Can someone explain to me how millions of fools love the show Lost so much? If those sucka’s want suspense, subtext, and hidden layers of symbolism, they needn’t look further than reruns of The A-Team. And, while there’s plenty of relevant sociopolitical commentary woven in to every A-Team episode, the real magic happens during the commercials.

Ponder this pizza bagel commercial: For a few frames, a young child wearing a black martial arts can be seen karate kicking a basketball on a soccer-field. That’s deep. That’s the kind of commentary on the human condition that contemporary television refuses to grapple with. Sometimes, I want to punch television programming in the side of its head.

I had to blow off some steam at the gym this morning because my emails to dine with Larry King keep going unanswered. I know that fool has email. I did one thousand knuckle pushups with handclaps on the sidewalk outside of the gym, I was so mad. Sucka, I’m still fumin’.

Larry King has all the time in the world to go eat chicken and waffles with Snoop Dogg, but repeatedly ignores my invites to have a Wheatgrass, Flax, & Black Bear Gall Bladder Smoothie at my local shake shack. Larry King, I am very angry at you, but my mother told me if I have nothing nice to say to a fool, don’t say nothing at all. Fool.

“Mother” gives the AirBook a stompin’

I went to the Apple Store this morning because my wifi has been down all week. If I go too many days without checking my MySpace profile, I get all disoriented. It feels like there ain’t enough air in the world to fill my lungs.

I’m still here, blogging from one of the new thin Aerodynamic-Macintosh-Books. I’m surrounded by fools who think these new laptops are great. Makes me mad enough to stomp a parakeet. All this people keep picking up these computers off table and saying “This computer’s so light” and “This computer’s so thin”. I ain’t a sucka. I like to break sweat when I pick a computer up.

Photo by a2gemma via Flickr

Damn. I just woke up. What the hell is goin’ on? How the hell did I sleep for four days? I had my close friends over on the 31st to unveil my new stomping move and I guess I must have passed out. I had crazy dreams fools.

I dreamed I was buying ingredients for a banana mint protein milkshake when a giant horse started chasing me around the supermarket with his shopping cart. The horse refused to follow me down the Mexican food isle. It just started kicking and shouting about how it didn’t want to lose its identity. I just stood there punching taco shells until I woke up.

I’m furious at these Politico fools for thinkin’ that everyone in America slept through the Senate’s 10-second session over the holiday weekend. I was awake. I was awake as hell. I had to wake up on Friday at 5:30 in the morning, because I needed to walk my ugly Sumatran Tiger before Mr. T’s Annual Pajama Congress got underway. My tiger gets all shifty when he isn’t walked. The fool nearly tore up my silk drapes last year.

Every year, my closest friends put on their finest pajamas and their toastiest socks and we gather in the darkest sub-basement of my compound. At 6:00 am, I light a candle and unveil a new stomping or crushing move for the new year. Then I extinguish the candle with a powerful wind-clap. My friends and I spend 6 hours in the dark, discussing and debating what to name my new fighting move, and then we spend 6 more hours nominating and selecting next year’s fiercest sucka’. Then we bake cookies.

I’ve decided to buy myself a pet for Christmas. I need an animal that can recognize a sucka’ and take a sucka’ down and also provide some companionship.

My crew suggested I get an internet pigeon, an anti-paparazzi tiger, or a monkey sex alarm clock. But, I’m not positive those are pets I can nuzzle up to after a long day of stompin’ on suckas and punching reinforced concrete walls.