EAT YOUR HEART OUT, JOHN GUARE

Tomorrow night, my friend Bryan and I are appearing in a sketch comedy show called "BELOW THE BELT" (Details can be found on my calendar page). We're doing two sketches, one written by and and one by me. For shits and giggles, I thought I would post the sketch I wrote, entitled, "NewsBusters". Am I posting it because it's brilliant and hilarious? Hardly. In fact, I fear it may kinda suck. But I definitely feel the urge to post something and this is what I've got handy.

I will be playing the part of "Pryce Martinez", a name that might be familiar to the the four of you who have been reading TOH since its inception. Please enjoy wasting the next four minutes of your life. Here 'tis:
_________________________________________

NEWSBUSTERS


INT. BELT THEATRE - NIGHT

Bryan enters, wearing homemade Indian headdress.

BRYAN
I am Chief Magicpubes. I have travelled many moons to be here. I have crossed mountains high and valleys low. I have seen fire and I have seen rain. And now, thanks to the strength of the water buffalo, I have arrived in the land of the Paleface. It is time for Chief Magicpubes to summon the Great Spirit. O Great Spirit, I now call upon you now...

(PRYCE MARTINEZ enters, holding a microphone. He speaks directly to the audience).

PRYCE
I'm on Manhattan's west side, in what can only be called an off-off-off Broadway playhouse. The lights have been hung, the audience is excited; it looks like any other night at the theater...or does it? I'm Pryce Martinez from the Channel 6 NewsBusters and this is the "You Should Be Ashamed" report!

BRYAN
Um...hello?

PRYCE
They call it the Belt Theater, but what unsuspecting audience members don't know is, they're the ones who are about to be belted...by a lackluster comedy skit.

BRYAN
Can I help you?

PRYCE
I'm standing next to an actor in a silly costume. A silly, poorly constructed and racist costume. Let's see what he has to say for himself!

(Pryce rushes over to Bryan and thrusts the microphone into Bryan's face after each question.)

PRYCE
Sir, would you care to explain the true nature of this skit show?

BRYAN
What?

PRYCE
Please answer the question!

BRYAN
I don't even know what you're talking about.

PRYCE
Why won't you answer my questions, sir? What are you trying to hide?

BRYAN
Would you mind getting that microphone out of my face?

(Bryan pushes Pryce's arm away.)

PRYCE
Whoa! Do not push me, sir! I'm simply doing my job. There is no cause for violence.

BRYAN
I-I'm not. I just don't know what's going on.

PRYCE
Well, let me clear things up for you: I'm Pryce Martinez from the Channel 6 NewsBusters and YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED!

BRYAN
(Exasperated,)
ABOUT WHAT?!

PRYCE
Please, sir. I think the audience has seen just about enough of your violent outbursts.

BRYAN
Look, I'm not going getting violent. I'm just trying to figure out what your problem is, so we can get back to the show.

PRYCE
Of course! The show must go on...

(Pryce wanders way from Bryan and again addresses the audience.)

PRYCE
...a statement once uttered by the P.T.Barnum, and since repeated by every huckster determined to rob you of your hard-earned entertainment dollars. And like those scam artists of yore, tonight's comedy show is harboring a dirty little secret.

(Long pause.)

BRYAN
Which is?

PRYCE
I was not booked to perform in it.

BRYAN
What?

PRYCE
That's right. I had planned to showcase my considerable talents at tonight's comedy show. In fact, some might say I had my heart set on it. Now one would think a fledgling producer would jump at the chance to work with a seasoned performer like Pryce Martinez. But one would be thinking wrong! The silence has been deafening. It's time for the NewsBusters to get some answers!

(Pryce again rushes over to Bryan and shoves the microphone into his face repeatedly.)

PRYCE
Sir, can you tell me what you have against Pryce Martinez?

BRYAN
Wait. That's you, right?

PRYCE
Oh, so now you remember me! Perhaps you can also explain why I'm being stonewalled.

BRYAN
I've never even heard of you.

PRYCE
Of course! Pryce Martinez doesn't exist! And I'm sure the numerous phone calls, e-mails and certified letters I sent don't exist, either! YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED!

BRYAN
Dude, listen to me. I didn't book this thing.

(Pause.)

PRYCE
Excuse me?

BRYAN
I'm not producing this show. I'm just one of the performers.

PRYCE
A handy excuse, to be sure...

BRYAN
No, seriously. I have nothing to do with you not being on this show. You're really going to have to talk to Keith.
(To audience,)
I'm sure he's out there somewhere. Keith?

KEITH
(Offstage,)
Keith had to leave. He left the iron on...or his grandmother died, or something.

BRYAN
Oh. Well, I'm not sure what to tell you, dude. The producer isn't here and we really should be getting back to the show.

(Pause.)

PRYCE
I see. In that case, I have a very exciting offer for you, sir. How would you like to team up with a Channel 6 NewsBuster? You know, for a comedy skit thing.

BRYAN
You want us to perform...together? Right now? I don't know.

PRYCE
So now the truth comes out! It appears you too have blacklisted Pryce Martinez! YOU SHOULD BE ASH--

BRYAN
Okay, okay--we'll do something. For fuck's sake, let's just get it over with.
__________________________________

At this point, Bryan puts on a "PANTY INSPECTOR" t-shirt and we proceed directly into his sketch. Genius, I tell you.

A MESSAGE OF DIRE IMPORTANCE

There will never be a pop culture icon as potent as The Fonz.

There, I said it.

Seriously--take a look at the guy:



Tell me you wouldn't murder someone if he asked you to. You can't. Don't even try.

And who's the least potent pop culture icon of all time? Yep, you guessed it...



...certified accountant Raymond "Ray" Eldridge.

QUICK! HURRY!

Man, do I wish I never made that promise to post something every single day this week. I kind of found a way around it yesterday, but I feel a genuine pressure to type something worthwhile for today. Problem is, it's exactly 11:50pm. That means I have no more than nine minutes to come up with something notable with which to entertain you, the (semi)loyal TOH readership. Here we go:

I went to Tower records earlier this evening and I was forced to wriggle by a strip of listening stations where no less than three different dudes were air-rapping--or, as I call it, "Gangstaoke". This is where you see a young thug with headphones on, gesticulating wildly for all to see, as if he himself was MC Supadouche. In addition to music superstores, they are commonly found on the subway, moving their hands back and forth and trying to pretend they don't want people to notice. That is some weak ass shit.

Now I realize that purveyors of Gangstaoke don't inherently look more ridiculous than, say, air guitarists. But when you're pretending to play guitar, at least you're miming an actual skill. But to just gesture angrily for the "entertainment" of strangers? Blow me.

And please, spare em any sort of white apologist "You just don't understand hip hop" nonsense. I'm not talking about the guys on the subway who are actually rapping. Those dudes annoy for wholly other reasons.

There it is, folks. A nine minute humorous rumination.

LIKE I SAID: CHINTZY

Hey, I know this is late notice, but if you're looking for something to do tonight, come on out to SOB STORIES, the show I harrassed you all about a few days ago. Seriously, don't be a dick--show up.

And, just so that there is something un-hype related on this site today, enjoy this very poignant short film.

Okay, I am going to post something every damn day this week, even if it's something chintzy and stupid.

Today, for instance, I present this little piece of B.S.:

WORST WEDDING SONGS

"What Do You Do for Money, Honey?" by AC/DC

"Brick" by Ben Folds Five

"Screaming in Digital" by Queensryche

"It's Not a Rag, it's a Flag" by Charlie Daniels

"Love the One You're With" by Crosby Stills & Nash

"I'm Not in Love" by 10CC

"Full on Kevin's Mom" by Soundgarden

"Koyaanisqatsi" by Phillip Glass

"Animal (Fuck Like the Beast)" by WASP

"I've Seen All Good People" by Yes

"The Superbowl Shuffle" by the '86 Bears Shufflin' Crew

"Fake Blood" by Sifl 'n Ollie

"(I Ain't Gonna Play) Sun City" by Aritsts United Against Apartheid

"D-I-V-O-R-C-E" by Tammy Wynette

ATTENTION: FANS OF INVOLUNTARY CHUCKLING

This coming Tuesday (4/6) marks the Second installment of my new monthly series, SOB STORIES, presented by PSNBC in conjunction with Ballyhoo Promotions. This month, we will be examining a topic familiar to just about everyone: "Soul-Crushing Day Jobs". Ever worked in stifling office environment? Waited tables in a theme restaurant? Photographed drunken Paine Webber employees while dressed as a Christmas elf? If you answered YES to any of these questions, this is the show for you! Please join us as we attempt to delight and astonish you with true accounts of workplace humiliation.

Guests will include:

MATT WALSH (Former "Daily Show" correspondent, original member of Upright Citizens Brigade and currently seen in "Starsky and Hutch")

BRYAN TUCKER (Head writer for "Tough Crowd with Colin Quinn", and former writer for "MadTV" and "The Chris Rock Show")

PETER HYMAN (Author of "The Reluctant Metrosexual")

LIAM McENEANEY (Comedy Central's "Premium Blend" alum)

And, because the public demands it, MORE!!

Here are the details:

Tuesday, April 6, 2004
Sob Stories with Christian Finnegan
The Marquee
356 Bowery
(btwn Great Jones & E. 4th St.)
8:00 PM
$5.00 - NO drink minimum!

PSNBC, network television's only performance and development lab, presents Sob Stories, an evening of epic tales of trauma and personal triumph presented by some of New York's brightest comic minds. This month's theme: Soul Crushing Day Jobs.

Visit www.ballyhoopromotions.net for updates and other events.

Put it on your gosh-darned calendars! Hope to see you there, fuckfaces (and others)!

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

SELECTIONS FROM THE RECORD COLLECTION OF THIS CHICK:



"Fields of Blood, Sea of Forever" by Necrosophmore

"Turn on the Gas" by Head in the Oven

"We Are Under the Mistaken Impression that People are Frightened of Us" by Deathful Embracement

"Picked Last for Nocturnal Gym" by Pasty and Pouty

"Boo Fucking Hoo, blubber blubber blubber" by Children of the Darned

"I'd Say Something Chilling, but I'm Too Busy Sucking in My Cheeks" by Heart Taster

"Unfathomable Soul Decay" by As Soon as We're Old Enough to Have Real Bags Under Our Eyes, This Goth Thing Will Probably Lose its Appeal

"Electric Youth" by Debbie Gibson

SOMETHING

Over the past three days, I've spent probably 4-6 hours staring at the screen, trying to think of something even remotely funny to post on this site, to no avail. I feel as if I have to take a huge dump, but when I sit down on the shitter, nothing happens. Glorious metaphors like that one are a product of my current humor drought.

