Behold Rickey’s marvelous jack-o-lantern of doom! Granted, perhaps it’s not as awe inspiring as we had promised earlier (you win this round of the Jack-Off, Alexander) but frankly, Rickey was a little too occupied to give the pumpkin carving his full attention. In fact, Rickey didn’t have anything to do with it whatsoever. It was Ms. Henderson who crafted this spooky bastard. See, Rickey was busy cooking up quite possibly the worst tasting pumpkins seeds ever (note to the reader: worcestershire sauce, salt, and butter do not improve the taste of roasted pumpkin seeds).
To ensure maximum discomfort on the part of any parents dumb enough to let their kids trick or treat at Rickey’s apartment, the bottle of Jack Daniels will accompany the pumpkin in the window for the duration of the evening. Hey, it's the least Rickey could do for his town--a community that is renowned for being batshit crazy about Halloween. Enjoy the holiday folks—Rickey is off to put the finishing touches on his "Zombie Hunter S. Thompson" costume. And rest assured, Rickey will return next year to host the "2008 Halloween Jack-Off Invitational."
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
The leaves are now just starting to turn colors in Rickey’s particular region of the United States, but make no mistake: Winter is coming. It’s rather curious how Summer leapfrogged Fall and proceeded directly into Winter, isn’t it? At some point, the general public really does need to start asking presidential candidates questions like “Mr. Obama, it was 80 degrees in mid-October in the Northeast. Precisely what do you intend to do about that?”
And so Winter rapidly approaches. Huzzah. We actually like Winter for several reasons. The primary one being that Rickey gets to venture outside in frigid weather and test the heat insulating abilities of his newly grown man-beard. For reasons we can’t quite explain, Rickey is eager to have frost and/or snow cling to his beard (kind of like a mountain climber, only without all the tiresome schlepping). Rickey wants to stroll into work resembling the fellow pictured below.
Nothing decries rugged masculinity quite like a frosted man-beard. Yes we know how ridiculous that last statement sounds and we’re sticking with it anyway.
The secondary reason we enjoy winter is that it’s coming coincides with the anniversary of Rickey’s street date on this crazy blue marble called earth. So naturally, much rejoicing and jubilation can be expected to come from this blog during the entire month of December. The hell with Christmas/Chanukah/Kwanzaa/Festivus. This is a far bigger event. Feel free to sacrifice a goat or two if it makes you feel better, but what Rickey really expects from this event is gifts. Lots and lots of gifts.
This is why we’re posting early—so you can avoid the post Thanksgiving holiday rush and purchase your presents for Rickey now. See how considerate we’re being about all this? Rickey has put some thought into developing a list of things he wants and has narrowed his selections down to the following categories:
1) Gifts Rickey actually has a realistic shot at receiving
2) Gifts Rickey wants however is unlikely to receive
3) Gifts no reasonable man would request, but Rickey is flat-out demanding nonetheless
As of this posting, Rickey has not yet determined the exact contents of the list. We’re merely announcing that an announcement of the list will be coming shortly. So gird your loins and open your wallets, because the diamond studded Montblanc pens and hypoallergenic cats aren’t going to buy themselves people.
Now if you’ll excuse Rickey, he’s off to attend a mandatory office emergency evacuation training class. Evidently it’s kind of important to know what to do in the event of a fire drill. Rickey’s current office evacuation plan involves playing “Flight of the Bumblebee” on a boombox while sprinting towards the nearest exit and shoving meddlesome women and children out of the way. Arguably there’s room for improvement in Rickey’s plan. So at the training class, Rickey is going to suggest that a string quartet be required to stay behind and perform in the event of a fire. Wish us luck.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Here are a few Monday morning tidbits to hold you over while Rickey recovers from a weekend that contained dangerous levels of exposure to Papaya Dogs and Morrissey.
The snarky folks at Gawker are claiming that this scene from 30 Rock may have singlehandedly won Alec Baldwin an Emmy. Frankly, Rickey is inclined to agree. Welcome back, Glengarry Glen Ross version of Alec Baldwin. We missed you.
As we type this, Dick Cheney is currently quail hunting in Rickey’s neck of the woods. We don’t even have a joke to make about this. How jovial would you be if some guy helped lead the U.S. to war on false pretenses and then suddenly showed up in your back yard and started shooting birds for fun? Not very, we’re guessing. If Rickey didn't have a meddlesome job to worry about, he'd be up there protesting right now.
