Do you have Convention Fever?

Have you been watching the wall-to-wall coverage on cable? Are you crotch-deep in balloons? Have you been watching pundits so long that the professorial George Will has begun to resemble sturdy Midwestern rocker George Thorogood?

If the answer is yes, your diagnosis: Convention Fever. Your prescription: suicide.

My face has broken out in hives and my skin has grown gray and clammy in what I fear to be Convention Fever. I have sent word to ol’ Doc Taft to make haste in getting here, as my heartbeat is growing shallower with each American flag straw hat sighting…

Folks, be sure to check back in tomorrow, when I liveblog my death.

Well, yesterday was the first day of school around these parts. As usual, the day was replete with seating charts, syllabi, and sorrow.

Teachers tend to feel much the same as students on this day, and I was no exception. Throughout the early morning hours I found myself contemplating my career choice with no small level of anxiety. However, as the wide-eyed, frightened 12 year-olds began streaming into my homeroom, I felt something begin to build inside me. Slowly and unstoppably, a overwhelming strength began to surge through my veins, and I once again felt at one with my role in the universe.

My insatiable power over these 7th graders built as I began to shout frenzied and arbitrary commands at them, thus disorienting their command structure and rendering their defenses useless. Like Emperor Palpatine in Revenge of the Sith, I raised my arms in glorious victory and howled in an unearthly voice, “UNLIMITED POWAAAAAHHHH!!!”

Also, I proctored a study hall.

My close friend and Rock TV mascot Todd Luker spent Friday morning at the Minnesota State Fair, presumably sampling the available foodstuffs and viewing the disgustingly obese animals lying in repose in various barns found on the premises. As luck would have it, he happened to pass the FOX 9 booth just as our old friend and meteorologist Keith Marler was sitting to greet passersby. Todd was nice enough to drop in and visit with him on my behalf.

Apparently Keith brightened up immediately when told that Todd acting as ambassador for the John Larroquette Project. Grabbing a promotional photo, he started muttering excitedly about how he hadn’t visited the site in a few months while vehemently scratching his pen across the faces of his co-workers. See for yourself…

Fine work, Keith Marler. Your gracious spirit and secret weirdness are a blessing to our otherwise oppressively chirpy morning airwaves. I’m glad you ruthlessly censured M.A. Roscoe with your Sharpie the way you did. Somebody seriously needed to shut her up. Tom Butler doesn’t seem so bad, but I figure he was just caught in the crossfire.

Maybe this is off-topic, but what do you suppose it would be like to be roommates with Keith Marler? Does he seem like the kind of guy who would leave a sink full of dirty dishes for a couple days? Does he snore? Worse, does he have sleep apnea? Does he have a CPAP machine for his sleep apnea? Can he afford one?

What say all of us pitch in for Keith Marler’s CPAP machine? The guy needs his sleep, and it’s the least we could do, given all that he’s done for the community here at the John Larroquette Project.

Listen to Max & Mitsy weekday mornings on 104.7, the Spin!

You like amiable banter and wacky mischief? Max is your man! He’ll fill your spirits like a dump truck filled with sunshine!

You like warm chuckles and traffic reports read with precision? Misty’s your gal! She’ll fill your mornings with blue skies and heaping mounds of crispy cole slaw as she laughs sincerely at all of Max’s zany antics!

There’s no stopping Max & Mitsy! From their trademark “News of the Weird” segment to the “Morning Blowout” where they give away $104.70 to a lucky caller, they are totally unique! Always smiling, never controversial, Max & Mitsy will annihilate you with sparkling radio kindness!

Bend over, everybody! Max & Mitsy are on the air!

America loves Michael Phelps!

He won 8 gold medals! He won his races by a combined 1/100th of a second! He has nearly exposed his pubic region to millions of adoring viewers on multiple occasions!

And now, he must marry Sasha Cohen.

Think of the greater good that would be brought unto the greater number of people by their gloriously unholy union. Those two could swim, skate, dance, and crabwalk circles around the rest of us while we would lift up their names in song and kneel before their graven images.

Think of how many Americans would pay premium money for a pay-per-view event televising a night of their precise, patriotic procreation! Their union would be the marital incarnation of America’s manifest destiny, and the world would bow in subjugation!

Barack Obama, let’s make this happen!

You want some orange juice?

I’ve got a tall glass of delicious orange juice right now. I just had a sip. It was tart and sweet, like a compliment from a hated ethnic rival.

You want to take a drink from my glass of orange juice? You’re welcome to it. I’ve drunk about a dozen full glasses of orange juice today, so it’s a safe bet that my bowel movements are pure liquid by this point.

It’s probably time for me to lighten up on the ol’ orange juice, but that ain’t gonna happen. You’d have better luck asking a stray dog to stop licking its filth-encrusted anus than getting me to set down my tall glass of refreshing orange juice.

I used to call it OJ, but then there was some unpleasantness surrounding that name in the mid-90’s. Do you remember that? It was the moment when it became clear that a substantial percentage of our nation’s people are basically insane.

Anyway, I still like orange juice.