Exactly What Meets The Eye

When they first announced the live action Transformers movie , I cringed. Not that the cartoon and toys were sacred from my youth, but that a Michael Bay directed CGI explosion-fest was not the least bit interesting to me. His movies tend to be like fast food, the first bite seems okay, but two hours later you’ve got diarrhea. So to save you the time and intestinal upset, I got my hands on the over-hyped spectacle and gave it the live-blog treatment.

00:43 – They got the guy who did the voice for Optimus Prime in the cartoon to voiceover the backstory. His race was created by THE CUBE, which looks like one of those Borg ships – how convenient, since Paramount is one of the film backers and they have JJ Abrams working on the Star Trek prequel. Anyway, war of good vs. evil, across the galaxy, led to Earth, blah blah blah you get the point.

02:15 – Right off the bat, shit doesn’t make sense. There’s an army guy talking about getting back home for momma’s alligator ettoufee, but he keeps talking about his heritage and speaking Spanish. Aside from Spanish Cajun, there’s a nice cross-section of clichés so the audience doesn’t have to think: Simple White Guy, Hard Black Man, and GI Joe Who Just Wants To Go Home to His Family (including newborn daughter he’s never met).

03:58 – Our first truly stupid line of dialogue: “a helicopter” “an inbound unidentified infiltrator” is heading towards the Army’s desert base. Count on lots more. Luckily, the characters are written just as stupidly, as they lead the chopper to their base, even though it has no communications to identify itself. But it does have the call markings of a bird that was shot down three months prior, even though there’s no damage to it. Nah, that’s not weird.

05:58 - “MH-53 pilot, power down now…have your crew step out or we will kill you.” No person, in any army ever would say something that ridiculous. Credit to the actor who not only did it for the paycheck, but was able to say it without laughing every time.

06:24 - Surprise! Not a helicopter! The next 2 ½ is a blur of explosions and yelling and robot parts and special effects. No, really. You can’t tell what’s going on. Michael Bay, at least you’re consistent.

09:57 – Our boy hero Youngblood said “sea men”. Get it? Hahaha!

12: 40 - Unnecessary celebrity casting: Bernie Mac as a used car salesman. Who will sell Youngblood a car he’s never seen before.

15:54 - The Secretary Of Defense holds a briefing with military personnel, yet strangely decides to introduce himself by name at the outset. Why? You were just introduced by position by your lackey. The 4 Horsemen Of The Hacker Apocalypse are also there, because the Myspace generation needs to help solve the problem. Apparently, from an audio clip, which is the only thing remained from the earlier blurry CGI explosions, he expects somebody will be able to track the signal back to it’s source.

18:20 – Parents just don’t understand. Especially Youngblood’s. Cliché and unnecessary to boot.

19:18 – Within 10 seconds of each other, two characters in two different locations reference this strange and unknown ”weapons system” they’re facing. Fuck, we’re not all that dumb…we get it, you’re talking about the same thing. Oh, and Spanish Cajun’s mom had “the gift…she saw things,” and he’s got that gene too. Spanish Cajun Native American?

22:00 – Cliché high school characters galore! Dippy Friend, meet Dumb Jock and Hottie. Gratuitous, prolonged shots of Hottie, and lots of smart-ass stammering by Youngblood. The whole thing is capped off with a rewording of the old Transformers tag line “more than meets the eye”.

28:20 – There’s a boom box under somebody’s seat on Air Force One that can turn into a robot that makes sounds like a Gremlin and moves like it has cerebral palsy. Nice security breech. It this film, 9/11 would have happened every day.

29:26 – A woman eats a Ding Dong off the floor. For no reason.

30:34 – Lady Horseman finds the signal! It’s coming from onboard Air Force One! Y’know, because of the supercomputers they have on there with all the national secrets.

32:01 – Boom Box Gremlin can shoot throwing stars.

34:44 – Low speed car pursuit on bicycle? You betcha! And Youngblood’s car can do an impression of the Luxor.

37:29 – Lady Horseman suggests there could be such a thing as “a living organism…a DNA based computer”. Lucky she’s also hot.

39:21 – Oh, Spanish Cajun, you keep talking in Spanish but everybody already said they don’t speak any. Wacky!

39:42 – Simple White Guy gets impaled by Robot Scorpion. Cliché characters are like red shirts on Star Trek.

41:50 – With only a cell phone and a soldier’s credit card, GI Joe gets connected to the Pentagon…in less than a minute. Wondering what Strike Package: Bravo is? A whole lot of military firepower, buddy. Prepare for “a danger, close fire mission”. Scramble jets against the writers! They’re attacking the English language!

42:22 – “Send the ‘Hawks over to Kill Box One-Alpha.”

44:46 – Another stock character down…oh no it’s Spanish Cajun! We’d pretend to be concerned but he’ll be fine because they wasted so much time on him up to this point that they won’t kill him. He’ll survive until the end. Guaranteed.

45:10 – “There’s only one hacker in the world who can break this code.” Well, Lady Horseman, why the fuck wasn’t he with you and your three pals and the rest of the eggheads in the Pentagon to begin with? Those damn oversights. So how is it the government can’t crack the signal code on their own but they know when Female Horseman puts a copy of it on a flash drive?

48:15 – Now, a low speed bicycle pursuit by car. Youngblood has a pink bike with tassels, because that’s funny. And Burger King gets some serious ad placement.

53:09 – Cars turn into robots that fight. Can’t tell who is winning. Can’t really tell who is fighting. But everything is moving really fast!

55:54 – Youngblood’s car can’t talk like the bad robots, but it will play sound bites through its radio to communicate and do simple charades gestures. Children’s party game robots from outer space?

58:28 – I have seen the decapitated head of Boom Box Gremlin transform into a cell phone and Youngblood’s Camero scan a car from its undercarriage and transform into the newest model. I can’t believe there’s still another hour-fifteen left.

01:01:56 – After crashing into Dodger Stadium, Casa De Cadilac, a TV repair shop, and someone’s backyard, the Autobots introduce themselves after turning into more General Motors vehicles. By the way, one of them makes hip hop gestures and says slang like “what’s crackin’ little bitches”. That wouldn’t make any sense, but they’ve been learning about Earth from the world wide web, so I guess that pretty much covers anything absurd they do until the end of the movie. Like the other Autobot that quotes Clint Eastwood. Or that another can sense Youngblood’s pheromone levels and tell he wants to nail Hottie.

01:06:07 – Let me get all this straight – Youngblood’s great grandfather, while trekking to the Arctic Circle, found the evil Megatron -- who was looking for the Allspark, accidentally activated his navigational system, which imprinted the location on his broken glasses, which Youngblood was earlier trying to hock on eBay for money to buy a car. Fuck, this plot is retarded. The writers should have their hands smashed with cinder blocks until the bones are fine powder. I knew it was going to be bad when Youngblood’s last name was Witwicky, but it just keeps getting worse.

01:08:19 – You’re not supposed to notice that Superhacker changed shirts even though he and Lady Horseman were in FBI custody the whole time.