You know, with the Yanks in A-Rod's rearview mirror, Rickey is beginning to suspect that this Alex Rodruigez fellow might be a good fit for the Mets at second base... We hear good things about his regular season numbers. He's good with the New York media, right?
Speaking of the Mets, have you secured your very own personalized Citi Field Fanwalk brick yet? No? What’s wrong with you? This is your chance to be a part of Mets history with the simple inscription: “This Brick’s IQ > Willie Randolph’s Gut Feelings.”
After reading the following article Rickey is extremely glad he didn’t grow up in the 1970’s. Questionable fashion decisions abound after the jump.
And now, in Rickey’s contractually required “funny animal photo of the day” section, we proudly present a photo of quite possibly the laziest sheep ever (courtesy, REUTERS):
What a freeloading bastard. There's a joke in here somewhere about the fleecing of the Democratic party, but Rickey is too lazy to make it.
Hm, perhaps this funny animal thing has legs. So in the name of journalistic integrity, we proudly present the following articles under Rickey’s “Weekly Monkey Roundup” :
- an article about monkeys sexually harassing women
- an article about monkey death squads roaming the streets
- an article about monkeys pantsing someone
Call him crazy, but Rickey’s absolute favorite television show is “The Wire.” We’re suckers for any show that boasts brilliant acting and isn’t afraid of a little narrative density. And unless you work for the City of Baltimore’s tourism industry, you’ll enjoy this show as well. Margaret Talbot of The New Yorker has a terrific write up on the greatest show you’re not watching right now.
When the author of Rickey’s newly discovered favorite blog posts an article about her visit to the Renaissance Fair, you damn well know it’s going to be funny. To quote a passage: “I love, nay, cherish, me the opportunity to make fun of those that deserve it, and if the act of donning a chain mail poncho and leather epaulettes in the middle of the summer doesn't represent a tacit compliance to act as a target for ridicule, then I can no longer trust my understanding of the world.”
And wraps things up for today. Consider yourself adequately entertained and titillated (and beware of marauding monkeys).
Friday, October 26, 2007
You know what’s awesome? When a struggling government agency like FEMA decides, hey fuck it, enough with the “free press” shenanigans: let’s just stage our own press conference! Because, you know, it’s not like FEMA really has all that much on its plate at the moment to talk about. Rickey tips his cap to this government for finding new and creative ways to become even more Orwellian.
This story of course raises the following question: if the press isn’t invited to participate in your press conference did you really hold a press conference? Rickey would attempt to answer that, but doing so would necessitate the use of far too many brain cells for a Friday afternoon. Enjoy the weekend folks.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
As a rule, Rickey enjoys consuming spicy things. And in case you hadn’t noticed, Rickey also enjoys alcohol. So it comes as no surprise that if a wondrous adult beverage existed that combined spiciness and alcohol content, Rickey would be all over it like a donkey on a waffle. And indeed, such a magical drink does indeed exist: the Bloody Mary. And for those of you who have never taken the time to make one your own, trust us, they’re completely delicious.
Sadly, only two other people in Rickey’s life profess to enjoy Bloody Marys: Ms. Henderson’s grandmother, and a college buddy of Rickey’s from Texas who prefaces all public conversations with the word “gentlemen…” So clearly this Bloody Mary thing isn’t a widespread phenomenon just yet. That’s where you, the reader come in. Rickey’s taking time out from his busy schedule to educate you on this fantastic yet woefully unappreciated drink, so listen well.
First, let’s discuss consumption locales. The peculiar thing about drinking a Bloody Mary is that there is most certainly a time and place for it. Over the years, Rickey has set out to determine exactly what those precise times and places are. We’ve come up with the following list:
1. While tailgating (highly unorthodox, we know)
2. On an airplane or in an airport
3. At a horse race
4. At a cockfight
5. While bowling
6. And, finally, on boats. Always on boats.
In other words, don’t go into a nightclub and expect the bartender to serve you a Bloody Mary with a straight face. It’s a rookie error, and it’s also for your own damn good. That’s because any Bloody Mary made in a bar or restaurant will never, ever taste as good as the one you meticulously craft in your own home. And as a rule, store-bought Bloody Mary mixes should be avoided like the plague. While making one from scratch requires a fair amount of ingredients, Rickey promises that the resulting drink is worth the time and materials spent on its production. Rickey’s recipe follows below. We even included the precise amounts for those of you too timid to eyeball things. Feel free to adjust the ingredient measurements to taste—Rickey prefers a strong drink that induces a taste bud explosion.
