PV: Yo, Big, what's going down on the street?
BB: Same crap, different day. Oscar is complaining, Bert and Ernie are hanging out in the closet and Count Von Count is into his usual OCD routine. I need to get out of here, man. It's been decades with this same exact gig. My agent doesn't know what the hell he's doing.
PV: So you're ready to move on, huh? I always thought you'd be a Sesame Street lifer. You always looked like you were having such a good time.
BB: It's acting, baby. My craft. I'm into the whole method thing. Live it, breathe it, experience it and sell it to your audience. It's all a lie, my whole public image. I've been in and out of depression for 15 years now. My performance evaluations are always miserable, and the raises the tight-assed management gives out are comically small. We need to at least unionize or something.
PV: I'd vote Cookie Monster as your union treasurer.
BB: Yeah, right. I wouldn't trust that gluttonous fool around loose cash. You think cookies are the only things he can't stop consuming? You should see the guy when he goes off on benders of Scotch, hashish and prostitutes in Amsterdam. It's incredible that lifestyle of his hasn't driven him into the grave.
PV: Cookie Monster's a drug and whore addict? I'd never have known! Next thing you'll tell me is Snuffleupagus is a Scientologist!
BB: Snuff ain't real, bro. Ever wonder why I'm the only one who can see him? It's a total LSD flashback, I guess. The whole Haight-Ashbury scene during the psychadelic area really led me astray.
PV: Wow, I never figured you for an acid dropper.
BB: I did some wild stuff back in the day. You don't even wanna know. So many women.
PV: You slept with actual woman? Gross.
BB: No, I mean female birds, friend. Tons of 'em. Partridges, parakeets, storks, even an ostrich every once in a while.
PV: Ostriches, huh?
BB: Yeah, it's so hot when they stick their faces in the dirt, all bent over. Oh, man.
PV: You're disgusting.
BB: Nothing's disgusting about free love, man. We were gonna change the world. No war, no politics, and material things didn't mean a thing.
PV: And now look at you. You've completely sold out all your ideals. You're nothing but a corporate shill who complains he's not paid enough. Where did you go wrong?
BB: I don't know, man. Somewhere along the way I lost sight of all that I held dear, and now I'm just some letter jockey. Today's letter is F. For forlorn.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Interview: Alvin
PV: How's the chipmunk rock star treating you, Alvin?
A: I just got out of rehab and I'm trying to get my life back together. I'm thinking of getting back with the band for a reunion tour. Or maybe it's time for a solo project.
PV: Rehab? I never knew!
A: Yeah, all those years of touring really took their toll. I lost sight of what was really important, you know? The stress of the road forced me to turn to hookers and drugs, and it really sapped away my creativity.
PV: No offense, but all the songs you and the Chipmunks made were covers, weren't they? So having your creativity sapped away couldn't have hurt you that much.
A: I resent that remark. Do you know how much skill it takes to sing fast, high-pitched versions of classic rock songs? It's harder than it looks, man. I'd like to see you do it. You could never fill my shoes. You're nothing but a rock journalist sapping off my stardom so you can make your money scribbling stupid little rants in your monthly rag. And besides, we did come up with one song of our own - the intro to the TV show.
PV: First off, I'm not a rock journalist. But I think I remember the song you're talking about. The one that went "Alvin, Simon, Theodore! Doo-doo. Do-do-do-do!" Right? Sorry I overlooked that classic.
A: Apology not accepted due to your sarcasm.
PV: Let's just leave the subject behind and move on then. What was the situation with Dave, your manager? Was he your adoptive father?
A: Dave was an asshole. Ever see that TV miniseries "The Jacksons?" Our lives were exactly like that - Dave was Joe Jackson. First off he took us from our woodland home, then forced us to learn English. As if that wasn't weird and unnatural enough, he also made us form a cover band, and was obsessed with making us big stars. He worked us so hard. We'd do 11 hour practice sessions without a break. He wouldn't even let us pee or eat. Theodore was a big eater, you know, and he would show up to rehearsals with nuts buried in his cheeks. Dave would catch him in the act and pimp slap the nuts right out of his mouth. He was cruel, man. So cruel.
PV: At least you had the Chipettes to tour with, right? That had to have lifted the burden. I always thought it was amazing how there happened to be a female singing chipmunk trio, and they were exactly like you: Brittany, the smartass leader who was a female version of you; Jeanette, the awkward, lanky dork and Eleanor, the fat-assed malcontent who always screwed things up like Theodore.
A: Yeah, really lucky. The bitches wouldn't put out at all.
PV: That amazes me. Brittany always seemed slutty to me.
A: A total acorn tease, dude. I don't even wanna get into it.
PV: That's too bad, you guys could have had some incredibly talented children.
A: Brother, I don't even know how many children I have out there. There were so many groupies, so many orgies and one-night stands. And I'm sure I don't even remember the half of it. I never even wore a condom.
PV: Gross.
A: You're just jealous.
PV: I would have been jealous if you got to have sex with Brittany. I was totally into her when I was 5. But no, Alvin. I just pity you.
A: Get out of my house.
PV: I'm not in your house. We're talking on the phone.
A: Oh yeah. I just hallucinated that you were here because of an acid flashback.
A: I just got out of rehab and I'm trying to get my life back together. I'm thinking of getting back with the band for a reunion tour. Or maybe it's time for a solo project.
PV: Rehab? I never knew!
A: Yeah, all those years of touring really took their toll. I lost sight of what was really important, you know? The stress of the road forced me to turn to hookers and drugs, and it really sapped away my creativity.
PV: No offense, but all the songs you and the Chipmunks made were covers, weren't they? So having your creativity sapped away couldn't have hurt you that much.
A: I resent that remark. Do you know how much skill it takes to sing fast, high-pitched versions of classic rock songs? It's harder than it looks, man. I'd like to see you do it. You could never fill my shoes. You're nothing but a rock journalist sapping off my stardom so you can make your money scribbling stupid little rants in your monthly rag. And besides, we did come up with one song of our own - the intro to the TV show.
PV: First off, I'm not a rock journalist. But I think I remember the song you're talking about. The one that went "Alvin, Simon, Theodore! Doo-doo. Do-do-do-do!" Right? Sorry I overlooked that classic.
A: Apology not accepted due to your sarcasm.
PV: Let's just leave the subject behind and move on then. What was the situation with Dave, your manager? Was he your adoptive father?
A: Dave was an asshole. Ever see that TV miniseries "The Jacksons?" Our lives were exactly like that - Dave was Joe Jackson. First off he took us from our woodland home, then forced us to learn English. As if that wasn't weird and unnatural enough, he also made us form a cover band, and was obsessed with making us big stars. He worked us so hard. We'd do 11 hour practice sessions without a break. He wouldn't even let us pee or eat. Theodore was a big eater, you know, and he would show up to rehearsals with nuts buried in his cheeks. Dave would catch him in the act and pimp slap the nuts right out of his mouth. He was cruel, man. So cruel.
PV: At least you had the Chipettes to tour with, right? That had to have lifted the burden. I always thought it was amazing how there happened to be a female singing chipmunk trio, and they were exactly like you: Brittany, the smartass leader who was a female version of you; Jeanette, the awkward, lanky dork and Eleanor, the fat-assed malcontent who always screwed things up like Theodore.
A: Yeah, really lucky. The bitches wouldn't put out at all.
PV: That amazes me. Brittany always seemed slutty to me.
A: A total acorn tease, dude. I don't even wanna get into it.
PV: That's too bad, you guys could have had some incredibly talented children.
A: Brother, I don't even know how many children I have out there. There were so many groupies, so many orgies and one-night stands. And I'm sure I don't even remember the half of it. I never even wore a condom.
PV: Gross.
A: You're just jealous.
PV: I would have been jealous if you got to have sex with Brittany. I was totally into her when I was 5. But no, Alvin. I just pity you.
A: Get out of my house.
PV: I'm not in your house. We're talking on the phone.
A: Oh yeah. I just hallucinated that you were here because of an acid flashback.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Interview: Smokey the Bear
PV: Hey there, Smokey. How is the fire prevention going?
STB: It like, totally sucks bro. I was listening to Phish last night and smoking a bowl, tryin' to come to terms with the eternal parabolic dimensions of light and dark, smoke and fire. You know what I mean?
PV: I haven't the slightest clue. Hey, what's that smell, and why are your eyes bloodshot and glazed over? Why, Smokey, are you high?
STB: Guilty as charged, Maynard. Want some?
PV: Of course not! I've never smoked in my life and besides, I'm on the job! You should be ashamed of yourself. You're supposed to be a role model for children?
STB: You're totally talking like the man, always trying to keep a brotha down. Ain't nobody a role model. Parents should be role models, man. Check yoself. Before you reck yoself. Ahahahahaha!
PV: Get ahold of yourself, Smokey. I've got a tape recorder here. This will probably end up on the news and ruin your reputation like that time Alec Baldwin called his kid a "thoughtless little pig."
STB: Hey, whatever happens happens, ya know? How do you think I got the name "Smokey" in the first place, man? I was always weed crazy. I'd smoke anything man. Pinecones, whatever. The Forest Service shouldn't a never hired me if they needed a mascot who wasn't gonna stop tokin.' Hey, "tokin'" sounds like "token," right? Like what the change machines at Golf 'N Stuff give you instead of quarters. Trippy!
PV: Will you pull yourself together? Don't you realize who you are and what you represent?
STB: Hey, I've got no responsibility. Remember, only you can prevent forest fires. Hahahahaha.
PV: Ah, your catch phrase. How does that make any sense, by the way? How's a 12 year old going to prevent a forest fire?
STB: To be honest, by remembering to put out his joints before he falls asleep on camping trips. Man, I forgot to do that a couple years ago up on Mount Lemmon near Tucson. Boy, that was a big mistake.
PV: What? It was you who caused that calamity that made national news? But I thought they convicted someone of starting that fire!
STB: It was all a cover up. The suits weren't gonna let the public face of fire prevention take the fall. It's totally a conspiracy, man. Like Area 52 and...
PV: Wait, did you say "Area 52?" Don't you mean Area 51?
STB: Nah, man. Area 51 is the one the media industrial complex wants you to talk about so you don't find out about Area 52. They keep JFK's head there and Elvis and robot-Hitler are poker buddies. You wouldn't believe... And also.... zzzzzzzz...
