As you all know, Barking Carnival is in the process of seeking venture capital to improve the blog and to create the first international transgender foosball league. Pursuant to our agreement with Cooper Industrique, we've allowed the CEO's son Clipper to pen some articles for us. Please let us know if you'd like to hear more from Clipper and his unique voice. - yours, Scipio
What’s up skanks? It’s me, Clipper Cooper. We probably met at Pan-Hellenic one year. I’m assuming you were Greek, obviously.
I’m a massive Texas fan and I go to every home football game, except the morning ones or those that interfere with my Freemasonry. My friends marvel at my intensity. One time – after a poor effort by Fozzy Vondrell - I threw a whole tray of jello shots against the suite window and drew a firm "tsk!" from my Daddy’s third wife, Bobbi. I don’t care. I’ll do what I like. Bobbi can stuff it, quite honestly. I bleed Orange.
I know you just Googled me. Yes, I’m that Clipper Cooper. Ha ha ha ha!!!!!
A few years back, I was in the Daily Texan and some other periodicals for making pledges wear blackface to a How Stella Got Her Groove Back screening at the Texas Union. The campus troublemakers went nuts. Whatev. Hello – our house had a black cook and an African-American landscaper (is black and African-American the same? It’s unclear). And we’re the racists?!?! My frat also gave pretty heavily to a foundation for Fat Stuttering Mexican Kids. Have you? Thought so.
To increase my "cultural sensitivity", the Dean of Students made me read The Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison. It had nothing to do with superpowers. That’s like titling a book Laser Man vs. Hawk Beast and then making it about gardening. Uncool. I believe that is libel and/or plagiarism, but I’m not technically an attorney at law.
To me, racial stuff is just like the movie Crash. Especially the parts that were in slow-motion. Like the Matt Dillon character, I could save some ethnic's life (perhaps texting for paramedics promptly after a stabbing, which are common in Filipino neighborhoods), but I would blackball that Filipino’s country club application because he’d loiter on the greens, dress outlandishly, and lodge spaniel bones in the pool filter.
Does that make me racist? Or just very tasteful?
There probably is no right answer, which is what the movie Crash says and what Ralph Ellison thinks.
Anyway, it all blew over and didn’t impact my ability to successfully land a VP position at my Dad’s firm. We’re in real estate and synergy and paradigms, possibly robotics. The Cooper Industrique (we are incorporated in Haiti for tax reasons) motto: Building Yesterday’s Tomorrow Today Right Now Forever. Chills.
Anyway, enough about the Clipster. I’ve got a game to breakdown.
Even though golf is my sport, my bros at Barking Carnival asked me to write a column talking about the Wyoming game watching experience since I have primo seats through a friend of my Dad who has a hobby ranch up here; I used to date his daughter Brooke when she was a Pi Phi (thanks for the seats, Mr. Giles-Millighan!!! I know Brooke will stop cutting on herself soon! We wish her well.)
Game verdict: lame. They should call this place LAME-arie. Might take a flight to Vegas and hit the private poker table at Bellaggio. Last time I was there, kicked it with Padraig Harrington and we were bros by the end of the night. Exchanged numbers, but I’m waiting for him to call first.
So why is it LAME-arie?
You should know that it’s nowhere near Jackson Hole. There is no scene of which to speak. No one knows who the good families are and the desolation makes you understand why Maggie Gyllenhaal takes it from The Joker in Bareback Mountain.
Second, there isn’t a Ritz, much less a JW Marriott or a W. It’s all Days Inns and Motel 8’s. I guess if a 40 thread count is your thing….
Third, I’m cold in a visor, button down, chinos, and boat shoes without socks. In freaking September! It's like late August in Kennebunkport!
Fourth, absence of classy escort services. And if I did find a girl, I’d dip her in a tank of hydrogen peroxide for an hour and a half and then light her on fire to get the reek of silver miners off of her.
Finally, the coup de grace, as the Spanish say, is that my iPhone reception is for crap. I can’t download apps, my text speeds are unacceptable, and it sounds like I’m speaking in Bobbi’s sensory deprivation tank that her guru makes her sit in. It has something to do with the fact that at 7,600 feet we are no longer orbiting the earth. Or mountains clog science.
Bottom line: I’m pretty sure that Wyoming sucks and we’re awesome this year. So if we’re focused, the win will happen because WE’RE TEXAS. I love that motto because growing up, my Dad would always say "WE’RE COOPERS!" if I questioned why we did certain things like bank in the Caymans, or wear yacht caps in church, or hate Presbyterians. It just says, that's how it is. No debate, right?
So, there’s your game breakdown. I’m off to Vegas, skanks.