- 1 3/4 oz. pepper vodka, preferably Absolut Peppar
- 5 oz. tomato juice (not v8 you jackass)
- Juice from a freshly squozen lime
- 1 teaspoon diced fresh horseradish
- Kosher salt (does any other kind of salt exist?)
- A dash of olive juice
- Several liberal dashes of Worcestershire sauce
- Several liberal dashes of Tabasco sauce
- Freshly cracked black pepper
Place all ingredients in a martini shaker and proceed to shake vigorously. You won’t get the same effect from stirring it, trust us. Pour the finished drink into a highball glass (preferably, one of the Duralex variety) and proceed to enjoy the flavorful goodness. Feel free to add celery as a garnish, but if you’re really under the impression that this drink has any nutritional value beyond its ridiculously high Vitamin C content, you’re even further gone than we’d suspected. Besides, Rickey prefers garnishing his Bloody Marys with olives. Give them a shot—in time, so will you.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Rickey would like to discuss Rudy Giuliani’s recent earth shattering announcement that he’s rooting for the Red Sox to win the World Series. It’s not Rudy’s decision to swap team allegiance that bothers Rickey (although the man clearly is a major league asshole for rooting for the Sox just because he wants an AL team to win the Fall Classic). Great job pissing off a large chunk of the New York demographic Rudy. But hey, on the positive side, at least you've locked up the ever elusive "Masshole vote." Now if only there was some way you could work the 9-11 angle into your campaign...
Ultimately, what really grinds our gears about this story is the fact that a presidential candidate feels a need to discuss baseball while on the campaign trail. We’d like to pose the following question: does anyone in their right mind really give a flying fuck which baseball team the potential leader of the free world roots for? Sure, Rickey loves baseball, who doesn't? But just because a major candidate happens to as well in no way guarantees them Rickey's vote. Call him nuts, but Rickey is a little picky like that.
What we're getting at here is that it has now become essential that presidential candidates appear to connect with voters on a personal level. Rickey says: enough with the likability shtick already, it has no place whatsoever in politics. Look, we're not advocating putting Quasimodo in the Oval Office, but please, enough with the fake human interest stories on the campaign trail already. If we want to watch likable people on television, we'll flip on the "fair and balanced" news network (meaning that they interview both generals and retired generals) and welcome a member of "Fox & Friends" into our living room, thank you very much. And while this argument may seem about as cutting edge as railing against those “This is Our Country” Chevy commercials sung by John Mellencamp, (who else’s country would it be anyway?) it’s an argument Rickey feels compelled to make nonetheless.
If Rickey's fuzzy memory of 8th Grade History serves him correctly, the likability trend in politics was born on the 1952 presidential campaign trail, when Eisenhower defeated Adlai Stevenson by smearing Stevenson as a wimpy egghead. And ever since then, there has been a strong anti-intellectual movement in politics. We no longer want the smartest guy in the room to lead us, merely the average joe hanging out in the corner who we’d like to drink a beer with. How else can one explain Jimmy Carter being elected? People wanted to watch football with the schmuck. Rickey takes issue with that.
Here’s a new idea: instead of judging candidates by their favorite colors or which musical instrument they play, how about ratcheting up the search criteria just a tad? You know, more relevant items such as whether or not a presidential candidate would repeal the Patriot Act if elected? Because, uh FYI, you people are bat-shit crazy if you really believe Hillary Clinton will. Or how about asking Fred Thompson why he referred to Russia as the Soviet Union in a recent speech? Forget whether he wears boxers or briefs--just how comfortable are we that there's a man campaigning for president who seriously thinks he's still hunting the Red October?
