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by: kate28   (07/10/2008)

Today we salute you, Mr. Cruise Ship Entertainer.
When Tinsel Town and Broadway said "no,"
The cruise ship said "yes."
(ohh yeah)
You may never get your star on Hollywood’s walk of fame,
But you do get free access to the salad bar
(mmm croutons)
Your peppy numbers bring the audience to their feet,
Which is impressive, because most of them use walkers.
(osteoporosis)
Your motto: The show must go on…
And on…
And on…
So crack open an ice cold Bud Light, Prince of the Port Hole.
You can swab our poop deck,
Anytime.
We Salute You
1,508 Clicks

by: kate28   (08/28/2008)

Today we salute you, Mr. Gasoline BBQ Starter.
Never mind charcoal chimneys
And easy lighting brickettes.
The only way to start a real barbecue
Is with a gallon of 93 Octane
And a big book of matches
(light up the sky)
Who needs eyebrows?
You're hungry,
And you've seven pounds of lamb shanks ready to go.
(that's a lot of kebabs)
You don't just defy convention,
You defy warning labels,
And common sense.
(very low IQ)
So crack open an ice cold Bud Light, oh Prince of the Pyrotechnic.
Because no one makes a backyard mushroom cloud like you.
We Salute You
1,482 Clicks

by: kate28   (08/02/2008)

Today we salute you, Mr. Camouflage Suit Maker.
Your amazing skills of deception can trick a deer into thinking we’re just a tree out for a walk,
Or a shrub having a cup of coffee.
(shrub havin’ coffee)
Tirelessly you perfect your artistry:
The squiggly black line.
The blob.
The slightly larger blob.
All in spectacular shades of green
(green green green)
Thanks to you we look fabulous in or out of the forest,
With a suit that can easily be accessorized with face paint and a few twigs.
(dressed to kill)
So crack open an ice cold Bud Light, Mr. Camouflage Suit Maker.
Because when it comes to blending in, You really stand out.
We Salute You
1,474 Clicks

by: kate28   (05/27/2008)

Today we salute you Mr. Boneless Buffalo Wing Inventor.
How do you improve upon a meat that is breaded, buttered, double-fried
And dipped in blue cheese dressing?
Remove the only part that doesn't contain fat.
(don't need no chicken bone)
Gone now is the race to eat the drumsticks first,
Leaving the wings for the other poor suckers.
(hands off my drummies)
Is it leg?
Is it wing?
Is it rear end?
Now every chunk is as identical as it is indistinguishable.
(hope I'm not eating rear end)
So crack open an ice cold Bud Light,
Boneless Wing Mastermind.
Because we don't have a bone to pick with you.
We Salute You
1,468 Clicks

by: kate28   (09/10/2008)

Today we salute you, Mr. Hawaiian Shirt Pattern Designer
You provide us with colorful loungewear capable of hiding any stain we can dish out.
(gettin sloppy)
Who else could create flowered shirts that are still so unmistakeably masculine,
A single shirt that matches every pair of pants we own,
And really sets off a white belt?
(looking good now)
Sure women say they hate them,
But inside they're all swooning for the big kahuna.
(ooh kahuna!)
So crack open an ice cold Bud Light, Mr. Hawaiian Shirt Pattern Designer.
Your shirts may not be made in Hawaii,
But Taiwan is an island, too.
We Salute You
1,462 Clicks

by: kate28   (05/27/2008)

Today we salute you Mr. Deer-Hunter.
You, the burly man with the tattoos from 1984 have proven to the world that yes,
A human being wearing camouflaged clothing with scent stopping fibers,
Night vision goggles,
A three thousand foot viewing scope,
A fifteen thousand dollar military sniper rifle,
And tank-armor piercing bullets,
Can indeed kill a female deer drinking from a stream.
You have proven that not only can ducks and turkeys be stopped by your quick hand and pinpoint accurate shot,
But so can black bears and even mountain lions.
So crack open an ice-cold Bud Light, Mr. Outdoor-sie,
Because we all know,
It is men like you that will conquer this world of primal beasts and animals,
Until, of course, Wal-Mart runs out of bullets.
We Salute You
1,457 Clicks

by: kate28   (08/28/2008)

Today we salute you, Mr. Furniture Assembly Manual Writer.
Thanks to you,
People everywhere can simply purchase furniture,
Drive it home,
Open a box,
And go completely insane.
(drivin' me crazy)
Knowing we can't read Chinese, Dutch, or German,
You thoughtfully include pictures.
Pictures that look nothing like the item purchased.
(no sprechen ze Deutsch now)
Insert piece A into slot B,
Peg C into hole D,
Then curse,
Cry,
And smash with hammer.
(ohh nooo)
So crack open an ice cold Bud Light, oh Mistro of the Manual.
You make it so simple a monkey could do it.
A rocket scientist monkey.
(that's one smart monkey)
We Salute You
1,454 Clicks

by: kate28   (08/28/2008)

Today we salute you, Mr. Half-Time Shooting Contest Contestant.
For the promise of free t-shirts,
Or a year supply of socks,
You take to the court ready to put on a clinic in abject humiliation.
(take 'em to school, yeah)
You keenly sense how much the crowd yearns for your failure,
And you deliver.
(from DOWNTOWN yeah)
It's hard to make a shot from half-court,
But it's even harder to make one when you shoot like an 80-year-old grandmother.
(you're a staaaar)
So crack open an ice cold Bud Light, Admiral of the Airball.
You may not have won that new car,
But you won something a lot more valuable,
Our hearts.
We Salute You
1,448 Clicks

by: kate28   (08/28/2008)

Today we salute you, Mr. Golfball Washer Inventor.
The time-honored game of golf
Is the sport of kings.
And kings don't play with dirty balls.
(I don't play dirty)
Because of you,
We can give our balls a sudsy tumble at every tee.
The result?
Clean, shiny balls,
Every time we whack 'em.
(flyin' hiiiigh)
Drive after drive.
Putt after putt.
Hole after hole.
Our dimpled balls stay clubhouse clean.
(keep on drivin')
So crack open an ice cold Bud Light, Mr. Launderer on the Links.
You are in our thoughts,
Every time we jiggle our balls.
We Salute You
1,441 Clicks

by: kate28   (05/29/2009)

Today we salute you,
Mr. Losing Locker Room Reporter.
Wherever a semi-naked man is crying like a school girl because he lost a ball game,
You are there.
(so sad you're bad now)
Why did they lose?
Because some millionaire dropped the ball.
A millionaire who needs a mic stuck in his face on national television.
(oh noo)
Go ahead,
Wear your cashmere blazer to work,
Nobody's going to pour champagne on it where you're going.
(they're just losers)
So crack open an ice cold Bud Light, oh Bringer of Bad News.
You're not a big loser,
You just interview them.
(don't wanna talk abouuut it)
We Salute You
1,441 Clicks


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