If you’re thinking about getting me and Anne a wedding present, I’d like to request two little things: the tongues of Bob Costas and Katie Couric.
I should’ve asked for them a while ago in the hopes of getting them before the opening ceremonies of the Summer Olympics, but, hey, I had lots of stuff on my mind. Plus, I didn’t think they’d be so misused.
How wrong I was.
I liked it when they stuck to their scripts and explained the symbolism of the sculpture floating overhead or the parade of living artwork that rolled by. That’s cool. That’s background information and provides this thing that people have forgotten about since learning it in fourth grade, this little thing called CONTEXT. (I think the media would be an order of magnitude less sucktacular if they would go back to their fourth grade reading comprehension worksheets and go over the lesson in context again. Hell, I think everyone should review it.) Works of art make more sense within their proper context, and the opening ceremonies are just one big ball o’ art. I commend the schulbs who did the research and wrote the script.
But when those two vapid dolts strayed from the script and started injecting their opinions on the proceedings (“Mr. Blackwell, wherever you are, we await your judgement,” said Bob ask Bjork took the stage. “I hope they measured out enough cloth for that skirt,” he said later. “SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!” we all screamed as we watched), I knew what had to be done. I need their tongues, America, not only to make the closing ceremonies enjoyable, but to save us from their future ramblings. I need their tongues to save us from the alien hordes who watch our broadcasts and see what we’re like and are probably warming up their Big ‘N’ Burbly Human Rendering Machines to turn us into lubricants for their factories. Do you want your children to be boiled down into Lil’ Human Machine Lube? Then bring me the tongues of Bob Costas and Katie Couric, for all our sakes.