All I want for Christmas...

Let's give the guy his due, Michael Vick has been a good boy this year.  He's having a stellar season at QB for the Eagles, not to mention the fact that he hasn't engineered a single multi-level animal brutality organization in years.  I think Santa needs to take note of that.
Recently Vick told ESPN about one thing that he really wants, and it's something he may want to consider jotting down on the old Christmas wish list, because like so many other little boys Mikey just wants a puppy.
That got me thinking what else might be on the wish lists of some fairly newsworthy folk:

- Ben Roethlisberger wants "breaking out your penis in public" to be considered a legitimate courtship technique.
- Mel Gibson wants his career back on track... oh and also for Hollywood to not be so "Jewy."
- Charles Manson wants to have jailhouse slumber parties without the warden always giving him shit about what he's doing in a "group meeting."
- The country as a whole wants Willow Smith forced back into Jada's womb.
- Marv Albert wants, just once, to solicit a prostitute without being pestered about that "whole back biting thing."
- Eddie Murphy wants to stop making bad movies even though they feel sooooo good.
- Tiger Woods wants it to not burn so much when he pees, and for his 4 iron to stop giving him head wound flashbacks.
- Roman Polanski wants to leave film behind and become a middle school teacher.

This is likely my last post until the new year so enjoy your holidays everyone, and I hope you get whatever asinine and undeserving gift you're asking Santa for this year you jerk... Merry Christmas!

A sad state of affairs

In the months since I moved to Los Angeles I have decided to become a proxy Clippers fan because let's face it, they need it (plus this poor bastard could really use the help).  The fact is the Clippers are a young talented team on the rise but they are treated like wild-eyed, patchy furred, stray dogs here in LA.  I mean, I know it's a Lakers town but the extremity is hard to believe.  It's basically like the Clippers are LA's second child but they have only one bedroom, so rather than having them share they just sent them down to the basement and feed them fish heads through the laundry chute.  It's sad.
I don't blame it entirely on the people of LA though, it mostly falls on the Clippers losing culture.  For example, while watching the Clips-Sixers game last night it came to my attention that Clippers basketball is now brought you by, and I shit you not for my 7 readers must trust in me, Aladdin Bail Bonds.  Now I took my time in formulating an eloquent response to this and here's what I came up with: Are you fucking kidding me??  Were the people at Jafar's Loan Sharking not interested?  Couldn't land a deal with Genie Septic?  Come on Clippers, you gotta help me out here.  I'm not even asking that you win games.  Let's just take baby steps and maybe make your broadcasts semi-respectable, then we'll worry about basketball.
Listen, LA is a city full of transplants.  Many outsiders who I'm sure must be just aching to root for a team that doesn't have some dude Euro-flopping all over the Staples Center.
So step it up Clip-joint.  Make it happen.

Greatest headline ever?

It's hard to believe this is actually a story and not a crazy acid dream the producers of Entertainment Tonight had, but evidently it really happened.  So yeah, here it is:

Wolverine busts eye socket on Oprah's Australian zip line

Time for a radiation super-vacation!

This is an open letter to all parents: Prepare yourselves.

Because this summer, when your kids are begging to go to the latest, greatest vacation destination their petitioning won't be for a trip to Disneyland, or a journey to Six Flags, or even a jaunt to Sesame Place.  In fact if I were you I'd speak to your travel agent now while there's still time, because the heart of every child will compel them to see but one magical place this year... CHERNOBYLLLLL!!!
Yes you heard right, Ukraine is finally opening to the public the long-sequestered fun factory that is the site of the massive 1986 nuclear meltdown.  Now 2011 will officially mark the year that Chernobyl stopped being thought of as an "exclusion zone of post apocalyptic hell which no man, woman or child should ever lay eyes upon" and became the hottest (at least in terms of Geiger count... that's right, I know science stuff) vacation destination the world has ever seen.
So book now, because tickets are going faster than the shortened life spans of the surrounding area's severely poisoned wildlife!

Should I stay or should I go?

If ever he was looking for a sign from the heavens on whether or not he should retire, I think now is the time for Brett Favre to look skyward. Because in perhaps the greatest possible physical culmination of the epic collapse that has been Brett Favre's 2010 season, the stadium he calls home has actually collapsed.
The roof on the Metrodome gave way to the masses of snow that sat upon it on Sunday morning, postponing the Vikings-Giants showdown and sending a literal sign from above that Brett Favre needs to stop playing football forever.  Basically, the only way this could be any clearer would be if God himself sent Favre a cell phone picture of his penis along with the message "God-dong says it's time to hang 'em up."  And if Brett tries to start tonight's game, that very well could happen, so keep your eyes peeled for sexts from heaven.

Back to school...

Whether you're a young woman, another young woman, a slightly older young woman, or a terrifying ghost-cowboy, it's never too late to continue your education.  Government grants are available at an all-time high for popular programs such as business administration, nursing, high-noon dueling and varmint eradication.

Yo Adrian...... I'm a real-live boy!!!

Sylvester Stallone was voted into the boxing hall of fame yesterday and it brings about so many questions.  None more concerning than whether or not people have lost sight of the fact that Rocky and the subsequent sequels (or filmic shitbombs as I like to refer to them) were NOT REAL.

It's bad enough that Philadelphia erected a statue of the fictional character, which should command roughly the same amount of respect as this (how about devote your statue making to REAL people who EARNED the right to be immortalized?  Like Stalin), but now Rocky is in the boxing hall of fame?
I give it no more than 10 years until all the children of the world genuinely think Rocky was totally real, like I did for the first 23 years of my life with Kokomo (damn you and your vivid, lyrical painting Beach Boys).

Advertising Genius

If it's your job to market possibly the most unmarketable experience in the world, going to the dentist, where do you even start?  Right here, that's where:

"Do you hate the dentist?  Oh, that's cool..... you wanna get high??

DONE.

Little weird?

So there is apparently a neighborhood in Los Angeles called "Little Ethiopia," and I'd just like to be the one to pose this question: Why?
Is it because the first one is so amazing someone just thought; "I must find a way to replicate this"?
I dunno, just seems a little unnecessary to me. Anyway, I gotta run.  I'm meeting a friend for lunch in Little Detroit in 20 minutes.

