"What would you think if I sang out of tune,Would you stand up and walk out on me. Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song, And I'll try not to sing out of key." The Beatles from "A Little Help From My Friends"
The was in the hall jibber-jabbering about some silly band that plays songs about food fights and Chuck Norris, not giving a second thought to my needs for my meds. I'm jonesing like Janis Joplin in a dry county. Apparently, this band, according to the sizzling hot nurse, is unbelievably good and she can't understand why they aren't getting more notice. With tune about Walker Texas Ranger and flying Chow Mein I can't imagine why the whole world hasn't embraced them like U2.
I'm gonna ask for a favor today folks. I made a bet with a certain band that I could deliver 50 new friend requests to them in one day. I've been so humbled by the support you have shown me since I started the Asylum that I feel the need to share your love. Like my favorite comic book hero Spiderman knows "With great power, comes great responsibility." With that in mind I'm gonna introduce you to a few bands, movies, and bloggers that might be flying below your radar. The favor I ask is that you send friend requests to the bands, listen to the songs they have up on their sites. Subscribe to the bloggers, show them some of the mad kudos you have shown me. And go see the film. I'm pretty sure they are all available on DVD.
The Bands
And when you put in your friend request, tell them One Man Asylum sent you.
Bob Knows Best - This comedy rock troop from Los Angeles made the bet with me. If you listen to the songs on their page I guarantee you'll be in love with them. This band needs to break out and I need your help. If you like them tell all your friends via bulletin, post, or carrier pigeon, to become friends with them. Have them invite their friends, and the snowball with start rolling. We have the power, let's use it for some good.
Grace Potter and the Nocturnals - Simply beautiful rock and roll blues. Brilliant lyrics, catchy tunes, their song has been my profile song since the Asylum opened. Let's pimp them out.
The Movies
Wristcutters: A Love Story - This is a very quirky comedy about a young man who kills himself and ends up in a worse place than he left. A place where no on is capable of smiling. It stars Patrick Fugit of Almost Famous fame and A Knights Tales scorching hottie Shannyn Sossamon.
Before The Devil Knows You're Dead - A heist goes bad for Phillip Seymour Hoffman and Ethan Hawke. This one features the best Marissa Tomei performance since My Cousin Vinny.
The Bloggers
Judi Sunshine - Funny, smart, intelligent blogs for all to enjoy.
Marc(o) Porno - This guy makes me laugh harder than anyone else out there.
David - Cause he wrote a story that One Man Ass Slidin is in. Kudos for me featured fiction..
Darling Niki - She's got this e-novel going that is absolutely wonderful.
Stuff White People Like - Hilarious.
Post Secret - Hauntingly awesome.
I wanna know what you think about my suggestions? Should this be a regular Saturday feature?
Dixie Cup of Love: All those that Inspire Me.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Friday, April 25, 2008
In This Corner
"Well, I know what I've been told. You gotta know just when to fold, but I can't do this all on my own. No, I know I'm no Superman. I'm no Superman" Lazlo Bane from "I'm No Superman (Theme from Scrubs)"
The nurse came in with a bee in her bonnet the size of Nebraska. Seems she and her date for the evening, who I'm sure was little more than a hard-on with a pulse, got into an argument over who was smarter Alexander Graham Bell or Leonardo DaVinci. I know, I was shocked that she knew who either of the men were. But being the simp that she is, she brought it all home for me when she said the guy was an idiot for not knowing that DaVinci invented the airplane and painted the, and I quote, "Sixteenth Chapel, you know the ceiling with the young guy pointing at the old guy?" I'm starting to have doubts whether she actually went to an accredited nursing school. But I did get to thinking about a debate that has been raging in my head.
Man has been faced with mystifying mental challenges since he started walking erect. The first quandary to solve, how to hide the erection. After that, I'm sure that Lothar, his best caveman pal, asked him who would win in a fight between "Adam and Eve", Lothar didn't know who those people were since he evolved, but that's not the point. We have faced many questions of who is better, smarter, prettier, or who you'd rather have randy intercourse with. I can't tell you the number of times a pal of mine has asked "Ginger or Mary Ann" or "Chrissy or Janet" or "Mary or Rhoda" or "Cagney or Lacey". If my current dilemma was as easy as which one of the Golden Girls I would bed if given the chance I probably wouldn't feel the need to work it out on the old blog. What I am faced with is a conundrum that has required all my wits to unravel. "Superman or Spiderman".
