Palette Cleanser

The only thing strong enough to remove the disgusting image of a wet Bon Jovi is Malice.

One of the interweb's more provocative creatures, she's currently broadcasting hatewaves out of Italy. She's dangerous in all good and bad senses of the word, and that's alright by me.

Bon Douchi

Jon Bon Jovi is a talentless sissy. But you can add egotistical megalomaniac to that resume.

An entrepreneur with a 3 year old energy drink got a cease and desist letter from an attorney representing Bon Jovi, claiming promotional materials and the can were appropriating...um, the magic and of good name of Jon Bon Jovi?

Marcos Carrington says his coffee-based energy drink is named after his girlfriend, whose name is Jovita, not the 45-year-old rocker, real name John Francis Bongiovi Jr.

In the Jan. 22 letter, objections were made to the product's name "Mijovi" as well as other words "itsmijovi" and "itsmilife". Rather than use Carrington's spelling, the letter used the phrases, "It's My Jovi" and "It's My Life." If you haven't figured it out, that's so that they could draw a parallel between phonetic terms and claim they're the same -- the retarded basis that frivolous legal actions like these are founded on.

Through sheer poor reasoning, the similar sounding name, and that one of his most popular (and shitty) songs is entitled "It's My Life", does Bon Jovi really expect to prevail? Carrington said the words "itsmijovi" and "itsmilife" are meant to mean "it's my jovial life," and the full phrase on the can says "itsmienergy.itsmijovi.itsmilife."

Carrington told newspapers, "It is unfair because Mijovi has nothing to do with Bon Jovi."

Goddamn right! You start a business and then some douche hair rocker from the 80s tries to stake a claim based on his fading vanity. And who the hell would actually drink something that had anything remotely to do with him? The thought of Bon Jovi would cause instant choking.

Carrington says he's willing to stop using "itsmilife" on cans once an inventory of 3,000 cans is used up. I think a good way to speed that up is by throwing them at Bon Jovi's oversized melon.

Who Farted?

Really, who?

Asbestos ♥ New York.

Death Warmed Over

You may recall a ways back I began the deathwatch on Tammy Faye, who was diagnosed with terminal cancer and had stopped taking treatments. I am a man who will admit when he is wrong, and whether or not she saw it, I incorrectly surmised she wouldn't make it to the release of the 3rd Pirates flick.

So imagine my surprise (none) that media leech Larry King has her on tonight's show. She looks horrible, as one would expect from battling cancer and dropping to 65 lbs -- and why I only use a small picture. It's legitimately frightening.

I'm sure she'll relay a message of calm acceptance doused in Jesus, but other than to scare small children and make everybody feel bad, why air this? It is not uplifting or empowering or necessary. King is a vampire, and those who tune in are no better, taking what little is left of her life to feed off. Tammy Faye, still the narcissist, gets one more ego trip down television lane.

I suggest a new show called Terminal Death, where every week people in the final stages of diseases get interviewed about what it is like for them to know they are about to die. Afterwards, there will be a one hour call-in segment where viewers can call in and share how fucking depressing it was to watch and then relay a tale of their own to up the misery quotient. It will be the next big thing in entertainment-less entertainment, bigger than the torture porn of the Saw and Hostel movies. And anti-depressant sales will go through the roof.

The "Bad Times" block of programming will continue with another of my new shows, Clubbing Baby Animals. You goddamn masochists.

Hot Death

Given the choice of an explosive burst of scalding steam and debris or the grinding impact of jet fuel and steel airframe, I choose neither. Yes, I can do that.

Between the Brazilian jet that never cleared the runway and went skidding into a gas station (smart placement, putting a fuel reservoir at the end of a too short runway) and the pipe malfunction from the bowels of the Big Apple, I say both are shitty ways to die. The cause of both is officially "under investigation", but that just really means they haven't squarely placed the blame. Brazilian government and air travel cabinetry had dealt with congressional inquiries as the too short and rain slickened runway was not ample enough. And the condensation in pipes that cause a "water hammer" effect is well documented, the most recent explosion occurring in 1989 which killed three - and the leading culprit here.

Instead of pondering a superheated, instant death, may I suggest...kittens!

200, Post Haste

In less time than it took to break the century mark we doubled it. I don't know if that's worth celebrating or not...we're still heading in the same direction -- trouble.

Ookie!

The Atlanta Falcons, who went a mediocre 47-48-1 in six years with QB Michael Vick, may have played their last average season with him.

Vick is at the center of a federal investigation into procuring and training pit bulls for dogfights, which aside from occurring across state lines (that's a no-no), was centered at his Surry County estate.

A federal grand jury handed down indictments yesterday after hearing details from an 18 page filing, and unlike past documents and inquiries which did not name Vick, the filing is littered with his name, including the interesting tidbit that Vick was known as "Ookie" in the dogfighting world.

The football star and three others are named along with their enterprise, Bad Newz Kennels, in the indictment, which holds that at least 8 dogs were killed per their instructions. The methods varied from hanging, drowning, slamming them to the ground, or being doused with water and electrocuted. Charges range from knowingly sponsoring and exhibiting an animal fighting venture, to conducting a business enterprise involving gambling, as well as buying, transporting and receiving dogs for the purposes of an animal fighting venture. Translation, up to six years in prison, $350,000 in fines and restitution if convicted.

Authorities seized 66 dogs, including 55 pit bulls, and equipment commonly used in dogfighting. Local officials had been investigating Vick since an April 25 drug raid at the property and police later executed their own search warrant finding the remains of seven dogs.

