THE TYGRRRR EXPRESS

At the 2008 Republican Convention in Minnesota, I had the unexpected pleasure of meeting Miss Texas, who is competing in the Miss America Pageant. Her real name is Rebecca Robinson.

http://www.missamerica.org/competition-info/national-contestants.aspx?state=Texas&year=2009&GO=GO!

What was unexpected about the meeting was that she came up to me, and not the other way around. For a guy who did not have phenomenal dating success in junior high school, the ego boost was pleasant. No matter how old a man is, hearing from a pretty woman that he did something worthwhile is nice.

Apparently she had observed me taking on some left wing protesters, and she liked what I had to say. She told me that she though it was cool that I let the protesters have it.

So Miss Texas thinks I am cool. How cool is THAT!

Anyway, while she is from Texas, and she was at the GOP Convention, the Miss America Pageant prevents her from discussing political issues. She agreed to do an interview with me provided that no politics was discussed.

1) Where is your next major appearance?

RR: “On January 24th of 2009, I will be at Planet Hollywood in Las Vegas, I will be competing in the Miss America reality show.”

2) Where can people go to learn more information about you?

RR: “They can go to

www.misstexas.org

3) Dallas Cowboys or Houston Texans?

RR: “The Dallas Cowboys! Definitely the Cowboys!”

4) Hank Hill or Boomhauer?

RR: “Oh no, ick! Neither!”

5) How would you like people to remember you?

RR: “As a nice person who cares about her family and friends. Hopefully as Miss America!”

It was fun meeting Rebecca Robinson. When I took a picture with her, people wanted us to “get closer.” I explained that I had a girlfriend, and did not want to get in trouble. When people asked me where she was, I explained that my girlfriend is a liberal.

Ms. Texas asked me how that works out, and I told her that we love each other. I also said to Miss Texas that “she is my Miss America.”

After the crowd went “awwwwwwwwww,” I realized what I had said and quickly told nearby reporters, “Hey, write that down!” The crowd laughed.

While the Chicago Cannonball is the love of my life, it is nice to know in case my single friends ask me, that gorgeous and smart women can be found in places such as the GOP Convention.

All I can say is Rebecca Robinson is no powder puff. She can hold her own. Texas women are tougher than many Northern men. So the phrase does apply to her when I say, “Don’t mess with Texas.”

Yet if you’re real nice, and take on some protesters, you might get lucky enough to get to meet a pretty cool lady. I wish her luck in the Miss America Pageant.

eric

25 years ago, the 1983 Raiders won the Superbowl.

15 years ago, the 1993 Raiders showed a ton of heart. I also learned about matters of the heart.

Before getting to football, I want to pay a tribute to some heroes. No, not those in Iraq and Afghanistan. Those people are heroes, but I am talking about the unsung heroes that engage in actions on a daily basis without recognition.

Yes, of course I am referring to myself.

Normally I am awake at the crack of noon on weekends, but today I somehow woke up at 10am. While this alone might not seem like an accomplishment, it gave me an opportunity to dig down deep. My football game was not until 1pm, but if somehow I could make it out of bed, I could help my nation when it needed me most.

I started my day with my standard 4 word prayer…We…can…do…this.

It was not easy, but through grit, determination, and sheer will, I made it to my destination at 10:57am, 3 minutes before the 11am deadline. I beamed with American pride as I let the person on the other side of the counter know what I wanted. “McDonalds Deluxe Breakfast please.”

Yes, in an economy that some see as teetering, I could not stay in bed. I had to go out and contribute to the local economy. I know many people want to thank me for this, but it was my duty as an American to help, and I was happy to honor everything that is decent, right, and tasty in this world.

While my first task was pure glory, my football game was less successful. I did have one reception, but it was not enough.

Our team, “Touch This,” ran into a buzzsaw. One play into the game, a touchdown bomb had the score at 7-0. This would have been delightful had we not been on defense. After falling behind 14-0, we had a touchdown bomb of our own. The ball was bobbled and caught, at which point the receiver raced to the end zone. Unfortunately, the play had been blown dead. It was an inadvertent whistle. We did throw a touchdown on the next play, but it was to the other team. The interception return turned what should have been a 14-7 game into a 21-0 hole. Another completion for a touchdown by our team resulted in 7 more points for the other team. When our team went to the half, we were down 35-0.

I could brag about how we shut the opponent down in the second half, but it was possible that they stopped caring. On the last play of the game, they scored their only points of the second half. Unfortunately, it was still more than the bagel we put up, matching our first half output. We went down to defeat 41-0.

After the umpteenth interception, the referee heard me say that this was like watching Rich Gannon in the Superbowl a few years back. I think that Buccaneers defensive players Dexter Jackson and Robert Brooks were on the other team against us. I still have flashbacks about that debacle that ended the 2002 NFL season.

As for my teammates, they are very nice people, and everybody grieves in different ways. Some of them consumed alcohol. I have my own post game therapy. I announced to them that I was an alpha male, and as an alpha male, I was going to go shopping.

My teammates also asked me how my girlfriend got the nickname I gave her, that being the Chicago Cannonball. I let them know that unless she gave me permission to disclose that, I would just say that I am a happy guy.

As for the game, I love football, but sometimes love hurts.

Yet if 2008 was emotional, especially for a crybaby like me, 1993 was the year that everything went bonkers. It seems like only 15 years ago that it was 1993.

Everything that happened revolved around the Raiders, and their struggle to reach NFL greatness on the 10th anniversary of their 1983 Superbowl triumph. Key moments in my life directly intersected with that season.

The team started 2-0, and Week 3 against the Cleveland Browns had the Raiders up 16-3 in the 4th quarter. Yet I was nerve wracked. The offense was doing nothing, and the defense was exhausted. I know football, and the score was deceptive. Sure enough, the Browns closed to within 16-10, and then a safety made it a 16-12 game. The nightmare got worse. Cleveland running back Eric Metcalf broke off a long run, just short of a touchdown. With 10 seconds left in the game, the Browns had the ball on the Raiders one yard line.

At that moment my girlfriend of almost 3 weeks came into the lounge and wanted to discuss feelings, and what our relationship meant. Luckily, yours truly had the best male friends a guy could ask for. They surrounded this woman, whose only redeeming quality even I could not identify, and let her know that she would be executed if she bothered me at that moment.

On the next play, the Browns scored a touchdown, and won a shocker 19-16. I stormed out of the lounge in a rage. I was a senior in college, and took things slightly harder than I do today.

I was disconsolate on the stairwell in the dorms when one of the guys let me know that there was a barbecue with hot dogs and hamburgers. I said I did not want anything, even red meat. At that moment he yelled out that the situation was a “code blue,” and absolutely nobody was to talk to me. He sealed the stairwell off to keep everybody away from me. The only two guys that could deal with me in that situation are still friends of mine to this day.

As I lay in the stairwell disgusted, I heard the viper, who was truly my worse half, say, “He is being a baby. He needs to get over it.” One of the guys questioned the woman as to whether she had a death wish, or a death expectation.

She then snapped, “You would think it was something important.”

Another girl standing in the area looked at the viper and replied, in a soft voice masked with a thick Russian accent, “Don’t you see. It’s important to him.”

Even in my dazed condition I processed all of this. Later that night I dumped the viper. Several days later, the Russian and I began a 2 year relationship.

A couple of weeks later the Raiders had another psychotic finish. Week 5 was against the New York Jets. It was a miserable first half for the Raiders, and they fell behind 17-0. Quarterback Jeff Hostetler was a leader and a winner, but this was just not his day. Vince Evans, who may have been 100 years old, came into try and give the team a spark.

Normally my new girlfriend would stay far away from me on NFL Sundays, but she saw me in the hallway and saw that I need consolation. She let me rest my head on her stomach. I was in a daze, but she assured me the Raiders would come back and win. She made it clear that while she knew nothing about football, she knew that she wanted me to be happy, and the Raiders would do their part.

I went back to the lounge, and Vince Evans began reining bombs. The Raiders came back and tied the game 17-17, but a costly interception by Evans led to a field goal that had the Jets up 20-17.

The Raiders drove down the field, as the clock was running out. In a complete reversal of 2 weeks earlier, the Raiders had the ball on the Jets one yard line with seconds left. A field goal would have been automatic, but the clock was running and their was no time to get the kicker on the field. Head Coach Art Shell ordered the team to go for it, and Nick Bell barreled up the middle for a touchdown. He fractured his ribs on the play, but ended his season heroically. The Raiders won 24-20, and I remained sprawled on the floor in exhaustion. The Russian found me and helped get me to my dorm room to sleep it off.

