It’s the End of the World as We Know It–And I Feel Like Looting!

According to an ancient Mayan prophecy, the world is ending one week from today.

I am here today to tell you that this is absolutely, unequivocally true.

How do I know?

Duh, I’m psychic, I know everything.

No, I won’t help you pick winning lottery numbers.

And I’m not really THAT psychic. Even though Madam Marie’s granddaughter told me that I am.

I’m relying on cold, hard facts this time.

Fact #1: The Mayans said it’s happening. Clearly a civilization that disappeared over a thousand years ago was AWESOME at predicting the future.

The best theory out there about their disappearance was that they were kidnapped by aliens. It’s true. Google it. Of course, the Wikipedia page on the Mayans says that they never disappeared, they just left their main cities due to a drought and were assimilated into other local cultures, but that’s Wikipedia. Everyone knows that ANYONE can edit Wikipedia. Even the aliens that abducted the Mayans.

 
But the Mayans clearly knew that was coming because they disappeared without a trace, implying that they knew it was coming and had time to pack. See? If they say the world is ending, it’s ending.

Fact #2: There’s a movie about it. It’s called 2012. I mean, I didn’t see it, because the premise of the movie is that neutrinos are heating the Earth’s core and ending the world, and my dad is one of the world’s leading neutrino physicists and that premise was the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard in my life because that’s NOT what neutrinos are or what they do.

  Like literally. My dad was one of the head scientists who discovered that neutrinos have mass. He’d know if they were heating the Earth’s core. And he’d tell me. Because he’s my daddy.

 But the fact that there’s a movie about it means it’s happening. Clearly.

Fact #3: It’ll be 2015 in just over two years and hoverboard technology isn’t close. We’ve just created a paradox in the space-time continuum big enough to destroy the whole universe. And the world is part of the universe. So it’s ending too.

Fact #4: The Redskins aren’t terrible this year. We have RGIII. We beat the Giants, the Eagles, AND the Cowboys. And even after RGIII got injured in the last game, we STILL won. If this isn’t a sign of an impending apocalypse, I don’t know what is.

See? Indisputable evidence that that world will be ending in exactly one week.

So what should you do?

That depends. If you’re planning to survive the apocalypse, you should probably stock up on all the apocalypse essentials: shotguns, bottled water, Leonardo DiCaprio dvds, a generator (to run whatever you’re going to watch the dvds on), non-perishable food items, and a zombie-English dictionary.

And, most importantly, Will Smith.  Because if Hollywood has taught us anything, it’s that no matter what the cause of the end of the world, Will Smith can not only survive it, he can also save the fractured remnants of society.

But if you’re willing to throw in the towel and embrace the end of the world, as I am (I don’t do well with zombies. And the only bottled water that my boyfriend will drink costs like $15 for a six pack. Seriously? It’s water. It comes out of the tap AND the sky for free. That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard of it my life. Yet another sign that the world is ending: people will spend that much money on WATER. Bring on the apocalypse please, I’m done), your preparations can be a lot more fun.

For example, you know the Ten Days of Repentance in Judaism, when you’re supposed to go around apologizing for all the wrongs that you’ve done to people? I plan to spend the next seven doing the opposite: I’m going to go around telling people EXACTLY what I think of them. I mean, the world is ending, there won’t be any consequences. And I have a few people who I’ve been holding back on for YEARS. This will be awesome. Unless you’re one of the people who has wronged me. In which case I’m about to use the present that I got my father for Hanukkah to tell you what an [expletive deleted] [expletive deleted] [expletive deleted] [expletive deleted] you are.

And all that dieting and exercising I’ve been doing this year? To hell with that! You can’t undo a year’s worth of effort in one week, so I’m eating whatever I want this week.

A whole pizza? Sure! Eighty-seven cookies? Why not! As long as my jeans still fit on Friday when the world ends, it’s all good.

Time to max out those credit cards too. There’s no way you’ll have to pay that debt off, so buy whatever you want. It’s your America folks!