01:10:19 – “Sorry, my bad.” Is Optimus Prime apologizing for stepping on the fountain in the backyard or for the movie? And would anybody notice five 40-foot tall talking robots walking around the backyard in a residential neighborhood? Okay, maybe not next door, but perhaps in the house?

01:15:20 – Parents still just don’t understand. But helping the Autobots could seem like masturbating to a one-dimensional parent…a drinking, one-dimensional parent. I can’t help but agree with the robot assessment – “the parents are very irritating”.

01:17:52 – Unnecessary celebrity casting: John Turturro as a government spook. You did Miller’s Crossing and The Big Lebowski…why this?

01:22:48 – Youngblood’s Camero “lubricates” John Turturro. It pops a hatch off it’s crotch and pisses fluid on him. I wish I was making this up…

01:27:37 – All it takes to capture an Autobot is a pair of helicopters with tow cables and a few guys with fire extinguishers. The tow cables lock the robot up and the fire extinguishers…um, do nothing. But it translates well visually on film. Oh wait, after two minutes of blasting it, they realize they need to explain it’s something to cryogenically stun the robot. The writers have been learning about Earth from the world wide web too.

01:30:06 – “This was classified above Top Secret.” Huh? Why not just make 10 louder, and stop telling me this one goes to 11. How about your back story exposition at least sounds like it makes sense.

01:35:47 – There’s a secret facility under Hoover Dam, and a cryogenically frozen Megatron has been there since the early 30s. How else would mankind have gotten microchips, lasers, space flight and cars if they hadn’t been reverse engineered from Megatron? Oops, cars were around since the late 19th century. Damn writers, trying to pack too much into an already thin plot.

01:40:37 – That Cube thing? Yeah, also beneath the dam. And they can funnel the power into a small box where they can put electronic devices in and make them come alive. So why with all the big advances could they not detect Boom Box Gremlin in their facility? And why did they make it as annoying as Jar Jar Binks?

01:45:05 – Military intelligence! Take the Allspark Cube, which transformed from being 350 feet around into something the size of a suitcase, out of Hoover Dam and go to the city 22 miles away to hide it there from the Decepticons who are coming for it. I love and army that doesn’t know the meaning of the words collateral damage!

01:47:26 – Sure you can hot-wire a computer to generate a tone to transmit through a 70 year old radio to contact the Air Force. All you need to do is use a screwdriver to…uh, I’m thinking this will be done in the next 3 minutes off camera, which is faster than they could explain digital versus analog systems on-screen.

01:48:33 – It only took slightly more than a minute.

01:49:58 – The industrial sized crane truck just transformed in the middle of the highway and rollerbladed after the Cube. If you’re an evil robot from outer space, is telling your parents you’re gay the hardest part of rollerblading?

01:51:31 – Jar Jar Boom Box killed itself with it’s own stupid throwing stars. Thank God…it was either it or me. I just hope that…no, I’ll wait until the end before I say it.

01:52:16 – “Are there any aircraft orbiting the city?” Orbiting? C’mon Hard Black Man, don’t you know what orbiting means?

01:53:11 – My pizza arrives! Capping on this film made me hungry.

01:53:53 – What do Youngblood’s Camero and Ron Kovic have in common?

02:01:18 – Yeah, about 10 minutes of robot fighting gone by. Not much has happened other than that, which is good, because I needed the time to eat a few slices of my pie. But since you want to know, the fighting is average.

02:03:18 – They’re using a modified instrumental version of Smashing Pumpkins “Doomsday Clock”…I guess that’s cool.

02:07:28 – “At the end of this day, one shall stand…one shall fall.” Even the robots have corny dialogue. But seriously, it’s been two hours. Somebody fall.

02:09:20 – GI Joe laid a bike down sideways and slide on his back about 200 feet. Yeah, he was still able to shoot and destroy one of the robots, and then get up like nothing happened. Wanna know why? In real life he fucks Fergie, that beast-faced pant-pisser. I he can gaze into that buttermug and walk away, a little bike stunt ain’t nothin’.

02:09:44 – Really, really bad GCI of jet fighters flying through downtown LA. Get we now know where the budget ran out.

02:13:55 – Prime, why did you have to take a stab at the ”more than meets the eye” line too? It was bad enough that they’re playing Linkin Park.

Well, that’s two hours I’m never getting back that hopefully I saved you. You’re welcome.

My Ears Got Raped Last Night

I never wondered what it would sound like if some scrawny dork who dressed like Gilligan and looked like the kid from Caddyshack sang the melody of Dolly Parton's "Nine To Five" with the lyrics of a Queen song. But I found out anyhow.

This is absolute shit.

I'm sharing with you so that your equal hated will make me stronger, like the Darth Vader of music criticism.

True Leadership

The head of a Chinese manufacturer whose lead-tainted Sesame Street toys were the center of a massive U.S. recall has killed himself.

Cheung Shu-hung, who co-owned Lee Der Industrial Co., committed suicide at a warehouse over the weekend, apparently by hanging himself. Though the police report did not give a reason for Cheung's apparent suicide — and the company declined to discuss the matter — it doesn't take a genius to figure it out. Lee Der (awesome irony) was under pressure in a global controversy over the safety of Chinese made products, and, lucky for us, is common for disgraced officials to commit suicide in China.

Earlier this month, Mattel Inc., was forced to recall 967,000 plastic preschool toys made by Lee Der because they were decorated with paint found to have excessive amounts of lead. The Fisher-Price brand toys included likenesses of Big Bird and Elmo, as well as the Dora and Diego characters. Days later, Chinese officials temporarily banned Lee Der from exporting products ,and exstimates are the recall cost the company $30 million.

How much ass would that kick if disgraced officials did that here? Rove would be dead by the end of August, for starters...

Evil Exits

Satan-level cocksucker and evil prick Karl Rove announced he's ruined the country to a level of self-satisfaction where he can now leave the Bush administration. As of August 31, his official capacity is finished, but expect plenty of clandestine associations until the next election.

Rove is as vile and corrupt a soul as he is disgusting and hard to look at. If that fat melon of a head accidentally got caved in by 30 or 40 blows from an aluminum bat, I would only hope it happened after starved wolves mangled his arms and legs. The greater the evil, the greater the retribution.

ps. I originally accidentally typed "evil exists" as the title...damn subconscious.

Rampage For MG

Merv Griffin died yesterday at 82.

My fondness of this great scene from The Man With Two Brains is likely shared across the interweb, but who, I ask, also loves them some Milk & Cheese?

We Hate It When Our Friends Become Successful

Aside from quoting Morrissey and the occasional Oscar Wilde, Yours Famously has a fairly hearty appetite for whatever the media and popular culture has to offer. Like Mother Robin I will nourish you with only the purest bits, regurgitated into your chirping bills only after I have processed it. And so, having planned to tackle another television series, between thought and action things did change.

Part I: Girl Least Likely To
Even though networks have busted through the seasonal blockade and begun year round programming, the fact remains that it’s a cruel summer. With the blockbuster movie season running from Day to Day*, vacations, and the beach there’s little incentive to try and get folks to shape their schedule around a serial. Rather than watch the Kiwi version of Tenacious D they call Flight Of The Conchords or rather the unkarmically balanced exploits of the douchebags of Entourage, I’ve resigned to catching up on what’s been more high profile during the year.

