Alright, follow me on this one. I'm in a condo in Hawai'i. I've had some beers, I've got a beautiful view of Waikiki out the window and a balcony to sit back on and cackle about the wonders of my life.
...But all I can think about is how upset I am over Jimmie Johnson's ExtenZe ad. In it, he claims that, despite his success as a coach and a broadcaster, the question he gets asked most often is if ExtenZe (a sexual stimulant) really works. I call balls on that one. If I saw Jimmie Johnson walking down the street, I would not enthusiastically approach him with the sole intention of asking him if his medicine gives him an erection. Really. I mean, where does the conversation go from there? It'd be like meeting Arnold Schwarzenegger and grilling him solely on an age-old nude photo I found one unfortunate, blustery night while flipping through the pages of an old Playboy mag.
Not to mention, now I can't stop thinking about Jimmie Johnson's unit. With a black and white Arnie standing nearby, proudly flexing. What a horrible, unusual problem to be having while on holiday in Hawai'i.
...And now, I'm thinking about how Arnie follows me on Twitter. And I feel guilty for every crass thing I say on Twitter - every swear, every bold statement, every snide remark... And now, the naked, monotone Arnold is shaking his head in disapproval. But still, Jimmie Johnson seems unfazed, giving away his apparently redundant Super Bowl rings, standing proud and tall in more ways than one.
Blogs like this are unfortunate. But I can make them, because nobody reads it. Tonight, Jimmie Johnson's penis. Tomorrow... who knows?
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