Uncle Shredder?

Wow.  I don't even now what to say, but thanks to the intrepid researching/apparent free time at work of one Patrick Finnegan, I have officially been mindblown.
It turns out that veteran actor James Avery actually played not one, but two of my favorite characters of all time, and I had no idea.  Yes apparently the man who killed on The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air as Uncle Phil was also the voice of the Shredder, resident badass of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles!  And guess what?  I don't care if you're as impressed by this as I am, because this revelation has made my month... nay my year.
This moment has officially supplanted the day I realized Mr. Feeny was the voice of Kitt from Knight Rider.
Just when I thought I couldn't love Uncle Phil any more, this happens. Thank you Gods of television (and Pat) for this wonderful gift you have bestowed upon me.

Return of the King(?)

With tonight marking LeBron James' first trip back to the town he spurned (or totally and completely heart-raped on national television, depending on who you ask), there's a lot of talk of how the city of Cleveland will react.  There is so much worry in fact, that increased security will be present at Cleveland's (historic) Quicken Loans Arena.
In honor of the event, I have come up with a little wish list of the top 5 greatest things that could possibly go down during tonight's LBJ-Cleveland reunion.  Because if any of this does happen, I want written proof that I saw it coming:

- Taking advantage of his team's night off, Boston guard Delonte West shows up courtside with a hot, and oddly familiar date.
- A man wearing this outfit sneaks into the locker room and takes a pregame dump in LeBron's sneakers.
- While LeBron shoots his free-throws they play this gem of a Simpsons clip on the jumbotron.
- When his name is announced during pregame introductions the entire arena goes completely silent, except for one guy who bellows "Diiiiiiick, dick-dick diiiiiiick."
- Just before the opening tip, Cleveland native and current Price is Right host Drew Carey runs out to midcourt and punches James square in the balls as they play this sound effect over the P.A.

Royally Awkward

So I don't know if you've caught this story yet, but check out the super-graphic engagement present from one Sir Snoop Doggy Dogg to the soon to be wed Prince William.
It's more than a little weird that Snoop was compelled to even give a gift to the royal family, but when you actually listen to the song he offered don't worry, it gets a whole lot weirder.  It's not that Snoop's heart wasn't it the right place, it's just considering that it will now be associated with a Royal Wedding the song he wrote is kind of... um... fucking filthy. Let me put it this way, I feel a little ashamed to even type some of the lyrics.
But I will say this, I can't help but wonder if as we speak the Queen Mother may be booty clapping in her royal quarters while Snoop's chorus begs of her the philosophical question: "Can you drip for me mommy?"

Coming to a theater near you...

I saw this movie poster at USC and couldn't help but ponder a few possible taglines...

"The inspiring story of world-record holding ladykiller Wilt Chamberlain and the most amazing week of his life."

"The daring, and surprisingly even more homoerotic sequel to the epic 2007 blockbuster 300."

"The gritty and unforgiving tale of what Paris Hilton did last Tuesday."

"The true to life biography of......... YOUR MOM."

Postmortem Celebrity Sighting!

While driving around Century City this morning I saw what seemed very clearly to be Dennis Hopper driving around town in a Mini.  Then I thought to myself, wait a minute, Dennis Hopper would never drive a Mini.  Then I thought to myself (even further), wait a minute, Dennis Hopper died like 6 months ago.  Which leaves me with only one question to answer; "Would zombie Dennis Hopper drive a Mini?"
It's hard to say whether a person's taste in automobiles would change upon their departure from their earthly body, but I suppose it's possible.  In any case, I'm really hoping to see Leslie Nielsen riding around Hollywood on a moped tomorrow, because I miss him already.

Giving thanks for insanity and swords

On this, the eve of the Thanksgiving holiday, I feel I truly need to stop and smell the roses.  Because when I think about it there is just so much to be thankful for, possibly nothing more so than a sword-wielding celebrity.  Yeah, don't backtrack, you read that right.
Evidently, an actor from the ABC show Ugly Betty decided to go all Kill Bill on his mommadukes and has now officially been charged in her death.  In fact, the details are hazy but there are rumors swirling that he may or may not have actually lopped her head off. So, yeah don't be surprised if from now on Ugly Betty is not only known for launching the career of America Ferrera, but also for "that guy who sword-murdered his mom."  On a real level it's a sad and tragic event, but on a celebrity-story level, this easily takes the cake for most insane of the year (sorry David Carradine's "slightly odd" demise).
I guess if there is anything positive to take from this whole ordeal it's that it's refreshing to see the sword making a comeback.  Guns are just so... easy.
Oh, and also, upon researching Ugly Betty for this post I learned on IMDB that the show's title in Spanish translates to: I am Betty, the Ugly Girl.  So... that's kinda awesome too.
HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

Quidditch anyone?

Congratulations bird watchers, your spot atop the sad hobbies pyramid has officially been usurped.  And the new champs won't likely be giving up their spot any time soon; check out the Quidditch World Cup.
Yeah, apparently a group of mega-virgins had a meeting of the minds and decided to bring the flying broomstick sport of Harry Potter lore into their less than satisfying reality.  And I say why not?  It's not like the excitement or respectability of the game could be diminished by your inability to actually fly, or the fact that you're running around a field with a fucking broomstick between your legs.
I don't even know where to start with this.  This may be the saddest thing I've ever seen (and that includes All Dogs Go To Heaven).  These real life "athletes" make Ultimate Frisbee players look like VanDamme in Bloodsport.  The premise is that two teams take a volleyball along with all of their combined social awkwardness out onto the playing field and try to put the ball through a hoop, all while remaining crotch-jockeyed to their broomsticks, obviously (it's sort of like basketball for the mentally ill).  In addition, someone called a snitch apparently just runs around aimlessly the entire time?  I honestly have no idea. Maybe he escaped from the Hogwarts short-bus and you get bonus points for wrangling him up.  Seems cruel though.
In any case, now that the sport has come to light thanks to internet videos galore, these "athletes" are having some wonderful back and forths with Quidditch detractors in comment threads.  One player even defended the "sport" by pointing out that he once broke his leg during a Quidditch "match."  Yeah... might wanna keep that to yourself buddy.  I'd say you broke it figure skating, you'll get more ladies that way. 
I guess all I really want out of this is to make my opinion as clear as I can, so ummm... THIS IS NOT A SPORT!  In fact, the only thing that's less of a sport than this would be if a bunch of furry Frodo fanatics got together and formed an intramural "One-True-Ringtoss" league. 
So for the love of God and all that is good with the world of sports, please stop.