In 2005, Vick was part of a civil suit where he allegedly knowingly gave genital herpes to Sonya Elliott. The crux of the suit was that Vick had visited clinics under the alias "Ron Mexico" to get treatments and thus he knew of his condition. Awesomely, a deluge of fans ordered customized #7 Atlanta Falcons jerseys on NFLShop.com with the name "Mexico" on the back. Due to the frenzy surrounding the case, the National Football League disallowed the use of the jersey/name combination two days after the lawsuit.

No word on prohibition of getting the jersey with "Ookie" on it.

Don't Believe The Hype

Maddox ain't gettin' no iPhone! Come down from the mountain, he speaketh the truth. Bow down.

TLC Meets THC

On my way to the gym last night, there was a radio promo for a new online dating site. I thought I'd seen them all, but I was wrong. Enter PotPartner.com!

The stigma of getting high has proven to be the bane of many relationships, so if you want to hook up with Mr. or Miss Right who doesn't mind the 3 foot Graffix bong you keep on the coffee table, step right up.

The radio ad was two gals talking about how one can't find a guy who is cool with her "420ing", and the other tells her how she found a great guy on the website. For the next 30 seconds they say the word 420 a dozen times and let all the stoners know that it's a free to join. Apparently, burners have such a difficult time connecting with other people, so the website proudly boasts being a place where people can meet that at least have one thing in common.

Both the ad and the site blow my mind on so many levels.

First, fuck "420". Back in ancient times (the 90s), when I was in college at UC Santa Barbara, there was a perpetual haze of pot smoke covering the square mile of Isla Vista, where over 17,000 students lived. Nobody, and I mean nobody, EVER used the words 420 in any way, shape or form relative to marijuana. My friends in Santa Cruz, another hub of excessive pot smoking never knew of or used the term. No reasonable explanation as to it's origin has ever been presented -- yes, reasonable, not some pothead conspiratorial coded message about when or where to get high. It is ultimately a combination of savvy marketers who use the familiarity of it to sell useless shit to stupid kids, and the same stupid kids who latch onto the catchphrase in order to not look some much like the posers they are.

Let's make this clear -- smoking pot is great. Kids, ask your parent's permission first, but I am not going to tell you that a little weed is bad for you. It helps sick people, it makes movies and music more vivid, and it fosters creativity. Like anything else, moderation it important, but it is a good thing...except when it is blown up to "420" sized proportions. Everything that's cool and positive about marijuana is the the opposite of what verbalizing, representing, incorporating, and displaying 420 culture is. Counter-culture means exactly what it says, and the overt acceptance of 420 as a rallying call is nothing more than the retarded self-indulgence of the younger generation of pot smokers to feel important and included because they get high. Sorry, kids, but almost everyone smokes a little dope from time to time -- they're just not conspicuous assholes about it centering themselves around an arbitrary term.

(toke)

Okay, I had to chill out -- I was getting too worked up about those dipshits. Another moronic element is the notion that relationships are made and broken over smoking pot, and that it is a relevant criteria for finding people to date. If you smoke so much goddamn pot that it becomes a factor in finding a mate or an issue for a current relation ship, you smoke too much goddamn pot. You have to be a pretty dull tool if you're reduced to finding compatibility based on smoking herb. I think that's a small, specific step above listing eating and sleeping as interests. And to think that if burning one down is the key ingredient is getting along with somebody yet you have to resort to the internet to make a match, you deserve to be alone. A friend with weed is a friend indeed, no?

Looking at the site only prompted more head-shaking at the obvious retardation. Every third girl had 420 tacked onto their screen name and one in four had a thinly veiled pseudonym having to do with pot - can there really be 67 Mary Janes? Also, you can select your usage level to maximize compatibility, from once a month to chronic abuse multiple times a day. Who the fuck would cop to smoking pot once a month yet use PotPartner.com to find a pothead match?

After looking at a few profiles I honestly felt like I had given myself brain damage. Listen, if you're on a website for pot smokers, you don't need to put in your profile how you like to smoke weed...that is, unless you're an idiot pot smoker who is too lit to realize that's a given. Hey genius, tell me something I don't know! If I was at a party and all these people were there, I think I'd just start punching my way through them until I got to an exit. The contact high with these hempophiles could be lethal. I have truly never seen such a collection of party-friendly good timers that had less to offer than these herbalists.

Personally, I think the site is a great way for girls to get abducted and murdered, and while the site does not advertise that function, what exactly do you think is going to happen when women find strangers on the internet to do drugs with? When is there going to be Cokeheads.org or PillMachines.net? Nothing like fostering an addiction and then trying to get people together to indulge it, right?

Since I love you all so much, I decided to register -- since you can't really see anything if you're not -- and save you the trouble of putting yourself out there in nasty cyberland. Just head over to the website, login as IOVUF, password: blog, and you'll be able to look at the profiles and marvel at the desperate, stoney folks who won't bogart that joint. As your courtesy to me, your blogging deity, please don't start posting narc threats or invite fat chicks to my place. Because I will plant such a brick of kind on you that you'll prey they only give you the mandatory minimum. Irie!

On second thought, don't bother checking it out...go get high instead. Way less of a waste of time.

Law & Order: Arrakis

Soon, there will be a Law & Order show for every hour of the day, and it will be prerequisite for actors to do a stint on there before getting work. But until then, all we can do is keep track of the beast as it grows and absorbs Hollywood.

The latest acquisition to the leviathan is Alicia Witt, who may have had many roles in her career, but she will always be Alia from Dune. As it turns out, she's not too hard on the eyes as an adult.

I can't keep track of the 36 different shows or the 249 characters, but hopefully they'll let her use a gom jabbar as standard issue and use the Bene Geserit voice when she interrogates suspects. Hell, give her the spice or some of the water of life and let her do her thing. Crime would be non-existent in about a month.