What’s the only thing more fun than spending money you don’t have? That’s right! It’s looting! Go crazy! Take what you want! Why yes, I WOULD like to help myself to a Maserati! Thank you for asking. Oh, it was yours? That’s a shame, it’s mine now. And the beauty of this plan is that when EVERYONE starts looting, the cops will be too busy to do much about it. So yeah, a few unlucky souls might get caught and spend their last week locked up, but in this case, the odds are ever in your favor.

Then it’s time to mess with peoples’ heads. Because really, that’s my primary joy in life anyway as a teacher. All you really need to do it this time is a good pair of wire cutters. Grab those suckers and start cutting any wires you see. Power? Gone. Cable and internet? Gone. Phones? No one uses a landline anyway, that won’t really do anything. But if you can knock down a cell tower, you’ll terrify EVERYONE. And without the ability to check Twitter to see what’s happening, everyone will descend into mass panic and you can laugh at them for the last few minutes before the world actually ends.

Goodbye world, it’s been fun.

Unless of course, the Mayans were somehow wrong, and you follow this advice, in which case my lawyer would like me to publicly state that I am not responsible for anything that happens to you as a result of your own actions.

Happy looting!

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Thanksgiving may only be my 5th favorite holiday, but I’m still thankful for it

Ah, Thanksgiving. My fifth favorite holiday.

Mostly because it gets me out of school for four sweet, glorious, sleep-filled days.

Well not this year, because I’m going to LA at the crack of dawn tomorrow morning (literally. The VERY crack of dawn), and coming home on the red eye Saturday night because my dad is a complete and utter psychopath and the antithesis of sleep.

Why is it my fifth favorite holiday? Well Purim is the clear winner because you get to dress up in costumes and (they don’t tell you this part in Hebrew school!) you’re SUPPOSED to get so drunk that you can’t tell the difference between Haman and Mordechai. Jews know how to celebrate a holiday.

 Of course, all of our holidays are basically about the same thing. Someone or something tried to kill us. We won. Let’s eat.

Hanukkah is number two because I love presents. And the hot firemen who show up when I almost burn my house down every year. That alone makes it an awesome holiday, even though it’s a little weak on the religion side.

Thanksgiving probably used to be higher on the list, but the combination of crazy family drama (my desserts aren’t kosher enough for the very recently ultra-orthodox branch of my family. Hypocrisy at its finest considering how often I’ve seen them eat shellfish, but I digress.) and the major weight loss this year that makes me feel that food is my absolute arch enemy has lowered it in the ranking. Now it’s somewhere in between Rosh Hashanah (I like apples. I like honey. Win.) and Tu B’Shvat (which I think is the tree holiday. I’m not really sure what it is, but it doesn’t require that I do anything and I can claim it’s a holiday so I don’t have to do work).

I get to avoid the majority of the drama this year because we’ll be in LA, but that makes this year’s celebration a religious experience for my parents. Their religion? Adamism. They will be spending the long weekend worshipping at the altar of my brother’s feet, while I gag in the corner and try not to incur the wrath of Adam’s most fervent followers while looking at all the yummy food that I no longer eat.

Oh joy, rapture!

Sorry, do I sound bitter?

I’m really not.

And to prove it, here’s a list (in no particular order) of some of the things that I’m thankful for this year.

1) Bruce Springsteen is alive and well and touring. I know it’s an odd thing to be thankful for, but it’s been a hell of a year for me and Bruce! The future of the E Street Band looked uncertain at this time last year because of Clarence’s death, but I did four shows in the same week in the spring run, and then had my own personal Courtney Cox moment when I got pulled up on stage to dance with Jake Clemons, Clarence’s nephew. Seriously, one of the best nights of my life and I’m thankful that I got to experience that!

Hugging Bruce. Yeah.  It happened.
Dancing with Jake. Because he rules.
Campaigning with Bruce.  I still don’t know how this wasn’t the official Obama campaign ad.
Yup.  Just holding hands with Bruce Springsteen.  Typical day in the life of Sara Goodman.

2) My newspaper kids—I promised them a shout-out! It’s no secret that I was pretty miserable at my old school, and I still don’t want to be a teacher when I grow up. But my newspaper kids are the ones who get me out of bed in the morning. Okay, technically, my psychotic addiction to exercise gets me out of bed in the morning, but my newspaper kids are the ones who get me to school. Love you guys!

