I’m sure you probably are saying to yourself something like, “What the heck is Mickey saying?” or “Why is this gesticulating goombah complaining again?” or definitely, “What the heck does plethora mean?”
Well, the results of 2016 I truly did not love.
Saturday my football Cardinals got a measure of revenge. They were leading the hated Seahawks by a score of 31 to 18 in the second half. Then, like God was cheating in their favor or something, the doofy Seahawks made a couple of long scoring plays and should have been able to kick the winning point after touchdown with less than two minutes left in the game. Miraculously, the kicker shanked it wide left. Tie score, 31 to 31. So then, karma finally kicked in and the Cardinals got down into fieldgoal range on a pass to David Johnson, the miracle running back who ran for over 100 yards in his 15th consecutive game. The game ended with a successful Cardinals’ field goal that gave them the unlikely win.
So, why am I not happy with a win like that? Because it was practically the only one. The Cardinals had a talented team this year that was predicted to win the Superbowl at the beginning of the year. But they kept losing games. Eight of them, as a matter of fact. They were out of the playoff picture before Saturday’s game. And the last time they played these skanky wanky Seahawks, they scored first in overtime, but still only got a tie out of the game. And these same Seahawks made it into the playoffs as the winner of the Cardinals’ division. Football life is really unfair sometimes.
And besides that, the Cubs won the World Series. Donald Trump is going to be President in 2017. The world is ending (at least within 100 years). I am dying (at least within ten years). And I am no closer now to being a successful novelist than I was on the day I was born. Oh, and I have a viral infection that makes me cough and may kill me. Life is all dark brown and dumbly glum right now.
So “plethora” means a whole gol dang lot of something. And somewhere, somehow, someone owes me a good day or two.
Catch a Falling Star 
Just Call Me Joe
Yes, the rain clouds are hanging over my old gray head. I am plunged deeply back into credit card debt by increases in property taxes, a lawsuit by Bank of America, the city forcing me to get the cracked pool repaired though I can’t afford to do anything more than fix it myself and rain keeps refilling it, a recent car accident, my wife forgetting to pay the phone bill for two months, and the @#%&! family dog chewing up another of my son’s expensive retainers. Good fortune occurs once in a blue moon, but bad fortune comes in daily waves.
So today is about complaining. Life sucks… in the sense of a vacuum cleaner (the addendum I always had to add as a school teacher whenever the word “sucks” was used in class). Life especially sucks (remember… vacuum cleaner) now that we have a dyspeptic orangutan running our country.
The answer, of course, is that we simply have to live with it. Life will go on. At least, until it doesn’t. We are all going to die some day. Humanity and life on earth will be extinct some day. We live within the borders of birth and death. The beginning and the end.
But life is actually like a book. It begins and ends. But the important part is the pages in between. And we can fill them with good things and lots of love and even more laughter. Hmm, maybe I should stop complaining now.
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Filed under commentary, Depression, feeling sorry for myself, humor, self pity, strange and wonderful ideas about life
Tagged as bad luck, complaints, humor, Joe BTFSPLK