Saturday, March 29, 2003
I'm not sure that yesterday's entry on He-Man was all that interesting. In fact, I think the funniest part to me was that I actually found a link to a site called He-Man.org.
Is this really a non-for-profit company devoted to spreading the good works of He-Man?
Do proceeds go to the widows and orphans of the those who gave their lives to save Eternia from Skeletor?
Am I a very lonely man?
Answer key: The answer to one of these questions is "Yes." Can you guess which one?
CHRISTINA AGUILERA WITHOUT MAKEUP
From The Sun
I admit at first I found this funny: it's an international sex symbol looking like crap. But then I thought, in a way this is Aguilera at her most beautiful; as a young woman blossoming into adulthood.
Then I found it even funnier because it's still an international sex symbol looking like crap.
Talk about your conflicting emotions!
Friday, March 28, 2003
I used to love the cartoon He-Man as a kid.
If you dont know this masterpiece of western art, it was about a puny prince named Adam who, when his kingdom was threatened by a talking skeleton, would pull out his magic sword, and say "BY THE POWER OF GREYSKULL - I HAVE THE POWER!" Then he would turn into He-Man, a muscular man's man who would kick everyone's ass.
Why did he ever want to turn back into Prince Adam?
Or at the very least, why did he keep his identity as He-Man a secret? If I were the prince of a small country that was attacked by a talking skeleton every day of the year, I'd let everyone know who I was. I'd be like, "I just want everyone to know that if anyone fucks with Eternia, not only will I get all He-Man on your ass, but my big gay cat will turn into a man-eating tiger."
I also noticed that everyone in Eternia was named very accurately. He-Man, of course, because he's a he-man. And his mentor, Man-At-Arms, who is also his man-at-arms. And Teela, who was the T&A.
Even better were the villains' names. Like Skeletor. Did his mom give birth to him, and his parents were like, "I think we should name him Ralph."
"I don't know, maybe we should name him 'Skeletor'."
"You don't think he looks like my Uncle Ralph?"
"No, I think he looks more like a skeleton."
On the other hand, Beastor probably didn't have to actually grow up to be a beast. If he'd been named "Percival," he would have grown up to be a poet or something.
MY PERSONAL HISTORY WITH HE-MAN
I was a huge fan of He-Man as a child. It's funny, but I didn't start my fandom from watching the cartoon series, but from liking the toys*. My friend Julian came over to visit and he had a Man-E-Faces doll (he had many faces, which you could spin around. It was neat). He clued me into the whole He-Man phenomenon, and I was hooked.
When I was probably eight, I took a spiral-bound notebook and created a parody magazine called Crazed - somewhere between the subtlety of Mad and the fine artwork of Cracked. Most of it was crap and made zero sense, but I did create a parody called "She-Man." (No, not a transvestite. I was only eight, for Chrissakes.) It pictured She-Man raising his sword in front of a castle, saying, "By the power of Numbskull, I have the power!" This is high-grade stuff when you're eight.
A few years later I was to create another satiric masterpiece: "Teenage Mutant Ninja Gynecologists."**
I remember the day the He-Man and She-Ra movie came out, because not only was it a huge cultural watershed art film - and a musical to boot - but it heralded the debut of a new toy line for parents to buy. And also a cartoon series, She-Ra, for girls who couldn't handle the fast pace and complex character development of He-Man. As I recall, She-Ra (who lived in a parallel world) had a talking pony or something. I'm confident that anyone reading this far into a blog entry about He-Man can tell me.
Anyway, my best friend James (about whom, more will be written) and I had to go see this movie. Absolutely no choice; we would die and our lives would be ruined forever if we didn't. Needless to say, my mom refused to take us, and James' mom didn't want to see it any more than mine did. So my older sister was forced to go with us and sit through this movie. I think she actually forgave me last year.
Let's just say that when the live-action movie (Masters of the Universe, starring Frank Langella as Skeletor) came out, my parents made sure that I had no idea; they orchestrated a press blackout the Pentagon would envy. And this was my dad, the same guy who not only took me to see Short Circuit, Popeye*** and SpaceBalls, but enjoyed himself.
They just don't make cartoons like that any more. Look at your Spongebobs, your Rugrats. Huge commercial successes, yes. But where are the next generation of soulless cheap-o cartoons designed solely to sell product, eh? Where do you think they're coming from? I'll tell you where: Japan! That's right, while America got all concerned with "Making quality programming for children," Japan stepped up to the plate and took over where America left off, with soulless corporate toy commercials like Pokemon, Yu-Gi-Yoh, and Ranma.
He-Man makes you proud to be an American; sure, it may be crass, commercial and lazy, but it wasnever ashamed; and not afraid to say, "I'm not going to spend any time trying to be better, so just shut up and buy my damned products!" We need more heroes like He-Man in this world.
Just a note: I got the He-Man pictures from this site and this site. Check them out if your nostalgia borders on the obsessive.
* He-Man toys I had included the Man-At-Arms doll/jet (with a retractable anchor attached to a string), and a Castle Greyskull playset. You know what toy I didn't have? He-Man himself. Several GI Joe characters had to stand-in.
** Yes, I still have copies of both, and no, they will never see the light of day so long as I live.
*** A good movie, no matter what you say.
Thursday, March 27, 2003
- G. Marx
I've got to stop being so shy with women. Yesterday is a perfect example: I'm sitting on the E train in Manhattan, all the seats are full. At Lexington Avenue, on steps a blind woman carrying a white cane.
She looked nothing like this.
Now, I want to give her a seat, but I almost find myself unable to ask her. I realized afterwards tha I was afraid that she would reject me, saying something along the lines of, "I wouldn't take a seat from you. Even though I can't see at all, my other senses are that much more heightened, and I can tell that you're not cute enough."
Of course that isn't what happened, and at 5th Avenue, I summoned up the courage to ask if she wanted a seat. Actually, don't think I''m some kind of nice guy. I sat there a little longer hoping that someone else would offer up their seat, and then I could relax knowing that if only I'd been given another second I would have given up my seat. But those other rat-bastards out-waited me.
SOME I'M CHANTIN' EVENING
I have to admit; when I was at the peace rally on Saturday and my friend Karen started a chant in the crowd, I got jealous. I have no luck starting chants.
This guy was not at Saturday's march.
FYI, here are some extremely ineffective chants I tried that didn't get the crowd going:
* "Hey hey, ho ho, let's go home and do some blow."
* "No blood for oil - over a dollar a gallon. Under a dollar a gallon, yes it's worth it!"
* "Bush, Bush, you lazy slob, let's send children in to do the job."
* "I want peace in the Middle East or a really spectacular victory!"
* "War on Iraq is lunacy - even the undercover FBI agents agree."