Several weeks later the Raiders had a thriller on Monday Night Football against the hated Denver Broncos. The Raiders led 13-0, the Broncos went ahead 17-13, and the Raiders pulled back ahead 20-17. The Broncos were driving for the winning touchdown when the Raiders held them to a field goal and a 20-20 tie. As my close friend and I watched in his apartment off of campus, the entire neighborhood heard the basket case that was me. On the last play of the game, in the Cold Denver air, kicker Jeff Jaeger nailed a 53 yard field goal for a 23-20 Raiders victory. The congratulatory calls began coming in immediately, but I was on the floor unable to speak. My friend let everybody, including my girlfriend, know that I would call them once I came out of my stress induced coma.

Yet this season was never easy. After 15 games the Raiders were 9-6. Week 16 was the rematch with the Broncos. It was do or die. If the Raiders won, they would be in the playoffs. A loss ended their season. It was January 2nd, 1994, but for football fans, it was still the 1993 season.

The Broncos scored the first 6 times they had the ball, and led 30-13. John Elway was on fire.

My girlfriend did not come in the lounge. She would send other people in, and they would report back to her. In that sense, she really failed to make matters worse, unlike the viper.

Hostetler threw a touchdown to close the gap to 30-20. The defense finally stepped up. A field goal made it 30-23. The Raiders had one last drive, and with seconds left, Jeff Hostetler threw a pass as he was being sacked. Alexander Wright caught it. ESPN announcer Chris Berman called him “Alexander ‘If loving you is wrong, I don’t wanna be’ Wright.” The game went into overtime tied 30-30.

The Broncos got the ball first in overtime, and Elway took them right down the field. My friends and I, all rooting for the Raiders, watched helplessly. My Raiders jacket, a silver and black badge of honor, was used by me as something to bite into. Long time kicker Jason Elam came on for a 40 yard field goal, and the chance to end the Raiders season.

At that moment I remembered my relationship with God. There are no atheists in that type of situation. I will not say what promises I made, or whether I honored them. I believed them at the time.

The kick is up…No good!

Winston Moss, the emotional leader of the Raiders defense, pounded his fist into the turf. I pumped mine into the air. The Raiders had life.

Hostetler, aka “The Hoss,” made the most of his opportunity. Several plays later, Jeff Jaeger came on for a 47 yard field goal. Chris Berman’s voice thundered during the post game highlights.

“Jeff ‘Mic’ Jaeger…Paint it black! It’s good! Jaegermeister on the house!”

The Raiders had won 33-30 in overtime. They were going to the playoffs. Their wildcard opponent was…the Denver Broncos. Both teams made the playoffs. The Raiders would be hosting again.

January 9th, 1994, was more than the WIldcard game. It was my 22nd birthday. Mark your calendars everybody. The date has not changed, only the year does.

Friends of mine from all over Southern California joined me in the lounge. We were either all going to a restaurant to celebrate my birthday after the game, or I was going to stay in my dorm room and break things.

The Russian stayed far away, asking anybody who walked out of the lounge how things were going.

The game was tied 21-21 at the half, and everybody was making sure that the day ended in celebration. Sometimes people tease me. Not today. Everyone was supportive.

The Raiders took over in the second half. With 18 seconds left, the Raiders led 42-24. I was still nervous. When the clock hit zeroes, everybody sang the best rendition of happy birthday I have ever had. The Russian heard the jubilation, and I let her know that it was time to plan the carpools for the party. My birthday was held at a 50s cafe, and I was sky high.

On January 15th, 1994, the Raiders had their divisional matchup with the Buffalo Bills. The Bills had been to the Superbowl after the 1990, 1991, and 1992 seasons.

In 1990, the 4-0 Raiders, who have never been 5-0, led the Bills 24-14 in Buffalo. The Bills then exploded, with a blocked punt and several turnovers leading to a 38-24 Bills victory. Because of that game, the Raiders ended 12-4, and the Bills 13-3. The rematch was played in the AFC Championship game, with the winner going to the Superbowl. The Bills led 41-3 at halftime, and won 51-3. It was humiliating.

In 1991 the Raiders wanted revenge. The 10-3 Bills came to Los Angeles to play the 9-4 Raiders. The Raiders led the Bills 27-14 with 5 minutes left. The Raiders then collapsed, and the Bills won the game 30-27 in overtime. The Bills went to the Superbowl again, while the Raiders went into a tailspin, losing every remaining game.

In 1992 The Raiders defeated the Bills, but had a terrible year and finished 7-9. The Bills went to the Superbowl.

In the magical 1993 season, the Raiders had their best game one week after their worst game.

In Week 11, they played the 0-10 Bengals at Cincinnati. The Bengals won the game 16-10. Jaeger missed 4 field goals. The entire game was a nightmare. 0-10, and they beat the Raiders.

Yet Week 12 was against the Bills in Buffalo. The Raiders were 6-5 and desperate, especially after losing to the Bungles. The Bills were 8-3. Despite the cold, the Raiders showed a ton of heart. Trailing 24-16, they converted two Buffalo turnovers into a 25-24 victory. This game saved the season.

Now the Raiders needed to beat the Bills again, in Buffalo. The wind chill made it 30 degrees below zero. These Raiders would not back down. A touchdown pass by Hostetler had the Raiders up 23-22 in the 4th quarter. Another one point shocker was possible.

The Bills went up 29-23 on a touchdown, and the Raiders next offensive series went nowhere. Buffalo had 6 1/2 minutes left, and they ground down the clock, and my heart with it.

This hurt worse than 51-3. This game was winnable. Yet it would be Buffalo going to their 4th straight Superbowl. The 1993 Raiders went 10-6, and 11-7 including playoffs.

I wanted Buffalo to suffer consequences, perhaps a tornado. Instead it was Los Angeles that got rocked two days later.

On Monday, January 17th, 1994, I went to bed about 4:15am. I was still fried from the emotional football weekend. 15 minutes later, the Northridge Earthquake rocked Los Angeles.

Like any football fan, the first words out of my mouth were pure me.

“Oh, great. First the Raider game, and now this. This week is really going to suck.”

I was always calm in these situations. After all, with Earthquakes you either live or die, and the answer comes quickly. Besides, I was exhausted, and just wanted to go back to bed. It’s not like this was something stressful, like football. It had been a long season, and I needed the offseason to recover. 2 days into the offseason, the timing of this quake could not have been worse.

People began yelling about everybody going to the basketball court on campus, because that was the flat level ground. When people knocked on my first floor window to get to the basketball court, I replied, “I don’t want to play basketball. I’m tired.”

I would have stayed in bed but somebody yelled that the Russian hurt her foot running outside.

I grabbed my keys and wallet, and tended to her. She was frightened, but I ignored orders about going back into the building to get her a couple blankets. I wrapped one around her foot and the other around her body. Also, I got my sneakers and socks because I was cold.

Then after being told not to go back into the building, I remembered that I had orange soda in the fridge. I went back and got it. What were they going to do, write me up? That was not new to me.

I told one Resident Assistant. “I am really cool, calm and collected right now. I can be very helpful…or very cranky. Now which do you want in this type of situation?”

The R.A. pointed out that if I kept going back into the building, it could collapse on me and kill me. I replied, “Then I would deserve it, and you would not have to deal with me anymore.”

Then I ignored orders not to use any telephones by going back into the building and calling my friend, who lived in a house around the block from campus. Everybody else stayed on the cold basketball court until about noon.

We were ordered to stay on campus, so I had my friend pick up the Russian and me, and we were back asleep in a warm house by 7am.

That night one of the Resident Assistants, whose sole reason for living was to write me up, confronted me about my actions.

“If everybody had done what you did…”

I immediately laced into him.

“Look, my girlfriend was hurt. She wasn’t looking to R.A.s for help. She was looking to me. It is my responsibility to keep her safe. Now if you want to write me up the next time I get in a fistfight, or break any number of screwed up rules in these dorms, do it. Let this one go. I did the right thing, and I will go into the Dean’s office and accept my medal if that will get you off of my back.

You were busy trying to do things. I actually did them. That’s why you guys froze till noon, and she and I were back in bed by 7am. Now I don’t have time to sit here and sing kumbaya with you. I handled things my way, and my way worked.

I acted out of love. She’s safe. That’s it. Now I am going to go take care of her while you fill out paperwork.”

He never wrote me up, and that very night I told the Russian that I loved her.

I made sure that she fell asleep safely, and my two closest friends, who as I previously said, are still close to me 15 years later, were on the phone. These guys knew me like nobody else in this world. They understood me.

“Eric, can you believe what an awful situation…I mean what a disaster.”

I knew what they were talking about, and it had nothing to do with a natural disaster. Their voices got intense.

“Why the hell did the Raiders run the ball on 3rd down and 10? You have to throw in that situation!”

Finally! People were speaking common sense.

Yes, I had finally professed my love for my girlfriend. Yes, the Earthquake was unpleasant, although my running the campus radio station lightened the mood as I thundered out “What’s Shakin’ Baby!,” over the microphone, before playing ACDC singing “You shook me all night long,” and Europe singing “The Final Countdown.”

