It's time to put an end to these garish pirate stereotypes

I was on my way to do a show last night (blowin' up in the back room at the Westwood Brew Co., getting famous much?) when I spotted this giant building-side ad off Wilshire:

Yo ho, yo ho, it's a pirate's alternative lifestyle for me!

All I could think to myself was that actual pirates must be rolling over in their watery graves over how unbelievably gay they are being portrayed as in modern media. While I'm sure some of them liked to accessorize, it's hard to believe the pirate population as a whole enjoyed beaded hair wraps, streaks of highlights, beard-beads (what is with this dude and beads?) or generously applied eye-liner quite as much as Captain Jack Sparrow seems to.
Now let me be clear by pointing out that there is nothing wrong with being gay, but that it simply might not sit so well with some roughneck sea-dogs helplessly watching this franchise make multi-millions from their perch in the big crow's nest in the sky. Sure Johnny Depp might say Captain Jack is based on Kieth Richards, but from where I (and probably a bunch of emasculated dead pirates) sit, it seems a lot more like the weird mustachioed gentleman who offers to braid your hair for five bucks in the Bahamas.

Meet LA's finest billboard doctor

While driving slowly up Olympic toward Santa Monica yesterday morning, I happened upon a billboard featuring this man:

Unable to snap a picture due to traffic, and the tears in my eyes from laughing so hard, I was luckily able to track Dr. Daniel down on the internet for your viewing pleasure.
There's just so very much to love about this man's ad campaign. First off, his name is fucking Dr. Daniel. And it is a well known fact that any doctor who goes by his first name is just displaying the fact that he's going to spend the majority of your appointment making inappropriate jokes. Second, his slogan is "Hola Dr. Daniel!" I LOVE IT. It's like he's hoping to cash in on the niche market of Hispanic's who are not only unhappy with how they look (of course he's a plastic surgeon, it's LA), but are also huge fans of The Simpsons (Is he also a proud alumnus of Hollywood Upstairs Medical College?). And lastly, this man has clearly spent a great deal of time crafting what would be his public image, and it has paid in dividends. I just picture him during the photo shoot explaining to the photographer: "I want people to look up and think to themselves, 'Well I can see that he's a doctor, but I find myself wondering if he may also be an Alliance approved magician available for private parties.'"

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.

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.

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."

"I'm Still Here," and so is the Swedish Fish that got stuck in my beard 6 weeks ago

So it turns out Joaquin Phoenix's rap career was a hoax, however his rat's nest hairdo and accompanying mega-hobo beard are still 2 legit 2 quit.

The Mustache Inquisition

So I was watching the 1985 film "Witness" with Harrison Ford (if you're looking for the gripping, edge of your seat excitement that can only be generated by a film focused largely on the Amish community then check it out) and I found myself wondering, what's the story with the Amish and mustaches?

Do they hate them? Are they genetically unable to grow them? Do their strong religious beliefs stand diametrically opposed to whatever it is mustaches apparently represent?

I simply do not understand. I just know that every single dude in this movie is rocking a pretty stellar chin-beard, but there is not one Tom Selleck, nor a Goose Gossage, not even a single Mr. Feeny among the bunch.

I dunno, you'd think with such a wealth of facial hair at least one of them would have the urge to venture into the uncharted territory that is the upper lip. The ball's in your court Amish.