3) The new version of the Great Gatsby with Leonardo DiCaprio in it.  Leo + Gatsby? Oh, there aren’t words to describe the level of thankful that I am for this combination! If there was just a Bruce song in this movie, it would be the most perfect thing EVER in the history of mankind. Just saying.

4) Obama winning! Woohoo! I don’t have to get my ass back in the kitchen and make you a pie!

5) My super awesome boyfriend, who I am sending home for Thanksgiving with a pie that I made. Not because I had to because Romney won, but because I WANT to. See the difference? (But seriously, I’m thankful that this year, when I have to deal with my family, I’m no longer the sad, pathetic, schoolmarm-ish spinster. Not that I ever was, but I was treated that way, which was almost as bad. He seriously quoted Springsteen to me at 7am yesterday. Epic win.)

6) Rosie. That little furball ruined the carpet in my apartment, pretty much destroyed my leather sofas, and has basically destroyed everything else I love. But she’s my baby, and I’m grateful that the little demon is in my life every day.

7) My parents. They annoy the bejeesus out of me. They call me every three minutes with absolutely nothing to say, try to run my life, yell at me constantly, and are generally pretty mean to me. Because they love me very much. They won’t SAY that. But they show it through the constant need to talk to me and the presents they buy me instead of saying they’re sorry when they’re REALLY mean to me (or in my mom’s case, when she creeps me out by picking out baby clothes. STOP IT MOM!)  But my mom did FIND me number 5 on my list, so thanks for that too… JUST STOP BEING CREEPY!

8) That my best friend’s divorce is final. Seriously, I did a little happy dance when that came through. She’s the best and deserves the best and now she has a chance to find it, which I am VERY thankful for!

9) The people who buy and read my books! Someday, when I’m a famous author, you get to say you were reading me before everyone else. You’re my Obie (the Bruce fans get that one) and I appreciate and love you all!

10) Cake. Do I need to explain this one?  (The people who got the joke just died laughing, I promise.)

11) RGIII. Again, no explanation needed. He is the Luke Skywalker of the DC area. He is our hope. He is our future. He will hopefully not kiss his own sister like Luke Skywalker did. But if he does, it’s okay. Because the Redskins suck significantly LESS with him in town.

12) The block feature on Facebook and Twitter.  Some of you know why I’m so thankful for this one. And to Verizon, yes even Verizon, for allowing me to block phone numbers when stalking gets scary.  Thanks guys.

13) Apple products. They all just work, and they work together, and they can do anything and everything. (Hint hint Nick.)

14) Black Friday sales. Because losing weight was REALLY a ploy to get my mother to buy me new clothes. It’s working beautifully.

 

15) Sushi. I’m a newbie, but I’m obsessed. It rocks.

Obviously this isn’t an all-inclusive list, but it’s a start. And thinking about what we’re thankful for is really what this holiday is about.

That and carbo-loading for all the Black Friday shopping! Stock up on that stuffing and cornbread now! You’re gonna need it to keep your strength up for tomorrow!

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

Let’s take a cue from Egypt and free ourselves from Dan Snyder’s tyranny. Viva la resistance!

There’s a lot of talk in the news right now about the unrest caused by Egypt’s ousting of President Hosni Mubarak after 18 days of protesting his 30-year pseudo-democratic reign.

No one knows exactly what’s going to happen in Egypt as of right now, and people all over the world are watching to see if whoever comes to power next will be the savior that Egypt wants, the peacekeeper that the Western world wants, both, or neither.

But more concerning in several situations are the copycat protests in other governments under similarly non-democratic rule. And while, in theory, these revolutions should be good for the people of these nations and should bring about a higher level of equality and rights for all citizens, people are worried about new autocrats rising to power in a very out-of-the-frying-pan-into-the-fire type of scenario.

After all, revolutions are, like the flu, weddings, babies and Bieber Fever, often contagious. The people of other nations see that Egypt was able to shatter a seemingly-unbreakable leader and want to do the same thing in their own lands, for their own people.