Let's take a look at the Man of Steel first. Ok, he's invulnerable, huge plus for him. He's got a groovy job, a cool suit, and the smoking hot Lois Lane on his super jock. As Clark Kent he's stylish in a nerd chic kind of way, polished, toned, a handsome man to say the least. He's the guy that all the girls want. Successful, handsome, and well dressed.
Then there's Spidey. He's witty, a plus for him. He's also accident prone, has major family issues, and has been in love with a gal that doesn't really find the real him all that attractive. You know as I'm writing this, it doesn't seem like much of a dilemma at all. Hands down Supes clobbers Spidey. I don't think Spiderman would ever give up, he'd fight to his death, but it would be the biggest uphill battle since Sisyphus v. Rock.
I mean wall climbing, web slinging, super senses, and a quick wit can't compete with everything that Superman has going for him. He's super, man. Ladies, I ask you, would you rather be struggling actress Mary Jane Watson or female empowerment in a business suit, superstar reporter, Lois Lane? Sure, MJ has some great stuff going for her but Lois is on top of the world, no the planet, the Daily Planet, yeah.
Some of my comic book faithful are going to ring in with errors in my story I'm sure. They will bring up things in continuity, that means nothing to the "Squares" who don't read comics. Let them rant. I don't care. I have always liked Spiderman better than Superman because Spidey is flawed like Priscilla Presley's plastic surgery, and so am I. But when it comes right down to it, even Peter Parker knows when he is outmatched. Much as I dig the web slinger, I'm afraid he's totally out of his league on this one. In his own league Spidey catches thieves just like flies, but Superman is too much to handle.
Who would you take in the fight? Ladies, which would you rather hook up with? Does anyone else thing of crap like this?
Dixie Cup of Love: Batman, cause he would smoke them both.
The nurse came in with a bee in her bonnet the size of Nebraska. Seems she and her date for the evening, who I'm sure was little more than a hard-on with a pulse, got into an argument over who was smarter Alexander Graham Bell or Leonardo DaVinci. I know, I was shocked that she knew who either of the men were. But being the simp that she is, she brought it all home for me when she said the guy was an idiot for not knowing that DaVinci invented the airplane and painted the, and I quote, "Sixteenth Chapel, you know the ceiling with the young guy pointing at the old guy?" I'm starting to have doubts whether she actually went to an accredited nursing school. But I did get to thinking about a debate that has been raging in my head.
Man has been faced with mystifying mental challenges since he started walking erect. The first quandary to solve, how to hide the erection. After that, I'm sure that Lothar, his best caveman pal, asked him who would win in a fight between "Adam and Eve", Lothar didn't know who those people were since he evolved, but that's not the point. We have faced many questions of who is better, smarter, prettier, or who you'd rather have randy intercourse with. I can't tell you the number of times a pal of mine has asked "Ginger or Mary Ann" or "Chrissy or Janet" or "Mary or Rhoda" or "Cagney or Lacey". If my current dilemma was as easy as which one of the Golden Girls I would bed if given the chance I probably wouldn't feel the need to work it out on the old blog. What I am faced with is a conundrum that has required all my wits to unravel. "Superman or Spiderman".
Let's take a look at the Man of Steel first. Ok, he's invulnerable, huge plus for him. He's got a groovy job, a cool suit, and the smoking hot Lois Lane on his super jock. As Clark Kent he's stylish in a nerd chic kind of way, polished, toned, a handsome man to say the least. He's the guy that all the girls want. Successful, handsome, and well dressed.
Then there's Spidey. He's witty, a plus for him. He's also accident prone, has major family issues, and has been in love with a gal that doesn't really find the real him all that attractive. You know as I'm writing this, it doesn't seem like much of a dilemma at all. Hands down Supes clobbers Spidey. I don't think Spiderman would ever give up, he'd fight to his death, but it would be the biggest uphill battle since Sisyphus v. Rock.
