Spies Wanted- Start Immediately!

While listening to the radio this morning I heard what I'd have to call the last commercial I ever expected to hear... ever.  After quite heartily enjoying a stimulating segment of LA's Kevin & Bean show in which Kevin and Bean praised guest Emmy Rossum for how thoroughly pleased they were with the full on boobery she displayed in the premiere of her new show Shameless (ironical?), they faded to commercial and a quiet came over the air as a striking voice begged the question: What if your job could change the fate of the nation?
Immediately, I assumed this was going to be some sappy, over-aggrandized ad for an admirable but normal job like teaching, nursing, or custodian-ing.  But then they asked: What if one meeting or operation could make our country a safer place?
Then I thought, well it would be hard to justify the thought that one parent-teacher conference could have such a vast effect.  And what do they mean by operation?  Is this a commercial to be a doctor?  And if so could any operation, no matter how difficult, really make the country safer (save for maybe removing a bomb from the skull of the President, a situation which has yet to present itself)?
Now thoroughly engrossed in this commercial, I anxiously awaited the next query.  And it came, and I swear this is true, in the form of: What if your job was so important, you couldn't tell your friends or family what you do?  Become a Clandestine Operative for the Central Intelligence Agency...
MIND BLOWN.
The fucking C.I.A. is putting out radio ads to recruit spies?!  I gotta say that does not make me feel good about the state of our nation's covert affairs.  I always thought if I was going to be a spy Al Pacino would find me in a bar or some shit.  I at least assumed the manner in which you became part of the world of espionage would at least be a little more, I dunno, espionagey?
Basically, I thought they find you.  Now I come to find out they run a few spots on the local morning show, likely in conjunction with several search engine optimized craigslist posts and a full pager in Parade Magazine.
For shame, C.I.A.  For shame.

Prolific Profiles in Bummery: The Ted Williams story

Seriously, can I go one friggin day without hearing how amazing the story of the bum with the golden voice is?  You know what an even better story is?  The one about the guy who used his God given gift to build a successful career, then enjoyed his successful career and life... and that's it.
Sorry if I come across as unsympathetic, but I don't think throwing your entire life away on drugs and alcohol to the point where you're forced to live on the side of the road quite deserves all of the acclaim we're giving it.  Sure, it's nice that he got clean and all, and how wonderful that he's been given boatloads of job offers, but what the hell?  Is what he did really something to be lauded?  I mean of course it's extremely difficult to kick a drug habit.  But you know what's not extremely difficult?  Not doing boatloads of drugs in the first place.  And let's not kid ourselves into believing he earned a right at a second chance.  He held up a sign (groundbreaking new strategy in the ever evolving world of pan-handlery, I know) and happened to get noticed.  Guess what, the guy outside my subway stop has a sign too, his says: "Wolf ghosts raped my kidneys."  But I don't see any news crews clamoring to clean him up.  But then, I guess he's no Ted Williams.

Oh and one more thing...
To the Cleveland Cavaliers,
For trying to fill the LeBron-less void left in your organization by arbitrarily offering Ted Williams a job... I sincerely hope he decides to take his golden bum pipes to South Beach in the offseason.

And to every other company who has thrown their hat in the Ted Williams ring in order to look good in the media,
I will, from this day forward, be genuinely praying that he takes any fat paychecks you give him and devotes them entirely to copious amounts of narcotics.

Kirk Cameron says we're all gonna be just fine

If you've heard about the flocks of lifeless birds dropping from the skies or the hoards of dead fish washing up on shores around the world and you have assumed, like the rest of us, it is the end of days... relax.  For the wise Kirk Cameron says we're going to be just fine.  And after all, who better to ask about such a mysterious and possibly biblical event than Mike Seaver?  Oh wait... what the fuck?

Now let me make this clear, I don't hold this against Kirk.  In fact, I still love Mike Seaver.  I mean who wouldn't love a cool ladies man who has a water bed and lives above his parents' garage with his best friend Boner?  Boner!  That's awesome!
Who I do hold it against however, are the morons at CNN who decided that because he is a born again Christian and he starred in a movie about the end of days, that makes Kirk Cameron's opinion relevant.
What an unthinkably retarded scenario to have Anderson Cooper asking Kirk Cameron if he thinks the world is ending. That sounds more like a question he'd pose to him if he were getting high with him and Boner in the Seaver's garage.
So while I respect Kirk Cameron's right to have an opinion (and his angelic smile), I can't respect that this is a news story because the truth is it doesn't matter.  In fact, I'd much rather hear what Candice Cameron thinks about this whole fiasco, if for no other reason than I haven't seen or heard from her since she got made for TV date-raped by Zach Morris.