Alia is one hardcore little girl, and she's got a message from her brother. Goddamn right I'm geeked out on Dune.

Indiana Jones And The Quest For Stuff

Spielberg, Lucas, and Ford reunited for the fourth installment of the series, which is yet untitled and set for release next year. Absent from the cast is Sean Connery, who played Henry Jones, the interpid adventurer's father in the previous film.

One reason for the omission could be the 19 year gap between storylines, or not such a drastic difference in aged looks between Ford and Connery, both of which qualify for AARP benefits.

My sources and this photo tell me he's moved on to other projects...like being a BDSM gunslinger.

Much Ghetto About Nothing

Execs at BET are under fire from both television critics and advertisers for their upcoming show Hot Ghetto Mess.

Based on the the website of the same name, the show combines viewer-submitted home videos and man-on-the-street interviews that the channel says are intended to challenge and inspire "viewers to improve themselves and their communities." Did we mention that the website features photos of men and women who are mostly black, living in extreme hip-hop fashion, most notably their hairstyles and clothing.

Kinda like tough love through shame.

Turning the critical eye on one's own peeps is nothing new. From The Redd Foxx Show to In Living Color to Chappelle's Show, satirizing and drawing attention to the negative aspects of their culture have provided some of the funniest moments on television as well as the most thought provoking commentary. The website is embracing, but hardly controversial, and methinks that not only is the uproar premature but perhaps unnecessary, save some sly marketing to draw more attention and viewers to the show.

The real news is that Hot Ghetto Mess was my breakdancing name, and now they're locking it up with usage so I can't reform my crew to take back the streets and do a fundraiser so the Miracles community center won't fall into the hands of greedy developers. We did a badass set to "Taxman" from The Beatles, and I had a polo shirt with my name in big fuzzy felt heat transfer letters on it.

Know Your Judd

Judd Hirsch
Career High – cab driving protagonist in Taxi, the eponymous divorcee in Dear John

Career Low – stereotypical jew in Independence Day

Juddliness – 5: Nostalgia and reruns keep this Judd in circulation. Certainly the oldest of this Judd collection, he has hardly reigned since the mid-80s.

Judd Nelson
Career High – rebellious loser John Bender in The Breakfast Club, inaugural member of the "Brat Pack"

Career Low – member of the cast of Suddenly Susan

Juddliness – 3: If he’d done something noteworthy in the last 15 years, perhaps he’d be higher up. Voicing Rodimus Prime in Transformers: The Movie…yeah, could have been that pivot point.

Judd Winnick
Career High – parlayed Real World housemate fame into a career as a comic book writer

Career Low – parlayed Real World housemate fame into a career as a comic book writer

Juddliness – 1: You’ve never heard of him…unless you’re a total fanboy geek. Let’s keep it that way.

Judd Apatow
Career High – writer / director of The 40 Year Old Virgin and Knocked Up

Career Low – Hollywood bureaucrats canceled the genius Freaks And Geeks and Undeclared after one season

Juddliness – 8: Tops all other Judds, in no small part to his impressive credits, which also include The Ben Stiller Show, The Larry Sanders Show, and Anchorman. Plus he’s married to Leslie Mann.

The Judds
Career High – once successful country singing duo

Career Low – Hepatitis C, rapid obesity

Juddliness – 4: Diana and Christina had to get countrified as Naomi and Wynonna to sell their two-steppin’ song and dance. Country music sucks…but they got extra Judd points for actress Ashley.

Have A Blast This Weekend

One to pump and one to pull the trigger.

The Vader Project

In the art underground, Dunny is out and the dark lord of the Sith is in as the object d'choice for graphic freestyling.

The Vader Project was part of the big 30th anniversary Star Wars convention in LA at the end of May. Where these masks are now is anyone's guess...

+2 cred points because my amigo and former co-worker Joe Ledbetter is amongst the group.

VH None

There was a time that calling yourself a music video channel meant that you actually played music. I must have been taking a nap, but I woke up the other day and realized that VH1 has become the same as MTV -- music themed television.

Now, I'm not in preparation for hari-kari over it, but it does irk me that what constitutes programing is a slew of soft-reality shows based around C-list talent and nostalgic has-beens. The marketing aces over there call it their CelebReality block. I call it torture.

Spiralling downhill from the kitchy Surreal Life, where a houseful of celebrities from the past live together, the channel is a carnival-like collection of where-are-they-now types trying to find romance (Flavor Of Love, I Love New York), find help (Celebrity Fit Club, Breaking Bonaduce), or just plain find a few more minutes for their career (My Fair Brady, Hogan Knows Best). The latest, appalling programing is a double fisted beatdown of lameness -- Rock Of Love and Scott Baio Is 45 ... And Single!, both which premier this weekend.

Rock Of Love asks the long burning question, "Can 25 skanks culled from a cattle call of applicants be narrowed down to one candidate to receive two decades of road borne STDs?". Bret Michael's penis hopes so. The Poison singer sets of on his epic quest with the assistance of his tour manager and head of security, Big John -- I'm guessing that nickname is due to is size, not some kind of high test scoring, IQ basis.

