Take This All of You and Eat It: The Gospel According to Barlich

A few weeks ago I was at St. David's Church on Villanova's campus watching my cousin's confirmation and scoping out the pews for Kerry Kittles.  It was very difficult for me to concentrate because Karly, a known heathen, was continually asking me questions about what in the hell was going on.  I answered her to the best of my capability, but slowly realized that I had forgotten a lot since CCD...and Catholic high school...and Catholic college.  Essentially, keeping out of Churches other than for weddings and other random acts of sacrament since 2001 had rendered me ignorant on many non-secular topics.  At this point, as if it were a competition to see who had become the most blasphemous over the last ten years, other members of my family started asking questions that they could no longer answer themselves.  This had become embarrassing.  It's not like I'm a regular Charlie Church, but I don't like losing knowledge in general, so I decided to take a of couple weeks to field questions, and do my own research to get to the bottom of some of the Catholic Church's most burning questions.  Let me proclaim the mystery of faith.  I hope this is educational for everyone.  

Whats are the seven sacraments?  I can only come up with six.

This can easily be Googled, but to be fair, I was in Church while I was asked this one, and using a smart phone in church is frowned upon.  Here they are.  This is specifically the Irish Catholic interpretation of the sacraments.  I think the Italians interpret them a bit differently.  

1. Baptism: absolves a newborn for being born with sexual organs.

2. Reconciliation: it's time to confess about what you did with your sexual organs.

3. Eucharist: this bread tastes worse than a sexual organ. 

4. Confirmation: I promise I won't use my sexual organs.

5. Matrimony: I can finally use my sexual organs!

6. Holy Orders: I'll never use my sexual organs.

7. Anointing of the Sick: I probably deserve this for using my sexual organs.

Do people with Celiac disease go straight to hell?

My first assumption was that of course people with Celiac disease are going to hell.  Why would God administer a punishment as harsh as not being able to drink beer to a person unless they were wicked?  I mean, God doesn't let bad things happen to good people, right?  Right?  When I first began my research it looked like I was correct.  It turns out that Canon law requires that alter bread used during the Eucharist must be made of wheat and water.  In addition, the Vatican has ruled that alter bread must contain enough gluten to attain the "confection of bread," which is surprising because the Vatican has never really been super strict with Canon law.  However, a Celiac can receive Christ by drinking him instead of eating him.  There is one caveat however.  The priest mixes the host and the wine in some holy cocktail when he performs his magic spell on the alter, so the Celiac cannot take the wine from the priest's chalice.  Therefore, if you were a Celiac, you likely had to slip the priest five dollars and a solo cup before mass so you could avoid going to hell for another week.  Here's the good news.  The Congregation of the Benedictine Sisters of Perpetual Adoration have developed a host that only contains 0.01% gluten and still conforms to the requirements of the Code of Canon Law, canon 924.2!!!  Oh you Benedictine nuns, you are perpetually adorable!  So, to recap, Celiacs can avoid going to hell, but they do experience hell on earth by being denied sweet, sweet gluten.  Let's stay on a similar topic with the next question.

Have you thought about different flavors for the wafers? Maybe a cream filled Jesus sandwich cookie? Regional or seasonal flavorings? I've heard wrapping things in Doritos is also very popular at the moment. Might be a good way to increase obese and/or youth participation.

Well obviously I've thought of cream filled Jesus sandwich cookies, but I assume the question is, has the Church?  Based on what I've noted above, Canon Law states that the host can only be made of wheat and water.  This means no Doritos or cream filling unfortunately.  I think the root of the issue here is the Canon Law.  The fat and the young are walking away from the Catholic Church in record numbers.  The fat do not want to wait an extra hour before breakfast on Sunday.  The young, well they have other issues to concern themselves with.  Changing up the host could do the trick.  Honestly, if I were Jesus, I wouldn't want to be a bland wafer.  The bread that the Apostles ate with Jesus was probably pretty damn good, probably as good as that pumpernickel you get from the Outback.  It's time we gave Jesus his flavor back.  I always thought beef jerky would be a pretty good substitute.  It lasts long and it's packed with flavor.  Kind of like Jesus's teachings?  Sure, why not?

Free will or divine plan?

Uh...divine plan.  Was that really ever in question?  Maybe you meant "Free Willy" or divine plan.  In that case, it was God's will to free Willy.  Otherwise the whale would have crushed that kid when he was jumping over the jetty.  Also, the Michael Jackson song was not God's idea.  

The Church doesn't like abortions and it doesn't like gays.  The gays won't be having abortions. Shouldn't they like that?

The problem with that statement is that the Church wants more people, specifically more Catholics. More Catholics means more donations.  Aborted children do not make good catholics, and they're typically not good tippers.  Gay couples can not biologically create children, so the Church wants nothing to do with them.  What the Church fails to realize is that many gay couples now have children and are raising them non-Catholic since the Church frowns upon their sexual preference.  My guess is that once the Vatican gets word on all the money they're missing out on, they'll be building more churches in P-Town.  

Which of the religions is most incorrect?

They are all equally incorrect in the eyes of the Lord and anyone who does not obey the laws of the Catholic Church to the letter will go to hell.  Go directly to hell.  Do not pass Allah.  Do not collect 200 virgins.  

Why would you try to make a congregation full of adults and children say the word "transubstantiation" simultaneously? 

More than anything, mass is about penance.  This is why there are no cushions in the pews, the readings from the Old Testament make no sense, the people with the worst voices sing the loudest, the person next to you smells, and you have to say "transubstantiation" hungover on a Sunday morning.  Although this can also be explained by the Church's big push on transubstantiation back in the 80's.  In an effort to get more kids interested in coming to Church, they televised a Saturday morning cartoon on ABC called "Transubstantiatiors" about robots who turned into bread.  

Why are Jesus and Santa on par with each other?

Whoa, wait a minute.  Jesus and Santa are way, way different.  Santa can see when you are sleeping, but he can only know when you are awake.  Jesus can see you when you are sleeping and he can see you when you are awake.  Besides, Santa is just made up and Jesus is...

How is it determined which atrocities are God's will and which are because of "the gays?"

The general rule of thumb is that if you or a loved one are experiencing hardships, then it is God's will. However, if hardships are suffered on a scale that requires coverage by CNN, then it's because of the gays.  God would never will suffering to that degree.  However, if the gays can accomplish this, then this means they are more powerful than God.  By definition God is omnipotent, which either means there is no God, or the gays are God.  I should give the Westboro Baptist Church a heads up on this.  I imagine that they'll feel rather foolish. 

Why the Pope Mobile?  Is plexiglass greater than God's will?