* "Shame on the media! Shame on the media! Except for Howard Stern, Stern rules!"
* "One two three four, I declare a thumb war!"
* "Spare change, spare change, anyone got spare change?"
* "I came to the rally, then I stayed. I deserve to now get laid."
* "Mumia Mumia, is he dead yet? I'm really curious, I forget."
* "Free Earnest!" (I was carrying an Earnest Goes to Jail poster instead of a placard.)
* "What do we want?"
- "When do we want it?"
- "Oh sorry, did you think we said 'Peace?' We actually said 'pizza.'"
- "I know, I've got a delivery guy on the phone and he needs to know how soon we want it."
Wednesday, March 26, 2003
I did my one-man show last night. Afterwards I was going to go home, but felt a little melancholy so I decided to walk to a Jest writers' meeting.
WHAT'S SO FUNNY 'BOUT PEACE, LOVE, AND UNDERSTANDING?
As I was walking east along 14th street, i passed a young man with a scraggly goatee, dressed down in hip clothes. Now, its not fair to say that just because a kid is hanging out with his friends on the street at 11:30 at night, doing nothing and dressed in nice clothes, that he's a trust-fund kid. Luckily, my blog has nothing to do with being fair. He was a trust-fund kid.
He said "Peace and love? Peace and love?" and held out his fist as I walked past. I felt like I had to touch his fist with mine; "If I'm not into peace and love, is he going to beat the shit out of me?"
I realized walking away that I was angry because he had coerced me into supporting peace and love; and I do believe in peace and love - who doesn't? But he almost made me want to turn around and support "War and death? War and death?"
I realized afterwards that he was saying "Peace and love? Peace and love?" in the same cadence that his parents probably ask, "Got a job? Got a job?"
LET'S GO TO THE VIDEOTAPE
Later, walking west on 10th street, I found a pile of VHS cassettes all labeled "ELVIS '68 COMEBACK SPECIAL."
Every single one was cut. But I did find an intact Brazilian music video.
I always pick up videotape whenever I find it on the street; once I found all these tapes of bizarre Japanese talk shows. Another time I found a video about volunteering to work with Girl Scouts. Not as hot as you'd think.
But the best was, a few weeks ago I found three tapes outside my local Rite Aid. I watched them; the first one was the best. It was security camera footage from my local Rite Aid; I watched as the cameras followed a security guard as he read the Daily News for ten minutes. It was actually kind of suspenseful; I didn't know if this was going to turn into something incredibly poignant, like the store got robbed and he got shot or something.
But no, then the footage turned into the camera following a young woman around the store for fifteen minutes, featuring many many close-ups of her breasts and ass. The rest of the tape just featured the (obviously bored) security staff watching women in the store, checking out close-ups of their asses.
At one point, they cut away in time to catch a woman working behind the pharmacy desk bending over to pick something up off of a shelf.
The other tapes were security camera footage from a Rite Aid in the Bronx. I got to watch a kid shoplift, but otherwise it was dull.
Tuesday, March 25, 2003
I know what you're saying, "Hey Liam, being antiwar will get you laid and stuff, but what about your hilarious and cutting Oscervations?" ("Oscervations" is my patented and trademarked blend of the words "Oscar" and "Observations.")
To be honest, I didn't watch the Oscars this year. Why is it that the best and brightest Hollywood has to offer get together one night a year to put on the dullest show on Earth? I saw Spirited Away win, which is one of the few Oscar movies I saw and enjoyed. (Kangaroo Jack, you were robbed!)
I've seen lines at the DMV move faster than the Oscars.
REASON TO LOVE LIVING IN NYC #109383
On 23rd and 6th at noon, I stopped and watched an older, Faginesque English gent giving an old-fashoned street-side demonstration of a vegetable peeler/knife. He showed us how to make "chips" and julien carrots. It almost made me wish I had my own documentary crew.
TONIGHT'S THE ONE-MAN SHOW
Hope I remember my own life story!
Monday, March 24, 2003
down Broadway from Times Square to Washington Square Park
(caveat: this is way longer than I'd intended. sorry)
I started on 42nd Street at ten to noon.
The atmosphere is part carnival, part protest. There's two guys in Uncle Sam suits on stilts. Colorful signs, colorful outfits. Hippies and suits, old women marching on canes arm-in-arm with their granddaughters. Trust-funders walking with long-beards. A guy handing out a High Times poster.
from The New York Times
* As I'm walking, I try to remember what I've read about the parade. I know that the article said there would be no speakers in Washington Square Park. This is good. The only speech I want to hear is if Ralph Nader holds an "Apology Rally," where he takes full responsibility for Bush being in office.
* Right away, the socialists were out in full force, selling tchochkes and souvenirs. Nice - especially considering that they don't believe in owning personal property. I mentally label them the "Antiwar Profiteers."
* Good thing they were there; the USSR was a very peaceful country. Stalin was practically a hippie.
* I think the revolution will catch on once our comrades are issued deodorant and soap.
* Stuck behind a drumming circle; a lot of white NYU kids in dreadlocks and do-rags. The dreadlock kids doing that weird spazzy dance that you see in bad indy rock videos.
* If only I'd remembered my bongos! I leave the house with bongos 364 days of the year, and the one day I leave them home...
* The worst was that there were two competing drumming circles, each trying to get the crowd to do different chants, sometimes at the same time.
* After 25 minutes of almost being driven to the pro-war side, I edge ahead through the crowd and find out that the parade had started; we're being held behind these douchebag socialists with a huge red banner that stretched across Broadway that weren't moving.
from The New York Times
* I'm walking and suddenly I look around and find that out of nowhere, I'm marching with "NYC
QUAKERS FOR PEACE." It's the only banner I feel comfortable marching behind.
* There are a lot of people with signs to the effect that the war is wrong because we don't have
international support. I consider asking these people if the war would be okay if more countries were behind us.
* I get stuck behind another drumming circle; kids who have no intention of making forward progress. Silly me, I forgot that the rally was really all about them.
* I scoot ahead again. More signs:
* Several women with signs that read: "ANOTHER DYKE FOR PEACE." I want one. A sign, I mean.
* A man in a suit with a bushy gray beard and a sign that reads: "Attorneys Against the War."
* A guy in a suit and a five o'clock shadow, with a sign: "Corporate Lawyers Against War." He's alone.
* A big orange GULF sign obviously taken from a gas station, with the words "NO" and "WAR" written above and below.
* Very popular sign: "EMPTY WARHEADS FOUND IN THE WHITE HOUSE" with a picture of Bush
with an empty head.