Yet nothing could change the fact that the 1993 NFL season had ended. The Raiders did not win it all, but I remain a believer in the silver and black.

September of 1994 was only 8 months away. I needed to get some rest before kickoff.

eric

Once again, another Jewish woman rails about where all the good men are, while rejecting huge swaths of them. The most recent train wreck comes in the form of Amy Klein at the Jewish Journal.

I want to make it clear that I have never met or spoken to Amy Klein. To the best of my knowledge, nobody I have slept with or even dated is friends with her, or even knows her. If they do, I have never been told with. Therefore, this disclosure is a non-disclosure. My only impression of her is based on her own words.

Rocker Cher once said that “Words are like weapons. They wound sometimes.” I recommend that Amy Klein buy that album and listen to the song “If I could turn back time.” Perhaps she would retract her most awful comments that she may claim were in jest, as if that makes them acceptable.

The entire purpose of Amy Klein’s column is to help her get her M.R.S. degree. She desperately wants to get married, and has desired this for some time. I find zero fault with this. I desired to find my life partner for what seemed like forever, and am relieved that this seems to have finally occurred.

While one should not compromise their core beliefs, they should examine their own beliefs to see where improvements can be made if necessary.

I would link to the column itself, but most of it is irrelevant to this column. The first few lines were what offended me, and had Ms. Klein left them out, the column would have remained unchanged. It would have been the same message without the venom.

Below are the offending words of Amy Klein.

“I hate that there’s another group of guys who are unavailable to me. Married people, actors, republicans, and other men who don’t like women: Gay men. In this town it’s not like you run into that many—I’m talking about republicans and married men.”

Sure, I could “lighten up.” After all, what are some harmless words directed at a small group of people? Why not tell jokes that are anti-black, anti-gay, or Allah forbid, anti-Islamofacist?

Because I supposedly belong to a group of oppressors, apparently I am fair game. Well democracy allows me to reply. Below is my reply to Amy Klein.

“Ms. Klein,

Your column on gay marriage was deeply offensive. If you want to announce to the world that you will not date republicans due to your own prejudices, that is fine. To say that republican men are unavailable, and hate women, is flat out ideological bigotry.

Ideological bigotry is just as harmful to society as racial or any other ethnic bigotry.

I want lower taxes and dead terrorists. That does not stop me from finding time to tell my girlfriend every day how much I love her. She is a liberal Obama supporter, and I am a staunch republican and McCain backer. Several of my male friends have married women of different political persuasions, and they are as happy as James Carville and Mary Matalin.

There are significantly more young Jewish republicans in Los Angeles than you would think. Most of us keep quiet for fear of being attacked. In that sense, Jewish republicans are the new gays.

I have a ton of single friends, and I have contributed to four marriages. I know plenty of young single Jews. Confirming a potential love interest is like confirming a Supreme Court Justice. It should be based on quality, not ideological litmus tests.

Good luck in your search. I wish no personal animus towards you. I also wish you give up the ideological bigotry and see republicans as human beings who are capable of human emotions, such as love.

I suggest you use Yom Kippur to reflect on my sincere words.

It is not about politics. It is about prejudice. It stings deeply, and you should not use your column to promote it.

Respectfully,

eric aka the Tygrrrr Express“

Columns like those of Amy Klein lead to me struggle with my darkest feelings. Part of me wants Amy Klein to remain single and childless, crying herself to sleep every night with the rest of the spinsters. After all, if she were to reproduce, she would just bring more Jewish liberal bigots into the world anyway.

I rescue myself from the precipice to remind myself that I need to be better than her. I should not wish infertility on any woman, much less a Jewish one. There are so few Jews in the world, and we have a 52% intermarriage rate. Therefore, more Jews being brought into the world, even if they grow up to be liberals, is a vital necessity. People can change and grow politically. They cannot do so if they cease to exist and the population itself collapses.

Amy Klein is only one woman, but she is symptomatic of a disease that is destroying Judaism.

Hatred is poison. It benefits nobody. I know another Jewish woman that is miserable because she does not have a boyfriend, while railing against other happy couples. She is a feminist, and she has contempt for women who choose to be housewives.

Equality for women gives them the right to enter the corporate world. It does not force them to do so, any more than it forces them to stay home. Some women want to be homemakers. It is a tough, honorable job, and it does not involve staying home all day watching soap operas. It is hard work.

This left wing feminist has hostility towards oppressive republican men. Yet she simultaneously wants to find a man with his act together, who is a good provider. Like many with female rage, whether Jewish or not, women like these cry for a companion while simultaneously sabotaging themselves from being in a position to lovingly accept one that does not fit every item on their left wing checklist.

Men with their act together who make a decent amount of money, enabling them to be better providers, often vote republican. This is not about oppressing women. It is about wanting lower taxes, which allows them to keep more of what they earn, so that they can spend it on many things, including their loving wife.

Another woman, Theresa Strasser, occasionally writes about how screwed up her love life ends up (I know nothing of her present situation.) She did a comedy routine where she said, “For this, press 1, for that, press 2, for this, press 3 (I forgot 1 through 3), If you are a republican, press 666 for the devil.”

Many in the crowd laughed. I was not amused.

I am far from perfect, but I treat people with human decency. Almost every girlfriend I have ever had has been politically liberal. In the Jewish community, especially in Los Angeles, this is normal. Yet tolerance trumped ideology. The relationships ended because we were not right for each other, but politics was not the deal breaker.

I have plenty of single male friends. I genuinely want people to be happy. I constantly offer to set people up with each other, under the condition that I be spared any wrath if the situation ends badly.

What I will not do is offer to help anybody that suffers from bigotry of any kind, including ideological bigotry.

Some would say that these women never sought my help. Well maybe they should. They are doing terrible on their own. A column with a large circulation is no substitute for a lovely warm body to fall asleep and wake up beside.

I pray to God that things work out between the Chicago Cannonball and me. We have to do our part, and we seem to be willing and able to do that. I thank God that while we do not care for the other one’s politics, that is overridden by the fact that we care about each other.

Hineni. Here I am. I am Jewish, republican, proud, and warm hearted.

eric

 

When high finance meets high society, we get finance movies such as “Stocks and Blondes,” where the woman is covered only in the ticker tape. Yet even more powerful than the cocktail of sex and Wall Street comes in the mixture of sex and politics.

It is in that spirit that I have compiled the list of the top 120 political yummy bouncies.

Technically this is not much different from listing the top 30 hottest political women, except that the focus is on their T and A.

From the front, I dream of playing sexual volleyball, bouncing them vigorously. From the backside, I hope to play Sir Mixalot’s “Baby Got Back,” while giving them the ketchup bottle treatment.

For those wondering why my girlfriend, the Chicago Cannonball, is not on the list, the answer is simple. She is apolitical. There is not a woman on earth that compares to her in my opinion. Her body is a temple, and I enjoy worshiping at her altar. Yep, her holy grail is quite holy indeed.

Nevertheless, I had a life before her, which basically consisted of uncontrollable sobbing knowing that the women on this list were not mine. To the best of my knowledge, I have had sex with none of them.

Compiling the list was more difficult than I expected. I thought the trouble would be narrowing the list. The reverse was the case. To even find that many women that caught my attention were rare. Politics is mostly powerful bald white guys, and I have never been attracted to the cue ball look.

The list has been divided into the top 10 liberals, centrists, and independents. Given that they were all anatomically correct, this added up to 20 breasts and 20 hides per all three political denominations.

I did not include pictures to all of the women because they were all fully dressed in the pictures, making the exercise pointless.

Several of these women are over 40, and even in a couple cases over 50. So what? Hot is hot.

Nevertheless, I now bring the top 120 political yummy bouncies.

Liberals/Democrats: I left out Senator Barbara Boxer because she is older now, although she was a hot piece back in the day. I left out Obama Girl because she was too lazy to even vote for him. Patti Davis, despite a playboy spread, should be off the list because her father, the great Ronald Reagan, deserves to rest in peace. Al Gore’s former campaign manager Donna Brazile almost made the cut, due to her salacious appearance on the Colbert Report where she offered to have sex with him in a Kansas City hotel room. This list was written before I saw Washington State Senator Maria Cantwell on television. She will absolutely make future lists.

http://i216.photobucket.com/albums/cc241/tashaj00/397px-Maria_Cantwell_official_photo.jpg

With that, the official list is below.

10) Rachel Sklar–She is affiliated with the Huffington Post. Providing a link to promote that site is a non-starter. However, with her, just hit the mute button and enjoy.

9) Julie Roginsky–She is a democratic strategist. She is hot. She speaks as well, but I remember not one word.

8.) Sarah Gore–Her father tried to steal an election, but she used to steal the loins of men with pulses. She recently got married. I am green, but with envy, not environmentalism.