Trick question, plexiglass is God's will.  

Will the Church ever franchise?

Franchising has been a sore subject since Luther nailed his theses pieces™ to the cathedral door.  Ever since, the Vatican has been super into centralized power.  Independent operators are strictly forbidden.  Why do you think you have to make all those weird motions before the Gospel?  These are clearly gang signs.  What other reason would explain why you would be required to make imaginary pretzels over your mouth, heart, and small intestine whenever Matthew, Mark, Luke or John are mentioned?  When the protestants broke off, they already knew all the secret oaths and signals.  They could have easily infiltrated the Church and learned how the Catholics were planning on destroying them.  Therefore, new gang signals (Gospel pretzels) and creeds were established.  If you were caught saying the Apostles Creed or god forbid, the Apollo Creed, instead of the Nicene Creed at the end of mass, you would be immediately identified as a heretic and burned at the stake.  So no, I can't see the Church franchising soon.  Although I'd love to see a McDonald's-like sign in front of a church that reads "One Billion Saved."  Actually, I'm almost certain that a church in the south has already done this. 

If God is able to do anything, may this mean He is able to make a mountain more heavy than He is able to lift?

That just hurt my brain.  

What's with the hats?

This was asked by several people.  The hats are necessary so that the common man can recognize how much more inferior and less holy he is to member a of the priesthood.  In general, the taller and more pointy the hat, they way more corrupt, I mean holy, the man.  Your typical, run of the mill priest only gets to rock a yamaka, which can be confusing since this is typically associated with the Jewish faith.  However, fret not because priests generally wear some pretty elaborate robes with the yamaka which even a Jewish drag queen wouldn't consider wearing.  Then you get to your Bishops.  Bishops are confusing because their hats almost look like the Pope hat, but relax, they're not even cardinals yet.  If you are in a pinch and can't tell if the dude at your nephew's communion is the Pope or just some lame Bishop, remember this quick tip.  Bishops can only move diagonally.  If that son of a bitch is walking in a straight line, you better be on your best behavior because that guy is the Pope.  Now, Cardinals break with the big hat rule.  They wear a hat that isn't very pointy or tall.  However, it is very distinctive.  Generally, it looks like a fez with a red bra on top of it.  Why the red bra you ask?  'Cause Cardinals be pimpin'.  Finally, you have your Pope hat.  Essentially, this is just a Bishop hat except it's even taller and pointier, and also it's covered in gold.  It's shaped like a biggie sized McDonald's french fry container so the Pope has a place to keep his list of priests he should probably defrock, but never will (big lists require big hats).  Hopefully, you can now recognize your holy man.  

Is the poop deck really what I think it is?

This isn't really a Catholic Church related question, but I feel like I should answer it anyway.  No, it is not what you think it is.  Poop deck gets it's name from the French word for stern: la poupe, from Latin puppis.  It really just means the stern deck.  Speaking of Latin...

Why was Latin mass ever necessary?

After science was discovered most of the educated world spoke Latin.  The poor and disenfranchised, however, did not.  The educated tended to be the wealthy.  The wealthy enjoyed their status, but were petrified that the poor would ultimately unite and uproot the social order.  Therefore, they pushed Catholicism pretty hard, giving the poor hope that a better life awaited them so long as they didn't do anything awful.  Unfortunately, stories about a dude changing water into wine and coming back from the dead just seemed to damned ridiculous to be believed by anyone, so the wealthy urged the Church to read the mass in Latin so that the poor would be none the wiser.  Fortunately for the wealthy the one thing the Catholic Church loves more than Jesus is money, so they agreed.  By the time the language of the mass was changed to the congregations' native tongue, the Catholic tradition and culture was so ingrained that even educated people would believe that people could walk on water.  You can read more about my theories in my upcoming manuscript: Das Capital.  

I have trouble with the Trinity. Is the 3 in 1 deal like a 2 in 1 shampoo and conditioner?  How can you have three wholes in one of anything?  Math tells me that's impossible.  Reminds me of when my coach told me to give 110%.  He and I both know that that just can't happen.

Remember this?  Case closed.

Do alter boys have alter egos?

Of course!  At mass, they play the super dedicated servant to the Catholic Church, while in everyday life they play the boy who is really, really good at keeping secrets.  

Why is it so hard to become a saint?

Miracles are not easy.  Have you ever tried to get your dead face to appear on a tortilla in Mexico?  Even if you did, you still have two more miracles to go.  Admittedly, this is pretty difficult, but would you want your saints to be average Joe's?  St. Larry, St. Mo, St. Beyonce?  These just don't sound holy.    It's bad enough that Beyonce doesn't get a red line for spell check, do we need her to be a saint?  Three Grammys takes just as much talent as making funny faces at a Super Bowl halftime show.  Sainthood should not be a vote in reality program.  If you didn't have an absolutely, miserably boring life devoted to feeding ugly people then you don't deserve to be a saint.

What is the alcohol content of Jesus's blood?

Jesus's blood is 40% alcohol by volume.  Please enjoy Jesus's blood responsibly.  

When is the next scheduled Holy War?  In the event of a Holy War, is the Pope General of the army?

Unless you count IRA bombings, it's been quite some time since a good, old fashioned Holy War.  Holy Wars kind of fell out of favor once the fundamental Muslims started them up again.  It's like when white people start using black lingo and it becomes totally lame.  When's the last time you heard a black dude say "raise the roof?"  Once the Holy War fad dies out for about a decade, the Catholic Church will likely go all retro and it will become cool again like the high top haircut.  When it does, it's tough to say who the general will be.  The Pope used to be more like the president.  He'd be the commander and chief, but he wouldn't be out in the field.  Generally, the top member of the Church's chief skull crackers, the Jesuits, would lead the charge.  However, now that the top Jesuit is the Pope, this muddies the waters.  There's a pretty high likelihood that the Pope could get his finger nails dirty much like Bill Pullman in Independence Day.  Personally, I'd love to see the Pope fly a fighter jet.  Can we at least get a Will Smith/Jeff Goldblum vehicle together to put this on screen.  Will Smith would be a lock for Pope.  And Cardinal Goldblum...well that just sounds amazing.  Arch Bishop Firestein?  I could just keep going.  

Does the Pope shit in the woods?

Now we're talking about my true religion: Duderonomy.  In The Big Lebowski, Jackie Treehorn asks if the Dude wants a refill, to which he responds, "Does the Pope shit in the woods?"  Clearly the Dude wants another caucasian, which means the answer must be yes.  Therefore, the Pope does, in fact, shit in the woods.    