Having moved quickly though the 13 episode of The Riches first season, I took a gamble and headed over to the Showtime side of things. Showtime has always been second fiddle to HBO’s programming with their stunningly unimaginative track record of original series. With a combination of rehashed features (Barbershop: The Series, Soul Food, Stargate SG-1), momentarily interesting gay reinterpretations of Sex In The City (Queer As Folk, The L Word), and just plain poorly executed and boring ideas (Fat Actress), the “other” movie network couldn’t cut it. Famous Mom has been aping Meadowlands (mostly due to a lack of Midsummer Murders and Robin Hood on the BBC), and the peeps are selling Dexter as a slowly engrossing show, but my first stab at their shows began with Weeds.

Now finished with the first season’s short 10 episode run, and mid-way through the second, I am interested enough to see where it goes, but I can’t say that I was super impressed by what I’d seen. Mary Lousie Parker plays a naïve yet good natured MILF who somehow becomes a pot dealer in her clichéd idyllic-on-the-surface-yet-really-unhappy-and-problematic neighborhood after her husband suddenly drops dead. Yep, that thin stretch is the premise. Naturally, a stay at home mother of two adolescent boys would turn to slangin’ wids…I mean, why get a real job or show any reasonable good parenting and decision making skills – just deal drugs!

Parker’s sad sack mother dealer finds herself in one rough situation after another, be it her younger son’s bizarre disruptive behavior, her deadbeat brother-in-law moving in, her getting fucked with her stash, or any other troublesome moment that gives her pause to make a pouty, distressed look. Yet still there are moments of humor amidst the obvious drug dealing faux pas and unbelievable scenarios that somehow easily work themselves out. Kevin Nealon shines as a stoney accountant who has not grown up, which is almost enough to counter the unlikeable Elizabeth Perkins as Parker’s good friend and neighbor. Prone to blurting out caustic things, when she finally and randomly tells her husband she has cancer, you actually hope it’s terminal.

As I navigated the episodes I found myself lacking sympathy towards any of the character’s problems and troubles, due mostly to them being not very likable and stupidly making bad choice after bad choice. Shows like Deadwood proved that bastards and murders could be appealing, but the upper middle class don’t make for compelling characters…unless they’re travelers pretending to be a dead couple, but that’s a different show. The characters perform the tasks their existence dictates, which while efficient, only leaves you with stock characters that are as uninteresting as they are interchangeable. Driven mother, philandering uncle, rebellious teen, cuckolded husband and wife…the list goes on and on.

Though the show leaves me slightly engaged, it’s that and episodes of Burn Notice until the fall, so I’ll have to make due with it. Season 3 premieres tonight.

Part II: Certain People I Know
Now, at this point, my discourse on practical suburban drug dealing for television ends and Weeds gets interesting…for me.

Watching the 8th episode, the credits popped up, and the most unexpected thing appeared:

Written by: Rolin Jones

Indulge me some nostalgia and I will tell you a brief story.

When I was a young Famous, I was in the theater program during high school. The way it worked was that Drama was an elective, but if you did two semesters of it you were eligible to audition for the Play Production class, which was the performance arm of the school drama program. Having done a little of the stage game in junior high, I figured I’d do the same in high school…that, and my mother was worried my perfect Jewish nose would get busted if I did any sports.

So first day of school, first class, freshman year**, I’m in D103, the auditorium where I’d spend the better part of my adolescent years. Over the course of the year, we would do our own scenes and script edits, but also observe the older students in Play Production do their festival competition pieces and a pair of productions. After enough time, some of them actually start observing you, watching the young crop of upstarts to see who will join their ranks the following year.

Just for the record, I had a crush on Lisa Kushell the minute I met her.

She was a senior who was extremely talented, sharp, and damn attractive. With both neophytes and veterans sharing the same theater space, our paths inevitably crossed. Lisa was looking at going the pro route, and unlike the masses who dreamed big and failed bigger, she made good. A few years out of school I found out that she was on Mad TV, and from there she did some feature work, eventually landing the co-hosting duties on Dinner And A Movie and keeping regular television projects. Of course, I still remember her fondly…her yearbook message alone virtually accelerated my puberty to completion.



By the end of the year, I had made the cut for Play Production and begun to associate with the soon-to-be-seniors. They had inducted many of us into the Thespian society (whose initiation I still am bound to keep secret) and taken we eager freshmen under their wing. Of the many people who were going to be shaping our class with their creativity and hysterical brilliance, Rolin Jones stood out from the others.

He, along with Brad Jameson, Jason Ray, and Pat Cella were like superheroes to us. They were the source of most jokes and humor both in and out of the class, and would create short films they’d debut at their parties. Rolin, who directed and did considerable writing, was enamored of Hitchcock and the independent side of cinema – a considerable feat 15 years ago when there was no interweb, and obscure / cult film worship was limited to revival houses and funky video rental stores.

Sophomore year, I had the good fortune have Rolin direct one of the scenes we took to competition for the annual drama festival. He was an incredibly wise mentor and made all of us newbies feel welcomed into the class and clique, which we were certainly nervous about. In both the play productions, my lack of talent and standing in the class relegated me to roles as human scenery, but it afforded me the opportunity to see Rolin perform and work with the others, which again provided me valuable insight and knowledge. Most of all, he was a friend and a huge influence on me.


Getting to know him and the other seniors, and being their young sidekick was some of the most fun of high school. A couple of us got suspended for a day because we pulled a prank at Homecoming. We were in the parade, and we each had a letter from THESPIANS on our back, which we would turn and show to the crowd. Well…by the time we got to the other side of the track where our rival school was, we had rearranged the letter and removed some…and spelled PENIS. I was the N. By year’s end, I was part of their Senior Lip Sync act, The Clamitas, which ended up winning the show with it’s wild medley of songs (from "Wild Boys" to "Coming To America"), matching gym outfits, and strangely choreographed 9-man routine.***

Over the summer, the graduating seniors were sill around, and some of them even popped back in for a random visit once the school year resumed, but they were mostly gone to greener pastures, including Rolin. Having checked some of his interviews, he spent almost a decade falling short until he gave himself one last chance to make good on his attempt to write, which paid off in well reviewed stage plays and his story editor spot on Weeds.

It really makes me happy to see he’s doing what he was meant to do so many years ago…


*Memorial to Labor, dumbass

**contrary to the more exciting tale in circulation where we met by joining forces to expose and take down a deadly jailhouse gladiator ring run by the guards, Herr Doctor and I met and became friends after that class

***Eric Greene still has my videotaped copy of that show…sonofabitch!

Cat Fancy

Growing up I had cats and dogs, but really don't feel any need to keep pets these days. I've found that people have very strong views about cats on either extreme.

This is one of my favorite Far Side 'toons.

