The greatest work of art ever?

About a week ago I did a stand-up show at a Mexican restaurant (because I'm famous), where rather than performing in front of a traditional backdrop like a brick wall, or a curtain, I got to perform in front of a mural so odd, so complex and so terrifyingly beautiful, that I spent the entirety of the show examining it for your benefit. Feast your eyes...

It's going to be a very LA day

Only in LA is this a completely normal sighting.

"I'm still a man, I'm still a man, I'm still a man..."

At least once a day I see some comically enormous, completely emasculated man walking a "dog" (I only got a quick look, so this could have been a fat hamster on a leash) that he could literally crush in the palm of his angry ogre hand. And every single time I can't help but gleefully wonder what other Hollywood cliches he has relented to at the hands of his "aspiring actress" girlfriend.
I assume that when he leaves this convenience store he crams his giant body back into his Prius, or better yet, his Smart Car with the coexist bumper sticker on it, and heads back to his ridiculously undersized studio apartment in West Hollywood. After dropping off Dustin Hoffman (that's his chihuahua's name, obviously) and grabbing a quick sushi lunch at the corner cafe, he sits his tiny fedora atop his oversized skull and heads out to Venice Beach to spend the rest of the afternoon with his lady, who sells her homemade jewelry made of found scrap metal on the boardwalk.  All the while daydreaming fondly of simpler days gone by, when his one and only obligation was grinding bones to make his bread.

There's a valet conspiracy afoot

While out for a late Valentine's Day dinner last night, I noticed something odd about the ticket the valet handed me. The front was completely normal, showing the company's name and contact information, as well as liability rules and a stub number. The back however, seemed a bit odd...

I'm sorry, what?

Has this company been running into this situation often enough to warrant laying it out for us like that? I find it hard to imagine that anyone whose vehicle was valet parked during an earthquake decided to pin the whole mess on them; "Well, what the hell am I paying you six dollars for if I'm not covered when my car falls into a massive chasm that opens in the earth's surface?!"

Seeing as how that seems pretty unlikely (though people have sued McDonald's for serving hot coffee), it got me wondering, why exactly would a company be so compelled to put this out there? It seems suspicious really. It's like the little kid who says "I didn't do it" before anyone even asks. 

What if that's what this is? What if in an effort to free themselves from responsibility this company has done the exact opposite, and given the initial clue in an investigation that will eventually reveal the valet industry has actually been responsible for each and every natural disaster of the last 100 years? 

I don't know why. And I don't know how. All I know is I have never trusted valets, and I'm going with my gut on this one.

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.

T.G.I. Ghost Babies

We have all been in the situation of sitting in a gimmicky chain restaurant, looking around at the retro-motif collectibles that riddle the walls and wondering to ourselves "where the hell do they get all this crap?" Usually it is uninteresting garbage that, in the end, the restaurant probably shouldn't even waste their money on. But once in great while, something on those walls changes your life.

Not long ago I found myself at a T.G.I. Friday's in New York. I was enjoying some cold beer and shitty chicken fingers when, as if from nowhere, hidden amongst the out of state license plates, Star Wars posters and wooden snowshoes, I found this gem on the wall and I knew it must be shared with the world:

This is easily the most amusing/most terrifying piece of days gone by that I have ever encountered. One on hand, I couldn't help but be awed by the sheer amount of hair on this baby's head. Not only was it plentiful, but it was so shockingly rich and voluminous I assumed he was likely the very first spokesbaby for L'Oreal.

On the other hand, it was eerily reminiscent of the painting of Vigo the Carpathian from Ghostbusters II. Throughout the course of my meal, I had a sinking feeling that this portrait was out to steal the soul of my first born son and use his body as a vessel for James Brown's return to the world of the living.

In any case, I of course stole the painting and have hidden it somewhere which I promise, will scare the hell out of you when you find it... Sleep tight.