7) Lisa Lange–She is associated with Peta, and was behind their naked marketing campaign. She is proof that no matter how awful an organization is, guys will listen when a woman is promoting nakedness.

6) Alexandra Kerry–I really wanted to be between her legs in 2004, but not enough to vote for her father.

5) Segolene Royal–The former French Socialist candidate for Prime Minister is so regal. She was sleeping with the party chairman, and they had kids. The French election was a coin flip, since my head supported Nicolas Sarkozy despite her being a hot piece of tail.

4) Julia Allison–She used to date a democratic senator. Every aspect of her life is on the internet. She is like Jim Carrey in “The Truman Show,” only with a much sexier body and much more granola lifestyle.

3) Jackie Clarke–She did an entire play dedicated to the movie “Showgirls.” She likes football, cursing, and talking about her female body parts. She is equally frightening and ketchup bottle worthy.

2–tie) Norah O’Donnell–She is an impartial analyst on MSNBC, meaning she is a liberal. Again, this is a visual contest, with the less auditory aspect being the best. She is stunning.

2–tie) Naomi Wolf–Yes she has become part of the lunatic fringe that believes in 9/11 conspiracies, and compares President Bush to the evil in this world. Who cares? This is a subjective beauty contest, and she is a hot piece of Jewish rumpus. Plus, one of her sex books helped me get more than my fair share, which proves that even feminists can be useful from time to time.

1) Jane Fleming–Recently married with two children, those pouty lips of hers are a perfect fit for her constantly angry television appearances. I think she actually has a Hillary Clinton nutcracker that she keeps on her kitchen counter. She is the reason pool tables were invented.

http://www.ideagrove.com/blog/uploaded_images/sklar-711528.jpg

http://newsbusters.org/media/2007-03-05-MSNBC-MSL-Brewer.jpg

http://i165.photobucket.com/albums/u78/lxnetworks/SaraGore-LXTV.jpg

http://www.jfxonline.com/jfxonline/2007/12/11/peta-vs-the-olsen-twins/

http://www.chinadaily.com.cn/english/doc/2004-05/18/xin_360501181640580182029.jpg

http://www.zimbio.com/Segolene+Royal/articles/15/Segolene+Royal+Bikini+Pictures+Spark+Debate

http://dailymoxie.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/03/julia-allison-with-laptop.jpg

http://www.jackieclarke.blogspot.com/

http://possumblog.mu.nu/images/norah%20odonnell-small.jpg

http://www.arlindo-correia.com/Naomi_Wolf.jpg

http://msunderestimated.com/JaneFlemingYDs.jpg

Centrists/Independents: Entertainment reporter Shira Lazar would have made the list, but she rarely discusses politics. She is a sweet girl, and easy on the eyes. Sarah Silverman frightens me to death, and her comments are barely political. She is proof that hot women can say anything at any time for any reason.

10) The women of Poland–Women in Poland are stripping naked to protest against politics being dominated by men. I support their freedom of expression.

9) Alison Rosen/Michelle Collins–They are both commentators on “Redeye,” and I do not think they have ever been on at the same time. They might be the same person. I hope they have 8 yummy bouncies instead of 4.

8.) Gloria Estefan–Yes, she is a Cuban singer. She also got very political during the Elian Gonzalez fiasco. I would do the Conga if I was in bed and she was there.

7) Tammy Bruce–I am pro-gay rights for everybody except her. We should donate ugly women to the lesbian community in exchange for her. She curses like a sailor, and the fact that I am completely intimidated by her is a turn on.

6) Ashlee Dupree–Any woman that destroys Eliot Spitzer and appears in a Girls Gone Wild video is a Goddess. I normally do not endorse drugs and prostitution, but she is why the lord created Spring Break.

5) Campbell Brown–CNN would have much higher ratings if she was allowed to moderate Presidential debates in her undies. She is a smart woman, but this column could care less. She reigns supreme at the Cheesecake News Network.

4) Kiran Chetry–She is also a Cheesecake News Network girl. She was not the hottest woman at Fox News, but at CNN where the journalistic standards are lower, her legs fit in perfectly.

3) Dagan McDowell–Scarlett O’hara made it to Wall Street. Her accent could melt butter, and her brilliance is overshadowed by her beauty.

2) Mirthala Salinas–She is the news reporter that slept with the Mayor of Los Angeles with a name that is hard to spell. I give the Mayor credit. He has excellent taste.

1) Carla Bruni–She is the first lady of France. Nicolas Sarkozy understands that the only reason to gain power is to bed models. Between Bruni and Royal, the French have all they need for a prime time jello wrestling special.

http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/world/europe/article2524557.ece

http://alisonmrosen.blogspot.com/

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eAXh_8hOAs4

http://www.starpulse.com/Music/Estefan,_Gloria/Pictures/

http://www.tammybruce.com/

http://celebrity.rightpundits.com/?p=3320

http://www.reportercaps.com/Home_MSNBC/msnbc_cbrown.php

http://www.beyondhollywood.com/gallery/category/kiran-chetry/

http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://daganmcdowell.com/images/dagan_mcdowell_fnc.jpg&imgrefurl=http://daganmcdowell.com/about_dagan.htm&h=240&w=320&sz=11&tbnid=7mUEJ-z11ycJ::&tbnh=89&tbnw=118&prev=/images%3Fq%3Ddagan%2Bmcdowell%2Bpics&hl=en&sa=X&oi=image_result&resnum=2&ct=image&cd=1

http://www.lataco.com/taco/wp-content/uploads/mirthala.jpg

http://www.perfectpeople.net/photo-picture-image/19207/carla-bruni.htm

Conservatives/Republicans: I left Barbara Bush off the list. I am not referring to our current President’s mother. I am referring to his daughter. Barbara is adorable, but out of respect for the Dub, I will say no more. George W. Bush, just know I want to be her Secret Service body guard. Please do not waterboard me, I voted for you twice. Michelle Malkin is not on the list because I am beyond intimidated by her. When she goes on television and flares her nostrils in anger, I want to hide in the corner and cry. I am a sissy. Patricia Heaton, who played the wife on Everybody Loves Raymond, is one hot mom. She has contributed to republicans, and I wonder if she was naked when she wrote the check. Fred Thompson’s wife Geri is stunning, but out of respect for the Alpha Dog, I will leave it at that. I met them and liked them. The blogosphere has a republican Jewish blogger named Spree. When she becomes more famous, I will make sure the world knows that I was the one who made salacious comments about her when others ignored her body and insulted her by judging her blog on the quality of the writing.

10) Jeanine Pirro–She may not have defeated Hillary Clinton in New York, but this prosecutor would easily win a contest over Hillary in terms of who guys would want to paddle. She also appears on Redeye, where she pops out opinions as she pops out her cleavage.

9) Amanda Carpenter–This Townhall political reporter is an incredibly sweet person. I almost left her off the list out of respect, given how dignified she is. However, I needed one more name, and she is very pretty.

8.) Sarah Palin–She is the Governor of Alaska, and a possible candidate for Vice President. Her 91% approval rating may be because men outnumber women in Alaska by 25-1.

7) Kate Obenshain–She claims to have 4 children. Some women never age. She is deep into republican politics, and I am deeply into her, albeit from afar, given the restraining order.

6) Michele Bachmann–This Congresswoman from Minnesota is smart as a whip. She is not into whips, preferring family values. She was never in Bachmann Turner Overdrive, but she turns me into overdrive. She should reprise the role of underwear model made famous by Terri Garr.

5) Angie Harmon–She is married to retired football star Jason Sehorn. As the hot republican prosecutor on Law and Order, her first episode was fabulous. When she thundered, “Hang ‘em all, no deals for anybody,” I realized that there is nothing sexier than a tough hot woman in charge of the penal code.

4) Mary Katharine Ham–I met her in real life, and she is incredibly classy and dignified. She is a sweet, cool person. She was the subject of the worst blogging 4 part trilogy in history, which began with “Help me Rabbi, I am desiring Ham.”

3) Julie Banderas–As for why I want to paddle her, it might be because I have a pulse. College students may not get Playboy in the dorms, but viewing her on Fox News is the next best thing.

2) Andrea Tantaros–This republican strategist has a devastating piercing tongue, and men around America want to experience it. She was the spokeswoman for Jeanine Pirro, and they would rival any mother-daughter jello wrestling tag team.

