Saturday, January 15, 2005

We gotta got ourselves ahizzead wit da bizznizzill, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers

Royals gone wild
In the latest in a series of bad behavior, Prince Harry wore a Nazi shirt to a costume party. How is that Royal family inbreeding working out? Maybe it’s time to pour some more water in the Royal gene pool.

It’s true, Prince Harry wore a Nazi shirt to a costume party. When a British behavioral expert said he knew how to correct Prince Harry’s bad behavior, Harry’s father, Prince Charles, said; “I’m all ears.”

He hasn’t learned. Prince Harry already has his Osama bin Laden costume picked out for Halloween.

Prince Harry has been caught cheating in class, been seen drunk, stoned and now he made a really stupid decision. Harry is simply not fit to be in line to be the King of England. Now, President of the United States, sure, he’d be perfect for U.S. president, but not the King of England.

Prince Harry’s behavior has been so erratic, in England, many are starting to worry Harry won’t be capable of pulling off his future Royal responsibility: doing absolutely nothing at all.

In military terms that is
Major League Baseball is now cracking down on steroid use where they virtually ignored performance enhancing drug use before. In short, they’ve gone from don’t ask, don’t tell, to don’t mask, don’t swell.

Really drunk
In Las Vegas, a pilot for Air Tran Airways was kicked off his flight for being drunk. He must have been really drunk because in Las Vegas, if you can put a chip down on a table or pull a slot machine handle, you’re considered sober.

It's called the Clay Aiken "Don't ask, Don't shell" gun
The Pentagon revealed they were working on a weapon that would turn enemy soldiers into homosexuals. Here’s how it worked: right after they launched the enemy-soldiers-turned-into-homosexual weapon, they simply play Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” on loudspeakers and march in while they’re busy dancing.

Was creating a weapon that turns the enemy into homosexuals such a good idea? Just because they’re turned into homosexuals, that doesn’t mean they won’t fight. Just ask that poor guy at the Phoenix airport that got bitch-slapped by Richard Simmons.

Since then
The NFL fined Randy Moss $10,000 for his "mooning" act in Green Bay. That’s the most somebody’s had to pay for almost taking off their pants since Britney Spears settled to annul her 55-hour first marriage.

I can't work like this

Several witnesses have testified that Robert Blake’s actions seemed insincere following his wife’s shooting. For example, it didn’t help Blake’s case when he kept asking everyone; “OK, now what’s my motivation in this “My wife’s been shot” scene again?”

Since you asked:

My wife just got back from her spin class all excited. Her instructor is this amazingly fit and inspiring pretty woman (I’ve seen her at the gym) with a prosthetic leg up to her hip. My wife, Virginia, said it was very motivating when the woman would encourage them to push. Virg thought, if she can do it with an artificial leg, I should be able to do it. To which I replied,

“Yeah, or you could just write it off to the fact that steel alloy doesn’t get tired.”

What in the hell is wrong with me, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers?

Friday, January 14, 2005

Now don’t go and be be a playah hate-ah up in here, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers

It’s good to be King
Don King is suing ESPN for defamation of character. Now, I’m not a legal expert, but don’t you actually have to have some character before it can be defamed?
In a recent interview, Star Jones says that her extravagant wedding was “for the 8-year-old in me.” Upon hearing this, emergency rescue crews were dispatched to try and free the 8-year-old trapped in Star Jones.

That is the question
A new study claims that William Shakespeare suffered from sexually transmitted diseases. It was so bad, they now think Shakespeare’s famous Hamlet soliloquy actually began; “To pee or not to pee . . . “

Not since then, huh?
The NFL fined Randy Moss $10,000 for his "mooning" act in Green Bay. That's the most anyone has had to pay for pretending to take off their pants since Liza Minelli married David Gest.

Shouldn’t be too hard to find
In Iraq, 28 prisoners escaped from Abu Ghriab prison. It should be easy to spot 28 naked guys wearing black hoods and dog collars, unless, of course, they escaped to San Francisco.

You flipped me, Kobe
Kobe Bryant hurt his ankle and will be out for a while. He had a lot of misery followed by massive swelling. Sort of the opposite of what happened to Kobe in Colorado where he had the swelling then the misery.

Hate to see that
Major League Baseball has implemented a much stricter steroid policy. In fact, third time offenders will be kicked out of professional baseball entirely. That’s right, they have to go play for the New York Mets.

Now, was that nice?
In sad news, the 70’s pop group co-founder of Bread, Jimmy Griffin, passed away. On the bright side, English teachers can now rest easier knowing the guy who helped write the lyrics “Baby I’m a want you” is gone.

