Consarn It, I'm Grumpy

I am gratified to see that, of all of the serious problems facing this great nation of ours, the U.S. House of Representatives has again taken a firm stand against burning the American flag. Don't address our crippling deficit, or the continued difficulties in Iraq, or the rising price of fuel, or the growing gap between rich people and poor people. No, get out there and tackle that flag-burning problem.

Personally, I'm tired of chasing flag-burners out of the front yard. "Get out of here, you consarned flag-burners!" I shout, shaking my fist at them. On Saturday mornings, the Giant Eagle parking lot is crammed from curb to curb with flag-burners, and you can't even enjoy a Pirates game without some clown in the row in front of you pulling out a flag and lighting it up.

Actually, you can't enjoy a Pirates game because after a brief flirtation with averageness, they have once again ascended the heights of mediocrity. Seriously, they're not even bad enough to be interesting. If they were losing games 40-0, then you might be compelled to watch, because you could at least be ensured of an interesting slaughter, much the same way that a demolition derby or a trip to an abattoir can be entertaining. These 5-4 losses are just pitiful. Guys: The games are nine innings long. You can't quit after the seventh-inning stretch.

Now that I think of it, I'd rather tour an abattoir than see a demolition derby. I've gone to exactly two demolition derbies in my life; once when I was about 8, and the other two years ago at the Washington County fair. I got dragged to the latter by a group of friends.

The first round was sort-of amusing, if you're into loud noises and car crashes. (I'd just as soon hang out on the Parkway East if I want to see that.) By the third round, I was looking at my watch, and by the fifth, I was praying that a tie rod would come off of one of the cars, fly into the stands, and puncture my skull to put me out of my misery.

It didn't help that several cars in the demolition derby were newer than mine. I'd see some old Chevrolet Impala plow into another car, and I'd say, "Damnit, you ruined the driver's side door, and I need one!"

Speaking of cars, what is it with the birds? I left work the other day to find that I no longer had a sleek, grey Mercury: I had a bird-dropping colored Mercury with a few grey spots. I washed it last night, but five will get you 10 that by tomorrow morning, I'll need a putty knife just to scrape a patch of pigeon feces off of the windshield large enough so that I can drive.

And I swear that someone in our neighborhood has been feeding the birds bran muffins and Ex-Lax. I awoke the other morning to see a strange, misshapen shadow on the bedroom wall. Upon putting on my spectacles (because I'm blind as a bat without them), I realized that a bird had decorated the entire side of the house, including the window and the screen.

The bird is long gone, but despite all of the rain, his (or her) memory lingers on my siding and the window screen. I'm going to have to take the screen down and scrub it with soap and hot water. Something's wrong with our civilization when we're reduced to cleaning up birdie bowel movements: Who, exactly, is the superior species here? But if I don't clean it up, then opening my bedroom window will continue to be a disgusting activity.

Not that I'm going to be able to open the window this weekend, because they're predicting temperatures will be up into the 90s, and I'm probably going to have to break down and turn on the A/C. I despise hot weather. Every time it's 95 degrees and I run into some clown who says, "isn't this weather beautiful," I want to beat them about the head and shoulders with a bottle of suntan lotion. Cold isn't a thrill, but I can always put on more clothes (and if you've ever seen me, you'd encourage me to put on as much clothing as possible). I can't take off skin during a heat wave.

Air conditioning can be a wonderful convenience, especially if you're in some ridiculous place like Arizona, but I much prefer letting some fresh air in. When that air isn't being filter through screens contaminated by diarrhetic birds, that is. And do I even have to say what air conditioning causes? High electric bills.

I don't need to send $100 a month to Duquesne Light. The phone company is already into me for $155 this month because I called their repair service after I didn't have a dial tone for two days. The problem was on their end --- though they deny it --- and you'd better believe the Public Utility Commission is getting a complaint. I might as well wad that complaint up into a little ball and stick it somewhere, which would save me a stamp and do about the same amount of good, but at least I'll have the satisfaction of screwing up someone else's day.

I can't complain to anyone about the refrigerator, unfortunately. I returned from Florida to find out that it had turned into a large, smelly, warm porcelain cabinet. The temperature inside was up to 57 degrees, the ice cream was dripping out of the carton, and the milk smelled like an earthquake in a graveyard.

The repairman came out and recommended that I dig a pit and push it in: The compressor is shot. The damned thing is 13 years old! My mother got 25 years out of her refrigerator. My grandmother's was 40 years old. Shouldn't technology be improving, not regressing?

I have a lot of other topics to cover --- those stupid Turkey Hill Dairy billboards with the giant cows, for example. Who wants to see a 10-foot-tall udder at 7 o'clock in the morning? Some freak who's into cow porn? Unfortunately, I see the doctor is here again. He says I'm off my meds. I'd argue with him, but I think I'll just go nighty-night for a while instead.