It's a tragedy for me to see the dream is over

Well, gang, it’s been fun. This is the last thing I’ll write for True/Slant, and I want to thank everyone who read me and emailed me and offered to name their children after me. (This one goes out to you, little Briana Sanchez.) When I was first approached to write for True/Slant I thought no one would read me and the site would only last a few months. Turns out, True/Slant thrived for several years and was eventually bought by Forbes, so…one out of two ain’t bad.

Seriously though, I had a great time at the T/S and hope to cross paths with these good looking gentlepersons again soon. A hearty high-five to Coates Bateman, Michael Roston, Andrea Spiegel, and Lewis Dvorkin. Great to work with, for, and about. People who let you curse out an entire country for no reason are good people to know.

If you’d like to keep reading me, please follow my Twitter: @b_donovan. I’ll post links and news there about my upcoming work for other sites, TV shows, and fast-food restaurants. As of August 1st, I will begin writing for the good people at ThoughtCatalogue.com, and may be turning up at other sites you’ve certainly heard of – so stay tuned!

Happy Christmas to All, and To All a Good Night

-Brian

Eat, Pray, Love

That could’ve gone better.

Promotional Cast Photos: Decidedly Not Post-Modern

Seinfeld was the definitive sitcom of the 90’s, both in ratings and style. The dominant mode of the period – and yes, this is gonna sound snooty for a second – was post-modernism, and Seinfeld had that in spades. Irony, detachment, lack of meaning, collage, non-linear storytelling (think Pulp Fiction) – all post-modern. And all Seinfeld. I mean, they had a backwards episode for crying out loud. If that doesn’t show a disregard for meaning and the rules that came before, I don’t know what does. And writing a show that is proudly “about nothing”, well that’s post-modern, but to say that it’s about nothing while the characters are making their pilot Jerry, the show within the show that is actually a play on the show itself and is ALSO a show about nothing, well that might be the most post-modern thing ever.

Louie of course does none of these things, which is why the two shows are so alike. As Seinfeld typified the style of 90’s, Louie does the same for this period we’re in now…whatever the hell that is. It’s dark, a little sad, alternately extremely truthful and totally absurd, and hilarious. In fact, just about the only thing it has in common with Seinfeld is that its built around the greatest stand-up of its time. If you don’t know Louis CK, well then, you really should. He was the head writer of The Late Show with David Letterman during its prime and an original writer on Late Night with Conan O’Brien. And his stand-up is vicious. As evidence, watch his epic “Everything is Amazing and Nobody’s Happy” piece on Conan.

Hilarious, sure, but also great cultural criticism. Basically, as good as it gets. And it looks like his new FX show could be a weekly 30 minute installment of that goodness. It’s a little uneven at the moment, but it’s just finding it way – much like Seinfeld did in its first season. But – and this where the two shows meet – Louie has our national voice nailed. We don’t what the fuck is going on, the world is a mess, the economy is in the toilet that toilets use when they need to go to the bathroom, and we’re fighting, I think, six wars right now? Or, sorry, seven? But also, in all that, there’s hope. There’s the potential for improvement — an optimistic new President, and universal agreement that we’re all getting really tired of being in the crapper. We recognize things suck, and we’re really hoping for a turnaround. That’s Louis CK’s show, in a nutshell. Of course, he’s talking about trying to get laid even though he’s overweight and balding, about trying to raise two kids post-divorce, about trying to get his Doctor to stop joke diagnosing him with AIDS. But the style, the attitude, the voice, it’s all 2010 America.

That’s what our sitcoms should be now, because that’s the times we’re in. Complicated, sad, funny, and truthful. Frivolous, disposable comedy just doesn’t seem quite right anymore. Seinfeld was the show for that era, and hopefully, if FX gives it enough rope, Louie can be the show for this one.