But we digress. The point is that even though the nice talkative bartender at your local TGI Fridays may be a very affable person, that does not necessarily qualify them to hold the highest office in the land. And if a presidential candidate absolutely must profess to watch a sporting event, they shall be limited to the following choices:
- Some kind of professional human chess board league thingy which doesn’t exist yet but now that we think about it definitely should
Anything less ephemeral and we’ll be choosing our leaders American-Idol style in under 10 years.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Rickey has returned from the glorious state of Nevada and isn’t nearly as penniless as he’d feared he would be. Huzzah. Make no mistake, Las Vegas is a “city” (we use the term loosely, because in reality, it’s more of an uneasy alliance of brazen profiteers and unscrupulous landowners) that is designed to seriously punish your wallet. If you thought Disney Land and its ilk were bad, you haven’t seen a damn thing until you’ve plunked down an obscene amount of money on a foul tasting rum runner (Ms. Henderson prefers drinks of the tropical variety). Want free booze? Well sure, casinos are happy to supply it as long as you’re flushing your money away in the process. Otherwise, you’re kind of shit out of luck. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on your perspective) taxes on bottles of alcohol are very low in Vegas, so Rickey was able to make the best of the situation and drink to his heart’s content.
Now that we’ve gotten the inevitable bitching about the prices out of the way, Rickey would like to take a moment to salute the football man-god that is Tom Brady. For it is that magnificent bastard who earned Rickey his winnings last Sunday, trouncing Dallas 48-27, covering the spread, and thereby making Rickey a very happy first time sports gambler. Just remember this moment when Rickey turns into a degenerate gambler and finds himself banned from the local OTB for public indecency. We’d devote an entire column to raving about Tom Brady’s performance and taut buns of steel, but really, Boston sports fans have things going far too well for them as it is, and Rickey is secretly hoping for them to be taken down a peg or two. The important thing is that the Pats whomped on the Cowboys and the ego of that insufferable prick, Jerry Jones (the latest supporting witness in Rickey’s “Nothing Good Happens in Texas” argument) and that Rickey won lots of money as a result.
Las Vegas itself is a sight to see if you haven’t done so already, mostly for the bragging rights. Others have written on the topic much more extensively than Rickey intends to, but we’ll chime in briefly to say: do yourself a favor and don’t go sober. Seriously, don’t. Watching Roy from Idaho marvel at the Vegas casino recreations of the Eiffel Tower, the Roman Coliseum, or the Venetian Canals is too much for a sober mind to endure. It stings the soul. And we won’t even discuss the misbegotten madmen who thought it would be cute to design a New York City themed casino with a rollercoaster flying in between the buildings. Seriously, what the fuck?
If he had to pick, Rickey’s favorite casino would have to be The Wynn, primarily because when it comes to creating the ultimate gambling den, Steve Wynn absolutely does not fuck around, nor does he dabble in any of the theme nonsense that other casinos do. On the outside it’s a tasteful & unassuming black building with the word "Wynn” on the outside. Inside lies the most extreme opulence you’ve ever seen in your life. We’re talking pounds of rare flowers suspended motionlessly in huge vases of water, chandeliers that would make Louis XIV blush, draperies the likes of which no man has laid eyes upon, and a pool that would’ve cured FDR's polio had he vacationed at The Wynn instead of Warm Springs. If labor laws weren’t so strict, The Wynn would probably require that its blackjack dealers be dipped in gold. We have to give props to Steve Wynn for tossing aside current Disneyfication trend that is sweeping Las Vegas and building a casino that's actually a casino. And jesus-tapdancing-christ, what a casino it is. If Wynn didn't bathe daily in Commanche and Mojave blood, he might actually be kind of a decent guy.
Only in Las Vegas would such insane excess be tolerated, a land where the freedom to indulge yourself abounds. In other words, short of killing someone, you can do whatever you damn well please. Sadly, few people in Vegas seem to actually do cut loose, and most folks seem perfectly comfortable opting towards the more mundane. Hey, want to slowly drain your bank account at a slot machine? Vegas can take care of that. Want to ditch your friend and hit the strip dressed up like an overweight promiscuous zebra? Vegas has you covered. Want to pay 99 cents for a margarita that makes you cough up blood the following day? Vegas can hook you up. Want to pile a buffet plate high with crawfish and other seafood of highly suspect origin? Vegas is there for you. And yes, what happens in Vegas does indeed stay in Vegas, but sadly, it’s never anything truly wild or rowdy, just a magnification of the rampant gluttony and cynical capitalism you’d find anywhere else in the good old U.S. of A.
*For the record however, In-N-Out Burger does make a damn fine milkshake. Sorry, we had to drop the grouchy cultural commentary for a moment to give credit where it’s due.