He's Not In The Lab, He's At A Party...With Girls

Yes, I should be working, but I'm so burnt from the deathly week at work that being in the office is not accomplishing as much as I want. So I may as well post whilst my brain reboots my focus parameters.

The saga of the trapped miners in Utah continues...I take it that miners are simple folk, or at least not excessively educated, as would be the circle of people interested in the story (we only care about what happens to celebrities in LA), which would explain this caption:

Robert Murray, founder and chairman of Cleveland-based Murray Energy Corp, is interviewed while wearing his mine outfit early Saturday morning, Aug. 11, 2007, at the entrance to the Crandall Canyon Mine northwest of Huntington, Utah. Six coal miners have been trapped inside since Monday. A second drill broke through early Saturday to a mine shaft where officials hope to find six trapped workers.

Yes, it was explained that he was interviewed while wearing his mine outfit -- just like in the picture. I can see the need to identify him as Robert Murray since most people don't know him, and I understand giving some of the backstory, but clearly he's wearing a fucking mine outfit. I can't hate on him, so here's a generous helping of fuck you to the idiot Yahoo! News editor who felt the need to state the obvious.

In the past I've hyped Flavorpill, who kicks down good local art, film, and music events, but they have other info they send out specific to other pursuits like literature and fashion. In this week's JC Report they had some blurbs on new designers and lines we'll be seeing in stores and on the street in the coming months, but nothing prepared me for this picture.

I believe this is the gayest thing I've seen all year. And maybe next year too. Fashion really is a competition to see who can look like a gay retarded clown. Whoever created that outfit should be blinded by heated spikes, and then beaten to death with clubs made of frozen piss.

In other non-sports news, Sergio Garcia was disqualified from the PGA Championship on Saturday for signing an incorrect scorecard. Apparently players exchange scorecards and keep each other's score, and at the end of the round, it is the player's responsibility to check the card for accuracy. Boo Weekley (wow, what an awesome inbred Klan member name that is) wrote a 4 instead of a 5 on one hole and Garcia missed it, so he's out. What flavor of bullshit is that? Oh, the kind that comes with not being a real sport.

And finally, Mr. Big and Carrie Bradshaw will be together again in the onscreen version of Sex In The City: The Crusty, Menopause Years. Chris Noth, currently of Law & Order fame, will reprise the role with to Sarah Orc-beast Parker, leaving early 90s hair rock outfit Mr. Big still without a viable comeback vehicle.

They opened for Rush in '91 at Irvine Meadows...ask Famous Sister, we had a good time at the show (they played her favorite Rush song "The Trees").

Shit, I gotta get back to work.

Rear Ends And Weekends

If you don't recognize her from such fine fanfare as Slut Puppies #2, Swallow My Squirt #4, Through The Back Door, and Gang Bang My Face, this is up and coming "actress" Sasha Grey!

Just look at Sasha's Wiki entry and you'll find plenty of reasons to be disturbed by the current state of pornography. But I can see past her bad upbringing, hatred of her parents, and poor choices in life, and still enjoy that pretty face and equally pretty ass. Considering this'll be the 3rd weekend in a row I'm sharing my Saturday with the office, nothing phases me.

God bless the gloriously filthy skin traders. For being dead inside, they still accomplish so much. And I'm happy to take a moment to bring some of them to your attention. Especially with so much nasty looking action popping up on this page.

Sales Hustle And Flow

50 Cent is so sure his new album will outsell Kanye West's upcoming disc he's betting his solo career on it.

Both have albums due out Sept. 11, and 50 Cent, who has previously sold better than West, appears to have been riled by forecasts that his sales may not top his counterpart.

"If Kanye West sells more records than 50 Cent on September 11, I'll no longer write music. I'll write music and work with my other artists, but I won't put out anymore solo albums."

Never have I been so behind Kanye West.

Of course, like everything in the rap world, the challenge is one-sided, and no counter-bet was issued by West if his album sales are the best. What if 50 Cent takes another nine bullets and we see if he survives?

Rap exists on hype and controversy, and with neither, the whole thing gets no more recognition than what's playing on the supermarket. If it wasn't for the arrest of the week or some other criminal enterprise, would anybody care? And other than the tone of their voices, you could take the vocals out and the simple background melody is as ubiquitous and common as any song.

On a side note, the Starbucks music outlet has the new album by Common. Amongst the marketing chatter, the album has "crucial lyrics". What the fuck are crucial lyrics? Is the recipe for Coke or a magic spell to make somebody fall in love with you in the chorus? Instead of how many bitches you clocked are we getting a rhyming book review of the latest Bob Woodward tome? If you're getting promoted in Starbucks, you are a boutique rapper. Now back to hating on those other two (c)rap "artists"...

They also face new releases from Kenny Chesney and the 3rd volume of music from Grey's Anatomy, who are likely to confuse consumers further as to which album is worth their cash.

Even if 50 Cent loses, he will be a punk bitch and not quit his solo career. He's still waiting for Alec Baldwin to move out of the country based on the '04 election results.

Rudy Made A Bad

Republican presidential hopeful Rudy Giuliani said Friday that he misspoke when he said he spent as much time, if not more, at ground zero exposed to the same health risks as workers combing the site after the Sept. 11 attacks.

Misspoke is political speak for lie.

The former New York mayor upset pissed off firefighters and police officers with his statement Thursday. "I think I could have said it better," he told nationally syndicated radio host Mike Gallagher. "You know, what I was saying was, 'I'm there with you.'"

Hmmm...then perhaps that's what you should have said.

Guiliani provided further bullshit.

"I was there working with them. I was exposed to exactly the same things they were exposed to. So in that sense, I'm one of them," he told reporters at a Los Angeles Dodgers-Cincinnati Reds baseball game.

Fire and police officials responded angrily, saying Giuliani did not do the same work as those involved in the rescue, recovery and cleanup from the 2001 terrorist attacks, which left many workers sick and injured.

"What I was trying to say yesterday is that I empathize with them, because I feel like I have that same risk," he said. "There were people there less than me, people on my staff, who already have had serious health consequences, and they weren't there as often as I was," Giuliani said, "but I wasn't trying to suggest a competition of any kind, which is the way it come across."

Riiiiiight.

Giuliani's explanation further angered his ground zero critics, prompting several to issue a statement demanding an apology.

"He is such a liar, because the only time he was down there was for photo ops with celebrities, with politicians, with diplomats," said deputy fire chief Jimmy Riches, who spent months digging for his firefighter son. "On 9/11 all he did was run. He got that soot on him, and I don't think he's taken a shower since."

Rudy, that means he's calling you an opportunistic pussy.

Superbad Is Superfunny

I'm still in shock that they actually made Rush Hour 3. The only way thing that could make any of the movies watchable is if they were 90 minutes of Jackie Chan kicking the shit out of Chris Tucker. The Fifth Element is almost ruined because of him. That guy is annoying as fuck.

Next week, Superbad opens, and it is going to rule!

Virtual Crime

Turns out you can get fucked in virtual reality too.

