This blog may contain profanity and/or material considered inappropriate. The views expressed in this blog are the opinions of the individual writer and do not necessarily reflect the views of KFI AM-640 and Clear Channel Radio.
Dan Clark works for the KFI promotions department. Dan is a manly man.
But Dan lost a bet when the Raiders lost to the Redskins.
It looked good in the first quarter when the Raiders were up 14-0. That's when Dan began "celebrating."
Dan began drowning his sorrows in the 2nd, 3rd and 4th quarters as the Raiders choked.
When it was all over, the Redskins had 24 points on the board, the Raiders remained at their initial 14 and Dan found himself in Hot Topic buying a T-Shirt.
Jimmy Fallon's Lip Sync-Off the other night had me laughing out loud. You need to take a break from whatever you're doing and take a look.
A while back, I don't remember how far back and I'm too lazy/busy/uninterested to check, I floated the idea that most of us are wrong when we refer to a California license to drive as a "Driver's License." The reason I said we were wrong is because we were. And if we're still saying "Driver's License," then we're still wrong.
When I blogged about it, irritated people crawled out of the woodwork and accused me of being an idiot, which I can be, and ignorant, which I have been and will be.
The most irritated woodwork dwellers appeared to be those who disagreed with my main reason for adopting the singular "Driver License" as opposed to going with the unenlightened "Driver's License."
My reasoning was simple: That's what the state named it. That's what the CHP calls it. That's what it says on the license itself. People said, "Oh, so you're going to call it what idiot bureaucrats call it?" Yeah, I guess so, if that's how you want to put it.
Interestingly, my argument was embraced by many in the media and even a few talk show hosts here at KFI. The correct term "Driver License" began spreading like molasses, slowly coating the region with thick, sweet reality.
Eventually, many of the enlightened bowed to the peer pressure of those who wanted to keep using the term "Driver's License" because, as the woodwork dwellers screamed, "That's what it should be!"
Now that "Driver's Licenses" are back in the news --as you may know the state's going to allow illegal immigrants to get them-- it's time to refer to them as they refer to themselves: Driver License. Or, when you need the plural: Driver Licenses.
I know, this state and that state call them "Driver's Licenses." And the state bureaucrats are so incompetent that we shouldn't refer to the license the way the state does. Those are both very compelling arguments. So compelling, in fact, that I'm going to repeat: It's Driver License.
Look at yours.
I said "hi" to Bill Handel today and asked how he was doing. He said, "Great. Horrible. I was great until I saw you." Then he laughed and shot me that "Bill Handel" grin which indicates that he thinks he's funny. Rob Archer didn't help when he popped out of a studio to say, "That's an excellent line!" Uttering something like that to Handel is like fanning a wildfire with a Santa Ana wind.
About an hour later, Handel walked into the studio and invited me to a yearly day-long client party he has at his house. He's really a nice guy.
Handel's such a nice guy that he often gives me his leftovers from lunch meetings. He's given me gourmet pizza, shrimp enchiladas, sandwiches and all kinds of stuff. It began a couple of years ago when I noticed him returning to the radio station with a doggie bag from Morton's. I jokingly asking him if I could have it. He said, "Hell no! I'm taking it home to my dog. And I don't even HAVE a dog!" Then there was that laugh and grin. I found it amusing. A few minutes later, Handel walked into the newsroom and gave me the doggie bag.
Since then, Handel's gone out of his way to bring me his leftovers, either calling me into his office to present me with food he's touched but not eaten or stepping into the newsroom to do the same. But sometimes he forgets, or, maybe he just eats everything on his plate.
Today I saw Handle leaving for lunch with, Ann, one of our sales people. She's the best dressed sales person I've ever seen. I told Ann to order extra stuff and bring me a doggie bag. She just smiled.
"Nice. You know what you are?" Handel said. I said I did not.
"You're a 'schnorrer,' look it up. S-C-H-N-O-R-R-E-R. That's what you are, a 'schnorrer.'" Then came the laugh and grin. I looked it up.
It's a beggar. Especially one who wheedles others into supplying his wants. I'm waiting to see if that doggie bag shows up.
At least 26 people have been killed and 80 hurt in a horrific traffic accident in Pinetown, South Africa. Yesterday's crash happened when an out of control truck blew through a red light, ripped through an intersection and smashed into several cars and mini vans.
This is why you look left and right before going through an intersection.
Below is a news report on the accident.
Traffic accidents have become one of the leading causes of death in South Africa.
Just when you --meaning I-- got tired of hearing Daft Punk's Get Lucky, along comes a Mario Paint composition of the song.
This is why public transportation sucks.
1. The shuttle bus from work arrived at the train station on time on a very hot Friday afternoon. Of course, my train from Burbank was 6, searing-hot minutes late.
2. Upon boarding the train, I sat my sweaty self across from a guy rubbing some loud woman's feet.
3. That skinny, old, foot-rubbing dude, wearing new white shoes and a white knit cap, pulls down the zipper of his plaid Bermuda shorts, whips out his penis and PISSES on the floor, turns around and floods the seat.
4. I mention it to the conductors. One, uninterested in the story, continues to fill out some form. The other guy, also apparently uninterested or jaded from too many pissing-on-the-seats stories,
says, "Oh yeah? I'll tell the cleaners." He then announces we're arriving at Union Station.
5. I board the next train, get about 500 yards out of the station and the train's engine dies. The conductor says the engine is actually running but "the train won't go." Once it does go, we're going back to the station.
6. Fifty five minutes later we're back at the station, pushed by another locomotive. We roll in on track 13.
7. Finally on another train, I discover my seat is severely stained. A former Metrolink Urine Train, I assume. Nothing soaks into my pants.
8. I wind up in what they call the "quiet car." That's the place on the train were it is understood --by most-- that you're not to be loud and obnoxious.
9. A man sits across from me coughing and hacking and eating wintergreen Altoids. They don't work. But he works for Metrolink.
10. Boom! The Quiet Car isn't. A woman with tattoos below her quads and above her knees, gets loud on her cell phone. She's told to keep it down. "You don't need to be gettin' into my business!" she says to the regular rider who asked her to pipe down. "I'll get loud on this quiet car if I want to," she hollers as snoozing passengers snap to attention to see what's happening. Pointing with her cell phone to the "quiet car" sign above my head, our loud quiet car lady says, "That sign don't say nothin' 'bout cell phones!" Miraculously, she shuts up then tells her daughter to sit up straight and close her legs.
11. The train arrives at 6:16, ten minutes late. Remember, this Metrolink Urine Train excursion began in Burbank with a late arriving train.
And that's why public transportation sucks.
I bought a 30 day pass, so I'm stuck with this thing for another month.
I'll be tweeting about my public transportation experience and you can follow along on @TheChrisLittle on Twitter.
News director Chris Little shows digital content producer @alysonthefish how to throw a punch. by @kfiam640