* I walked behind a woman whose shirt had this hand-written message: "THE ONLY BUSH I TRUST IS
* "RAVERS FOR PEACE." As ridiculous as they are, this group does have some of the best signs.
from The Village Voice
* A lot of anti-Semitism at the march. There's the FREE PALESTINE crowd. The socialists encourage us to reject "Israel's genocide." I think we might be misusing the word "genocide." According to my dictionary - you know, I just realized the comedy potential of defining the word "genocide," and I don't think I want to get into it.
* I guess I don't get a message that says, "Nobody deserves to die in the MIddle East - except the Jews."
* Apparently, no one considers the racism of just lumping all the Arabs in the Middle East together into one cause. "They all look alike to me."
* At Herald Square, there was the first bank of press; cameras and TV trucks. Saw some marching
yahoos clustered around a news camera, hooting and waving their signs like they were outside the Today Show studio.
* Walking further south, a young Hispanic woman holding a microphone chastising her cameraman to be more aggressive about getting in people's faces for interviews. I wonder to myself how hard it could be to get these publicity-hungry yahoos to spout off about the war. I agree with them, and wish they would shut up about it.
* In the 20s, I consider the lack of counter-demonstrators. I remember a news program where someone was complaining that the anti-war side gets so much press and publicity. Yeah, I guess they pro-war side has to be content with the twenty-three and a half hours of propaganda being broadcast as "news." I start to think about the network news coverage I've watched and get angry. I punch a hippie in the face and feel better. (Okay, so I don't. But after a day surrounded by them, I understand how blue-collar guys do it. If I worked ten hours a day at a construction site, the last thing I'd want is some college kid condescending to me.)
from the New York Daily News
* A string of Middle Eastern kids snakes through the crowd chanting antiwar slogans. They might better make their point if they aren't dressed in their freshest hip-hop gangsta gear.
* At Union Square, I see that the Farmer's Market is in full swing. I wonder what side the farmers are on, and how they feel. Pro or anti-war, you've got to hate having your big sales day disrupted by a big parade.
* I consider ducking off the parade and peeing at Barnes & Noble. I demur after thinking about all the people who probably have had the same idea.
* South of 14th street, I wonder if this means I've got an FBI file.
* I run into Eric Drysdale. We both marvel at the fact that we're the only comedians each other has seen in the march. I believe that it's because in such a huge crowd, the odds of being singled out as the funniest, best demonstrator is very small.
* Eric tells me the only celebrity he's seen is Patti Smith. Maybe Susan Sarandon would have been there if there was a microphone at the end of the march.
* As you enter Washington Square Park, there's a police truck blaring a message: "The march is over. Please disperse so that others can complete the march as you have done." Over and over again. I think that the voice sounds like Giuliani's, and wonder if our former mayor (He divided a city and united a country) had planned years ago to have to deal with a huge protest. Then I chide myself for being so silly - of course he did. He was a control freak.
* At Washington Square, I almost slip on a large piece of chalk - protesters had left them out so that you could write a message on the ground. I consider chalking a message, "Support peace, not anti-Semitism." I realize that this would probably start a fight - who wants to be known as the asshole who started the fight at the peace rally?
* About six seconds after I sit down, a group of baby boomers surrounds me. One of them has a guitar, another a ccompanies him on the recorder. None of them know any protest songs, so we sing Simon & Garfunkel tunes. One of them knows recent Dylan tunes, which is cool. He manages to work the fact thath e knows Dylan's lead guitarist personally into the conversation.
* I run into my friend Karen and her roommate Robyn. We stand in the crowd at Washington Square
Park South, and watch the marchers continue to pour in from Broadway. Robyn is new from Alaska, and looks scared. This may be the most people she's seen in her life. I assure her that no one's getting attacked by Polar Bears.
* We run into a woman selling magazines for Zendik farm, the scary sex cult farm for artists. I have a story involving these people, which I will tell another day on this blog (don't worry, it's not that good). I'm on the Zendik e-mail list, and get updates; apparently the founder of the farm was really into peace. I try to understand how that jibes with sending your followers to a peace rally to make money.
* Platoons of cops in their riot gear start marching past the park. Karen starts a chant, "Cops for peace." The image of cops marching in the parade being very funny, you see. One of them gives us a murderous look, but the crowd takes up the chant. I've never seen a chant invented and spread before, so that was pretty cool.
from the New York Post
* After a while, it gets a little weird; more cops pour into the streets and start pushing the protesters back. We go to a store a block away where a friend of Karen's works. It's on the second floor, and a big window overlooks a street feeding into the park. About ten minutes later, we see a cavalry of mounted police thunder by. It's like watching Custer go into battle against whatever tribe he fought.
* We stand at the window and watch as a platoon of riot cops runs at a brisk military clip up the street and around. A punk in green fatigues and a bright orange mohawk keeps pace with them. It's like watching the running of the bulls.
* More platoons of cops run up the street, taking new positions. Considering that the weather had been so beautiful, and everyone so peaceful and calm, I wonder why the police need to keep such an iron fist. I'm not sure why they couldn't just let the protest disperse, as it undoubtedly would have done in another hour or so.
* Karen says she hadn't seen so many cops at the protest in Philadelphia. I tell her that Philly won't be hosting the Republican National Convention next year.
* To be fair, I'm sure that there are many, many officers in that crowd who have vivid memories of searching the rubble of Ground Zero for their fellow civil servants.
* Also, Philadelphia is a hick town. If you want real police overreaction, you have to come to the greatest city on Earth.
* We go to Chinatown for dinner. When we get out of the subway, it's just like any other day, everyone going about their business. It's like stepping into a decompression chamber - all the tension of my day of peace love and brotherhood leaves me in about ten minutes.
Sunday, March 23, 2003
A MediaCorp News Network Exclusive Interview
with Donald Rumsfeld
DONALD RUMSFELD APPEARS VIA SATELLITE
MNN: Mr. Rumsfeld, thank you so much for taking the time to talk with us today.
DR: No problem.
MNN: Our first question, and I hate to put you on the spot, but - what is your favorite color?
DR: According to our best intelligence, it's camouflage green.
MNN: Now, how do you account for the fact that so far, none of the hundred of thousands of tons of bombs that we've dropped have caused a single civilian casualty?
DR: Well, first of all, I have to correct you on that. Uh, our latest reports indicate that an old woman got scratched by her cat, as a direct result of us dropping a bomb near her house. The explosion startled the cat, which the old woman was holding, and it scratched her right before she dropped it onto the ground.
MNN: And how was the cat?
DR: Luckily, the cat sustained no injuries from the dropping, although a coffee mug handle broke off in the ensuing fracas.
MNN: But back to the bombs -
DR: Ah yes, you see all of our weapons have a 99% accuracy rate, uh, due to them being guided by magical flying faeries.
