♨️ Go Ask Daddy About Hot Spots, Fallen Planets, and Kitschy Shirts

photo credit: Kalexanderson via photopin cc

Guess how I thought of opening Go Ask Daddy this week?

I had designs on a scathing prediction of boredom and boneheadism in the Super Bowl on Sunday. Final score: Patriots 9, Seahawks 8. It’s the lousiest championship game in the history of Jesus.

Marshawn Lynch fumbles three times and rushes for 3 yards. Tom Brady throws seven interceptions, and Seattle can’t muster a touchdown. Both coaches draw the writer’s block when it comes to rule-bending.

That’s saying something. Bill Belichick and Pete Carroll redefine the term, ‘cheat sheet.’

Two field goals from Steven Hauschka put Seattle up 6-0 in the fourth quarter. Stephen Gostkowski kicks a field goal for New England. However, Seattle gets a safety when Patriots punter Ryan Allen steps out of bounds in the end zone.

Trailing 8-3, New England benches Brady and plays backup Jimmy Garoppolo.

Garoppolo gets six pass interference calls. Seahawks defensive backs turn to one another and ask, “What’s that little yellow cloth mean?” Garoppolo finds Rob Gronkowski for a touchdown with 2 seconds left for a 9-8 lead, over Richard Sherman’s rattled skull.

Patriots long snapper Danny Aiken robs Garoppolo of MVP honors. America forgets Deflategate when it’s revealed the Patriots never paid Secretary of State John Kerry for using his face on their helmets.

I wouldn’t stoop to that, right?

My view in Charlotte on the flight to Cancun.

1. Is there Wi-Fi on airplanes?

You’re not even supposed to have your phone on in the plane at takeoff. I’d estimate 9 out of 10 flight attendants turn the other way when Pete Carroll keeps his on to play Candy Crush.

The only airline you’ve ever heard of that offers free Wi-Fi? Jetblue.

Other airlines offer throwback Internet access: Sluggish speeds at exorbitant prices. Has anyone seen my Sound Garden tape? It’s not worth it to post a Facebook update of your in-flight foam sandwich. It just isn’t.

Why not unplug in the friendly skies? Spread out in a seat no bigger than your butt cheeks, and eat M&Ms out of your barf bag.

photo credit: Doug Letterman via photopin cc

2. Can an electric eel sting you even if it’s dead?

I would have Googled this on the airplane if I could …

Listverse.com compiled a top-10 Truly Awful Ways to Be Killed By an Animal. The electric eel just made the list. An electric eel generates currents through its nervous system. The high-voltage cells stack up in a specialized electric organ.

It’s the same as batteries in a flashlight.

Each cell works like a string of batteries, and bZZZZZ! Its prey gets a 600-volt jolt before it becomes lunch. It’s strong enough to kill a person. What if the eel has croaked? I wouldn’t mess with it.

It can generate electric shocks as long as nine hours after it goes to be with Jesus.

photo credit: pCka via photopin cc

3. Do you think Pluto should be a planet?

Few topics rile me like this.

I hate the lakers. I hate the red wings. I hate cooked carrots. I love pizza. I love disc golf. I love that golf discs and pizza shares the same shape and symbolize the circle of life. I love Cher Lloyd, America, and Spider-man socks.

I hate pop music and love NPR. These truths are self-evident.

Pluto always will be a planet. No one can revoke the planet status. A dwarf planet, my ass. No. Knights aren’t de-knighted. Reggie Bush lost his Heisman. C’mon, though. He kicked ass and you can’t reverse that. Boy George will always be Boy George.

Eddie George is Eddie George always.

Pluto has hit last in the solar-system lineup for generations. It’s a tradition. The New York Jets should be deemed less an NFL team than Pluto should be considered a planet. And no one’s reducing the Jets to dwarf status.

Or tofu denigrated to dwarf food status. Celestial criteria, my ass. Don’t ever hassle me when it comes to Pluto’s status ever again, the world of academia.

Focus on Marshawn Lynch’s behavior instead.

photo credit: NOAA’s National Ocean Service via photopin cc

4. Do pilots purposely avoid the Bermuda Triangle?

Captain Lim, blogging at Just About Flying, calls the Bermuda Triangle a myth. Just like the Loch Ness Monster, or Chicago Cubs World Series tickets. (What’s his stance on Pluto, I wonder.)

The Bermuda Triangle could be called a region of doom.

It extends between Bermuda, Miami, and San Juan. Thousands of travelers pass through it daily. It covers 1,800 nautical miles. I flew through it en route to the Dominican Republic. This qualifies me as a badass.

Hazards abound, such as hurricanes and cyclones. Or shallow water where your vessel can run aground if you veer off course. Even Christopher Columbus knew the weather there made for tricky waters. Smugglers’ routes went through the triangle.

Pirates’ circles did, too.

Ever found yourself in open water with pirates and smugglers? It’s worse than a raiders-49ers game. Ships go missing.

Not unlike Richard Sherman, the Bermuda Triangle has blown an awful lot of smoke. Only four airplanes have disappeared in its reach, none since 1949. It’s a romantic story, for sure, yet not worth the hype.

EJP

5. Why is the writing on that guy’s T-shirt upside down?

Shh. He’ll hear us.

He wants us to comment on it. Back in the day, kids wore Big Johnson T-shirts. Shirts in Boston say “Yankees Suck.” There are those that read “Real Men Beat Eggs,” or “Shoot Film Not Guns.”

Websites sell shirts that say “Almost Single” and “Dear Karma, I have a list of people you missed.” They start conversations, these threads.

Dude had a shirt that tells us to pull him from the snow, and he’s wearing it on a mild December day in Carolina. At Taco Bell, no less. I found one online that reads, “You had me at ‘Let’s go to Taco Bell.’”

Hear me, girls? I’ll even spring for Fruitista Freezes. Let’s go celebrate Monday.

Even though a despicable team will win on Sunday …

One will also lose.

Celestial criteria, my ass.