The plan in these countries is to keep their female citizens from having to wear a full veil Burqa anywhere outdoors. Because, as the Justice Minister of Spain says, it’s “hardly compatible with human dignity.” And what happens if you’re caught wearing one? The woman is fined 150 Euros (almost $200) – which makes a ton of sense if this law is designed to protect women. That would be like fining a slave 200 bucks for being seen in public with whip marks on his back. How can you give someone a ticket for being oppressed? Now, if a man is found guilty of forcing his wife to wear a Burqa, he can spend up to a year in jail, which would be great if it wasn’t almost impossible to prove. Unless you get an eyewitness to a Burqa argument between husband and wife, you’re basically talking about a “he said-she said” where the she is already dominated and perhaps physically threatened by the “he”, and has little incentive to speak out against him. Good luck with that.

An Al-Amira Hijad. (I think)

And all of this assumes that a Burqa is in fact an artifact of personal oppression. Look, it sounds bad to me. It sounds, honestly, somewhat inhuman. But it’s not my culture. I was on the subway a week ago in the middle of New York’s most recent heatwave, known more commonly as “July”, and two women walked on wearing a more liberal, party version of the Burqa known as the Al-Amira. It was so hot that day that I instantly felt terribly sorry for them, and hated the man that followed them in. He walked aboard, wearing his own stifling headdress and they all took a seat. Then something strange happened – the women took off their veils. They apparently wanted to get the full benefit of the MTA air conditioning, so they pulled it off and each popped open a cold drink. Their male companion left his covering on, but also enjoyed, I think, a diet 7-UP. Why were these women allowed to do this? I have no idea. And neither do you. And neither does any legislative body in France or Belgium of the Netherlands. THIS ISN’T OUR CULTURE. We don’t get it. We Westerners don’t understand the rules, we don’t understand the tradition, and we don’t understand how it feels to be a part of that tradition. So why are we trying to dictate what it should and shouldn’t do? Burqas seem entirely inappropriate to Western society, but it’s not our decision to make.

Does this look comfortable to you?

To me, there’s a line. And that line is physical pain or damage. If a societal practice causes serious physical pain, then it’s our duty to stop it. Until then, I believe it’s hands off. I see Orthodox Jewish women on the train every day in wool skirt and jacket suits, thick stockings, and heavy synthetic wigs as dictated by their culture. I’m sure that’s extremely uncomfortable and good bit dehumanizing to put on every morning, should that be illegal? What about their male counterparts, who are expected to grow their hair and beards as long as possible, add long peyas sideburns, hats and thick suits? I’m quite certain by the B.O. meter that these guys are usually setting off that this tradition results in oppressive body heat. And, during sabbath when they’re forced to only walk and not use electric comforts like fans and air conditioning, that this heat can likely become physically dangerous. But no one would ever think to make the Jewish traditions illegal, so why Burqas? The argument, I imagine, is that women are forced by their husbands to wear Burqas, and that’s not right. Hey, I completely agree – but I’m pretty sure many Orthodox men and women feel forced by their culture – parents, siblings, spouses – to follow similar rules. And plenty of other people in plenty of other strict as well. Why is that OK? Plenty of women across the world, and indeed here in the US, are still openly told by their husbands that they can’t get a job and must remain a housewife. That’s sexist, unfair, and humiliating, where are the laws against that? But Islam is different. Islam has a connotation of evil nowadays, of backward fundamentalism, so we feel like it needs to be reformed. Which is certainly a nice intention, but when you’re declaring the customs of one particular group illegal while ignoring similar ones from other cultures – that sounds like racism to me.

The tricky thing about having a democratic society is that it occasionally forces you to allow things that you instinctively despise. Would it be easier to make the Klu Klux Klan illegal? Yep, but they’re a protest group and we practice freedom of speech. Same with skinheads, neo-Nazis, and people who still find Two and a Half Men funny. They’re idiots, but in America – and France, Belgium, and Spain – you’re allowed to be an idiot. To legislate against just one culture, especially a culture that’s been associated with so much fear and difficulty, well that’s not what progressive nations are supposed to be about. And frankly, it’s exactly the sort of thing that would happen in the very cultures we’re so desperately trying to change. Just because it seems ugly does not mean it should also be illegal.