"Characters", as the support snatch is being called, all seem to have been born by namesake to be contestants on a matchmaking show for a rocker in his 40s. Krista, Kristia, Lacey, Jessica, Jes, Tawny, Tiffany, Brandi C., and Brandi M. lead the cliche pack. As you could already figure out, an over-the-hill commodity such as Bret Michaels commands only the finest ladies from American metropolises like Newman, GA, Beckley, WV, Naperville, IL (who was kind enough to offer two of it's daughters), and Bountiful, UT. Here's a small sampling of some vital info these kind young ladies were willing to share:

- likes to be naked and wants to be in Playboy
- favorite garment: her Lynyrd Skynrd panties
- received "Boobs" as birthday gift from her parents
- can fit her fist in her mouth
- back is double jointed
- has 6 tattoos / has 4 tattoos and 9 piercings / has a lip piercing / a musical note tattooed on her lower back / has 8 piercings / has a heart tattoo on her shoulder / has too many tattoos to count
- sometimes wears a cowboy hat in bed
- bad at settling down and commitment
- has a 7 yr old son (naturally)
- has been in several catfights because women are always jealous of her
- was a dancer at Scores Las Vegas / was Miss Hooters of Illinois 2002 / currently a Go Go Dancer / is a waitress at Hooters / at a strip club for a month
- grew up in small farm town with 900 people and corn in her backyard
- could not survive if she couldn't shop

Maybe Bret would be better off jamming his dick into an electric pencil sharpener. Nah, these folks deserve each other

Scott Baio Is 45...And Single! doesn't sound like so much of a show as it is just a statement of fact. Beyond a turn as Bob Loblaw on Arrested Development (courtesy of Ron Howard, who also hooked up faded star Henry Winkler for several episodes), beyond being Chachi In Charge, Baio has been the modern day sexual Ellis Island for B-movie actresses and D-cup ladies. As this generation of young ladies hardly know who he is (and therefore won't fuck him), Baio embarks on a midlife crisis of awesome proportion. His first stop -- the VH1 program development offices.

Sometime afterward, they sent him to the highly regarded (by casting agents and focus groups) life coach Ali. For eight weeks, her mission will be to force him to confront a laundry list of his "most substantial and combustible" old flames. As they claim, it is in order to hopefully get to the heart of his lonely heart condition, but as I claim, it is to hear about what a phillandering dickbag he was from aging starlets. In either case, I am willing to put money that he'll cry once by the 4th episode.

Of course, episode after episode of reliving sex with Scott Baio by way of Heather Locklear and Nicolette Sheridan is hardly viewable, so his long-time pals have been enlisted to help sift through the wreckage of his past. I don't know who's lined up here, but I'm expecting Adam Rich and counting on Willie Ames. Baio wil also have to "endure an assortment of life-altering activities", which the clever devils at VH1 factor abstinence in as. Abstinence is just a fancy word for being unwilling to just settle for fucking anyone. Ultimately, we're supposed to believe that after all this, Baio will "earn the chance at actually maintaining a meaningful, stable, healthy relationship". Methinks he's earning a chance to comeback next season for more of the same.

I'm not psychic, but I am telling you not to get on these trainwrecks. I just saved your life. Twice.

Run, Idiot, Run

It's that time of year again in Pamplona!

The Spanish government reported 13 injuries on the 6th day of the famously dangerous and stupid running of the bulls portion of the San Fermin festival. Many were trampled, but the highlight for me were the seven gorings.

As you can expect, the gore victims are in serious condition and most have had surgery. This was for their wounds, and not to fix whatever brain damage they had initially that made them think deliberately running with six 1,300-pound bulls was a good idea.

Since record-keeping began in 1924, 13 people have been killed during the runs, with the most recent in 1995, which is too long ago if you ask me. Strangely, there is no annual "Swim Australia In A Meat Swimsuit" or "Get Between A Mother And Her Cub" event, because I'd like to hear the casualty reports from those.

Live by the stupid, die by the stupid.

UPDATE: The latest story coming out of Spain is that two of the gored runners were American brothers, who not only got gored at the same time, but were photographed as it happened. Really, it was all over the Spanish papers...see below.

"I think my brother and I underestimated the speed and danger of it," Lawrence Lenahan said, making the understatement of the fucking year.

"I started yelling at my brother to show him I was bleeding everywhere but he showed me he was bleeding everywhere," Lenahan added. He was gored in the buttocks, while younger brother Michael was injured in his leg. What a touching moment of fraternal bonding.

Lenahan confided, "We will definitely be back again. My brother will never run (in the festival) again, but he would like to come back to celebrate."

The elder Lenahan, in addition to being a fucking genius, is also charged with the task of defending our nation from evil-doers and villains, having inexplicably risen to the rank of captain in the US Air Force. It's no wonder we're losing the war overseas -- that is the caliber of retard protecting our liberties. He couldn't defend himself or his brother from a bull, what good is he going to be to America against an invading force?

Mr. and Mrs. Lenahan, I regret to inform you that you sired two absolutely fucking idiotic boys who spared themselves injury at the processing plant or drunk driving in their pick up truck by heading over to Spain. Nonetheless, Darwinism caught up with them, and next time it won't be so forgiving. I hope you're proud of your shining little angels. And to think, that could have been a couple of blow jobs.

I think your nomination for parents of the year is in the mail.

It takes a village to raise a child. This village failed twice.

Friday The 13th

Every year there's one or two, and people completely freak the fuck out. Don't worry, Jason isn't real and he's not coming to kill you...but just in case, don't go camping tonight by Crystal Lake. I think he's got a mad-on for sleeping bags.

Where Funny Lives

I may have found my Halloween costume, and you are now able to wipe away lingering memories of Robin Williams. Hell yeah, nightzout!

Where Funny Goes To Die

A spot-on article from Radar Online. Click it or read onward...

Once, Robin Williams was considered the comedic genius of his generation. Through the '70s he rose to fame as the sitcom alien Mork, and in the '80s he thrilled audiences with spastic, mostly improvisational stand-up routines, culminating in his legendary 1987 performance at New York's Metropolitan Opera house.

But it's no secret that the man we see now, the man who this summer brings us License to Wed, is a shell of the comedian we once knew.