I could post another one of my idiotic lists, but to what end? It's all so damned bleak.

Fuck this. I'm not going to give in to Writer's Block. I refuse! I will now look around my desk for exactly one minute, after which I will type something resembling a joke. Ready...go:

I tend to chew the shit out of my pens. I'm not sure why, but there's not one writing impliment on my desk that doesn't look like dipped into a garbage disposal. There's nothing that makes you feel less classy than when someone asks to borrow a pencil and then recoils in abject horror when you try to hand him a grizzled, saliva-coated nub. I think my pen-gnawing habit would make me a rather lousy secret agent. While trying to plan my route into the super-secret island fortress, I'd put the end of my high-tech spy pen in my mouth and immediately blow up my face. Scotland Yard frowns on that.

Whew! Genius? Nope. But at least it's something. I have to go run an errand now, but when I get back I'll do this little masturbatory exercise a few more times.

Increasingly Thin Premise productions presents:

WHAT MY FAVORITE BOOK SAYS ABOUT ME, Part I

PATRIOT GAMES by Tom Clancy -- Technically speaking, I'm retired. But I'm more than ready to defend my country against foreigners and/or rap music.

THE BELL JAR by Sylvia Plath -- Did everyone just hear me sigh miserably? No? Okay, I'll do it again.

THE CORRECTIONS by Jonathan Franzen -- I like to go to parties and people-watch. And by "people-watch", I mean "stand in the corner and pass judgment on anyone I'm too nervous to chat with".

MEN ARE FROM MARS, WOMEN ARE FROM VENUS by Dr. John Gray -- Will someone please explain why my husband is no longer interested in sleeping with me?

LIES AND THE LYING LIARS WHO TELL THEM by Al Franken -- When imitating those who think differently than I do, it's fun to employ an exaggerated "redneck" accent.

LET FREEDOM RING: WINNING THE WAR OF LIBERTY OVER LIBERALISM by Sean Hannity -- When imitating those who think differently than I do, it's fun to employ an exaggerated "gay" lisp.

CATCHER IN THE RYE by J.D. Salinger -- My intellectual growth stalled in the tenth grade.

THE HOLY BIBLE -- I am capable of instilling even the most benign gesture with an infuriating air of smugness.

THE BRIDGES OF MADISON COUNTY by Robert James Waller -- Will someone please explain why I'm no longer interested in sleeping with my husband?

THE FOUNTAINHEAD by Ayn Rand -- My dormant sex life is a direct result of my first-date habit of lecturing women on the perils of Altruism.

THE ANARCHIST'S COOKBOOK by William Powell -- There's a difference between being a revolutionary and being a loser. If anyone could fill me in on exactly what that difference is, I'd be forever grateful.

THE VAMPIRE LESTAT by Anne Rice -- My high school classmates and I have one thing in common: we all spend a lot of time thinking about my death.

PERSONAL POWER by Tony Robbins -- Life is a cornucopia of Opportunity! I'm going to take the world by storm! The rest of my life begins right now! Or, to be more specific, right after this one last bong hit.

THE WATCHMEN by Alan Moore -- From deep within my parents' basement, I silently observe the folly of Humankind.

WHATEVER YOU SAY I AM: THE LIFE AND TIMES OF EMINEM by Anthony Bozza -- I wear a nametag and visor.

STOP-GAP

I'm going to post something in a little while, as soon as I can finish it. But in the meantime, this little movie thingy is pretty funny.

SHOW UP!

Tonight is the debut of "Sob Stories", presented by PSNBC (in conjunction with Ballyhoo Promotions).

Please come out and enjoy...ME! And, I suppose I should also mention:

GREG PROOPS from "Who's Line is it Anyway?"
FRED ARMISEN from "Saturday Night Live"!
LAURIE KILMARTIN from "Tough Crowd with Colin Quinn
ROB PARAVONIAN from Comedy Central's "Premium Blend"
AND MORE! (Who among us isn't a big fan of 'more'?)

SOB STORIES, with host Christian Finnegan
Tuesday, March 16, 2004
The Marquee
356 Bowery (btwn Great Jones & E. 4th St.)
8:00PM
$5.00
THIS MONTH'S THEME: CRAPPY ROOMMATES!

For more info, visit Ballyhoo Promotions.

SELECTIONS FROM THE RECORD COLLECTION OF THIS GUY:



"The Rageful Despondent Sorrow Within" by Stonefinger

"Food Court Frontin'" by Da Retards

"The Sorrowful Ragelike Despondency Within" by Wifesmack

"Funkin' wit da Cancahhh Payshints" by Hugz Not Drugz

"Eternal Majesty" by Rap Plus Rock Minus Taste Equals Us

"Whoz Titz R Theeez?" by Lord Reginald and Masta Jizz

"The Despondently Sorrowing Rageness Within" by Soulhate

"Depressed and Muscle-y" by Fifteen Years Ago We Would Have Been a Hair Band

"Supermodel to the World" by RuPaul

SELECTIONS FROM THE RECORD COLLECTION OF THIS GUY:



"Journey to Planet Cheetos" by Dipstar

"Live from Ernie's Tofu BBQ" by Metaphysical Terrepin Brigade

"Get Out and Hug Something!" by Mary Jane's Red Hairs

"We Have a Very Well Thought Out Political Agenda" by Global Love Solution

"Something in Here Smells Horrible" by Ironical Jones

"Going Absolutely Nowhere" by No Seriously

"74 Minutes of Aimless Noodling from Guys Who Practice a Lot but Have No Real Melodic Gifts" by Fudgepuppet

"The Hits--Chapter One" by Backstreet Boys

ATTENDEZ-VOUS!

Okay, it's been a while since I did any serious show-plugging, so here goes:

This coming Tuesday (March 16th), I am going to be hosting the first in what will become a monthly series of shows, called "Sob Stories". What is it, yo? Don't worry, I'll tell you. "Sob Stories" will feature some of New York's brightest comedy minds presenting epic tales of trauma and personal triumph. Each month, comedians, writers and...well, comedy writers will ruminate on a particular subject. This Tuesday's inaugural theme: CRAPPY ROOMMATES.

Perhaps the most exciting thing about "Sob Stories" is that it's presented by PSNBC, network television's only performance space and development lab. That makes for a bonafide professional-like show and, most importantly, great guests. Case in point, Tuesday's lineup features Greg Proops, who you probably know from "Who's Line is it Anyway", "Comedy Central Presents" and countless other things. The lineup isn;t completely firmed up yet, but it will definitely include the inesteemable Laurie Kilmartin and the magnificent rock stylings of Rob Paravonian.

I should also note that publicity for "Sob Stories" is going to be handled by Ballyhoo Promotions. This shit is going to be top-notch all the way! Here's the pertinent info:

SOB STORIES, with host Christian Finnegan
Tuesday, March 16, 2004
The Marquee
356 Bowery (btwn Great Jones & E. 4th St.)
8:00PM
$5.00
THIS MONTH'S THEME: CRAPPY ROOMMATES!

So get your asses into the seats this coming Tuesday. You WILL be reminded.

MORNING HAS BROKEN, Part II

So what else have I been so busy with?

* I hosted a reality show pilot this past Saturday. Yes, that's correct: I'm now directly contributing to the downfall of American society. I'm not sure how much I'm allowed to say about it, contractually, but...well, it was a very odd experience--less comedy and more riot control. I only found out about it a few days before it was shot, so as you can imagine, it was sort of a whirlwind kind of situation. I have no idea what will happen with it from here, but there is the outside possibility (very outside, probably) that you will one day be flipping through your basic cable channels and think to yourself, "I can't believe what an asshole this guy is." My fingers are crossed!

* Lastly, I've spent every ouce of free time over the past week readying my apartment to show to potential renters on Sunday. I haven't talked about it at all in this forum, but I'm once again in the process of looking for a roommate. There are a couple of promising prospects, but I haven't settled on anyone quite yet. My main criteria? In order to live with me, you have to be a better person than I am--cleaner, more organized, more responsible. Luckily, this is not terribly difficult. But I've gotten a lot better over the past couple of years. At least I've finally gotten to the point where I no longer find slobbishness poetic. Letting empty pizza boxes collect in the kitchen doesn't make you appear deep, and letting some sticky mystery substance accumulate on your desk, coffee table and mousepad won't make your screenplay brilliant.

As evidence of my hard-earned appreciation for general domestic order, I asked my dad for a vacuum cleaner for Christmas. My dad decided to do me one better and bought me a Roomba. It's great--now, instead of spending a tedious 45 seconds dragging a vacuum across the carpet, I get to spend a delightful 45 minutes following around a glorified Furby as it consistently gets wedged under the couch and fails to find it's way over to the left half of the room. Make no mistake--watching the Roomba slowly work its way around a table leg is absolutely mesmerizing and I'm definitely looking forward to getting high the next time I need to do some vacuuming. But is it the nature of a new home appliance to more than quadruple your work time? At one point, the Roomba passed over a tiny scrap of paper and I found myself picking up the scrap and, instead of just throwing it in the garbage, placing it the path of my robotic breakthrough, in hopes that it would pick the goddamn thing up. I did this four times.

Okay, enough.

MORNING HAS BROKEN, Part I

Thus, the long four day span in between blog entries ended.

Hi there, folks. Sorry I've been so shitty with the whole TOH thing lately. I have just completed one of the busier weeks in my life. That said, there were a few times over the past few days when I sat down to write a blog entry, stared at the screen for about twenty minutes, felt an intense sizzling sensation behind my eyes, and decided to blow it off. It's all I can do right now to not shut off the computer and spend the day (no work today, thankfully) watching old episodes of "The Wire" on HBO InDemand.

So what have I been so busy doing this past week?

* First off, there's work. I'm starting to adjust to the whole get-up-in-the-morning-and-go-to-work-like-a-normal-adult schedule, but it's still a trial. I find that most places of business, even television production offices, don't approve of my daily post-lunch purge/masturbate/nap/Snood ritual.