Escaping Las Vegas is a relatively easy affair. First, fill up your rental car’s gas tank with petroleum distillate and re-vulcanize its tires. Then, you merely hop on a highway and drive either North or South until your mouth no longer tastes like an ashtray and the ringing of slot machines has ceased reverberating in your ears. For Rickey, this meant driving and hour or so up rte 15 to The Valley of Fire. Rickey welcomed the trip because he’s kind of the outdoorsy type, and Ms. Henderson tagged along because she thought dragons lived there. Having never seen the Southwest, Rickey was pretty blown away. There was no wind, and no sound whatsoever. Just a perfect stillness. And the landscapes are astounding. Imagine walking around the surface of Mars and you’ve got a good idea of what we’re talking about. Better yet, take a gander at the pictures below. These might take 30 minutes to load and crash your web browser. Fair warning.
This is the sonuvabitch that Rickey damn near hit. Still no word from Rickey's auto insurance company whether or not he's covered for "ram collisions in the desert."
Just another skinny white guy on vacation. If we were to think of a caption for this picture, it would most likely be "harumph."
And the rest of the photos below are in glorious widescreen, which is Rickey's aspect ratio of choice. As a rule of thumb, anything looks good in 16x9, even photos of one's genitals.
The flight back to JFK was relatively uneventful. Rickey has now made a habit of wearing his Pan Am t-shirt while flying, a decision that is guaranteed to earn him nods or smiles of approval from the entire flight staff. Trust us, a little levity from the airplane attendants at 40,000 feet while traveling 530 miles per hour goes a long way. Flying over the Grand Canyon at sunset was pretty breathtaking (and a hell of a lot safer than those helicopter tours). And the intense lightning storm (complete with turbulence!) over Chicago was also a character building affair. Upon disembarking in Queens, Rickey had the distinct pleasure of trying to piece together all the news he missed while on vacation. So let’s recap. Senator Craig continues to fight the good fight, the state of Georgia has 80 days of potable water left, The Don Mattingly era for the Yankees is approaching, Ellen Degeneres beats dogs, and the entire Middle East is currently on fire. Did we miss anything? No? Good.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Tonight Rickey is hopping on a plane bound for Las Vegas and won’t be back until sometime next week. And Rickey probably won’t be sober again until Thanksgiving. In the meantime, if someone could explain to Rickey how to wager on football (evidently that’s kind of a big deal over there) that would be fantastic. Apparently this is kind of a “dangerous week” for football gambling, but a buddy was nice enough to provide Rickey with the following picks:
CIN -3.5 over KC
NE -4.5 over Dallas
Texans +6.5 over JAX
Not that we have any idea whatsoever what any of that actually means, but we figure the six hour red-eye flight to Nevada should provide Rickey with ample opportunity to research the matter. Feel free to chime in with advice in the comments section, but be warned: if Rickey returns to the eastern seaboard wearing a barrel and a frown, he'll be looking for retribution. Due to the byzantine rules involved, we’re not even daring to wager anything on baseball. Also, the entire sport of baseball is kind of dead to Rickey at the moment (But fuck it: go Rockies!)
And while Rickey is definitely looking forward to traveling to Las Vegas, a city that boasts fillet mignon and oyster rockefeller buffets, he will also sadly miss the opportunity to challenge Gilbert Arenas to a game of Halo. For those who might have missed it, Gilbert Arenas, famed NBA star, cheats at Halo. Awesome. See you folks in a week.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
With Halloween almost upon us, Rickey and Ms. Henderson have decided to get a little festive by carving out a pumpkin of their choosing. And while this seems like a relatively fun and stress-free endeavor, Rickey is taking this task very seriously. Because really, the act of picking out a pumpkin and selecting a design to carve into it not only define one’s role in society, but ultimately, their level of self-worth. Further gravening matters is the fact that Rickey’s brother threw down the gauntlet last Halloween by creating the jack-o-lantern pictured below:
As you can see, crazy runs in the family. Personally, Rickey thinks it’s too soon(!) for a pumpkin carved rendering of the World Trade Center but you’ve got to admire the craftsmanship at work here. This is where Rickey has decided to set the bar. For inspiration, Rickey has turned to the awesome work of a reclusive genius known only as “The Pumpkin Lady” with a penchant for creating jack-o-lanterns in the images of some of our greatest former U.S. Presidents.