The more you definitely don't know...

Yes, what the world clearly needs is a moral lesson from Bristol Palin and Mike "The Situation" Sorrentino.  After all, who better to deliver a message on the importance of sexual abstinence than a girl who is singularly famous for having gotten pregnant as a teen, and a Seaside Heights fist pumper who once tried to cure a case of crabs by free-balling it in a tanning booth (speculation, but likely true)?
But after seeing the inspirational spot starring Preggers McGee and Tony Abdominals, I wondered what other celebrities could have offered their complete lack of qualifications to deliver an important public service message:

- Darryl Strawberry and Doc Gooden for D.A.R.E.
- Michael Richards on verbal restraint.
- Pete Rose on the dangers of gambling (and the importance of a good haircut).
- Brett Favre on the risks of sexting.
- Ben Affleck on choosing film roles carefully.
- Tiger Woods on the sanctity of marriage.
- Chris Farley and John Belushi on the subtle art of moderation.

Any other suggestions?  Leave a comment below...

LOST: My faith in humanity...

... if you found my basketball, give it back ya dick!
Yesterday, on my way home from the gym (yeah that's right, I do things), I put my basketball in my backpack so it didn't roll all over the bus.  Seemed like an okay thing to do, but because it was too big (not the only time I've run into that problem.... heyyyooo) I couldn't zipper my bag all the way.
Anyway, I hop off the bus at my stop and start walking home through downtown LA.  While I walk, I catch a reflection of myself in a building side and all is well (I like what I see, as usual).  But oddly enough, not one minute later when I catch a glimpse of myself again (because yes, I look at myself whenever possible, it's called narcissism you should give it a try) I see that my backpack is now wide open and my basketball is nowhere to be seen.
I somehow hadn't noticed that my bag had opened and I didn't hear the ball fall out because I was rocking some serious old school Dr. Dre (or Melissa Etheridge, I don't recall) on my Ipod.  But what really irked me about the whole situation was that the streets were packed!  At the time I was walking right through a crowded farmer's market, yet somehow no one managed to see it happen or grab the ball for me.  So I retraced my steps but alas, I found nothing.  That's when I came to the conclusion that there are only three logical possibilities as to what went down...
- The kid walking right behind me wanted a basketball but was too poor to buy one, so he took it as a sign from God and accepted the gift.  In an interview following his selection in the 2017 NBA Draft, he will reference this day as the one when divine intervention introduced him to the game he loves.
- My ball somehow, defying all odds, bounced directly into the open window of a passing vehicle.  And since the driver didn't notice, he dealt with some serious confusion when he found a mysterious basketball sitting on his passenger seat upon his arrival back home in Burbank.
- It rolled from my bag, directly into the street, and upon reaching a busy intersection caused a massive 9 car pile-up (in which case.... my bad).

Faster than a speeding...

So I saw a commercial for the brand new Sonic the Hedgehog game (as if they could top Sonic 2, what up chemical plant?) and I noticed something odd.  For some reason in their slogan they refer to our speedy blue hero as "Faster than a speeding you know what..."
But the thing is, I don't know what.  Can they not say the word bullet on television?  Does Superman have that quote copyrighted and they don't want to pay the exorbitant Kryptonian royalties?  Or even better, do they have something much filthier in mind that might not go over too well with the FCC?
Who knows?  Not me, but I am willing to venture a few guesses...

- "Sonic, he's faster than a speeding pile of shit."
- "Sonic, he's faster than a speeding out of control train manned only by Denzel Washington and Chris Pine who must put aside their difference in age and find a common ground if they want to live to see another day."
- "Sonic, he's faster than a speeding panda murder."
- "Sonic, he's faster than a speeding, and inexplicably armed to the teeth, Delonte West (this story still cracks me up)."
- "Sonic, he's faster than the speed-dating session where your mother and I met... we've been intimately involved ever since. Now I don't want you to think I'm trying to replace your dad, because I'm not.  But I do ask that you treat me with respect while I am in this house.  Okay sport?"

You stay classy Cleveland

Really Cleveland?  As a sports city previously known mostly for midges, a budding young fictional star from the California Penal League, and more recently the nationally televised, city-wide heart raping you received at the hands of a young king, you were really neither here nor there on the radar of the average sports fan.  But that will all change once this story gets out.
Apparently, in a possible attempt to usurp Philadelphia's crown as the most clinically insane sports town in the world, a Browns fan took it upon himself to tackle an 8 year-old following Cleveland's late overtime loss to the Jets on Sunday.  Good thinkin' buddy, that will solve decades of impossibly impressive sports ineptitude.
Now don't get me wrong, I am all for the public and merciless beating of Jets fans, but this seems like a little much.  Next time, just wait outside the player's entrance and see if you can't strangle the tool out of Mark Sanchez.  The world will thank you for at least trying.

A case of mistaken analogy

After the Eagles put a 59-28 thumping on the Redskins last night, star Philly wide receiver DeSean Jackson used what you might call a less than judicious comparison in a post game interview: "We were like pit bulls, ready to get out of the cage."  Descriptive?  Yes.  The right analogy for a squad led by the NFL's resident czar of dog-fighting?  Maaaaaybe not.
But to be fair to DeSean, this has always been his manner of speaking in the media, this just happens to be the first quote to gain so much publicity.  Here are a few of his lesser known quips:

- When asked what he thought of Tiger Woods's suddenly resurgent putting game: "Plain and simple, that guy can put it in any hole."

- When asked what he thought former President George W. Bush should name his new kitten: "Katrina."

- When asked what long term influence the late Kurt Cobain had on the culture of modern rock music: "He was right there at the beginning of the alternative music craze.  And he gave the world of rock what it needed, a radical change and a shock to its system.  It was like a shot to the head."