Kevin Alderman created Eros LLC in the online "Second Life" world to give the avatars realistic genitalia and add some sexy moves to the virtual representatives which start out with the smooth anatomy of a plastic Barbie or Ken doll. But one of his creations, the SexGen Platinum, has become so popular that it's been illegally copied and sold by another avatar.

Alderman's lawsuit filed last month alleges an avatar named "Volkov Catteneo" broke the program's copy protection and sold unauthorized copies. The $45 SexGen animates amorous avatars in erotic positions. It is software code, written in the scripting language of "Second Life" and placed in virtual furniture and other objects. Avatars click on the object and choose from a menu of animated sex acts.

"We confronted him about it and his basic response was, 'What are you going to do? Sue me?'" Alderman said. "I guess the mentality is that because you're an avatar ... that you are untouchable. The purpose of this suit is not only to protect our income and our product, but also to show, yes, you can be prosecuted and brought to justice." Catherine Smith, director of marketing for "Second Life" creator Linden Lab, said she knew of no other real-world legal fight between two avatars.

On one hand, it makes sense to protect software and intellectual property, but on the other hand, the one that's jerking off on virtual porn, get a fucking "First Life".

Of course, the whole thing, once you get past the pathetic nature of the non-eventfulness of the online premise, creates an even slipperier slope. Will manufacturers litigate for copyright infringement, like clothiers? Or will people need to be savvy like Rockstar Games, whose Grand Theft Auto series has renamed versions of cars.

With no traditional game objectives, creator a free basic avatar for the user -- and everything else costs real money. Virtual money, called Lindens, can be exchanged with real dollars at an average rate of about 270 Lindens per $1 - what a great racket. Aside from mods and enhancements, virtual property and services are available.

At Alderman's "Second Life" shop, shoppers can try out a dragon bed powered by one of his SexGen engines. Along with programmers and designers, he employs a sales staff who hang around the shop like real salespeople to pitch the perfect sex toys. He is investing in a $25,000 motion-capture suit, a low-end version of one used to create digital characters in movies, to create more realistic sex moves for "Second Life" avatars.

No stranger to controversy, "Second Life" was rocked by a scandal over users who had modified their avatars to look like children and simulated pedophilia. And last month, Linden Lab shut down gambling after concerns arose that virtual games of chance might violate U.S. gambling laws when members cashed in Lindens for real money.

American Ugly

Ever since her breakthrough in American Beauty, Mena Suvari has been a nasty looking fish-face with a fivehead big enough to show movies on. Her new Susan Powter look is hilarious and disgusting, a rare double feature (there's that forehead joke again).

Don't be shocked if I have to put up some picture of slammin' hot women to offset the Suvari-Parker-Hill trifecta of XX-chromosome damage.

Embargo Cuba

Pajiba makes everything scathing and bitchy. Thank God. Observe...

Dear Mr. Gooding —

I am writing on behalf of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. As you recall, in 1997, we awarded you the Oscar for Best Supporting Actor after your star turn in Cameron Crowe’s Jerry Maguire. At the time, Mr. Gooding, we were very impressed with you. You had a decent track record in small roles, including a very impressive performance in Boyz n the Hood. Your presence in Jerry Maguire, in the role of Rod Tidwell, was vibrant and magnetic; you even overshadowed then twice-nominated Tom Cruise, stealing nearly every scene you were in. It was not a particularly adventurous, difficult, or challenging role, but you imbued Rod Tidwell with enough excitement that we decided to give you the Oscar over the arguably better choice of Ed Norton, in Primal Fear. Though it made for a good story at the time (and thank you for your Oscar speech; it was the only decent moment in the otherwise dull Oscar telecast), it is a decision we deeply regret today.

Mr. Gooding, when we hand out Oscars, we expect certain things from the recipients. First and foremost, we expect that Oscar awardees will not embarrass the Academy. It happens, of course: After her award in 1992, Marisa Tomei made the un-Oscar worthy Untamed Heart and Only You before heading off into romantic comedies, bit parts, and relative obscurity. However, Ms. Tomei — per our instructions — has kept a largely low profile, so as not to remind the world of our rueful mistake, providing a small bit of redemption with her role in In the Bedroom. Similarly, our regretful decision to award Whoopi Goldberg an Oscar for her supporting turn in Ghost has not entirely backfired — she, too, has done a number of different things in the media that have, at the very least, allowed the public to forget that she was ever awarded an Oscar, thus largely masking the stink of our lamentable choice. Likewise, Roberto Benigni — awarded a Best Actor Oscar in 1997 for his role in Life is Beautiful — has also thankfully faded into obscurity (though, it took a little pushing on our behalf; who do you think made his Pinocchio disappear? Yeah. That was us).

But, despite repeated warnings and letters, you simply will not go away, Mr. Gooding. Indeed, despite our best efforts, you continue to bring shame upon our 80-year-old institution. We did appreciate you taking a supporting role in the decent, if not overrated, As Good As It Gets and, we could at least see what you were going for in What Dreams May Come, even if it was a total failure. However, things began to go decidedly downhill in 1999 when you had the audacity to take a role opposite Skeet Ulrich in the ice-cream truck action flick, Chill Factor. What were you thinking, Mr. Gooding? It was then, I’m afraid, that your career took a very nasty turn for the worse.

We sent you a warning at the time, requesting that you refrain from making further unwise career decisions. Unfortunately, you refused to heed our advice. Pearl Harbor and Rat Race we understood — you needed the money. Besides, few remember you were in those films. However, it went from bad to worse when you made the deeply unfortunate decision to take the lead in Snow Dogs, alongside Sisqo and a pack of dogs. Mr. Gooding, you really should’ve known better. Oscar award winners do not share screen time with musical artist responsible for songs about thongs. And Boat Trip: Inexcusable. In fact, after you so brazenly chose to make the gay boat film, we very kindly insisted that you either find a new career or choose roles that would reflect better upon our institution. Mr. Gooding, sir, Radio was not what we had in mind — it takes an exceptionally gifted actor to pull off a mentally-challenged character, Mr. Gooding, especially one that rides around on a lawn mower. And you, sir, are not that actor.

As you recall, we wrote to you after Radio appeared in theaters for a scant few days and disappeared into TBS oblivion, to warn you that if you didn’t keep a lower profile, there would be dire consequences. We appreciate, Mr. Gooding, that though you haven’t fallen completely off the map over the last four years, you have been responsible enough to take roles that would not attract undue attention to your mediocrity — Shadowboxer, Dirty, and End Game were wise decisions, films that got hidden in the back corners of Blockbuster. Indeed, for the most part, the world at large thought you were dead. That’s the way we would’ve preferred it, of course (premature death always reflects well upon our recipients), but relative obscurity is a decent second option.

However, the Academy — for reasons that don’t quite make sense to me — insisted that I go see your new film, Daddy Day Camp this afternoon. Sir, in my life, I have rarely spent a more torturous 30-minutes doing anything, including the time the Academy sent me to remove an Oscar statuette from an unnamed narcissistic actor’s rectum after he “slipped and fell” while changing a light bulb. I say only 30 minutes, sir, because that’s all I could stomach before moving into an adjacent theater to see the remarkably talented Mr. Damon open up a can of whoop ass (pardon the expression) on bad guys— and rest assured, Mr. Gooding, I paid for Bourne Ultimatum and snuck into Daddy Day Camp, lest my $7 embolden you to continue pursuing acting roles.