At some critical point Robin Williams crossed over to the dark side. We suspect it happened sometime in the mid '90s, when acclaim for his performance in Aladdin perhaps sent the wrong message and positively reinforced comedic stylings just shy of schizophrenia.

That's when America's lovably manic jester began to resemble a sad, needy clown, and his trademark schtick—rapid cycling between impersonations of Russian doctors, gay cowboys, and Jewish mamelahs in under 20 seconds—gave way to incoherent, seizure-like free-association bits, as he gradually degenerated into what he is today: the Chernobyl of comedy, discomfiting audiences and leaving a noxious cloud of groans in his wake.

But how exactly did it happen? How did Williams, not unlike cult leader David Koresh, lure audiences in with his late '80s charisma only to hold them hostage for the next 20 years with nonsensical accents, wild hand gestures, and mawkish sentimentality?

Early Symptoms
Mar 8, 1996:
Williams appears in Mike Nichols's hit The Birdcage as the butch half of a gay couple living in South Beach. At the time the New York Times hails it as one of his "most cohesive and least antic performances." Unfortunately, he's never able to rein the camp back in. Williams takes the gay persona he perfected here, beats it to death, then drags its bloody corpse through the next decade.

Aug 9, 1996:
Williams is a logical choice to play the lead in Francis Ford Coppola's sad and strange Jack, the story of a 10-year-old boy with a medical condition that makes him look like a 40-year-old man. Critics largely give him a pass. Having adopted the role of an overgrown, overbearing pre-adolescent, Williams never quite leaves it behind. A man-child is born.

Nov 26, 1997:
As an "absent minded professor" Williams invents a flying rubber, ahem, Flubber, substance that seems to be a perfect marketing device for Nickelodeon. It's also the perfect excuse for Williams to court publicity while further advertising his "never-grow-up" complex, now rivaling that of Michael Jackson.

Dec 5, 1997:
A progressively puffier Williams appears in Good Will Hunting as the shrink who breaks through to math genius Matt Damon by relaying stories about how his wife used to fart in her sleep. Though his performance skirts the boundaries of acceptable touchy-feely-ness, the Academy rewards him for dialing it down by giving him an Oscar. He does not take the implicit critique and goes on just to dial it up.

Signs of Emotional Instability
Oct 2, 1998 and Dec 25, 1998:
What Dreams May Come and Patch Adams (aka the films where shit starts to go seriously wrong). With this twofer, Williams fully reveals all that is deeply wrong with both his comedic and dramatic personas. In the visually intense and innovative Dreams he plays an ultra-loving husband with a "Humpty Dumpty grin and crinkly, moist eyes dripping with empathy" and willing to traverse heaven and hell to rescue his wife from eternal damnation. He can no longer do the same for disillusioned movie-goers. In Adams, he stars as a do-gooder doc with a thing for red clown noses. Roger Ebert put it best when he wrote, "If this guy broke into my hospital room and started tap-dancing with bedpans on his feet, I'd call the cops."

Sept 24, 1999:
If there is one place the man from Flubber should not have gone, it was into the world of Holocaust filmmaking. But he did with Jakob the Liar. So soon after Roberto Benigni's similar and superior Life is Beautiful, Jakob is a poorly executed sign of hubris and the exception to the rule that all Holocaust films will get you at least an Oscar nod. It also marks a turning point in critical and audience reactions to Williams, who now officially does not deserve the benefit of the doubt.

Dec 17, 1999:
Williams plays a robot with feelings (the only kind the movies make) who longs to become human and befriends a curly-headed little girl who, ironically, starred in a vastly more entertaining Pepsi commercial. Bicentennial Man is so sappy and cloying, the film inspires the BBC to say of Williams, "some believe he's a comic genius. Others think he is saccharine and irritating with a truly appalling beard. But whatever you think of Robin Williams, after watching Bicentennial Man you'll be thinking long and hard before going to see one of his movies again."

Displays of Aggression
Mar 29, 2002:
In the huge flop Death to Smoochy, which earned only $8.4 million dollars, Williams takes his first turn in a bad guy role, as a fired kids' entertainer who wants to kill the next big thing in children's television, a big purple rhino. "The trouble is," in the words of Entertainment Weekly, "Williams makes everything he says sound like an impersonation; even his meant-to-be-shocking tirades come with built-in quotation marks."

May 24, 2002:
Williams plays killer mouse to Al Pacino's detective cat in Chris Nolan's Insomnia, a psychological thriller set in always sunny summer Alaska. The Atlanta Journal-Constitution praises Williams, claiming, "You can barely place that eerily familiar face, and his Mork-ish physical energy has been rechanneled into something jittery and unsettling." By starring in the equally creepy One Hour Photo, also that year, Williams shows a glimmer of self-awareness in his role choices. At this point, it's definitely much easier to accept him as a psychotic murderer than a comic with a heart of gold.

Total Implosion
April 28, 2006:
RV, his highest profile film in a long while, tanked with critics. It's not surprising. No one wants to be sequestered with Williams in a theater, let alone a camper. The Boston Globe says as the main character he "grovels, whines, sputters, shrieks, sweats, and purses his lips in that familiar expression of Williams Agonistes. His blue eyes water with the pain of castration administered on a daily basis. Is Bob mourning his trapped life or Williams his stalled career?" Why can't it be both?

Aug 9, 2006:
After 20 years of sobriety, Williams heads to rehab for alcoholism.

Oct 13, 2006:
Man of the Year attempts to capitalize on the Jon Stewart phenomenon too late, with Williams starring as Tom Dobbs, a straight-shooting talk-show host who runs for president. The candidate's act is, in the words of A.O. Scott, "the familiar rapid-fire Robin Williams free association, more silly than stinging and more likely to titillate with sexual naughtiness than to provoke with topical insight." A nation is appalled.