MNN: Magical flying faeires?
DR: As you know, the Middle East is a land of deep and ancient magics, what with the genies and the flying carpets. And so naturally, we've enlisted the magical creatures who live in this land to help us with our current war campaign.
MNN: I see. Now, our viewers - who are undoutedly surprised to find out these mythical creatures indeed exist -
DR: To the best of our intelligence they do, yes.
MNN: I guess the first question I would ask is, are they in fact a part of the American military structure?
(snickering from off-camera on Mr. Rumsfeld's end)
DR: Shhh. (to camera) That is, of course, a very intelligent question. No, the magical faeries are not part of the traditional command structure as such, although they have promised us that we may use the airspace over their magikal kingdom in the clouds.
MNN: Earlier you mentioned genies -
DR: We have made contact with genies, yes. (To someone off-camera) Shut up, he can hear you.
MNN: Why can't you just wish that Saddam was dead? Or indeed, had never been born at all.
DR: Don't ask that.
MNN: Oh. Sorry. Now, are there reports of zombie activity on the ground?
DR: Only in the press corps.
MNN: What about reports that the Turkish Army has entered Northern Iraq? They demanded access to Northern Iraq in return for allowing the air force to fly over their lands -
DR: No they didn't.
MNN: Yes they did.
DR: No they didn't.
MNN: We have footage of you saying, and I quote -
DR: Oh yeah, "air space." I thought you said "share space." I was like, "They don't need to be roommates with Northern Iraq."
MNN: Right, so they let us use the air space, and now there are reports -
DR: Uh, yeah, well, first of all, according to our best intelligence, that's not true. Second of all, if it were true, so what?
MNN: Well, the Kurdish people -
DR: The who?
DR: No such people.
MNN: But -
DR: Not any more.
MNN: Are you saying -
DR: Look, I've got another call, I've gotta go.
MNN: But -
DR: Gotta go.
MNN: Thanks -
(RUMSFELD HANGS UP)
MNN: We'll be back with "Grab Your Ankles," the Pentagon correspondants roundtable.
Friday, March 21, 2003
Leg Before Cricket
Fri 21 Mar, 00:35 - 00:50 15 mins
Open Science: Former cricketer Dr Chinmay Gupte gave up the crease for research into a little known ligament at the back of the knee that he thinks could be crucial to sporting success. W/S.
Factual; Adult Learning
Thursday, March 20, 2003
You'll notice that to the right, I've added a couple of new links:
One is to Michael Moore's website. Not that we're friends or anything, but a great many people have pointed out that he is lucky enough to bear a striking resemblance to me.
I am fan of Moore's, even though a friend of mine told me that he saw Moore leaving Niketown (ir whatever that store is) with a bunch of shoes. Not that I blame him: I used to own a pair of Reebocks that were the most comfortable sneakers I'd ever worn. But this time around I got a new pair of sneakers that are supposed to be not made from child labor, and they hurt my feet like hell.
Also, I added a link to Jest magazine, a very funny publication that my work has appeared in. And also a link to the Sour Pussy comic.
After another triumph at the UCB Theatre, I walked outside. The place was deserted. Now, I'm not saying that 23rd and 7th Ave. is a hotspot at one in the morning, but there's usually a bunch of activity, some late-night foot traffic. There were a lot of empty cabs looking for customers. I think I could've gotten a ride to the South Bronx if I'd wanted one.
I went home and turned on the TV. Most of the stations were showing crap, but 11 was broadcasting CNN. I fell asleep on my couch, woken occasionally by the sounds of bombs dropping on people half a world away. Whether you think the war is right or wrong, the sound of real explosions killing people is fucking scary. And if you don't think so, then you're fucking scary.
What I wonder is: Will there ever be another mainstream hit protest singer? The closest Dylan gets is singing thirty year-old songs in concert, and Phil Ochs is dead.
I've noticed that there's a lot of humour websites that are nothing more than third-rate Onion rip-offs. And I find it really disgusting that I didn't think of doing that first. So below, here is the first in what I'm sure will be a long series of stupid fake headlines:
BUSH DECLARES WAR ON IRAQ, TOUGH CARPET STAINS
GAY DEPRESSION LEADS TO RUN ON SPERM BANKS
AL SHARPTON ANNOUNCES BID TO EMBARASS DEMOCRATS ON NATIONAL SCALE
BASEBALL COMMISSIONER WARNS PLAYERS UNION: THREE STRIKES AND YOU'RE OUT
IT'S A MIRACLE OF BAD COMEDY: CARROT TOP WALKS CHRISTOPHER REEVE
DUE TO BOLD US LEGISLATION, FRANCE ANNOUNCES LAYOFFS AT STATE FRY FACTORIES
VAMPIRE DEPRESSION LEADS TO RUN ON BLOOD BANKS, SPERM BANKS
CHOCOLATE BUNNY REPLACES DOG AS "MAN'S BEST FRIEND"
AIDS NOT YET FUNNY, SAY COMEDY ACTIVISTS
3 YEAR OLD EATEN ALIVE BY STAMPEDING HUNGRY HUNGRY HIPPOS
DEADHEADS FOLLOW NEW BAND, RAPIDLY DISAPPEARING YOUTH
BLOGGER OUTLINES COURSE OF DAY IN EXCRUCIATING DETAIL
Wednesday, March 19, 2003
Warning: This will be dull to anyone who doesn't give a shit about the NY Mets.
Let me rephrase that: This will be dull to everyone on Earth.
But on the post below it, there are some funny picture/captions!
So Piazza got hit with a five game suspension. For those of you who don't follow Mets baseball, during a spring-training exhibition game last week, Dodgers pitcher Guillermo Mota beaned star catcher Mike Piazza. First pitch he buzzed Piazza, next pitch he hit him in the shoulder.
Jeromy "Custer" Burnitz led a charge against the pitchers' mound, and Piazza tried to slug it out. Then, Piazza entered the Dodgers' clubhouse looking for Mota, the way a white trash husband enters his neighbor's trailer to tell the neighbor to quit messin' with his three hundred pound wife Charlene. Charlene chain-smokes, by the way.
This is the second year of a new Piazza tradition: showing pitchers that if they want to throw balls at him, he's going to fight back. Pitchers have a nasty habit of getting frustrated with Piazza and trying to hurt him physically. I think it's partly because Piazza tends to own them in a way that you only see in relationships where one man has given another a home-made "BITCH" tattoo across the ass after lights-out.
But it's mostly the shock of seeing someone wearing a Mets uniform who can actually hit a ball. Your average jock doesn't deal with scary surprises too well; the look on a pitcher's face when a Met hits a ball is kind of like the look on Frankenstein's face when a lit torch is waved in his face.