PV: Dammit, Smokey! You forgot to put out your joint before you fell asleep. Hmm. Maybe I'll try some of this for myself.
STB: It like, totally sucks bro. I was listening to Phish last night and smoking a bowl, tryin' to come to terms with the eternal parabolic dimensions of light and dark, smoke and fire. You know what I mean?
PV: I haven't the slightest clue. Hey, what's that smell, and why are your eyes bloodshot and glazed over? Why, Smokey, are you high?
STB: Guilty as charged, Maynard. Want some?
PV: Of course not! I've never smoked in my life and besides, I'm on the job! You should be ashamed of yourself. You're supposed to be a role model for children?
STB: You're totally talking like the man, always trying to keep a brotha down. Ain't nobody a role model. Parents should be role models, man. Check yoself. Before you reck yoself. Ahahahahaha!
PV: Get ahold of yourself, Smokey. I've got a tape recorder here. This will probably end up on the news and ruin your reputation like that time Alec Baldwin called his kid a "thoughtless little pig."
STB: Hey, whatever happens happens, ya know? How do you think I got the name "Smokey" in the first place, man? I was always weed crazy. I'd smoke anything man. Pinecones, whatever. The Forest Service shouldn't a never hired me if they needed a mascot who wasn't gonna stop tokin.' Hey, "tokin'" sounds like "token," right? Like what the change machines at Golf 'N Stuff give you instead of quarters. Trippy!
PV: Will you pull yourself together? Don't you realize who you are and what you represent?
STB: Hey, I've got no responsibility. Remember, only you can prevent forest fires. Hahahahaha.
PV: Ah, your catch phrase. How does that make any sense, by the way? How's a 12 year old going to prevent a forest fire?
STB: To be honest, by remembering to put out his joints before he falls asleep on camping trips. Man, I forgot to do that a couple years ago up on Mount Lemmon near Tucson. Boy, that was a big mistake.
PV: What? It was you who caused that calamity that made national news? But I thought they convicted someone of starting that fire!
STB: It was all a cover up. The suits weren't gonna let the public face of fire prevention take the fall. It's totally a conspiracy, man. Like Area 52 and...
PV: Wait, did you say "Area 52?" Don't you mean Area 51?
STB: Nah, man. Area 51 is the one the media industrial complex wants you to talk about so you don't find out about Area 52. They keep JFK's head there and Elvis and robot-Hitler are poker buddies. You wouldn't believe... And also.... zzzzzzzz...
PV: Dammit, Smokey! You forgot to put out your joint before you fell asleep. Hmm. Maybe I'll try some of this for myself.
Sunday, May 06, 2007
Interview: Lion-O
PV: Thanks for sitting down with me, Lion-O. I must say you're still looking good after all these years.
LO: Thunder! Thunder! Thunder! Thundercats, Ho!
PV: Come again?
LO: Oh, sorry. I'm on my hands free here, calling out a Thundercats raid against that rascally Safari Joe. didn't realize you had started talking.
PV: Too cool. Who's on the line? Snarf? Cheetara? Tygra?
LO: Um, ah, someone else.
PV: Who?
LO: (Sighs). Uh, 1-800-555-TELL.
PV: Huh. I knew you could get stock quotes, sports scores and movie times on that hotline, but I didn't realize you could call Thundercats defense raids!
LO: Well, um, yeah. You totally... uh...
PV: Lion-O! I'm on to you. Come clean, you're really just pretending to call out Thundercats defense raids, aren't you now.
LO: Yeah. The thing is, I'm just sad and lonely. The other Thundercats don't return my calls anymore.
PV: Why?
LO: It all stems from a Christmas paty back in '87. You know how it goes. I had one too many drinks and all of a sudden I'm telling racist jokes, coughing up hairballs and my tail is up Pumyra's skirt. Suddenly I'm a pariah with no friends who can't find a job anywhere across the galaxy from from Thundera to Third Earth.
PV: You could always go work for Mumm-Ra. He was always trying to tempt you to join him and rule Third Earth as your first lieutenant.
LO: I'm aghast at the suggestion. Never would I join the forces of evil.
PV: Admit it, Lion-O. You applied and couldn't get an interview, right?
LO: Yeah.
PV: Lion-O, you're an alcoholic, aren't you?
LO: No, I rarely drink, actually. But I am an addict.
PV: Crack? Heroine? Guitar Hero II?
LO: Thundercatnip.
PV: How cliche.
LO: I know. I'm ashamed. But my life isn't a total loss, right? At the height of my fame I inspired young boys like you to become great, honorable contributors to society! Surely that must count for something.
PV: Dude, I'm an entertainment writer who makes up imaginary interviews with cartoon superheroes. I contribute nothing to society.
LO: I think I'll go kill myself now.
LO: Thunder! Thunder! Thunder! Thundercats, Ho!
PV: Come again?
LO: Oh, sorry. I'm on my hands free here, calling out a Thundercats raid against that rascally Safari Joe. didn't realize you had started talking.
PV: Too cool. Who's on the line? Snarf? Cheetara? Tygra?
LO: Um, ah, someone else.
PV: Who?
LO: (Sighs). Uh, 1-800-555-TELL.
PV: Huh. I knew you could get stock quotes, sports scores and movie times on that hotline, but I didn't realize you could call Thundercats defense raids!
LO: Well, um, yeah. You totally... uh...
PV: Lion-O! I'm on to you. Come clean, you're really just pretending to call out Thundercats defense raids, aren't you now.
LO: Yeah. The thing is, I'm just sad and lonely. The other Thundercats don't return my calls anymore.
PV: Why?
LO: It all stems from a Christmas paty back in '87. You know how it goes. I had one too many drinks and all of a sudden I'm telling racist jokes, coughing up hairballs and my tail is up Pumyra's skirt. Suddenly I'm a pariah with no friends who can't find a job anywhere across the galaxy from from Thundera to Third Earth.
PV: You could always go work for Mumm-Ra. He was always trying to tempt you to join him and rule Third Earth as your first lieutenant.
LO: I'm aghast at the suggestion. Never would I join the forces of evil.
PV: Admit it, Lion-O. You applied and couldn't get an interview, right?
LO: Yeah.
PV: Lion-O, you're an alcoholic, aren't you?
LO: No, I rarely drink, actually. But I am an addict.
PV: Crack? Heroine? Guitar Hero II?
LO: Thundercatnip.
PV: How cliche.
LO: I know. I'm ashamed. But my life isn't a total loss, right? At the height of my fame I inspired young boys like you to become great, honorable contributors to society! Surely that must count for something.
PV: Dude, I'm an entertainment writer who makes up imaginary interviews with cartoon superheroes. I contribute nothing to society.
LO: I think I'll go kill myself now.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Interview: Smurfette
PV: I've got to tell you, I'm a huge fan.
S: Stop smurfing at me like that, you leering perv. As if I'd ever smurf a human.
PV: Looking at you like what?
S: You're un-smurfing me with your eyes.
PV: No I'm not. I'm a married man. I don't think impure thoughts about any women, let alone a Smurf. Even if she is the lone female smurf. So hot, so lonely, just waiting for prince charming to whisk her away from a life of cruel exploitation amid an all-male society. So luscious and tempting, but no. I must resist the urge to declare my lifelong lust for the petite blue sex object of my dreams.
S: Did you realize you smurfed that out loud?
P: Was I? Damn. OK, I'll admit it. There was a time in my life when all I could think about was making sweet, sensuous love to you. But that was long ago, 1985. I was 7. You were my one true love in between Ms. Pac Man and Punky Brewster. But no more. I moved on.
S: Good to hear. You'd be smurfed how many fellas your age are still smurfed on me.
P: Do you mean like "Donnie Darko" director Richard Kelly?
S: Yeah, smurf-ally. His sick little smurf-asy about me smurfing Papa Smurf while Gargamel watches and smurfs off? Disgusting.
P: So?
S: So what?
P: Is there any truth to that. Like, did you have sex with other smurfs, and if so, which ones?
S: There was one special fella, but no. A smurf never smurfs and smurfs.
P: Oh, come on. Everyone really needs to know. It's like one of the greatest mysteries in this world outside of who shot J.F.K. and why people watched "Friends."
S: Smurf off. I'll never tell.
P: Playing hardball, eh? OK, tell me what smurfs you smurfed or else I'm going to release that smurf tape that has you smurfing Gargamel's cat over the Internet.
S: There... uh, is no smurf tape.
P: Try me. I've got it downloaded on my computer at home. I'm not above extortion. Give me the information I demand or else your reputation goes up in flames.
S: I should be so lucky. Did you see what a smurf tape smurfed for Smurfis Smirfton? I'll be insta-famous and hanging with Britney and Lindsay in a heartbeat.
P: Allright, you called my bluff, Smurfette. There is no tape. And even if there were , it would do far more good for your celebrity status than bad. I've got nothing. Will you forgive me?
S: Forget about it. I've gotta be smurfing. It's been smurf.
P: But, but wait! Oh, is this your cell phone? It's beeping! Come back, Smurfette! You've got a text message.... from... hm... Brainy Smurf. It says "whatup, meet me bhind the smurf for a smurfjob." Whoah, total booty call. Your secret is unsafe with me, Smurfette! Damn, I'm so jealous of you, Brainy Smurf.
S: Stop smurfing at me like that, you leering perv. As if I'd ever smurf a human.
PV: Looking at you like what?
S: You're un-smurfing me with your eyes.
PV: No I'm not. I'm a married man. I don't think impure thoughts about any women, let alone a Smurf. Even if she is the lone female smurf. So hot, so lonely, just waiting for prince charming to whisk her away from a life of cruel exploitation amid an all-male society. So luscious and tempting, but no. I must resist the urge to declare my lifelong lust for the petite blue sex object of my dreams.
S: Did you realize you smurfed that out loud?
P: Was I? Damn. OK, I'll admit it. There was a time in my life when all I could think about was making sweet, sensuous love to you. But that was long ago, 1985. I was 7. You were my one true love in between Ms. Pac Man and Punky Brewster. But no more. I moved on.
S: Good to hear. You'd be smurfed how many fellas your age are still smurfed on me.
P: Do you mean like "Donnie Darko" director Richard Kelly?