We All Got Old at Break-Neck Speed (0)

Well, it's been 500 days and I'm still alive.  It feels a little bit weird being 30, but I feel like I definitely got the most out of my 20's, so there's no reason for me to be depressed.  Plus, all my favorite Phillies are in their 30's, and they're showing no signs of slowing down, right...right?  Either way, I see no reason for me to stop writing.  However, it wouldn't make sense to keep my blog title since my 500 days have expired.  Therefore, I did some advanced research to see how long I have left on this earth.  The "Living to 100 Life Expectancy Calculator" is certain that I will live to 90 years old.  This means my first 30 years was only the first third of my life.  It also means I still have 60 more years of screaming at the Phillies, driving Karly insane, drinking too much beer, watching the Big Lebowski, camping, marching in the Mummers Parade, going to the Electric Factory, and telling stories you've heard a thousand times before.  I can't wait to start today!  Henceforth, this blog will be known as 10,958 days of Barlich.  I hope you enjoy it as much as I will.

I Can't Believe I Ate the Whole Thing (2)

With the Phils home opener coming up, and Jackson's Fast For a Catcher art show this Friday, I've been constantly thinking about baseball.  There's a lot that goes into making a great baseball player, but apart from natural ability, I believe diet can go a long way in developing a raw athlete into a major league power house.  It's clear that the optimal baseball diet must be different from a diet that makes a great basketball player, hockey player, etc.  You don't see guys like Pablo Sandoval or Prince Fielder excelling in many other professional sports.  It has become abundantly clear to me, that the professional baseball player's diet must be approached from a different angle.  I have pasted the traditional food pyramid below, which stresses balance among certain food groups.  Many doctors will tell you this balanced diet will lead to a healthier lifestyle, but they'd be flat out liars if they told you it would make you a better baseball player. I have approached the ideal professional baseball player's diet in a similar fashion, balancing out certain food groups.  However, portions among food groups are drastically different.

Traditional Food Pyramid for Nerds

You'll notice that the nerd food pyramid emphasizes eating higher portions of fruits and vegetables, and less fats and oils.  This could not be further from the opposite when approaching the optimal baseball diet.  It should be noted that this diet is for hitters only, as it is impossible to figure out any sort of pattern with pitchers since they are by nature, berserk.  Let's explore.

Vegetables:

A major league hitter's worst enemy is the vegetable.  They're as dangerous as a turnip in Mario 2.  One should try to avoid a head of lettuce or a can of corn at all costs, and who would want to be caught in a pickle?  Hitters who expect to have more than just a cup of coffee in the majors need to revert from their so called "healthy" lifestyle and cut vegetables completely out of their diet.  Sure, those lanky midfielders like Omar Vizquel can really sling the pea, but you'll rarely see them hitting dingers. 

Milk, Yogurt, and Cheese:

Lay off the high cheese.  In fact, cheese in general is not your friend.  Dairy is more of a pitcher's food.  You don't want to end up like John Rocker, do you?

Fortified Cereal, Bread, Rice, and Pasta:

For the most part, all the garbage above is just empty carbs.  If you want to hit the ace's bread and butter pitch, just make sure you eat your Wheaties.  If you're not into Wheaties, Lenny Dykstra's special vitamins should probably do the trick as well. 

Fruit:

Certain fruits can be mixed in, but just make sure you eat them whole.  You could really hurt yourself by passing up on a grapefruit and opting for jam.  

Fats, Oils, and Sweets:

Now, we'll begin to focus on the food groups that will really benefit the major league hitter.  If you want to be a real cracker jack batter, you'll need to start racking up the Ding Dongs.  Sure, going for the Ding Dong may lead a real lollipop now and then, but you need to make sure you're bashing those cookies.  The outfielders won't be making snow cone catches if the ball is hit out of the yard.  However, please do take precaution.  Sweets in excess can lead to injury.  Take advise from Kevin Mitchell and make sure you don't microwave your donut to extreme temperatures.  You could melt the filling in your teeth and need root canal surgery (for real...this actually happened).

Meat, Poultry, Fish, Dry Beans, and Nuts:

Take as many meatballs, salamis, and ribbies as you can get your hands on.  Even if it earns you the occasional bean ball, you won't see any goose eggs up on the score board, even if the pitcher is putting some mustard on it.  I heard Wade Boggs stuck to a strict meat and beer diet for the majority of his career, and everybody knows that Wade Boggs hits home runs everywhere. 

If you stick to the diet above you can easily have the physique and athletic prowess of the greatest baseball player of all time.  You'll have to fight the ladies off with a stick.



Hit Me Baby One More Time: Britney Spears Explains the Tenure of Andy Reid (125 days)

On January 11^th, 1999, Andy Reid was hired as head coach of the Philadelphia Eagles.  Nineteen days later Britney Spears hit number one on the Billboard Hot 100 for the first time in her young career with the single “…Baby One More Time.”  Over the past thirteen years both Andy and Britney have seen their share of ups and downs; triumphs and failures; moments of glory and sheer embarrassment.  While on the surface, the two seem impossibly alike; their shared emotional journeys through identical periods of time will forever be linked in song and action.  While unintentional, Britney’s lyrics tell the tale of a man on a conquest for greatness whose fate would ultimately end in failure.  This is the story of Andy Reid told by the voice of a decade. 

Stronger (1999-2000 Seasons)

The once proud franchise of the Philadelphia Eagles had sputtered through the last two seasons under Ray Roads, and was still trying to scrub clean the stench of previous coach Rich Kotite.  Andy Reid was hired in January of 1999 after successfully coaching quarterback Brett Favre to a Super Bowl win, despite Brett’s constant off the field distractions of pain killer abuse, frequent infidelity, and incessant Wrangler Jeans promotions.  In April of 1999, Andy smartly made the correct draft choice of Donovan McNabb, despite the fan’s and media’s obvious hope for Ricky Williams.  After years of working with Favre, Andy could clearly spot a selfish junkie like Williams, and his choice of McNabb would prove to catapult the Eagles to a playoff birth within his second season.  Though in their first year under Reid, the Eagles would finish 5-11, it was an improvement over their 3-13 finish from the year before.  Clearly the Eagles were stronger than yesterday.  Now, it was nothing but Andy’s way.  In a classic Reid maneuver, the Eagles started the 2000 season against the Cowboys with an onside kick that was recovered, in a game that would henceforth be referred to as the “Pickle Juice Game.”  The Eagles stole the game away early from the Cowboys and the season went the same way.  The Eagles finished 11-5 with a playoff win against the Bucs before losing to the ill-named NY Giants, who neither played in New York nor were giants.

