We’ve turned into a nation of hecklers.
We don’t listen to each other anymore. We shout. And when someone voices an opinion we don’t like, we shout louder.
We’ve turned into a nation of hecklers.
We don’t listen to each other anymore. We shout. And when someone voices an opinion we don’t like, we shout louder.
Billy Graham told my Aunt Agnes that God loved her and that someday she’d go to heaven where she’d be like everyone else.
There was a time when at 10 a.m. on a Tuesday I might be interviewing the governor or calling cops about an unsolved murder.
Now I’m doing pliés to “I’m A Little Teapot.”
“Most Boring Winter Olympics Ever,” proclaimed a Forbes headline Monday on a story that blamed NBC and its amateurish coverage for the viewing public’s lack of interest.
You can easily drive from where I live in Virginia Beach to Los Angeles and back and never eat anything but cookie-cutter grub and mediocre meals. And lots of folks do just that.
So far, I have no regrets. But should I ever find myself pining for my old job, I have the perfect antidote: My fan mail. Volumes of it. Years of it. A big, juicy reminder that there really are awful people in the world.
There was only one reason that CBS, MSNBC and The Miami Herald were so quick to throw the ghoulish videos out there with an insincere warning that viewers might find the content “disturbing.”
Money.
I once had an instructor tiptoe over to ask me to please refrain from drumming my fingers on the wood floor while everyone else was in a state of bliss.
"Sorry," I whispered back.
When they weren’t having orgasms over the dictator’s sister and comparing her to Ivanka Trump, the press was heaping praise on the creepy 200-plus member Cheer-or-Die-Squad that has been performing carefully choreographed routines during the games.
It’s true that most drunken drivers in the United States are Americans. We’re stuck with these homegrown hairballs. But there’s no reason we should be dealing with repeat offenders who are here illegally.
“Every contract is VERBAL,” he’d scream. “Verbal means it’s composed of words. From the Latin verbalis.
“Look it up,” he’d order.
Serious college football fans know that the path to championships starts today. If your team doesn’t reel in its share of three-four-and five-star players you’ll be lucky to get a bid to the Depends Bowl in two years when these blue chippers are setting college football on fire.
Yeah, right. The IRS has a satellite office in Calcutta now.
Today’s weak-kneed newspaper execs are so terrified of lawsuits that a stern call from a two-bit lawyer in a rumpled suit sends them to their fainting couches.
Truthfully, even as a teenager I wasn’t what anyone would call photogenic. In fact, in high school I sat for three sets of senior portraits before I got one that wasn’t too heinous for the yearbook.
When the blog bosses demanded a new portrait, I agreed. On one condition: They wouldn't toss me to the newspaper's photo department.
"I wanna go to the mall," I wailed. "To one of those glitzy studios."
Look, this therapy-dog-comfort-animal wackiness has gone too far. Seeing-eye dogs are one thing. Emotional support peacocks are something else.
Pit bulls may not bite more than other breeds, but they’re responsible for most of the deaths and near-fatal maulings in this country.
The sad truth about Virginia Beach - and all of Tidewater - is that the months of January and February are dreary. Bleak beyond words. So are chunks of December and March. The sky and the water are the color of tin foil. The air is raw and damp. Sort of like Ireland, only chillier and without the warmth of the Irish to counteract the climate.