July 3, 2007:
Pushing the limits of credibility, a young couple willingly undergoes a marriage boot-camp overseen by Reverend Frank, aka Robin Williams, in License to Wed. The New York Post writes, "I hereby pronounce you a flop." The Minneapolis Star Tribune argues, "To say the picture isn't funny is putting it mildly. It isn't tolerable." The Daily Herald snips, "Williams deserves to have comic 'License' revoked." The L.A. Times puts the nail in the coffin, declaring: "Robin Williams's career appears to have come full circle. As a breakout comedy star 30 years ago, he and his uniquely mercurial talent were a tough fit for filmmakers looking for appropriate projects. Now, in his mid-50s, the actor is once again being miscast on a regular basis."

I couldn't agree more.

Bitch Tits And Plasticine

It may be hard to tell which is which between Ice-T and his wife-beast Coco, but I leave it to your perverse sense of imagination to figure it out.

I guess this is what pimpin' is in the 21st century.

Places To Be

The day after the MLB All Star Game is legendarily known as the slowest day in sports, but I disagree. The '07-'08 NHL schedule was announced!

If you have trouble tracking me down between October and early April, chances are I'm at Staples Center. And chances are if you're an attractive, intelligent, and single female between the ages of 25 - 31, you may be there too. Or can be now.

Do Not Draw Attention

Yes, as the photo says, Lady Bird Johnson has died.

Clearly, the 94 year old wife of a former president dying is news that must be broken with absolute haste.

It's only been three decades since they were in office.

And at least half the population thought she was already dead.

I guess you gotta jump on the big news stories, especially when Homeland Security Secretary Michael Chertoff's "gut feeling" is there's terrorist activity and attacks afoot for the summer. Wow, Chertoff eats a chili dog, and his resultant gas causes a press conference and security warnings.

"Summertime seems to be appealing to them," Chertoff also said. A season with high temperatures and excessive sun is appealing to terrorists? The same season that's pretty much year round in their home countries? Really? I hear family vacations are incredibly popular and appealing in the summer. Are you sure you're not mixing up terrorist and travellers? Who gave this fucking moron a job?

Just tell me more about Lady Bird so I can forget how stupid and embarassing our government is.

Apparently...

I guess that's respectable...even though I'm not. Figure yourself out here.

Entertainment Kryptonite

Kevin Spacey has resigned to play the villainous Lex Luthor in Superman: The Man Of Steel.

Which means there will be a sequel to Superman Returns. Which means there's no clever way for me to ask why the hell they're making a sequel one of the worst movies of last year, and certainly one of the worst superhero movies ever.

How do I spin sharp commentary out of such an awful piece of shit? The big blue boy scout is a bore, and yet Hollywood thinks another movie is going to change that. I'd rather watch a Lindsay Lohan film festival than 15 minutes of another Superman film. Yeah, Georgia Rule over the son of Jor-El.

And The Family Will Be Billed For The Bullet

China, home to a over a billion fine citizens, just thinned their ranks by a factor of 1.

In an awesome move, China executed Zheng Xiaoyu, former director of its food and drug agency for approving fake medicine in exchange for cash. Trying to step up their public image, Beijing is tackling product safety and trying to safeguard food at next summer's Olympic Games.

During Zheng Xiaoyu's tenure as head of the State Food and Drug Administration from 1997 to 2006, the agency approved six untested drugs that turned out to be fake, and some drug-makers used falsified documents to apply for approvals, resulting in the deaths of at least 10 people.

Fears abroad over Chinese-made drugs were sparked last year by the deaths of dozens of people in Panama who took medicine contaminated with diethylene glycol — a thickening agent used in antifreeze — imported from China. Chinese-made toothpaste containing diethylene glycol has been banned in North and South America and Asia, and two brands of toothpaste sold in Spain were pulled from the shelves after the substance was found. By the way, China has no guideline banning the chemical in toothpaste, which the government conveniently says is harmless in small amounts.

In the United States and Canada, pet food containing Chinese wheat gluten tainted with the chemical melamine has been blamed for the deaths of dogs and cats. Since then, U.S. authorities have turned away or recalled toxic fish, juice containing unsafe color additives and popular toy trains decorated with lead paint.

But the real story is the execution of the former government official. In case you're keeping track, China is believed to carry out more court-ordered executions than all other nations combined, which I think the most reasonable way to confront the country's poor product safety record.

Zheng, 63, was convicted of taking cash and gifts worth $832,000 when he was in charge of the food and drug agency. Recently, Cao Wenzhuang, another former director at the food and drug agency, was sentenced to death last week for accepting bribes and dereliction of duty but was given a two-year reprieve.

Meanwhile, authorities promised to investigate water purity after a newspaper reported that more than half of the water coolers in Beijing use counterfeit branded water -- either tap water or purified water from small suppliers and sealed with bogus quality standard marks.

So, in addition to dodging Chinese toothpaste and water, expect more death sentences. For a country full of peasants, they have a remarkably keen idea of justice...

Casey And His Brother

Once you hear it, you can't get it out of your head.

Casey went missing...I know where to find him.

By Default

One friends is better than none. Friend of an era.

What Comes To Mind?

I was sick all weekend and am getting jammed today at work. Meh.

Stay Cool This Weekend

It's a freakin' heatwave...oh my, I am so moist.