Oops I Did It Again (2001-2003 Seasons)

For a three year span in the early 2000’s, the Eagles were one of the best regular season teams in football.  They won the NFC East in all three seasons and managed to make it to the NFC championship game each year.  Some of the highlights of these seasons included the on field murder of Jim Miller by Hugh Douglas in a road playoff game; a four touchdown game by McNabb while playing on a broken ankle; a 4^th and 26 completion to future hall of famer Freddie Mitchell; and a last second punt return for a touchdown by Brian Westbrook to beat that blue team from New Jersey.  However, when it came to the NFC championship, Andy Reid and the Eagles continued to make the same mistakes, and break fans’ hearts again and again.  When it came to the NFC Championship, to lose all his senses was just so typically Andy.  He played with our hearts while he got lost in the game.  We were so enamored initially, that we were unable to see that he was a fool in so many ways.  However after an embarrassing defeat by the Buccaneers in the last game ever at Veterans Stadium in 2002, and an anemic offensive performance against the Panthers in 2003, Philadelphia began to realize that Andy was not sent from above. 

…Baby One More Time (2004 Season)

“Oh baby, baby how was I supposed to know that my offense wouldn’t perform against top flight defenses in tight playoff games?”  Well, Andy, perhaps in an offense that throws the ball 97% of the time, there should be players on the team that can run fast and catch footballs.  Maybe, Todd Pinkston and James Thrash aren’t the answer.  “Show me, how you want it to be.  Tell me baby ‘cause I need to know now.”  Dude, Andy, we just want you to get a wide receiver.

The Baltimore Ravens had just acquired the best free agent wide receiver on the market: Terrell Owens.  However, Terrell had decided that he didn’t feel like playing there, and the NFL made up a new rule that only allowed top tier wide receivers to play for high powered offenses not coached by Brian Billick.  To the Eagles luck that ruled out the Ravens, and the Eagles were able to sign T.O. and nobody even remembers if Baltimore ever complained.  With the new addition, the Eagles started the season 13-1.  The Eagles once again found themselves in the NFC Championship.  However, their brightest new star had been previously injured by the biggest coward that ever played professional sports, Roy Williams, who later had a rule made in his honor to prevent people from tackling like him.  Prior to that there had simply been an unspoken rule not to play the game like a total A-hole.  Regardless of the fact that the Eagles had lost the previous three NFC Championships, and they were missing the dynamic T.O., we still believed…mainly because we were up against the most overrated professional athlete of all time, Michael Vick (FORESHADOWING!!!).  Michael Vick dogged it, was held on a tight leash, and was eventually put down by Brian Dawkins, Hugh Douglas, Jeremiah Trotter, and the rest of the Eagles defense.  The Eagles won and would go on to play Super Bowl XXXIX against the New England Patriots, whose fans has just discovered they had a football team three years earlier.  Though T.O. made a magnificent and courageous return, and though the Eagles led at the half, they found themselves down by two scores late in the game.  Suddenly, without all their time outs, and without a sense of urgency, a flood of memories came back to Philadelphia fans everywhere.  The last five minutes of play was like a slow motion punch to the stomach.  Despite getting one step closer, the fans of the Eagles were hit one more time. 

Toxic (2005 Season)

Terrell Owens had been spectacular in 2004.  Some, including T.O., would even say that he out-performed his contract.  Others, including Eagles brass and McNabb, disagreed.  Philadelphia had fallen in love with T.O. in the previous year, but they soon learned that guy like him should wear a warning.  We had a taste of poison paradise and had become addicted.  In the weeks leading up to the 2005 season, T.O. had the most epic hold out in recorded history.  The hold out included a work out session on the front lawn of his Sough Jersey home.  Clearly, T.O. was well ahead of his time, showing off his abs while television cameras rolled in Moorestown, NJ years before the birth of Jersey Shore.  While he ultimately reported for duties by the time the season started, his constant bickering with his quarterback and coach caused much unneeded on and off field drama.  The Eagles got off to a poor start, and T.O.’s antics were not helping.  Despite racking up six touchdowns and over 700 yards in seven games, T.O. was suspended for the remainder of the season by Reid.  Things got even worse when McNabb got a sports hernia while attempting to prove he could pick up Andy Reid.  The Eagles finished 6-10 and lost every game within their division.  We had become addicted to the Eagles, but found out that they were toxic.

I’m a Slave 4 U (2006 Season) 

What would you call someone who continually commits a large portion of their time and energy to something that never pays off?  A slave?  Yes, that’s what we had become.  I won’t deny it.  I’m not trying to hide it.  The Eagles started slow and McNabb got hurt again.  Now Jeff Garcia would take the reins of a sputtering offense.  Would we watch to see what happened?  What the hell, who cares?  However, somehow Garcia played like an all pro and wound up taking the Eagles to the playoffs where he helped beat the Giants in a first round playoff game.  Suddenly, we forgot who McNabb was, and had our sights set on a Super Bowl.  We couldn’t hold it.  We could not control it.  We were back to committing our emotions to a team that had repeatedly broker our hearts.  Of course, they did it once again in a loss to New Orleans.  Inevitably, we would return with the same commitment the next season.  We were slaves to the Eagles and Andy Reid.  Incidentally, I’m thinking that texting must have reached massive popularity by the time Brittney’s “I’m a Slave 4 U” was released.  Either that or she was conforming to the popularity of Nu Metal which felt it imperative to misspell the names of their bands in order to show how incredibly bad ass they were.  This, however, is a debate for another blog entry. 

Sometimes (2007 Season)

“Sometimes I run, but mainly I just like to call passing plays.  Sometimes I hide, but I generally leave that to my quarterback who disappears at the end of tight games.  Sometimes I’m scared of being fired, but all I have to do is put together a playoff run now and then and I’m pretty sure my job is secure.  Baby all I need is time, but I usually waste all of my time outs early and can’t manage the clock at the end of the game.”  This is essentially how the 2007 season went.  Brian Westbrook was one of the best running backs in the NFL, but was consistently under utilized.  McNabb continued to come up small in the end of close games and got injured once again.  Andy’s clock management once again was atrocious.  The Eagles had an 8-8 season and finished last in the division, but Andy’s job was still secure from the playoff runs of yester year.  In the background however, something unusual was occurring.  The Phillies had won their division for the first time in 14 years.  Slowly the grip that the Eagles had on the city was loosening as a young Phillies team was beginning to gel. 