1) Shannen Doherty–Her speech at the 1992 Republican Convention captivated men. So did her playboy spreads. I have met her and spoken politics with her. I wish I had taken her on top of the jewelry table, but I was moderately less tactless back then.

http://www.newscopy.org/images/jeanine_pirro_2006.jpg

http://www.townhall.com/Columnists/AmandaCarpenter

http://gov.state.ak.us/

http://www.cblpi.org/programs/bio.cfm?ID=40&Type=Speaker

http://bachmann.house.gov/

http://www.superiorpics.com/angie_harmon/

http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/7/78/MaryKatharineHam.jpg/225px-MaryKatharineHam.jpg&imgrefurl=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mary_Katharine_Ham&h=281&w=225&sz=11&tbnid=soXz7AksSvsJ::&tbnh=114&tbnw=91&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dmary%2Bkatharine%2Bham&hl=en&sa=X&oi=image_result&resnum=3&ct=image&cd=1

http://activitypit.ning.com/group/tantalizingtantaros

http://www.shannen-doherty.net/

Well, all these women will have to live with the fact that my focus is now on the Chicago Cannonball. They are simply too late. Now I need to take a midday nap. Time to count sheep, or in my case, the Chicago Cannonball’s apolitical yummy bouncies.

4…8…12…zzzzzzzzzz

eric

First, a quick housekeeping note.

I heard from the people who work for Harry Reid. The Senator has agreed to do an interview with me, good to his word that he would. His staff is well aware that my blog is a republican blog, but the Senator has taken me at my word that he will be treated fairly.

Putting issues aside for a moment, his staff has been incredibly gracious, and that is appreciated.

Now let’s enjoy a quiet Saturday where nothing of consequence is occurring politically.

http://michellemalkin.com/2008/06/07/hillary-exits-the-pumas-roar/

Hillary Clinton gave one of the most inspiring speeches in the history of America. With a grace, class and flair that only she could radiate, Hillary helped us reach our better selves. As I remain glued to her speech, hanging on every word, I was moved to tears. This is why I woke up early on a Saturday morning to…wait a minute…never mind. Nobody cares.

Who the heck am I kidding? I was sound asleep, and wrote this column the night before.

The last time I checked, losers endorsing winners is not news. Also, Hillary took a surrender lap longer than most candidates take victory laps.

For those wondering why it took Hillary so long to admit defeat, one need look no further than the sports schedule.

She could not surrender Wednesday evening. The Detroit Red Wings and Pittsburgh Penguins were playing game 6 of the National Hockey League Finals. It was a thriller of a game. In game 5, Detroit was one minute away from winning it all at home. Pittsburgh pulled their goalie, and pulled out a miracle. They tied the game with 30 seconds left, and won it in triple overtime. In game 6, Pittsburgh trailed by two goals, and scored one with 90 seconds left. Yet a furious finish fell short this time, and the Red Wings once again were champions.

Hillary could not surrender Thursday evening. The Los Angeles Lakers and Boston Celtics were playing game 1 of the National Basketball Association Finals. In the 1980s, these teams played in some of the great championships of all time. The Celtics had Larry Bird, Kevin McHale, Danny Ainge, and Robert “Chief” Parish. The Lakers had Magic Johnson, Kareem Abdul Jabbar, and the rest of the “Showtime” cast. Today the Lakers have Kobe Bryant and Pau Gasol. The Celtics have Kevin Garnett and Paul Pierce. The Celtics won the opener 98-88. It should be a great series.

Hillary could not surrender Friday evening. Outside of the 12 people who are forced to work Friday nights on Fox News, CNN, and MSNBC, most people have lives. We are not at home watching television. Hillary could not concede Saturday night for the same reason.

Saturday afternoon was out of the question. The Belmont Stakes were in the running, and Big Brown is aiming for the Triple Crown. For those who do not know, the democratic primary ended after the Kentucky Derby, when Obama’s horse won and Hillary’s horse collapsed and needed to be euthanized.

While the race itself is only 2 to 3 minutes, two hours of coverage is enough to force Hillary to alter the time of her speech. She tried 10am, but Hannah Montana had either a new episode, or a very good rerun. Those who claim to care about villages and children should not hate on Mylie Cyrus, despite her descending into soft core porn photo shoots.

Therefore, Hillary had the choice of 8am or 8am. Sunday morning was not an option since that is when 5 political talk shows that only the hosts care about are on tv. I have never seen “Face the depressed,” or “Meet the nation,” but apparently they bore themselves to sleep when nobody is watching. Therefore, Hillary could not compete with such fan fare.

Sunday afternoon is game 2 of the Lakers and the Celtics in the NBA Finals.

Little did Hillary know that her attempt to talk about how it means so much to her to be such an accomplished woman in a sexist world would face such stiff competition from other women that actually do have real accomplishments. Her speech will fall during the French Open Women’s Final live from Paris. Women’s Tennis gave us Billie Jean King, who defeated Bobby Riggs and advanced the cause of women everywhere. Hillary is giving a speech about advancement, yet she is a woman that lost to a man. If anything, she has set the women’s movement back at least 6 months.

Hillary was able to capture the votes of men in democratic primaries only because compared to people like John Edwards and Barack Obama, she was the man in the race. In keeping with the tennis analogy, Martina Navratilova was genetically female, but she was often described as playing tennis “like a man.” She aggressively rushed the net, rather than sit back. Hillary aggressively rushed the net, but it did not change the fact that men only watch women’s tennis when the players are hot. Navratilova, Chris Evert, and Hillary were around in the 90s or earlier, but this is the 21st century.

In the general election, men would not support Hillary. John McCain is a man. He is a war hero. Hillary is the woman that tries to talk to a guy when he is trying to watch the ball game.

Thankfully, the men of the world this week told Hillary what they have been tyring to communicate to her for the last 16 years. The message was simple.

Hillary, please shut up. I am trying to watch the hockey/basketball/horse racing/tennis game.

Now that the NFL Network exists, Hillary can be less relevant than sports television programming 100% of the time.

So yes, Hillary gave her speech, and I turned the ringer off, just in case she or one of her supporters tried to call me to sell me sleeping pills or some other product.

I could have tivoed it, but again, the French Open, Belmont Stakes, and Hannah Montana took priority.

At some point in the future, I will prepare a list of the top 120 political appendages. The list will contain the 10 best republicans, democrats, and independents, categorized by what truly matters…their yummy bouncies on both sides.

The Chicago Cannonball is obviously the best, but she is ineligible for this list because she is apolitical, and there is a significant conflict of interest. Actually, there is a conflict of significant interest.

Hillary, despite the badonkadonk, will not be on the list. The door will hit it on the way out, because her backside, her pantsuits that cover them, and her presidential campaign are all yesterday’s news.

I have to admit it. I cannot even think about giving Hilldawg a good paddle. I am so giddy that she is gone.

Now the drama will be whether a woman still is elected President in 2008, or if Obama actually does have a pair. Hillary’s Hags, or Harpies, or whatever they call themselves, will not vote for John McCain. They can cry, scream, cajole, and threaten in the great tradition of hostile women, but the bottom line is that women in America care about only one thing in politics. That one thing is abortion. Barack Obama could sell crack on the street tomorrow, but the pro-choice movement would explain that Obama was selling crack to pregnant women to help them miscarry. John McCain could save a man having a heart attack on the street, and the media would find a way to show that the man he saved is connected to a pro-life movement, and is therefore an oppressor.

Therefore, since the only thing that matters to the women in the democratic party is abortion, the symbolic figurehead running the party does not matter. They have no other issues.

Anyway, her speech was most likely one minute for every year of her experience. She wanted 35 minutes, but if the records are reviewed carefully, she will just wave to the crowd like the Queen of England. Her loyal subjects can howl with delight, knowing that the woman almost said something about almost doing something.

All I know is I slept well knowing she was not going to be President. Or I just slept well because on weekends, that is what I do.

I just hope I am up by noon. Unlike Hillary, I was born and raised in New York, and I am excited about the Belmont Stakes. John Kerry is running in the 5th position. As for Hillary, I will not be the one to bet on the bobtail nag.

The media will anoint Obama President if Big Brown wins, and claim McCain and the horse are too old if Big Brown loses.

Did somebody bet on the Bay? I will ask Bay Buchanan.

eric

What does one get when they combine a Jewish person, a stimulus package, and a search for love?

Despite the obvious answer, this has nothing to do with Bill Clinton and Monica Lewinsky. I am referring to the denotative version of a stimulus package, not a connotative one.

The answer can be found on My Space. Yes, the kids today have reminded me more than once that Facebook is the new My Space, and that “My Space is sooooooo 2007.” Nevertheless, an ad in an email blast that I receive on a monthly basis alerted me to the best social cause this side of the Mississippi (unless you are on the other side of it, whichever side that is).

Not since I placed a heartfelt personal ad in a section of Craigslist has society been so moved.

http://www.tygrrrrexpress.com/2007/03/my-craigslist-personal-ad-when-eroticism-meets-laziness/

ROMANTIC STIMULUS PAYMENT

Humorous but true! My talented, creative friend Dave Kessler (above) is offering to give over his $600 economic Stimulus payment to anyone who fixes him up w/a woman who becomes his girlfriend OR…if you become his girlfriend, he will lovingly lavish the $600 on you!