S: Yeah, smurf-ally. His sick little smurf-asy about me smurfing Papa Smurf while Gargamel watches and smurfs off? Disgusting.
P: So?
S: So what?
P: Is there any truth to that. Like, did you have sex with other smurfs, and if so, which ones?
S: There was one special fella, but no. A smurf never smurfs and smurfs.
P: Oh, come on. Everyone really needs to know. It's like one of the greatest mysteries in this world outside of who shot J.F.K. and why people watched "Friends."
S: Smurf off. I'll never tell.
P: Playing hardball, eh? OK, tell me what smurfs you smurfed or else I'm going to release that smurf tape that has you smurfing Gargamel's cat over the Internet.
S: There... uh, is no smurf tape.
P: Try me. I've got it downloaded on my computer at home. I'm not above extortion. Give me the information I demand or else your reputation goes up in flames.
S: I should be so lucky. Did you see what a smurf tape smurfed for Smurfis Smirfton? I'll be insta-famous and hanging with Britney and Lindsay in a heartbeat.
P: Allright, you called my bluff, Smurfette. There is no tape. And even if there were , it would do far more good for your celebrity status than bad. I've got nothing. Will you forgive me?
S: Forget about it. I've gotta be smurfing. It's been smurf.
P: But, but wait! Oh, is this your cell phone? It's beeping! Come back, Smurfette! You've got a text message.... from... hm... Brainy Smurf. It says "whatup, meet me bhind the smurf for a smurfjob." Whoah, total booty call. Your secret is unsafe with me, Smurfette! Damn, I'm so jealous of you, Brainy Smurf.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Interview: Binky the Troll
PV: Thank you for sitting down with me, Binky. I've always admired your work, going back to your days as a pencil topper. Talk about a rough start to your career.
B: It's a tough job, man. Erasers aren't as comfortable as you might think, especially without lube.
PV: Gross. It must help a little bit that pencil topper trolls are designed with huge holes in their rear ends to accommodate pencils, no?
B: Son, your hole is probably bigger than anything I ever had. Don't tell me you'd be cool with sticking a pencil up there.
PV: Ugh, no. That had to have been brutal for you, spending years like that.
B: It wasn't no picnic, that's for sure. But it was showbiz. You take what you can get when you're starting out.
PV: True. And it led to big things for you. Soon after you had a whole doll line, plush toys, shirts, even a cartoon, right? There wasn't a little girl alive in 1991 that didn't have four or five trolls in her possession. You have got to be a millionaire.
B: Correction - WAS a millionaire, then a little thing came along called the dot com boom. My financial guy lost all my dough on yahoooo.com.
PV: Yahoo? I thought that made a lot of money.
B: Yahoo with only two o's did, but the kind with four o's went belly up after like a month, taking my life savings, future and, to be frank with you, my will to live along with it.
PV: Geez, no wonder your purple hair stands on end.
B: Oh, a frizzy hair joke. How original.
PV: I thought it was funny.
B: You know who else thinks jokes about hair are funny? Don Imus. I don't think he's laughing anymore. And it's all because of me.
PV: It's not like you had anything to do with that, though. It was all Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson.
B: Dude, Al Sharpton IS a troll. We went to third grade together.
PV: You know, that does make a lot of sense. Please don't have me fired from my job and ostracized by the fickle media.
B: No promises, but if you buy some of my T-shirts, dolls and videos, I may cut you a break.
PV: Dude, I'm not buying any of that crap. Never have and never will.
B: Sigh. That's exactly what today's third-grade girls are telling me. I may as well end it all.
PV: Aw, cheer up. You can always go back to pencil topping?
B: I'll pencil-top you.
B: It's a tough job, man. Erasers aren't as comfortable as you might think, especially without lube.
PV: Gross. It must help a little bit that pencil topper trolls are designed with huge holes in their rear ends to accommodate pencils, no?
B: Son, your hole is probably bigger than anything I ever had. Don't tell me you'd be cool with sticking a pencil up there.
PV: Ugh, no. That had to have been brutal for you, spending years like that.
B: It wasn't no picnic, that's for sure. But it was showbiz. You take what you can get when you're starting out.
PV: True. And it led to big things for you. Soon after you had a whole doll line, plush toys, shirts, even a cartoon, right? There wasn't a little girl alive in 1991 that didn't have four or five trolls in her possession. You have got to be a millionaire.
B: Correction - WAS a millionaire, then a little thing came along called the dot com boom. My financial guy lost all my dough on yahoooo.com.
PV: Yahoo? I thought that made a lot of money.
B: Yahoo with only two o's did, but the kind with four o's went belly up after like a month, taking my life savings, future and, to be frank with you, my will to live along with it.
PV: Geez, no wonder your purple hair stands on end.
B: Oh, a frizzy hair joke. How original.
PV: I thought it was funny.
B: You know who else thinks jokes about hair are funny? Don Imus. I don't think he's laughing anymore. And it's all because of me.
PV: It's not like you had anything to do with that, though. It was all Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson.
B: Dude, Al Sharpton IS a troll. We went to third grade together.
PV: You know, that does make a lot of sense. Please don't have me fired from my job and ostracized by the fickle media.
B: No promises, but if you buy some of my T-shirts, dolls and videos, I may cut you a break.
PV: Dude, I'm not buying any of that crap. Never have and never will.
B: Sigh. That's exactly what today's third-grade girls are telling me. I may as well end it all.
PV: Aw, cheer up. You can always go back to pencil topping?
B: I'll pencil-top you.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
Interview: The Easter Bunny
PV: Hey, what's up Easter?
EB: I prefer the nickname E.B., Pimpaster E. Would you like a Peep or a dyed egg?
PV: Got any Cadbury Eggs?
EB: Hell no. I mean, I do, but I wouldn't give those away for free. They're as expensive as a motha...
PV: Shut yo mouth.
EB: But I'm talkin' bout Cadbury.
PV: And I can dig it.
EB: Candy's getting more expensive these days. Candy, gas and bitches.
PV: Bitches? What do you mean?
EB: You know - ladies of the night.
PV: Why, Easter Bunny, you frequent prostitutes? I never would have guessed. Don't you think that kind of activity is out of line for a religious holiday mascot?
EB: Dude, I'm a rabbit and I got needs. When I'm not out delivering baskets and hiding eggs, I be fornicating all sorts.
PV: Right, but shouldn't you live up to Christian ideals?
EB: Christian? I'm pagan, bro.
PV: But no! You're all about Jesus and the resurrection and saving humanity's souls!
EB: Nope. Common misconception. The name of the holiday Easter is derived from the pagan fertility goddess Ishtar. Get it, Easter-Ishtar, Ishtar-Easter?
PV: Whoah. You're going all Da Vinci Code on me.
EB: Crazy, ain't it? It's OK though. Most people nowadays think Easter is all about bunnies and eggs and whatnot. Kids all over the world worship me.
PV: Those kids are so dumb. How can they possibly believe in such an ignorant concept as you? A giant rabbit who distributes baskets of plastic grass and candy?
EB: You used to believe in me.
PV: Shut your mouth.
EB: I prefer the nickname E.B., Pimpaster E. Would you like a Peep or a dyed egg?
PV: Got any Cadbury Eggs?
EB: Hell no. I mean, I do, but I wouldn't give those away for free. They're as expensive as a motha...
PV: Shut yo mouth.
EB: But I'm talkin' bout Cadbury.
PV: And I can dig it.
EB: Candy's getting more expensive these days. Candy, gas and bitches.
PV: Bitches? What do you mean?
EB: You know - ladies of the night.
PV: Why, Easter Bunny, you frequent prostitutes? I never would have guessed. Don't you think that kind of activity is out of line for a religious holiday mascot?
EB: Dude, I'm a rabbit and I got needs. When I'm not out delivering baskets and hiding eggs, I be fornicating all sorts.
PV: Right, but shouldn't you live up to Christian ideals?
EB: Christian? I'm pagan, bro.
PV: But no! You're all about Jesus and the resurrection and saving humanity's souls!
EB: Nope. Common misconception. The name of the holiday Easter is derived from the pagan fertility goddess Ishtar. Get it, Easter-Ishtar, Ishtar-Easter?
PV: Whoah. You're going all Da Vinci Code on me.
EB: Crazy, ain't it? It's OK though. Most people nowadays think Easter is all about bunnies and eggs and whatnot. Kids all over the world worship me.
PV: Those kids are so dumb. How can they possibly believe in such an ignorant concept as you? A giant rabbit who distributes baskets of plastic grass and candy?
EB: You used to believe in me.
PV: Shut your mouth.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
Interview: Grimace
PV: Hi there.
G: Hello, sir.
PV: Wow, dude. I didn't realize you spoke.
G: Of course I do! Are you telling me you haven't seen the direct-to-video 1998 film "The Wacky Adventures of Ronald McDonald: Scared Silly?"
PV: Nah, I missed that one. To tell you the truth, Grimace, the only real experience with you came back in 1985. We met at the opening of a Flagstaff McDonald's back then. Do you remember me?
G: Ah yes, I never forget a face. I remember you well. And your little sister. She didn't think much of me, as I recall.
PV: Grimace, you scared the hell out of her. Linda was 5 years old at the time, and your very presence made her cry her little eyes out.
G: I have that effect on people. It's tough being a purple tub of fluffy goo.
PV: Oh, don't be so hard on yourself, guy. You also bring lots of smiles and laughter?
G: As well as juvenile heart disease and high cholesterol. I don't know how I've lived with myself all these years, peddling junk food to the defenseless little angels. I'm such a horrible person.
PV: You're a person? I always considered you as some sort of lake creature or perhaps a bridge troll.
G: Maybe I am. No one really knows where I came from. Have you ever seen anything else that looked remotely like me? And please don't say "Jabba the Hutt."
PV: Come on, Grimace. You look nothing like a Hutt. Don't be so hard on yourself. Jabba kidnapped people and froze them in carbonite. Jabba killed.
G: I have killed.
P: Really?
G: Yes, with a thousand little cuts. With my trans fats, sodium and carbs.
PV: Well, yeah, but like, compared to Joe the Camel, you're Gandhi.
G: Compared to Joe Camel, George W. Bush Gandhi.
PV: Yeah, but look at it this way. It's not so much your fault that kids worldwide are getting addicted to McDonald's thanks to your coersive image. A 5 year old can't quite drive his tricycle through the drive-thru. Blame the parents.