I mean wall climbing, web slinging, super senses, and a quick wit can't compete with everything that Superman has going for him. He's super, man. Ladies, I ask you, would you rather be struggling actress Mary Jane Watson or female empowerment in a business suit, superstar reporter, Lois Lane? Sure, MJ has some great stuff going for her but Lois is on top of the world, no the planet, the Daily Planet, yeah.
Some of my comic book faithful are going to ring in with errors in my story I'm sure. They will bring up things in continuity, that means nothing to the "Squares" who don't read comics. Let them rant. I don't care. I have always liked Spiderman better than Superman because Spidey is flawed like Priscilla Presley's plastic surgery, and so am I. But when it comes right down to it, even Peter Parker knows when he is outmatched. Much as I dig the web slinger, I'm afraid he's totally out of his league on this one. In his own league Spidey catches thieves just like flies, but Superman is too much to handle.
Who would you take in the fight? Ladies, which would you rather hook up with? Does anyone else thing of crap like this?
Dixie Cup of Love: Batman, cause he would smoke them both.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
All's Fair
"And I've walked these streets, in the mad house asylum they can be, where the wild eyed misfit prophet on a traffic island stopped and he raved of saving me." Natalie Merchant from "Carnival"
After forcing me to take my daily mellow makers I heard the nurse bitching to the muscle head orderly that she wanted to find a new job. The nerve of some people. I count on her and she just wants to find some other lunatic to torture. Women, can't live with them, no reason to live without them. But I know you won't leave me and the Asylum, it's only a metaphor after all. But her desire to find new employment got me thinking...
Yesterday I was bamboozled. My sometimes irritating sister wanted me to attend a job fair with her in the nearby metropolis that is Rock Hill. Seeing that employment in the Slow is as hard to come by as a natural D-cup in Los Angeles I decided to tag along, overly padded resume in hand, eager to find that which was eluding me. And I found out a few things. Maybe I'm not meant to get work here. And as far as fairs go, job fairs suck.
First of all there wasn't a corn dog stand to be found. No food on a stick at all, no food period. I don't know about you but one the main reasons that I attend fairs is the chow. Where else can you get cheese, corn dogs, beef of various spice, and all sorts of other wonders on a stick? Not to mention funnel cake. If you can't get funnel cake you shouldn't be able to call it a fair. That's all I'm saying.
Another good thing about the fair is the shopping. It is only at fairs that you find new wonder cleaners, inexpensive white trash vacations, and unique foot wear. Think I found any of those things at the so-called Job Fair? No. No, I did not. Instead of being pestered by an eager salesman trying to book me on a houseboat trip that would essentially make me a prisoner with my travel companions, I got hounded by an Army Reserve recruiter who dared to question my patriotism because I mentioned something about the guy signing his check being a high functioning retarded, and not that highly functioning. That pissed the guy off.
After losing the little green Army man near the Tilt-A-Whirl, wait, there was Tilt-A-Whirl either. That fair officially sucked. No Ferris wheel, no Gravitron, no Merry Go Round, I did think that I saw a fun house mirror but it turned out I was just fat. Maybe it was a good thing that I couldn't get corn dogs and funnel cake after all. So with no overly priced amusements to raise my thrill level I talked to a guy from Muzak about a career in elevator music. If hired I will become a saboteur, switching the placid tones of John Tesh with the rockin' sounds of Jon Bon Jovi. Cause I'm a cowboy.
Feeling dejected with no food, no rides, and no shopping I thought of the one thing that always brings me joy, you, my readers. I decided that it would be awesome to win you all a stuffed animal because I'm something of an idiot savant at that soft ball in the milk jar game. If only I could find the midway. Finding a guy who looked like he might work there I ask where I might find the rigged games. You wanna guess what he told me? That's right, no midway. My anger level was higher than Cheech and Chong so I ask the guy "If there's no rides and no midway, what's with all the carney's?" I point to any number of cro-magnons plodding about in stained T-shirts and faded, dirty jeans. He looks me right in the eye, like I'm some kind of moron, and he says "This is a job fair in South Carolina. Who did you expect to see walking around?" He made a good point. I left the fair knowing that I wasn't going to the State Fair, not even if I got dragged there.
Got a job for me? What's your favorite part of the fair?
