TOM BRADY AND MARK MORFORD ARE SEXY (BUT NOT AS SEXY AS I AM!)

Forgive my cantanker today, I'm recovering from a fresh back injury procured from a bloody-mary-and-B-List-swimwear-model / hottub-and-stripper-pole-dinner-party, which isn't actually a joke or nearly as awesome as it sounds, but nevertheless describes, in the appropriate amount of detail, how my life goes sometimes. It doesn't help much that my Wii bowling soreness outshines my actual bowling soreness (115 left handed, too!!). Yo soy CRABBY today.

I can drink as much as I used to, just as all of you can, but now that many moons have passed since our Greek days, I can no longer wake up and function in polite society as well as I used to.

Which is why I propose a national post-superbowl day off, and now I'm at home doing my part to advocate for this cause. It's not that I got really crazy yesterday, you understand. I couldn't really tell you how little I care about the New England Patriots or the New York Giants, which is weird considering my borderline-obsessive interest in another New England sports team [crosses self reverently]. I can't help but hate a little on Tom Brady, though. Sorry about that, Tom, but you already banked 3 superbowls, and the only 18-0 record in NFL history. Oh, oh... and you're banging quite possibly the hottest woman in the fucking universe at the moment... talk about your consolation prize.

If you're keeping score, it's a + in the "schadenfreude" category and a - in the "no stabbing pain in my spine" category. To be fair, I did come home in the middle of the day, make myself a healthy meal of broccoli and peanut sauce, catch Return of the Jedi on HBO, and mix up a soothing cocktail I like to call "The Sublimator:"

- 1200mg Ibuprofen
- 20mg Cylobenzaprene
- 40mg Hydrocodone
- 175mg Milk Thistle so that my liver might actually have a fighting chance of lasting through middle age
- 1 banana for potassium (and delicious flavor!)
- Mix with 2 cups of mango juice and serve over ice

I assure you, $250k in higher education spent with Andover/Choate/St. Paul/Exeter/Lawrenceville boys & girls coupled with Dan Sullivan's delightful "American Pharmaceutical Association's Guide to Prescription Drugs" gives me supreme confidence in my ability to mange pharmaceuticals today. (I also have industry, training, bitches!)

(...try and chug it down riiiiight when Carrie Fisher starts kicking ass on Jabba's sail barge in that smokin' hot space bikini... Now that's good medicine!)

Don't be too harsh on me, my drug alchemy emerged in the fall of 2004 when I got hurt so badly I couldn't walk for a month. One tends to remember, in vivid detail, pain signals interrupting nerve impulses to and from the legs AND REPRODUCTIVE ORGANS. Forgive my sensitivity to pain.

Which brings me to the real target of this rant: Mark Morford. I've been torturing this regular SF Gate columnist for ages now, but he offers up such a perfect target. His "Zen and the Art of Being a Liberal in San Francisco" column gets on my nerves from time to time, but he, like Jasper Johns or any true nemesis, brings out the best (beast?) in me. Let's ignore for a second how much he steals my shit, he wastes a lot of time on the "we are all one, so lead with your heart" arguments. I get frustrated when Morford's column tells me to drink more fine California Pinots, or practice this-or-that new school of yoga, or make love to a woman deeply like sipping scotch or driving "small European cars." It's all so liberal-chic it makes me uncomfortable. I'd prefer to argue, and I'm channeling Kurt Vonnegut now, that one should lead with his cock and not his heart.

Mark will "never wear sneakers." I will, because they are comfortable and support my skeleton when I run. Mark "sleeps naked," presumably because it's how nature intended. I sleep naked because I'm prone to passing out after sex. He writes about "a wry and punch-drunk universe;" I'm wiry and punchy when drunk. See what I'm doing there? Oooo, I'm so clever!

I don't like it when people tell me how to live virtuously, liberal or conservative; I prefer to listen to my human instincts and try not to dress them up in haute couture. For example, Mark's latest column on the frivolity of scientific studies derides the silliness with which we place our faith in "how to live" science. His advice would be for us to listen to the vibrations of the universe and not to spoil their whispers with our "facts" and "studies." But are all those facts and studies so bothersome to you, Mark? Do they offend your Zen? Would you rather take a deep, cleansing breath and imagine them all away? Show some fucking balls, for chrissake. If yer gonna shoot, shoot tuh KYLL!

Yes, Mark women who drink 2 glasses of wine each day live longer, but you forget to mention women who drink 2 glasses of wine each day probably fuck-and-like-it more than average! I'm sure we'd all agree that's pretty neat. Is it a one-to-one correlation? Probably not in most cases, but hey, I'm no scientist. IF SCIENCE ENCOURAGES WOMEN TO DRINK AND FORNICATE, THEN SIGN MY NEXT PAYCHECK OVER TO THE GODDAMN NSF.

Ok, I'm not being 100% fair. I've had my own winks in the public eyeball lately, appearing on television and print, and I'll tell you it's no picnic. I haven't yet mastered the art of weaving one's own safety net while saying the provocative. It's the difference between Conan O'Brien (funny) and Jay Leno (your parents think it's funny), so maybe I should cut Mark Morford some slack. You wanna get paid, you better be nice sometimes.

Or maybe I should just kick him in the nads. Who knows what I'll do now that The Sublimator is kicking in. (We in the literary sphere would call that remark "heavy-handed," but screw off! I'm no SF Gate columnist.) I'll probably just do some yogic stretching and pour myself a glass of fine California Pinot.

[Special twinkle from a brilliant star in our galaxy today. Were you watching?]