You know them. They’re everywhere. Maybe they live next door to you, and through your paper thin ghetto-ass walls you can hear them scream at the top of their lungs at their poor girlfriend to get the screaming little shit of a kid because “I’m playing Xbox!” Maybe you actually heard one of them say to a 3-year old during the fireworks extravaganza you attended earlier this month “thanks a lot for ruining my Fourth of July. I guess I got beer at home to take care of that!” Maybe this makes you want to carry around abortion clinic business cards and stab pro-lifers with coat hangers. Either way, a couple of these fuck-hole members of society should be neutered or spayed faster than autistic alley cats with syphilis.

The first group is the parents with 11 damn kids at the Dollar Store. Every damn one of them running through the store with Big Gulp Code Red Mountain Dews, the world’s stickiest lollipops, and one of those fucking slimy/sticky-hand things from the bubblegum machines out front (which somehow already looks like it’s touched more carpet than Dick Cheney’s daughter.)

Now I have lot’s of friends with children, and all of them, until they get old enough to discover video games and text messaging, are always coated with some sort of brightly-colored flavored corn syrup/mud mixture. And I know when I hug them that I will be forced to go home and change my clothes. But these are my friend’s children. I love them. I don’t give a fuck about your slow-class kids who will no doubt grow up to invent the next generation’s crystal meth or potato gun. So please, next time leave them in the car, preferably with the windows rolled up under the hot sun, instead of keeping them close enough to play Spiderman with the back of my shirt in the checkout line as your personality-challenged ass ignores them all and reads fucking Us Magazine. Those are the typical bad parents. They almost get a pass. They probably had typically bad parents themselves and they just don’t know any better. Bless them.

The next group though is even worse. They are the parents of tomorrow’s suicides. They are a rarer breed, but one that you can spot nearly everywhere if you keep your eyes peeled. They are the over-the-top socially anxious parent. These parents are so goddamned afraid of human interaction that if their child so much as sneezes in public he’s out of dessert until Jesus comes home.

Now, I was recently down in Morehead City, North Carolina taking in some sun and human fuckery with old friends (shout out TimS with a big MC EIHT JEAH!) when I spotted this breed. As I ate a great dinner on an open patio with my back to the beautiful Crystal Coast I was nearly floored by the disgusting act of parenting that I witnessed. Our table was having a good damn time, snapping pictures, making jokes, and enjoying what my crew back home calls “good laughs” when the little man sitting next to me must have felt like it was his turn to join in the festivities, by turning and burping at me. That’s it. Just some silly little mouth gas and a smile.

Now this isn’t exactly good manners, or how he should probably behave, but judging by his mother’s reaction you’d have thought he committed a moral sin against God. This simple bitch proceeded to snatch little dude by the arm, drag him three feet down the bench, and snarl “say excuse me” in a voice that reminded me of Christian Bale as Batman. A little over the top I guess, but still, at this point I’m not ready to choke-slam the hooker. Nor am I about to put any of my limbs within striking distance of her mouth either. Not until she digs her nails into his thigh, and with tears in little dude’s eyes, says with that same snarl, (only whispering now) “You feel that? those are my nails!… you keep it up and…” Now I didn’t exactly get the rest of the threat, maybe the blood flowing into my head from the anger impaired my hearing, but all I know is it took everything I had not to Russian-sickle that dumb hoe into the ocean.

This sorry excuse for life really just dug her nails into her poor son’s leg while threatening him in public with more violence and somehow thinks in her simple fucking brain this is less of a scene then the little burp and a smile? Young man, if by some fucked-up event of fate you ever come across this rant floating around on the internet when you’re older (and searching for some identity), you run far, far away from that bitch. Immediately stop trying to gain her approval and run, dude. It’ll never happen, I barely met her over a half-hour dinner and I can tell you that will be one miserable cunt until the day she dies. Run!

Florida vs. Oklahoma – Football. This country loves itself some football. So do I. We also love ourselves a folk hero, one we can paint any old way we like. That figure is quarterback Tim Tebow. He showed us so last night on national television, proving once and for all how God, if one does exist, prefers him over the rest of us oxygen-sucking leaches. Unlike the Super Bowl of our beloved NFL, the BCS National Championship Game doesn’t seem to resonate much in the same way as its professional counterpart. If your favorite team wasn’t able to earn enough electoral votes to play in the finale then chances are you’re minimized to a casual fan of the game. Maybe checking in on it whenever the wife has a commercial break in her late night program. Which is pathetic. But just like the Super Bowl, we tune in no matter who is playing if for only the brutal human drama that unfolds before us. If the Super Bowl has morphed into an unofficial national holiday, than the BCS title game has done nothing more then bloat into an overhyped payday in my eyes.