If you were making a movie tomorrow and had to cast a villainous sports owner, you’d call your producer and say “Get me a Steinbrenner!” I mean, the guy could be a real bastard. In 2002 he got angry about the new collective bargaining agreement that would eat into his 1+ Billion dollar empire, so he fired a slew of elevator operators. That didn’t provide enough savings, so he canceled the dental benefits for all the secretaries in Yankee Stadium. The dental benefits! After being mocked by the media for a few weeks, George reinstated the coverage, but you could tell he was still pissed about it. And at every turn, every moment, he would stick it to my beloved Red Sox. He’d steal our players, he’d block our acquisitions, he’d make us look stupid – and you know what I say? Who cares.

What’s Othello without Iago scheming around his every move? A really boring play about a black soldier who falls in love with a white woman. “An Officer and a Gentleman” meets “Jungle Fever.” Yuch, no thanks. Or Sherlock Holmes without Moriarty? A guy solves cases in unlimited amounts of time and under no physical danger or pressure of any kind. Basically, Encyclopedia Brown in a funny hat. I’ll pass. Heck, what’s Garfield without Nermal and Mondays? Just a sarcastic cat who loves lasagna…which is basically what Garfield is with Nermal and Mondays, so scratch that one. Bad example. But what will the Yankee-Red Sox rivalry, or even all of baseball, be without George Steinbrenner? Honestly, a bit of a bore. His sons have taken over the Yankee reigns, but it’s clear already that they’re hopelessly sane. Hank Steinbrenner showed some early promise by calling Red Sox Nation “complete bullshit”, but then brother Hal stepped in and shut him up. Which is precisely no fun. You could never shut up George, even if you beat him, mocked him, or had him banned from the game. The Boss always found a way to bounce back, a way make a life a little bit more fun. He’s not bouncing back from this one though, and I’m shocked to say I’m gonna miss him.

Still hate ARod though. And don’t even get me started on Jeter…

At the suggestion of their agents, LeBron James and Mel Gibson met in downtown Miami to have coffee and discuss their recent struggles with public opinion. The following is a transcript of that meeting.

Mel Gibson enters wearing a cap and sunglasses. He sees LeBron standing by the coffee bar and walks over.

Mel: Oh, hey, LeBron James, right? I’m…(quietly, under his breath) Mel Gibson.

LeBron: Hey, Mel! What’s up! You were in Lethal Weapon! That’s awesome.

Mel: Yeah, just keep your voice down, would you? People tend to get really angry when they see me. Or hear me. Or even just hear my name…

LeBron: I gotcha man, no problem. People burned my jersey, I know where you’re coming from.

Mel: Great, thanks. I gotta say, I’m really surprised you agreed to meet me. Can I ask why you don’t, you know, hate my guts?

LeBron: What do you mean?

Mel: Well, what I did. The things I said. It’s in all the newspapers.

LeBron: Oh, man, if the articles aren’t about me I don’t even read ‘em. I don’t have any idea what you- unless, wait. You’re not in The Last Airbender, are you? I hear that thing’s real bad.

Mel: No.

LeBron: Oh, then we’re cool, man.

A Barista approaches.

Barista: What can I get you guys?

LeBron: I’ll have a venti caramel vanilla frappuccino with extra whip cream, sprinkles, and double mocha sauce.

Mel: Wow, LeBron, that’s a hell of an order. Isn’t that a little much?

LeBron: A little much is how I roll, Mel.

Barista: And what’s your name?

LeBron: King James.

Barista: …I’ll just write James, should be fine-

LeBron: No, it’s King James.

Barista: OK…and for you, sir?