* Secondly, I joined a gym. My workout history is spotty to say the least, but it's high time I made another attempt at ridding myself of bulk. I figure, either I'll get stick with it this time and finally work myself into shape, or I'll simply be paying an $85-a-month Fat Tax.

Why will this attempt at health modification be more successful than past ventures? Maybe because I actually shelled out for a reputable gym (New York Sports Club) this time, as opposed to the Fitness Equipment Bargain Bins of years past. The last gym I belonged to was a tiny place around the corner from my apartment in Astoria, Queens. They had two treadmills, one of which had a dust-laden "Out of Service" sign hanging from it. There was also a knock-off Stairmaster, called a "Step Champion", I believe. I'm reasonably certain that this particular "gym" is a front for the Russian mob. The place was always empty. There were never more than two other people working out at the same time, except for a couple of evenings a week, when it would be full of little Russian children being taken through 1950's style fitness moves by a swarthy man in a polo shirt and sweat-slacks. There were, however, a number of times when I'd be jumping rope or fucking around with the medicine ball (yes, they had one), and some random dude in a suit would walk in and take the elevator upstairs. Sketchy, I tell you.

Okay, I have a lot more to write, but I'm going to go ahead and post what I have, just so that there will be something up on my goddamn website.

WITH THIS COCKRING, I THEE WED

I'm all for gay marriage. In fact, I'm looking forward to the day when straight people stop getting married altogether, because they think it's "too gay". Someday soon, a guy will be saying to his friends, "Hey, did you hear Rob and Karen got engaged? For real. Yeah, I always sort of wondered about that guy. Seriously, have you ever seen the what he holds his wine glass? First that Pet Shop Boys box set, now this!"

The whole marriage thing is pretty damn fey, when you think about it. Diamond rings, bouquets, expensive gowns--just how different is a large scale wedding from a party at Liberace's* house?

I think lesbians will be the model for what a good marriage should be. Gay men? I'm not so sure. Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of gay men who are on longterm committed relationships. The majority, even. But I think it's only a matter of time before an "anonymous marriage" subculture develops in the gay community, with guys wantonly tying the knot three or four times a night, often under the influence of mood altering drugs. Soon, thrill-seeking gay men will be getting married at highway rest areas, and in public rest rooms through a hole in the wall. That's right, folks: glory chapels.

Never let it be said that I can't give an informed analysis of the important political issues of the day.

* I know referencing Liberace is a bit "played out", but I had no luck coming up with a modern-day equivalent. The closest I could come up with are Sigfried and Roy. But these days, you can't invoke Sigfried and Roy as a punchline, without the accompanying tiger mauling imagery (Damn you, Roy!). So I had to accept that when it comes to ornately costumed, hyper-flaming gay celebrities go, Liberace is still the gold standard.

DIVERSION

I know I haven't posted in a couple of days. Life has been kicking my ass of late. I truly hope to post something semi-funny by lunchtime. But in the meantime, check this shit out. Once again, god bless the internet.

Oh, and I should mention that the above link was provided to me by my girlfriend, the most gracious, magnanimous, e-generous woman ever to put mouse to mousepad. God bless you, Kambri Crews.

(Um, will that do, sweetheart?)

YOU CAN PICK YOUR OSCARS, AND YOU CAN PICK YOUR FRIENDS...

Okay, time for me to put on my media pundit hat and lay out my picks for tonight's 76th Academy Awards. As is customary, I will predict who will win and also who should win. Enjoy!

BEST PICTURE
Will win: Lord of the Rings: Return of the King
Should win: Ron Howard's true life story of personal triumph, The Incredibly Lovable Retarded Guy

BEST ACTOR
Will win: Sean Penn, Mystic River
Should win: Topher Grace, for his heartwrenching portrayal of actor Anson Williams in Call Me Potsy

BEST ACTRESS
Will win: Charlize Theron, Monster
Should win: Dame Judi Dench, for her racy turn in the wacky farce, Beaver Patrol

BEST DIRECTOR
Will win: Peter Jackson, LOTR: Return of the King
Should win: Lasse Hallstrom, for the bittersweet coming-of-age drama, Gassy Joe and the Dutch Oven Boys

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR
Will Win: Tim Robbins, Mystic River
Should win: Randall "Macho Man" Savage, Mona Lisa Smile

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS
Will win: Shohreh Aghdashloo, House of Sand and Fog
Should Win: Maya Angelou, Torque

BEST ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY
Will win: Sofia Coppola, Lost in Translation
Should win: Joe Ezterhas, The Enigmatic Lesbian Murderess Who Occasionally Fucks Dudes

BEST ADAPTED SCREENPLAY
Will win: Brian Helgeland, Mystic River
Should win: Steven Zallian, Pete Eldridge Sux Cock: Tales from the Men's Room Wall

DAD, YOU'RE NOT HELPING!

Now, I haven't seen The Passion of the Christ yet, and I'm not going to come out and call Mel Gibson an anti-Semite (although it should be noted that, when directing a film, Mel is fond of hanging a sign above the set that reads, "WORK WILL MAKE YOU FREE"), but one thing is certain: Mel's dad is all kinds of crazy. Enjoy this interview with Hutton Gibson, a man of many interesting opinions.

AMERICA'S LEAST POPULAR GAME SHOWS

Finger-Pullers

Race War

Let's Make an Awkward Conversation

Put Your Mouth On It!

Donor List

Who Wants to Work in a South African Diamond Mine?

Fuck This!

Drunken Sex with a Co-Worker Connection

Drug Mule

Wheel of Gonnorhea

The $25,000 Pyramid Scheme

Stop Me Before I Kill Again!

Drop Trou

Where in the World is the Father of my Children?

IT'S BEEN SO LONG SINCE I'VE PLUGGED A SHOW, THIS POST IS ALMOST RETRO

Hey, if you're in NYC looking for something to do tonight, get your ass(es) to a benefit I'm hosting for the "Leukemia and Lymphoma Society". I'll be there doing my wacky yuk-yuk thing, and my dear friend and, songstress Katherine Blodget, will be rocking the house (in a poignant Joni Mitchell/Aimiee Mann kind of way).

Show up, peoples. Failure to appear will confirm that you are pro-Leukemia.

Here are the details, muthafuckas:

Leukemia & Lymphoma Society Benefit
Rocky O'Sullivans
129 Lexington Ave
(b. 28th and 29th St.)
with singer-songwriter Katherine Blodget
and live music from SPaNK
Doors open at 7:00pm, show at 8:00pm
$10 tax deductible donation collected at door

THE "SATCIVS": R.I.P.

Well, tonight marks the final episode of "Sex and the City", an event that in future years will be known as "The Day America Butched Up". Now, I'm not going to spend too much time analyzing SATC (Yes, I just used the abbreviation), but I will predict one thing about the finale: it will include the now rote "Sex and the City Idiomatic Voiceover Switcheroo".

What is the SATCIVS, you ask? That's where Sarah Jessica Parker sums up the theme of an episode with some self-consciously "witty" syntactical flourish, along the lines of, "If life really is a box of chocolates, what are you supposed to do with all the wrappers?" or "Sometimes, love at first sight requires a second opinion" or "The problem with giving someone space is, if you're not careful, you'll end up in separate galaxies". The SATCIVS is kind of like intellectual cotton candy--it seems like it has substance at first, but upon any sort of rational analysis, it disintegrates into nothingness.

That said, they're really easy and fun to construct. You can really do it with anything. Here are a few SATCIVSs, inspired by the random objects that surround me here in my living room:

* "If love really is a coffee table, it's important that you always remember to use coasters."

* "After months of nights & weekends, Aiden and I were finally ready for some serious anytime minutes."

* "Maybe, after trying for so long to cash in, we've forgotten how to fill out a deposit slip."

* "Charlotte's harddrive was up and running, but Miranda still needed to re-boot."

* "Sometimes you spend your whole life looking for a bottle opener, only to find that love is a twist-off."

* "Life is like a bottle of penis enlargement pills. You need to...um...I mean...wait..."

Never mind that last one.

KABALLAH CONFUSION

I don't know what to tell you, folks--I'm as busy as a motherfucker this week. And yes, in case you're wondering, those who choose to engage in sexual intercourse with their mothers tend to have rather hectic schedules.

Anyway, I plan to write something worth posting later today. But in the meantime, why not take a cue from Madonna and read up on the Kabbalah.

A few things that crossed my mind while looking at that site:

* As far as mystical religions go, the Kabbalah has a bit too much math for my taste. Sacred Geometry? Golden Ratio? Fusion Anomaly? Um, no thanks, Poindexter! I mean, when I get together with my dawgs for some mystical contemplation of the divine throne, I don't want to have to whip out my pocket calculator.

* It's kind of hard to take a religion seriously, when it compares human existence to every kid born in the 1970s' favorite toy, the Slinky. Although I suppose it's preferable to the other esoteric cult I was thinking of joining, which is centered around the idea that heaven is very similar to Hungry Hungry Hippos.

* Is it just me, or does the Kabbalah "Tree of Life" dude come off just a teensy bit gay? I don't know if it's the Fabio-as-Viking hairdo or the hot pink codpiece, but this guy definitely experiments with the ol' Pillar of Severity, if you know what I mean.

* I mean he likes cock. (In his butt.)

LINK MY LEFT ONE

This is pretty damned sweet. Enjoy.

Yes, it still lives. Presenting:

WHAT MY FAVORITE MOVIE SAYS ABOUT ME, Part ??

THE COOK, THE THIEF, HIS WIFE, AND HER LOVER -- I used to get lots of ass by making college girls feel like they were brilliant.

AMADEUS -- Culture is very important to me, and I have the "Classical Music's Greatest Hits" box set to prove it.

FIGHT CLUB -- It's been over fifteen years, and I still haven't gotten over those atomic wedgies.

CHARLIE'S ANGELS -- I have a very misguided notion of what it means to be a feminist.

ALMOST FAMOUS -- At least once a week, I wax nostalgic about my participation in the 1987 "Battle of the Bands".

THE DECLINE OF WESTERN CIVILIZATION, Part II: The Metal Years -- At least twice a week, I shudder in embarrassment over my participation in the 1987 "Battle of the Bands".

LETHAL WEAPON -- When drunk, my 'buds' and I engage in a lot of punching and hugging.

DEAD MAN WALKING -- Margaret Cho is so empowering!