So Piazza is given a five game suspension and a three thousand dollar fine. Mota, who cannoned a 90 mph fastball at Piazza's head, gets a fifteen hundred dollar fine and three game suspension.
Now, the money's nothing to these guys; if you've seen Piazza lately, he clearly spends that much at the steakhouse. But what does it say that a man who defended himself gets a bigger penalty than the man who attacked him? I know: "Liam," you tell me, "Charging a mound is one thing, but entering the opposing team's dugout ot continue the fight is quite another."
To that I reply, "You're right, but Piazza wasn't just defending himself against this incident; he's taking preemptive action so that he doesn't get hit all throughout the season. He's sending a message to all the pitchers in the major league who think it's all right to try to cripple a man because he does his job better than you do yours."
And by the way; yes, fighting solves every problem you're faced with.
If Bob Watson - the Major League's new Dean of Discipline - wants to send a real message to players, he should impose a mandatory ten game, twenty-thousand dollar fine on each and every pitcher who beans a batter, whether by accident or on purpose.
I think I'll call Mike and the Mad Dog and scream at them about this for fifteen minutes.
To anyone who actually read this: I'm sorry.
Hello sailor! MLB unveils its attempt to create "a gayer doll than Ken."
"Now girls, you're both pretty." An umpire intervenes when Roger Clemens discovers that Piazza wore the same color outfit to the big dance.
This Great Moment in White Trash History brought to you by Boone's Farm Wine.
Piazza's Hall & Oates costume was the hit of the Halloween party.
Tuesday, March 18, 2003
I certainly disproved the old Irish stereotypes last night by going out and getting drunk.
But it's different; I was depressed, so I didn't pick a fight.
Of course, I needed a half-dozen drinks because
JESUS FUCKING CHRIST
is Bush insane?
I'd be less worried if he had a principled bone in his body other than Cheney's. By the way, in case anyone missed it, the US has become a rogue nation. Since we're ignoring the UN, we might as well cancel elections and start torturing citizens to find out what they know. May I suggest we start with my downstairs neighbors, whose ability to play rap music loudly until 5 in the morning pose a terrorist threat to theoretically hard-working Americans everywhere?
I feel like right now we're living in a bad nuclear-Armaggedon-is-here sci-fi novel.
You know, where the US is on the brink of all-out war, and the Authorities are helpless to save us from AN ALIEN THREAT. In fact, after considerable study on the subject (did I mention that I'm a tad of a geeky dork?), I know that there's only a few ways this can go:
1) The President and his cabinet of cardboard-cut-out-villain advisors (speaking dialogue like, "The populace must be controlled! For their own good! Or else our plans shall fail!") realize that anti-war opposition is too widespread. So the American government sets off a nuclear bomb in a city that didn't vote Republican, like San Francisco, blames it on the enemy, then uses the ensuing panic and confusion to declare martial law. If this is written by a 1970s-era hack, then the truth is accidentally discovered by a plucky everyman journalist who gets targeted by a shadowy government agency but in the end brings the truth to the people.
2) Just as nuclear war is about to get underway, an alien force comes down and invades. For some reason they need to use Earth, either as a breeding ground, feeding ground, or bleeding ground. Of course they don't ask if they can hang out here for a while; they either come in guns a'blazing or by sneakily replacing humans with alien replicants. Naturally, the entire world rallies around the US as a plucky everyman soldier-citizen almost single-handedly defeats the alien menace when he discovers their secret lactose intolerance and sprays them with cheez-in-a-can. Please note that I said "he," as a woman (scoff!) would undoubtedly (ha!) do something foolish like try to "talk" (feh!) with the aliens and find out that they're really peaceful and just like us or some such femininely garbage.
3) Nuclear war destroys civilization as we know it. The survivors are either horribly mutated or revert immediately back to savage caveman ways. From the ruins arises a solitary everyman hero who travels the postnuclear wasteland and restores civilization as we know it, which is always odd because it's pretty obvious that civilization as we know it failed pretty badly. If this is written by Steven King, the above paragraph takes about 1500 pages to unfold. Any way you slice it, one thing is true: The living shall envy the dead!
4) A nuclear device detonates somewhere near the oceans of Tokyo. From the murky depths it arises: a monster slumbering since the dawn of time! Perhaps it's Gojira, the great fire-breathing lizard who later changes his name to Godzilla and becomes a friend to children everywhere. Perhaps it's a giant moth that shoots lasers from its eyes, or maybe a giant Rodin. Or maybe even a giant fire-breathing robot version of Godzilla. In any case, no foot-high cardboard building is safe as long as these monsters roam the Earth, so the Japanese army, led by a plucky everyboy five year-old, eventually destroys the monsters. Or the monsters team up and destroy other monsters from outer space, and then retire to Monster Island, that popular vacation spot.
5) In the best-selling Left Behind series (and now movie starring Kirk Cameron - YIKES!), all the good Christians are taken up in the Rapture. Everyone else is caught up in a war caused by the Anti-Christ who, and I hate to point fingers here but let's look at the true culprits, is working hand-in-hand with Israel and the UN to start the Final War as foretold in Revelations here on Earth. Luckily, a plucky everynonJew leads the forces of Good against this Satanic threat. Ironically, Left Behind's target audience can't read so good what with their daddy having burnt all the books when they discovered that ain't nothing but the Bible can't be no good for young minds anyhow.
By the way, you can tell by the insane lengths of my blog entries that I'm putting off starting my next writing project. Thanks to Blogger, I can feel productive without actually being productive!
Monday, March 17, 2003
And fifteen minutes later, he plans to announce that his dad got him out of having to go himself.
THE GOLDEN HOLLYWOOD AWARDS
With awards season upon us, The Liam McEneaney Experience is getting involved by presenting the First Annual Golden Hollywood Awards; at the ceremony taped earlier, every winner was given a golden statue of a man with his head up his own ass.
And the winners are:
* The "Thank God Hollywood Kept its Perspective" Award: For the 2002 Academy Awards Salute to How Important Movie-Making Is In These Hard Times. In a spiralling economy, with terrorism and nuclear brinksmanship, it was a relief to find out that Hollywood executives still felt all right about spending millions of dollars on movies about rapping kangaroos. One can only hope that with war looming, Hollywood keeps its exact same perspective in this weekend's ceremony.
* The "Jesus Christ, How Much Money Do You Owe Your Bookie?" Award: Goes to Christopher Walken for his appearances in the films Kangaroo Jack and The Country Bears Movie. And while that would be considered a career-breaking double-whammy for most actors, Walken is actually up for an Oscar this year for his performance in Catch Me If You Can. Tip to Walken: when someone shows you a script, you are allowed to say "no." Whether you win or lose, buddy, you've already won a coveted Golden Hollywood Award.
