Clooney used to be my favorite actor. I used to admire his talent, his charming manner, and his stupefying ability to not lose his hair. My family adored Clooney as well. Every time my mother saw him on TV, she’d point at his buttocks and scream, “Now that’s talent!” My father is not a man to gush about or compliment other men unless they’re athletes, but he did once look at Clooney and say, “At least he’s not a poof.” That’s quite the compliment coming from my old man.

In a world fraught with war, foreclosures, and horrendously bad reality television, Clooney and his movies made us feel happy again. We trusted him and loved him, and now the bastard betrayed us by bringing Renee Zellweger to Duluth. How could you, George? We thought you were our friend. That’s like bringing a coyote with mange to a dog show.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m sure someone loves Zellweger, in the same way that someone loved The Elephant Man or Richard Nixon. How many movies has her raspy trainwreck of a voice and whiny, depressing body language ruined? Cinderella Man, Cold Mountain, Nurse Betty, Chicago, Me Myself & Irene, Jerry Maguire. These are all movies I gladly would have seen in theaters if Zellweger had not been in them.

Well, maybe not Me Myself & Irene.

When I read about Clooney and Zellweger’s visit to Duluth on March 24, I had the same reaction as I did in 1995 when I saw Zellweger’s movie, Empire Records: “Wow, this would be great if that depressing-looking woman wasn’t ruining it.” Couldn’t Clooney have brought someone else? I’d rather he spent the entire press conference standing next to his mother, or a dead raccoon.

“But Paul, Zellweger is an award-winning actress!” Sure, she won an Oscar, something I’ll certainly never do, but that’s still no excuse for bringing her to Duluth. When the article on Clooney’s visit mentioned that he brought gifts, I had hoped for something thoughtful like fresh banana bread or jobs that don’t involve working in a mine. How disappointed I was to see that what he really brought was a horrendous hamster-faced donkey woman. Boo to you, sir! Boo to you!

From now on there will be restrictions on any person named George Clooney who visits Duluth. If he wants to come back, he must be screened prior to entry, to ensure he doesn’t bring wasteful things like Zellweger along with him. If we don’t crack down on this, he might come back next year with Lisa Kudrow or Shelley Long.

Just because big city people consider the Northland “backwoods” doesn’t mean you should accept whatever mediocre, second-rate crap that’s thrown at you. Stand up for yourselves and demand better, Duluth. Doesn’t Lake Superior have enough garbage floating in it without us having the chuck Clooney’s “gift” in there as well?

Every time you overuse and ruin these highest levels of profanity, we have to think up new curse words to signify the extremity of our unhappiness. If I get really upset, I have to settle for absurd insults like “pig fucker”. Really? “Pig fucker”? As a boy, if my father had shown his unhappiness by calling me a “pig fucker”, I would not have taken him as seriously as I did when he said, “You mow that lawn right fucking now.” There’s no comparison.

And don’t get me started on the overuse of the middle finger. Giving someone the finger is so commonplace now that I’m surprised cashiers don’t do it as you leave McDonald’s. “Here’s your order. Have a nice fucking day. (Smiles and flips the bird as the customer leaves)“.

We don’t have much extreme profanity left. The only insult I can think of that still freaks people out is “cunt”. Thank goodness for that wonderfully powerful word. If I get dumped by a girlfriend, it’s nice to know that right before I slam the door, I still have something to yell out that will send her into a fit of unbridled rage.

But how long will it last? Twenty years ago, calling someone a bitch would get you a slap in the face so hard that even God would feel the vibrations. Now the word “bitch” barely even gets an eyeroll as the insulted person scoffs and walks away. In 10 or 20 years, “cunt” might be an affectionate term for a girlfriend, like “bitch” is now.

Todd: “Hey guys, this is my bitch Tina.”

Rod: “Damn, bitch. You’re beautiful!”

Tina: “Aww, stop it guys. I’m blushing!”

I’m not sure when our society lost its way with curse words. Perhaps the change started in the 1960s when hippies made t-shirts okay to wear on weekdays, or in the 1980s when khaki pants became a staple of casual businesswear. Well I’ll tell you something, reader. I’m all for casual clothing, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let casual profanity ruin the power of my favorite word “fuck”. It’s time to save our precious words. I love fuck. I want fuck back. Let’s all work a little harder to make fuck classy again.

Soon the virus will spread to other floors, and then to other companies. Visiting executives will have morphed into sneezing, barfing monsters before they leave. Once the plague hits Starbucks, infecting the city’s main coffee reservoir, the world as we know it will shut down. Crops will die, medicine will not be delivered to hospitals, and society itself will fall like Rome. Worst of all, I’ll be forced to find somewhere else to ogle college girl baristas wearing Tina Fey glasses.

Americans need to learn that sick days are meant to be used. I don’t care how important your job is or how no one else has the training to do what you do. If you were really half as important as your employer tricks you into thinking you are, they wouldn’t give you any sick days. People who come to work sick should be fined, beaten, and then stripped naked and tied to the side of a bus.

Not a children’s school bus, though. Let’s be decent here, people. Let’s keep it clean.

Granted, I come to work when I’m sick, but I do that on purpose. My co-workers are annoying and I enjoy seeing them in pain. If my boss hates us as much as I do, she should just fire us. Enough of this biochemical warfare. I know we’re all worthless wankers, but you don’t have to go all Christopher Columbus on us and kill us with viruses.

Sick days are a gift, reader. They’re not commemorative stamps, treasury bonds, or signed photos of newscaster Dennis Anderson. They won’t be worth more if you hold onto them. Spend! For once in your life, you can spend without adding to your crippling debt. How rare is that in modern society? By using sick days when you don’t need to, all you’ll be using up is your credibility. But let’s be honest, you really didn’t have much to begin with. So why not turn that 5-10 day vacation into 15-20 days? Why not turn that weekend alcohol binge into a full-fledged drinking problem?

I’m not asking a lot. Just quit getting me sick. I’m tired of seeing every goof in this place surrounded by a mountain of snot rags. No one’s going to look at you and say, “Wow, we should promote Larry. Look at his soggy pile of tissues.” Go home, drown in Nyquil, and come back when you’re not disgusting. If we need someone to sit around drinking coffee and discussing Lindsay Lohan, we’ll call in a temp.