The other day I wrote what I thought was a heartfelt tribute to my good friend, Jeffery Lung. I lost a contest and as the terms of the contest dictated, I had to write an essay in praise of Jeff and that I did. However, it seems that everyone is waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Apparently the ethos of “gotcha’ journalism” has seeped into every aspect of American life to the extent that even a laudatory essay automatically becomes suspect. C’mon people. I am not Keith Olbermann. I am not these guys:
I lost fair and square and so I did what was asked of me.
Now, I could have gone to one of the two extremes. I could have given the Oliver Stone on Hugo Chavez hagiography treatment to Jeff and made myself into as laughable an icon as the director of Platoon has now become. Or, I could have gone the other direction and filled the entry so full of sarcasm and tongue in cheek humor as to lose all sense of the original terms of the contest. Like Robert Frost, though, when I saw two roads diverge in a wood, I took the one less traveled by. The honorable one.
But the honorable path apparently doesn’t mean much these days. You all want to hear me talk about Jeff’s impressive collection of exfoliants and cleansers. Or his inability to find a girlfriend. Or Fernando Tatis’ repeated requests to Jeff to stop sending him pictures and letters about how much alike their goatees look. But I drew a line and I refused to cross it.
So, you can continue waiting for the other shoe to drop, but you’ll be waiting a long time. Jeff is my friend and that means I don’t question his decision to hang a life-size poster of Patrick Swayze over his bed. Really, that is what being a friend is all about. And god knows it’s better than a life-size poster of Whoopi Goldberg.
Recently Jeff and Allen squared off in an epic, metaphor driven battle. Like Thunderdome, two men entered but only one man left. However, instead of choosing death as the punishment for the vanquished, the RSBS team decided on a fate much, much worse. Today Allen fulfills the terms of his defeat by writing an essay extolling the attributes of the winner. We now present that entry in its original and unabridged form.
The world did not change overnight when Jeffery Lung was born in the late 70’s. Instead it waited patiently as he grew up, sang and danced his way through high school and made short work of both the Chinese language and four years of college. And as the world waited, it also saw fit to provide Jeff with a sidekick, a Laurel to his Hardy, a Penn to his Teller, a Siegfried to his….ok, not so much that last one.
Jeff and I met in the fall of 1997 when we both arrived at college and made the fateful decision to participate in the orientation week spectacle. Maybe it was the strains of Carmina Burana that made us friends. Perhaps it was the endless hours of rehearsal for plays and the campus improvisational comedy troupe. Or maybe it was living in the same dorm room for part of junior year and my having to lean over the top bunk every morning to see the beautiful girl that all of us wanted but that Jeff had gotten.
Honestly, though, I think it had more to do with just Jeff. He doesn’t like to brag about it but he’s really freakin’ smart and it’s good to be around that. Did I mention he speaks Chinese? Fluently? And that he won a Fulbright Scholarship to study in China? And he does this all while being left-handed. Seriously, I can’t even hold a pen in my left hand. He writes in three languages with his.
I could go on and on about his abilities but there’s another aspect to Jeff that’s even more important. He’s plain and simple a damn good friend. I have a bad habit of disappearing from the interwebs occasionally but he doesn’t kick me off the blog or question my loyalty. He just keeps plugging away and then gets in a couple shots when I get back. But he’s always there and always has been for the past decade. That’s saying something.
The world has changed quite a bit since Jeff was born. But in the past 12 years one thing has remained constant. Jeff Lung has been and will continue to be one of my closest friends and one of the best friends you could ever ask for.
P.S. No h0mo
Relax. Breathe easy. Enjoy this, fellow Yankee haters: Cliff Lee and the Phillies have given us another precious day of hearing “twenty-six rings” over the inevitable “twenty-seven”. And remember, God made a “firmament” in just one day. Think of what we can do with ours!
Because let’s face it, whether it happens on Wednesday or it happens next year, the year after that or whenever (it’s gonna happen in your lifetime), the Yankees are going to get their twenty-seventh ring. That’s fine. I’m okay with that. The franchise more than deserves it. You see, if you spend a billion dollars on something, it will work. Ask our government. And if I spent a billion dollars on something in just 9 years I’d expect that something to at least win me a trophy of some kind, or get a bill named after me, or land me a free room at Holiday Inn Express (they still make me pay there).
The point is: the Yankees will win… sometime… eventually…
Until then, A-Rod, Party Boy, Mo and Tex… you will have to wait patiently for this hater (me) to shower you with praise.
Speaking of people who want to shower me, I believe Mr. Krause lost the World Series of Metaphors and owes the winner (also known as Me) a meritorious essay on the topic of why I am awesome.
Hate me ‘cuz I flash a flair of fetidness, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
In an effort to avoid any bias in reporting the results of the recently completed World Series of Metaphors, RSBS decided to ask an impartial third party to announce the results of the contest and authors of the metaphors. Unfortunately, it was kind of short notice and the only person willing to help out was our old friend, Max. So, despite our better judgment, here goes.
Populism can eat my @$$. For that matter, so can democracy. You know what happens when you let democracy and populism run amok? Sarah Palin and Barack Obama. Speaking of which, you know what both of them can do? I’ll give you a hint: It has already been mentioned in this paragraph.
