5 Things That Make Me Proud To Be An American This Week

Balls On Our Dolls

I can’t think of anything weirder than walking into K-Mart and seeing a doll of yourself. An action figure would be one thing. At least maybe then you’d get something cool like a gun or maybe a sword. Or both. Maybe even a chainsaw. At the very least you’re getting a Kung-Fu grip.

But, no, this is no action figure. It’s a doll. And not just any doll, but a Barbie doll. Or, rather, a Ken doll. No gun. No sword. No Kung-Fu grip. No genitals.

Ken doesn’t have any balls. We know this; we’ve come to grips. But whenever they trot out the officially-licensed stuff it gets a little more complicated retarded. A Don Draper doll without balls? Come on, now.

And this keeps happening: Captain Kirk. James Bond. Frank Sinatra. A veritable Mount Rushmore of manhood, and yet…no balls.

Look, I’m not saying that we need actual balls on our dolls – actually, wait. That’s exactly what I’m saying.


Is there a federal government agency out there that is more comically inept than the TSA? I’m working on a television pilot about a couple of jerkoffs who sit at the x-ray machine all day and do nothing but crack wise and drink Mountain Dew. Oh, and molest 14 year-olds. That’s the best part. I’m thinking about calling it OMG Someone Made Something Worse Than Clerks: The Series.

TSA is the Little Caesar’s of federal agencies. It’s literally the bottom of the barrel – people who can’t get hired at monkeyfighting Sears have zero problem catching on with TSA.

Maybe if the TSA agent scanning the baggage or cargo or whatever the snakes were in had been a little less preoccupied with putting his hand up a 14 year-old’s skirt and a little more preoccupied with, I dunno, protecting America, we wouldn’t have problems like this.

And if you nickname your 14 year-old girlfriend “Kitten”, well, you’re probably not contributing much to society from here on out. Just a hunch, though.

Corey Haim

When I heard about Corey Haim the other day the first thing I thought of was License To Drive:

As a kid License To Drive was pretty much the coolest thing. If they made that movie today it would be with guys like the fat kid from Superbad and one of the Jonas brothers. Some things are just better left to the 80s, like this and The Karate Kid.


Before the season NASCAR came out and was like “We know our racing has been boring as hell lately, so we’re going to start letting the guys act like assholes again. Just like how it used to be.”

A lot of old-time fans were stoked. They were hoping for a throwback to the days of the 1970s. I was pulling for a throwback to the days of Days of Thunder, or as I like to call it, Top Gun in a Chevy.

And there’s not a goddamned thing wrong with that: Days of Thunder is NASCAR at its finest. It is the apotheosis of stock car racing. You watch that movie and think “Man NASCAR would be a whole lot awesomer if they just let them beat the hell out of each other like this every Sunday.” You would think that.

And then Carl Edwards decided to murder Brad Keselowski on national television:

All this accomplished, of course, was confirm what I had suspected all along: that Carl Edwards is a bit of a doucher. And that Keselowski might be a little bit of a bitch, because Dale Sr. or Cale Yarborough or Cole monkeyfighting Trickle would have beat that ass after getting wrecked like that.

Eric Massa

Having sex with another man is probably the manliest thing a guy can do. The Romans decided this years two thousand years ago. To them, and the Greeks, having sex with a woman proves nothing; anyone can do it. Sexing a man, though; that is power. It shows dominance. And masculinity. And gayness. But mostly power. Maybe it’s a gay kind of power? Whatever.

Disgraced congressman Eric Massa’s problem is that he’s obviously just too powerful. He can’t be harnessed — he’s like a wild dog you adopt from the pound and bring home and it just goes crazy pissing everywhere and humping everything in sight. Except instead of maybe humping another dog or even a cat Massa was humping his junior staffers. And tickling them, which is just weird.

Which brings us to Ben Roethlisberger. There’s a lesson in somewhere here for Big Ben – I’m not sure what it is exactly, but it’s in here. It’s a Cracker Jack box of lessons. Maybe the lesson is “Please Don’t Rape People.” We could probably cut that down to just “Don’t Rape.”

Nobody knows if Ben Roethlisberger raped that girl in that that bathroom in that bar in Georgia that night, just like how nobody knows if Eric Massa raped all those guys he was living with in Washington, D.C. Well, they know if they did. And the people who got raped – they probably know, too. And that girl in Reno. And all the dudes Massa served with in the Navy.

The point is this: if you’re a dude who gets paid a lot of money and plays in the NFL and has won multiple Super Bowls and/or is a member of the United States House of Representatives, please don’t rape anyone.

Check out our archive of Proud To Be An American columns.

1251465204_aaron-b-murray.jpgAaron B. Murray has a wall-sized aquarium filled with Cristal and reef sharks. He feeds them daily and recycles the Cristal twice a month. Follow him on Twitter at murray_cod
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