Strong Pesos

Mexican telecom tycoon Carlos Slim Helu has overtaken Microsoft founder Bill Gates as the richest person on the planet, as reported by Mexican financial website Sentido Comun. Web what? The slightly more reliable US-based Forbes magazine, updated its listings in April to rank Slim as the second richest individual, besting legendary US investor Warren Buffett. Forbes had pegged Slim's wealth at a $53.1 billion, compared to Gates' $56 billion fortune.

The best part of the article on this story notes that half of Mexico's population of 104 million live in poverty, which is defined as living on less than two dollars a day.

Booster

Having lost both billions of dollars and good will since Sept. 11, 2001, several senators are now trying to get the government involved in turning around the decline in foreign tourists. While the Senate Commerce Committee has approved a bill to establish a nonprofit public-private corporation to promote the United States as a tourist destination and clear up misperceptions about U.S. travel policies, I have a better idea: designate all illegal aliens tourists.

Famous M, '08.

Separated At Moustache

Orlando Bloom and John Holmes.

Two Hours Of Old Vaginas

A distribution and financing deal is nearly complete to bring Sex In The City back from the grave and to the big screen.

Dour women and gay men who lived vicariously though the successes and sexual exploits of a quartet of past prime punani can rejoice that they'll have 120 more minutes of ridiculous plots and romances than their usual dose of Grey's Anatomy.

I know I'll be avoiding that flick like the plague. And speaking of, half the characters would have a scorching case of herpes by mid-movie if there was any realism to the characters. That, and Sarah Jessica Parker would have a bit in her mouth, pulling a carriage through Central Park.

Candy Flavored

I have long hated that southern pig Britney, stretching all the way back to her first romp as a schoolgirl in pigtails. Even then she was an ugly, talentless hack with a mildly retarded features...and don't thing that two kids, a buzz cut, and a skeevy ex-husband have made her stock rise. Like all things Hollywood, when something comes out the competition has to make their own version. The Britney Spears / Christina Aguliera side choosing was as fervently debated as whether the Backstreet Boys were bigger homos than N'Sync, and the conjured divide only settled via the peace brokering efforts of Madonna's ability to kiss girls half her age on television.

There ought not be any debate on who ought to have a career and who won the lottery and would otherwise be greeting folks at Wal-Mart. Christina Aguilera can sing and Piglet Spears can not -- fact. Even when she was prancing around in chaps with her Twisted Sister hair extensions, Aguilera was hotter than Britney Sow could ever hope to be. Five more years and Brit will be in a double wide off the interstate near Macon, Georgia, wait and see -- and Aguilera will still have fame and a career.

The latest video for Christina Aguilera was playing when last I got my hair cut, and it was the slick, well produced MTV piece of promo material you'd expect from a multi-platinum pop star. I can't stand such throwaway pop music, but I dig the 40's vibe and when girls dance, especially if its three Christina Aguileras in the hair flavor of your choice. Yummy.

America Must Be Destroyed

Today marks mein triple-triple as well as 231 years of independence, American style. Having tired of the repetitive swimming-BBQ-fireworks routine that has hovered above like an angel’s halo, I have pledged to be naked as the day, covered in unspeakable birth fluids and ichors, crying and vulnerable. But lest this truly turn ugly, perish the image (or pay $9.95 for a full month’s subscription) and let us revel in the day.

Like so many holidays, the meaning and the message are second to the joy of leaving work early the day before, to getting shithouse drunk one extra day of the week, and to watching whatever commemorative sporting event is being run. I read the Declaration Of Independence this morning and jellyspined at the amazing depth and importance within. For that purpose, we can watch the new piece of shit Robin Williams film, listen to Linkin Park album, and drive our oversized cars to the beach or park or lake and hoof a cooler of tall boys to the best spot to light off fireworks. And believe me, that’s a far better alternative to lamenting the endless desert war, catching up with the latest high profile child murder, or jamming a spoon in your esophagus with rage over the Libby pardon – you’ll lose your goddamn mind.

But I come not to bury America, but to praise her…although I’m still going to get my licks in. But once we put aside the sickening fact that the country cares more about some night-vision blowjob giving skank getting sent to Oz than a career political leach avoiding the taste of toilet wine, what are we left with? Beyond the unbridled hatred and scorn towards the Motherland is the requisite cynicism, but beyond that (still) is a muted irritation which slowly gives way to the gentle panic of being a spectator. And that’s basically what we’ve been reduced to, although that’s not altogether a horrible fate. Whether your bag is the house or the 2.5 kids or even the little missus who will diligently pop zits on your back and wear boyshorts for your amusement after a long day of work, pretty much everybody wants to get a crack at the showcase showdown. But no matter what facet appeals to you, going about your business having a happy, closed life, while somewhat intoxicating, is nothing more than your season ticket share.

I listened to NPR the other morning to avoid the usual hair restoration and erection pill promos in-between the morning zoo interviews with comedians and d-cup bimbos, and felt that spectator’s unease rather than that slight bourgeois edge that comes from such patrician pursuits. The story was about the further disarray the Haight district in The City has fallen into, and how most of the Summer Of Love survivors and inhabitants who (legitimately) call the area home were fed up with the growing number of squatters, gutterpunks, and teen beggars. One young missed abortion sought only to “get drunk…fight…and destroy the capitalist system”, which I dismissed instantly within moments of hearing his laconic, drugged up dudespeak and attitude. The next urchin was a 19 girl with the retarded moniker Cry, who was upset that the man in a 3-piece suit who passed her by wouldn’t give a hungry person like herself a dollar and called him greedy for not doing so. No, you stupid fucking waste of air, your greed is the problem – you have too much freedom.