 

http://www.romanticstimulus.com

 

http://www.myspace.com/girlfriendbounty

I have never met Mr. Kessler, but I did email him, requesting permission to tell his story. That permission was granted.

Mr. Kessler also wants everybody to know that if a woman with $600 becomes the girlfriend, he will donate the money to the charity of her choice. If that Charity has anything to do with shoes or “Sex in the City,” the agreement is null and void. It must be a real charity.

I would add more, but there is simply nothing I could possible add to this. President Bush said that he wanted to be a uniter and not a divider, and this is his chance to further unite a happy couple while increasing the velocity of money into the money supply.

I am more private than this guy. Even if the Chicago Cannonball does get to play with my GDP Deflator, that is our private business. I have no idea what I just said, but it sounded provocative, and therefore it is.

I love capitalism. As boxing promoter Don King often says, “Only in America.”

Good luck Mr. Kessler. Good luck with your stimulus package. Mine comes out to $50 per inch, but this is about you.

Everybody from Alan Greenspan to Dirk Diggler is rooting for you.

eric

I am not Eliot Spitzer. For this alone, I should be liked, but there are thankfully other reasons.

For those who fear that I am turning into Greta Van Susteren, meaning an intelligent person that beats topics that nobody cares about into the ground, fear not. This blog is not going to be “All Eliot, all the time.” If I did that, he would win.

Yet recent events directly related to the Tygrrrr Express have made the story more relevant.

The traveling carnival that is my existence made its way to Las Vegas for a political conference, followed by a trip to Chicago that was as unexpected as it was pleasant. Despite the fact that I detest cold weather, it turned out to be one of the best trips I have ever had. I met the Chicago Cannonball, and we are both very happy.

I left Chicago on the 9th to go back to LA, and three days later (yesterday) made my way to Hotlanta. I was supposed to then either veer off to Miami, and frolic on spring break in South Beach, or head Westbound and Down to Alabama to hang out with my buddy on the Auburn campus. Either way, barely legal women in bikinis awaited.

Because things are going well with the Chicago Cannonball, I would not be be able to treat any of these young hot women like ice cream. Yet looking is still legal.

Due to circumstances that are bizarre even based on my low standards of normalcy, I am not going to either of those cities. The ticket to South Florida was insanely expensive. Then again, my most recent ex is 22, and she will be down there for Spring Break, so perhaps this is for the best. Yes, South Florida is big, but most likely she is on one specific street, since it was where I recommended she go when we were dating, and everybody listens to me when it comes to socializing.

The backup plan was Bama, hanging with my fellow Tigers at Auburn. Today my backup plan got blown up like Fallujah. My friend that I was supposed to be staying with has disappeared. His cell phone is not working, and I cannot reach him. Most likely he went with his friends on break and forgot about me. He is a good guy, but sometimes he suffers from a medical condition that requires “cranial-glutial extraction surgery.” I am sure he will feel awful when he remembers, but I will let him off the hook after a couple snide remarks.

So the Tygrrrr Express was about to be possibly homeless. I doubt it would have come to that. I would have asked a local Rabbi for a place to sleep for the night, and I am sure they would have said yes. Of course, I would then be asked to attend the Saturday morning prayer service, which conflicts with sleeping until noon. There is no way I would dare stay at a Rabbi’s home and not attend the service. I may be lazy, but am not ill mannered.

After sitting down and analyzing the situation (ok, I might have been sobbing like a four year old girl, but if it is not on You-Tube, it never happened), I took a couple breaths and tried to figure out what was important.

Why did I care so much about going to Miami? Because I always go to Miami in March. There are usually 96 reasons I go, which if I am correct in my calculations is the result of adding 36 + 24 + 36. Yet since I am seeing the Chicago Cannonball, the entire trip is pointless. Not to invalidate people who brought me into the world, but those two people know d@mn well I wait for them to go to sleep after “Matlock’,” or “Murder, She wrote,” and then hang out in South Beach.

As for Alabama, I like my friend despite this lapse in his sanity, but again, this trip was about being around hot women. Why? Because I am male and have a pulse.

I am not somebody that window shops. I do not browse. I do not walk into a store unless I am a buyer. I do not go near a jar of candy and just stare at it, be it after dinner mints or eye candy. I take it with me, be it either in my pocket or over my shoulder.

Yet instead of feeling sadness, life is good. The Chicago Cannonball and I are getting along great. At the risk of having growth pangs, there is a realization here that is important.

Dating is not the ends for me. It is the means. I have always been about being with one person, with short term gratification being what Monte Hall would describe as the consolation prize behind “door # 2.” So if the goal is meet somebody, and I have, wouldn’t an ounce of sense tell me that if I have to be stranded, I might as well be with somebody lovely?

I just thank God that every twice in awhile he gives me just enough common sense to make an intelligent decision when it matters most. How many men have money, power, lovely families…and throw it all away because they are in the wrong city at the wrong time with the wrong woman, when the best of everything is in front of their selfish faces the entire time?

Hugh Grant cheated on Elizabeth Hurley with a black hooker. Folks, if a guy cannot be happy with Elizabeth Hurley, he will never be happy. Bill Clinton nearly got fired because he could not keep his pants zipped. Eliot Spitzer went from a shot at the White House to the newest husband in the Dog in Heat House. I have seen his wife. Even after three kids, she is a hot piece of New York Skirt Steak.

Some would look at me and say, “talk to me when you have been married 20 years.” That is not the answer. I do not have the answer, but I suspect it has to do with the notion that we can either satiate those we love, or satiate ourselves. Imagine if Eliot Spitzer had taken his 80,000 dollars that he spent on a woman whose real name he did not even know, and instead bought his wife an $80,000 piece of jewelry. Perhaps she would have done those things that a mother of three never talks about in public.

It is not about “being bought.” Unlike the Kobe Bryant situation, you have to buy the gift before you screw up. That way it is a heartfelt gesture, and not a business contract. I am sure it is not easy for a man married a couple decades ith children, but even those men should look at their wives and say, “Forget my bad back and your vericose veins (or something more tactful). The kids are somewhere else, and we are going to act like we did back then. Now put down the laundry and help me find the cattle prod (ok, I went too far, but the point is valid).

For some men, as I said, dating a string of women is the end. That type of life is just not for me. A real man gravitates towards those who matter most on a long term basis.

The song by the Proclaimers states that, “I would walk 500 miles, and I would walk 500 more, just to be the man who walked that 1000 miles and showed up at your door.” Ok, so I am not that gallant. I will be taking a plane and then a taxicab. Yet as much as cold weather scares the daylights out of me, and as much as Chicago might be the worst Spring Break city in America, I suspect I am making the right decision. Besides, the Chicago Cannonball agrees with me, which does help.

So out of nowhere, I am headed back to Sweet Home Chicago today.

I do not have Eliot Spitzer’s money, or his power. However, I am much handsomer than him. Even unkempt, my hair is quite good. I also have something that he may never have again, due to his own travels in the wrong areas…a happy love life that matters.

Because I am not, nor do I ever want to be Eliot Spitzer, Miami and Bama will have to wait, perhaps forever. No, I did not immediately make the right decision. I had a lot of help, perhaps divine intervention. Yet given every chance to make the right decision, I actually did.

I am off to give the Chicago Cannonball the ketchup bottle treatment.

It will not cost me a fortune, and yet the effect is priceless.

eric

I am not a brave man. I freely admit that I am a girly sissy pansy boy.

It is snowing in Chicago, and I am deathly afraid the fat white oversized wet things are going to find me, give me influenza, and kill me. While the Chicago Cannonball is frolicking around in a pajama top, making this city very bearable, I can only say that I am glad I did not have to embarrass myself to buy that silver piece of cloth.

Those silk pajamas were bought in Thailand. That was not scary. I went into a normal store and bought them. I do not speak Thai, but it was a regular transaction. I did not have to go into the place that turns this Tygrrrr into a lamb. I did not have to venture into Victoria’s Secret.

Yes, this republican becomes very ultra conservative when the topic is women’s underwear. I do not mind biting them off of a woman with my teeth, but don’t make me buy them. I am just not into the details and nuances required to buy the stuff. Why can’t women be like men and just go into a grocery store and buy Hanes? I mean they fit fine, and Inspector 12 made sure they were quality.

I had to go into Victoria’s Secret in 1990. A girl I liked worked there in the mall. Would it have killed her to have worked in the food court instead? Then we could have gotten free pizza or something. No, I had to pick her up in Victoria’s Secret. I took a female friend with me to the mall for moral support.

When my friend could not understand why I was so intimidated by that place, I told her that men should not go in there. She pointed out that lots of men go in there, but my response, which I maintain to this very day is that “Men who are in Victoria’s Secret are way too happy to be in there.”

Instead of going in to get my date, I sent my friend in. I knew that would be manly. One reason the date liked me when we met was because I came across as a tough guy. My plan failed when my friend came back out and said, “Eric, she is gorgeous, you have to go in there and get her.” When I asked why my friend did not simply bring her out, I was told that I was to go in.