It is my understanding that Daddy Day Camp is a sequel to Eddie Murphy’s Daddy Day Care (and wow! Did we ever dodge a bullet this year by not awarding Mr. Murphy an Academy Award — I feel terrible for any critic who had to see Norbit), though I have not had the displeasure of seeing Day Care. However, it if is half as bad as your film, Mr. Gooding, I hope that admission came with free antidepressants and an ipecac, which would allow the viewer to regurgitate all memory of its existence. Am I to understand that you actually took the same role that Mr. Murphy held in the original, supposing perhaps that the film’s core audience of overstuffed toddlers who snack on the contents of their nasal cavities wouldn’t notice that the two of you bear little resemblance? Even more criminal is that even Eddie Murphy’s sidekick in the original, Jeff Garlin, refused to reprise his role. When your stature falls below even that of Jeff Garlin, Mr. Gooding, you ought to be able to recognize how much shame you have not only brought upon The Academy, but yourself. Besides, Mr. Gooding, did you notice when you signed onto this film that it was directed by Fred Savage? Sometimes, there’s a reason former child stars enter a life of drugs and debauchery — it’s so they will never be put in a position to direct a movie like Daddy Day Camp.

Indeed, in the 30 minutes I spent with you this afternoon, Mr. Gooding, I had the very unfortunate experience of witnessing a seven-year-old gentleman stick carrots in his nose, two small children engaged in a ketchup war, and another small boy scratching his anus beneath his diaper. Moreover, you suddenly seem to believe, Mr. Gooding, that you are Ben Stiller — that you excel at self-abuse comedy. Let me make this crystal clear, Mr. Gooding: You excel at nothing — nothing — except bringing shame and humiliation upon our hallowed institution. Indeed, upon learning that your character and your sidekick were buying a day camp out of spite and revenge, I had no choice but to leave the screening, Mr. Gooding. Blisters began to form around my brain. Furthermore, I began to get the sense that the few restless toddlers in attendance would soon rebel and fling their feces at the screen. Mr. Gooding, had I stayed, I don’t believe I could’ve resisted the urge to join them.

It didn’t matter, anyway. In that short period of time, Mr. Gooding, I amassed all the evidence I would need. I am certain you’ve heard film critics joke over the years that the Academy should revoke your Oscar. Sadly, Mr. Gooding, that joke has now become a reality. We here at the Academy — which is made up of a group of your peers, mind you — have unanimously voted to take such a drastic measure for the first time in our history. We are taking back the Oscar, Mr. Gooding. We ask that you return it at your soonest convenience. It would behoove you, also, to comply with our demands. We have not been kind to those who have not. Do you know, Mr. Gooding, what we did to Jack Palance after we awarded him an Oscar in 1992 and he insisted upon following that up with an ill-advised sequel, as well as Treasure Island and Prancer Returns? We killed him, Mr. Gooding. We snuffed out his last breath.

Don’t let this happen to you, Mr. Gooding. Return the Oscar to the address above in due course. If the statue is not returned before Harold is released (a movie, I understand, in which you will play a janitor and share the silver screen with Ally Sheedy and Chris Parnell), we will be forced to take irreversible action.

Thanks in advance for your cooperation.

Sincerely Yours,

Sid Ganis
President, Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences

Truth In Advertising

British singer Amy Winehouse has cancelled shows in Norway and Denmark this week after being hospitalized for "severe exhaustion" her record company said Thursday.

Yeah, sure. "Rehab" is just a song.

Bunny Trouble

Police are investigating a possible sexual assault at the world famous Playboy Mansion, officials said.

Shockingly, it wasn't Hugh Hefner and the criminal way he keeps punching young kitty.

"For reasons of law and confidentiality that are critical in such investigations, no additional information will be released," LAPD spokesman Jason Lee said. Holy shit! Former pro-skater turned actor and Scientologist Jason Lee? That guy does a lot.

According to the report the incident was at Hefner's annual "Midsummer Night's Dream" party Saturday night involving a woman hired to work as a server and her ex-boyfriend. The woman had a restraining order against the man, who had been on the guest list, but was then escorted off the property.

That's not quite the exciting story I was hoping to hear. That rape grotto has more sperm in it than a gym sock tucked under a teenager boy's bed. The odds put Pauly Shore at 3-1, Janmes Caan at 8-1, and Leroy Neiman at 25-1.

Beasty Bitch

If and when they do more Lord Of The Rings movies, they have to cast Sarah Jessica Parker as an orc lord or Gollum's niece.

I don't quite understand Matthew Brodrick - he's shared a stage with the horrible Nathan Lane and he's married to this beast. She's like a modern day female Jabberwocky. I think the last attractive picture of her was taken in the 80s for Girls Just Wanna Have Fun. Save Ferris?

Der Hypocrite

A collection of recordings taken from Adolf Hitler's headquarters at the end of World War II includes works by Jewish musicians and Russian composers, according to a German magazine report.

Alongside predictable recordings, such as the overture to "The Flying Dutchman" by Hitler favorite Richard Wagner, the collection included works by composers from Russia, whose people were regarded as subhuman by Nazi ideologues.

Among works reportedly found were an aria from Mussorgsky's "Boris Godunov," performed by Russian bass Fyodor Shalyapin, and an album of Tchaikovsky works featuring star violinist Bronislaw Huberman — a Polish Jew — as a soloist. Works by Rachmaninov and Borodin were also featured in the collection.

It could not be substantiated whether the supreme Nazi asshole listened to the music, or if Eva Braun used the records to relax after a long day of race-hating with Der Fuhrer, but it just goes to show that you can't deny good music, even if you are a mass murdering fuckhead like 'ol Adolf.

Personality Goes a Long Way

A Japanese geneticist said his research team created the world's first fourth-generation cloned pig, an achievement they claim could help scientists and medical researchers.

I say it will also help Farmer John and Hormel. And the guys who make footballs.

Scientists had thought the genetic material in the nucleus of the donor cell degraded with each successive generation, but the team's findings showed that a large mammal can be cloned for multiple generations without degradation. Mice have already been cloned to that degree.

The researchers also felt the results could prove important to breeders of other large animals, such as racehorses or bulls, who are looking for ways to keep a prized animal in the gene pool.

Just let me know when I can get a couple of Sasha Grey clones whipped up...but I will enjoy some well-done cloned bacon in the meantime.

The Return Of Diamond Dave

David Lee Roth will make another go of Van Halen, as a 50-show tour will be announced next week.

Jump-kicking Diamond Dave will join brothers Eddie and Alex Van Halen, and Eddie's son Wolfgang who fills in for bassist Michael Anthony.

This marks the 74th reunion of Van Halen, which I expect will continue to shuffle members until somebody dies or there are enough children to replace the original line-up. No comments have been made by Sammy Hagar or Anthony, but like the other 73 times the band reunited, they are likely waiting for the wheels to come off and everybody to go storming off in a different direction.