- When asked what he thought of Brett Favre and the Vikings torrid week 9 comeback: "They had a monster second half.  They came out the gates like a swollen phallus breaking free from its denim prison."

NYC's Secret Subway

So apparently New York City has been hiding from us the one and only pleasant stop amongst its expansive, multi-borough subway system.  It's hard to even venture a guess as to why, but maybe they felt it didn't fit with the motif of the other stops. After all, without a sufficient amount of rat babies or hobo urine I guess it might be hard to even consider this a legitimate NYC subway station.
Recently though, despite its complete lack of shirtless dance crews or tourist knifings, the station was opened to the public for the first time in decades, marking the first positive publicity the New York City subway system has enjoyed in... ever.
There is one negative however, as the reopening of this historic stop has displaced the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles from their longtime lair.  The crime fighting, pubescent reptiles are reportedly residing in the 9th avenue men's shelter adjacent to the Port Authority, transparently disguised in trench coats and fedoras.

Phallic Humor is ALL-ENCOMPASSING

In case you were all wondering, the Shakeweight's hilarity is officially universal and unstoppable.  And if you were looking for one more person who couldn't shake this enormous, dual-weighted, robot-dong without cracking up or getting aroused (or both), here's NBA Rookie of the Year frontrunner Blake Griffin limbering up with a few good pregame tugs.

Will work for mp3's

Yesterday I saw a bum to top all bums and I am compelled to share it with the world (also known as the 5 people who may read this).
Having worked in New York City for two years I thought I had seen all of the quirky vagabonds the world had to offer.  After all, who was going to top the uncommonly smug bum that refused to accept Sacajawea dollar coins?  Or who would out-weird the woman who begged alongside her shivering hairless dog and freely admitted her husband was "at home, probably watching The Price Is Right"?  And what drifter on God's green Earth could possibly out-hobo the man with a gated (chain link fenced) Harlem River waterfront bum-palace tucked neatly under a highway overpass off a Yankee Stadium parking lot (a bum-palace which I was lucky enough to see him defend from intruders with a lead pipe and an inimitable thirst for blood, I might add)?  But it happened.  The Los Angelino gutterbug I saw yesterday topped them all.  I call him simply... The Bum P3.
And it's exactly what you think it is.  He was standing on the median of the road, shamelessly panhandling while white earbuds dangled at his side... because yes, he was listening to his Ipod.  He was holding a sign too, which I couldn't exactly make out, but I imagine it read something like this:

HOMELESS AND HUNGRY 

FOR MELODIC ROCK RIFFS:

still without new linkin park

album that's been out

for 2 months

EVERY LITTLE BIT HELPS!

So congratulations Bum P3, because based solely on the sheer balls it takes to beg while rocking an Ipod, you win.

George W. Bush is not a hater

I can't tell you how relieved I was to wake up this morning and find out that the George Bush/Kanye West feud, arguably our nation's most significant and long running conflict, has finally come to a close.  Why you ask?  Because G-money is simply not a hater.
In an interview on the Today Show, the former Commander in Chief reacted to a clip in which Kanye admits he should not have said that "George Bush doesn't care about black people" in the aftermath of hurricane Katrina.  Bush goes on to say that he forgives Mr. West, even though he doesn't think he needed to be such a dick about it (paraphrasing).  Don't worry though, the good ol' prez didn't back down completely.  He managed to refer to the rap superstar as "Conway West" twice in the interview.  Now whether that move was an elaborate mind-fuck to keep Kanye steaming mad and lying awake at night, or if it was a product of sheer stupidity remains to be seen, but either way I'm a fan.
Now all that's left to close the book on this is to issue a formal dual-apology to Mike Myers for putting that poor bastard in the blast zone of this spectacularly awkward moment, and we can finally put this dark time in our country's history behind us.  Wait... what?  Mike Myers is Canadian?  Oh, nevermind then... America doesn't care about Canadian people.

Andy Reid: Child Ogre

This gem of a clip has been all over the interwebs lately and I must say I am loving every comically over-sized second of it.
Evidently, at the spritely young age of 13, Philadelphia Eagles head coach Andy Reid was already what you'd casually refer to as a man-sized freak boy.  He towers over the other kids, most of the referees, and I think even the uprights in this Punt, Pass and Kick competition footage.  I just thank God that some amazingly wonderful person was good enough to give this tape to CBS for all the world to see.  My only wish is that they showed the punt portion of the clip in which I'm sure he punts the other children 60 yards down field before proceeding to grind their bones to make his bread.
Oh and just a hint, if you look closely at around the 0:05 mark I'm pretty sure you can see a full grown mustache poking out through the face mask.

Sound advice

I have to say, thank God I saw this before I had a kid.  Because if I am being perfectly honest, I had no idea this kind of thing was looked at so negatively. 
I guess I'm glad I know now, but it has really put a wrench in the spokes of my plan to tote my children around in designer handbags like they're Jessica Simpson's dog.  Oh well.

Is there a problem officer?

OPEN LETTER TO THE PARTY-TIME EMPORIUM:
Okay, you install this on my campus and somehow I'm the asshole when I jump in and start tossing small children to and fro (yes, I said to and fro).
How is that fair?  Simple, it's not, and this kind of injustice cannot and will not be tolerated.  Expect to hear from my lawyer regarding this blatant age discrimination.  I bid you good day sirs...

McRib with a Vengeance!

It's back and more enigmatically meaty then ever!  Your favorite seasonal McDonald's treat (sorry Shamrock Shake, but you fall a bit short), the McRib, is back on the menu and beckoning you to a drive-thru near you.
Yes, the phenomenon that is the McRib is hard to define in words, but I will try my damndest.

I believe that people love the McRib because it's a mystery, wrapped in a riddle, wrapped in an enigma, wrapped in deliciously tangy BBQ sauce.  Because really, what the hell is the McRib?  Ribs are bones my friends.  But a McRib?  There are no bones about it baby.  Just a rack-of-rib-shaped, ambiguous pork concoction that frees rib lovers of the shackles placed on them by the peskiest part of eating ribs... the ribs.
Now I don't know if there is a farm somewhere on which thousands of magical, ribless pigs frolic and play as we speak, but I like to think so.  I imagine they are carefully watched over and cultivated until they reach their pinnacle of tastiness, then they are snatched up and shipped off to McDonald's restaurants worldwide to bring joy to millions.
Whatever the case, whether my theory or another is correct, there is a mystical nature to this super-sandwich.  Its origins are obscure and it only comes once a year, but it makes us all a whole lot happier.  It's not unlike Santa Clause, and let me assure you, if Santa Clause were this delicious I'd eat him too.