* The "Charlie Kaufman Award for Celebrating the Genius of Charlie Kaufman": Goes to Charlie Kaufman, for the screenplay Adaptation, a movie about Charlie Kaufman, an ordinary screenwriter who uses pluck, courage, and bravado to finish writing a movie about how he doesn't want to finish writing the movie we don't want to finish watching. In the end, he bravely admits that he's going to use a cop-out ending and then gives us a horrible cop-out ending, deliberately screwing the guy who paid ten bucks to enjoy a movie about a guy who deliberately sets out to write a shitty screenplay so he can sell it to the studio that made the shitty movie he just watched.
* The "Wow, Someone Actually Earned Their Paycheck" Award: A tie! Given to all of America's entertainment "journalists" who can't stop talking about how amazing it was that Richard Gere did his own tap-dancing in the movie Chicago. That's right, Richard Gere was paid millions and millions of dollars to do a job and he actually did it! Amazing! What a hero! Next thing you know, he'll be saying his own lines and emoting all by himself. Memo to New York Firefighters who claim to be underpaid for risking their lives every day to save women and children from burning buildings: Have you considered doing your own tap-dancing?
* The "Wait, Did I Hear That Right?" Award: Given to Selma Hayek for directing a movie. That's right, Selma Hayek directed a movie. Selma Hayek. The stripper from From Dusk Till Dawn. Well, she had an artistic vision - No, that's Selma, Marge's sister from The Simpsons. I'm telling you, it actually happened. "What was the movie called?" I don't know, I didn't see it. I'm not even sure it's been released yet.
* The "Greatest Scene In History" Award: Goes to Wild Things. You know what scene I'm talking about. Yes it's a few years old, but you show me a film from this year that stepped up to the plate the way Wild Things did, and the Academy will reconsider its vote.
* The "Greatest Trailer Ever" Award: Goes to The Country Bears Movie. First, a voice-over tells us something about a boy being different, and we think it's going to be a shitty family drama. Then it turns out that a talking bear has been adopted by a human family and doesn't know he's different, so we think it's going to be a shitty farce. Then he goes on an odyssey to find his family, and we think it's going to be a shitty road movie for kids, a la The Journey of Natty Gann. Then he finds his family and they're a performing band of country musicians, and we no longer know what to think.
Then we find out that this band has to somehow raise money for some reason while learning about how to love, and it's suddenly a Blues Brothers rip-off. And then we see the title and realize that this is a movie based on a ride at Disneyland! All in the context of a two-minute trailer. I've never actually seen the movie, but the trailer had me laughing and shouting for more.
* The "Mitchell & Petrillo Award for the Closest Approximation of Comedy Without Actually Being Comedy": Goes to Jerry O'Connell and Anthony Anderson for their work in the movie Kangaroo Jack. The award is named after Duke Mitchell and Sammy Petrillo, the Martin & Lewis ripoff team that made their first and only film appearance in a movie called Bela Lugosi Meets A Brooklyn Gorilla. (They were so bad that the real Jerry Lewis sued Petrillo.) This award goes to the comedy team whose work most closely resembles a comedy performance without in any way registering laughs.
* The "What the Hell Is Your Problem?" Award: Goes to the American public, for making Just Married, Kangaroo Jack, and Darkness Falls the number one movies for three weeks consecutively.
* And The "Lifetime Nonachievement Award" goes to Jerry Bruckheimer. He's produced good movies, he's produced bad movies, but he'll always be remembered for producing Kangaroo Jack.
Well, that's all for tonight. Congratulations to Kangaroo Jack for sweeping the awards this year.
Sunday, March 16, 2003
President Bush said the opportunity for a diplomatic solution to the confrontation with Iraq would end Monday, calling it "a moment of truth for the world."
Yeah, I think the world's in for a big shocker. Nothing's going to surprise anyone more than Bush announcing that the US is going to war against Iraq despite the fact that even a majority of its own people think it's a really bad idea.
And how have we exhausted all possible diplomatic solutions? Don King tried more diplomatic solutions before the last Tyson fight than America has tried up until this point.
America's been doing the international diplomatic equivelant of "I'm not touching you" for the last six months.
I think I'll stay indoors and update my blog!
ERIN GO BRAGHLESS
I was walking down the street this morning, enjoying the beautiful sunshine before it started burning a hole in my skin and I had to retreat to the safety of my cool crypt. Walking past me was a middle-aged couple in matching green leprechaun jaket-and-hat ensembles. She was also wearing a bright orange braided yarn wig.
As you'll know if you read my Irish Echo profile, I hate St. Patrick's Day. Not the day itself, really, just the attendant cultural hoopla that surrounds it.
First of all, why are the Irish the only people in this country who throw a parade to celebrate their worst stereotypes? No other ethnic group in this city embraces the most negative things everyone says about them so whole-heartedly. And you'll see it on the news coverage of the parade; Irish citizens, cops and local politicians, all staggering drunk up Fifth Avenue, alternately puking, brawling, and passing out on cars.
No other ethnic group does this. You'll never catch black people on Martin Luther King Day walking up Fifth Avenue in blackface, eating watermelon and singing Camptown Races. They have too much dignity. You'll never go to a Chinese New Year parade and see anyone putting pee-pee in Coke.
It's almost as if the Irish are saying, "Yes, we're past Gangs of New York days, but we still have no intention of taking our place in the American mainstream."
(I wrote a joke to this effect about five years ago, but then my friend Jon Corbett - a very funny comedian - wrote a joke in a similar vein only much funnier. I mention this in case someone knows both of us and accuses me of ripping him off.)
And just as bad are the people who are not of Irish descent, but who come to the St. Patrick's Day parade and get stinking drunk and say, "It's okay, today everyone's Irish!" Oh really? So if I go to the Columbus Day parade in a wifebeater and sing Whats'a Matter You? it'll be cool because everyone's Italian?
By the way, if I wear a wifebeater in public, everyone loses.
Just as nice, of course, is the Catholic Church's refusal to let gay people march in their parade. Thank God - you don't want the image of a cabal of almost openly pedophilic sex maniacs ruined by people who believe in consensual adult relationships.
All right, I would say that I've crossed the line from funny to just angry, only I don't believe I even met that border patrol.
And if you think this was rant-y and unfunny, wait until I get started on why everyone picks on poor Mike Piazza!
Friday, March 14, 2003
Click on the image below to see what happens WHEN WORLDS COLLIDE!
By taking Sheila's kissing klass!