You Drive Me Crazy (2008-2009 Seasons)

In 2008 the impossible happened.  The Philadelphia Phillies broke a 25 year citywide championship drought by beating the Tampa Bay Rays in the World Series. Look it up.  It actually happened.  Even if you believe me, look it up anyway.  It’s way fun.  Either way, the city suddenly had the confidence that if the Phillies could win a World Series, then maybe Andy Reid could possibly coach the Eagles back to glory.  For much of 2008 and 2009 Andy drove us crazy.  In typical Andy fashion he would bring the city into a rage, and then would go on a run of four or five straight wins to bring the city back into frenzy (rage and frenzy are the only two collective emotions the city of Philadelphia has).   He drove us crazy, but it felt alright.  Andy, thinking of you kept us up at night.  At times, it was worth the lack of sleep.  In 2008, he coached the team back to the NFC Conference Championship.  “Tell me that I’m not wasting my feelings on you”, we all asked once again.  Ultimately, we would get the same answer in return.  Larry Fitzgerald, the pride of Ireland, blew us up like a British state building, and the Eagles lost their fourth conference championship under Reid.  Between the 2008 and 2009 season, Eagles defensive coordinator Jim Johnson passed away and Eagles failed to resign the soul of the Eagles defense, Brian Dawkins.  The feared Eagles defense would never recover.  Despite making the playoffs in 2009, the Eagles lost in embarrassing fashion to the Cowboys in the first round.  This would prove to be the last game Donovan McNabb would ever play as an Eagle.  While Andy and Donovan had a good run, Andy appeared to have to make a change if he was going to keep his job.  As the Phillies continued to succeed, failure was no longer an option. 

Lucky (2010 Season)

In 2010, Andy Reid was prepared to start a new era of Eagles football with Kevin Kolb.  However, it wasn’t long before Kolb was sacked into a concussed, drooling zombie.  At that point the Eagles were stuck with former dog murderer and walking commercial, Michael Vick.  For years in Atlanta, Vick was able to fool millions of Americans into thinking that he was an elite quarterback by running, not throwing the ball.  ESPN devoted thirteen hours a day showing highlights of Vick running down the field and no one noticed that he couldn’t accurately through a football.  Now that Vick was fresh out of jail and was widely hated he could no longer rely on ESPN to cover his flaws.  Instead, he spent much of 2010 learning how to throw a football and actually looked like a competent passer for stretch of eight games.  He especially shined when the Eagles were able to somehow convince the commissioner to schedule a game against a high school football team called the Washington Redskins.  As the world kept spinning, he kept on winning.  When he found himself down by four touchdowns against the NY Giants in mid December, he helped engineer what is probably the greatest comeback in NFL history.  Unfortunately the city of Philadelphia was lost in his image, in a dream.  When the playoffs came, fans found out what Vick truly was.  Lucky.

Hold it Against Me (2011-2012 Seasons)

“Hey, over there, please forgive me.”  No Andy, not anymore.  “If I missed the playoffs two years in a row with a team that analysts picked to make it to the Super Bowl, would you hold it against me?”  Yes Andy.  Yes we will.  In the words of Britney’s former boyfriend, bye bye bye!

Whatever Happened to the Transylvania Twist? (181)

October has long been my favorite month of the year.  The weather begins getting cooler.  The Philles start the post…oh, wait.  The Flyers begin the start of the regular…never mind.  Well, at least it becomes socially acceptable to hang fake human body parts from your porch.  In a country where a split second shot of a boob on television causes a national uproar, we have no issues celebrating a holiday that glorifies gruesome murder and evil.  If I had my pick between murder and nudity, I’d probably pick nudity, but honestly I can see how this can go either way.  When I was in middle school, long before ironic and campy Halloween costumes were all the rage, the kid with the most horrific costume was generally the most respected on October 31^st.  I used to put a lot of thought into what type of awful monster I wanted to be.  More recently, I started thinking about which monster I would like to be if I could actually be a monster.  Not just on Halloween, but forever.  This is not a decision I took lightly.  Below, I have ranked the categories of monsters I would least likely want to become to the ones I would love to become. 

#7: Ghost

Patrick Swayze is not a monster…though I guess he could be a ghost in real life now as well.  Either way, friendly, ripped ghosts are off the table for the purposes of this installment as they aren’t really monsters in my opinion.  Even still, ghosts are probably the lamest of the monsters.  From my experience, they just scare people and never murder them.  What’s the point of being a monster if you can’t disembowel people?  I can scare people without being a monster.   All it takes is a ghost story, a couple cans of fruit cocktail and a giant generator and you can scare the living hell out of a half dozen college freshman girls (ask me about it).  In Ghostbusters, ghosts were let loose on the most populated city in the United States and they didn’t kill one god damn person.  They couldn’t even manage to kill Rick effing Moranis.  And after giving people the willies for about two weeks they were promptly busted.  The only reason I would want to be a ghost is so that I can say, “Why it’s yours Ebenezer,” and then laugh maniacally.  Other than that, I’m out. 

#6: Frankenstein

I realize that Frankenstein is not a type of monster, but rather a specific monster.  I also realize that the monster is actually Frankenstein’s monster and not Frankenstein, but really, that’s just too long of a name.  I blame this on Mary Shelly.  She should have given him an actual name like Killberg to create less confusion and prevent literary snobs from correcting the general population.  Although Frankenstein didn’t want his “monster” to be evil, so he probably wouldn’t have named in Killberg.  Maybe Kenneth would have been a good choice.  I feel that’s probably a creepy enough normal name to still make people uneasy.  Would you want Kenneth babysitting your kids?  The answer is no.  So, while it would be cool to be super tall, strong, and dumb as a brick like Brian Urlacher, I’d still prefer to have a name.

#5: Zombie

I’ve shared my thoughts on zombies in a previous blog, but this doesn’t mean they’re a favorite of mine.  Gates told me he got drunk at a BBQ in Long Island and ate part of a pig’s brain.  He said it was gross and he almost vomited.  I can’t imagine human brains taste much better.  If zombies were hell bent on eating burritos instead of brains I’d become a zombie tomorrow.  However, as it stands I’d rather not spend all day walking around groaning, looking to crack open Murphy’s big dome.  Side note: Juan Pierre would last pretty long in the Zombie apocalypse (speed plus undesirable head size).

#4: Werewolf

While I enjoy the idea of having perfect hair and going van surfing one or twice a month, ultimately I feel like the wolfman’s heart is never completely in it.  In reality, you’re only a monster when there’s a full moon.  Being a monster only once every four weeks must be tough to deal with.  I imagine this is what Dominic Brown feels like.  Additionally, they have one of the worst weaknesses of all monsters.  The only thing that can kill a werewolf is a silver bullet.  Most other monsters require close range termination, but you can snipe a werewolf from long range and have 28 days to prepare yourself for it.  I’m sorry, but if I’m going to be a monster I want to be committed to it.  Also, if I’m going to die from precious metal, have Bruce Dickinson kill me at close range.