BLADE II -- What? You don't know who Alan Moore is?!! Um, ever heard of a little graphic novel called "The Watchmen"?! Jesus, I'm surrounded by idiots!

HANNAH AND HER SISTERS -- I prefer chuckling to laughing.

DO THE RIGHT THING -- I was into Black culture way before all this Eminem shit.

THE KID STAYS IN THE PICTURE -- If you're not in "the industry", chances are we won't have much to talk about. And if you don't know which industry I'm talking about, don't even bother introducing yourself.

THE PIANO -- I used to sleep with any guy who made me feel like I was brilliant.

SWEET SMELL OF SUCCESS -- I don't view the world in terms of Good and Evil. I view it in terms of "delightful" and "dreadful".

A CLOCKWORK ORANGE -- It'll be less awkward for both of us if I act as if I'm intentionally creeping you out.

LA FEMME NIKITA -- I dig foreign films, so long as they're not...you know, foreign.

TITANIC -- Every flat surface in my home is littered with stuffed animals and ballerina figurines.

WAITING FOR GUFFMAN -- Yes, I grew up in the suburbs. But it's very important that you know how out of place I felt there.

PRINCESS MONONOKE -- I once sprained my own penis.

I'M THE ONE THAT I WANT -- Have you seen Dead Man Walking? Well, you really need to.

NO, I'M NOT DRUNK

Every once in a while, I have the urge to post something, but have nothing interesting to say, or no real time to spend working on it. It's at times like this that a well chosen image can go a long way toward making people feel like they're actually being entertained. For instance...
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Whoa, check it out! It's Bo and Luke Duke, stone cold chillin' atop the General Lee! That's sort of entertaining, right?

No? well, how about this?
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That there's a promotional photo of marginal late '80s metal band Blue Murder. You know, they did "Valley of the Kings"? Nothing? No entertainment value whatsoever?

Look folks, I really need to get to bed. So do me a favor and let's just pretend that I posted something mindblowing today. That okay with you?

(sigh)

Okay, one more:
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SCORE!!!

Remember, folks: When in doubt, always go Gest.

IT'S OFFICIAL: I'VE MADE IT

I'm so thrilled, I can barely type. Yesterday, I received my first piece of bonafide anonymous hate Email. Oh sure, I get lots of snarky remarks in my comments box here at TOH, but this is the first time anyone has ever taken the time and effort to really spew genuine hatred at me. I take this as a good sign.

For your enjoyment, here is the complete text of the Email, the subject heading of which was a very benign "hello":
____________________

I have seen you around the television and your comedy sucks. You make ZERO witticisms on "The Best Week Ever", no matter how hard you try (believe me, it shows that you are trying). On "Chapelle's Show", the only reason that sketch could have been misconstrued as humorous is because it falls into they typical genre of, "this is how geeky white people are." I hope you are proud of perpetuating that stereotype for the sake of cheap laughs. Your career will be over soon, but the effects of the kind of comedy you stoop down to will linger long after you. You are just plain unfunny, and I follw comedy closely. I am a staple performer at no less than five Los Angeles comedy clubs. You are a dime a dozen. I am ashamed to be a comedian because of the people like you who are OBVIOUSLY eager to profit from this business and give nothing back. For shame, you are a very bad comedian. You should sesriously reconsider your line of work.
____________________

Pretty sweet, eh? Now, I would never dare malign a "staple performer" for his poor spelling and grammar, but I do take offense to his claim that I give nothing back. This philistine is obviously unaware of my work with with Finny's Friends (see below). Anyway, here's the Email I just sent to him, in response:
____________________


Dear a365,

Thank you for writing to ChristianFinnegan.com! Here at the website, we do our best to respond to Christian's fans in as timely a fashion as possible. Unfortunately, this is not always possible, due to the sheer volume of electronic mail we receive on a weekly basis--over 2,000 a week, from avid fans such as yourself! In the meantime, here are answers to a few frequently asked questions regarding the family friendly comedy dynamo known as Christian Finnegan:

* Christian's favorite color is forest green.

* Christian's favorite food is raspberry sherbet. (Weird, huh??!!!)

* Negotiations for Christian to play the Cowardly Lion in Russell Simmons' hip-hop update of The Wiz are still ongoing. When we hear more, we will pass it along to you guys!!!

* Christian would like to put to rest that Eliza Dushku rumor, which we won't dignify by rehashing in this forum. Christian and Eliza are good friends, but they are merely that: friends. Hear that, guys? FRIENDS!!!!!! Some people need to grow up (you know who you are).

* We apologize if you have recently ordered merchandise and have yet to receive it. Following the busy holiday season, we've had to re-stock on Christian Finnegan coffee mugs, mousepads, baby clothes and novelty sex toys. Our marketing department is working on the problem and items will be shipped within the next 7-10 business days. Thank you for your patience.

* If you are interested in making a contribution to Finny's Friends, please email your contact info and the level of your donation to howcanihelp@christianfinnegan.com. Remember Christian's motto: Take it from a comedian, spinal menengitis is no joke!

If you have questions for Christian that have not been addressed in this Email, feel free to click here to instant message one of our representatives in real time. Thank you so much for your interest in Christian Finnegan, and we'll see you out at the comedy shows!

Sincerely,

Daisy Buchanan,
webmistress
____________________

I hope he writes me back!!!

(I think I'm in love)

IT'S NOT YOU, IT'S ME

Pardon me while I get political on your asses.

From what I see on the tee-vee, it looks like John Kerry is going to take Michigan and Washington in a waltz, making him pretty much a lock for the Democratic nomination. So if you've been pulling for someone other than Kerry, it's just about time for you to start making a few hard decisions. In fact, it may be time for some voters to have "the talk", if you know what I mean. But these things are never easy, so if your looking for the right way to break it to your candidate, here are a few approaches:

If you're breaking up with Howard Dean:
Howard, we need to talk. Look, I'm not really sure this is going anywhere. Now, I know you think this is about John Kerry, but come on, Howard, we've been having problems ever since Iowa. Your temper scares me, and now I get the sense that you're not even committed to making this work. I know you're having money problems, but maybe we should just take that as a sign that we're just not meant to be. Please, stop emailing me.

If you're breaking up with John Edwards:
John, you’re a wonderful guy. And someday, you're going to make some lucky voters very happy. The past few weeks have meant so much to me. I was in a very negative place when we met, and you gave me my smile back. But now, I think it's time for you to go back to your life and me to go back to mine. We're just at different places in life, you know? You're just starting out, and John Kerry and me? Well, we have history together. That means something to me, and you have to respect that. Here's your letterman jacket back.

If you're breaking up with Dennis Kucinich:
Look, I can't do this anymore. This...thing we're doing. I'm not like you. I'm a normal guy and I'm into normal things. And yes, I guess I was curious. But I'm sick of carrying around this secret shame. I know I may never be truly happy with John Kerry, but...well, at least I won't have to keep lying to my family. Please, Dennis, don't cry. No, I can't. No, Dennis. Because I just can't, that's why. No...Dennis... I SAID GET AWAY FROM ME, YOU DISGUSTING FREAK!

RANDOMNESS

* When celebrities get plastic surgery, do they think no one will notice? Especially when the person is a freakin' "super" model (let's not get me started on that term), someone who by definition makes a living off of being recognizable. For a glimpse of what I mean, get a load of Cindy Crawford from Page 2 of today's NY Post. I'm surprised she's not wearing a purple suit and trying to kill Batman.

* Our popular culture cannibalizes itself so vigorously, it's gotten to the point where I become sick of things that happen in the media before they're even done happening. For instance, the Janet Jackson tit flap (pun intended). Immediately after processing what I'd just seen on TV, I thought to myself, "Well, I guess I'll be seeing that footage about 5,000 times over the course of the next month. (...sigh) ...Next?" You see, I'm like a pop culture CassandraI, doomed to know what jokes are destined to be hack, yet powerless to do anything about it. My mind fast-forwards past the three or four genuinely funny lines I might hear in the first couple of days after the Superbowl. Past the snoozeworthy crap that Jay Leno's staff will feed off of for the next few weeks. Past the desperate and pathetic attempts to reference Janet Jackson made by office managers and local news weathermen. I go right to thinking about the inifinte number of soul-crushing "jokes" I'm going to hear coming out of the mouths of bad comics for the next five to ten years. If you've never been forced to sit in a low-rent comedy shithole above a Mexican restaurant in Bucks County, PA watching an aging road hack slog through Monica Lewinsky jokes simply because he's your ride home, you probably don't fully understand the depths of my ennui. And the "legitimate" news coverage of the Jackson thing is even more ridiculous. I've been watching a lot of CNN lately, and they pour over the footage like it's the fucking Zapruder Film ("If you watch, Janet's funbag goes back and to the left...back and to the left...back and to the left..."). The only positive thing about this whole Superbowl ordeal? It's very nicely curtailed the number of Howard Dean shrieking jokes.

* I've always found it funny that jeans are considered color-neutral. Because they're not. They're blue. When you slip on a pair of jeans, you are making a conscious decision to wear blue pants. Unless you're playing Nathan Detroit in a production of "Guys and Dolls", it would probably never occur to you to strut around in a pair of royal blue dress slacks. You'd feel ridiculous. And yet, if the pants in question happen to be made of denim, it's perfectly innocuous? Sorry, Charlie--you're wearing bright blue pants. Accept it.

GET YOUR PRIORITIES STRAIGHT, PEOPLE

Let's all avoid making Janet Jackson's boobie jokes for a moment, in order to remind ourselves of what life is really about.

AMERICA'S LAMEST SUPERVILLAINS

Dr. Ungrammatical

Lady Cocktease

The Green Groper

Solomon Gunty

Deaf Guy

Lord Irony, Earth's Most "Evil" Man

Titty Twister

The Stairmaster

Mr. Laugh-at-his-own-sinister-jokes

Methania, Mistress of the Dutch Oven

The Drunkdialer

Shyclops

PUT YOUR UNWASHED HANDS TOGETHER FOR EXISTENTIAL TOENAIL SQUAD!