Dixie Cup of Love: P.T. Barnum, cause I never heard of a Job Circus.
After forcing me to take my daily mellow makers I heard the nurse bitching to the muscle head orderly that she wanted to find a new job. The nerve of some people. I count on her and she just wants to find some other lunatic to torture. Women, can't live with them, no reason to live without them. But I know you won't leave me and the Asylum, it's only a metaphor after all. But her desire to find new employment got me thinking...
Yesterday I was bamboozled. My sometimes irritating sister wanted me to attend a job fair with her in the nearby metropolis that is Rock Hill. Seeing that employment in the Slow is as hard to come by as a natural D-cup in Los Angeles I decided to tag along, overly padded resume in hand, eager to find that which was eluding me. And I found out a few things. Maybe I'm not meant to get work here. And as far as fairs go, job fairs suck.
First of all there wasn't a corn dog stand to be found. No food on a stick at all, no food period. I don't know about you but one the main reasons that I attend fairs is the chow. Where else can you get cheese, corn dogs, beef of various spice, and all sorts of other wonders on a stick? Not to mention funnel cake. If you can't get funnel cake you shouldn't be able to call it a fair. That's all I'm saying.
Another good thing about the fair is the shopping. It is only at fairs that you find new wonder cleaners, inexpensive white trash vacations, and unique foot wear. Think I found any of those things at the so-called Job Fair? No. No, I did not. Instead of being pestered by an eager salesman trying to book me on a houseboat trip that would essentially make me a prisoner with my travel companions, I got hounded by an Army Reserve recruiter who dared to question my patriotism because I mentioned something about the guy signing his check being a high functioning retarded, and not that highly functioning. That pissed the guy off.
After losing the little green Army man near the Tilt-A-Whirl, wait, there was Tilt-A-Whirl either. That fair officially sucked. No Ferris wheel, no Gravitron, no Merry Go Round, I did think that I saw a fun house mirror but it turned out I was just fat. Maybe it was a good thing that I couldn't get corn dogs and funnel cake after all. So with no overly priced amusements to raise my thrill level I talked to a guy from Muzak about a career in elevator music. If hired I will become a saboteur, switching the placid tones of John Tesh with the rockin' sounds of Jon Bon Jovi. Cause I'm a cowboy.
Feeling dejected with no food, no rides, and no shopping I thought of the one thing that always brings me joy, you, my readers. I decided that it would be awesome to win you all a stuffed animal because I'm something of an idiot savant at that soft ball in the milk jar game. If only I could find the midway. Finding a guy who looked like he might work there I ask where I might find the rigged games. You wanna guess what he told me? That's right, no midway. My anger level was higher than Cheech and Chong so I ask the guy "If there's no rides and no midway, what's with all the carney's?" I point to any number of cro-magnons plodding about in stained T-shirts and faded, dirty jeans. He looks me right in the eye, like I'm some kind of moron, and he says "This is a job fair in South Carolina. Who did you expect to see walking around?" He made a good point. I left the fair knowing that I wasn't going to the State Fair, not even if I got dragged there.
Got a job for me? What's your favorite part of the fair?
Dixie Cup of Love: P.T. Barnum, cause I never heard of a Job Circus.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Ruining Ted Nuggent
"Wait, maybe I'll wake up tomorrow. And figure out where to begin. Then maybe I won't feel so hollow. But I'm pretty sure that I'll be sleeping in..." Home Grown from "Tomorrow"
The nurse was asked to draw some blood from me before my meds turned my circulatory system more colors than the Sunshine Highway. I figured she would come in, fangs exposed, and suck the plasma from my carotid artery, but I heard her tell the doctor that she had never done it before. Are you fucking kidding me? I'm gonna be her strapped down Guinea pig? That sounded about as much fun as a prostate exam from my cold handed physician. But I guess someone had to be her first. Like the poor sap she devoured, praying mantis style, after taking her virginity, but it got me thinking about my first.
Close your eyes and imagine, wait open your eyes so you can read, but just picture in your mind a dark theater. The stage is set. Actors ready to perform live for you. Theater. Now imagine that the play you are watching features: girls in Hula skirts, comic book characters fighting (kind of) before your very eyes, two brides making out, and a four foot paper mache bong complete with midget inside (not to be confused with Intel Inside) dancing around the stage. Got the visual. That was Loaded. The first play that I ever wrote and directed.