G: Don't patronize me. I can't take anymore. I must end it.
(Grimace picks up a long, narrow instrument of death and points it at his mouth.
PV: Don't do it, brother! Think of the good times!
G: Sigh, I must.
PV: Nooooooo!
G: Goodbye, cruel world. I will commit an act of atrocity on my body and begin the process which will conclude my pathetic, miserable life.
(Grimace eats a french fry.)
G: Hello, sir.
PV: Wow, dude. I didn't realize you spoke.
G: Of course I do! Are you telling me you haven't seen the direct-to-video 1998 film "The Wacky Adventures of Ronald McDonald: Scared Silly?"
PV: Nah, I missed that one. To tell you the truth, Grimace, the only real experience with you came back in 1985. We met at the opening of a Flagstaff McDonald's back then. Do you remember me?
G: Ah yes, I never forget a face. I remember you well. And your little sister. She didn't think much of me, as I recall.
PV: Grimace, you scared the hell out of her. Linda was 5 years old at the time, and your very presence made her cry her little eyes out.
G: I have that effect on people. It's tough being a purple tub of fluffy goo.
PV: Oh, don't be so hard on yourself, guy. You also bring lots of smiles and laughter?
G: As well as juvenile heart disease and high cholesterol. I don't know how I've lived with myself all these years, peddling junk food to the defenseless little angels. I'm such a horrible person.
PV: You're a person? I always considered you as some sort of lake creature or perhaps a bridge troll.
G: Maybe I am. No one really knows where I came from. Have you ever seen anything else that looked remotely like me? And please don't say "Jabba the Hutt."
PV: Come on, Grimace. You look nothing like a Hutt. Don't be so hard on yourself. Jabba kidnapped people and froze them in carbonite. Jabba killed.
G: I have killed.
P: Really?
G: Yes, with a thousand little cuts. With my trans fats, sodium and carbs.
PV: Well, yeah, but like, compared to Joe the Camel, you're Gandhi.
G: Compared to Joe Camel, George W. Bush Gandhi.
PV: Yeah, but look at it this way. It's not so much your fault that kids worldwide are getting addicted to McDonald's thanks to your coersive image. A 5 year old can't quite drive his tricycle through the drive-thru. Blame the parents.
G: Don't patronize me. I can't take anymore. I must end it.
(Grimace picks up a long, narrow instrument of death and points it at his mouth.
PV: Don't do it, brother! Think of the good times!
G: Sigh, I must.
PV: Nooooooo!
G: Goodbye, cruel world. I will commit an act of atrocity on my body and begin the process which will conclude my pathetic, miserable life.
(Grimace eats a french fry.)
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Interview: Optimus Prime
PV: Hi, Optimus. I didn't think you'd show up to this.
OP: Why is that, humanoid? My punctuality preceptors are set to maximum reliability, and my interview commitment rate is well above 99.5 percent.
PV: Well, it's just I thought you were dead. You know, from what Megatron did to you in "Transformers: The Movie."
OP: Sir, your discernment receptacle is highly suspect.
PV: I don't follow.
OP: That's robot for "Don't believe everything you see in the movies." The 2007 movie is also a fake. Besides, there is no way that little bitchicron Megatron could kill me. If he killed me in a dream he had better wake up and apologizicron.
PV: Wait, you're telling me the events in the film weren't real? I could have sworn it was taken from actual footage.
OP: My neurological sensors are detecting your sarcasm.
PV: Your sensors are off. I honestly thought your death really counted.
OP: The cinematic interpretation of fictionalized events having to do with me and the other Autobots were meant purely to factorize entertainmentcons.
PV: "Entertainmentcons"? What the hell are those? Tell me the truth - you just like to add the suffixes "-con" and "-tron" to random names. Such as your home planet of Cybertron, your enemies the Decepticons.
OP: Silence, fool, or I shall destroyicon you with my energy axe.
PV: OK, OK. I give. I have to admit, I do see what you're saying about me taking the movie so seriously. I'm embarrassed to say I actually cried when you died.
OP: As you can see, humantron, there is no reason to activate your ocular moisture docs. I am perfectly functional.
PV: True, plus there's no way your movie could have been real, since it was set in 2005 and obviously scientists had yet to develop flying robots that could turn into cars or spaceships.
OP: Yes, this is true with Earthling technology. You have also yet to invent sexbots. I feel sorry for you.
PV: Yeah. At least we have PS3s though.
OP: Trust me, I know PS3. PS3 was a friend of mind. And PS3 was no sexbot.
PV: Touche. Well, I've gotta be going, Optimus. Later.
OP: Stay black.
OP: Why is that, humanoid? My punctuality preceptors are set to maximum reliability, and my interview commitment rate is well above 99.5 percent.
PV: Well, it's just I thought you were dead. You know, from what Megatron did to you in "Transformers: The Movie."
OP: Sir, your discernment receptacle is highly suspect.
PV: I don't follow.
OP: That's robot for "Don't believe everything you see in the movies." The 2007 movie is also a fake. Besides, there is no way that little bitchicron Megatron could kill me. If he killed me in a dream he had better wake up and apologizicron.
PV: Wait, you're telling me the events in the film weren't real? I could have sworn it was taken from actual footage.
OP: My neurological sensors are detecting your sarcasm.
PV: Your sensors are off. I honestly thought your death really counted.
OP: The cinematic interpretation of fictionalized events having to do with me and the other Autobots were meant purely to factorize entertainmentcons.
PV: "Entertainmentcons"? What the hell are those? Tell me the truth - you just like to add the suffixes "-con" and "-tron" to random names. Such as your home planet of Cybertron, your enemies the Decepticons.
OP: Silence, fool, or I shall destroyicon you with my energy axe.
PV: OK, OK. I give. I have to admit, I do see what you're saying about me taking the movie so seriously. I'm embarrassed to say I actually cried when you died.
OP: As you can see, humantron, there is no reason to activate your ocular moisture docs. I am perfectly functional.
PV: True, plus there's no way your movie could have been real, since it was set in 2005 and obviously scientists had yet to develop flying robots that could turn into cars or spaceships.
OP: Yes, this is true with Earthling technology. You have also yet to invent sexbots. I feel sorry for you.
PV: Yeah. At least we have PS3s though.
OP: Trust me, I know PS3. PS3 was a friend of mind. And PS3 was no sexbot.
PV: Touche. Well, I've gotta be going, Optimus. Later.
OP: Stay black.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Interview: Cobra Commander
PV: Hello, Mr. Commander. Before we get started in earnest, I'd like you to clear up one thing: What's your pre-megalomaniacal terrorist background?
CC: Come again?
PV: Well, the comic books say you started off as an American used car salesman, whereas "G.I. Joe: The Movie" insists you're a deformed mutant from the secluded ancient Himalayan kingdom of Cobra-La. Which is it?
CC: Hahaha, I get that a lot. The media screws everything up. One minute I'm a disgruntled militia type. The next I'm some dating Alyssa Milano in the tabloids, which was actually true. (Reaches out fist for love pound acknowledgement)
PV: Yeah I read that. I think I know where you're going with this - you're not gonna spill, are you?
CC: A terrorist has to retain his sense of mystery.
PV: Fair enough. So how is the operation going these days? Congratulations of finally neutralizing Sergeant Slaughter.
CC: Yes, yes. You'll be hearing nothing more from that loutish fool. I'm pleased to say that I've now managed to make Cobra the 15th largest terrorist organization in North America. Right after the Minute Men.
PV: Come now, Cobra Commander! The Minute Men aren't terrorists - they're patriotic Americans who band together to stop the riffraff from soiling our wonderful country!
CC: Trust me, dude. They're terrorists, not to mention absolute losers with no chance of getting any. It takes one to know one.
PV: Very well then. Your words, not mine. But I do have a bone to pick with you with your taking credit for Cobra's success. Shouldn't the real props go to your boss, Serpentor?
CC: Serpentor is not my boss. He's my associate. An equal.
PV: Sorry to break this to you, son, but you're Dwight to his Michael. You have to do whatever he tells you.
CC: What? Is that some sort of reference to "The Office"? You truly are a fool. I'm going to take my revenge against you by crafting one of my trademark genius plans.
PV: What, like cloning dinosaurs or trying to send me a Christmas present with a miniature evil soldier hidden inside?
CC: Those were, uh, Serpentor's ideas. I was against such idiotic measures.
PV: You're so lying. You tried those things to take down G.I. Joe before Serpentor was created by your underlings to depose you because of your incompetence.
CC: Mention his name again and I swear by the ghost of Napoleon that I'll shoot you in the face. It's me who's in the interview chair here. If you want to talk about Serpentor, interview Serpentor.
PV: Fine, fine. Tell me, Cobra Commander, what is it you want out of life?
CC: Oh, the usual. A fulfilling career. Enough income to get by. Absolute power. Total control of the world.
PV: Don't you think that's a little much? Can a person with such goals ever truly be happy? I mean, even if you do come to power and rule the world, you're still just a masked, scepter-holding tool in a blue suit, looking over his shoulder at the next military junta bent on taking you down.
CC: What can I say - that's just how I roll. As Jewel sang, "Dreams last so long, even after you're gone."
PV: Why Cobra Commander, I never pictured you as a Jewel fan!
CC: Why do you think I wear this mask?
CC: Come again?
PV: Well, the comic books say you started off as an American used car salesman, whereas "G.I. Joe: The Movie" insists you're a deformed mutant from the secluded ancient Himalayan kingdom of Cobra-La. Which is it?
CC: Hahaha, I get that a lot. The media screws everything up. One minute I'm a disgruntled militia type. The next I'm some dating Alyssa Milano in the tabloids, which was actually true. (Reaches out fist for love pound acknowledgement)
PV: Yeah I read that. I think I know where you're going with this - you're not gonna spill, are you?
CC: A terrorist has to retain his sense of mystery.
PV: Fair enough. So how is the operation going these days? Congratulations of finally neutralizing Sergeant Slaughter.
CC: Yes, yes. You'll be hearing nothing more from that loutish fool. I'm pleased to say that I've now managed to make Cobra the 15th largest terrorist organization in North America. Right after the Minute Men.
PV: Come now, Cobra Commander! The Minute Men aren't terrorists - they're patriotic Americans who band together to stop the riffraff from soiling our wonderful country!