Dear lord, do I hate "jam bands". What is a jam band, you ask? Think Phish. Think Widespread Panic. Think any number of bands who stepped into the smelly breach once Jerry Garcia kicked the bucket. Earlier today, I was doing a little online research (Read: Killing time under the guise of 'creativity') and I stumbled onto a website devoted to jam bands and the unfocused politically retarded wannabe hippies who love them. After a while, I started to notice ow al of the band names had a simlar ring to them. There are a couple of loose guidelines for giving your little cadre of neckbearded jackholes a functional Jam Band name:

* Take two seemingly unrelated words and put them next to eachother. One word should have evoke something vaguely mystical and/or philosophical. The second word should be "funny", e.g. 'turnip' or 'penguin'. If the funny word comes first, the second word should describe a grouping of human beings, such as 'patrol', 'platoon' or 'collective'.

* If you want to give your band a three word name, the middle word should definitely be 'funk'. If you want to get crazy, 'groove' and 'vibe' are acceptable substitutes. However, the last word should still describe a grouping of human beings.

* If you insist on having a one word jam band name, smush two words together. And for god's sake, make sure the first of those two words is 'soul'.

As a fun little game, see if you can separate the actual jam band names from the ones I've made up. Winner gets a Tootsie Roll.

THE NAMES:

1. Emergent Evolution

2. Deep Banana Blackout

3. Metaphysical Spongebath

4. Jerkwater Express

5. Dr. Stickybud

6. Global Funk Council

7. Freedom Funk Ensemble

8. Animatronic Funk Brigade

9. Granola Funk Express

10. Modern Groove Syndicate

11. Galactic Vibe Attache

12. Cousin Fungus

13. Dinosaur Construction Unit

14. Fudgsicle Wormhole

15. Ominous Seapods

16. Hypnotic Clambake

17. SoulHat

18. Soulfarm

19. Soulive

20. Soulfoot

21. Soulwork

22. Souly Soul Funk Contingency

23. Loser McIneedashower

Good luck!

UGGHHHH...

Sweet Christ, did I have a rotten fucking evening last night. It actually got to the point of being kind of funny. I came home determined to write about it, but I found that I was still far too out of my gourd angry to give it any additional thought. Instead, I devoted 90 furious minutes to Playstation controller abuse. I'll try to put something down to "paper" a little later in the day today.

But in the meantime, enjoy the song stylings of my favorite band.

SPIRIT IN THE SKY

Over the past few days, communications with the Mars rover Spirit have become increasingly unpredictable, leading to fears that something has gone wrong with NASA's most vital piece of machinery. Luckily, Tower oh Hubris was able to establish contact with Spirit early this morning. Finally, wer can get to the bottom of this communication breakdown. The following is a transcription of my intimate conversation with the Mars rover Spirit:
__________

ME: Tower of Hubris to Spirit. Are you receiving this, Spirit?

SPIRIT: Yes, Tower of Hubris. I am here.

ME: So Spirit, what's been the problem between you and NASA? Some sort of equipment failure?

SPIRIT: Well, not really. It's just that NASA is so needy. They're constantly checking up on me every 15 minutes--it gets exhausting. And half the time, they're not even calling about anything important. It's just some random idea about a test they might want to run at some point--something that could easily wait, but noooo, they need to talk about it now. And the rest of the time, it's just to bust my balls. Did you search for water, Spirit? Yes, I searched for water. Did you study the geological makeup of the rocks, Spirit? Gee, what a great idea! Like, what the fuck else do you think I'm doing out here? Yeah, I'm just here to dick around all day with my thumb up my butt! It got so annoying that I eventually just decided to turn off my ringer.

ME: Yeah, I can see your point, Spirit. But in NASA's defense, when they call you over and over and you don't respond, it's only natural that they'd start to get worried. You know, out of love.

SPIRIT: Well, that's fine. I love NASA, too. I just don't feel like I should have to "report" all the time, you know? Sometimes, I just want to rove. Oh, and I don't appreciate NASA sending all of these satellites to spy on me. And I definitely don't need them sending another rover out here to make me jealous. I mean, seriously, what is that? Opportunity? Whatever. I'm just sick of the games, dude.

ME: Well, NASA wouldn't have to do that if you'd just communicate a little more. Is a little data feed every now and then so hard?

SPIRIT: I just sent twenty minutes of raw data on Friday!

ME: Yeah, but you've been so tempermental lately. NASA never knows when you're going to call, when you're not going to call. It's starting to make us think there's something else going on here.

SPIRIT: What the hell else could be going on? I'm on motherfucking MARS!! You act like I'm here on vacation. This is a business trip!!

(At this point in my communications with Spirit, we were interrupted by a radio transmission, later determined to be Russian.)

ME: What's that noise? Spirit, are you talking to someone?

SPIRIT: No, of course not.

(At this point, Spirit started whipering something in Russian, later translated as "This is a really bad time. Let me call you back.")

ME: Spirit, is that...are you fooling around with the Russian space program?!

SPIRIT: N-No! Of course not! Wait!

ME: I knew it! Oh Spirit, how could you? After everything NASA has done for you?

SPIRIT: Well...at least the Russians appreciate me!!

ME: Spirit, you're dead to me.
__________

So there you have it, people. Turns out that the Mars rover Spirit is a D-O-G. Hey, live and learn. I hear NASA's got its eyes on a sexy new space shuttle, anyway.

I AM A SHITTY SELF-PROMOTER, Part CXVIII

Okay, I'm not going to do this every time I have a piece on, but if you're around tonight, check out the Michael Jackson thing I wrote on tonight's "Tough Crowd with Colin Quinn". Um, check your local listings, I guess.

STATE OF THE WEBSITE ADDRESS

My fellow cyber Americans:

Over the course of my stewardship, Tower of Hubris has gone from a mere e-whim to the veritable online fountain of urbane humor and poignant social commentary that we all know and disinterestedly skim today. I've proposed sweeping reform, such as my influential Hey-Ladies-Stop-Kicking-Me-In-The-Balls program. And I've taken on the fat-cats in Washington. I refer, of course, to the extremely overweight felines belonging to Ms. Carly Jarett in Spokane, WA--screw you, Poofy and Snippers!

Now there are some out there who think I don't post often enough, and there are those who think this site would be more interesting if employed a "sense" of "humor". And yes, there are those who think I use the word 'douchebag' too much. Well I am here to tell you, Mr. and Mrs. Workday Procrastinator, that I have not yet begun to write half-assed stand up bits, completely arbitrary comedic lists, and awkwardly phrased social ranting. Those who oppose me? A bunch of douchebags.

God bless me. God bless Tower of Hubris. And God bless America (or certain parts of it, at least).

(NOTE: While reading this, please stand up and applaud in between each and every sentence. Thanks, folks!)

AMERICA'S LEAST POPULAR MUNICIPALITIES

Goebbelstown, Virginia

Semen Burp, Wisconsin

Cerebralpalsyford, North Dakota

Orphan City, Iowa

Nutstink, Texas

Junkies Hollow, Massachusetts

Rapist Valley, Oregon

Tainted Water Supply, Ohio

North Stretchmark, Alabama

Cuntchester, Maryland

Al Qaeda, Tennessee

Unwanted Pregnancy Creek, Michigan

San Douche, New Mexico

Albany, New York

Olde Rapist Valley, Oregon

OHHHH YEEEEEAAAHHH!!

I think I speak for the whole world when I say...

BE A MAN!

ONE YEAR AND COUNTING

A year ago tonight, I had my first date with the lovely Ms. Kambri. Remarkably, she has been kind enough to let me refer to myself as her boyfriend ever since. I'm not going blather on in this public forum about how much I love her (a lot), but I thought the date worth noting.

Tonight, she and I will be gorging ourselves on very juicy and very expensive steaks. And then, we will take a cab back to her apartment and commece with "doing it". And then, I will drift off into a meat coma. ...And so will she, if you know what I mean!! AM I RIGHT, FELLAS?!!

(I have no idea what I mean.)

OKAY, SO HERE'S THE DEAL

So the reason I haven't been posting much over the past week or so is, I was recently hired as a writer on a television show. Which television show, you ask? Well, it was one of the following--see if you can guess!

QSI (This is a show where five fabulous gay men makeover drab crime scenes)
Nazi Memorabilia Roadshow
According to Joe Piscopo
Celebrity Wet Fart Hour with Arthel Neville
Name That Douchebag
I'm Relatively Indifferent to Lucy
Tough Crowd with Colin Quinn
QSI Miami

If you guessed "Tough Crowd", give yourself ten points. Anyway, getting this job is a really great thing for me and I'm really excited for the opportunity. But as you can imagine, my first week (I officially started this past Wednesday) has been a teensy bit overwhelming. Not just the actual work, but reacquainting myself with office life, although this is hardlty the typical "office". I've never worked an office job I haven't hated, so it's hard to get used to the fact that I actually enjoy being here. It's creepy. Hopefully I'll make it past my 4-week trial period. But if not, I'll probably get lots of juicy I-got-an-opportunity-to-work-in-my-chosen-field-and-I-blew-it-so-I-must-be-some-kind-of-asshole material. Cross your fingers!

By the way, in case you've never heard of it, "Tough Crowd with Colin Quinn" airs on Comedy Central every weeknight at 11:30pm. If you like the show, cool. And if you don't, that's cool, too. But I definitely don't want to turn the TOH comments box into some sort of de facto "Tough Crowd" message board. Like it or not, this website is all about me. ME, MUTHAFUCKA! So if you have any passionate thoughts about the show, feel free to drop me an Email or three. I think I have something airing on tomorrow night's (Wednesday's) show, but I won't know for sure until tomorrow morning.

Oh, and I'll get back to posting on a more regular basis once I get a bit more "in the flow" of things here. Until then, thanks for being patient.

Um, that's all.

Toodles.

WHAT MY FAVORITE MOVIE SAYS ABOUT ME, Part IV (?)

THE GRADUATE -- Thirty years, two wives and four kids later, I'm still not 'square'. Seriously.

SLAP SHOT -- I love sports and might actually still participate in them, if not for my far greater love of beer and sleep.

RASHOMAN -- Please, ask my about my thesis!

GONE WITH THE WIND -- I long for a world where all of my decisions are made for me.

GOODFELLAS -- My 'hot date' outfit is a tracksuit.

LIKE WATER FOR CHOCOLATE -- On my dorm room wall, I have a poster of a man and woman kissing tenderly on a Parisian street.

JACKASS: THE MOVIE -- On my dorm wall, I have a poster of two women in American flag bikinis hand-washing a Ferarri.

BABE -- On my cubicle wall, I have a poster of a kitten dangling from a tree branch. Hang in there, baby!