With much trepidation, I entered the store, looking all around to see who was looking at me. A saleswoman was looking at me and ready to approach me. I was scared to death, wondering why any saleswoman would talk to me in that store. Couldn’t she look at me and have her female ESP tell her that I was not a customer? The woman asked me, “May I help you?” I replied, “No!” and then ran out of the store.

I then told my friend we were going home. So yes, I pased up a chance to meet a gorgeous girl because it is better to be seen as a (insert bad word women use for guys who act like whateve that word is) than a women’s underwear pervert.

While I vowed to never go in again, my Hebrew faith led me back into the store. For those wondering what Judaism has to do with lady’s underwear, the answer is simple. 18 is a lucky number in Jewish culture. My dear friend “Sir Sleep A Lot” was visiting from Israel. He needed to buy something sexy for his fiancee. Given that 2008 was 18 years after my last visit, I had to go in.

The worst part was listening to the salespeople ask him exactly what the contours of his fiancee were. Apparently there are different types pf underwear for different women. I refused to listen to the presentation, scared that somebody from the republican party would enter the place and compare me to Larry Craig or something. Then again, if they are republicans, what are they doing in Victoria’s Secret anyway?

Sir Sleep A Alot could not figure out a way to explain to the salespeople that his girlfriend would make Sir Mix A Lot’s girlfriend proud. For those that are not up on rap music from 15 years ago, the song was “Baby Got Back.”

Luckily I had a 21st century reference. I told my friend to tell the saleswoman that his fiancee had a “badonkadonk.” He had trouble saying the word, but the saleswoman understood and smiled. I am glad I did not have to bring up my unhealthy fascination with Monique from Showtime at the Apollo to explain it further.

While some men may find it erotic to have a well endowed saleswoman discussing the romantic possibilities of edible underthings, I just kept staring at my watch and wondering how long it can take to throw something in a box and buy it. As I said, I do not mind the end results at home, but I don’t want to go throug the process of purchasing them. If the lord wanted me to get erotic lingerie in front of the world he would not have created the internet with help from Al Gore. Besides, given what a pantywaist Gore is, I am sure he is an expert about Victoria’s Secret. Tipper did say he was a great lover. He is stiff after all.

The saleswoman saw my discomfort, and finally asked me why I felt that way. I stated that “I am sure most of the men who come in here are perverts, and I prefer not to be lumped in that category.” She laughed, but I continued.

“Be honest, how many guys try to buy the mannequins?” Sir Sleep A Lot was mortified at the thought, gentleman that he is, but my suspicions were confirmed. Men do offer to buy the Mannequins. Some men only want the appendages! I was in a store where guys try to traffic in fake human body parts! Are you kidding me?

I just am too incredibly, dare I say it, normal. My answer to everything is “Strawberry.” When I worked at a gift store in 1994, I was in charge of coffee mugs. If you wanted to know about mugs, I was your mug man. The store sold cute “Hello Kitty Stuff,” greeting cards, and other seasonal merchandise. Yet they had a small erotica section, and when a girl asked me which flavor of edible underthings was best, I went back to ask the manager. She told me in those situations to just recommend strawberry and move on to the next customer.

I am the son of retired schoolteachers for crying out loud. I am not descendant from people who buy mannequins, blow up dolls, or underwear that talks back in a sexy voice. I have no idea if that exists, but some sick twisted individual will invent if they have not already.

Maybe I should be more sympathetic towards Bill Clinton. I will wave my finger at America and say that I had no knowledge of any aforementioned panties, not one time, never. I have not once ever wondered what underclothing Hillary Clinton or Bea Arthur wear, and you should all be disgusted for bringing it up.

As for the Chicago Cannonball, at least she is using her laptop for something productive while I release my anxieities to the blogosphere. I could make another remark about her “laptop,” but I am not that sophomoric. She does have much nicer underclothing than me, but if asked to testify before Congress, she bought it without my help.

The snow is coming down hard, and I do not see myself leaving the bedroom. I pray that the Chicago Cannonball does not turn into one of those women that sends a guy out into the cold and snow to shop for feminine hygiene products. Being emasculated once every 18 years is enough for this nice Jewish boy from a good family.

Is it 2026 yet?

eric

Today is blasphemy Wednesday.

Before getting to the disaster that was Taco Tuesday, it is inspiring to think about perfection.

Like many, I constantly strive and fail to reach perfection. As a kid, even though I hated school, I was always afraid that the one day I missed, good things would happen. I never got the perfect attendance award. Several years I missed one day. My parents knew I was not one to play hooky, and they insisted on keeping me home when I was ill. I just couldn’t get through without missing that one day.

I have been with my current firm for over three years. For three years I did not miss a day of work. I took my vacations, but did not call in sick. I remember James Caan in “The Program” asking one of his football players, “Are you injured or are you hurt?” When the player wanted to know the difference, the coach replied, “If you’re injured, you can’t play. If you’re hurt, you can play.”

I have been hurt, but not injured. So I went to work. I would get bored out of my mind at home, given how much I hate daytime television. So I go to the office and tough it out. Yet a few weeks ago I was down for the count. It was a Thursday, and I knew that if I could hit the showers by 8:30am, like I always do, being in at 9am was easy. At 8:22am I was sitting on the floor of the bathroom, unable to stand up. The shower was right there. 11 minutes later, at 8:33am, I gave it one final push. I could not get up. At 8:35am I called the boss. He was surprised, but I told him, “I’m injured.”

By the early afternoon I felt well enough to come into work. I could work a half day, and make up the hours, and keep my streak intact. Yet logic took over, and I decided to stay home. The next day I started a new streak.

Three hours seems impressive, but 17 years without missing work is more impressive. This is why the flags are flying half staff today at Green Bay, Wisconsin. Quarterback legend Brett Favre announced his retirement after 17 NFL seasons. The iron man of professional football did not miss a single game. From the third week of the 1992 season to the crushing overtime loss in this year’s NFC Title Game, Brett Favre had 100% perfect attendance. He was the Cal Ripken of football.

Many are questioning why he would retire when his team was so close to the Superbowl last year. Some are speculating that the inability to land Randy Moss played a role. Yet his reasons are his own.

Steve at www.norunnyeggs.com is most likely in mourning today. Pray for him.

Perfect attendance is impressive, but the one thing to keep in mind is that showing up is not enough. Had I gone to work the day I was sick I would have slept at my desk, contributing not an ounce of productivity. I would have been cheating myself. Perfection should not have an asterisk next to it.

Brett Favre battled a painkiller addiction early in his career, but he never cheated the game of football. He went all out, all the time. He won a Superbowl, and was one drive away from possible back to back titles. His fourth quarter comebacks are numerous. He has shattered the record books, leaving as the all time passing leader in several categories. His record of accomplishments is as lengthy as his 17 years, and he is a lock to be a first ballot Hall of Famer.

I think about this because it seems that in politics, unlike sports, merit does not seem to matter. People make claims, and those claims are just accepted. People do not have to prove themselves. They do not have to take responsibility for their own actions. Congress works Tuesday through Thursday, and praises itself for hard work. Resume padding is the norm.

This is how Hillary Clinton, a woman with no notable accomplishments, can brag about her 35 years of experience. She is now 60 years old. That means that when she graduated law school at age 25, her experience began. Does anybody think that those years contributed anything to her readiness today?

She cites several examples of her experience. One is how she fought for universal health care. So what? She lost. She failed. This does not make her a bad person, but we do not reward people in life for trying. We reward people for results. Hillary Clinton attempted to do something, and she failed. This is not an accomplishment.

She also discusses her role in bringing peace to Northern Ireland. She had nothing to do with the Irish peace process. It was George Mitchell, a seasoned Senatorial veteran with years of experience involving negotiations, who got the job done.

Hillary speaks of her standing up to the Chinese with regards to the rights of women. Again, so what? This did not lead to a policy change of any kind. She made  aspeech. She has continually attacked Barack Obama for being more about speeches than solutions, but all she did was make a speech. It was ignored. To put it blountly, she is not a good speaker. She does not inspire.

Her visiting 80 countries with Chelsea means absolutely nothing. I have visited foreign nations and managed not to get into any fistfights. This does not mean I am a diplomat. I am a tourist. Hillary Clinton was a famous tourist. She was a celebrity who was married to somebody that was a President.

One of the reasons she was sent to all of these places was to get her out of the United States, especially during election years. The more people hear her, the less they like her.

Hillary Clinton is simply a bland person who married a gifted person. She confuses his gifts with hers. She claims experience that she does not possess. She takes credit for accomplishes that have nothing to do with her. She takes blame for nothing. Worse still, she is here to stay. She will not voluntarily go away…ever.