CC: Trust me, dude. They're terrorists, not to mention absolute losers with no chance of getting any. It takes one to know one.
PV: Very well then. Your words, not mine. But I do have a bone to pick with you with your taking credit for Cobra's success. Shouldn't the real props go to your boss, Serpentor?
CC: Serpentor is not my boss. He's my associate. An equal.
PV: Sorry to break this to you, son, but you're Dwight to his Michael. You have to do whatever he tells you.
CC: What? Is that some sort of reference to "The Office"? You truly are a fool. I'm going to take my revenge against you by crafting one of my trademark genius plans.
PV: What, like cloning dinosaurs or trying to send me a Christmas present with a miniature evil soldier hidden inside?
CC: Those were, uh, Serpentor's ideas. I was against such idiotic measures.
PV: You're so lying. You tried those things to take down G.I. Joe before Serpentor was created by your underlings to depose you because of your incompetence.
CC: Mention his name again and I swear by the ghost of Napoleon that I'll shoot you in the face. It's me who's in the interview chair here. If you want to talk about Serpentor, interview Serpentor.
PV: Fine, fine. Tell me, Cobra Commander, what is it you want out of life?
CC: Oh, the usual. A fulfilling career. Enough income to get by. Absolute power. Total control of the world.
PV: Don't you think that's a little much? Can a person with such goals ever truly be happy? I mean, even if you do come to power and rule the world, you're still just a masked, scepter-holding tool in a blue suit, looking over his shoulder at the next military junta bent on taking you down.
CC: What can I say - that's just how I roll. As Jewel sang, "Dreams last so long, even after you're gone."
PV: Why Cobra Commander, I never pictured you as a Jewel fan!
CC: Why do you think I wear this mask?
Sunday, March 04, 2007
Interview: Mr. Belvedere
PV: I'm sorry to hear of your passing, sir.
MB: Quite the contrary, old chap. Although the gentleman who played me, Christopher Hewett, may have passed away in 2001, I'm charmed to report that the smarmy British butler lives on.
PV: Oh, you mean in our memories?
MB: Quite so, yes. As well as home video.
PV: Uh, I don't think so. Your TV series was never released on DVD.
MB: Tallyho! Well, well. By home video I meant of course VHS.
PV: Nope.
MB: Bluray?
PV: Hah!
MB: Nick at Nite?
PV: Not even Nick at Nite.
MB: Pirated VCR tapes of the original broadcasts?
PV: I'm pretty sure ABC taped over those, actually.
MB: Well then, if it's impossible to see my show anymore, at least my fine American teledrama shall always have center stage in the theater of nostalgia in the minds of those who saw the show and cherish its impact on them.
PV: Amen to that. It's too bad your show isn't playing nowadays, what with all this hullabaloo over illegal immigration. Mr. Belevedere, you've always been my favorite illegal immigrant.
MB: Illegal? Why whatever do you mean?
PV: Don't play coy with me. You're an off-the-boat, greencardless social security siphon. Probably the only reason Bob Eucker hired you as a butler was so he could pay you less than minimum wage.
MB: Whatever gave me away?
PV: You just have that look about you. That and then there was that episode where Wesley called INS on you and tried to get you deported.
MB: WESLEEEEY!
PV: Relax, the kid was 10. Plus he was a riot. Wesley was Bart Simpson before there was Bart Simpson. His antics were why the show was so popular.
MB: Ahem, I think not, young man. After all, was the show titled "Mr. Incorrigible, Undisciplined Twit?"
PV: No need to get snooty, Belvedere. You were good too. It's just that you were the straight man. It was a shameless role. You just stood there idly as Wesley lit your underwear on fire and poured Tobasco in your breakfast cereal.
MB: WESLEEEEEY!
PV: Hahaha, and remember the time he wrecked your car? Oh, man.
MB: Once I get my hands on that little brat I'll twist his spine in half and make her mother rue the day she gave birth to that demonic little twerp.
PV: And then there was that episode when you and him were camping and he made the tent fall down.
MB: WESLEEEEEY! Wherever you are, I despise your very nature with an unholy wrath that puts that of all the creatures of the netherworld to shame. One day I will destroy you and burn your corpse.
PV: Whoah there. For serious? I thought your anger with Wesley was playful yet curmudgeoningly understanding in a surrogate father sort of way.
MB: Yes, yes. It certainly was. I was just, uh, joking. Please don't call INS on me.
PV: Haha, don't worry, Mr. Belvedere. The INS doesn't deport fictional TV characters who are played by actors who are now dead.
MB: Whew! That's a relief. In that case, you can bugger off. I'll be going now. I need to track down Wesley and (trailing off)... kill... him.
PV: What?
MB: I said I need to go tend to the table.
MB: Quite the contrary, old chap. Although the gentleman who played me, Christopher Hewett, may have passed away in 2001, I'm charmed to report that the smarmy British butler lives on.
PV: Oh, you mean in our memories?
MB: Quite so, yes. As well as home video.
PV: Uh, I don't think so. Your TV series was never released on DVD.
MB: Tallyho! Well, well. By home video I meant of course VHS.
PV: Nope.
MB: Bluray?
PV: Hah!
MB: Nick at Nite?
PV: Not even Nick at Nite.
MB: Pirated VCR tapes of the original broadcasts?
PV: I'm pretty sure ABC taped over those, actually.
MB: Well then, if it's impossible to see my show anymore, at least my fine American teledrama shall always have center stage in the theater of nostalgia in the minds of those who saw the show and cherish its impact on them.
PV: Amen to that. It's too bad your show isn't playing nowadays, what with all this hullabaloo over illegal immigration. Mr. Belevedere, you've always been my favorite illegal immigrant.
MB: Illegal? Why whatever do you mean?
PV: Don't play coy with me. You're an off-the-boat, greencardless social security siphon. Probably the only reason Bob Eucker hired you as a butler was so he could pay you less than minimum wage.
MB: Whatever gave me away?
PV: You just have that look about you. That and then there was that episode where Wesley called INS on you and tried to get you deported.
MB: WESLEEEEY!
PV: Relax, the kid was 10. Plus he was a riot. Wesley was Bart Simpson before there was Bart Simpson. His antics were why the show was so popular.
MB: Ahem, I think not, young man. After all, was the show titled "Mr. Incorrigible, Undisciplined Twit?"
PV: No need to get snooty, Belvedere. You were good too. It's just that you were the straight man. It was a shameless role. You just stood there idly as Wesley lit your underwear on fire and poured Tobasco in your breakfast cereal.
MB: WESLEEEEEY!
PV: Hahaha, and remember the time he wrecked your car? Oh, man.
MB: Once I get my hands on that little brat I'll twist his spine in half and make her mother rue the day she gave birth to that demonic little twerp.
PV: And then there was that episode when you and him were camping and he made the tent fall down.
MB: WESLEEEEEY! Wherever you are, I despise your very nature with an unholy wrath that puts that of all the creatures of the netherworld to shame. One day I will destroy you and burn your corpse.
PV: Whoah there. For serious? I thought your anger with Wesley was playful yet curmudgeoningly understanding in a surrogate father sort of way.
MB: Yes, yes. It certainly was. I was just, uh, joking. Please don't call INS on me.
PV: Haha, don't worry, Mr. Belvedere. The INS doesn't deport fictional TV characters who are played by actors who are now dead.
MB: Whew! That's a relief. In that case, you can bugger off. I'll be going now. I need to track down Wesley and (trailing off)... kill... him.
PV: What?
MB: I said I need to go tend to the table.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Interview: Snap, Crackle and Pop
PV: Hey, guys. Thank you so much for taking the time to sit down with me. I've always thought y'all were SO underrated.
Crackle: I think I can speak for Snap and Pop when I say the feeling is mutual. We're big fans of yours as well, Phil, and we'd like to thank you for all those years of buying Rice Krispies cereal and also enjoying our patented Rice Krispies Treats.
PV: Uh, actually, Crackle, I don't know that I've had a bowl of regular Rice Krispies since about 1984. I go for Crispy Rice.
Pop: (Gulps). The generic brand?
PV: Yeah. No offense, it's just a little cheaper. And it tastes the same.
Snap: Your mom tastes the same. Oh snap!
PV: Come on, Snap. No need to bring my mother into this. You guys should be flattered by Malt-o-Meal. Imitation is the higher form of flattery, after all. Even on the bag of Crispy Rice it says "Compare to Rice Krispies," for those too stupid to tell on their own what cereal Crispy Rice is copying.
Crackle: You know what, I don't think we should do this. I can see you've only set this little interview up to attack us and our product. Come on, bitches! (Motions over to Snap and Pop.) We're outta here.
PV: Whoah, whoah, whoah! No need to get all crackly, Crackle! And did I just here you call Snap and Pop bitches? You guys gonna take it?
Snap: We kinda have to be. Crackle calls all the shots. My brother Pop and I were small-time before Crackle joined the group and his daddy, became our manager. We owe everything to those two.
Pop: Yeah, we would have ended up as Pop Rocks' mascot otherwise. But the Crackle family led us to fortune and fame! They even got us these cool hybrid pirate/chef's outfits!
PV: I see, sorta like the Dixie Chicks. You both have to put up with a fat, obnoxious diva who holds all the cards. And that's not your only parallel to the shunned country trio, I here. You three also came out against the war in Iraq?
Crackle: Yeah, during a press event in North Korea we were talking onstage and my political views slipped out. I told the crowd that the real axis of evil is Crispy Rice, Cinnamon Toast Crunch and the United States.
PV: Yeah, I think I remember reading about that. So that's why American TV no longer plays your commercials!
Crackle: It's all politics. I still don't regret saying what I did, however. In return for your support, Kim Jong Il threatened not to stop nuclear testing unless the U.N. airlifted 400 metric tons of our cereal into his country so he could exchange it on the black market for oil and weapons-grade uranium.
Snap: That gave us a nice bonus check. Thanks, Crackle!
Pop: Yeah, thanks Crackle! Still, I do miss the way it was before: Seeing our faces on billboards, walking the red carpet, signing autographs for kids on the street...
Crackle: Bitch! Shut your mouth. Speak when spoken to or you're out of the band.
Pop: I was only trying to...
Crackle: (Doing mock sign language, pretending Pop is deaf). I said shut your mouth! You understand, Corky?