Shattering stereotypes

I took my first drive through Inglewood, CA earlier, and I have to say I strongly disagree with one Dr. Dre.  Because contrary to his assertion, Inglewood seemed in no way to be "up to no good."
So my hat goes off to you Inglewood, for your apparent reformation and for proving the good doctor wrong.
On another note, I wish I could say the same for you Compton.  You could stand to learn a few things from Inglewood.
Just sayin'.

Eli scores!

Get ready world, because New York Giants quarterback and resident paste eater Eli Manning (pictured here celebrating after scoring a king-size Snickers with this dope Halloween costume) is going to be a daddy!
So to all those haters out there who have continually insisted Eli is a man-child who lacks the necessary intelligence or functional sperm to procreate, it's time to eat some crow.  And since I have always been such a strong supporter of the youngest Manning, I was able to procure his list of the top five things he is most looking forward to about having a baby...

- I'll finally have someone to do macaroni art with!
- My mom won't be able to say "You're the only one around here who cries and poops their pants when they don't get their way" ever again. 
- Riding shotgun in our sweet new wheels!
- I'll have a substitute I can send to the stadium on Sunday when I want to stay home to watch my Captain Caveman DVD's.
- A baby is the perfect scapegoat for when the wife asks me who wrote "Peyton smells" on the living room wall with nail polish.

There you have it folks, Eli Manning is excited, and dare I say ready, to be a dad.  Although he did express one worry;  "What if we have a boy and he comes out wearing a Cowboys helmet?"

Mel Gibson: Too insane for Hollywood?

It's official, Mel Gibson may have just created a whole new level of unhinged.  After being offered the opportunity to play a small part in The Hangover 2 just last week, Mel was in the news again this week for quickly having the offer rescinded.  Although there was no specific incident that caused him to lose the part, it was clearly related to his all-encompassing insanity.
Apparently the stars of the film, all of them, made it clear they had no interest in working with Mel.  Yes, he was blackballed by the guys who starred in the first film, unofficially making him more undesirable to work with than Mike Tyson, an ass-naked Ken Jeong, and a tiger combined.  Epic.
Sorry Mel, looks like it's back to the Jesus-beating movies for you.  Hey... that doesn't have a sequel yet does it?

World Cup octopus predicts everything but his own death

Tragedy struck the world of soccer, the world of precognition, and the world of deep sea invertebrates simultaneously yesterday.  Paul, the man-named octopus oracle who successfully prophesied many of the winners of the 2010 World Cup, passed away in his sleep (I assume next to some sexy cephalopod who he'd bedded thanks to his fame) early Tuesday.
Sadly, the dearly departed Paul was able to see everything that was coming except his own impending demise.  That is unless for months he's been lying awake at night, troubled by his visions of the future going dubiously blank on October 26th.  In any case, Paul is no more.
We'll miss you buddy.  In life, you were captivating, charming and wise.  In death, I'm sure you'll be delicious.

LOST: Charlie Sheen's clothes and mind...

...if found, please report to NO ONE.  Why?  Because Charlie Sheen is gift from God.  His antics are a joyous freshwater spring of hilarity in which I soak myself whenever his name pops up in the headlines.  And lucky me, guess who's back in the news. 
Yes the troubled star was happened upon by police in his NY hotel this morning and reported as drunk, naked, and out of control (as if there's any other way to party).  Sheen, whose company consisted of a solitary young lady (of whom I'm sure had many fine, Christian reasons for being there), apparently noticed his wallet had gone missing and flew into a violent rage.  Or, as it will be referred from this day forward, proceeded to Charlie Sheen all over the place.  I mean honestly, isn't it time we gave this guy his due?  He has been busting his ass for the last twenty some-odd years to impress us with his sheer insanity, and it's become abundantly clear that it's because he wants "going insane" to henceforth be called "Charlie Sheening."  And it damn well should.
After all, we are talking about a 45 year old man who was just apprehended after completely trashing his hotel room while stark naked (with his Two and a Half Men hanging out, mind you), only 2 months removed from rehab and only 6 months removed from an incident in which he may or may not have tried to stab his wife.  And what do his publicists say?  That "Mr. Sheen had an adverse allergic reaction to some medication."  They should be terminated immediately.  I will gladly replace them, and I will happily offer the press and police and subsequent judges and juries much more accurate and pertinent explanations of the celebrity's riotous shenanigans :
"Mr. Sheen had a tremendously magnificent reaction to a whole shit-ton of booze and decided, as is his right, to go fucking Charlie Sheen all over everyone's asses. Topper Harley for life!  Peace!"

Will Smith: Child Pimp

Where have you gone, Fresh Prince of Bel-Air?  A nation turns its lonely eyes to you...
Let me just start by saying that I have always been a huge Will Smith fan.  The guy does everything.  And he does everything well.  Could I have lived without Hitch?  Sure.  Would I miss Hancock if it were never made?  Doubtful.  Would the world be an undoubtedly better place if neither he, nor anyone else, had ever gotten Jiggy Wit' It?  Absolutely.  But still, he's Will Smith.  He's the man.  And anything he did that was even a little less than stellar was excusable by his role on The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air alone.  Or at least it was, until now.
Willow Smith must be stopped.  I hesitate to even write this post for fear of accidentally contributing to her cause, but I needed to warn the masses who have been lucky enough to not yet be exposed.  SHE MUST BE STOPPED.
For reasons beyond rational comprehension, the child pimping of Will and Jada Pinkett Smith has not stopped with Jaden (remaking the Karate Kid is blatant sacrilege, and I was even willing to let that slide).  Now their 9 year old daughter is invading our airwaves and our lives with her overly flamboyant hair (and I hate to say it, but her dad's ears too, the poor kid).  That's right, 9 year old Willow Smith has released her first single "Whip My Hair" and it is taking the country by storm.  And why shouldn't it be?  She's 9 after all, and clearly ready for the spotlight.  I mean, if she wasn't, would she have the maturity to artistically tackle a song about arbitrarily flinging her hair all over the place?  I think not.
Note the sarcasm Will (that's right, I'm assuming one of my 4 fans must be Big Willy).  It's not every day I write a blog attacking a 9 year old, but you did this Will.... Not me.  And only you can stop it before it's too late.  If you're hard up for cash I can talk to some people and see if I can't get you a few hours at a Radio Shack or something.  But this?  No good sir, you are better than this.