Now you can learn to kiss as well this couple obviously does:
But Here's What's Coming Up At the Gaylord Center in Nashville, Tennessee
4.7.03: CMT Flameworthy Awards
4.10.03: Dove Awards
5.1 - 5.4.03: Dragon Tales Live presents "Missing Music Mystery"
5.11.03: John Hancock Champions on Ice 2003 Tour
5.25.03: Eagles Farewell One Tour
8.4.03: Dixie Chicks Top of the World Tour with Opening Act - Michelle Branch
It would probably go a little something like this:
* How to Keep Your Teeth as White as Your Neighborhood
* Hindu? More Like Hin-don't!
* Klan-destine Rendezvous: More than crosses were set afire when these couples met between the sheets - literally!
* "Honey, I'm a Homo!" The Day I Gay-Bashed My Husband
* 12 Sex Secrets to Drive him WILD in Bed!
* Souffles and the South - Can Either Rise Again?
* AIDS: Blessing or Curse?
* Nazi Fast! 20 Tips For Revising History in Your Local Schools
* Jew Win Some, Jew Lose Some: Beating The Odds in Vegas
Thursday, March 13, 2003
1 CARTOONIST BIL HAS A KEANE EYE FOR THE WORLD AROUND HIM
2 JUST GOT TWO E-MAILS
3 HOW WAS YANNI?
4 I WANT TO START A BAND
5 EVEN MORE OPENING BAND HUMOR!
6 OOPS! BOY IS MY FACE RED!
When I first started working on today's blog entry over fifteen minutes ago, I didn't realize how thoroughly it would take over my life.
But take over my life it has, as emotions poured out of me. I soon became a hermit, ignoring e-mails and IMs from family and friends as I became consumed with what would someday be known as the "Legendary Opening Band Jokes." In fact, I only stopped once to use the bathroom.
Anyway, the tome you hold in your hot little hands - or rather, are skimming casually through at work while wondering where the porn is (the right-hand menu, under the "Blog Randomizer") represents the culmination of fifteen minutes of blood, sweat, and urine.
March 13, 2003
New York City
Apparently my episode of Premium Blend just aired again. One of my friends just described it as "not bad." Yes! I have finally entered the hallowed annals of "not bad."
Last night, Yanni played the Gaylord Center in Nashville, Tennessee.
I don't care where Yanni plays, it automatically becomes the Gaylord Center.
It must have been a watch-checking good time.
One of my readers must have seen the show. Or any Yanni show. E-mail me, so I can share your experience with my readers. Seriously, I promise to keep you anonymous.
And it would be a strictly opening band. We would do nothing but open for other bands at concerts.
Our name would be The Perfectly Adequates.
We would specialize in the famed Perfectly Adequate Sound.
We would end every set with, "You have just had the Perfectly Adequate Experience! Now stick around for rock kingpins, Rush!"
And our big song that we'd end our sets with would be called, "We Don't Suck, You Just Got Drunk Too Early."
EVEN MORE OPENING BAND HUMOR!
You know how you go to concerts, and someone famous will join the act onstage for a song? Like one time I saw Dylan play and Springsteen and Neil Young joined him for the encore.
It would be funny if all the famous people joined the opening act onstage. Like Springsteen and Dave Matthews and the dude from Spacehog all got onstage to jam with the leader singer of Boogie Opera Kings for their song "Desperate Cash Living," and then Tom Petty came out and said, "What the f? Those were all my friends!"
Now imagine that I'd bothered to take the time to make this premise funny. Oh the times we might have had!
I am seriously the worst ever at remembering to send letters out. Many is the time I've meant to send a letter through the post, only to discover it eight months later still in the envelope, stamped and addressed.
For instance, a friend of mine was staying with me about eight months ago, and asked me to send a letter to her folks.
Guess what I just found? Here's the letter:
Mom and Dad,
I'm in New york right now. Sorry about not calling to let you know, but I got these really cheap tix through Priceline and had to leave.
Anyway, I'm staying with Liam, and then going up to Montreal. But Emannuele said he and his wife could give me a ride home, so I'll see you in about nine months! Whatever you do, don't worry and don't call the police Ha ha ha!
Your loving and safe daughter,
Wednesday, March 12, 2003
(The behaviour being poked fun at, not the cartoon itself.)
Yanni's playing at the Gaylord Center in Nashville, Tennessee tonight.
Get there early to party with your fellow gaylords.
INT. 110 DOWLING STREET
Tony Blair is sitting with his most trusted advisors at a table.
ADVISOR: Tony, I'm telling you for the last time, the Labour Party will not stand for sending thousands of our nations' youth into an insane war with no forseeably positive outcome. We look like puppets to the US, we -
BLAIR (standing and pounding the table with his fist): You're right! I'm going to call President Bush right now and -
He clutches his hand to his chest.
BLAIR: Must fight Hussein. Must kill! Must smash!
INT. OVAL OFFICE - CONTINUOUS
Bush is dressed in a white lab coat, a mad gleam in his eye, holding a jar with a heart in it. The jar is labeled "BLAIR." On the wall behind him is a bookcase full of similar jars with variousi mportant peoples' names on the labels.
BUSH: Yes Tony, you shall do my bidding now. As shall all of the world - or they shall pay - WITH THEIR LIVES! BWAH-HA-HA-HA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! *cough cough*
Tuesday, March 11, 2003
GOIN' BATS IN THE BELFRY!
Actually the funniest part is that I got this off of a fansite for garage sales.
* Guido "The Anemone" Pirazzo
* Jimmy "Piano Legs" Marone
* Tommy "The Librarian" Vuolo
* Frankie "The Don But Not Like the Rock Star" Henley
* Vincent "Mutters Quietly to Himself at Burger King" DelVecchio
* Gary "Karaoke Superstar" Balduccio
* Tommy "Tune" Tune
* Henry "I like faeries, puppies, and fuzzy-wuzzy kittens" Pirone
* Don "FBI, Follow Me Please" Tirazzo
* Steve "Steve Bo Beve Banana-Fana Fo Feev, Mi My Mo Meve" Rizzo
* Johnny "Cries at Rainbows and Waterfalls" DiTuccio
* Ray "Hugs" Vicci
Friday, March 07, 2003
(cue seventies funk music)
Oooh, baby yeah, you look so good,
Oh yeah, come closer so I can feel you,
Let me put my hands all over,
Now - oooh, uggggh, ahhhhh.
That was great, thanks.
I guess you should go now.
I'll give you a call some time.
I READ THIS NEW YORK TIMES ARTICLE ABOUT THE DEAD'S NEW GUITARIST
And he was saying how nervous he was about trying to fill Jerry Garcia's shoes.
And I could see that, how scary it would be playing for the world's least demanding audience ever.
I mean, if they don't like you, what are they going to do? Stop follwoing the band and get jobs?
