I can be snide, as my co-workers will most certainly attest. Not always. Maybe not even usually. I tend to pick my spots, releasing a smidgen of vinegar and spite to alleviate the stress of impatiently waiting on copy to edit (hence the job title) so I can push it through to my immediate supervisor (that would be you, Joe) whom I’m hell-bent on reintroducing to the pleasures of nicotine so I don't have to suffer in this world all alone. Besides, how much do I have to be bitter about? I’ve got a great job. I work with great people. It’s not like we’re in Chapter 11 or anything…
Anyway, here’s what I’m pissed off about this morning:
The endless, politically charged fawning over Tina Fey’s Sarah Palin imitation. At the risk of sounding like Tommy DeVito talking about Sammy Davis Jr., I get it: Fey is very talented and does a damn fine job of capturing the voice, mannerisms and obtuseness of the terribly unqualified vice presidential candidate from Alaska. But it’s no match for the blood-chilling real thing.
Faux-hawks. Follicular homicide won’t help you hit or field a baseball. Rally monkeys might.
No juicy “Amanda vs. Amanda” columns in nearly a month. What, you’re all in a happy place out there?
That we’re only four games into the NFL season and two coaches have already lost their jobs, with more pink slips looming on the horizon. Not that I pity the coaches. They’re getting paid. No, I sympathize with the fans who must contend with article after article of speculation about who’s on the hot seat and when his time might be up and blah, blah, blah. The NFL.com might as well have set up “The Lane Kiffin Death Watch” for all its relentless speculation about when he would get shit-canned by Raiders owner Al Davis. Well, Kiffin and Rams coach Scott Linehan were given their walking papers this week. Time to move on to Herm Edwards, you vultures.
