Don't forget to tune in to the season premiere of Jersey Shore on Thursday, when Wendell and I will be making a very special guest appearance. In the episode, Wendell moves to Miami and falls in with the wrong crowd. He styles his fur into a "blowout" haircut, injects copious amounts of steroids and spends eight hours a day dancing and paw-pumping at a South Beach club. My only option for saving him is to go undercover and infiltrate the "Guido" subculture, so I apply fake tanner until my fur is orange and head to Florida to win Wendell's redemption. Along the way, I'll lecture Snooki and The Situation on morality, and I may even find true love with J-Woww. Don't miss it, my flock!
I wanted to write this sermon yesterday, but I didn't have time. That is all right, however. As it turns out, the events of today have only confirmed my earlier thoughts: LeBron James is a raging egomaniac who's lost all touch with reality.
It's not often that I -- the pug, the myth, the legend -- have occasion to call someone an egomaniac. But in this instance, the high-top sneaker clearly fits. The basketball player wrapped up his year-long spectacle tonight by announcing that he'd leave his hometown Cleveland Cavaliers to play for the Miami Heat. I don't begrudge anyone their choice of where and how to earn a living. But the way James handled the process was obscene and classless.
Rather than merely signing a contract and announcing his decision, James felt he had to make a splash. His elevated sense of self-worth would not allow the self-proclaimed "king" to accept a job offer like a mere commoner. (His first post on his new Twitter page this week read "Hello World, the Real King James is in the Building 'Finally.'" Maybe that little social networking site will catch on now that his royal highness has deigned to grace it with his presence.) After requiring all his NBA suitors to come to him for meetings at his Cleveland office, James set up an hour-long, prime-time TV special on ESPN dubbed "The Decision." "The," because in LeBron's warped world, it was the only decision that mattered.
OK, so his spelling isn't the greatest. But the youngest-ever NBA scoring champ has the sweetest jump shot in the league and arms a mile long to go with his great attitude and humble demeanor, so we shall let that slide. The point is, Durant expressed gratitude for the opportunities he's been given. He's a team player who doesn't put himself on a pedestal. The wallpaper on his Twitter page pictures his teammates but not himself. If I were starting a franchise, I'd take Durant over LeBron in a heartbeat.
But back to LeBron James, a player who's never won a championship and seemed to already have his foot out the door as his Cavaliers were embarrassed in the playoffs this year, and my assertion that he's lost touch with reality. When he announced the hour-long TV special, I thought it was a virtual lock that he would return to the Cavaliers. How could a decent human being possibly go on such a forum on national TV and rub his decision in the faces of all the Ohioans who had supported him and cheered him since he was a boy? In the faces of his teammates and the front office that put together the league's best regular-season team this year? Surely if he were going anywhere else, he'd put aside the spectacle and exit his hometown with some dignity. But the Akron native was oblivious to this obvious notion, blinded by his ego. An ego that told him that everyone watching on TV loved King James as much as he loved himself.
I'm sure they love LeBron in South Beach right now, but expect the backlash to be severe elsewhere. As the recent July Fourth holiday reminded us, this country doesn't take kindly to kings.
My flock, I come to you today with a heavy heart and soggy paws. As some of you know, the ayatollah compound was recently befallen by a series of household disasters. What began with a broken toilet line and a 100-year indoor flood was followed by pestilence, famine and a swarm of june bugs. The heavy-duty dehumidifying equipment and fans in the compound to clear out all the water caused a power surge that zapped our air conditioner, Internet cables and microwave (hence, the famine). While all this was going on, a "deep-cover" Pugistani spy ring was also compromised by the authorities, but fortunately, the feds do not seem to grasp what they have come across.
We are gradually restoring order to the compound, my flock. A series of chew-toy riots have been quelled. The leaders of this uprising apparently thought they could take advantage of the situation, but my brother Wendell and I have put them in their place and spilled their cotton as a warning to others who would seek to throw off the yoke of chew-toy servitude. I rule this empire with an iron paw! And as much as I despise bathtime, no amount of moisture will change that.
Our air conditioner was restored, with the thermostat reading 98 degrees as it blinked back to life -- not a moment too soon. Our Internet connection is now back online, and other repairs will be scheduled in the coming days and weeks.
It will not be easy, my flock, but the ministry will rebuild. To cover the cost of repairs, I am organizing a telethon. I urge you all to donate to this most worthy cause. In closing, please view these wrenching images of the ayatollah compound, taken during the height of the flooding crisis, and let your heartstrings and your purse strings be tugged upon in an appropriate manner.
This sounds serious: Al Gore's accuser has invoked the legendary virility of the poodle.