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Ode to My Downstairs Neighbor
by Liam McEneaney, Apt. #4A
It is 3:30 in the morning.
You are a fucking asshole.
Hey dickbag, I like rap music too,
But not when it comes through my floor at 3:30 in the fucking morning,
You fly-infested piece of shit.
You know that feeling Shakespeare must have had when he finished Hamlet,
Certain within his soul that he had created an eternal work of Western literature,
Or that Van Gogh felt when he put the final touches,
On another masterpiece of artistic perfection?
I can only imagine that you feel the same pride,
In knowing that you are the consummate douchebag.
Seriously, what the fuck is your problem?
Clearly you don't have to be up tomorrow morning,
To go to work. But other people do.
I hate the whole of your being so utterly,
That it saddens me,
Knowing that I could never love another human being,
With the same all-consuming and fiery passion,
That constitutes the hatred I feel for you,
At this moment,
Perhaps at seven in the morning,
While you are trying to sleep off another night of excess,
I will do the Dance of a Thousand Heavy Objects.
Until then, please feel free to go fuck yourself,
As thoroughly and unconditionally,
As your mother fucks syphilitic sailors,
At five dollars per,
You piece of crap in human form.
Thursday, March 06, 2003
Oh my, it's so big! Click on the picture to blow it up!
Thanks to Jodi for finding this one!
To: (undisclosed recipients)
Subject: PLEEZ FORWARD TO ALL YER FRENDZ!!!
Normally I odn't send theez out, but I want good luck!!!
When you read this emal forward to 20 of your friends or you will die of syphillis:
20,893 REASONS A BEER IS BEETER THAN A MAN:
* 20,893 A beer doesn't tell you that you're too fat.
* 20,892 A beer didn't sleep with your sister last year, causing a huge family fight that still hasn't been resolved.
* 20,891 You were commended for not bringing a beer to your prom, not made fun of.
* 20,890 When a beer flips its lid, you don't have to wear cover-up.
* 20,889 Beer doesn't get creeped out by your collection of Mel Gibson pictures that you've used to wallpaper your bedroom.
* 20,888 Beer didn't get drunk last week and run over your dog with its pickup truck.
(SOUND OF A GUNSHOT THROUGH A COMPUTER)
GOD SAID, "BE FRUITFUL AND MULTIPLY"
Which mean we have to either stop persecuting gay people, or start persecuting math teachers.
CAN WE FINALLY ADMIT THIS TO OURSELVES?
Flying in a plane is not safer than driving in a car.
But of course, no one in America wants to join the Ninety Mile an Hour Club.
DENIM IS THE MOST VERSATILE FABRIC, IN TERMS OF BEING COOL
Denim on jeans: Cool.
Denim on a jacket: Not cool.
Denim on underwear: A fetish.
Denim on socks: A problem.
Denim on condoms: You're a liar.
I think I've proved my point, whatever that might be.
Wednesday, March 05, 2003
BALLAD FOR THAT PRETTY GIRL AT THE BAR LAST THURSDAY
Though we've never met, it breaks my heart,
And seeing you thrills me all the same.
Your eyes, your hair, you would tear me apart,
If I only knew your name.
It would be the title of a song,
Our wedding dance would be its sweet refrain,
Our kids would sing it all day long,
If I only knew your name.
Then I'd inscribe it on a precious jewel,
And I'd shower you in a diamond rain,
As I danced in the streets like a drunken fool,
If I only knew your name.
You could sit in my most comfortable chair,
I'd serve dinner the moment you came,
I'd run my fingers through your hair,
If I only knew your name.
My friends would tell me I'd become quite lame,
And I'd smile and inform them that was my aim,
'Till each blissful day melts into the same,
If I only knew your name.
You would probably have smiled and taken my rose,
Instead of having your boyfriend cause me pain,
By punching me out and breaking my nose,
If I only knew your name.
You might stop my heart - and his fists - from beating,
You might stop the order to restrain,
You might even stop my internal bleeding,
If I only knew your name.
And it was these two women working at K-Mart whose firend was healthy while everyone around her got sicker and sicker.
Hmm, they said to each other, what's her secret?
The woman's secret, of course, was that she took Tylenol Cold medicine.
First of all, what kind of secret is that? Either she has the dumbest coworkers on Earth - which, knowing K-Mart, is a possibility - or they have the shittiest pharmacy department in the world. What happens when you go in?
"Sorry, Mr. Jones, we don't have any aspirin. BUt we do have leeches. For an extra tweny, Mr. Hombulumbu over there will shake his witch doctor sticks until the bad spirits leave your body."
Secondly, what kind of an asshole sees her coworkers falling sick all around her and doesn't tell them how to stay healthy? I hope she dies.
Tuesday, March 04, 2003
March 12th - Yanni will be performing at the Gaylord Center in Nashville, Tennessee.
I just hope that the evening culminates with Yanni being crowned King of the Gaylords.
Fans are advised to purchase tickets up to five minutes before showtime or risk getting shut out.
I watched some of this last night. If you've nver heard of it, it's the show where five people go on a game show and let America choose the people they're going to be divorcing in six months.
I mean, don't get me wrong; I'm sure I want my future health and happiness determined by the American viewing public. After all, look at the great choices they've made so far: Beverly Hillbillies, Full House, and Married With Children. I hate to sound like a snob, but I wouldn't let a Married With Children fan pick socks for me to wear, let alone my wife.
And the five contestants all talked about how hard it was for them to meet someone. You know, if you're on a game show called "Married By America," I picked that up myself. Let me guessl you tend to make stupid choices that humiliate you in front of large groups of people.
Luckily, the women who don't get picked for this show will get a second chance on Fox' next game show, Assigned A Prison Pen Pal By America.
Monday, March 03, 2003|
I realized that the only reason I'm not an alcoholic is that I can't afford it right now.
that you can't find the answers at the bottom of a bottle. I say, if you can't find the answers at the bottom of the first bottle, you have to keep looking in different bottles until you find it.
Maybe the problem isn't that you're an alcoholic, maybe it's that you're a quitter.
I happen to know you can find the answer in the bottom of a bottle, especially if the question is:
"How long will take me to pass out in a puddle of my own urine?"
Sunday, March 02, 2003
Because no matter who you are, you always need to hear this once a day from someone.
Today's was too big to post, so please click on the image below:
(Normally I wouldn't go to all that trouble, but it's drawn quite beautifully.)
This joke guaranteed to be six years old.
Jews for Jesus came to my door the other morning, and I felt kind of bad because i didn't have any Jews to give 'im. I was like, "Oh man, if I'd only known ahead of time, I would've stocked up but what can you do? I just defrosted my freezer . . ."
At'sa a good one, eh boss? Now you tell me one!