#3: Mummy

Now we’re getting somewhere.  Most monsters have a very specific, widely known way to kill them.  As far as I know this does not apply to the Mummy.  If a mummy was chasing me I would only have one option.  I’d try to unravel his bandages.  If the unraveling the bandages did not reveal that the mummy was, in fact, old man Mr. Clarkson who runs the carnival, I would be dead.  Other than not having a widely known way to kill a mummy, there are several other perks.  Ever run out of toilet paper in someone else’s bathroom?  This is no longer an issue.  You’d kill at parties doing that Charlie Brown dance.  You would get to live in a sweet, palatial pyramid surrounded with all your bestest dead buddies.  Plus, I’ve already had sinus surgery, so getting my brain pulled out through my nose shouldn’t be a big deal.  The only real downfall is that if you’re carrying bombs, they will be easily spotted by Link.  I’d sacrifice that in a heartbeat. 

#2: Devil

This was almost my number one.  When you think about mythology, I mean religion, other than God, the devil has more power than anyone.  Since God stopped being a monster after the Old Testament, this means the devil is the most powerful monster in the monster universe.  Beside the awesome power that comes with being the devil, coming up with ironic punishment for evil doers has to be a blast.  For instance, I would make Rick Santorum learn about math and science FOR ENTERNITY!!!   Although the most ironic punishment for Santorum will likely actually occur when he dies…and nothing happens.  Also, I could force JD Drew to live with Phillies fans and throw batteries at him whenever I’d like.  The only downside is the heat.  Like I said earlier, I like when the weather starts getting cooler. 

#1: Vampire

I understand that vampires are hot right now, but they’ve been getting chicks since Bela Lugosi.  They’re the only monster that consistently scores points with the ladies.  I love Karly and everything, but vampires live forever, and there’s that whole “until death do us part” clause.  I’ll mourn for a couple hundred years, but after that it’s time to move on.  Speaking of which, why isn’t there a vampire movie where the vampire is married to a non-vampire.  They’ve been married for like 50 years, and the vampire is way ready to move on, but he’s waiting for her to pass away because, you know, he has morals.  However, the catch is that when she’s on her death bed, the torch wielding, stake toting villagers surround his house, and he needs to feed.  The only way to quench his thirst is to drink the blood of his wife, which would then make her a vampire, who would also live forever.  Does he risk death by not drinking her blood, or does he cave, ruining his dreams of being a bachelor?  I need to get working on a screenplay.  Either way, I think I’d make a pretty smooth transition to vampire.  I have Croatian lineage, which is pretty close to Romania.  I live in Pennsylvania, which sounds kind of like Transylvania.  I would imagine vampires are typically good investors, since they can afford to be patient.  This is why they’re always rich.  I’d love to be rich without working and live in a spooky gothic castle.  Sleep during the day and party all night?  Sure, college was awesome.  I guess the only downside would be that I love garlic.  However, I hate the heat more than I love garlic so vampire it is.  If you need me I’ll be hanging out with Nick Vendito’s grandfather. 

Get Out of My Dreams and into My Car (262)

I had to make my first car payment in almost seven years today.  This got me thinking about my first and only other car I have ever owned.  It's been over a year and a half since the passing of the beloved Focus, but I still think of it frequently.  For an $11,000 hatch back, I got a lot of mileage out of it.  I made it as far north as Boston, as far West as Chicago, as far south as DC, and as far east as the Atlantic Ocean (I should have sprung for the submarine sport option).  Over the course of ten years and 180,000 plus miles, we had a lot of adventures together, but the following five may be the most memorable.

They Just Do Not Stop Having the Mafia in Providence

After having driven north of Connecticut for the first time shortly after the conclusion of my freshman year at Fairfield, I headed to a suburb of Providence, whose name I have since forgotten.  I met up with five other Fairfield friends to crash at Allie's family compound complete with a pool and tennis courts.  I didn't know actual people played tennis, let alone owned tennis courts.  After a day full of feeling insignificant in the presence of true wealth, it was time to drown my lack of worth in cheap draft beer.  Being that none of us were older than 19, our options were limited.  The six of us piled into my car, which although it was the smallest, could fit one living person in the trunk.  The trunk was actually quite spacious since it was a hatchback.  You could see out of the rear window and the back seat opened up into it, so you could still smack the heads of those sitting in front of you.  This had since been dubbed "the drunk trunk." We made our way into Providence and got into the only bar that would let us in without carding us, thought I think a few of us had Maine IDs that said we were born in the Ford administration.  After entering without incident we promptly began celebrating.  After a short time, Adam, being Italian, found other seemingly underage Italian patrons and struck up a conversation.  Before long he was inebriated and must have said something to offend his partners in conversation because we had to pull him away from them as they shouted obscenities back and forth.  I'm not sure exactly what was said, but apparently the other two said they had mob connections, and Adam disagreed.  It seemed very plausible to the rest of us that they might, so we did what any other group of friends would do.  We continued to feed him shots so he would pass out and cease attempting to explain to his Italian brethren that they were full of shit.  The plan backfired as Adam's brain was set to "vomit" instead of "pass out."  After managing to get him out of there, the only sober person among us grabbed the keys to my car and proceeded home with me in the drunk trunk.  After pulling over several times to allow Adam to evacuate his stomach, we noticed we were being followed.  Also, we were lost.  Also, we were drunk.  Also, we were probably listening to the Weezer blue album.  The car following us pulled ahead of us and stopped.  The guys in my car ran out to meet the guys emptying out of the other car.  I, naturally, was locked in the trunk.  I was yelling for someone to let me out as I saw the two masses of dudes converge.  When they met it seemed to me like the scene in Braveheart when the Irish and Scottish charge each other in battle.  They suddenly stopped and started shaking hands.  In silence, I watched as they laughed and all walked back to their respective cars.  I quickly learned that the car was being driven by Allie's boyfriend who thought we were the car full of the other Italian dudes from the bar that Adam was screaming at.  Apparently they said something about Allie and he was out for blood.  He just followed the wrong car. He had to be drunk because what group of guys claiming to have Mafia ties would ever drive an orange Ford Focus hatchback?  We all had a good laugh, and Adam proceeded to throw up all over Rhode Island.  Good times.