Mel: I’ll just take a regular coffee.

Barista: Should I leave room for milk or do you want it black?

Mel: Oh God no, not black. Definitely not black. Plenty of milk.

Barista: Alright…and your name?

Mel: I’d rather not say.

Barista: Sir, we need a name so we can call you when your drink is ready.

Mel: Murdoch. My name is Murdoch.

Barista: Great. Murdoch it is. (To himself, as he writes down the order…) I’m getting too old for this shit.

Minutes later. They’ve taken their seats and Mel returns with the coffees.

Mel: So, rough weekend, huh? I saw that letter the Cavs owner wrote about you.

LeBron: That was nothing. He sent me the unedited version. There was some dark stuff in there, man. He called me a Nazi.

Mel: Well, Nazis get a bad rap sometimes…

LeBron: And I’m pretty sure the letter was written in poop. Like actual human poop. Or dog at least…

Mel: I’ve gotten those. It really hurts inside. It’s been tough for me too, LeBron…

LeBron: King James.

Mel: …King James. I haven’t had a weekend this bad since Bird On a Wire. I mean, who knew one little tape recorder could cause so much trouble?

LeBron: Well, two, actually.

Mel: What?

LeBron: Two recorders. The one that was taping when you called that cop lady “Sugar Tits” and said all the stuff about the Jews? Then the other when you threatened to beat your wife and said she’d get raped by the, well…you know…

Mel: Wait, I thought you said you don’t read the papers?!

LeBron: I don’t. But I saw your face on the cover of this one on the table, with these devil horns and whatnot drawn on it, so I figured I’d page through. You a fucked up mothafucker, Mel Gibson.

Mel: I know. Believe me, I know. Sorry about the whole ‘N’ word thing…

LeBron: Hey, man, it’s OK. We all make mistakes. We’re allowed to have a little lapse in judgment here and there. Destroy a fanbase on national TV, get every basketball fan in the world to hate you. Happens to all of us.

Mel: Did you really not call the Cavs before you announced it on TV?

LeBron: Come on, everybody’s ripping me on that! No, I didn’t call. It’s like this, do you call your girlfriend to tell her you’re breaking up with her before you start dating someone else? No way-

Mel: Yes, you do.

LeBron: You do?!

Mel: Believe me, King James, I’m awful to my girlfriends, like, unfathomably awful, and I still call them to break it off.

LeBron: Wow. That really makes me think, Mel.

Mel: But, hey, don’t be hard on yourself. I will say that what you’ve chosen to wear to today is completely tasteful and not at all whoreish. That’s more than most people can manage.

LeBron: Ah, thanks man. It’s a pretty weird compliment, but I’ll take it. So what are we gonna do with ourselves? I can’t ever go home to Akron…

Mel: I can’t go pretty much anywhere…

LeBron: My fans don’t love me anymore…

Mel: The only fans I have are in jail…

LeBron: I don’t even like Chris Bosh or Dwayne Wade all that much. I mean, they totally refuse to call me “King.”

Mel: I don’t like them either. But for…a different reason.

LeBron: You and me gotta team up. Start our own thing together.

Mel: Doing what?

LeBron: I don’t know…shooting hoops, making movies, solving crimes? I’ll be your new Danny Glover.

Mel: This sounds good! I could do that. I mean, it’s not like I gotta a lot of other offers. What do we call ourselves?

LeBron: I don’t know. King James hanging out with someone over the hill who can’t shoot and constantly has head up his own ass? Why don’t we call ourselves…the Cleveland Cavaliers?

Mel: Wow. That’s cold, man. That’s cold.

Judge Marsha N. Revel has been a revered Superior Court Judge in Los Angeles for many years. She has presided over several of Ms. Lohan’s appeals and hearings and has been known throughout her career as a stern but fair adjudicator . Revel is a regular guest columnist at True/Slant, but we’ve never printed her writing before because frankly, it’s usually pretty dull.