Just curious, but does anybody remember when an announcement was the announcement? Now people announce they're making announcements. That's just good marketing.

PS. I can't tell which one is Roth and which is Ashlee Simpson.

What The Fugee?

Lauryn Hill looks like a cross between a blow-up doll and the back shelf at a thrift store.

How much hardcore barely legal cheerleader-on-cheerleader action is it going to take to resurrect my libido after seeing this?

Survivalism Awards

The Darwin Awards.

Winona Ryder, Metallica, and a whole bunch of stupid people dying? I'm in.

Hello Police

Somehow I don't think there's enough shame or taboo in Thailand to make this work.

Rule breaking Thai police officers will be forced to wear hot pink armbands featuring "Hello Kitty" as a mark of shame, a senior officer said.

Police officers caught littering, parking in a prohibited area, or arriving late — among other misdemeanors — will be forced to stay in the division office and wear the armband all day, said Police Col. Pongpat (your name is Pongpat?) Chayaphan. Sounds like a free pass to stay inside all day and not go out to work.

The officers won't have to wear the armband in public either, which features Hello Kitty sitting atop two hearts, further diminishing the effectiveness.

"Simple warnings no longer work. This new twist is expected to make them feel guilt and shame and prevent them from repeating the offense, no matter how minor," said Pongpat, who also sports the tasty moniker of acting chief of the Crime Suppression Division. "It's not something macho police officers want covering their biceps." Pongpat said.

Listen Pingpong, you police the world sex capital, where any object can be inserted or shot out of a vaj, 10 year old girls are sex slaves, and a Thai lady boy is not a drink on a menu -- what is an armband worn indoors going to matter? Thailand is the "what if" Larry Flynt pulled a Marco Polo. The place makes Las Vegas look like Provo, Utah. Good luck...

There's Something Missing

Ahhh...there we go. Now everything is back in balance on this blog.

God how I want to know what the hell was going on at this photo shoot and how this came to be.

Ratamir Guererro

Anaheim is already the home of one famous rodent, but there are soon to be more.

County health officials have found 118 vermin violations in restaurants and kiosks at Angel Stadium over the past 2 ½ years. Thirty-three were listed as “major” violations where “rodent activity” was observed in a “critical area” of 18 stadium food venues. Even with all that quotational jargon, I think we can easily imagine a scene out of Ratatouille.

For those statistical fantasy nerds, here’s a number to sink your teeth into: 109 – the number of violations higher at Angels Stadium than those found at Dodger Stadium and San Diego’s Petco Park. Combined. Over the same span of time. Of over 400 routine inspections, vermin violations were found 25% of the time – a .250 ERA (earned rat average), which is higher than some players batting averages.

In March of 2006 the stadium agreed to step up pest control efforts after a hearing with health care officials, but 80 of the violations occurred since then, including 15 of the major ones. And this year there were two major instances, one which forced the temporary closure of Angelitos Terrace.

Dipshit Tim Mead, one of the talking heads for the Angels, blamed the infestation on heavy rains from 2005 that contributed to a increase in the rodent population, but stressed, “that’s a generalization, not an excuse…I’m not here to offer excuses.”

What kind of medieval P.R. class did this sod take? Heavy rain created more rats? They used to think that if you put rotten meat in a cloth and left it by the forest that you would magically get flies and rats in a few weeks. Really? Fucking really? They’re not goddamned Mogwai. Maybe instead of your rain-rat theory, perhaps it’s the fact that maintenance crews don’t begin clean up doesn’t begin until 5 a.m. the following day. Just a guess…

This gap in common sense does not surprise me, considering those geniuses recently renamed the team from the Anaheim Angels to the Los Angeles Angels Of Anaheim. Just a way to get the marketing edge over their cross town rivals, the Brooklyn Dodgers of Los Angeles.

Oh Henry!

Any day now, Barry Bonds is going to hit a home run and surpass Hank Aaron’s record of 755 knocks, and no celebration is necessary.

On top of being a smug, self-absorbed prick, Bonds has earned his place in the record books through lying, deception, and cheating – wonderful traits that just add to his legendary dickhead status.

Juicers like Jose Canseco and Mark McGuire have already taken their lumps publicly, but Bonds, while he’s swinging his stick, will ride the frenzy into the record books and bask in the spotlight, no matter how dark the glare.

Rocking the sauce has made the Aaron chase all the more compelling, and for a dull sport like diamond bags, has made the game have a purpose for another year. But it still doesn’t validate the record.

If they prove his involvement will they strip the record? Put an asterisk? All signs point to letting it slide – you can’t unfix a fix.

Hank Aaron worked hard and set an incredible record, which will be a historical footnote any moment. Barry Bonds is a cheat, and on top of naturally being a high caliber scumbag, arrogantly steals dignity from a sport that is desperate for positive attention. It would have been a real celebratory moment if somebody who cared about the pride and honor of the game took a pipe to his arm before he hit his target…but that kind of joy is not coming to Mudville.

Fear not, those of you who do care…A-Rod just clipped his 500th, and in a couple of years will break Bonds’ record. Those of you who don’t must already know that pre-season football began last night…

Taste The Rainbow This Weekend

Originally I was going to leave you on a distrubing note, but it was too revolting. Not for me, but you.

Does anybody want to see a picture of someone ejecting a geyser of liquidy excrement that's been photoshopped a rainbow of colors onto their face? I'll save that for Christmas cards, and you'll get this nice, tame image.

Standards and Practices are important, even on the lawless interweb. Learn:

X-Graves

I caught this on TV while getting some tacos last night, and it was brutal.

Pretty soon, these extreme sports are going to get somebody killed. Not that I'm complaining. Of course, they've come a long way from the first X-Games...

The Candy Colored Clown

I realize that the last few posts have been baby-centric, and that's not what this is all about.

So to get back on the weird track, here's some clips of one of my favorite movies, Blue Velvet, strained through Puff The Magic Dragon. As Frank Booth would say, "You're fucked, forever!"

Leave That Thing Alone, Part II

It's a girl — again — for Jim Bob and Michelle Duggar.

They welcomed their 17th child, and seventh daughter, into the world Thursday.

Less than 30 minutes after giving birth to Jennifer Danielle, the Duggars already were talking of having more. "We'd love to have more," Michelle said, adding that the girls are outnumbered seven to 10 in the family. Yeah, that's a good reason. "We love the ruffles and lace," which is also a great reason to bring a child into the world, or be really into Holly Hobby.

If it seems like a bit much, realize that all the children — whose names start with the letter J — are home-schooled. In Arkansas. Have you figured it out yet?

"We are just so grateful to God for another gift from him," said daddy Jim Bob Duggar. "We are just so thankful to him that everything went just very well." Seventeen times.

Jennifer joins siblings Joshua, 19; John David, 17; Janna, 17; Jill, 16; Jessa, 14; Jinger, 13; Joseph, 12; Josiah, 11; Joy-Anna, 9; Jedidiah, 8; Jeremiah, 8; Jason 7; James 6; Justin, 4; Jackson, 3; Johannah, almost 2. The family includes two sets of twins.

