Note to Mark Cuban, owner of the Dallas Mavericks NBA franchise, his coach, Rick Carlisle, his star player, forward Dirk Nowitzki, the rest of his very capable team members, including Jason Kidd, Jason Terry, Tyson Chandler, Shawn Marion and all the others, to all his staff of coaches, administrative people, and in fact, to all the wonderful folks involved with the Mavericks team there in Dallas:
If you don't want to see a tear in the fabric of the universe, do not allow the Miami Heat to win the NBA Finals, which start tonight in Miami against your team.
There will be fire, pestilence, civic unrest, rioting, looting, cow-tipping, people removing those tags on your mattress and box-spring that says "Do Not Remove This Tag, Felon Boy", chaos of an unimaginable magnitude and just a phalanx (the first time I saw that word in print I thought it meant something dirty) of citizens in this country who will fall to the ground and begin weeping uncontrollably and tearing at their clothes (all female NBA fans are strongly encouraged to engage in this last activity as much as possible) if the Heat wins.
It's just too awful to contemplate.
Due to limitations in space (that's how people refer to the Harley Dog and I anytime we're off on one of our "missionary" trips through the Universe in my atomic powered rocket ship, the Royal Unionship Kidding), I'm not going to rehash all the media hype and nonsense coming out of Miami earlier this season when the Heat were building a roster and signing free-agent players as fast as Pat Riley, the President and Head Dude for the team, could get pens in their greedy huge hands. It was ugly, but so were a lot of my ex-girlfriends, which hasn't anything to do with the Miami Heat, but has a lot to do with why I'm still single at the ripe old age of 143.
So, Dallas, get out there and kick some Miami butt, okay? And don't get all puffed up with self-congratulations either; you weasels eliminated my Lakers in the second round, so I'm not cheering for you because your team suddenly became millionaire philanthropists and this is some outpouring of affection, I want you to win because I can't stand the idea of the Victory Parade taking place in South Florida. You're the proverbial "lesser of two evils".
Just not by much.
But if you think that LeBron James is big and ugly, which he is, take a look at that travesty at the top of the page, which, given the fact that it's one of the most startlingly unpleasant sculptures I've ever had the displeasure to view, I suspect you've already noticed.
That's the new statue of Pope John Paul II, which was recently unveiled in the Termini train terminal in Rome Italy.
No, it's not a statue of Benito Mussolini, the Italian ruler from back during WWII, although a number of residents of the Eternal City have likened it to the former dictator.
According to the article from the Associated Press, a sketch of the statue was seen and approved in advance by the Vatican. "Vatican spokesman, the Rev. Federico Lombardi, confirmed that the sketch 'received a positive opinion by the culture commission' of the Holy See. What happened between sketch stage and the final result, he couldn’t say." Sounds like the members of the "Culture Commission" were hitting the sacrificial wine a little hard that day. Geez.
The sculpture, recently erected to mark the late Pontiff's 91st birthday, which would have been on May 18th, was donated to the city of Rome by the "Silvana Paolini Angelucci Foundation, which is dedicated to humanitarian efforts". The Foundation avoided mentioning the controversy on its website; if it had been my money that paid for that thing, I wouldn't mention it either.
An online survey of Romans on the website of the daily newspaper, Il Messaggero, that asked residents of the city to comment on the statue, was running about 90% "Did Not Like (Sucked Big)" as of last week.
Okay, I'm no connoisseur of fine art; yes, I used to be a member of the Art Institute in Chicago, and I love great paintings and sculpture, and I could have spent days wandering around the Institute's exhibits. But for all that, no, I don't know much about art (or his brother, Mat, the one that lays on the floor all the time), but I know what I like, and boy, is that thing awful.
Not to denigrate another artist's work, but I'd have a hard time signing my name to that abortion. That's taking ugly to a whole new level. (My ex-, Dee Dee Spanxalot, took things to a whole new level on many occasions; unfortunately, it always seemed to be on a downward spiral, rather than upward. All those sultry nights, the satin sheets, the candles and soft music, the Sousaphone and the 55-gallon drum of Lime Jello, boy, those were, ahh, interesting times indeed.)
Since the newspaper Il Messaggero decided to take a poll of what people think of the new piece, I think we Americans should have a similar organ for our opinions; accordingly, I'm launching a new survey, which will be called "Rating Religious Art". In this simple test of "like/dislike/hate/wish they would burn it" artistic point of view, citizens will be asked to compare various pieces of "religious" art; for example, in one set, the survey respondent will be asked to judge the relative qualities of the Michaelangelo's "Pieta", the "Last Supper" by da Vinci, the Sistine Chapel depiction of God touching man, again by Michaelangelo and the...Pope John Paul II sculpture by artist Oliviero Rainald.
I've got the da Vinci and six points.
Tell you what, let's keep it simple. By show of hands, all those of you who think the new statue of Pope John Paul II is as ugly as a duffle-bag full of assholes, puttem' up...one, two, five, seven, twelve, two hundred ten, okay, there's a bunch of you.
Now, all those that like the new statue, also by show of hand...just that one guy, huh? (Must be the artist.)
I'm going to direct my staff to compose a letter to Pope Eggs Benedict, asking that, in the name of good taste and good art everywhere, the new statue of PJPII by taken down, dismantled and melted down into, well, whatever people use bronze for these days. (FYI, the "Bronze Age", the transitional period between the Stone Age and the Iron Age, took place roughly from 3300 B.C. through 1300 B.C. That was even before my time, although not much. I told my friend Ron the other day that one of the things I hate most about getting older is that my age is rapidly catching up to my IQ, which means I'm really getting old, or I'm really dumb; okay, it could be both.) The world already has enough eyesores as it is, with oil spills and strip-mining and over-crowded cities and billboards and Rosie O'Donnell and boy, the list just goes on, doesn't it?
In my letter to my fellow Popeperson, I'll urge that, for all of the above reasons, the new "stat" has to go; I don't care where especially, just make it be gone.
And if Strudel Boy can find a way to make that abomination disappear, maybe we can get him to work on LeBron James next.
Hey, LeBron, here's some perspective for you and all of your egotistical, self-centered, narcissistic fellow athletes; guys, if you couldn't throw, hit, shoot or catch a ball of some sort, many of you would be the biggest, tallest hamburger-flippers ever employed at McDonalds. Not all of you, in fact, not even most, because there's a lot of great people in professional sports, and many, many decent ones as well. But for all of the LeBrons, and the Chad Johnsons and the Terrell Owens and the ARods and the Pete Roses and all the other douche-bag jerks who think that skill on the playing field equates to a feeling of superiority over your fellow humans, yeah, guys, this butt's for you.
I hear Pat Riley is taking bids for a statue of LeBron James to be erected in front of the American Airlines Arena, where the Heat play their home games. Hey, Pat, I know the name of a sculptor that's available. I hear he works cheap, and you know, big guy, you get what you pay for.
Love and Rodin,
PJTT
copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.
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