Check and mate

As I walked across campus a few days ago I was stopped in my tracks when I saw this.  After asking around I found out it was a promotion for a course USC is offering next semester that teaches strategy (or strategery to the layperson) through chess.  The man pictured here is international chess master and LA Times columnist Jack Peters, who spent a leisurely afternoon playing ten games of chess simultaneously, and winning.
I, on the very same day, spent an hour writing a joke about how I can't wait to get really old so I can fart in public and get away with stealing.  Which was followed by finding myself palpably jealous of a little kid on the bus because of his kick ass Spider-Man backpack.
Let's hear it for adulthood!

Greetings Mr. President!

On the heels of President Barack Obama's visit to USC this Friday, I was delightfully tickled to see this little gem as I walked off campus today.  I couldn't help but picture the President arriving tomorrow to the site of himself sporting a Hitler mustache.  That can't be an easy pill to swallow.  I imagine he'll start freaking out  and the secret service guards will have to reign him in by rubbing his back for an hour and reassuring him that it's nonsense; "Oh come now Barack, Hitler was soooo mean and you're like a super swell guy!"  Or, maybe they try to convince him it's actually a reference to Michael Jordan.  Or maybe they just avoid the trouble in the first place by sneaking up behind the people parading the poster around and choking them out Metal Gear Solid style before the President's fragile psyche is shattered.
In any case, I just wish I could be on hand to see how that plays out.  But alas, I don't have class on Fridays, so why the hell would I go to campus?  To see the President?  Ummm, no.  I'll take sleeping in till noon thank you very much.
And lastly, I would just like to applaud the makers of this poster for their poignant and relevant comparison.  Because let's be honest, when you think of another world leader who held power during a time of economic turmoil who comes to mind?... Hitler.  Exactly.

The NFL just wants to play nice

In a move that makes perfect sense with the NFL at its height in popularity, commissioner Roger Goodell has decided that defensive backs really shouldn't be so mean.  Apparently too many people are getting boo boos and it's time to start fining those big bad defensive players who are doing their job too well.
An illegal hit in football?  That should be defined only as attacking an opposing player with some kind of medieval weaponry.  Otherwise... I'll allow it.
But thanks to the NFL's nagging worry that Tom Brady might sprain his hair or God forbid Wes Welker gets the scrappy knocked out of him, it's time to play nice.
So you can look forward to ESPN reincarnating their popular "Jacked Up!" segment as a brand new halftime feature on Monday Night Football called "Pushed out of bounds really efficiently!"

The Vanilla Ice Project is here!

It's time to let loose that collective sigh of relief America, your long and arduous wait is finally over, for the Iceman cometh.  Yes, it's true, all these years you've toiled away in a senseless world that left you unable to tune in weekly to see Vanilla Ice remodel a home are over at long last... because  The Vanilla Ice Project is finally here!
That's right, the very same DIY network that brought us groundbreaking hits like Bathtastic and Kitchen Impossible have unleashed their greatest gift to the world yet to date - Robert Van Winkle: Licensed Contractor.
So please join me in mind and spirit this Thursday at 9pm, and tune in to the DIY network for the show's premiere, in the hopes that the theme song is a remix of a familiar old tune...

If you got an old house, yo I'll flip it

Buy it from the bank, mad cheap, low interest

Ice Ice Baby

...word to your broker...

Movies that haunted my childhood: Part IV- Gremlins

The Gremlins were born the same year I was, 1984.  The similarities end there.  I wasn't conceived as a little fur ball that popped off the spine of a wet Mogwai, and my puberty didn't involve a slimy, steaming cocoon from which I emerged a completely changed and hideous creature... well, there was definitely no cocoon.  Yet somehow, all my attempts at merchandising myself have failed miserably, while these freaky little bastards were all over the place from lunch boxes, to t-shirts, to action figures and stuffed animals.  I will simply never understand how this became so popular with kids.  Awesome film, sure.  Child safe... not so sure.

Yeah Gizmo was a cute, furry little guy, but he spent most of his time singing that fruity little song.  The majority of the film was graced by demonic, acid trip, koala-looking psychopaths torturing helpless small town people.  These delightful little characters are somehow made exponentially creepier by their uncanny ability to apparently fashion tiny clothing for events like a night out at the bar or Christmas caroling.  But somehow, it's not just the little creatures that supply the nightmare fuel here.  Seriously, go back and watch it again, because you might find Gremlins is a little more murdery than you remember.
Right off the bat we meet the lovely Mrs. Deagle, who tells Billy she wants to torture and kill his dog... slowly.  Charming.  Don't worry though, she's eventually murdered too.  Let's see, among the other deaths include a mangled teacher, a gremlin chopped up by a juicer, a gremlin stabbed OJ style, and a gremlin microwaved alive (all at the hands of Billy's mom, by the way, whose bad-ass has the most gremlin kills by far), a couple run down by a gremlin-piloted snowplow, and finally the lead gremlin's skin melting off his creepy little body.
Yeah, that's kind of a lot of murder.
Don't worry too much for my well-being though, Gremlins didn't scar me so badly that it left these vivid details burned in my psyche.  I just happen to have watched it again recently, and let me say I probably should've named this post "Movies that haunted my childhood and mid-twenties," because it is still pretty damn horrifying... but you can bet your ass I'll be watching The New Batch tomorrow night, because that's just good stuff.