You know what else happens when democracy and populism run amok? Worthless excuses for contests like the one that happened right here on this blog. Look at those metaphors. At least there was an attempt to keep it a little highbrow with the biblical references and I thank Allen for that. But Jeff went straight for the gutter. Way too embarrassed to tell your friends about Ryan Howard? That doesn’t even make sense. He might be a fat girl but he’s popular. Wouldn’t that put him more in the Jennifer Hudson vein? I’d expect Jeff to make that connection anyway considering his practically pederastic love for underage Filipinas and everything else that American Idol entails. Way to play to the lowest common denominator there buddy.
As it stands, Jeff won the contest. Jayson Werth as the dirty uncle and this whole A-Rod as a pretty girl business won it for him. But really, doesn’t that just mean that we all lose? And just to be fair, I’m more than a little disappointed with Allen for sinking to the same level with his self comparison to Yankee fans. Did you forget that you hate the Yankees, pal? And as if that wasn’t bad enough, you still lost and now you have to write an essay praising Jeff. Well played, Judas. Hope you remembered to pick up your thirty pieces of silver on the way out.
Frankly, I’m not even sure what I’m doing here right now. I consider Jeff and Allen great friends but intellectual minnows, a point they proved impressively well with this “metaphor-off” or whatever poorly disguised euphemism they might have used for their h0mo-erotic excuse for a blog. I need to get home anyway. Populism and democracy are coming by in a little while to attend to some business.
-Maxwell “Max” P. Framington
In this epic best of three game battle of metaphors — mixed, extended,
absolute and beyond — Jeff and Allen pair wits and leave it to YOU,
the dear reader, to decide the champion.
The humbled loser will be forced to shower the winner with a carefully constructed essay of praise.
And now… the FINAL MATCH…
The Topic: Phillies Fans v. Yankees Fans
Suggested by: Jonestein from Baseball, Apple Pie & Lobster
Yankees fans are the U.S. Military. Backed with billions of dollars and stacked with the Nation’s finest, these chiseled warriors are built to destroy. And while it’s going well, they tout themselves as being the very best EVER. When things aren’t going so well they pretend none of it actually exists. Phillies fans? These are the relentless Jihadists. Playoff bound or not, they will blow you up, they will eat your children, they will terrorize everyone and everything around them; and they won’t feel bad about it, for at the end of the explosion waits paradise with 72 Shane Victorinos.
Yankees fans are Allen, dedicated but with a statistically significant percentage of ostentation. They claim to love their team but sometimes you wonder if that love is as intense as it should be. Phillies fans are Jeff, always spoiling for a fight and ready to punch you before letting you bad mouth their team. You never doubt the love but you wonder if maybe they’re just a little off.
But both have one thing in common. They think they deserve to be number one. Like Jeff and Allen, though, it doesn’t always happen.
Please vote! Tell your friends! Storm town hall meetings!
In this epic best of three game battle of metaphors — mixed, extended, absolute and beyond — Jeff and Allen pair wits and leave it to YOU, the dear reader, to decide the champion.
The humbled loser will be forced to shower the winner with a carefully constructed essay of praise.
The Topic: Jayson Werth
Suggested by: xcicix from Bringing Diamond Back(s)
Jayson Werth steps into the box, a hyena scavenging for whatever scraps he can claim from his constantly shifting place in the pack. Something stolen here, something taken down all by himself there, the fear comes from never knowing what he might do. You wonder how something that looks so ridiculous could do so much damage but the crunch as he feasts on yet one more victim forces you to simply accept him for the beast that he is.
At your annual summer family reunion picnic, Jayson Werth is that fun-lovin’, cigar-smokin’, joke-crackin’ drunk uncle who never has a problem being the life of the party, on the spot, whenever he is asked. He is also that same uncle whom your mom and dad won’t ever let you be alone with — the one who disappears every time a cop drives by, the one who considers Jager Bombs to be one of the four major food groups.
Please vote! Tell your friends! Do your US American duty!
In this epic best of three game battle of metaphors — mixed, extended, absolute and beyond — Jeff and Allen pair wits and leave it to YOU, the dear reader, to decide the champion (based on the quality of the metaphor, not the person because Jeff would destroy Al in a popularity contest).
The loser will be forced to shower the winner with a carefully constructed essay of praise.
The Topic: “The Sluggers” (Alex Rodriguez and Ryan Howard)
Suggested by: Buz from Yesterday’s Hitter
Alex Rodriguez is the prettiest girl at the dance — the one who all the guys lust over only to find out she doesn’t even put out. Across the empty dance floor, you’ll find Ryan Howard: the hot mess of a big girl who will ride you all night long and be real, real sloppy about it.
… but you’ll be way too embarrassed to tell your friends.
From postseason goat to playoff stallion, A-Rod’s current heroics pale only in comparison to those of Ryan Howard, the rider on the red horse. To him is given the power to take away peace and smite with the sword, a fact to which the Dodger’s pitching staff can surely attest. But the slight pallor of Mr. Rodriguez’s accomplishments only accentuates his equally ashen steed and the Evil Empire, Hades, as the good book calls it, that he brings in tow.
Please vote! Tell your friends! Kiss a baby!