As short lived as my theater career was I was staunch about the rules that I followed. The Big Mike Keys to Success in Independent Theater are: 1) Make it entertaining to my friends that were tight with Mary Jane. If you can't see a play high, what's the point of going to theater? 2) Huge Casts. More people in the show, more friends, relatives, co-workers, classmates and dragged along spouses that felt obligated to see it. It's box office by guilt, but box office is box office. Its all about the scoreboard. 3) Hottest Girls Possible. This was to insure that my bong dependent pals would enjoy the view even if they hated the show. Simple rules and the results, well, I like to think 'we' nailed everything except a Cat Scratch Fever ruining moment.
Loaded was the story of a stoner that had decided to ask his girlfriend to marry him. It was broken up by a set of 4 wild "high dreams". The first featured the afore mentioned dancing bong. Nothing says funny like a midget wearing a bong and dancing around the stage to Stevie Wonder's "My Cherie Amour", I'll play that song at my wedding one day. The dream was brilliant. The second one featured 4 hula skirt wearing hotties, trays of snack foods, and a guy in a hot dog suit being tackled by a midget leaping off a couch. You're laughing right? Should have seen it. Three, well, this is my low light. It was supposed to be a nice action scene with two girls dresses as DC comics characters Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn duking it out for the affections of a man-whore. It wasn't actiony, it was farce, and bad farce. I still can't listen to Cat Scratch Fever, thank God I didn't set it to Zeppelin. But the last dream was the show stopper. Two brides, one groom, Neil Diamond's "Holly Holy", and the brides making out with each other. Magic. All choreographed by Darcy (a frequent OMA poster, what up girl) and Kelly from horrible stick figure storyboards that I drew up.
It was my first show. The first time I saw the words I wrote performed. It was scary, it was exhilarating. It was well reviewed, the Orange County Register called the show "original and refreshingly cinematic", which shocked the shit out of me. It was a hit. It was the most fun I ever had in a theater, with the exception of a few episodes of KYTV (story for another blog), it was a moment in time when we actually managed to capture lightning in a bottle.
Questions about the show? Any performance stories of your own? Ever gone to good play? Ever gone to a bad play?
Dixie Cup of Love: Darcy for all her hard work and Atomic for his cameo as the Kool Aid mascot.
The nurse was asked to draw some blood from me before my meds turned my circulatory system more colors than the Sunshine Highway. I figured she would come in, fangs exposed, and suck the plasma from my carotid artery, but I heard her tell the doctor that she had never done it before. Are you fucking kidding me? I'm gonna be her strapped down Guinea pig? That sounded about as much fun as a prostate exam from my cold handed physician. But I guess someone had to be her first. Like the poor sap she devoured, praying mantis style, after taking her virginity, but it got me thinking about my first.
Close your eyes and imagine, wait open your eyes so you can read, but just picture in your mind a dark theater. The stage is set. Actors ready to perform live for you. Theater. Now imagine that the play you are watching features: girls in Hula skirts, comic book characters fighting (kind of) before your very eyes, two brides making out, and a four foot paper mache bong complete with midget inside (not to be confused with Intel Inside) dancing around the stage. Got the visual. That was Loaded. The first play that I ever wrote and directed.
As short lived as my theater career was I was staunch about the rules that I followed. The Big Mike Keys to Success in Independent Theater are: 1) Make it entertaining to my friends that were tight with Mary Jane. If you can't see a play high, what's the point of going to theater? 2) Huge Casts. More people in the show, more friends, relatives, co-workers, classmates and dragged along spouses that felt obligated to see it. It's box office by guilt, but box office is box office. Its all about the scoreboard. 3) Hottest Girls Possible. This was to insure that my bong dependent pals would enjoy the view even if they hated the show. Simple rules and the results, well, I like to think 'we' nailed everything except a Cat Scratch Fever ruining moment.