And in one case in particular, I think this is a necessary step toward providing the freedom and respect that all people should be entitled to. Because really, there is only one leader who so grossly financially rapes the denizens of his territory as he rules with an iron-fist to destroy all that his people have spent their lifetimes believing in. And whenever a brave soul tries to hold this leader accountable for his inhumane and tyrannical ways, he hides behind that all-encompassing shield of the religion card, insisting that those who wish to free themselves from his iron grip are infringing on his rights to his religious views.

No, I don’t mean the leaders of the Muslim world, many of whom strip their women of all rights while hiding them behind veils.

Nor do I mean the North Korean government, who threaten the lives and safety of their neighbors.

Nor am I encouraging revolt even in a situation where it is probably necessary, in the case of the Dalai Lama who is kept in exile, unable to return to his palace in Tibet.

No, my friends. There is only one place in the entire world that is in greater need of rebellion than any of these places. Only one people who so desperately need to take inspiration from the Egyptian people—those brave souls who finally decided they could take no more and had to fight back, no matter the cost. Only one people, who are being kept from the greatness that they so wish to achieve by a tyrannical despot, whose very name is enough to make his people cringe with shame and make his enemies rejoice in the damage he has done to his people.

I refer, of course, to Redskins owner Dan Snyder.

Dan Snyder, who gouges the loyal fans in every way possible to make a few extra dollars that he will then spend defending his ridiculous image in the media.

Dan Snyder, who spends obscene sums of money on players who cannot and will not help our team return to greatness, while letting players who could restore the honor once associated with the Washington DC football team waste away or leave the city.

Dan Snyder, who punishes coaches with atrocious public humiliation for not being able to perform under the impossible conditions that he has created for them.

Dan Snyder, who is revered by Cowboys fans, Giants fans, and Eagles fans for having utterly destroyed the Redskins franchise.

Dan Snyder, who is in the midst of a lawsuit with a DC-based newspaper, claiming that a picture of him with scribbled on horns is an anti-Semitic slur instead of the (perfectly justified) demonization of him by fans who are tired of paying twenty extra dollars to park two miles from the stadium. Fans who are tired of paying $8 for a Coors Light (which as we all know, shares the unfortunate characteristic with “love in a canoe” as being f***ing close to water). Fans who are tired of the constant belittlement and shame that comes from wearing a Redskins jersey, even after we’ve managed to win a game or two.

Now before you try to sue me Danny boy, please know that I speak as a fellow member of the tribe. And as a Jew, let me assure you that we, the loyal Redskins fans, don’t hate you because you’re Jewish. We hate you because you’ve emptied our wallets to watch our team lose week after week, month after month, year after year, decade after decade. If you took our money and used it in efforts to truly revitalize the team, we would give it to you gladly. But in the current system, we cannot help but despise you. And we would feel the same way if you were a Christian, a Muslim, a Hindu, a Buddhist, a Wiccan, a Scientologist, an atheist, a Muppet, God, the Devil, Bruce Springsteen or Glenn Beck.

Your spiritual beliefs don’t bother us. The fact that our team can’t hold it together enough to even be in contention for the playoffs once in awhile, however, damns you irreparably in our eyes.

So my fellow Washingtonians, it is time to rise up and protest as the Egyptians did. And just like in biblical and modern-day Egypt, the righteous shall win out against the tyrant.

Our country was founded on the idea that all men are created equal and that no man should stand as an unopposed dictator, ruling his people as his whims dictate. How have we, the people of our nation’s capital, forgotten that most basic tenet that our lives were created from?

It won’t be easy. And it will probably take more than 18 days of peaceful protests to get his attention. And some of us will probably lose our houses and have to sell off belongings that we value, because Dan Snyder will surely charge us an arm and a leg to park wherever we are protesting him. But the time is here. Our time is now. Grab your Redskins gear and flags and join me as we take to the streets to regain our team.

(But please pack your own beer and snacks before you join the movement. Our revolution is going to run out of steam REALLY quickly if we have to pay for parking every day AND pay the Fed Ex Field prices for beer and hot dogs. Even Dan Snyder couldn’t afford to spend 18 days protesting with those prices.)

Viva la Resistance!

