Before I ask you to hear me out, I want to acknowledge that the following is merely opinion.
I have gathered no information, and I plan on gathering no information to support my claim. I don’t think that’s a necessary part of journalism anymore.
The internet has taught me that.
The internet has also taught me that cats who play the piano are the cat’s meow while simultaneously confusing me about the ability of a cat to be the meow of another cat. That’s like saying that Ron is Randy’s word.
I say word and not voice because, I don’t believe it’s possible to simplify a cat to the point where you only credit it for thinking “meow.”
While annoying, selfish and demanding, cats are pretty clever beings. There’s a lot more than a little meow going on in their minds.
I like to think of cats as little, furry people wannabes. Like Spice Girls.
They tell me what they want, what they really, really want. And I zig-a-zig, oh.
I don’t, however, think they want to be my lover. I don’t think they’re capable of love.
That’s like saying the Nebraska football program is capable of once again being what it was in the 1990s. Sorry, Husker fans, that ship has sailed.
Straight out of Port Omaha. That’s it, I’m starting a band. I’m calling it Port Omaha.
Thinking we’ll have a bluesy sound with some grunge undertones and the occasional hip-hop hook. That way I can feature talented female singers like Adele and the little kids who sang with Barney on Barney and Friends.
I’ll do that for the Google effect. The what?
The Google effect. It’s that thing that happens when somebody sees something or someone they believe they recognize, but they’re not quite sure why or from where.
So they pull out there phone and Google.
Barney’s kids will lead to millions of Googles. So many Googles, in fact, that when others Google Barney, my videos will be at the top of the search.
Curious, they’ll click on the links to see what exactly Port Omaha is. And they’ll be met with lyrics like these.
“In the 1990s, the Huskers walked the field. Miami, FSU, man, they refused to yield.But it’s 2014, and that ship has sailed. Looks like Girl Meets World was a show that failed.But there’s no need to fear, and there’s no need to cry.Give me 20 minutes, I’ll serve you a fry.Or more than that if you prefer, bet you can’t eat just one.I know that is a chip slogan, but chips ain’t no fun.They’re crunchy, salty full of calories and fat.Bananas, apples, strawberries are where it’s at.Feeling healthy eating fruits, eating fruits for health.Watch your checkbook balance, save, increase your wealth.If you don’t the folks at Walmart might ask you.To stand atop their building and call yourself Drew.Not Drew Brees or Tom Brady or any quarterback.Nickelback’s ridiculous, won’t cut them no slack.But I will say they’re a step or two in front of Creed.Labeling your music Christian out of greed.I don’t need that, I don’t want that, I don’t think that’s good.Joey Gladstone asked if my shoes were made of wood.Except he sounded funny, mouth was full of sauerkraut.Come on Joey, knock it off. Man, cut it out.I won’t have mercy just because that last line was bad.But I won’t pin a rose on your nose, that was just a fad.And don’t mispronounce ice cream just to get a laugh.It’s dairy, it’s not Austrian — unless it’s half and half.My song is ending now even though I forgot.To speak of what I needed to regarding blood clots.But that’s all right, it’s all right, it’s all right.I move in mysterious ways.”
I love it when my flow is fresh like that. That brilliance — the brilliance you just read — came without pause. Because that’s who I am, and it’s what I do.
I put words together. Words that seemingly have no business being together become family in my mind. Thorn becomes the cousin of radish. Taco and carpet become brothers. Ostrich and miracle sisters.
Because we’re all in search of a miraculous ostrich reunion in Guam. Right?
OK, so maybe you’re not. But I am. And that’s what gets me out of bed in the morning.
That, and Trix. Because they’re not just for kids.