Loaded was the story of a stoner that had decided to ask his girlfriend to marry him. It was broken up by a set of 4 wild "high dreams". The first featured the afore mentioned dancing bong. Nothing says funny like a midget wearing a bong and dancing around the stage to Stevie Wonder's "My Cherie Amour", I'll play that song at my wedding one day. The dream was brilliant. The second one featured 4 hula skirt wearing hotties, trays of snack foods, and a guy in a hot dog suit being tackled by a midget leaping off a couch. You're laughing right? Should have seen it. Three, well, this is my low light. It was supposed to be a nice action scene with two girls dresses as DC comics characters Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn duking it out for the affections of a man-whore. It wasn't actiony, it was farce, and bad farce. I still can't listen to Cat Scratch Fever, thank God I didn't set it to Zeppelin. But the last dream was the show stopper. Two brides, one groom, Neil Diamond's "Holly Holy", and the brides making out with each other. Magic. All choreographed by Darcy (a frequent OMA poster, what up girl) and Kelly from horrible stick figure storyboards that I drew up.
It was my first show. The first time I saw the words I wrote performed. It was scary, it was exhilarating. It was well reviewed, the Orange County Register called the show "original and refreshingly cinematic", which shocked the shit out of me. It was a hit. It was the most fun I ever had in a theater, with the exception of a few episodes of KYTV (story for another blog), it was a moment in time when we actually managed to capture lightning in a bottle.
Questions about the show? Any performance stories of your own? Ever gone to good play? Ever gone to a bad play?
Dixie Cup of Love: Darcy for all her hard work and Atomic for his cameo as the Kool Aid mascot.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Where is Buffalo Bill When You Need Him?
"I'm not your lover, I'm not your friend, I am something that you'll never comprehend, no need to worry, no need to cry, I'm your Messiah and you're the reason why" Prince from "I would Die 4 U"
The nurse was complaining tat the price of gas was so high she wasn't sure if she could get the Shag wagon all the way to work for the rest of the week. Who will give me my meds? How will i cope if I'm not numbed to the idiocy of the world at large? Something has to be done about these prices. Someone is to blame, and I know who it is.
Jodie Foster.
Jodie Foster is responsible for gas soaring to the $4 a gallon mark. I know what you're thinking: "Well, he's finally gone insane. The blog was great while it lasted , but he's obviously cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs". And why shouldn't I be, Cocoa Puffs are delicious and part of a nutritious breakfast. But really I'm not all, Gary Busey over here, and I can prove it.
Insane people don't use facts to support their claims, they wear head wear made out of tin foil, sure, but they have no hard data. I've done my homework like an Asian student before the Physics Bowl. Between the years of 1980 to 1988 Jodie Foster appeared in 11 total films. From 2000 to present just 5. The five films during the last octagon of sun rotations, Panic Room, Flight Plan, Inside Man, The Brave One, and Nim's Island. All those films with the exception of Nim's (which featured Gerard Butler from 300, a stone killer in that flick) had something in common. Can you see it? Jodie was pissed off.
But what does this have to do with the price of tea in China or the petrol you pump? I'm getting there if you'd just have a little patience, geez. The 11 flicks of 1980-1988 were much happier, lighter, sexier Jodie. That's the kind of actress that crazy people like John Hinckley Jr want to impress. No one wants to impress a pissed off actress making 10 million a flick. Happy Jodie, Reagon gets shot. Pissed off Jodie, Bush is free to run amok.
If Jodie had made some sappy love fare in the early part of the Bush administration surely some nut job with a copy of Catcher In The Rye and a Travis Bickle complex would have slithered from the White House dry rot and peppered "W" with enough lead to set off metal detectors in Baltimore. Surely the pressure of being thrust into the Oval Office would have caused Dick Cheney's tobacco and oil clogged robot heart to explode in a stress induced detonation. Then it would have been President Pelosi. And no soccer mom would let gas prices get so high.
I know there are those of you out there that will argue that the down turn of the dollar may still have occurred, that Cheney, being undead and all, would live and that would be akin to putting Satan in the White House, and some may still be holding onto the notion that I'm crazier than Mel Gibson on a bender, but the facts don't lie. Happy Jodie = Lower gas prices. Angry Jodie = Worst Presidency ever.
Do you even question my sanity? Don't you see the connection?
