Horns-a-blowin’

Happened to watch a bit of the Portugal-Nork match at the World Cup today. Portugal beat the Norks 7-0; kicked their undernourished North Korean butts. Hope that Dear Leader doesn’t kill the team when they get back to the workers’ paradise.

One thing I’ve learned to do while watching these boring soccer games on ESPN while I work out? Listen to my mp3 player rather than the game. Don’t I want to know who’s got the ball, who’s passing the ball, who’s writhing on the ground pretending to having just had a life-threatening injury so that an opponent might draw a warning?

Are you kidding? Couldn’t care less. Then there’s the constant drone of those damned horns, blown by the primitives in the stands.

Yes, the vuvuzela. The vuvuzela phenomenon reminds me of Kwanzaa: a made-up thing to make meaningless and annoying noise, with zero actual tradition behind it. Am I the only one who thinks that “vuvuzela” is part of the female anatomy?

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