You know what? Lindsay Lohan can suck it. Wow that’s freeing. I’ve never said that before. In fact, I never even really knew what it meant before. But now, after dealing with Lindsay for what must be the 700th time (hey Lindsay, ever heard of “calling a cab”?! Try it. Then I won’t have to see you again), I definitely know what ’suck it’ means. You know when I figured it out? Right about…now:

So let me get this straight. You didn’t just skip our last hearing because you “lost your passport at Cannes”, but then you show up to the following one with “F— You” written on your finger? Well you know what, Lindsay? F YOU. And you can suck it! (Really feeling it now!) I’m a judge. I went to school for a long-ass time. Then I was a lawyer for a longer-ass time. The only things you’ve done for a long time are drink rum and make crappy movies. And you’re gonna curse me out in fingernail polish? Uh uh. Guess what? I got a manicure done today too. The right middle finger says “90 Days in Prison” and the left one says “90 Days in Rehab.” Add them up and you get 180 days of me kicking your ass through the California penal system. Ahhhhh yeah! My God I feel good! I bet Judge Judy feels like this all the time.

Here’s the thing LL, initially I was on your side. You’ve had a rough life, your family’s a mess, and you’ve obviously got a serious addiction problem. That hurts me to see, and I wanted to cut you a break. I even liked Mean Girls. But you skipped 10 rehab sessions. And you lied about it. And then you fake cried a whole bunch. Basically, you became a Mean Girl. Lying, manipulative, and too skinny. Ideally there’s a third act twist coming up where you realize the error of your ways, learn from your mistakes, and become a new and better person, but I kinda doubt it. Even your Herbie the Lovebug remake wasn’t that unbelievable.

I like to call this picture "Clearly Committed to Rehab"

So I was trying to be nice. I even considered recommending early parole. But then today you tweeted this:

It is clearly stated in Article 5 of the U.N. Universal Declaration of Human Rights that “No one shall be subjected to torture or to cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment.”

Hey, Freaky Friday. How about you leave the legal stuff to me, and I’ll leave the Pineapple and Malibus to you, OK? It’s not cruel and unusual to go to jail, especially where you’re going. They’ll be pillows and internet and probably even toilet seats. You’ll be fine. Meanwhile I gotta sit in an uncomfortable chair and listen to wackadoos like you trying to explain why they jimmied off their ankle monitoring device with a crowbar all day. You wanna see inhuman, sit in my chair for an hour without putting your fist through a wall. THAT’S inhuman. Or sit through all of Georgia Rule. One of the two.

In closing, Lindsay, I’d like to genuinely wish you the best of luck on your recovery. I truly hope you get better soon, mostly because it’ll keep me from ever seeing you in my court again. And again, F You. And suck it.

With more high-priced free agents on the market this summer than anytime in basketball history, it’s somehow become less like a sport and more like The Real Housewives of the National Basketball Association. In the last week, the locations of Dwayne Wade, Chris Bosh, Dirk Nowitzki, Amare Stoudemire, Joe Johnson and Carlos Boozer have been on constant report as the tour prospective teams, as if ESPN has an APB out on them. Honestly, Barack Obama has a better chance of slipping away than these guys. And of course none more so than King James. It’s funny, LeBron initially got his “King” nickname because of how great a player he was, but now it fits for a totally different reason. He loves to be #1, the focus of everyone’s fascination, the guy you can’t help but look at. And it’s turned an intriguing summer into complete nonsense.

Chris Bosh, for some reason.

This was an actual tweet from an actually coveted basketball player that was retweeted and reported like actual news:

Having a blast with the fam for long weekend. Going to see my grandmother. 92 yrs young! I’m sure she’s gonna treat me like a little kid.