Even pictures of Brett Favre's wiener are being intercepted

The recent news of Brett Favre's wayward wang is somehow even more hilarious than him throwing yet another game winning pass to the other team.
Apparently while the stubbled warrior was donning the green and white, he decided it was best to use his time harassing a key, and I'm sure extremely qualified, member of the Jets staff, along with some private contractors (wouldn't want to leave anyone out).  The ageless wonder has been all over the news lately (except in Minneapolis somehow) for his apparently dogged pursuit of Miss Jenn Sterger through constant, unreturned phone calls, and penis photography (obviously).
While not necessarily the conventional route, you have to admit Favre courts a woman like he plays football, fast and loose.  Is she not acknowledging your desperate voicemails?  Time to initiate phase two: sending her pictures of your dong. Priceless.
It's a ballsy move, but what if it had worked?  15 years from now the former Miss Sterger could be Mrs. Favre II (because let's not forget Brett is actually married) and telling her kids the story of how she and their father met...
"Well it's a funny story kids, because at first, I simply wasn't interested.  Your dad's down home, country charm just wasn't going over in the big city.  But he kept at it.  Every day he'd try to call me and I'd ignore him.  Then I'd wind up with 20 voicemails, each somehow more pathetic than the last.  He had hit a wall.
Until one fateful autumn day when I got a picture message on my cell phone.  And there it was.  His little quarterback.  Conventional game planning wasn't working, but in true Brett Favre fashion, he threw up a hail mary and sent me photos of his naked wiener.  And well... the rest is history."

El Doppleganger!

At long last I have found him... I give you, Spanish Ron Burgundy!
Sure, the ad says he's a lawyer, but am I really supposed to believe this is anyone but Will Ferrell?  Could these Los Angeles bus ads be the beginning of a viral marketing campaign for the long awaited sequel to Anchorman?  God I hope so.
Until we know for sure though, you stay classy San Juarez.

p.s.  I am already anticipating my favorite scene in this sequel to be this:
- Good evening, I'm Ronaldo Burgandios?
- Damn it!  Who put a question mark on the teleprompter??

No habla...

Well, this is by far the greatest billboard I've ever seen (and that includes those delightful religious messages I saw on my way through Texas), and I have no idea what it means.  But that may be the best thing about it.  Rather than go to freestranslations.com like any other student who took four years of spanish in high school has to (don't judge me, I know it definitely says "hour" and "tomorrow"), I prefer to just guess what this absolute gem of an advertisement is trying to say:

- "I like dinosaurs!"

- Please send your tax deductible donations to the Foundation for Severe Head Injury Research, because Diego needs your help!

- "Have you seen my baseball?"

- Be the ninth caller to 101.9 in the morning and I'll kidnap your children, no questions asked!

- Feeling down?  Call our suicide hotline 24 hours a day... because saving lives is our primary GOOOOAAAALLLL!!!!

Next stop 7th & aggravated assault

Today I had the pleasure of witnessing an extremely rational reaction by a man who was forced to get off at a different bus stop due to construction.  Here is the transcript:

Man: Stop the bus please!
Bus Driver: Where?
Man: On 7th!
Bus Driver: I can't stop there sir.
Man: There is a bus stop there, I need to get off!
Bus Driver: I can't let you out here.
Man: Where am I supposed to get off?!
Bus: Next stop is 5th.
Man: (Now screaming, and I'm talking eyes blind with rage, neck veins popping out screaming) 5th is TOO FAR! (5th is not really that far from 7th, as I'm sure you gathered from your knowledge of the numerical system)  Let me off now!!! (we're 3 lanes away from the curb by the way, so he is demanding to be let out in the middle of LA traffic)
Bus Driver:  I'm sorry I can't sir.
Man: (Screaming so hard his face is now shaking like his skin may actually leap from his skull) Let me off NOW you stupid fucking ass!!!
Bus Driver: Sir if you don't calm down I'm going to call the police.
Man: I don't care!!! (Shrieking wildly, not unlike the screaming caterpillar from The Simpsons who you can now friend on facebook)  I'm going to talk to your supervisor!!! (yeah, that threat is on an equal plane with calling the police)
Bus Driver: You can get off at 5th sir (we're basically at 5th now)
Man: It is too far!!! Let me off!! (bus comes to a stop at 5th and the doors slowly open) HURRY UP YOU ASS!!!!  HURRRRYYYY!

The man then hopped out the back door of the bus, and oddly enough for someone who you would think was in a rush, took the time to run to the front door of the bus to berate the driver to his face. It was harder to hear in the street traffic but I was able to make out "you fucking mother fucker!" Which seemed like the logical next thing to say.
Unfortunately I was unable to get a cell phone video of this event, which would surely have been youtube gold.  But this man was standing close enough to me to cut my head off, and based purely on his sunny disposition, I assume he was wielding a machete.

Movies that haunted my childhood: Part III- Ghost Dad

Bill Cosby pretty much always adds up to good old fashioned family fun.  After all, who was a more comforting TV dad than the affable Cliff Huxtable (maybe Danny Tanner, but that was later and there was always the sneaking suspicion he might be gay)?  For the majority of my childhood though, anything with Bill Cosby in it was unfailingly light hearted and entertaining.  In any case, it was hard to imagine I'd ever find myself terrified of the guy from the JELLO pudding commercials, but that was before I saw Ghost Dad.

You see Bill Cosby isn't scary, but killing him and having him come back from beyond the grave is.  Right off the bat we see Cliff friggin' Huxtable fall of a bridge and die at the hands of a crazed lunatic, Satan-worshiping taxi driver.  Nice start (although it is still hilarious when Bill Cosby tells the driver he's his dark lord).  And did I mention that his wife in the movie is already dead?  Oh but don't worry kids, sure you're orphans... but Dad will be back to see you soon.  Ominous much?

For the rest of the film we get to watch the lovable Elliot Hopper (Cosby) try to maintain his career and family life, all without the benefit of a beating heart.  And how you ask, does he communicate with the ones he's left behind in the world of the living?  Easy, they can see him when the lights are turned off.  That's a healthy concept to feed to children. As if there aren't enough pants-shitting possibilities in a child's imagination about what might happen when the lights go out.  Needless to say, for the next year or so every time my parents put me to bed I was positive I was going to see Bill Cosby's dead ass standing over me as soon as they hit the switch.
So I must extend a huge thanks to Universal Pictures, because not only did you murder Bill Cosby, you brought him back to haunt me.  Bravo.