The 11th Commandment: Thou shalt leave a note when thou hittest a parked car

Yesterday, something so vile, disgusting and inhumane happened that I’m actually loath to talk about it.

While I spent my day from sunup to sundown (both of which I missed) educating the youth of America and helping to ensure a better future for our world, a vicious hate crime of epic proportions was perpetrated against me.

Some unholy minion of evil HIT MY PARKED CAR.

Even this, however, I could forgive, under the right circumstances. People call most collisions “accidents” for a reason, after all.

But whoever committed this immoral atrocity also violated the most rudimentary and fundamental law that separates humans from animals: he or she did not leave a note.

I immediately jumped to the most rational possible conclusion, which was that Verizon had hunted me down and lashed out against me in the most unforgivable manner possible as retribution for my (completely warranted) campaign against them.

Then I realized that was super unlikely because they can’t even get their acts together enough to keep my internet and cable functioning, let alone figure out where I work and which car is mine all in enough time to arrive there during normal business hours.

So unless Verizon is MUCH better at revenge than they are at providing reliable cable and internet service, (and factoring in the fact that I work at a high school) it was probably a teenage driver who hit my car.

Which doesn’t make it any better. Hitting someone’s car without leaving a note is one of the most reprehensible acts that a member of a civilized society can commit.

It’s a little known fact, but when Moses went up onto Mount Sinai, God actually presented him with ELEVEN commandments, not the ten that we’ve all been taught. But the Israelites had no idea what a car was and therefore discarded the holy eleventh commandment: Thou shalt not hittest another man’s car without leaving a note with thine name, phone number, and insurance information.

You want to know why we keep having tragedies and natural disasters? Start following the eleventh commandment and maybe the world will be a better place.

As a strict adherent to the sacred eleventh commandment, I am personally of the belief that there is a special circle in hell for people who hit other people’s cars without leaving a note.

No, they don’t belong in the VERY deepest circle of hell, which as we all know is reserved for Adolf Hitler, Saddam Hussein, Martha Stewart, Stephenie Meyer (the chick who wrote the Twilight books), and those people who put their children on leashes—that level, of course, is ruled by the master of all that is dark and cruel and evil. He goes by many names. Some call him Satan. Some call him Beelzebub. Some call him the Space Cowboy. Some call him the Gangster of Love. Some people call him Maurice. But most of the modern world just knows him as Dick Cheney.

The eleventh commandment violators wind up in the second deepest level of hell.

Yes.

I mean the circle that is presided over by Dan Snyder. Because having him in charge of that particular eternal torture chamber is the ONLY way to ensure that it will suck enough to truly punish these monsters who are willing to disobey the laws of civilized society.

Now I don’t want you to think that I’m unreasonable. I DO understand that there are some circumstances under which it is not only acceptable, but actually advisable to hit someone’s car and NOT leave a note. In fact, there are three (and ONLY three) situations in which there is no need to leave a note.

Scenario 1: You are Jack Bauer. Granted, if you’re Jack Bauer, the car you’re driving was commandeered *cough*-stolen-*cough* at gunpoint while you were chasing terrorists and essentially saving the free world. And I’m not sure if it’s really YOUR responsibility to leave a note when you hit a car with a stolen car in the first place.

But if it WAS you who hit my car, Mr. Bauer, don’t worry, I completely understand.

Unless you were NOT chasing terrorists down for once and were really on your way to pick up your dry cleaning, in which case I expect an apology and a check for the damages.

Just kidding. Please don’t shoot me.

Scenario 2: You are Legend. I mean you are literally Will Smith. And the entire world’s population has died out due to a cure for cancer that you created and that went horribly wrong, and the only other living creatures are horrible vampire/zombie monsters that are trying to get you.

However, in this scenario, it’s only okay to hit other cars and not leave a note if you’re 1) driving at full speed away from the vampire/zombie monsters in the middle of the night when they can come out and attack you, and 2) spending your days working on finding a cure and therefore saving mankind.

If you’re just driving around during the day, it doesn’t matter if everyone else is dead, you still need to leave a note. In fact, that’s probably WHY the vampire/zombie creatures were so pissed off. They didn’t want to eat you. They were mad because you hit one of THEIR cars and didn’t leave a note. Vampire/zombies deserve common courtesy when you mess up their property too, you know!