Let it Roll Baby Roll
The same summer as my trip to Rhode Island, I was working with my aunt doing catering jobs.  One particular weekend we were catering a private party at somebody's house in South Jersey.  I was tasked with picking up 12 dozen rolls (which I recently learned is called a gross) early in the morning and taking them to the party.  Of the 144 rolls, maybe 50 were actually eaten.  I threw the rest of the rolls back in my trunk after the party was over with the intention of maybe eating a few and tossing the rest.  However, my procrastination proved to be highly beneficial in this case, for after three weeks of convincing myself that I would get the rolls out of my trunk tomorrow, I discovered that they had become rock hard.  In most circumstances, this would prove to be insignificant but the timing of the discovery came at an opportune time.  I had been hanging out one night in front of Bunn's house, and when Bunn and I went to drive off somewhere Polsky said something to irritate us both.  I told Bunn to grab one of the brown bags from the trunk and not ask any questions.  When he reached into the bag he didn't have to.  As I cruised by Polsky while he tried to impress a local young strumpet, Bunn winged a roll at Polsky.  When Polsky turned to see what the hell hit him, he was hit by several more.  One or two may have missed and hit the young lady, but this was a casualty of war.  There were around 90 rolls in my trunk and for the next month, when someone heard the words "Roll 'em," they knew to run the hell away.  Towards the end they were so rock solid that when I broke one over Joe Face's head it sounded like I broke his skull with a bat.  This sent him into a rage, causing him to steal my car and drive away with it.  I had one of the brown bags on me and threw a roll as hard as I could through what I thought was an open window.  To my surprise Joe Face had the foresight to roll the window up and the roll struck the glass.  How the window didn't break, I'll never know.  The sound echoed for about a minute and a half.  At this point Joe Face and I knew it was time.  We had gone too far.  The rolls were put in the trash never to be used as a threat again.  The disarmament has resulted in a more peaceful time, but every summer I think of heading back down to the Black Horse Pike to buy a gross.

First, We'll Make Snow Angels for Two Hours

In February of 2003, Fairfield County got hit with about 10 inches of snow overnight and into the morning...on a weekday.  This had been the greatest thing to happen to Fairfield University class of 2005 since the cohabitation of Regis Hall.  Gates had an early class that day, and woke me up like an eight year old on Christmas morning.  After hearing class had been cancelled we began dancing around the room with a whiteness that matched the precipitation.  Although it was only 9:30 in the morning, we celebrated the news with a cold Busch Light.  Shortly after completing our first Busch Light of the morning, we celebrated our completion of our first Busch Light of the morning.  This cycle repeated itself for several hours until the fear hit us.  We had rushed through the beer at an alarming rate.  The beer in the fridge was enough to get us through a few sleepy weekdays, but not an all out two day snow load.  The situation had become dire.  It was before noon, there was almost a foot of snow on the ground, we were too inebriated to drive, and we were going to run out of beer.  Then suddenly, like an angel from heaven, Adam entered the room sober as a bird.  This was clearly a sign from god, as Adam had not been sober since April of last year when he had accidentally slept through an entire day after celebrating his birthday.  Though the odds of any stores still being open were slim, we charged Adam with a task of incredible magnitude.  Though he had no car of his own, he gallantly volunteered to take the Focus into the blizzard though its control in the snow was known to be less than awful.  After laughing in the face of danger, he enlisted the services of his trustworthy co-pilot, Duni.  Gately and I gave Adam and Duni all the cash we had and wished them good lock and godspeed.  Once the money had been distributed, Nolan showed up as well to assure us all that he would bravely wait with Gately and I to guard the remainder of the beer.  We watched the two drive off from our dorm room window knowing full well, that we may never see them again.  They were gone for nearly three hours.  We were down to our last beer and were already reading the ingredients to the Febreeze to confirm if it would be a apt substitute.  Then we heard a voice.  As the voice grew nearer we noticed that the "r"s in every word had gone unpronounced.  It was Adam, that beautiful Bostonian son of a bitch!  Adam and Duni burst through the door bearing three duffel bags full of beer and Christian Brothers Egg Nog.  Nobody asked what horrors the two had to entail to get the four cylindered machine up the icy hills and through the mountains of snow.  When the snow melted a week later, there was not a scratch on the Focus.  They had driven it, against the odds, through a snow covered hell I don't even want to imagine and came out clean on the other side.  And that children, is how Adam and Duni saved Christmas...I mean Tuesday.

Run to the Hills

What the Focus lacked in horsepower it made up in heart.  It was like the David Eckstein of automobiles.  The first time I ever went camping in Northeastern Pennsyvania, I volunteered to drive Gates and King from Teeling's parents' house.  This would be the one of only two times the Focus made it camping.  I loaded my car with eight cases of beer, two extra bodies, a handle of Jager, a water bottle half full of gin, and a few duffel bags full of water shoes, cut-off t-shirts, combustible objects, tents, toga sheets, and ping pong balls...you know, the essentials.  I had probably never had that much weight in my car before, and was unaware of the steep hills the Focus would have to climb.  In the first half of the trip, I encountered a hill that would have been the demise of most four cylinder compacts filled to the brim with booze and hung over undergrads.  The cars that I followed made the ascent without delay, but the Focus was not as adept at mountain climbing.  The hill was probably only a quarter mile long, but it felt like it took me about ten minutes to will the car forward with the RPM dial stuck to the right and the mph dial stuck to the left.  When I made it to the intersection at the top of the hill, the drivers behind me and those waiting at the intersection stopped where they were and appluaded.  Nobody thought the Focus would make it.  I never doubted her.

Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail '04

I remember waking up stuck to a brown, beer-soaked couch in some god awful smelling townhouse living room.  I thought to myself, "What a fowl hour to be woken by some strange, pale faced lunatic shouting something about politics."  I'm certain now it was Nolan, but at the time I wasn't sure.  After eating a handfull of Anacin, I managed to slide into a gray canvas coat and hide my eyes behind a pair of somebody's sunglasses.  It was the winter of 2004 and Nolan and I, along with various other members of Fairfield University's less desirables, were spear-heading Paul Duffy's underground campaign for class president.  Duffy was smart enough to enlist a real campaign manager to put up campaign posters, talk to the papers, and make sure he didn't show up drunk for debates, but we were the ones who weren't afraid to get shit on our hands.  Earlier in the month, through a series of covert operations, we were able to block the names of Duffy's compettion from appearing in bold letters accross a series of dorm hall and townhouse windows.  Duffy was the first candidate ever to run for president against someone running for reelection.  That's because the year before a sophomore was elected for the first time in school history.  If Duffy was going to win, he needed our help.  We had planned to concentrate our energy on the Freshmen vote that day.  Freshmen weren't permitted to have cars on campus, so a team of us were going to drive from dorm to dorm giving freshmen rides to and from whereever the hell it is that freshmen need to go.  Nolan and I spent over six hours in the Focus mentioning Duffy's various political stances, such as the deconstruction of the judicial counsel, weekly visits from the Super Duper Weenie food truck, and the expansion of the student body's existence on Fairfield Beach.  We also happened to mention some of his competitor's goals for 2004-05, such as the creation of a dry campus, forced triples in the dorms, and the mandatory completion of advanced calculus III for all students.  Also, didn't anyone find it strange that Duffy's rival's grandfather fled from Germany in 1944 and was sending him gold bars from a PO Box in Argentina?  Nolan and I certainly did.  After six long hours of delivering truth to the masses, the Focus could bare no more and one of my tires exploded like one particular candidate's hopes and dreams of reelection.  I drove on a donut for two weeks before I had the money to buy a new tire, but Duffy won the election and evil was defeated.