If jack-o-lantern versions of Millard Fillmore, Warren Harding, or Gerald Ford don’t scare the bejesus out of trick-or-treaters this year, nothing will. Rickey definitely recommends giving these designs a shot, primarily because there’s absolutely no way in hell Ms. Henderson is going to allow a pumpkin with Calvin Coolidge’s face on it to appear in the window. So sadly, one of you bastards will have to carry the torch for Rickey.
We’ll be sure to post pictures of Rickey’s finished masterpiece once it’s done—rest assured, it will be awe inspiring.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Rickey would like to briefly mention this “playoff baseball” that is sweeping the nation thanks to TBS and the incorrigible antics spewing from the delightful comedic mind of Dane Cook. In a few words: everything about 2007 playoff baseball sucks. How much does it suck? Well, even God is a little grumpy with it evidently.
As proof, we direct your attention to the swarm of locusts that descended upon the Cleveland/Yanks game Friday night and the sudden darkness that halted the Rockies/Phillies game on Saturday. If Rickey remembers his Passover lore correctly, two of the ten plagues occurred this weekend, both at baseball venues. This supports Rickey’s theory that God is
B) A Mets fan
C) Seriously pissed that the Mets are not playing baseball right now
We’ll discuss this issue in greater depth once the Charles River turns to blood and an army of marauding frogs overruns Diamondback stadium. And while we're on the subject of matters Semitic, were you aware that Larry David was on Steve Sommers' radio show this past weekend? Proceed here to listen to them schmooze it up--it's a jewtacularly good interview.
Monday, October 1, 2007
And if just one of you bastards responds with the “nothing is fucked here dude” in the comments section, Rickey will seriously lose his tenuous calm. There’s plenty of time in the coming months ahead for blame assignment and hot stove talk, but right now, Rickey would like to share his visceral reaction with you folks. Obviously Glavine isn’t the sole culprit, merely one of a cast of many goats from yesterday’s game. (We do seem to remember him pitching an awful lot better when his 300th win was within grasp, but that’s neither here nor there).
It takes a concentrated group effort to blow a seven game lead in over a period of seventeen games, thereby setting the all-time record for biggest regular reason collapse by a major league baseball team. So, uh, go team. Your marvelous pooch screwing abilities have secured you a place in the annals of baseball. The excruciatingly painful downward spiral that characterized Mets baseball in the month of September was nothing short of a kick to the groin for Rickey. This hurts a hell of a lot. Rickey’s not even sure if his father is still alive right now. Yes, Rickey will still be toting his trusty Metropolitans mug, but only to support the emblem itself rather than the bums who had the chutzpah to call themselves Mets this season. Who in their right mind could have predicted that the Giants would be Rickey’s ray of light in October? Who?
In the meantime, Rickey has found a song to replace "Sweet Caroline" at Shea Stadium: "Always look on the Bright Side of Life." Sing along with Rickey folks:
Some things in life are bad
They can really make you mad
Other things just make you swear and curse.
When you’re chewing on life’s gristle
Don’t grumble, give a whistle
And this’ll help things turn out for the best…
And…always look on the bright side of life…
Always look on the light side of life…
If life seems jolly rotten
There’s something you’ve forgotten
And that’s to laugh and smile and dance and sing.
When you’re feeling in the dumps
Don’t be silly chumpsJust purse your lips and whistle - that’s the thing.
And…always look on the bright side of life…
Always look on the light side of life…
For life is quite absurd
And death’s the final word
You must always face the curtain with a bow.
Forget about your sin - give the audience a grin
Enjoy it - it’s your last chance anyhow.
So always look on the bright side of death
Just before you draw your terminal breath
Life’s a piece of Shit
When you look at it
Life’s a laugh and death’s a joke, it’s true.
You’ll see it’s all a show
Keep ‘em laughing as you go
Just remember that the last laugh is on you.
And always look on the bright side of life…
Always look on the right side of life…
(Come on guys, cheer up!)
Always look on the bright side of life…
Always look on the bright side of life…
(Worse things happen at sea, you know.)
Always look on the bright side of life…
(I mean - what have you got to lose?)
(You know, you come from nothing - you’re going back to nothing.What have you lost? Nothing!)
Always look on the right side of life…