“Chris Bosh is going to visit his grandmother, everybody! She’s 92, and she has a tendency to baby him! So…I think he’s signing in New Jersey! I don’t care if it doesn’t make sense, we’re reporting that he’s signing in New Jersey!!!” I mean come on, I tweeted more newsworthy information this weekend, and I spent 2/3rds of it drunk. With more than 5 NBA teams shedding massive payroll specifically so they can sign one of this summer’s behemoths, a bit of hysteria is understandable from the fanbase. But LeBron is the only player who’s in it solely for the pleasure of those hysterics. Most NBA insiders admit that it’s unlikely James will ever leave the Cleveland Cavaliers. That means so all this hoopla, all the hyped visits to every city, all the tweets typed out with trembling fingers, it’s all just for kicks. Theatrics designed for LeBron’s shits and giggles. Which is pretty sick when you think about it. And I’m not sure the guy is even worth the trouble.

Because I’m a fan of the Boston Celtics (eat it, Lakers), I got to watch every playoff minute of the three best one-on-one players in the NBA this season: LeBron James, Kobe Bryant, and Dwayne Wade. And let me tell you something, LeBron James came in third. And it wasn’t really even close. The best pure scorer is Wade. He went for a postseason high of 46 in Game 4 against Boston’s excellent defense, and was the only player to truly take over the game against them this playoffs. The best overall player was Kobe Bryant, who combined great defense with All-Star level scoring and the ability to hit the hardest shots on the face of the earth. Then there was LeBron. Good scorer – sure, but not much of an outside shot and disappeared in crunch time. Strong defender – absolutely, but more because of his size and agility than any shut-down ability. But most of all, LeBron just doesn’t seem to give that much of a crap about winning. What he DOES give a crap about though is the Summer of LeBron. For that he went on Larry King, for crying out loud. Not to talk about the games, not to talk about hoops – Larry King doesn’t know anything about hoops. He went on to talk about free agency. About bringing his bright shining star to another city. Which, as many have said, he doesn’t really have any intention of doing. As Jackie Mason would say, “What a yutz.”

And the worst part is, we’ve only just passed the 4th of  July. Which means the Summer of LeBron is just beginning.

They’d use it on his show True Blood, but frankly, he’s wearing too much clothing. True Blood likes to keep skimpy. Skimpy…like naked, if at all possible. And how can you blame them? If you got actors who look like Skarsgard, why not keep ‘em nude for as long as possible? I mean, he looks almost as good with his shirt off as I do. But here’s the thing, True Blood is a very popular program. Big with the dudes, big with the ladies, it’s a hit. Sometimes even it gets nominated for awards. But, let’s be honest, True Blood is humping with the occasional dash of dialogue thrown in.  You take “doing it” out of the show’s breakdown every week and you got a 20 minute program. Again, I’m not complaining necessarily. I like sex. I’ve heard sex is a very enjoyable thing. But the line between True Blood and pornography can sometimes get a little blurry, and I’m not sure that’s an indication of quality television.

For instance, in the season premiere the lovely Sookie Stackhouse, as played by Anna Paquin, wanted to have a conversation with Skarsgard’s vampire, so she showed at one his haunts (pun intended). She met him down in the basement where she found him totally naked having sex with a tied-up, wonderfully fit lady from the country of Estonia. They weren’t just having sex though, it was super fast vampire sex, and it was clear that the Pride of Estonia was in some discomfort. The subsequent conversation is shot with as much nudity and suggestiveness as possible, including a full frontal shot of the naked woman still tied up, writhing, with legs spread to camera. Woulda done Hustler proud. Again, I’m not trying to be puritanical about it, I’m just saying, these are not things that serious shows do. I don’t remember the scene on Breaking Bad where we walk in on Bryan Cranston aggressively throwing it in his despondent wife.

So is True Blood porn, or real television? Let’s make a list!

The Differences Between True Blood and Pornography:

1. Pornos usually stick to one kind of sex. In most True Blood episodes you’ll get a smattering of sex acts: some lesbianism, a threesome or two, and perhaps a little guy on guy action. Oh, and tons and tons of S&M. Pornographic videos, from what I’ve heard, will usually focus on only one of these. So that’s a difference, I guess.