Athletes in Film: Lee Trevino

Today is the start of a series of posts I'll be doing dedicated to my favorite appearances by athletes in major motion pictures.  And keep in mind these are MY favorites, so I won't be including every one that I know of, just the ones I love the most (sorry rabid fans of Gheorghe Muresan in My Giant, but he missed the cut).
And today's point of focus, professional golfer Lee Trevino in Happy Gilmore.
It's hard to believe that Lee makes only the second best cameo in this film (big ups to Bob "Badass" Barker), because his part is so subtly hilarious.  Somehow while uttering only a single line, the timeless "Grizzly Adams did have a beard," Trevino still managed to burn his performance into my memory using his mastery of the art of the disapproving head shake.  Yeah, for those of you who don't know who the great Lee Trevino is, he's that guy.  The one who continually pops up to show his dismay with that silly misfit Happy Gilmore.  It may seem like a small part, but you can bet your balls Chi Chi Rodriguez couldn't have handled that shit!... Sorry, I just really like Lee Trevino.
So props to you Mr. Trevino, you are officially a double threat, and a real contender for the "Best Athlete in a Movie" Oscar to be won in my heart.

Ozzy made me do it!

If you're ever looking for a way out of trouble, just blame Ozzy Osbourne.  At least, that's the philosophy of one Ohio man who had himself a way too merry Christmas Eve.  After being stopped by police on December 24th for erratically pinballing all over the road, the man was found to be full of substances, none of which are said to increase your ability to operate a vehicle.  But when asked why he was driving the way he was, he stated quite simply "Ozzy Osbourne and his music made me do it."
This... is... brilliant.  Had I only known that Ozzy's subliminal message-riddled songs were to blame for all of the bad things I have done in my life I would have saved myself a lot of trouble.  In any case, however late it may be, here is my list of apologies to those I have wronged:

- To my Mom and Dad, I'm sorry my friends and I drunkenly knocked over your China cabinet and smashed every piece of your beautiful wedding china that lay within... "Mama I'm Coming Home" made me do it.
- To my best friend Brian, sorry I waited for you to climb that tree, then loaded a leaf blower full of old dog shit and shot it at you... "Shot in the Dark" made me do it.
- To my childhood dog Corky, sorry we put you to sleep... "Bark at the Moon" made us do it.
- To my sister, sorry that when you were thoroughly terrified after seeing Chucky I dropped a My Buddy doll on your head from the top of the stairs... "Little Dolls" made me do it.
- To my college friends, sorry I photoshopped a picture of you girls into a World War II public service poster warning sailors against loose women with V.D. and distributed a thousand copies campus-wide... "Diary of a Madman" made me do it.
- To my brother, I'm sorry I put a plastic football helmet on your head and pushed you down the stairs in a laundry basket... "Crazy Train" made me do it.
- To my grandmothers, I am sorry in advance for if at any time you see or hear any of my material... "Hellraiser" made me do it.
- And to Ozzy Osbourne, I'm sorry I unfairly used your song catalog as a scapegoat for all of the terrible things I've done... but honestly, you and your music made me do it.

Can you read this?

So I got a public notice sent out by Aetna in the mail yesterday, and this is what is said word for word:

IMPORTANT: Can you read this letter?  If not, we can have somebody help you read it.  You may also be able to get this letter written in your language.  For free help, please call right away at
1-877-287-0117.

Now, I need some help here, because I can't decide if this is completely idiotic, kind of hilarious or super insulting (though I guess those who'd be insulted by it would really have no way of knowing ).  And I can't tell if this is legitimately taking a stand against illiteracy or if it's just a really cruel joke meant to make A-holes like me laugh out loud when they see it.  In any case, I would encourage all of you to call the above telephone number and start screaming frantically "I just got your letter and found out I can't reeeead!!!"

Also, I apologize to anyone that this post may have offended... that is, if you can read it.

And now God is crying...

You know why it's been raining in California for the better part of 2 weeks?  Because Little Fockers is the #1 movie in the country, and God is devastated.  Way to go America.
For those of you who don't know, Little Fockers is the third installment in the sensory raping Meet the Parents franchise starring Ben Stiller and Robert DeNiro.  Two actors who, when separate, have made some truly amazing pictures, but who have recently combined forces to create a trilogy of films so awful it feels like the devil is taking a shit on your heart.  Here's the rundown for those of you lucky enough to have not yet been exposed to these Satan-dumps:

- Ben Stiller is married to Robert DeNiro's daughter, Robert DeNiro is not happy about this.
- Ben Stiller's family is full of liberal hippies, Robert DeNiro is not happy about this.
- Ben Stiller is a male nurse, Robert DeNiro is not happy about this.
- Owen Wilson is a loveable, well intentioned chap who was dumped by Robert DeNiro's daughter.  Robert DeNiro is not fucking happy about this.
- Robert DeNiro is "watching" Ben Stiller (insert pointing at eyes and frowning curmudgeonly).
- Robert DeNiro is a CIA tough guy, but he really loves his cat (ironic juxtaposition is HIIII-larious).
- Oh, and last but certainly not least, Ben Stiller's last name sounds like a particularly notorious curse word!  How deliciously naughty!

To sum up, if you spent $10 to go see this movie last week you should be focking ashamed of yourself.  And if you plan to spend $10 to go see it this week at the Regal 12 in downtown LA, let me assure you I will be waiting outside the theater to slap you across your focking face with a 15 lb. trout you focking focker.