But last night in Miami the storylines were too good to pass up. In each corner were two storied universities with nine titles among them who were meeting on the football field for the first time ever. Heisman Trophy winning quarterbacks led each team. Two head coaches flaunted proud roots to northeast Ohio. And as an aside, our 14-person panel at Joint Contrast went with Florida by a 9-5 margin. The overall winner was among the nine that selected the Gators and in fact picked 22 of the bowl games correctly. But screw that guy. I think I finished in a tie for last place, or somewhere close to that. That’s what I get for sticking to my roots and leaning towards the Big Ten and Mid-American Conference. Bums. I’ll get ‘em next year though.

So yeah, I picked Florida to win, even though I’ve grown to loathe all things Florida Gators after wading through 10 years in this great state. I hardly feel the hatred, of say, my Ohio State-supporting brethren. But I guess it’s true what they say about how misery loves company. The college team I root for is not worth the mention at this point. Though they did win the Hawaii Bowl this year! But about those Gators, you see, I’ve seen this all before. I’ve been to Gainesville on game days. Been a part of the excessive consumption that takes place. Met the promiscuous girls that study there. And experienced the general running amuck throughout a small-town, which happens to be inhabited by tens of thousands of reckless Gator-chomping fans. I can only imagine, and marvel at, the deliberate inebriation that took place last night.

The Game – If you were one of the spectators that hardly cared about the outcome of this game then you likely remember it as a pretty good one. If you’re a Florida fan you were probably too hammered by the time it ended to remember much. And if you’re an Oklahoma fan, then drinking too much hardly helped you forget the whole ordeal in the first place. Had to be tough trying to stomach the sight of your team methodically march the field, armed with swift passes and long runs one moment while darting through the Gator defense, then failing to finish those drives the very next time you reach for your brew.

I couldn’t understand it myself. I would bounce between admiring the Sooners for their aggressiveness, then feel the same about the Gators after a monster hit got delivered by the likes of Major Wright in the Florida defense. What should have been a game that mirrored the glitz and glamorous image of Miami instead turned into a Big Ten-style of smash mouth football, where defenses knocked opposing players around until the offenses decided to get defensive as well. All that was missing amid the 66-degree weather was a snowstorm to come blowing through. But then you knew it was only a matter of time before God intervened anyway, right?

God’s Son – I will tell you now that I knew it was Florida’s game to lose when late in the first quarter, on 2nd-and-10 with 1:58 to go, Tebow picked up a first down on a run by putting his shoulder through the backside of a diving defender. The sheer brut strength he showed was something to behold, which eventually inspired one of the talking heads of the telecast to utter “if you’re fortunate enough to spend five minutes, or 20 minutes, around Tim Tebow, your life is better for it” as he attempted to add some color.

That’s because God loves him some Tebow, and in turn loves the people that are teamed up with him. God loves Tebow so much that The Almighty orchestrated a plan to have Oklahoma intercept two of his passes, just to allow the young disciple to appreciate the sweet taste of victory that much more upon delivering the final dagger, known to us as a touchdown with 3:07 remaining that put Florida up by 10, in effect putting the game on ice for good in the Orange Bowl. But if the claims of “Superman” by the Fox announcers were intended to describe his supernatural abilities while playing in such a game, or over his career, then the more human-like moments would soon unfold before us as the game neared its conclusion.

It seems even someone who comes from such a stable family as his, that does mission work to help better the lives of families in need in places such as Croatia, Thailand, and the Philippians, can act up in the uholiest of ways sometimes. With that late lead, Tebow drew an unsportsmanlike like penalty with 2:09 to go when he gave Oklahoma’s Nick Harris an up close tutorial on how to do the “Gator chomp” following a first down run. An announcer quipped “that might be the first thing he’s ever done wrong in his life.” The humor of some of those guys.

Things seemed to wrap up rather quickly after that, as images on the television morphed into a Hollywood-like montage over the final 49 seconds. On another run up the middle, geared to kill the clock, Tebow lowered his shoulder into the umpire in what looked like a violent collision in the middle of the field as he was being tackled. Cameras were then cued to the Gatorade dumping of coach Urban Meyer, then to Oklahoma’s Bob Stoops who gazed across the field in dismay. All this happening in split seconds of each other. Then it was over, 24-10. Just like that.

Tebow is now a legendary name placed among a list of the best of the best in regards to the greatest college football players to have ever played the game. Afterwards, the lingering question from sports writers who huddled around him in search of a memorable quote was whether he’d decide to return for a senior season at UF or ride his charm and God-given talents into the National Football League, where a sizable contract is sure to be awaiting his signature.

Meanwhile, as he contemplates such a cushy existence, God returns to his day job, where finding ways to put food in the mouths of the less fortunate is just the tip of so many larger issues, which sporting events help us forget if only for a few hours at a time.