We kid the disgusting perv
In Romania, a couple named their baby Yahoo because they met online in Yahoo's personal ads. In a related story, Fox News’ Bill O'Reilly named his new blow up doll Barely Legal Lesbian.

Apologies to Woody from “Cheers”
President Bush is preparing for the presidential oath. This swearing in ceremony will take longer than other presidential oaths. Bush can only repeat after the Chief Justice Rhenquist one word at a time: “Repeat.” “Repeat” “After.” “After.” “Me.” “Me.”

Thursday, January 13, 2005

Since you asked:
One of the big reasons people lose weight is for High School reunions, but that doesn’t really matter. I went to my 20th high school reunion, and this one guy looked different because he had put on weight. But after talking to him, because the person deep-down inside hadn’t changed, he was soon the exact same guy I knew in high school: a world class schmuck.

My wife thinks the refrigerator – instead of just being coolder, which is all it is - is some magic medical germ and disease eliminating miracle machine and anything left outside of it for any time at all is instantly ruined. I told her, oh, yeah, it is such a medical miracle machine that, when those kids used to get trapped playing in a refrigerator, when they found them a month later, you couldn’t believe how healthy they were.

Oh, now that's just sick.
Oh it's on'r than a mofizzle, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers
But not much worse
Prince Harry got in trouble when a British tabloid picture showed him wearing a Nazi shirt to a costume party. It could have been worse. Apparently Harry's Osama bin Laden costume was still at the cleaners.

No? Really?
The U.S. diet guide has recommended more exercise and less junk food. What a shock. Did they also mention that jumping out of a twenty story window wasn’t so hot for you either?

Let me guess, shooting heroin with a rusty needle into your eye isn't good for you either?

The U.S. diet guide has increased their recommended amount of exercise from 30 minutes to up to an hour and a half a day. That’s just great. The amount I’m not exercising enough just went up.

Just in the nick of time
Major League Baseball has implemented a much stricter steroid policy. It's a safety issue. They decided to do something before Barry Bonds head gets stuck in the clubhouse door.

Maybe we should back off, is all I'm suggesting
Tsunamis, earthquakes, mudslides, volcanoes, floods. Do you get the feeling somebody up there is a little cross with us? Maybe we should tone down the reality TV just a notch?

And now for a really weak Walter Middy impression, here is a little something I like to call:
The Guitar God of Carmel Valley:

The other day I was driving around Carmel Valley and listening to the classic rock of the KGB – the radio station I occasionally write for - when one of my favorite songs from high school came on the radio: Free's "All Right Now". Music, like certain scents, can instantly transport one’s mind back in time, so, in a flash, there I was back to the end of my junior year at New Trier high school in the bucolic suburban Chicago, Illinois hamlet of Winnetka.

It was the night of the big End-of-School/Launch-of-Summer party in the festive lanterns-lit backyard of the palatial estate of the ultimate cool kids, fraternal twin brother and sister Bob and Ann Delaney. It was so realistic, I could smell the freshly-cut grass in the humid air mingling tauntingly with the sweet, floral-scented perfume of long-haired, barefooted and giggling high school girls. Hell, I could practically feel the condensation from the cool, plastic beer cup drip on my fingers and taste the icy Old Style beer fresh from the keg.

Except, unlike at the actual party, this time, in my mind, I was up on the stage with the band playing the guitar to "All Right Now." This was curious because, well, I've never played the guitar, but I decided to see where my thoughts would take me. Sure enough, it was time for my solo. Man, oh man, did I nail that. Not only all the right notes, but just the perfect amount of facial expressions: eyes closed and emoting, but in an Eric Clapton cool way, not too much like a spazzed-out Joe Walsh or Joe Cocker. Even with my eyes closed, though, I sure could tell one thing: the chicks at this here party? They are digging on me massively, OK? (Sniff, teeth-suck, sigh and chortle of smugness)

Now it was nearing the final chorus so I decide to have fun with the chords, ala Keith Richards. After all, they’re just chords and, for an accomplished lead guitarist like myself, chords are a mere cakewalk. So, as I jauntily hit the up-sweep strum and hold up the guitar to shake out every last erotic note, it happens: I catch the eye of the stunningly beautiful and cinnamon-haired Cindy Mathews. (Dammit) Cindy is - as are all the girls, actually - lovingly gazing at me, all dewy-eyed, her hands clasped adoringly against her rosy cheek. On the next heroic chord, sure enough, I turn my head, coyly smile, and toss Cindy a wry tease of a wink. For a second I’m worried she might actually feint dead away, but, no, being the brave-hearted little trooper that she is, Cindy caught and steadied herself in mid-swoon.