Some legend YOU are.

Jerk.

Scenario 3: You’re in a Delorean and you have to make it to 88 miles per hour to get back in time and when you arrive in the past, you hit a car that wasn’t there when you left in 1985.

But be warned, this scenario ONLY applies if you’re using the time machine to see a Springsteen show from the late 1970s through the early 1980s. If you’re messing with the space time continuum to ensure that your parents kiss at the Enchantment Under the Sea dance so that you can be born, you’re still expected to leave a note.

And if you’re not bringing me with you to see Springsteen, and you hit MY car, I will travel back in time Terminator-style to kill your mother and make sure that you’re never born. But unlike Arnold, I’ll actually get the job done. Then I’ll go see Bruce in 1978. Because really, what’s the point of time travel if you’re just going to go hang out with your dorky teenage parents? Lame.

So, to whoever hit my car and didn’t leave a note, I’m going to give you one day to find me and make it right. You have exactly 24 hours to fess up.

And if it turns out that you fit into one of the three aforementioned acceptable scenarios, all will be forgiven. But the odds aren’t in your favor because Jack Bauer isn’t real, the human race hasn’t been wiped out by a killer cancer vaccine, and no one took me back in time to the 1970s. Which means you should be very, very afraid about what awaits you in the afterlife.

Because trust me, you’re going to be BEGGING to hang out with Adolf, Saddam, Martha and Dick Cheney in the deepest circle of hell after ten minutes of being tortured under Dan Snyder’s evil regime.

Just ask any Redskins fan.

There is NOTHING worse than a Washingtonian who likes the Cowboys. NOTHING.

I know I said in an earlier posting that the worst kind of football fans are the bandwagon fans (particularly the girls who like the Ravens because they have purple jerseys), but I was wrong. There is a group worse than the bandwagon fans.

This particular sick, twisted, unholy contingent deserves to be wiped from the face of the earth. Or at the very least, shut up in a cave somewhere until football season ends.

Yes.

I’m talking about the DC area Cowboys fans.

We all know some of them. And they are the lowest of the low. There is nothing worse than someone who lives in DC and supports our mortal enemy. It would be like a University of Maryland student liking Duke. There’s just something unnatural and wrong about anyone who would do that.

Now, there is ONE exception to this rule: if you are actually FROM Dallas, then I have no issue with you. You’re allowed to like the Cowboys in that one case. I’ll still hate your guts, but not QUITE as much as I hate the native Washingtonians who like the Cowboys.

I have several theories on how this group of people, to be known from here on out as Jackass Traitors*, came to exist.

*I’m only calling them Jackass Traitors on the blog to be polite. What I REALLY call them probably should not appear in print.

Theory number 1: These sad, pathetic individuals received no love from their parents in childhood, and therefore, like children who act up in school, never learned the difference between bad attention and good attention. So by becoming fans of the Devil’s Team (I don’t care what anyone says, they’re NOT “America’s Team.” If you believe that, the Taliban wins.), they get attention from people around them. True, it’s in the form of hatred and scorn, but it’s still attention. 

Theory number 2: They were dropped on their heads as babies. Sad. But it would explain it.

Theory number 3: They are part of a covert terrorist operation designed to cause chaos and unrest in our nation’s capital. Think about it. It makes a lot of sense. Al Qaida plants a few hundred Cowboy “fans” in the DC area, then sits back and laughs as we focus our attention on trying to destroy them instead of paying attention to whatever terrorist plot is going on in the Middle East. You hear that Bin Laden? I’m onto you!

Theory number 4: They have no souls. Like ginger kids. If you have no soul, then you have no reason to be loyal to your home team.

I’m not sure which reason is responsible for the Jackass Traitors who seek to destroy the unity of the DC area, but what I DO know is that when I see those blue jerseys with that stupid star on them in my hometown, I’m filled with a murderous rage. And I know I’m not the only one.

