodles, egg, brown sugar, butter, cottage cheese, and corn flakes that makes it the gold standard of "entertaining"? Well, for one, it's delicious. Two, it's aesthetically pleasing. And three, it couldn't be more fattening if it wanted too (always a plus).

Different families have different variations on how they take their Kugel--

-Hot or cold?

-With raisins or without?

-Big flat noodle or the lesser used, but equally great, spaghetti noodle?

As a kid, my family once hosted football great, Gale Sayers, for brunch at our house. Not the most charming person I've ever met. He pretty much sat in our family room and watched football and avoided conversation with anyone but my Dad the entire time he was over. You could have been a little friendlier and upbeat, Gale. It's not like we were running Brian's Song on the big TV. No one kicked you in your left knee. There wasn't even the expectation to go into the backyard and put together a small pickup game, so I could go Deacon Jones on your ass. Had you shown a little more attention to me as an impressionable adolescent, maybe you could have kept me off the streets, away from the smack, gang banging and whatnot. I've subsequently heard you on the radio and seen you on TV. You always come off as personable and affable. The world can think that you are Mr. Personality, but I'll always know better. The only thing that put a smile on your face that day 16 years ago, was a fat piece of my mom's Kugel. You even insisted on getting the recipe (that's made up). Kugel baby, it's the great equalizer!