PV: Come on, Crackle. No need to be insensitive here just because you have a difference of opinion with Pop. He's not deaf or afflicted with Down Syndrome.
Pop: I must be mentally disabled to have put up with this asshole's abuse
for seven decades. Come on, Snap. We're leaving.
Crackle: Oh, no you're not. Snap is staying with me.
Snap: I, uh, I don't know what to do. I like you both so much!
Pop: Maybe this will help you decide. (Plants huge kiss on Snap, bending him backward like the U.S. navy guy did to the nurse in the famous end of World War II picture).
Crackle: I always knew you two were gay.
Snap: Shut up, Crackle! There's nothing wrong with being gay!
Crackle: I know. I'm gay too. Can I rejoin the group if I promise to stop verbally abusing you both?
Snap and Pop: We can't stay mad at you, Crackle. OK. Group hug!
Crackle: I think I can speak for Snap and Pop when I say the feeling is mutual. We're big fans of yours as well, Phil, and we'd like to thank you for all those years of buying Rice Krispies cereal and also enjoying our patented Rice Krispies Treats.
PV: Uh, actually, Crackle, I don't know that I've had a bowl of regular Rice Krispies since about 1984. I go for Crispy Rice.
Pop: (Gulps). The generic brand?
PV: Yeah. No offense, it's just a little cheaper. And it tastes the same.
Snap: Your mom tastes the same. Oh snap!
PV: Come on, Snap. No need to bring my mother into this. You guys should be flattered by Malt-o-Meal. Imitation is the higher form of flattery, after all. Even on the bag of Crispy Rice it says "Compare to Rice Krispies," for those too stupid to tell on their own what cereal Crispy Rice is copying.
Crackle: You know what, I don't think we should do this. I can see you've only set this little interview up to attack us and our product. Come on, bitches! (Motions over to Snap and Pop.) We're outta here.
PV: Whoah, whoah, whoah! No need to get all crackly, Crackle! And did I just here you call Snap and Pop bitches? You guys gonna take it?
Snap: We kinda have to be. Crackle calls all the shots. My brother Pop and I were small-time before Crackle joined the group and his daddy, became our manager. We owe everything to those two.
Pop: Yeah, we would have ended up as Pop Rocks' mascot otherwise. But the Crackle family led us to fortune and fame! They even got us these cool hybrid pirate/chef's outfits!
PV: I see, sorta like the Dixie Chicks. You both have to put up with a fat, obnoxious diva who holds all the cards. And that's not your only parallel to the shunned country trio, I here. You three also came out against the war in Iraq?
Crackle: Yeah, during a press event in North Korea we were talking onstage and my political views slipped out. I told the crowd that the real axis of evil is Crispy Rice, Cinnamon Toast Crunch and the United States.
PV: Yeah, I think I remember reading about that. So that's why American TV no longer plays your commercials!
Crackle: It's all politics. I still don't regret saying what I did, however. In return for your support, Kim Jong Il threatened not to stop nuclear testing unless the U.N. airlifted 400 metric tons of our cereal into his country so he could exchange it on the black market for oil and weapons-grade uranium.
Snap: That gave us a nice bonus check. Thanks, Crackle!
Pop: Yeah, thanks Crackle! Still, I do miss the way it was before: Seeing our faces on billboards, walking the red carpet, signing autographs for kids on the street...
Crackle: Bitch! Shut your mouth. Speak when spoken to or you're out of the band.
Pop: I was only trying to...
Crackle: (Doing mock sign language, pretending Pop is deaf). I said shut your mouth! You understand, Corky?
PV: Come on, Crackle. No need to be insensitive here just because you have a difference of opinion with Pop. He's not deaf or afflicted with Down Syndrome.
Pop: I must be mentally disabled to have put up with this asshole's abuse
for seven decades. Come on, Snap. We're leaving.
Crackle: Oh, no you're not. Snap is staying with me.
Snap: I, uh, I don't know what to do. I like you both so much!
Pop: Maybe this will help you decide. (Plants huge kiss on Snap, bending him backward like the U.S. navy guy did to the nurse in the famous end of World War II picture).
Crackle: I always knew you two were gay.
Snap: Shut up, Crackle! There's nothing wrong with being gay!
Crackle: I know. I'm gay too. Can I rejoin the group if I promise to stop verbally abusing you both?
Snap and Pop: We can't stay mad at you, Crackle. OK. Group hug!
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Interview: 5-Week Old Rocky Villarreal
PV: Hello there, sir. I know you don't speak to the public often and I'd like to extend my gratitude for this opportunity.
RV: Glaglug!
PV: "Glaglug," eh? Interesting response. You're full of surprises, young man. Tell me, what have you learned in your five weeks of life?
RV: (Poops pants and cries until I change his diaper).
PV: I understand, sir. Now forgive me for being so bold, but I'm going to ask the question that's on the minds of all of your fans. Do you intend to wait the usual 19 to 21 years, or come out at the end of the season and declare yourself for the 2007 NBA draft?
RV: (Stares at light fixture in kitchen).
PV: I see. Still contemplating it. That's understandable. Moving on. Tell me, do you plan on continuing your wild bachelor lifestyle, or is there a lucky lady you'll settle down with soon?
RV: (Cries uncontrollably for 45 minutes).
PV: Forgive me, Rocky. I know I was getting too personal there. I'm ashamed of myself, really. I was wondering if you have any advice for other babies out there?
RV: Yes, actually. I'd recommend you sleep through the night and go easy on your parents. They really are looking out for your best interests, and aren't torturing you when they bathe you, wipe spit off your mouth and rock you to sleep. Try not to pee on them as they change your diapers. Kindly refrain from crying into their ears at 4 a.m. And smile a lot. They'll really appreciate it.
PV: Why, Rocky. I had no idea you were so eloquent! A point of contention, however: All of that advice you give is great and all, but you don't follow any of it in your own life! Please explain.
RV: Gladgrawg!*
*Gladgrawg is babyspeak for "That's because I said nothing of the sort, you delusional ape. You're delirious for having not slept more than three consecutive hours for the past 37 days. Now whip me up a bottle of breastmilk posthaste!"
RV: Glaglug!
PV: "Glaglug," eh? Interesting response. You're full of surprises, young man. Tell me, what have you learned in your five weeks of life?
RV: (Poops pants and cries until I change his diaper).
PV: I understand, sir. Now forgive me for being so bold, but I'm going to ask the question that's on the minds of all of your fans. Do you intend to wait the usual 19 to 21 years, or come out at the end of the season and declare yourself for the 2007 NBA draft?
RV: (Stares at light fixture in kitchen).
PV: I see. Still contemplating it. That's understandable. Moving on. Tell me, do you plan on continuing your wild bachelor lifestyle, or is there a lucky lady you'll settle down with soon?
RV: (Cries uncontrollably for 45 minutes).
PV: Forgive me, Rocky. I know I was getting too personal there. I'm ashamed of myself, really. I was wondering if you have any advice for other babies out there?
RV: Yes, actually. I'd recommend you sleep through the night and go easy on your parents. They really are looking out for your best interests, and aren't torturing you when they bathe you, wipe spit off your mouth and rock you to sleep. Try not to pee on them as they change your diapers. Kindly refrain from crying into their ears at 4 a.m. And smile a lot. They'll really appreciate it.
PV: Why, Rocky. I had no idea you were so eloquent! A point of contention, however: All of that advice you give is great and all, but you don't follow any of it in your own life! Please explain.
RV: Gladgrawg!*
*Gladgrawg is babyspeak for "That's because I said nothing of the sort, you delusional ape. You're delirious for having not slept more than three consecutive hours for the past 37 days. Now whip me up a bottle of breastmilk posthaste!"
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Interview: Cupid
PV: Hello, may I speak to Cupid please?
C: Mortal, 'tis I, Eros, God of Love.
PV: The P.R. chick must have given me the wrong number. Sorry to bother you, uh, Eros.
C: Foolish mortal! I, Eros, and Cupid are one and the same! The Romans called me one thing and the Greeks the other. You know how that goes.
PV: Right, sorta like with P. Diddy/Puffy/whatever he calls himself these days. So just to make dead certain I'm talking to the right dude, you're the little flying naked baby that flies around and shoots people with arrows that make them fall in love with each other?
C: Ha, mortal! Sure, but that's only part of what I do. Did you know I also have dominion over the dead in Hades, the creatures of the sea and the gods in Olympus?
PV: Sure, I read that on Wikipedia, but "dominion" really just means you fly around shooting arrows at them, doesn't it?
C: Touche, mortal. But that's not all I do. Once I made love to Psyche, and who jepoardized our relationship by mistaking me for a serpent beast who planned on devouring her.
PV: Oh yeah, how did that end up?
C: Ah, mortal, the usual. My mother, Venus, commanded her to separate grains from a bag of rice as punishment, then tried to trap her in the underworld for all eternity. In the end she got out and we made up.
PV: Wow. So you and your mom had a kind of creepy relationship. You didn't happen to shoot her with an arrow, did you?
C: What exactly, mortal, are you implying?
PV: Uh, nothing. Let's just move on. So how exactly does this love arrow system work?
C: It's magic, mortal.
PV: Well, yeah, but can't you be more specific? Is it a mind-altering poison, or something scientific like pheromones, or are you just a metaphor for the unquantifiable concept of romantic attraction, which we humans attribute to being as flighty and random?
C: Well, mortal, I can tell you this much: It ain't the third one.
PV: Geez, man. This isn't going anywhere. And stop calling me "mortal." I know you're an invincible god and I'm easily vanquished flesh and bones, but there's no need to rub it in every time.
C: Please accept my sincere apology. I'll try and be more direct.
PV: OK, I can't stay mad at you, Cupid. After all, you've got an impressive body of work. Those arrows of yours... damn powerful. Like, you once made not one but two women actually fall in love with Hitler!
C: I do alright.
PV: Don't be so modest. I could go on and on. You got Julia Roberts to marry Lyle Lovett! And you even found a wife for Screech!
C: Cain't no one do what I do.
PV: I'll say. Those had to have been some tough marks.
C: I'm not gonna lie, some of my matchups are so crazy that they took intensive attention. I'm talking, four, five arrows at a time just to ignite the flame of passion.