So as the first game of the season approaches, all of you DC area Cowboys fans should be warned: if any of you jerks are wearing Cowboys jerseys tomorrow, it’s going to look like a scene out of 28 Days Later. Because the rest of my fellow Redskins fans and I WILL have the rage virus if we have to look at that.

Go Skins!

I bleed burgundy and gold… even though we suck

I am a Redskins fan.

Go ahead. Laugh. I can take it.

I know. The Lions beat us last year. The Lions.

Are you done laughing and mocking me yet?

I’ll wait.

Okay, to get back to what I was saying, I am a Redskins fan.

I can’t help it, and I don’t want to. I’ve been a ‘Skins fan since before I was born, and I’m pretty sure that I’ll continue to be one after I die. (Unless some other team takes a page from the Book of Mormon and start converting the dead, in which case I want it stated on my tombstone that I was born and died a Redskins fan.)

My dad has been a season-ticket holder since 1963. And I’m pretty sure that the number of games he’s missed since then is lower than his shoe size. The soundtrack of my childhood was filled with my father screaming loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear him, either in warrior-like pride or a murderous rage, depending on how our team was doing. It was never necessary to ask what had happened in the games that were played past my bedtime; my father’s howling was a more descriptive commentary than anything that any former players could ever provide. (And it was also the source of most of the colorful language that I now use while stuck in traffic. Thanks dad!)

When I was in high school, my father sat me down for a serious talk. I immediately assumed that I was in deep trouble. He invited me to sit on the white living room sofa, which my brother and I were ONLY ever allowed to sit on when we were about to be murdered over something we had done, or when we were being told that someone had died. To this day, I’m scared to sit on those sofas.

That time though, I wasn’t in trouble and no one was dead. My dad said the following to me:

“You can marry someone who’s not Jewish. I won’t be thrilled, but I will understand. You can marry a Republican. I’ll have nothing to say to him, but I will understand. But if you marry a Cowboys fan, you’re out of the family, and you’re dead to us. We’ll sit shivah for you, and it’s over.”

And because I was on the white sofa, I knew that he meant business.

He later proved his point when I brought home a boyfriend who was a Republican Baptist. He loved the Redskins though, so my dad had no problem with him.

As a lifelong ‘Skins fan, there are several groups of people whom I hate more than anything else in the world. Literally. Like on the level that I hate Osama Bin Laden and George W. Bush.

All other Redskins fans already know what three of these things are: The Cowboys, the Giants, and the Eagles. And even more than the teams themselves, their fans.

I’m not going to go too far into the rivalry there (partially because I don’t have much that I CAN say until we have a better season than last season), because I have discovered a group of people that I hate if not MORE than the Cowboys, then at least as much.

The bandwagon fans.

Is there anything worse on this planet (other than Dan Snyder) than people who only like a team when they’re winning? This is the ultimate hypocrisy. Think about it, do you stop loving your child because he wets the bed? Do you stop loving your puppy because she ate your favorite shoe? If I can say no to that last one (and unfortunately, I know from experience that I can), then no REAL fan can stop loving his or her team because they lost a few games. Even if one of those games was to the freaking Lions.

As a Marylander though, I have a particular group of bandwagon fans who make me the most angry: Ravens fans.

If you live in Baltimore, are old enough to have been upset when the Colts left for Indiana, or are young enough to have never been a Redskins fan, then I have no problem with you. You are entitled to like the Ravens. Enjoy your purple jerseys.

If, however, you were a Redskins fan until the Ravens won the Superbowl and then switched your allegiance, you will be forever banned from watching any sporting event when I rule the world. (I also plan to get rid of Delaware entirely when I rule the world. But I’ll explain that plan another time.)

There’s only one group of Ravens fans though who are worse than the former-Redskins fans: the girls who wear Ravens gear because they like the purple jerseys. I hate to break it to you ladies, but that doesn’t impress your boyfriend even though you’re wearing a football jersey. It makes you look like an idiot. Man up, pick a team, and stick with them till the bitter end.

That’s what I’ve done. I will love the Redskins even if they never have another winning season.

But when they DO get better someday (Come on God, DC needs this!), my fellow REAL fans and I are going to be far happier about it than any of the bandwagon fans could ever be.

And if we win against the Cowboys, even better.