Say it ain't so Melo.

I think I am going to puke.

Now before you assume I have launched into a new expose on bodily functions that involve smelly piles of goo, let me assure that is not my intention. But after reading what I did in the paper today, and then seeing it as Yahoo's number one story at that moment, I was sick. Rampaging murderous thugs and terrorists aside, it was the sports section that got me today. And I can sum it up in one word, Melo.

Who wasn't sick when the big 3 decided to amass together one of the finest teams ever bought? It didn't seem fair. When the Bulls had their run, they did it the old fashioned way: they drafted their team. Oh sure, there were the notable Bill Cartright and Dennis Rodman signings, but they were just pieces to the whole puzzle. No, we grew our own Big Three that won the first 3 Championships. Jordan, Grant, and Pippen were all true Bulls. But in today's market, it's all about the cheddar, and guys jump teams like rats jump a burning ship. And their sits the King, Lebron. The leagues best player that jilted his home team to form an All-Star team in Miami, and he isn't satisfied.

Just as I was beginning to believe that the Bulls now have a chance to compete by pursuing free agent Carmelo Anthony to play along with our home grown duo of Rose and Noah, it is being rumored that the Heat's stars are considering re-organizing their contracts to allow them to pursue Anthony. In the middle of the Championship, with back to back titles under their belt and a third on the way, they want more. And so, I think I am going to puke. If Anthony joins the 3 brats in Miami, he is a bigger sellout than they are. Where is the challenge in that? It will be like playing a college team every night. It will be a joke to the rest of the league.

I miss the days when you drafted your best players and they were good enough to win it all. It made it special. Walter Payton, Michael Jordan, Patrick Kane, Dan Hampton, Scottie Pippen, Jonathon Toews, Mike Singletary, Horace Grant, the list is long and proud. But will we ever get to see the names of Joakim Noah and Derek Rose reach that championship status? Are they good enough on their own? Maybe in a league where 4 rich assholes weren't allowed to decide the outcome of nearly 400 players.

Let's clear the air.

You ever hear, or utter for that matter, the phrase, "...he walks around like his shit don't stink?" Not to be taken literally, it does not assume the offender parades around with poop stained undies, but rather possesses an air of indifference that exudes, "I am better then you." But we all know that everyone's poop does stink. Some more than others, and at times, an adventurous dinner choice can leave one with enough gas and foul smelling detritus to make his or her presence felt in ways that it shouldn't. It might be even glamorous now to have stinky crap. Ever see the commercial for Poo-Pouri, with the hot Brit gal telling us about the motherlode she just dropped? Cracked me up. But dear readers I am here to inform you that yes, my shit stinks.

It's not that I go around crop dusting everyone in my general vicinity with built up noxious fumes all the time. I do on occasion, but that is not the point today. And it's not like I am some un-trained puppy leaving piles around the house because someone won't open the door in time. I use the lavatory for it's intended purpose: to dispose of my bodily excrement. Oh sure, there are plenty of other fine uses for the bathroom. To take a bath for instance, hence the name "bath" room. Or brushing ones teeth. Or combing one's hair. Or using makeup, hair gel, athletes foot spray, toe nail fungus remover, band-aids, nail polish remover, under arm deodorant, shaving cream, cake frosting, or whip cream. Hey, to each his own. But each of those uses CAN be done in the loo whereas the former HAS to be done there. It's not like I have some other option, wooded lot behind me with a pile of leaves not withstanding.

No, a mans home is his castle they say, and every castle has it's throne. And any good king sits on his throne once a day at his given time, dispensing his kingly duties. My time is every morning after a cup of coffee, somewhere in the business section of the paper. I am predictable, as much for the timing of the event as the odor that accompanies it. So it is with a dose of sincerity that I offer my humblest apology to anyone who has been offended my being human in the area of bodily waste. I will make every effort to quash the offending aromas with whatever means are available. Be it a ceiling fan, air freshener, a bottle of Poo-Pouri, a candle, or even an industrial sized laboratory chemical fume hood should I ever feel the need to relieve myself in a chem lab. But it's just me being human. Here's hoping the shit doesn't hit the fan.