I wish I was making this up. In Central Florida today, a group of sexual offenders are rallying together to demand more rights. You’re paying attention, right? A group of sexual offenders (men who should be hiding their heads in shame; men who murderers view as the scum of the earth) are getting together in a big group and demanding equal rights. This is too funny. I mean seriously, why did I even get an imagination if this is the type of shit that the real world can produce? My God.

The St. Louis Cardinals have technically clinched the Central Division. But because their magic number is one (they win the tie-breaker), they are refusing to celebrate until the number gets all the way down to zero. In a related story, I am refusing to call myself dead broke because I was sifting through my car’s ashtray the other day and I came up with ninety seven cents. We can all learn from Tony LaRussa.

Michael Moore needs to ease up. George Bush did not cause global warming, Hurricane Katrina or the City of New Orleans (by the way, when is Mayor Nagin gonna apologize for his complete lack of an evacuation plan? I mean really, I wouldn’t trust that dude to organize my closet. He’d screw it up, and then scream at me until I got it done). I know Michael Moore hates George W. Bush. I’m not a big fan, myself. But can we stick to blaming Bush for his religious conservatism, his bias towards his elite friends, his regime’s unfair favoring of the oil industry, the unnecessary slaughter of thousands in Iraq, the huge deficit and the fact that he hates black people? I mean, with all that blame already noted, why would you want to make insanely paranoid statements about Bush causing Hurricane Katrina? Oh yeah, you’re Michael Moore. That’s how you get down.

Well, football season has started, the Cardinals are about to clinch the National League Central Division, and hockey is coming back. So naturally, girls are now asking me out. This is something I will never get. All women seem to have this innate ability to sense when my number one priority is not getting laid, and then they come find me and make me choose between a baseball game and a date. It’s uncanny. Someone should research this. I’d do it, but between the girls and the sports and the work and the writing, well, I’m a freaking busy dude.

And finally, because this is one of those entries where I leave fluidity and organization stranded like a bloated corpse in a sea of crap, I leave you with this, which I saw on a bumper sticker:

Real Women Wear Handcuffs.

See new Points in Case posts via Twitter or Facebook.

Take comedy writing classes at The Second City - 10% off with code PIC.