PV: Sometimes you're kind of a dick, though. Like in elementary school when you always had me obsess over the hottest, smartest girl in the class. And then you kept it up throughout junior high. And high school. And even college. Women I knew I'd never have any kind of shot with. It was constant torture. How could you be so cruel?
C: Hey, I had to keep your standards high. You can't tell me it didn't end well. Look over there at that knockout wife of yours and your kid! If I had let you ever settle for less they wouldn't be there right now.
PV: You know, Cupid, you're right. I understand, and now that I think about it, it was definitely all worth it for the end result. Thanks for that. I bet it was pretty tough to get Jessica to fall in love with me, right? She's so beautiful, so intelligent, so wonderful.
C: No exaggeration: It was like taking down a rhino with a beebee gun.
PV: Well, could you, like, hit her with another one, another dose just to make sure it doesn't wear off?
C: I don't work that way, pal. I set things up, but it's up to the humans to keep it going. You've got to provide your own arrows, son.
PV: Like by writing this fake interview! Do you think all this will maybe get me out of buying flowers?
C: Don't count on it.
C: Mortal, 'tis I, Eros, God of Love.
PV: The P.R. chick must have given me the wrong number. Sorry to bother you, uh, Eros.
C: Foolish mortal! I, Eros, and Cupid are one and the same! The Romans called me one thing and the Greeks the other. You know how that goes.
PV: Right, sorta like with P. Diddy/Puffy/whatever he calls himself these days. So just to make dead certain I'm talking to the right dude, you're the little flying naked baby that flies around and shoots people with arrows that make them fall in love with each other?
C: Ha, mortal! Sure, but that's only part of what I do. Did you know I also have dominion over the dead in Hades, the creatures of the sea and the gods in Olympus?
PV: Sure, I read that on Wikipedia, but "dominion" really just means you fly around shooting arrows at them, doesn't it?
C: Touche, mortal. But that's not all I do. Once I made love to Psyche, and who jepoardized our relationship by mistaking me for a serpent beast who planned on devouring her.
PV: Oh yeah, how did that end up?
C: Ah, mortal, the usual. My mother, Venus, commanded her to separate grains from a bag of rice as punishment, then tried to trap her in the underworld for all eternity. In the end she got out and we made up.
PV: Wow. So you and your mom had a kind of creepy relationship. You didn't happen to shoot her with an arrow, did you?
C: What exactly, mortal, are you implying?
PV: Uh, nothing. Let's just move on. So how exactly does this love arrow system work?
C: It's magic, mortal.
PV: Well, yeah, but can't you be more specific? Is it a mind-altering poison, or something scientific like pheromones, or are you just a metaphor for the unquantifiable concept of romantic attraction, which we humans attribute to being as flighty and random?
C: Well, mortal, I can tell you this much: It ain't the third one.
PV: Geez, man. This isn't going anywhere. And stop calling me "mortal." I know you're an invincible god and I'm easily vanquished flesh and bones, but there's no need to rub it in every time.
C: Please accept my sincere apology. I'll try and be more direct.
PV: OK, I can't stay mad at you, Cupid. After all, you've got an impressive body of work. Those arrows of yours... damn powerful. Like, you once made not one but two women actually fall in love with Hitler!
C: I do alright.
PV: Don't be so modest. I could go on and on. You got Julia Roberts to marry Lyle Lovett! And you even found a wife for Screech!
C: Cain't no one do what I do.
PV: I'll say. Those had to have been some tough marks.
C: I'm not gonna lie, some of my matchups are so crazy that they took intensive attention. I'm talking, four, five arrows at a time just to ignite the flame of passion.
PV: Sometimes you're kind of a dick, though. Like in elementary school when you always had me obsess over the hottest, smartest girl in the class. And then you kept it up throughout junior high. And high school. And even college. Women I knew I'd never have any kind of shot with. It was constant torture. How could you be so cruel?
C: Hey, I had to keep your standards high. You can't tell me it didn't end well. Look over there at that knockout wife of yours and your kid! If I had let you ever settle for less they wouldn't be there right now.
PV: You know, Cupid, you're right. I understand, and now that I think about it, it was definitely all worth it for the end result. Thanks for that. I bet it was pretty tough to get Jessica to fall in love with me, right? She's so beautiful, so intelligent, so wonderful.
C: No exaggeration: It was like taking down a rhino with a beebee gun.
PV: Well, could you, like, hit her with another one, another dose just to make sure it doesn't wear off?
C: I don't work that way, pal. I set things up, but it's up to the humans to keep it going. You've got to provide your own arrows, son.
PV: Like by writing this fake interview! Do you think all this will maybe get me out of buying flowers?
C: Don't count on it.
Sunday, February 04, 2007
Overused sayings I Never Want to Hear Again
"True that."
No hip-hop expression, with the possible exceptions of "It's all about the Benjamins" and the "-izzle" suffix, has ever been more co-opted than this one. Please, please, stop.
"It is what it is."
For once I'd like someone to say "it isn't what it is."
"Good times."
This originated from the Alec Baldwin Schwetty Balls segment on Saturday Night Live a decade ago. You know what would really signify good times? If people stopped saying "good times."
"It happens."
Yeah, obviously it happens, otherwise it wouldn't have happened. Go kill yourself.
"from hell" and "on steroids"
"From hell" is an overused expression that fills me not only with anger, but anger on steroids. And not just any steroids, mind you - steroids from hell.
"It's not you, it's me."
Along with "I love you, but I'm not in love with you," this meaningless sentence is a weaker substitute for "I hate you. Don't ever talk to me again unless you'd like to find yourself on the business end of a restraining order."
"Listen, ..."
No one ever starts a sentence with "listen" unless they're either a guidance counselor or a character in a movie or TV show. Where do screenwriters and guidance counselors get this word? And why do people take career advice from guidance counselors? Do you think when they were 16 they wanted to grow up to be guidance counselors?
"Whatever."
This word is a stand-in for telling people to go screw themselves. Even worse is the response, "Yeah, right whatever!"
"Show me the money."
How about I show you my bootprint on your face.
No hip-hop expression, with the possible exceptions of "It's all about the Benjamins" and the "-izzle" suffix, has ever been more co-opted than this one. Please, please, stop.
"It is what it is."
For once I'd like someone to say "it isn't what it is."
"Good times."
This originated from the Alec Baldwin Schwetty Balls segment on Saturday Night Live a decade ago. You know what would really signify good times? If people stopped saying "good times."
"It happens."
Yeah, obviously it happens, otherwise it wouldn't have happened. Go kill yourself.
"from hell" and "on steroids"
"From hell" is an overused expression that fills me not only with anger, but anger on steroids. And not just any steroids, mind you - steroids from hell.
"It's not you, it's me."
Along with "I love you, but I'm not in love with you," this meaningless sentence is a weaker substitute for "I hate you. Don't ever talk to me again unless you'd like to find yourself on the business end of a restraining order."
"Listen, ..."
No one ever starts a sentence with "listen" unless they're either a guidance counselor or a character in a movie or TV show. Where do screenwriters and guidance counselors get this word? And why do people take career advice from guidance counselors? Do you think when they were 16 they wanted to grow up to be guidance counselors?
"Whatever."
This word is a stand-in for telling people to go screw themselves. Even worse is the response, "Yeah, right whatever!"
"Show me the money."
How about I show you my bootprint on your face.
Friday, January 26, 2007
A Tribute to Leonardo
Leonardo was a great man who was ahead of his time and created a legacy that continues to influence our world today.
By Leonardo I'm referring, of course, to the mutant ninja turtle (now no longer teenage but well into his late 30s). He was a true hero indeed, but less so than Raphael, who did everything the other turtles could do while armed only with those wimpy little sai daggers. Master Splinter trained him well.
By Leonardo I'm referring, of course, to the mutant ninja turtle (now no longer teenage but well into his late 30s). He was a true hero indeed, but less so than Raphael, who did everything the other turtles could do while armed only with those wimpy little sai daggers. Master Splinter trained him well.
Sunday, January 07, 2007
Interview: Saddam Hussein
PV: Well hello there, Saddam. I'm surprised your publicist was able to get you on the line. Uh, where are you calling from, if you don't mind me asking?
SH: The afterlife, my son. It's so amazing here. Just like I thought, I have ended up in paradise.
PV: Heaven, huh? Interesting. Most of us assumed a mass murderer like yourself would have landed somewhere else.
SH: Ha! Foolish infidels. This definitely isn't hell. You should see it - it's so wonderful! I've got all my family around me - my two sons made me a bouquet of brimstone and thorns! - and I'm having a great time. The temperature is great, balmy, and a few degrees cooler than Baghdad. There are all sorts of zany creatures, such as three-headed beasts and talking serpents to keep you company. The people are a riot. I've got a Texas Hold'em game with Hitler, Mussolini and Lenin every week. And the entertainment is great: Any time of the day, you can walk by a fiery pit and watch peoples' skin is getting burned off by sulfur. So, so much fun.
PV: Right, uh, sounds nice. How's the love life? Did all that mess about 72 virgins turn out to be true?
SH: Well, I am having great sex. Not to name any names, but let's just say those "South Park" guys were right.
PV: Hold on, now. You're saying you're sleeping with Satan? But he's not a virgin!
SH: Not anymore he's not.
PV: Hey, now. You're gonna get me in trouble here. Let's try and keep this clean. Tell me, Saddam. How do you feel about the situation in Iraq?
SH: Things are going great. The half of the population I wasn't able to murder while I was in power is now slaughtering one another, and wasting the Americans to boot! And it's all in the name of peace, which will come to Iraq, you will see, after every single person there has been killed.
PV: Regrets. Got any?
SH: I'm the type of guy who just likes to move on without looking back, but of course there are things I would do differently. I would have mixed my torture a bit more. It was always burn this guy, decapitate that one. Rinse and repeat. I missed out on so much. I could have spiced things up a little bit more if I had ordered a few more guillotines, maybe an iron maiden or two. Hindsight is 20/20 though.
PV: OK, last question, dog. Everyone here has been scratching their heads over this one for three years now. WMDs - did you really have them or not?
SH: Of course I did. (Places phone receiver near butt). PFFFFAAARRGHHHATT!!! There's your WMD. My own personal flamethrower. Owwwww!
SH: The afterlife, my son. It's so amazing here. Just like I thought, I have ended up in paradise.
PV: Heaven, huh? Interesting. Most of us assumed a mass murderer like yourself would have landed somewhere else.