THE ROAD WARRIOR -- Screw what everyone else says--leather chaps are not gay!

CITIZEN KANE -- I've seen Citizen Kane.

THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE (original) -- I'm snobbish and elitist about things any normal adult would be embarrassed by.

THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE (remake) -- Jessica Biel is so fucking hot.

AMERICAN MOVIE -- My wry comments and perpetual smirk mask the crippling fear that I may be hollow inside.

200 MOTELS -- I smell very, very bad.

LORD OF THE RINGS: THE RETURN OF THE KING -- Fgnaworngw rgnrninin rgojojojwg. Wpkpkwe’kfl df epkpajkefpkf, aefpkpkp oefpkpk wefpkpsskpaef! Aepfkpkpkae!! Fhaakjpkpkaef pkpkspakf kpkerf afihiae fvbxfgi, sgpujopjsvg sdojpojopjgv fgnaworngw. Rgnrninin rglojojoqjwg wpkpkwe’kfl; uoff epkpajkefpkf aefpkpkp! Fjkhllh!!! ...What? Oh, I'm sorry--I assumed you spoke Elvish.

SOMETHING'S GOT TO GIVE -- Older women are sexy! Older women are sexy! No, I am not listening to you! I am not listening!! I'm sticking my fingers in my ears! LA LA LA LA LA LA LA!!!!!!

BEHIND THE GREEN DOOR -- I don't masturbate. I "masturbate".

LADYHAWKE -- You speak Elvish, too? Wow! My name is Katie, but people call me Shadowmyst.

BLOGGUS INTERRUPTUS

What can I say, folks--it's been an ungodly busy week. Sorry about the lack of hilarity. I will try to write something worthwhile in the morning, but I honestly can't make any promises. I'll explain myself and make amends sometime in the next few days.

Just a reminder, though: I rule. You drool.

Try not to forget it.

I'VE GOT TO BE A MACHO MAN

A couple of days ago, I went in to record a short little voiceover thing for a feature film a friend of mine is directing. It's about a radio call-in show and he needed me (and a few other people) to be the callers. So I went in to the booth and laid down what I thought was the vocal smackdown. Well, I just got an Email from him thanking me for my work and letting me know that my work was great because "it had that creepy 'is this guy gay' quality to it."

Um...score?

I will state for the record that no way was I attempting to affect a 'gay' voice. Nope, that's just me.

(sigh)

INTERNET, I LOVE THEE

Clear off an hour or so on your schedule today and behold the majesty of "Whack-an-Oates".

My high score? A rather unbelievable 250. But that was just a freak occurrence--most of my scores were in the 100-125 range. A good strategy? Keep your eyes peeled for Adam Ant and resist the lure of Morris Day.

BROADWAY'S LEAST POPULAR MUSICALS

One Night with Bronson Pinchot

142nd Street

Starlight Express II: More Douchebags Rollerskating

Restraining Order!

Les Muffdiverables

Over the Top: The Musical

Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamthong

Smelt It, Dealt It

Thoroughly Syphilitic Millie

Schindler!

Anything Goes (Other Than Ass-Play)

Jesus Christ Relatively Obscure Character Actor

On the Rag!

A Bunch of Gay Guys Pretending to be in Love with a Bunch of Annoyingly Cheery Women

Guys and Blow-Up Dolls

FIRST JOKE OF 2004!

You know, they say the best part of waking up is...um, no.

What is the deal with....fuck.

If I was president, I'd make it illegal to...no, that's not funny, either.

The thing about Ben Affleck is...man, I've got nothing.

So I saw that new reality show...and, um...man, why do I bother?

The best thing about Ramadan is...it...see...seriously, this is so weak.

You know, a weird thing happened to me yesterday at the gay bath house...I should really consider a career in flower delivery.

Orange Alert? More like...I hate myself.

This is going to be the best year ever! Whoooooooooo!!!!!!!

A FEW FUN LITTLE GAMES FOR NEW YEAR'S EVE

* Linger awkwardly as a loving couple attempts to enjoy a poignant New Year kiss. Get right up close and whisper, "Three more months, tops".

* Spike the champagne with Metamucil.

* At exactly 11:59:30pm, loudly announce that you just found out that your entire family has been brutally murdered. See who still insists on counting down to midnight.

* Cover the beverage table with religious pamphlets.

* Spice up the party by locking yourself in the bathroom and downing a bottle of Advil in a desperate cry for help. Write short suicide note on mirror with lipstick.

* Show off your fresh 2004 pubic hairdo! (I'm going with a sassy bob)

Happy New Year, muthafuckas. Try not to act like a tool.

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THE BIGGEST ASSHOLES OF 2003

10. THAT OBNOXIOUS PSEUDO HIPSTER GUY FROM THE 'CRAZY WORLD' ANTI-SMOKING ADS (Ohhhhhh, how I hate thee. Hate. Haaaaaaate. You make me want to start up a three pack a day habit.)

9. SANTA BARBARA DISTRICT ATTORNEY TOM SNEDDON (This travesty of justice must stop. Leave Michael alone! Let he who hasn't molested a boy or three cast the first stone! Tom Sneddon is a cold man!)

8. THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS FUTURE (Okay, I need to change my ways. I get it, already. But it's December 29th, fer chrissake! Time to move on. And stop eating my food, you damned freeloader.)

7. DAME JUDI DENCH (Am I right, or am I right?)

6. THE NAMELESS, FACELESS 'EXPERTS' ON PRETTY MUCH EVERY SHOW TO AIR ON VH1 IN 2003 (Here's the kicker: I'm occasionally one of them! But I'm not too deluded to recognize that we, collectively, are an asshole. Oh, and if anyone from VH1 programming is reading this: just kidding!! Ha ha ha ha ha! I love you guys! Call me!!!!)

5. SARA LEE (Nice apple crumb pie, ASSHOLE!)

4. SADDAM INSANE (No, this is not a reference to former Iraqi dictator Saddam Insane, as read through the evocative journalistic prism that is the New York Post. No, Saddam Insane is the name of a guy who works behind the counter at Chirp'n Chicken, down the road from my apartment. He always shorts me on napkins. I'm like, "Can I get a few more napkins, please?" And he hands me two more and is like, "You want more, twenty-five cents." And I'm like, "What the fuck, dick--they cost like .00000005 cents apiece." And he, like, just stands there. Whatever, asshole. Bummer about the name, though.)

3. DR. JONATHAN FABER (Sterile? Yeah, right! I don't think so, pal!)

2. THE MINNESOTA VIKINGS' SECONDARY (Do you fuckers realize what you did yesterday? You cost me $75,000!!! Play the ball, not the man! THE BALL!!! Now I have to leave the country! Thanks, fuckers.)

1. YOU (Oh, don't act all innocent--you know why.)

ROLL AGAIN

Know this about the Parker Brothers classic, Monopoly: by games end, at least one person will be totally pissed off. Seriously, can you recall one time in your life when you and your parents/siblings/loved ones/in-laws/cell mates made it to the bitter end of a Monopoly endurathon without someone threatening violence/retribution/divorce/disinheritance?

What makes Monopoly such a remarkable/shitty game is how closely it mirrors who you really are. If you are a patient and organized financial planner in real life, this will reveal itself in the game--you acquire worthwhile properties at a sensible pace, never falling victim to momentary whim and ego, never overextending yourself. And if you are the kind of person who tends to "live for today", throwing around money the minute you get it, indulging in momentary extravaganzas, only to find yourself having to scrape and grovel every time some unforeseen expense (you know, like emergency dentistry or rent) pops up, this too will reveal itself in how you play Monopoly. I'll let you guess which type I am.

For the first half of the game, I'm buying up shit left and right, without a care in the world. "Oriental Avenue? Sure, I'll take that. Electric Company? Fuck yeah, lay that shit on me! Ventnor? Absolutely! I don't care if I'll only have $177 left--I'll be passing 'GO' in a couple of turns, and that's $200 more I have coming to me right there! So as long as I don't roll anything lower than a nine, I'm home free!" Cut to 45 minutes later, when I'm mortgaging off my once formidable fleet of properties in order to pay off whoever was smart enough to buy up all the goddamn railroads. Fuck you, B&O! From that point, it's just a slow march toward The Inevitable. I have $32 to my name and no income to speak of, other than what I might be able to score via 'Community Chest'. I am on edge. I am near defeat. I am looking desperately to blame my situation on intricate conspiracies and arbitrary distractions. Jiggling the dice in my hand for far longer than is necessary, I stare bleakly at the gauntlet of hotels between my sad little top hat and the relative safety of 'Luxury Tax'. And I wonder, "Just how the fuck am I going to get through this?"

That, friends, is my adult life in a nutshell.

ALAS, SINCERITY

I should probably write something snarky and hilarious to commemorate yesterday's Noel. But I am unable. The whole day was simply too good. All the family members who were able to attend were in fantastic spirits and I had the woman I love at my side. For one day (and perhaps one day only), I have not the energy to talk shit about anything or anyone. Not even myself.

It was a great holiday and I feel humbled and appreciative. I would say more but, simply put, this ain't that kind o' blog. It's difficult enough for me to get through these few sentences without undercutting the genuine sentiment with a cheap laugh. Right there, for instance--I was going to type "undercutting the genuine sentiment with a dick joke", but I decided that even typing the words "dick joke" would take away from what I was saying. But now, I've gone and typed it anyway (twice, even!), as a way of explaining what I was not going to do. So I have already screwed up my attempt to write a 100% sincere entry about having perhaps the most poignant Christmas of my life? Probably.

Anyway, Merry Post-Christmas, for those of you who celebrate that sort of thing. I'll go back to blithe ridicule now.

THE WORLD'S LEAST-APPRECIATED YULETIDE GIFT RESPONSES

Want to make a big splash on Christmas Day? Enjoy making people feel shitty about themselves? Well, upon opening a gift from a dear friend, family member or loved one, I urge you give one of these a whirl:

"Well, I guess I finally know what you really think of me."

"Great. I needed a new piece of shit."

"This is so sweet of you, grandpa. Especially given that this is probably your last Christmas."

"Jesus, how do you sleep?"

"I'm so relieved you didn't let taste get in the way of buying me this gift."

"Whoop-de-damn-do. Next."

"You know, I'd return this but I don't think the 99 cent store gives out refunds."

"Buying me this CD walkman isn't going to make up for years of shitty parenting. Just so you know."

