​I saw what might have been the best superhero movie I have ever seen last night. Here’s a quick recap: A boy, raised by a family that was not his, lived a life that was not his original intent.  He finds out later in life that his entire prior existence has been a lie and that now and only now he must face his true purpose: helping people to fight off current and would be evil oppressors. Against all odds he survives countless attacks and plots to destroy him. Only after finally coming to terms with his ultimate power does he rise up in a final battle to destroy his sworn enemy, leading his people to safety. Ironman? Superman? Batman? Um no. This was Moses. Holy ancient comic book stories, Batman. Look, I don’t want to get off on a rant here but Jesus Christ, how can one possibly hear that and countless other biblical stories and perceive them as nothing more than what they are: movie scripts before we had movies. Oh and before you nail me to that cross and leave my non-spiritual ass to die in the desert, let me say I enjoyed the HELL out of that movie and enjoy the shit out of most if not all the stories from and/or inspired by the Bible. But I get that that’s what they are… stories! Whether there is a man in the sky pulling strings, giving babies cancer, making quarterbacks defeat other quarterbacks, sending plagues, flooding towns, causing famine, giving babies cancer (I used that one already?) and other such godly intentions – I have no fucking clue. But if you honestly believe that Noah filled a boat with 2 of every 5 million known species of animal or if ol’ “Let My People Go” Moses parted a sea on command or if dinosaurs actually were saddled up and ridden by humans, you sir are a fucking moron. Believe what you want, I don’t care. Believe in god(s), I don’t care. Just don’t tell me that these stories (really good stories) are nothing more than what they are: moralistic and inspirational tales made up by humans for humans. Or maybe I’m just mad that God fucked me again last week and didn’t answer my prayers to win the lottery. What a dick. But I digress…

So after several months of careful scrutiny, never-ending media coverage and now (hopefully) the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel, I can with full confidence give the final word on what has become the fucking silliest, #FirstWorldProblem scandal in the history of sport. I refuse to automatically associate any modern scandal with the Watergate Break-in and slap “gate” on the end of any word, so I’ll refer to this scandal as “Much Ado About Bullshit”. There. I feel better associating with Shakespeare than Tricky Dick, Gordo and the boys.  If you haven’t guessed by now, I am referring to the Tom Brady deflation of balls mess. Look, I don’t want to get off o a rant here but what’s the big fucking deal, bitch? So he asked some fucking drunk Southie to take a few PSIs out of some footballs. I equate that to watering down the base-paths to give your bunts a chance to stay fair. Growing the grass long on your home field so your fatsos have a chance to catch the less than fatsos on the other team. Stealing signals from second from the catcher. Stealing signals from the other sideline in football. If we are supposed to be living in this pristine, gentlemanly world, why do we have such complicated signs everywhere? Why are playbooks in the NFL guarded like Lee Harvey Oswald coming out of the Dallas jail? Wait, that’s a bad example. Ol’ Patsy McSureshot didn’t fair too well that day. I hope I never have to experience it but I’d take the JFK haircut long before I take a bullet in the gut, taking 2 hours to die. And did Oswald act alone? Some theories point to----- wait, shit, almost went down a rabbit hole. Where was I? Oh yeah. The dude got over and he most likely would’ve gotten over without the help of an underinflated football. Jesus. Is that really what we are talking about here? A fucking football that was 2 psi lower than standard? We let QBs wear sticky gloves on their throwing hand. That’s not performance enhancing? Every QB in the history of this shitty league has done this. So Brady got caught. Big deal. Some like ‘em flat, some like ‘em big and round. Last I checked the fucking defense didn’t play with flat balls. The other team still had an opportunity to score, right? And stop with the whole guilty by association because he didn’t turn over his phone. This guy fucks models. Is married to a model.  Had a kid with a different model and makes 25 million a year. I make not close to half a percent of that and you’ll get my phone out of my cold, dead hands. Who knows what secret, illuminati model-fucker launch codes this dude has on his phone. Not to mention naughty selfies, am I right ladies? So stop with your hypocritical dissection of the Golden Boy. We have a serious hero-worship problem in this country yet our love of wanting someone to fall from grace may be worse. So save your vitriol and your passion for where it belongs: In your own life. Maybe if you gave a shit about your own goings on, you’d be a millionaire model-fucker with a naughty phone and then someone could take you down a peg or two. Or maybe he’s a fucking cheater, who really gives a shit. But I digress…

As I drive along the many roads of life, one thing remains the constant of all constants: death. That's right. The primary of life's two certainties (taxes being the other one). Ol' Grim Reaper himself waits for no man. So as lives are plucked out at a seemingly random order, one can relish in the thought that their memories will be forever ensconced... on the back of a '04 Chevy Suburban. Holy white trash, Batman! Nothing says "Never Forget" like strapping some mall-made "RIP Mama" sticker to the back of your Honda Civic so that everyone who has the unfortunate enough experience of being stuck behind you at a red light can bask in the remembrance of your literal moving memorial. The last thing I want once I punch my ticket off this planet is anyone close to me dedicating their soccer mom van to my memory. How about a scholarship? How about naming one of the 14 kids you either have or are going to have over the next 4 years after the departed? Holy shit, Facebook memorials think these car RIPs are beneath even them. And enough with roadside memorials too. Dude, I get it, it sucks, your homie died on the side of the road either by his own incompetence or his failure to obey simple traffic laws. But again, the last thing I think either he or his family would want would be a constant reminder of when, how and where that dude wandered into traffic. And can we put a time limit on these things? How long do I have to look at a fucking Lakers jersey and a skateboard nailed to a cross on the side of the road? And won't me and every other passerby looking at that roadside gravesite increase the chances of causing another accident thereby increasing the number of memorials thereby increasing the number of accidents thereby increasing the... holy shit! So keep the flowers and the glossy 8x10s and the crosses the size of a Mini Cooper to where they belong... at the ground zero base of horrific terrorist attacks. Too soon? RIP bitch. But I digress...