Ah, life is grand, but, alas, the song is nigh over. So, with the flourish of a matador raising his red cape, I mightily strike the last resounding chord and nobly hold the pose, guitar pick pointed aloft like some tiny Olympic torch. The applause, needless to say, is deafening. As I high-five the sweaty drummer and ready to hop off the tall stage into the loving arms and kisses of the adoring crowd - and, of course, the embrace of my new love, Cindy Mathews – in the distance, I hear something, at first merely grating, but then growing painfully loud and jarring.

"Are you ever going to take down the Christmas lights and get rid of that damn tree? The needles are spilling off and you aren't the one who has to vacuum them, like it would kill you if you did.”

Wha? Huh? (Cue: the screeching-the-vinyl-record needle)

Appearing out of nowhere, in the passenger seat of my now filthy Grand Cherokee, is my, sweet, lovely but, for some reason, somewhat annoyed real-life wife, Virginia, as she continues with her many complaints in a Charlie-Brown-cartoon-grown-up-blah-blah-blah way.

But, but, but where the hell is Cindy Matthews? Wh, wh, wh, where are Bob and Ann Delaney? I, I, I forgot to thank them for the party. I didn’t say goodbye to the band. Cindy? Cindy, come baaaaack.

For the love of humanity, I am a damn husband, father, home and two-dog owner. My idea of a big night is grilling steaks, drinking a good California red wine and playing Texas Hold E'm poker while listening to Junior Wells on harmonica. Am I ever going to grow up and stop fantasizing about being a guitar hero merely for the sake of stealing the hearts of long-grown-up, late-seventies suburban Illinois former cheerleaders? Am I the only idiot that still does this on a regular basis?

Just wondering.

Tuesday, January 11, 2005

We feelin' you, playah Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers

This just in:
The election of the new Palestinian president Abbas brings possibly better relations between Israel and Palestine and renewed hope for peace in the Middle East. Unfortunately, there isn’t any indication if it will help bring Brad Pitt back together with Jennifer Anniston.

How wet is it?
Man did it rain this weekend. There were cars that were floating like a personal check from Anna Nicole Smith.

In Beverly Hills plastic surgeons were injecting Botox into people to get rid of the wrinkles from being pruney from the rain.

In Beverly Hills, women were getting larger breast implants just for floatation devices.

To give you an idea how much snow their getting in the Sierras, the snow is mounting in Lake Tahoe faster than the evidence against Robert Blake.

No, it was "S.O.S."
There was an embarrassing moment at the White House when President Bush was informed of the Palestinian election results. When told that Abbas won, Bush said; “Great. Did they celebrate by singing “Dancing Queen?”

Call now
Brad Pitt and Jennifer Anniston are breaking up. Everyone who is excited about this information, there is a toll free number you can call: 1-800-U-Got-0-Shot.

We kid Chachi
Scott Baio is set to star in an HBO sitcom where he plays a 40-year-old who moves in with a 20-year-old. I think it’s called: “Dude, Where’s My Dignity?”

A mooning Moss gathers no stones
In a new record for classless self-promotion, Minnesota Viking’s Randy Moss pantomimed “mooning” the Green Bay crowd. Bad news for the Minnesota Vikings. After the game, Randy Moss’s afro tested positive for steroids.

Randy Moss’s afro was not only the biggest afro in sports ever, but when he put his helmet on, the hair that popped out of his ear holes were the second and third biggest afros ever.

The press is all over the Randy Moss pantomimed “mooning” of the Green Bay crowd. “Newsweek” “Time” “Sports Illustrated.” Every magazine is going on and on about it. Except “Rolling Stone” magazine because, as everyone knows, “Rolling Stone” blathers no Moss.


Since you asked:
No lie, when I was "selling" word processing computers in Santa Barbara after college my territory was Ventura to the north to Westlake Village south. Every day I had to drive by this tiny little beach town that looked - not to sound too Queer Eye - enchanting. It wasn't directly on the Ocean, the state beach was just west of the 101, so just East of the highway was this little village with amazing character. It was clearly one of the last of the surfer/artist/hippy enclaves in the area. Houses ranged from very nice to rusty old school busses, all in a grid of a few blocks. There was a restaurant, I think, and Santa Barbara/Montecito/Summerland was just to the North.

Each day I drove past it from my house on Anapumu street in Santa Barbara I would think: "Man, what a cool place to live. One day I gotta go apartment hunting in there." And, of course, each time I drove past it, I would forget all about it.

Until today I didn't know what that great little village was called. Sadly, now I do. La Conchita, the town that was just buried under a sea of mud.