Dixie Cup of Love : "Jodie, Goodbye! I love you six trillion times. Don't you maybe like me a little bit? (You must admit it I am different) It would make all the difference. John" The actual text of the last letter that John Hinckley Jr wrote to Jodie Foster before attempting to assassinate Ronald Reagon.
The nurse was complaining tat the price of gas was so high she wasn't sure if she could get the Shag wagon all the way to work for the rest of the week. Who will give me my meds? How will i cope if I'm not numbed to the idiocy of the world at large? Something has to be done about these prices. Someone is to blame, and I know who it is.
Jodie Foster.
Jodie Foster is responsible for gas soaring to the $4 a gallon mark. I know what you're thinking: "Well, he's finally gone insane. The blog was great while it lasted , but he's obviously cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs". And why shouldn't I be, Cocoa Puffs are delicious and part of a nutritious breakfast. But really I'm not all, Gary Busey over here, and I can prove it.
Insane people don't use facts to support their claims, they wear head wear made out of tin foil, sure, but they have no hard data. I've done my homework like an Asian student before the Physics Bowl. Between the years of 1980 to 1988 Jodie Foster appeared in 11 total films. From 2000 to present just 5. The five films during the last octagon of sun rotations, Panic Room, Flight Plan, Inside Man, The Brave One, and Nim's Island. All those films with the exception of Nim's (which featured Gerard Butler from 300, a stone killer in that flick) had something in common. Can you see it? Jodie was pissed off.
But what does this have to do with the price of tea in China or the petrol you pump? I'm getting there if you'd just have a little patience, geez. The 11 flicks of 1980-1988 were much happier, lighter, sexier Jodie. That's the kind of actress that crazy people like John Hinckley Jr want to impress. No one wants to impress a pissed off actress making 10 million a flick. Happy Jodie, Reagon gets shot. Pissed off Jodie, Bush is free to run amok.
If Jodie had made some sappy love fare in the early part of the Bush administration surely some nut job with a copy of Catcher In The Rye and a Travis Bickle complex would have slithered from the White House dry rot and peppered "W" with enough lead to set off metal detectors in Baltimore. Surely the pressure of being thrust into the Oval Office would have caused Dick Cheney's tobacco and oil clogged robot heart to explode in a stress induced detonation. Then it would have been President Pelosi. And no soccer mom would let gas prices get so high.
I know there are those of you out there that will argue that the down turn of the dollar may still have occurred, that Cheney, being undead and all, would live and that would be akin to putting Satan in the White House, and some may still be holding onto the notion that I'm crazier than Mel Gibson on a bender, but the facts don't lie. Happy Jodie = Lower gas prices. Angry Jodie = Worst Presidency ever.
Do you even question my sanity? Don't you see the connection?
Dixie Cup of Love : "Jodie, Goodbye! I love you six trillion times. Don't you maybe like me a little bit? (You must admit it I am different) It would make all the difference. John" The actual text of the last letter that John Hinckley Jr wrote to Jodie Foster before attempting to assassinate Ronald Reagon.
Monday, April 21, 2008
The Great One
"Never doubt that you’re the one, And you can have your dreams! You’re the best! Around!Nothing’s gonna ever keep you down!" Joe Esposito from "You're the Best"
I could hear the nurse in the hallway talking to one of the steroid injecting orderlies. She was yammering on and on like Oprah at a buffet about the fact that her new sex toy du jour was a hefty chap. As a man on the positive side of the plus it got me thinking.
Jackie Gleason started what I consider to be the greatest trend in the history of fads. Not the hula-hoop, nor the Pet Rock, nay to Rubik and his cube. Gleason was the innovator of the fat sitcom husband with a wife hotter than jalapenos deep fried in Tabasco. The Honeymooners, one of the most popular shows of its day, sent a message to America that men of solid structure were as sexy as Catherine Bach in a pair of cut-off jeans.
The mammoth man/sickeningly scorching wife image has continued on to this very day. Think back to the first time you saw The King of Queens. Every one of us wanted to throw a bullshit flag like an FCC operative hearing Jane Fonda drop the "cunt" bomb on the Today Show. No one wanted to believe for an Alaskan minute that the girl who was once hot for Zach Morris on the Saved By The Bell Malibu summer season was now dropping her lily white panties for a brown clad Stay-Puft Marshmallow of a man. But for Jackie Gleason it would have doomed the show from episode one.