Life at the Crosswalk

I had an interesting morning, where within one short hour I was able to run the gamut of the entire human experience while driving around LA.
While dropping off a package in Beverly Hills I had to stop to let a woman pass who was jogging in full jewelry and makeup alongside her silk neckerchief wearing labra-doodle-poo (I don't know what the hell it was but I assume it was one of those unholy hybrid freakdogs).  As she disappeared behind the remote controlled gate surrounding her massive home I couldn't help but feel slightly unaccomplished.
That is until, only a cool 3 miles later, I had to slam on the brakes when a kindly vagabond (gotta be PC) evidently took the "Don't Walk" sign as the "Now is as good a time as any to push your Hummer-sized shopping cart across the street while rubbing yourself and screaming arbitrarily" sign.
Suddenly, I thought I wasn't so unaccomplished.  Then I thought I was kind of a dick for reacting that way.  Then I wondered what if that was Steve Buscemi researching for his role in Big Daddy II? Then I got his autograph.

It's not a comic book, it's a graphic novel!

USC recently obtained the costumes from Superman Returns and The Dark Knight and put them on display in the big fancy lobby of the George Lucas building.
As I snapped this picture it occurred to me that I was also wearing a Batman t-shirt... and that I have likely never looked like more of a nerd than at that very moment.  I was basically a retainer away from super-virgin.
Let's hear it for adulthood!

Today on Tyra: "Face accessories you can fashion from your dad's old fishing equipment"

So, um either Tyra Banks has officially lost her damn mind and completely jumped the shark... or she ran headlong into a tennis net at her weekly lesson and is trying to make the best of a bad situation... or she accidentally waffle ironed her face... or she was testing out her Hellraiser halloween costume.... or she was involved in a freak shrimping boat accident swimming off the Gulf Coast... or her doctor wants to be sure she won't gnaw at the stitches on her hind paw... Any other theories?  Leave them in the comment section.

Races of tracism

I agree with LeBron James, the sports world's unforgiving reaction to his not at all self-indulgent or egomaniacal two-hour televised special in which he made the not at all weasely decision to ditch his home town for the chance to play with two other superstars who could possibly help him "earn" his first championship must be an issue of racism.   What else could it be?
After all, if it weren't racism then why would the immediate reaction be comparing him to former players who didn't need to leave their respective teams to form psuedo-All-Star squads in order to win?  Names like Michael Jordan and Magic Johnson were tossed around incessantly.  Doesn't it seem a bit more than coincidental that they happen to be arguably the two greatest WHITE players ever to hit the hardwood?  How could we have ignored this?
And by the way, how long are we going to sit idly by and allow rich, white snobs like Charles Barkley to rip LeBron in the national media?  Preposterous.
It's time to take a good long look in the mirror America.  We need to ask ourselves why we have been so blind to the obvious underlying race issues in the LeBron James free agency saga.  Just like we need to ask ourselves why we aren't even ready for a fully black President.
It's 2010 people, end the hate.

I have seen the face of the Devil...

I saw this at a bus stop today and decided it is easily the creepiest movie poster I've seen around LA right now.  I don't know why but this is far more disturbing than Let Me In and even The Town (and that's got decrepit old nuns with assault rifles).
I'm not sure exactly why this owl is so disturbing but I can't help but imagine slowly opening my eyes in the morning to see it standing over me just like this, clutching a roll of duct tape and a meat cleaver in its wings and softly whispering "Time to die...."

Primate bounty hunters of the world unite!

A 200,000 Yen bounty has been placed on the infamous marauding monkeys of the resort town of Mishima, Japan.  The unruly gang of troublesome tree hoppers has been described as heavily clad in leather and sunglasses and are easily identifiable by their trademark tattoos.
Be aware though, the award applies only to those monkeys that are causing problems.  So if the authorities are called to your home for a captured monkey who waxes poetic about his unjust incarceration and cordially complies with their every demand, don't expect any extra cash coming your way.
If you can manage to detain a member of the ruffian gang banging primates though (artists rendering seen here), you can surely expect to add some of that sweet, sweet monkey money to your bank account.

Here comes the bride... at 191 MPH

Hello there blushing brides to be... Are you ready for your special day but know in you heart of hearts it just won't be what you'd always hoped without official beer sponsors, confederate flag-laden pick up trucks, fiery crashes, Michael Waltrip, Miss Sprint Cup, and this guy?
Problem solved!

Are you the D-Bag at the concert?

Having just spent the last two days at the insanely awesome Epicenter Festival I had the privilege of seeing some of my favorite bands of all time.  Aside from the kick ass music I also got to witness the other thing inherently present at all concerts... douchebags. 
I don't know if it's the venues or the sheer number of people that increase the odds of spotting a giant doucher, but whatever it is, nothing seems to bring them out of the woodwork quite like a music festival.  And after seeing so very, very many, I felt it was my duty to put together a checklist, just so you know that when you don't see the douchebag at the concert... it's probably you.

You're definitely the douchebag.......
5) if you have ever felt the need to chug half of your $10 plastic 16-ouncer of Coors Light, throw the remaining half aimlessly into the crowd and scream "Git 'er done!!!"
4) if you and the five dudes you came with have managed to remain shirtless for the entire 12 hours but never once removed your super-hipster fedoras.
3) if you have a tattoo of the band.  I hope that ayear from now the entire band is outed as child molesters and you have their big fat logo tattooed on the small of your back.
2) if you're the butthole that has my girlfriend's left shoe.
1) if you wear a white patent leather jacket with red-studded, fingerless gloves and literally none of the other bands acknowledge that you're there when they thank all of the bands for being a part of the festival.... I'm looking at you Jared Leto.

(sorry for the cheap shot but this is what happens when you sell out to a friggin' orange soda conglomerate buddy)

P.S. Gotta give props to whoever it was at KROQ 106.7 that decided to name a Los Angeles music festival Epicenter.  That just seems like we're asking for it.  Anyway, see you next year at KROQ's Broken Levees festival in New Orleans.