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Detriments of COPS Reloaded

4 Apr

I’ve been watching a lot of COPS Reloaded lately.  That’s definitely not anything I ever thought I would say, let alone begin a discussion with. It’s really the kind of thing I should be embarrassed about, but enjoy so much that I am unable to comprehend or even slightly embrace the shame that should be associated with such a pleasure.  There’s just something about observing idiots running on foot from law enforcement, and when caught, claiming that it was for absolutely no reason.  They just tend to take a brisk jog when the blue lights and sirens begin working.  Don’t we all?

Anyway,  last night I found myself asking Austin if he minded if we watched “just one episode” of COPS before bed.  He laughed but kindly obliged. On said episode, I began to empathize with what I convinced myself was an innocent young man running on foot from cops who were chasing him with a car for no good reason.  Obviously he was really bright with lots of potential and didn’t need the additional pressure that is brought on by being chased by a car.

When caught, he was wearing the big, saggy sort of jeans that  when observed you can’t decide if they are the gangster version of capri pants or if the person is just preparing for a flood with super short jeans.  The pockets of his jeans,capris, and/or shorts were cleaned out and among the contents were multiple packs of Kool-Aid.


“How neat!, ” I said, wanting to believe that he was simply creative about the transportation and purchasing of beverages.   “He just carries around Kool-Aid.  Maybe he’s cheap.  He’s like those little old women who go into restaurants and ask for water and lemons to make lemonade.  Only he asks for water and uses the sugar packets to make his own Kool-Aid.”

Austin, while looking at me like I may be slightly sheltered, “I’m pretty sure he’s just actually storing drugs in the Kool-Aid packets.”

I gasped and continued to pull for  televised, gangster friend. In fact, I stayed faithful right up until the Kool-Aid tested positive as cocaine.  Then I accepted that perhaps my empathy the derelicts on cops was a bit ridiculous.

At the end of the episode, I think what I remained most puzzled about is why that young man didn’t buy new pants that fit if he was bringing in all that cash money slinging Kool-Aid packs full of cocaine. Someone should obviously educate him about the merits of nice denim.


To Beyonce with Love

4 Feb

I’ve always been a huge Beyonce fan. Since Destiny’s Child & Wyclef released the magic that was ‘No No No’, I have been a fan. To this day, I think she is the only person who should be running around and dancing in a leotard. Even when the American gymnasts wore leotards in the Olympics, I felt they were treading on Beyonce’s ground and needed to STEP OFF. Sure they wore it first, but they didn’t wear it best. All of that said, if I looked like Beyonce, I’d probably dress like a huge rip too and two-step around in a leotard with the reckless abandon of a bath salt zombie. Anyway, I was impressed with her Super Bowl Half-Time performance, mildly terrifying facial expression and all.

However, Allie was terrified by the childlike excitement that erupted from me when all of Destiny’s Child jumped up onto the stage. “OH MY GOSH! IT’S DESTINY’S CHILD!” I yelled, almost as excited as Will Ferrell gets in Elf when talking about knowing Santa. SANTA! I KNOW HIM!

“WHO– is Destiny’s Child?” Allie asked, looking puzzled to see me so thrilled over three dancing women.

“WHO IS DESTINY’S CHILD?!” Outraged at my neglect, I proceeded to show her YouTube videos of ‘Say My Name‘ and ‘Bootylicious‘. She suddenly became one with my excitement and embraced the majesty that is Beyonce, Kelly, and Michelle. Minutes later we were singing ‘Say My Name’ in out of tune unison. I felt like I was giving her something she could actually use in life, like a college fund, except not.

Some people take their kids fishing. I teach mine pop culture, math, manners, and hope for the best. If she ever gets into a street fight, maybe she can challenge them to a duel of Queen lyrics and win.


Throughout the performance, Allie continued to muse that she couldn’t quite figure out why Beyonce only liked dancing without clothes, and also why, “she always has to be shaking something.” I agreed with her logic, but somehow, even though I would judge anyone else without pants dutifully gyrating as simply being a rejected stripper, Beyonce somehow pulls it off. EVERY SINGLE TIME.

I should also mention that I’m not completely sure why people are still angry with her for lip syncing the National Anthem. I think as Americans, we should truly be more disappointed in her naming her child Blue Ivy. That seems like an even poorer decision. If you are going to prance around in your naughty-naughty-shame clothes in front of a large audience, you should give your child a name that doesn’t seem like you are preparing them for a lifetime of turning tricks at an interstate sex shop for meth and sardines. And that’s all I have to say about that.

PS. I should note that my mother sent me a text asking if I watched the half-time show. I told her yes. Her only reply, “trashy.” Maybe she’ll join B’s team soon.