SH: Ha! Foolish infidels. This definitely isn't hell. You should see it - it's so wonderful! I've got all my family around me - my two sons made me a bouquet of brimstone and thorns! - and I'm having a great time. The temperature is great, balmy, and a few degrees cooler than Baghdad. There are all sorts of zany creatures, such as three-headed beasts and talking serpents to keep you company. The people are a riot. I've got a Texas Hold'em game with Hitler, Mussolini and Lenin every week. And the entertainment is great: Any time of the day, you can walk by a fiery pit and watch peoples' skin is getting burned off by sulfur. So, so much fun.
PV: Right, uh, sounds nice. How's the love life? Did all that mess about 72 virgins turn out to be true?
SH: Well, I am having great sex. Not to name any names, but let's just say those "South Park" guys were right.
PV: Hold on, now. You're saying you're sleeping with Satan? But he's not a virgin!
SH: Not anymore he's not.
PV: Hey, now. You're gonna get me in trouble here. Let's try and keep this clean. Tell me, Saddam. How do you feel about the situation in Iraq?
SH: Things are going great. The half of the population I wasn't able to murder while I was in power is now slaughtering one another, and wasting the Americans to boot! And it's all in the name of peace, which will come to Iraq, you will see, after every single person there has been killed.
PV: Regrets. Got any?
SH: I'm the type of guy who just likes to move on without looking back, but of course there are things I would do differently. I would have mixed my torture a bit more. It was always burn this guy, decapitate that one. Rinse and repeat. I missed out on so much. I could have spiced things up a little bit more if I had ordered a few more guillotines, maybe an iron maiden or two. Hindsight is 20/20 though.
PV: OK, last question, dog. Everyone here has been scratching their heads over this one for three years now. WMDs - did you really have them or not?
SH: Of course I did. (Places phone receiver near butt). PFFFFAAARRGHHHATT!!! There's your WMD. My own personal flamethrower. Owwwww!
Sunday, December 31, 2006
Ford Bored
The death of former president Gerald R. Ford has left a gaping hole in my life. I don't think I'll ever get over this one, even though the news media has done all that it could to help me. Gerald R. Ford was a "true gentleman" with "great courage." I know this because George W. Bush told me so, and then so did the nightly news anchors on CBS, CNN and Fox News for the next several days. I can see why no one wanted to choose different adjectives to describe this great man, because never has a gentleman been truer or courage greater than that of Gerald R. Ford.
I was greatly relieved to learn that this upcoming Tuesday was declared a national day of mourning for Gerald R. Ford. Since I'm coming to terms with my great loss, I'm not sure if I'll be able to go into work that day, and I certainly don't expect the federal government or mailmen to be able to gather the courage. After all, Tuesday will be a mere seven days after this great man has left us. It's too much to ask of citizens to mourn Ford on a Saturday or Sunday. Asking them to mourn on a Monday would be OK, but not this Monday, because that's New Year's, and everyone will be too hung over and have too much confetti in their hair to truly, truly pay tribute to this true gentleman with great courage.
Getting the mail on Jan. 2 would surely sully the memory of this greatly courageous true gentleman. Even if Tuesday weren't a national day of mourning for Gerald R. Ford, I most surely couldn't read my mail that day anyway because my eyes would be too clogged up with tears. That day I think I'll go through my box of Gerald R. Ford paraphernalia and try to come to terms with the cruel fact that sometimes 93-year-old unelected ex-presidents don't live to be 94. How we'll explain this to children I'll never know. Hopefully schools will offer counseling sessions when they reopen next week.
Tuesday will be a rough day for me, filled with painful memories of Gerald R. Ford, who was more of an American Idol than even Kelly Clarkson. Surely I'll be comforted by one of seven or eight televised funerals and/or memorial services for Gerald R. Ford, whom we'll love too much to bury until well after a week has passed since his passing. If it were up to me I'd keep his body unburied for a month, so I could throw 35 televised funerals and/or memorial services for him.
After all, the man was the leader of the free world for 30 months, which is a long time, when compared to the life of a beautiful, tender butterfly, which spans just 24 hours, and he reigned 30 years ago, which really wasn't all that long ago, compared to the Jurassic period, when evil velociraptors governed the earth with their vicious brand of terror. Tuesday I'll remember all of Gerald R. Ford's great accomplishments, such as when he just stood there, with such gentlemanly courage, and was named vice president after Spiro Agnew resigned, and then became president when Richard Nixon resigned, then lost an election after only two and a half years in office to Jimmy Carter, who was really good at running political campaigns. Even though the electorate realized Gerald R. Ford was a true gentleman with great courage, they recognized that Jimmy Carter was something special indeed, and his great political prowess was too promising to pass up. Of course, Gerald R. Ford was always able to win over the electoral college of my heart.
Gerald R. Ford, I miss you. You were a true gentleman with great courage. I hope you'll pardon me, as you did Richard Nixon, while I mope in my misery of your passing.
I was greatly relieved to learn that this upcoming Tuesday was declared a national day of mourning for Gerald R. Ford. Since I'm coming to terms with my great loss, I'm not sure if I'll be able to go into work that day, and I certainly don't expect the federal government or mailmen to be able to gather the courage. After all, Tuesday will be a mere seven days after this great man has left us. It's too much to ask of citizens to mourn Ford on a Saturday or Sunday. Asking them to mourn on a Monday would be OK, but not this Monday, because that's New Year's, and everyone will be too hung over and have too much confetti in their hair to truly, truly pay tribute to this true gentleman with great courage.
Getting the mail on Jan. 2 would surely sully the memory of this greatly courageous true gentleman. Even if Tuesday weren't a national day of mourning for Gerald R. Ford, I most surely couldn't read my mail that day anyway because my eyes would be too clogged up with tears. That day I think I'll go through my box of Gerald R. Ford paraphernalia and try to come to terms with the cruel fact that sometimes 93-year-old unelected ex-presidents don't live to be 94. How we'll explain this to children I'll never know. Hopefully schools will offer counseling sessions when they reopen next week.
Tuesday will be a rough day for me, filled with painful memories of Gerald R. Ford, who was more of an American Idol than even Kelly Clarkson. Surely I'll be comforted by one of seven or eight televised funerals and/or memorial services for Gerald R. Ford, whom we'll love too much to bury until well after a week has passed since his passing. If it were up to me I'd keep his body unburied for a month, so I could throw 35 televised funerals and/or memorial services for him.
After all, the man was the leader of the free world for 30 months, which is a long time, when compared to the life of a beautiful, tender butterfly, which spans just 24 hours, and he reigned 30 years ago, which really wasn't all that long ago, compared to the Jurassic period, when evil velociraptors governed the earth with their vicious brand of terror. Tuesday I'll remember all of Gerald R. Ford's great accomplishments, such as when he just stood there, with such gentlemanly courage, and was named vice president after Spiro Agnew resigned, and then became president when Richard Nixon resigned, then lost an election after only two and a half years in office to Jimmy Carter, who was really good at running political campaigns. Even though the electorate realized Gerald R. Ford was a true gentleman with great courage, they recognized that Jimmy Carter was something special indeed, and his great political prowess was too promising to pass up. Of course, Gerald R. Ford was always able to win over the electoral college of my heart.
Gerald R. Ford, I miss you. You were a true gentleman with great courage. I hope you'll pardon me, as you did Richard Nixon, while I mope in my misery of your passing.
Sunday, December 17, 2006
A New Christmas Carol
Why is it that all the prominent Christmas carols were written hundreds of years ago? Is the human race's creativity so depleted that we can't do better than "Jingle Bells?" I'm here to tell you that we can. In just five minutes, I've written a new Christmas carol to replace all the others. It's called "Santa Claus Isn't Real."
Gather 'round kids, let me tell you a tale
A story of an elf and his jingling bell
His name is Saint Nick, and he's fiction you see
A lie propagated by society.
CHORUS:
Doesn't matter what you feel
Santa Claus isn't real!
Your atheist friends are all quite correct
Parents give you presents, but zero respect
They think you're so stupid you won't even know
That the mall Santa is really just a dealer of blow
Yank on his beard and you'll see that it's true
Or ask him why he won't give gifts to a Jew
(REPEAT CHORUS)
Don't cry, young lad, no reason to despair
Don't pee in your pants or pull out your hair
There's a bright side here, be strong and be brave!
Now you know to get loot you don't gotta behave.
(REPEAT CHORUS)
Santa Claus is a myth, he's really bogus, you'll see
Like Iraq WMDs and social security
So Virginia, please, don't fall for the spiel
Get your head on straight and know that Santa ain't real.
Gather 'round kids, let me tell you a tale
A story of an elf and his jingling bell
His name is Saint Nick, and he's fiction you see
A lie propagated by society.
CHORUS:
Doesn't matter what you feel
Santa Claus isn't real!
Your atheist friends are all quite correct
Parents give you presents, but zero respect
They think you're so stupid you won't even know
That the mall Santa is really just a dealer of blow
Yank on his beard and you'll see that it's true
Or ask him why he won't give gifts to a Jew
(REPEAT CHORUS)
Don't cry, young lad, no reason to despair
Don't pee in your pants or pull out your hair
There's a bright side here, be strong and be brave!
Now you know to get loot you don't gotta behave.
(REPEAT CHORUS)
Santa Claus is a myth, he's really bogus, you'll see
Like Iraq WMDs and social security
So Virginia, please, don't fall for the spiel
Get your head on straight and know that Santa ain't real.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
My New T-Shirt Idea
I'm always having ideas for new T-shirts. My latest: "Give Pizza Chance." I hope Domino's steals that and uses it as their new slogan so I can sue them and be awarded free pizzas for life by the Supreme Court.
In case you haven't noticed, I've taken to writing a paragraph or two on this site every week. It's partially because I'm lazy, partially because I don't feel like writing those pretend interviews anymore, but mostly because I've been pretty busy. Regular readers of this site will be able to tell when my life starts to get boring again when they start seeing more of my writing up in here.
In case you haven't noticed, I've taken to writing a paragraph or two on this site every week. It's partially because I'm lazy, partially because I don't feel like writing those pretend interviews anymore, but mostly because I've been pretty busy. Regular readers of this site will be able to tell when my life starts to get boring again when they start seeing more of my writing up in here.
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