I have often said that it is better to have people ask “why are you leaving,” than “when are you leaving?” Very few people get to walk away on their own terms. They hang around until they are shells of their former selves. Former Denver Broncos quarterback John Elway won back to back Superbowls, and then retired. He wanted to play, but admitted that his body, “just couldn’t do it any more.” Other athletes like boxer Evander Holyfield retire several times.

I still think that Brett Favre will change his mind and come back. After everything he has done, he is entitled to do so.

Hillary Clinton will leave when she is dragged kicking and screaming from the building. Worse still, despite much of the American electorate wanting her to leave, she will not put the good of anybody else above what is best for her. People need her because she says so.

Yes, she won Ohio. She also won Texas, at least the primary aspect of it. Yes, these are legitimate victories, but should that erase the fact that she lost 11 contest in a row? Barack Obama was racking up wins, while she was offering excuses. She is ready to tear the democratic party apart to get the nomination. This is not what team players do. Ask any backup quarterback how to behave, and they tell you that they practice hard, and patiently wait their turn, and accept the decision of the coaches. They put the team above themselves.

Hillary Clinton is a fire breathing dragon, Lady MacBeth minus the warmth. Like most dragons, breathing fire to destroy the Earth is another day at the office for her.

The Iron Man has taught us what life is about, and how to live. The Fire Lady has taught us how not to live. He walked away, possibly before his time, on his own terms. She will stay until the very last vestige of power has been ripped from her body and soul.

Short of repealing the 19th amendment, I have no answers.

http://www.tygrrrrexpress.com/2008/01/repeal-the-19th-amendment/

Charlotte Allen explains in the Washington Post that perhaps women are just not very bright.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/02/29/AR2008022903397.html

I am too disgusted to add anything else regarding Texmex Tuesday. For the Milli Vanillionth time, Hillary and Bill Clinton have morphed into Bill Murray from “What about Bob.” “Gone? They’re never gone!”

Before we roll out the barrel and get to the Pennsylvania Polka, the Wyoming caucus and Mississippi primary will hopefully finally help remove this cancerous lesion from the Presidential race.

Yet this woman, married to Lazarus, will not be counted out. I remain frightful. She can still win.

Yet no matter what, the republic will survive. So will I.

Besides, Las Vegas was fun, the Chicago hotel tower suite is gorgeous, and so is the “Chicago Cannonball.”

I am not allowed to elaborate at this time. Well I am, but I might get throttled.

Off to listen to rock group “The Cult” sing “Fire Woman.”

“Fire…smoke she is a rising…smoke on the horizon baby…Fire Woman.”

Perhaps the only thing that should be retired is today’s column.

There. Done.

eric         

I have stated on many occasions that my life is a traveling carnival of adventure. Sure there are the occasional mishaps, and I am still thankful to a member of the Glendale, Arizona Police Department for helping me not end up dead on the streets of Phoenix. Yet even that danger did not offset the real memory, that of witnessing one of the greatest Superbowls of all time. A half of a century from now, I will tell my future grandchildren, “I was there.” Heck, in 50 years I will probably tell people that I was on the field playing.

The Tygrrrr Express was relatively calm for the rest of February, but March and April are already shaping up to be ridiculous. I will be bouncing around America like a ping pong ball. As I say to people, “as the carnival travels.”

In March I have a political function in Las Vegas, where former Australian Prime Minister will be. I hope to meet him. After that I am off to Atlanta on a business trip, where I will then face a potentially life altering decision. I will either go to Miami and frolic during Spring Break, or go to Alabama. Either way, I come back to Los Angeles long enough to breathe, before attending a wedding in San Diego.

April will be just as insane. I have another political function, this time in San Francisco. Apparently Western Civilization is collapsing, because I will actually be one of the speakers. After that is a business trip to Chicago, followed by a New York business trip to Wall Street, which will allow me to see family, and attend the NFL Draft.

Yet even burning the candle at both ends will not wear me out if I manage to finally break away from what really distracts me from personal growth…twinkies.

I must give up twinkies. I do not care how hot they are. If a woman is too young for me, I will ignore every wriggle, wiggle, bounce and jiggle. It is time to get serious. No more twinkies.

At age 24, I was lusting after a 19 year old brunette. I realized that I liked 19 year old brunettes, and continued to date them as I turned 25 and 26. They were never 18 or 20, just 19. At age 27, I was still dating 19 year old brunettes. I was partying like it was 1999, although that could have been because it actually was 1999.

I made a decision that I could not live like this forever. The Millennium was approaching, and I would turn 28 only 8 days later. I developed a plan called “Maturity 2000.” I would stop dating twinkies. No more 19 year old brunettes. I would now date 20 year old brunettes. Baby steps away from babies. At age 29 I was dating a 23 year old. This was progress. True, her best assets were above her waist, but I always rationalized that any woman with a hot body had to be intelligent. I was a smart guy of substance, so I would not be so shallow as to romance somebody just because they had yummy bouncies.

Yet when the guys would discuss Middle Eastern politics, she would want to talk about Britney Spears’s Pepsi commercial. The handwriting was on the wall. I was dating a woman I could not have intelligent conversations with solely because she bounced and jiggled.

I broke off the relationship, turned 30, and met a nice girl at a party for graduate students. I was a grad student, and I figured her to be 24 or 26. I cannot explain why I did not think she was 25. One day she confessed to me that my assumptions about her age were off base. Even though she was intelligent, she was…magic number…19. Breaking it off on the spot would have been cruel, and I did like her company. In fact, I think she did my homework once.

It was a computer project, and I am technologically incompetent. The project was incomplete when I went to bed, and when I woke up I saw a message from the professor thanking me for emailing him the completed assignment, which was perfect. She insisted that she did not do it, and my roommate, also a computer expert, insisted he did not do it either. I could have walked in my sleep and done it, but to this day I have no idea how the project got done.

Nevertheless, we broke up at some point on very friendly terms. A 30 year old man should not be dating a 19 year old. My next girlfriend was more in my age range. She was 20, and she had yummy bouncies as well. The fact that we had nothing in common forced me to again evaluate my life. Maturity 2000 did not get implemented, but I had turned 30 myself. Round numbers for some reason inspire people to arbitrarily do things. I then unveiled my upgraded model of life, known as “Maturity 2002.”

Implementation proved rocky, but I thought I had finally reached adulthood when in 2005 I was dating an older woman. She was 9 years my senior. I thought my family would be thrilled. Instead, my dad referred to her as Mary Kay Latorneau.

I made a decision that I needed to stick within my age range. I also decided that 10 years my junior would be an absolute cutoff The numbers could be 11 apart if it was less than 10 1/2 total. 2008 was the year I was officially over 35. I was much closer to 40 than 30. I began dating a smart woman looking to become a criminal prosecutor. She was intelligent, sweet, beautiful…and 22.

14 years. I was truly on the verge of becoming a letch. I did not want to be one of those 50 year old guys dating women half my age, driving an expensive car to overcompensate, one of those guys with no hair on top and a pony tail, and a pretentious fake British accent to round out the stereotype.

Things hit home when we went to a party. At 2am I was tired. I wanted to go home. She would have partied all night. I need a nap during the day to be able to effectively celebrate the “other 9 to 5.” I think after that night she saw me as a senior citizen. We broke up. It may not have been the age difference, but that did not help.

I am single as of a few days ago, and while I did not officially launch “Maturity 2008,” I hope that version does not have bugs in the software.

A big test for me will be my trip to Hotlanta. I am one of those guys that gets totally dopey around Scarlett Ohara type Southern Belles, especially the brunettes. After Atlanta, the key decision of Alabama versus Florida will set in. The fate of my maturation may hang in the balance.

South Florida allows me to visit my parents, and after they go to sleep, hang out in South Beach. In Miami the clubs are open until 5am. It is 75 degrees at midnight, and the clubs are on the beach. I do love hanging from the balcony of a couple of the clubs surveying the scene. “The Clevelander” is a bar surrounding a swimming pool. Hot Miami nights appeal to me. Spring Break is approaching, and I am still barely young enough to date grad students.

http://www.tygrrrrexpress.com/2007/03/miami-will-smith-is-100-right/

Yet there is more to life than twinkies. I would like to become a husband and father, and some of the loveliest yummy bouncies have not led to anything of substance.

I vow to avoid playing bedroom volleyball with any young coed from now on, no matter how spectacular their God given gifts are. I will ignore them from front to back.

Perhaps to avoid Temptation Island Miami altogether would be wise. My friend in Alabama lives on the Auburn campus. Auburn fans are the Tigers. It is a sign. I have been to Princeton, New Jersey, and Clemson, South Carolina. I do like meeting my fellow Tigers.

It is a sign. Miami is crack. I should go Westbound and Down, and take the Tygrrrr Express to Alabama instead.

Besides, Auburn is a college campus with grad students. There is no way I could get into trouble there.

Or maybe there is.

eric