Hit the Road, Rick. And Don’t Come Back No More, No More…

There I was with Monday’s blog about my hemorrhoids primed and ready, set up on auto-schedule to post itself at 8:am.

But, then it happened:

Late Friday afternoon Rick Sanchez shoved his oversized loafer into his babbling maw for the last time on CNN. Adios, Rick. The Cubano has left the building.

It’s a shame, really. I watched Rick’s List occasionally— okay, watched might be playing it fast and loose with the word. Often my TV was tuned in to CNN while his show was on. As I tended to a myriad of chores around the house, I was able to listen in and wait for his next gaffe. He was entertaining, our Mr. Sanchez. Kind of like the bumbling uncle we all have - not the alcoholic one, or the one that’s a bit too grabby-hands. I’m talking about the affable one prone to inadvertently tossing in a malapropism or two while telling you an inappropriate story, usually involving a fart or boob joke.

So now Uncle Sanchez is no longer with us. I am sad to see him go - but seriously, it’s not like this is the first time he’s said something that either made me cringe or do a double take, causing me to turn toward the television with a duster in one hand and a pile of dirty laundry in the other.

Remember that ‘he’s the cotton pickin’President!’ thing? Yeah, classy. I had a feeling he'd been waiting a long time to work that one in, but I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and presume it was a slip of the tongue.

How about the time he had a bit of trouble locating Hawaii on the large studio map? That was painful to watch.

And let's not forget the stun gun incident. Really, Rick? You did that of your own volition AND thought there was even the remotest of possibilities Jon Stewart, Colbert and the rest of the mainstream media WOULDN’T play it on a loop for the better part of a week?

Even my nine year old autistic kid who’s barely verbal probably saw that one coming.

Rick, it’s kind of hard to feel sorry for someone who went on live radio and basically bent over and shat on the hand that signs his paycheck. Thinking those kinds of things - well that’s one thing. Saying them aloud - that’s your one way ticket to tool-ville, my friend, where you’ll be walking the buffet-line of shame along with the likes of the Huckabees, Becks and Limbaughs of the world.

One good thing came out of this whole mess, Rick. At least it happened late on Friday afternoon. You didn’t have to wake up the next morning to every media outlet splashing your face all over the screen while you tried to get your morning java down. No, you had a couple of days to hide out and lick your wounds before this kind of stuff started -

(behold, my song parody. Yes, that is my voice. I've got a cold. Don't judge me. PS: The blog about my hemorrhoids will be up tomorrow.)