Grounded For Life, a hugely underrated show in the humble opinion of yours truly, took it to another level. Fat, dumb husband/big breasted quick witted wife. A variation, but still owing the world to Ralph Cramden. Following that formula brought us According to Jim. All the guys who remember getting wood when they saw Courtney Thorne-Smith sporting a Body Glove wet suit in Summer School raise hands. That's pretty much everybody by my count. He, Jim Belushi, even stretched as an actor playing a total chucklehead from Chicago, when in real life he is a total chucklehead from Chicago. That's range. But his television wife inspires every overweight guy on Match.com to send a message to the former beauty queen whose profile is there "as a joke her friends pulled". Please, desperately seeking delusional. Chances are she's gonna see Wimpy's photo and opt out of him invitation for burgers. But because of Gleason, we still have hope.
Cartoons have this dichotomy in them as well. The three best examples I could think of are Fred and Wilma Flintstone, Peter and Lois Griffin, and the grand champions of toon duos Marge and Homer Simpson. All three husbands dopey, fat, working class guys. All the wives hot pieces of stay at home Soccer mommy. I would be appalled by this stereotype if it wasn't for the fact that I'm waiting to score my 3rd degree burn inducing hot, smart, compassionate, witty wife. Any takers?
Thank you Jackie Gleason, thank yo.
Why do you think this formula still exists in our fitness fixated society? Ladies, would you marry a guy like this? Men, which of the wives would you want and why?
Dixie Cup of Love: The Great One, no not Gretzky.
I could hear the nurse in the hallway talking to one of the steroid injecting orderlies. She was yammering on and on like Oprah at a buffet about the fact that her new sex toy du jour was a hefty chap. As a man on the positive side of the plus it got me thinking.
Jackie Gleason started what I consider to be the greatest trend in the history of fads. Not the hula-hoop, nor the Pet Rock, nay to Rubik and his cube. Gleason was the innovator of the fat sitcom husband with a wife hotter than jalapenos deep fried in Tabasco. The Honeymooners, one of the most popular shows of its day, sent a message to America that men of solid structure were as sexy as Catherine Bach in a pair of cut-off jeans.
The mammoth man/sickeningly scorching wife image has continued on to this very day. Think back to the first time you saw The King of Queens. Every one of us wanted to throw a bullshit flag like an FCC operative hearing Jane Fonda drop the "cunt" bomb on the Today Show. No one wanted to believe for an Alaskan minute that the girl who was once hot for Zach Morris on the Saved By The Bell Malibu summer season was now dropping her lily white panties for a brown clad Stay-Puft Marshmallow of a man. But for Jackie Gleason it would have doomed the show from episode one.
Grounded For Life, a hugely underrated show in the humble opinion of yours truly, took it to another level. Fat, dumb husband/big breasted quick witted wife. A variation, but still owing the world to Ralph Cramden. Following that formula brought us According to Jim. All the guys who remember getting wood when they saw Courtney Thorne-Smith sporting a Body Glove wet suit in Summer School raise hands. That's pretty much everybody by my count. He, Jim Belushi, even stretched as an actor playing a total chucklehead from Chicago, when in real life he is a total chucklehead from Chicago. That's range. But his television wife inspires every overweight guy on Match.com to send a message to the former beauty queen whose profile is there "as a joke her friends pulled". Please, desperately seeking delusional. Chances are she's gonna see Wimpy's photo and opt out of him invitation for burgers. But because of Gleason, we still have hope.
Cartoons have this dichotomy in them as well. The three best examples I could think of are Fred and Wilma Flintstone, Peter and Lois Griffin, and the grand champions of toon duos Marge and Homer Simpson. All three husbands dopey, fat, working class guys. All the wives hot pieces of stay at home Soccer mommy. I would be appalled by this stereotype if it wasn't for the fact that I'm waiting to score my 3rd degree burn inducing hot, smart, compassionate, witty wife. Any takers?
Thank you Jackie Gleason, thank yo.
Why do you think this formula still exists in our fitness fixated society? Ladies, would you marry a guy like this? Men, which of the wives would you want and why?
Dixie Cup of Love: The Great One, no not Gretzky.
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