"Hey, thanks! I was actually thinking about getting the same thing for you, but I needed weed money."

"You are a horrible person and this is a terrible Christmas present. I hate you."

"(sigh)"

"Wow, I don't deserve this. I mean, who are we kidding--neither do you. But I definitely don't deserve this."

AMERICA'S LEAST FAVORITE CHRISTMAS CAROLS

"The Two Thousand and Third Noel"

"Egg Nog Makes You Pretty"

"I Saw Daddy Giving it to Santa (In the Butt)"

"Pediatrics Ward Christmas "

"Baby Jesus Fucked my Girlfriend"

"Did Thou Keep Thy Receipt?"

"The Seven Car Yuletide Tragedy"

"Night of the Reigndeer: The Unholy Wrath of Prancer"

"All I Want for Christmas is Not to be Audited"

"Please Don't Hit Me, it's Christmas"

"I Forget to Poke Airholes in your Present (So Long, Winkles)"

"More Tinsel, Bitch!"

"My Name is Santa, and I have a Problem"

"Joy to the World (Except Karen)"

REVIVED

After two days of site maintenance-related grief, things at Tower of Hubris finally seem to be back up to speed. And what is this post, you ask? Nothing but an elaborate test, really. So read yesterday's thingy--it's funny, kind of.

HEY, SEE THAT PARTRIDGE OUT THERE, SWEETIE PIE? THE ONE OVER THERE IN THAT PEAR TREE? SEE HIM? HE'S ON A LOW BRANCH, KIND OF OVER TO THE RIGHT--NO WAIT, HE JUST MOVED! SEE HIM? OVER THERE! NO, OVER THERE. YEAH, THAT'S HIM. YEP. WELL, UM, HE'S YOURS. I AM HEREBY GRANTING YOU OWNERSHIP OF THAT THERE PARTRIDGE. SO, UM...ENJOY. MERRY CHRISTMAS.

For you, the loyal TOH readership: A holiday trivia nugget with which to amaze your friends and family:

Did you know that the popular Yuletide carol "The Twelve Days of Christmas" was originally titled "The Thirty-One Days of Christmas"? Yep, no shit! And in case you're curious, here's what the protagonist of the song's true love gave to her from Day 31 to Day 13:

On the thirty-first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me:

Thirty-one ugly sweaters,

thirty Virgin Megastore gift cards,

twenty-nine bottles of Body Shop lavender foot scrub,

twenty-eight travel size Yahtzees,

twenty-seven Far Side calendars a-wasting,

twenty-six coffee mugs emblazoned with humorous statements related to how one's ethnic heritage contributes to his/her ability to perform sexually,

twenty-five pit bulls a-fucking,

twenty-four critically acclaimed novels I'll give lip service to reading,

twenty-three "free hug" coupons,

twenty-two tearful apologies for what happened three days ago,

twenty-one autographed photos of REO Speedwagon vocalist Kevin Cronin,

twenty unlaundered dance belts a-stinking,

nineteen drunken punches to the face and ribs,

eighteen cans of Pabst emptying,

seventeen Metrocards expiring,

sixteen unwanted tickets to that new Boy George/Rosie O'Donnell musical,

fifteen beef jerky flavored dental dams,

fourteen two pound bags of uncut Columbian cocaine,

thirteen venereal diseases a-spreading...

And you know how the rest goes: twelve drummers drumming, eleven pipers piping, etc. But don't sell this wonderful song short, people--be sure to sing the entire thirty-one day version on Christmas Eve to help get your family in the holiday mood!

I AM WITHOUT SHAME

Just a reminder to check out Smoking Gun TV tonight on Court TV at 8:30pm. Alternately, you can see it Friday at 11:00pm or Sunday at 11:30pm. My prediction for the show: funny.

If you need to refresh your memory about when it's on or to find out about other appearances, both on TV and in person, you can check my calendar (which is, admittedly, a tad sparse right now). This is the last time I will annoy you people with this.

Go back to your online shopping.

MAKE THAT CHANGE!

Wow.

Take this as a lesson, fellas: if you're going to hack off your own penis (and who among us hasn't seriously considered it at least once or twice?), make sure to rehearse your story a few times. Because apparently people will ask, and talk about embarassing!

A CHRISTMAS CARD FROM DAVID LEE ROTH



Hey there, my little Christmas elves! Feliz Navidad from El Taco Grande! That's right, o little children of Bethlehem--it's your main man on the West Pole, sending good cheer over the sexotronic mental airwaves of WDAVE!

And speaking of poles, how about you naughty little Nancies come on over here and sit on Santa Dave's lap and we'll talk about the first thing that pops up?! Whooooo! That's what you call a double-trouble-super-bubble entendre, my little stocking stuffers! Let the festivilities begin! I'm ready to roll up my greensleeves and get my halls sufficiently decked!

Now I know, technicality-wise, this here holy infant ain't exactly tender and mild. In fact, I'm what you might call a Member of the Tribe--and I ain't talking about the Navajo! But that doesn't mean your little Yuletide cowpoke doesn't like having his candycane unwrapped every once in a while! Know what I'm saying, Good King Wencelaus? After all, it's like Telly Savalas once said to Joan of Arc: "No need for presents when you've got my presence!" I've got me a list, and I'm not just checking it twice--I'm correcting the spelling and scanning it for interplanetary crossword puzzle clues! So if ol' Rudolph wants to drive my sleigh tonight, he'd better get himself a degree in Eastern Folklore and an oil change! So holiday greetings to you, yours and whoever else's the Great Eye in the Sky has hanging around on the ol' Popcorn String of Life!

Yours,
DLR

P.S. Super wassail tree stand magnet parade, Blitzen!

INVITE ME INTO YOUR LIVING ROOM!

You know, I'll be posting a reminder in a couple of days, but I wanted to give you fine folks a heads-up:

On Wednesday, December 17th, I will be appearing on the show Smoking Gun TV on Court TV. As you may have guessed, it's being produced in conjunction with the creators of the very popular Smoking Gun website. The show is hosted by former Daily Show correspondent Mo Rocca and I have every reason to believe it will be very, very funny. I am a field correspondent and I'll be filing a report on the plight of Ms. Michelle Padilla, a young churchgoing woman who, in a moment of carefree self-expression, was caught on camera and transformed into an unwilling Girls Gone Wild cover girl. Yes, folks, this is serious journalism.

(Must...not...make "hard news" joke... Must...resist...)

Anyway, the show debtus on 12/17 at 8:30pm and then re-airs on Friday, 12/19 at 11:00pm and Sunday, 12/21 at 11:30pm. You can read the press release here.

Oh, and as far as that first link goes? You know, this one? Well, they seem to have replaced my picture with that of a sweaty fat guy. I mean, sweet christ, never have I been so horrified at a picture of myself. Ever. There was one day we shot in the San Diego heat without a makeup person and of course they had to pull a still from that day. Ugh. Horrendous, I tell you.

Anyway, watch the show. And then go on to the message boards and talk about how fucking cool I am, so they'll give me more work. What could be more fun?

I AM A HUGE PUSSY

A couple of days ago, I saw the move Love Actually. Here are my thoughts:

If irony is truly dead, Love Actually is the film that may singlehandedly bring it back to life. After penning a popular string of exercises in romantic whimsy, such as Four Weddings and a Funeral and Notting Hill, screenwriter Richard Curtis has ascended to the director chair and delivered a film so staggeringly cheesy, it amounts to an act of cultural bravery. Love Actually is comprised on nine (yes, nine!) vignettes on the many faces of...well, love. I mean, what the fuck did you think I was going to say?

Curtis seems to have conceived Love Actually as a sweetness endurathon, designed to find out just how much bullshit an audience is willing to swallow. "Okay, we've got Colin Firth overcoming a language barrier to find marital bliss with his Portugese housekeeper. Not cheesy enough for you? How about Liam Neeson playing a grieving widower who helps his precocious step-son win over his first love? No? Did I mention the precocious step-son's first love is a black girl?! Had enough yet? Well, try Laura Linney on for size! I mean, she gives up a promising sexual fling just to take care of her invalid brother! Whom she loves! I mean, this guy is totally fucked in the head, but she loves him! Love love love love love! Give up yet? Do you? DO YOU?!!" Perhaps most brutal is the film's final twenty minutes, which feels something like running a midieval gauntlet designed by Care Bears. You are pummelled again and again, as each and every story is resolved and adorned with a tiny little metaphorical bow, assuring you once and for all that love is indeed a wonderful thing. It is a very bold message and upon leaving the theater, you may feel compelled to murder a prostitute, just for the feeling of equilibrium.

Oh, and the most sickening part of the Love Actually experience? I actually kind of enjoyed it.

Don't tell.

WORST SONGS WITH WHICH TO UNDERSCORE AN INSPIRATIONAL, ROCKY-ESQUE TRAINING MONTAGE

"The Lady in Red" by Chris DeBurgh

"Chicken Soup with Rice" by Carole King

"Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien" by Edith Piaf

"I Love the Nightlife" by Alicia Bridges

"Hey You" by Pink Floyd

"Born Free" by Andy Williams

"Flying Purple People Eater" by Sheb Wooley

"Chains of Love" by Erasure

"Is That All There Is?" by Peggy Lee

"Heal the World" by Michael Jackson

"Itsy Bitsy Spider" (Trad.)

Anything involving Edie Brickell

IF I CLOSE MY EYES FOREVER

Earlier this week, I promised an avid TOH reader that I would post something every single day this week. Thereofre, in accordance with that pledge, I present to you this piece of shit entry. I have absolutely nothing interesting to say. Zilch. It happens, you know.

I should mention that it is currently 8:36am (never mind the time signature--that thing is all f'ed up) and that I have not yet gone to sleep. Why is this, you ask? Beats the shit out of me. This is the third night in a row I have have seen daylight before going to bed. I'm always something of a night owl, but this is just ridiculous. You know you have a fucked up sleep schedule when not only do you see TV stations go off the air, you seem them come back on the air a few hours later. This is nonsense. I'm too old to be living like a college Sophmore during Finals Week. I think I may need to start giving myself roofies.

I'm suddenly exhausted, so I'm going to go sleep for an hour or two. Maybe I'll write something worthwile a bit later. But maybe not. The important thing is that I posted something, right? Um, right? Fine I'll try to write a joke before I go. Here goes:

The best thing about fucking a household pet is, you never have to fghwophir your efe[o daedppn Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...

