SHAMPOO
Two words, side-by-side, should they be?
Sham: best reserved for Ponzi schemes and late night infomercials.
Poo: not something you should rub, massage or work into any part of your body.
GUY
Are there some parents so lazy that they don’t want to bother remembering their son’s name? Guy is not a real name. It’s a generic title used to describe a guy.
Guy, the equivalent of gal, but no parent would name a daughter Gal, not if they want to condemn her to a life as an extra on the Boca Raton dinner-theater circuit.
Can one live a normal life as a Guy? Well look at Guy Smiley, a man who shouts his name at any opportunity in an attempt to forge deep and meaningful relationships through various game shows and wildlife encounters.
Then you have Guy Lafleur, a former professional hockey player who forged deep and meaningful relationships with opponents by punching them in the face.
And don’t forget Guy Fieri, restaurateur and TV personality, who forges deep and meaningful relationships with different levels of hot sauce.
For a time I watched a local weatherperson by the name of Guy Brown. I liked his delivery: no nonsense, low-key, forecasting the weather as if explaining the finer points of a life insurance policy. But I always wondered how he would react when a tornado approached and the station broke into a regularly scheduled program? Would he keep his cool or instead wave his hands in the air and run around like a certain game show host?
HOT BEVERAGE
I’m standing in an aisle of a local supermarket looking at caffeinated beverages.
Lavazza: Coffee from Torino, Italy. Are there really volcanic properties in this beverage?
Mother’s Milk: Not what the name states but a tea supplement to promote lactation for nursing mothers. Kind of like Mountain Dew, which is not really dew from a mountain.
Death Wish: Is this coffee for people who need an extra jolt just this side of a lightning strike?
ALIENS
If aliens are indeed bona fide, they have obviously traveled many space miles. So why do depictions have them looking like prehistoric reptiles or emaciated ghosts? Shouldn’t they look as advanced as their accomplishments? Why does E.T. have to look like a naked sea turtle and move like an eighty-year-old on his way to the knockoff musical Guys and Gals?
PROFESSIONS
Some peoples’ names perfectly align with their profession.
Dick Butkus: great name for smashing opposing football players into the dirt.
Winston Churchill: not a name for a waiter or even a maître d’, but a name for cigar chomping world leader or bulldog.
Cate Blanchett: a name for multi-award-winning actress or pathological liar posing as a multi-award-winning actress.
Then there are people with names that are telling you up front what’s going to happen if you hand them big sums of cash.
Bernie Madoff: certainly stole a historic amount of money in the greatest Ponzi scheme ever.
Sam Bankman-Fried: the first part of the hyphenated name seems trustworthy, but the second will take your nest egg and make the worst omelet ten million bitcoins can buy.
One should always consider the name when hiring a professional. After all, would you trust a veterinarian with the name Doolittle or a surgeon named Butcher or an actual butcher who goes by Sam O’Nilla?
GOATS
There was a time when being a goat was an unfortunate circumstance, especially during biblical times when Hebrew leaders placed the iniquities (sins) on the head of a goat and sent that goat into the wilderness to banish the tribe’s transgressions (à la scapegoat).
Nowadays, corporate leaders and career politicians can’t just send a goat to West Virginia. Now the most crooked and corrupt must surround themselves with fall guys. (Yet another reason not to name your son Guy.) But what about sports, especially placekickers, guys who spend most of their time on the sidelines pretending to be interested in a football game until they are called upon to either become the hero or the goat. That’s it. No middle ground, especially for Garo Yepremian, place kicker for the 1972 Miami Dolphins, who was about to put his team up 17-0 when his field goal was blocked by the opposing team.
No problem. Yepremian just picked up the loose ball and pretended like he knew how to pass, except he didn’t. Instead, he flubbed the ball into the waiting arms of Washington’s cornerback, Mike Bass, who ran the ball in for a touchdown.
Yes, that happened in Super Bowl VII. And no, it did not cost Miami the championship for they held on to win 14-7. Yepremian even joked about it when he said. “This is the first time the goat of the game is in the winner’s locker room.”
For a time being a goat meant ending up in the losing column, but with capitalization it now means the Greatest of All Time (GOAT).
How can a word that was a source of infamy now be given the highest praise? Does capitalization hold that much power? Can we just hit the uppercase key and turn:
TOAD = Totally Official Awesome Dude
DUMP = Deluxe Ultra Modern Pad
Who knows? Why not? But then again are you really the greatest of anything if you are compared to an animal that looks like this?
Rub a dub dub the cap lock is on
All etymology fades away
The worst is the best
The banished the greatest
All GOATS in the hall of fame
Bleat!
TEARS
Speaking of failed field goals, I still remember the end of an epic college football game between the Alabama Crimson Tide and the Auburn Tigers (circa 2013). With the game tied 28-28 and the final play on the line, Alabama coach Nick Sabin sent in place kicker, Adam Griffith, to attempt a 57 yard field goal to win the game.
Well, the kick didn’t get blocked, but sailed and sailed into the waiting arms of Auburn’s Chip Davis who proceeded to run the ball back for a 109-yard touchdown to win the game.
That wasn’t the best part. The best part was among the celebrating at Auburn’s Jordan-Hare Stadium was a Crimson Tide fan with his two sons standing in shock as one of the sons bawled for his most favorite team was no longer a GOAT but a goat.
I don’t know why, but seeing the endless stream of tears brought me joy. The Germans have a word for this which I can’t spell. But was it wrong of me to find such delight in the misery of a distraught child? Perhaps, but joy is what I felt seeing a perennial powerhouse humbled on national TV. I hope this isn’t the reason I’m sent to eternal damnation for I’m pretty sure I’ll end up in Alabama.
I kid. It will be West Virginia.
CHILL
I think the pandemic made some of us a little too relaxed. I’m talking about the people who wear pajamas in public. You see them at the mall in colorful fleece with bunny slippers sitting at a Cinnabon like they are at home at the breakfast table.
Maybe the mall is an okay place to dress down but should one go to divorce court in flannel pj’s? Should one shop for groceries in a bathrobe? Is there ever a formal setting where wearing a tuxedo T-shirt is appropriate? And if you wear one to your wedding, are you legally required to have your reception at KFC?
Speaking of bathrobes, I also think those who smoke pot should do so within the confines of their abode. The reason? The smell. It’s called skunk for a reason, as it permeates, carries and imbues anything within a square mile. At least that’s how it seems when I’m in the car and can smell a burning roach even when no one else is around. Sometimes the smell is so overwhelming when a car pulls up next to me at a stoplight I feel compelled to say, “Excuse me officer, can you put out that blunt?”
POWER WALKS
A couple winters back was a tough stretch with ice and snow making walking outside impossible. So I moved into the area malls to get my steps, but I couldn’t understand why I kept gaining weight. Here is a documented walk:
Enter the mall and immediately develop a leg cramp.
Wait in line to get my picture taken with the M&M Gang. They are a no show. Still buy a five pound bag.
Take a spin on a Dream Rider to pad my steps. Get pulled over by security. My white tiger is confiscated, and I have to bribe the officers with M&M’s.
Make a pit stop.
Stop by to have a coffee with George Clooney. Yet another no show.
Make it to the second floor. Skin shows no signs of High Altitude Sickness.
Get my cholesterol checked. Smart enough not to wait for the results.
Take a nap.
Work out some kinks.
Give myself a pep-talk.
See some wildlife.
Cross a major river.
Make it to the third floor just in time for happy hour.
Steps finished. Wish I still had that white tiger.
fornaught.net 