RIP Ford Focus: 9/2000-2/2011

Somewhere in the Swamps of Jersey (293)

Below are the contents of a letter that I will be sending to Governor Chris Christie this coming Monday morning.  Enjoy. 

Anthony Bachich

432 Markle Street

Philadelphia, PA 19128

6/16/2012

Christopher Christie
Governor of New Jersey
Office of the Governor
PO Box 001
Trenton, NJ 06825

Dear Governor Christie:

I am writing to inform you and the state of New Jersey that I am entitled to the amount of $9,322.40, and expect to receive payment within the next 30 days.  A check can be mailed to the address listed in the header above.

I am currently a citizen of Philadelphia, PA, but travel to Basking Ridge, NJ twice per week for work.  While in New Jersey, I generally take advantage of the lower gas prices, and fill my tank approximately 3 times every two weeks.  However, The Retail Gasoline Dispensing Safety Act of 1949 prohibits me from pumping gas myself.  This has led to a longer gasoline purchasing transaction time from pull in to drive out, which averages approximately four additional minutes per visit compared to the average gasoline purchasing transaction time I have experienced in Pennsylvania, and other self-pumping states.  As I am sure you are aware, Governor Christie, time has an associated monetary value.  I have concluded, and will be happy to provide you with an appendix if requested, that my time is currently valued at $0.56 per minute.  This means that every time I fill my gas tank in the state of New Jersey, I am losing $2.24 as a direct result of The Retail Gasoline Dispensing Safety Act of 1949.  I do realize that on average gas has been close to $0.16 cheaper in New Jersey than in Philadelphia over the past several years as noted by a 2012 GasBuddy.com historical price chart.  I generally use 12 gallons of gas when filling up, which means I am saving a total of $1.92 every time I choose to purchase gasoline in New Jersey compared to Pennsylvania.  However, this still results in a net loss of $0.32 per fill up.  As previously noted, I fill my tank approximately 78 times per year, which is resulting in a $24.96 loss over the previous year.

Using the same calculations for the previous six years since I have been living in either New Jersey or Pennsylvania, I have concluded that I am owed an additional $364.04.  This includes a lower value of time per minute as my wagers were less, but it also excludes the price difference between Pennsylvania and New Jersey gas prices in years where my primary residences was in New Jersey.  This was excluded as it would not make logical sense to drive further for higher prices.  This brings the total to $390 over the past seven years.

The additional compensation I am demanding is for future lost wages which will result from the continuation of the Retail Gasoline Dispensing Safety Act of 1949.  I have recently received my MBA from the Fox School of Business at Temple University, which has, as a result, increased my earning potential, thus increasing my value of time per minute.  Therefore, each additional minute I spend at the pump as a result of the Retail Gasoline Dispensing Safety Act of 1949 is costing me more money.  I have extrapolated my value of time per minute through the age of 65, in the hope that I will, at that point, be able to retire.  I have used an average value per minute of $1.36 for the next 35 years and assumed a similar difference in between gas prices in New Jersey and Pennsylvania.  This results in a net loss of $8,954.40 which I deserve compensation for, and brings the final total of what the state of New Jersey owes me to $9,344.40.

While $9,334.40 is a small amount of capital for the state of New Jersey, the time wasted at the pump also has a certain opportunity cost.  To use yourself as an example, Governor Christie, every time you have to pull into a gas station and wait an additional four minutes to have your gas pumped, you are wasting valuable time that could be spent on other important activities pertinent to the well being of the state of New Jersey.  I believe it is safe to assume that you, on average, travel much more than I do to fulfill your occupational duties.  In addition, I can not even imagine how much additional time must be wasted waiting to re-fuel a helicopter to travel back and forth from your children's little league games.  Clearly the minutes wasted by the Retail Gasoline Dispensing Safety Act of 1949 hinder your opportunity cost more than any resident of the state.  If you spend twice as much time at the pump as I do in a given year, which I believe is a fair assumption, then you are wasting over ten hours per year waiting for your gas to be pumped for you.  In that amount of time it would be easy for you to close at least two public schools and lay-off dozens of teachers to help cut the New Jersey budget, hence making room for tax breaks for your noble constituents, in turn aiding your re-relection.  It seems foolhardy to allow the money hungry teachers' union to continue their stranglehold of the state budget when there are wealthy state residents in need of tax breaks.  By allowing the Retail Gasoline Dispensing Safety Act of 1949 to continue you are encouraging the socialist doctrine of public education and tax payor equality, something your most avid supporters would surely disapprove of.

If these previous two examples have not persuaded you to reconsider the Retail Gasoline Dispensing Safety Act of 1949, then perhaps my final, more simplistic example will help convince you.  Both you and I are very attune to matters of business, but I am sure you, like myself, also enjoy those occasions on which we are able to spend our free time doing what we love.  As I had previously mentioned, the amount of time wasted at the pump for yourself over the course of a single year is likely over ten hours. In this amount of time, Governor Christie, you could eat an additional 40 Wendy's Baconators (R) each year.  This is assuming a 15 minute time on average from entering the drive through, purchasing, and consuming said Baconator (R).  I did not take into account that you might bring the Bacondator (R) to a third party location for consumption.  I understand you are a busy man, so I assumed the Baconator (R) would be consumed while in the vehicle, while it is in park of course.  Over the entirety of your four year term, that is 40 pounds of fresh, never frozen beef, 640 pieces of Applewood Smoked Bacon, 320 slices of american cheese, and about a tub of mayonnaise and ketchup each that you are missing out on.    Please Governor Christie, the next time you consider the Retail Gasoline Dispensing Safety Act of 1949, just think of the delicious Baconators (R) you are cheating yourself out of.

I am happy to say that if you do decide to repeal this unjust law, I would immediately retract my demand for all previously lost compensation.  However, if this has not persuaded you otherwise, I will be expecting my check within the coming weeks.

Sincerely,
Anthony Bachich

Math! (not included in my letter)