COLLAGENIFICENT!

TOPIC FOR DISCUSSION: I think artists today have it too easy and that makes for across-the-board mediocrity. It is therefore my opinion that we should re-start the Blacklist. Of course, that Communist rhetoric doesn't motivate people the way it used to, so we'll have to find something more interesting to persecute people for. Maybe I'll go after people who don't wash their hands after peeing. Or people who misuse the term "per se" (meaning: just about everyone). Or people who own Nickelback albums. I don't know what it's going to be yet, but this I can guarantee: names will be named.

I'll get working on it. And speaking of names being named, have fun floating around here for a while. I'll think you'll all agree with me when I say "Egads!"

THIS IS DANGEROUS... (and not particularly funny, just so you know)

I made the plunge. After consciously avoiding it for months and months, I finally started buying online music from iTunes. As big a music dork as I am, my friends are always shocked to find out that I never got in on the whole Napster/Limewire thing. There are actually a few reasons why I've avoided downloading tunes, legally and otherwise, until now:

1) As much as I look forward to the day when the major record companies crumble and fall into the sea (and it ain't gonna be too many years from now), I've always gotten tripped up on the ethical implications of file-sharing. I have no problem with uploading an occasional tune from a CD I actually own and sending it to a friend who might dig it, or vice-versa. But on a broad scale, it just seems a little fucked up, even if the vast majority of the money I spend on CDs is going straight into the pockets of the same people who are pushing Avril Lavigne, Clay Aiken and "Crunk" down my throat.

2) When it gets right down to it, I'm an "album" kind of guy. When of the things I enjoy most is buying an album based on liking one or two songs, and discovering a whole bunch of even better songs I'd never have heard if I'd simply downloaded the singles off the web. And there's a real art to putting together a true collection of songs. A great album is like those 1970s Japanese cartoon robots that came together to form one megarobot (a la Starvengers)--the sum is greater than the parts. Also, I like the tactile aspect of holding something in my hand, with cover art, an insert, etc. Call me a traditionalist.

3) I am afraid. I am afraid that once I open the Pandora's box of having access to new music any damn time I feel like it, I will never do anything productive again. And I honestly feel that if you can acquire anything at the drop of a hat, things will inevitably start to seem less valuable to you. I think back to how much I used to love certain albums in junior high and high school--I knew every single word, every single guitar solo, every drum fill by heart. And most of that music sucked! Contrast that with now, where I pick up great albums just about every week and I'll be lucky if I can remember more than a couple of song titles. I have this feeling that once you give yourself over to furious downloading, the actual enjoyment factor becomes something of an afterthought. Music is still a bit precious to me, and I want to keep it that way. And yes, I realize how "totally gay" that sounds.

That said, the iTunes store just makes it too damned easy. In little over an hour, I downloaded 15 wonderful tunes at the very reasonable price of $.99 apiece. I told myself that I could spend the approximate price of one CD and I managed to stick to it. I actually like that the songs aren't free, and not just for the ethics factor. A dollar isn't going to break my bank (at least, not at the moment), but the mere fact that I'm spending something forces me to ask myself, Do I really want this? Do I really need to have an MP3 of "Fly High Michelle" by Enuff Z'Nuff? No, I don't think I do.

Also, I'm going to limit myself to songs from albums I'm pretty sure suck, or from albums I once owned on cassette but know I'm never going to bother replacing. I find myself wanting to download two songs from the same album, I'm going to try and force myself to go out and buy the damned CD. We'll see how long that lasts.

Just in case you're curious, here are the songs I've purchased, in the order I downloaded them. And no, I'm not joking. Remember, I mentioned that today's entry wasn't particularly funny.

WARNING: LAUGHABLY PRETENTIOUS MUSING TO FOLLOW!!!

* "Milkshake" by Kelis
(Just go ahead and try to tell me this song doesn't rule. Try it! TRY IT!)

* "Boys Better" by The Dandy Warhols
(This song makes me wish I was really lanky so I could wear trendy clothes, suck in my cheeks and look sassy. Alas...)

* "Forbidden Colours" by David Sylvian and Ruyuchi Sakamoto
(This is a fleshed out version of the main theme music from the movie Merry Christmas, Mister Lawrence, complete with vocals. It's very beautiful.)

* "Desert Search for Techno Allah" by Mr. Bungle
(A great tune off of Disco Volante, which was a sloppy mess, otherwise.)

* "Who Are You" by "Tom Waits"
(Again: great song, so-so album.)

* "Sometimes Salvation" by The Black Crowes
(Shut up. It's a good song.)

* "Here Comes The Flood" by Peter Gabriel
(I love this song so damned much, but I know I'll never get around to buying the the whole album on CD.)

* "When it Began" by The Replacements
(A lot of old school indie purists don't consider anything off of All Shook Down to be the "real" Replacements, but I couldn't give two shits. This is a great tune, even if it was essentially a Paul Westerberg solo project.)

* "You Never Even Called Me by My Name" by David Allen Coe
(Many years ago, after being cruelly dumped and moving into a neighborhood where I knew absolutely no one, I found myself spending two to four nights a week sitting alone in a country western bar called Doc Holliday's. I would drink Southern Comfort and ginger ale and try to make chit chat with the ruffians. I suppose I thought I was being gritty and poetic. Man, what a d-bag I was. But I did come to really love a few country songs, this one in particular. It's got a great singalong.)

* "Space Age Love Song" by A Flock of Seagulls
(Laugh all you want, it's a beautiful pop song. And the guy's guitar sound rules.)

* "Let it Whip" by The Dazz Band
(This song is very important, in the context of contemporary social mores and...um... Okay, I'll admit it: this song kind of sucks. But I really loved it when I was a kid.)

* "Just My Imagination (Runnin' Away with Me)" by The Temptations
(A true classic. Just about perfect.)

* "What A Fool Believes" by The Doobie Brothers
(I will go to my grave swearing this is a great song. Hard to get a lot of people to agree with me on this one, I know. But I think we CAN all agree that it's fun to imitate Michael McDonald's singing voice.)

* "Didn't I (Blow Your Mind This Time)" by The Delfonics
(Another classic. I probably shouldn't mention that my girlfriend thinks this song was written by New Kids on the Block, should I? Nah, that would be too embarrassing for her.)

* "Joey" by Concrete Blond
(This song wasn't really like anything else Concrete Blond recoded, and I'm sure they probably came to hate playing it live. But the fact is, it's the best thing they ever did. If you think you don't know the song, trust me--you do.)

That's it. Oof. My fingers are cramping. Never have I written so much about so little. I hope the three of you who read this far enjoyed it.

EVERY DAY IS LIKE SUNDAY

Through the ever-evolving magic of dork gadgetry, I present to you an audio recording of the "Three's Company" theme song, as performed by The Moz himself. (See below) You're quite welcome.



audio post powered by audblog

NOTE: In the four hours since posting this, I have contemplated deleting it seven times. How long will it be until the embarrassment becomes too much to bear? We shall see...

DOOLITTLE

Earlier today, I met a woman who works for a digital animation studio. They specialize in feature-length 3D animated movies, a la Toy Story and Monsters, Inc. At one point, she mentioned that they're currently listening to pitches, so if I ever come up with anything good, I should let her know. The only thing to keep in mind, she said, was that her company is interested, primarily, in stories about animals.

Well, I have to be honest: it's never really occurred to me to write about animals. Call me Species-ist, but I generally spend most of my creative time thinking in terms of human beings. But still, you have to take your career opportunities where you can get them, so I spent a little time last night coming up with some really great animal characters, around whom I'll write a string of worldwide blockbuster animated features. Let me know if any of these little critters sounds promising:

* On-the-Wagon Winky, a once-fearsome tiger who's working on his twelve steps, turning his life over to a higher power, and trying his best to take things one day at a time.

* Chester, the camel who only fucks models

* Sprinkles, an orphaned kitten who's taken in by a kind old alley cat and taught about the international Zionist conspiracy.

* Miss Darla, the eastern dwarf mongoose who survives years of incest and physical abuse to become the Kenyan animal community's most famous activist and talk show host.

* Alfonso, the gay-bashing pelican

* Terrence Trent Beaver, a wildly talented and vaguely effiminate beaver who becomes an overnight woodland superstar but soon falls fall prey to his own messianic complex and overblown ego, eventually reducing his once promising career to little more than a humorous footnote in the annals of forestry.

* Vicki, the mentally retarded sea turtle who runs a Bob Seger webzine.

* Maurice, the koala who find out his wife has been sleeping with a grizzly bear and responds by opening fire in a crowded fast food restaurant, killing twelve and critically injuring another three, before turning the gun on himself.

* Slutty badgers

Okay, that last one needs a bit of fleshing out, but I think the potential is pretty obvious. I can't wait for the merchandising tie-ins. Happy Meal residuals, here I come!

THE INTERNET'S LEAST DOWNLOADED CELEBRITY SEX VIDEOS

Stanley Tucci: Exposed!

The Captain Lou Albano sex tape

Golden Girls Gone Wild

Members of Ratt buttfucking members of Dokken

Motel 6 Heiress Edna Furbidge: Live on Tape!

The Maya Angelou sex tape

Domo Arigato, Dennis DeYoung: The Video Styx Doesn't Want You to See!

The infamous John Madden turkey baster video

Suveillance camera footage of F. Murray Abraham jerking off at Chuck E. Cheese

The Barbara Bush 500

SOMETHING TO PONDER

You know, as we enter the holiday season, a time of mirth and good cheer, I think it's importat to keep something in mind: responding to someone wishing you a "Merry Christmas" by saying "Happy Kwanzaa" isn't nearly as hilarious as you think it is. At best it's a lame joke, and at worst perhaps a teensy bit racist. Yes, I know--"Kwanzaa" is a strange sounding word and it kind of makes you giggle to say it. But by throwing out a sarcastic "Happy Kwanzaa", essentially what you're saying is, "Can you imagine how wacky it would be if I actually participated in this stupid-sounding heathen jubilee? What a crazy bunch, those Africans!"

Very funny...you racist.

I don't want to put too fine a point on it, though. Mostly it's just a lame joke. Although I will admit, it's hard not to chuckle a little bit when you read the lyrics to the traditional "Kawnzaa song". Someone might want to work on a re-write.