2. Pornography tries to avoid cliche. The days of the guy delivering a pizza or a plumber coming in to check on the pipes are long over in the world of porn. Again, so I’ve heard. The adult industry now relies heavily on parody, making “Not The Brady’s XXX” and “Quantum Deep.” For example…

Pretty clever, for pornography. Meanwhile, the big revelation on True Blood this season is werewolves. Fighting vampires. Where have I seen that before? Oh right, everywhere.

3. The actors in pornos aren’t very attractive. Should you need evidence, see Cheers video above. As we mentioned earlier, most everyone in True Blood is very very attractive. So, as the saying goes, they got that going for them.

4. Pornography has some scenes without sex in them. Still waiting on one from True Blood. Maybe if Sookie went to the DMV? Or did her taxes?

5. Porn is blissfully free of tiresome social commentary about the oppressed. We get it, True Blood. The vampires are a metaphor for black people/gay people/immigrant people/people with difficult sleep schedules. Isn’t it awful how marginalized the “other” is in society, when really they’re a lot like us? It’s a great point, and if I was watching a Whoopi Goldberg movie made in 1985, I’d be all over it. But vampire kidnappings being unjustly ignored by the police? Yawn. Porn keeps it nice and simple.

6. Porn actors never spin their lovers’ necks around backwards and have creepy hate sex with them.

(NSFW)

Yikes.

But other than that, porn and True Blood are pretty much the same deal? What do you think? Is True Blood porn or real TV?

I have had the opportunity to see Kobayashi eat in person, and it’s quite a sight. He’s known as “The Tsunami”, which despite being wildly insensitive to the people who regularly get killed by tsunamis, is a pretty fitting name. He’s fast, destructive, and terrifying to watch. When Kobayashi eats a hot dog, you’re never entirely certain that he won’t take a finger with it. He pairs up two dogs at once and then pushes them conveyor belt style into his mouth, chomping all the way. I’m sure he’s lost rings down there, countless fingernails, probably a wrist watch or two. And despite being Japanese, tiny, and an intruder into what is clearly our rightful domain of competitive eating – he’s as American as apple pie.

I ask you, what’s more American that shoving disgusting amounts of food down your face in as short as time as possible? Sure, the Star Spangled Banner is our national anthem, but it really only sounds right when sung with a ho-ho and half a box of goobers in your mouth. The United States was a country born on freedom and independence, but we were raised on melted cheese and deep-fried funnel cake. Takeru exemplifies this as well as anyone. He was not a born eater. He’s slender and surprisingly short. He had to learn to be a pig, slowly working his way up through long training and strenuous workouts. Kobayashi wasn’t given what you and I take for granted: a natural ability to stuff our faces to the brink of sickness. He saw what we had and said, “That is what I work for. That is my destiny.” If that’s not the American Dream, I don’t know what is. And we’re supposed to celebrate our Independence Day without him? I don’t think so.

Not impressed? Well, here’s a video of Kobayashi in a hot dog eating contest with…a bear.

I’d like to see George Washington do that. It’s unknown why Kobayashi would skip the Coney Island challenge this year, but rumors are it’s over his appearance fee. Which frankly is a little hard to believe – I mean, the guy eats hot dogs for a living, how lavish could his demands really be? In any case, I’ve got two words for Nathan’s, the hot dog institution that runs the contest: pay him. Pay whatever it takes because it will not be the 4th of July without The Tsunami doing his thing. The fireworks won’t have the same pop, the grill won’t have the same sizzle, and the beer won’t have the same blinding intoxication. Because I was wrong in what I said before. Kobayashi isn’t as American as apple pie – he’s as American as 50 apple pies eaten in under a minute.  That is America. Don’t let us down, Nathan’s…