So far, the Duggars have gone through an estimated 90,000 diapers, and Michelle has been pregnant for 126 months — or 10.5 years — of her life. That must be rewarding for her.

Might I suggest some oral sex?

Suck On This

Is a whole generation of babies being deprived of having a breast fetish?

Nearly three-quarters of new mothers in the United States are breast-feeding their babies, but federal health officials say they are quitting too soon and resorting to infant formula too often. A government survey found that only about 30% of new moms are feeding their babies breast milk alone three months after birth, and by six months, only 11% are breast-feeding exclusively.

Personally, I'm tired of picking up the slack.

Reproductive doctors and experts agree that formula isn't as good at protecting babies against diseases, eczema and childhood obesity. Ideally, nearly all mothers should breast-feed their babies for sixmonths or more, said Dr. David Paige, a Johns Hopkins University. Suck on those nuggets, bottle babies!

This year, the government announced goals for 2010: getting 60% of women to breast-feed exclusively for the first three months and 25% through six months. If that can be accomplished, more effort can be put towards my goal of having the 25-32 year old demographic breast feed me.

Leave That Thing Alone

When asked about his four children during an appearance on NBC's "Today" show, actor Chris O'Donnell said there was "another on the way."

What is this 1879, and between the infant mortality rate and the land that needs working you've got to have a squad of children? No, O'Donnell just doesn't know how his dick works and what happens when the lays on top of his wife.

"We're just starting to figure out how it works," he said. "I think I know why this is happening, but we're gonna figure it out. Very excited, though. We're really excited about it."

It must be like magic to them. He puts it in and moves it around, and sometimes she starts to grow bigger like she ate a big juicy berry. Finally after almost a year, she spills a bucket of water and then a tiny disoriented naked old man crawls out of her crotch crying and screaming.

I feel bad for his wife's uterus, but it should fall out soon anyway. Chris, here's a little gem of advice:

Let The Healing Begin...Live!

If there's a massacre on your campus, beware the aftermath.

To pump up good vibes for the enrolled and staff, Dave Matthews Band, John Mayer, Phil Vassar and Nas will perform a special concert at Virginia Tech.

Free tickets will be available to students and faculty as all four musical acts have waived their fees for the event. How very generous. Fortunately, corporate sponsorships and the sale of commemorative concert items will help cover expenses. Yes, the Virginia Tech Tribute Concert Presented By Quizno's tee shirts at $30 a pop will be a wonderfully commemorative souvenir and a great way to raise money for victims and survivors pay for the show.

Here's how the evening will likely go on September 6th:

6:00PM - Virginia Tech President Charles Steger will make a speech, using words like "community", "strength", and "the future". Odds are 500-1 he will lead a "Fuck You Seung-Hui Cho" chant.

6:05PM - Phil Vassar takes the stage. Most of the stadium leaves. Who the hell is Phil Vassar? I refuse to take anybody seriously who is named after a women's college. Except Wanda Trussler, who has a beauty school.

6:45PM - Nas takes the stage. Black and black wanna-be students return. The rapper helps eliminate memories of the somber occasion spitting lyrics like "when these streets keep calling, heard it when I was sleep/ That this Gay-Z and Cock-A-Fella Records wanted beef". Wounds, thou art healed.

7:45PM - John Mayer takes the stage, White people and females return. Mayer's an okay guy, but his music is for pussies. For every good thing he accomplished there's something to balance it out. He did an episode of Chappelle's Show...but then he wrote that lame song about fathers and daughters who grow up to be mothers. He got to tear up Jessica Simpson's body and mega-rack...but he had to suffer that horsey mug and her sneaker-sized IQ.

8:55PM - Some douchebag from Quizno's will jerk off his employer by talking about what a privilege it is for Quizno's to present this special show to the campus because Quizno's cares about Virgina Tech and the students, more than say just offering six new choices for Quizno's customers on the Quizno's low fat sandwich menu, only at Quizno's. The audience won't care because it is getting a free show, and some of them even like toasted subs.

9:10PM - Dave Matthews Band hits the stage. Lane Stadium has a 47% pot smoke oxygen content. After the first couple of songs Dave asks the crowd to observe a moment of silence for all who lost their lives, and then follows it up with a kick-ass 32 minute rendition of "Warehouse". Grief counselors agree, extended violin and saxophone solos are the most effective way to get past a traumatic episode.

5:34AM Sept. 9th - Dave Matthews Band encore set finally ends.

Something Is Not Right With This Picture

One of these things may be negatively effecting the Middle East peace process.

Let's look at the elements...

U.S. flag -- American involvement is the 800 lb gorilla that can push the process along.

Israeli flag -- Lone democratic nation and US ally in the region is a major point of stability and natural player in the process.

microphones -- good for press conferences; no natural downside...

black female Republican Secretary Of State --

I think I figured it out.

UPDATE - Cease the public outcry...nobody is picking on blacks or women. We all know Condi stands between Devil Cheney and Joke Bush at the White House urinal and whips out her white dick just the same as them before breaking into a chorus of maniacal laughter as they piss on shaved ice made from imported bottle water that is meant to represent the people of this nation. Famous Mom, who grew up in Philadelphia is more black and less white than Condi. K-Fed is blacker than Condi. David Alan Greer though...that's one white black dude.

From The "No Shit!" Files

University of Texas clinical psychology professor Cindy Meston knows how to waste time. And I don't mean piss away a Sunday, I'm talking about five years.

An exhaustive study of the "why" behind sex yielded a list of the 237 reasons people have sex, and that researchers found that young men and women get intimate for mostly the same motivations. Right there I would tell you how pointless and stupid this was, but when I see that their spending wasn't limited to five years time but included their own money to do the study, I don't mind so much.

The college-aged men and women agree on their top reasons for having sex — they were attracted to the person, they wanted to experience physical pleasure and "it feels good," and that 20 of the top 25 reasons given for having sex were the same for men and women. Is this even news? Perhaps in Texas...having sex because it feels good seems to be a slam dunk on the common knowledge court, but I think there's a lot of Lone Star inhabitants still trying to wrap their delicate noggins around bigger concepts like evolution that are still messing them up.

Whoopdi Damn Do*

Stay at home mothers rejoice?

Whoopi Goldberg was officially named Wednesday as the new moderator of "The View". Following the fat-mouthed gastric-bypassed Star Jones and the whiny, ranting bloat that is Rosie O'Donnell, Goldberg nee Caryn Elaine Johnson will be mixing it up with BaBa WaWa, the WASPy blond from "Survivor", and someone else who I don't care to look up.

Next to be added to the show could be actress Sherri Shepherd, who has appeared on program as a sub several times over the past month, but whose other credits are an absolute mystery.

Goldberg is one of a select few performers to win an Oscar, Emmy, Tony and Grammy award -- can you fucking believe that? Not bad I guess for someone that looks like the offspring of Tippy the Turtle and a Rastafarian.

*to be said just the same way as Master Shake would. In fact, read the whole post in his voice.