So much of what happens by the day (or hour or minute) is just the perversion and rape of what is good and often unacknowledged, be they liberties or other term of like rhetoric. It is the simultaneous swell of pride and aftertaste of bile that make reflecting on who and what we are as a nation honestly bittersweet. The notion of “think globally, act locally”, while philosophically sound, has been too co-opted by the greener and leftist elements, so to spare the putrid recollection of patchouli, dreadlocks, and women with unshaved legs and pits, I suggest something more along the lines of ideological melee through the dedication of one’s self to representing their principles. Not everybody should or can drive the herd, but someone amongst the mob frenzy incited them, yes? Those of you who understand what I allude to clearly see and feel the difference between spectator, and for lack of better term, spectacle. Wherever Ayn Rand’s corpse is, I figure it’s getting slightly aroused.

America is pretty well fucked up, but it still kicks ass over everything else – that is a fact, Jack. I’m still rendering a verdict on the fine people of the lower 48 and the satellite territories, because you disappoint me time and again. Issues of diplomacy may keep me out of Europa major, but those are some slick cats out there....same with our upper and lower neighbors. While I don’t implore anyone to undertake that attitude or outlook, I only hope that a little reflection and introspection will spark some life into the dead husk of your daily activities. If it feels like you’re becoming increasingly distant from the youth of today with their stupid, misguided folly it is the sad fact that you are becoming just like your parents and everything you fought against. And as you fail to identify with the old folks who are trying to ride gently into the twilight, recognize the limbo in which you fall. If you are not leading, then by all means shut up and follow, but realize at least who you follow and why.

America must be destroyed. Daily. With every action you have. With every thought you share with others. With purpose. Without hesitation. With reverence for the genius that came before you and inspires you to attain. God bless America.

And All That Could Have Been

Part two of the celebration for LiLo, who against all odds reached her 21st birthday. The doctors call it a miracle, but science would argue that her medicinal regime and dedication to a thereputic physical routine made the difference.

Then...

...and now!

Hedunit

The family of Ron Goldman purchased the rights to O.J. Simpson's cancelled book, If I Did It, from a court-appointed bankruptcy trustee in a settlement reached Monday.

Goldman was butchered along with Simpson's ex-wife, Nicole Brown Simpson by the former football star, who has maintained his innocence, contrary to overwhelming evidence. The murderer was acquitted in criminal proceedings but Goldman's family won a civil wrongful-death case against him.

The Goldmans own the copyright, media rights and movie rights. They also acquired Simpson's name, likeness, life story and right of publicity in connection with the book, court documents showed. The Goldmans want to rename the book Confessions Of A Double Murderer and plan to shop it around.

That's what you get, dumbass. Next time you write a "hypothetical" admission to the double murders you skated on, think about who may actually end up with it. Justice may move slowly, but she sometimes comes around...

Get Ready For The Flood

Muthafuckin' President!

With still a year and a half as the lamest duck, the president gave a reach around to buddy "Scooter" Libby by commuting his 30 month prison sentence. Libby was found guilty of of lying to authorities and obstructing the investigation into the 2003 leak of a CIA operative's identity in March, and was all but set to begin his term as appeals to delay his incarceration had been squashed. Left intact was a pittance of a $250,000 fine and two years probation, which means absofuckinglutely nothing -- a mere slap on the wrist.

Now that the dam has been breached, prepare for more political glad-handing and favors of the most unscrupulous and unethical nature until the president is out of office. Republicans everywhere will be masturbating to their Ann Coulter bondage photos and lighting cigars with $20s tonight, while the rest of sane America vomits in contempt.

God, I'm praying for slow, painful brain cancer for all these political dirtbags...why hast thou forsaken me?

Does This Help?

For all the fellas out there, since you can't read her mind, try reading her facial expressions.

After looking at #11, I miss my ex-girlfriend. I love you sweetie...hugs and kisses!

And In Other Failed Marriage News...

Sometime controversial author Salman Rushdie (The Satanic Verses) and wife Padma Lakshmi (host, Top Chef) are getting a divorce. This was the fourth attempt at marriage for Rushdie.

No word yet if Lakshmi will retain custody of her giant arm scar in the settlement.

Can You Put A Candle In A Line Of Coke?

A very happy 21st birthday to Lindsay Lohan today, who in recent years has partied harder than all the enrolled students at UC Santa Barbara...combined.

La Lohan is currently enjoying an ironic return stint at rehab, and contrary to previous plans in opposition to her stay, canceled what would have been a 48 hour Las Vegas orgy of booze, drugs, starfucking, and minor car accidents. Now I'm stuck with a non-refundable ticket, a fistful of horse tranquilizers, edible lubricants, and a mini HD-DV camera rig. Guess it's going to be a typical Monday night for me...

Prepare Yourself...For A Mind Explosion!

Criss Angel, the swishy magicator known for his Mindfreak show is in trouble with his wife...that nobody was aware he had. Joanne Sarantakos, his heretofore unknown wife of five years is looking to break herself off a piece of his worth in a divorce case complicated by the small issue of Angel's recent high profile relationships with the likes of Minnie Driver and Cameron Diaz...during the marriage. Christopher (Angel) Sarantakos recently signed a Las Vegas show deal in the neighborhood of $200 million, which undoubtedly brought his wife out of the woodwork - nice trick, eh?

This guy is such a lame douche, I can't even resort to putting a picture up. He and David Blaine, the new jack street magicians, make Doug Henning look like Houdini. In the spirit of the inherent laughability of their faux mysticism, here's the Human Giant version:

The Illusionators


Missle Stunt pt 1


Missle Stunt pt 2

An Inconvenient Truth

Just a little reminder to keep things straight...

oil and water : ill-mixing elements, meant to signify difference

water and vinegar : popular douche solution, for significant cleanliness and freshness

oil and vinegar : delicious mixed salad dressing known for it’s light freshness, not for vaginal use