[LOBO]
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| Estelle Getty -Died 2008 |
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| Bea Arthur -Died 2009 |
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| Rue McClanahan -Died 2010 |
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| Betty White -Planning best fucking New Year party ever. |
Showing posts with label television. Show all posts
Showing posts with label television. Show all posts
Saturday
All That Glitters
Predator Press
[LOBO]
[LOBO]
Monday
Predator Press Exclusive: Athlete Kim Kardashian Denies Sleeping With Identified
Predator Press [LOBO]
The United States population is 307,006,550.
-I know this because I keep a complete and meticulously cared for list -”The Most Talented Celebrities in America”- where I categorize us all in order. The top of The List (Tom Hanks, Edward Norton, Helena Bonham Carter, …) typically remains pretty stable. Most of the “action,” on the other hand, takes place in the middle and at the bottom.
In 1996, Herbert Khaury -better know as Tiny Tim, and for his rendition of “Tiptoe Through the Tulips”- suddenly died, and a huge talent vacuum ensued.Enter NFL player Bret Lockett.
See, Brett had a good idea initially. Once you crack The List, with some shrewd maneuvering you might be seducing the middle in no time -the likes of Dane Cook and Whoopie Goldberg. And after such an unprecedented quantum leap, Lockett would be within striking distance of the Ric Flairs, Kathy Lee Giffords, and the guy that does the ’Jack’ voiceovers for the Jack in the Box fast food franchise -arguably in the low eight digits, and the upper two-fifths of The List's hierarchy. By playing his cards right, Bret Lockett could have been banging Tom Hanks, Edward Norton, and Helena Bonham Carter in no time.
So you see, Bret Lockett needed to crack The List.Bad.
The bottom three people on The List are my fourth grade Physical Education teacher Coach Berkowitz [307,006,548], Paris Hilton [307,006,549], and Kim Kardashian [307,006,550]. (Paris Hilton nudged out Kim K mostly because I am an animal lover: Hilton has one of those little teacup dogs, and I figured with no one under her Paris might become a suicide risk and that little dog would be totally fucked. Kim K would eventually follow suit with her own little teacup dog, but I already cited that advantage to Hilton who had the idea first.)
So Bret Lockett has to decide, right?
Well it turns out that my fourth grade Physical Education teacher Coach Berkowitz would be difficult to reach: he had just retired, and was touring the southwest in a Winnebago. For Lockett, this fact alone might not have been convincing when staring down the Hilton/Kardashian barrel … But one must keep in mind that Coach Berkowitz is a very hairy individual; Bret Lockett’s alcohol consumption may not be where it need be to go through with the dirty deed.
Anyway, Kim K denies the whole thing. And this is as cruel to Lockett as it is dumb for Kardashian, because Lockett must now come forth with sordid, intimate details about Kardashian that only another lover would know … thusly doomed with an impossible task and helpless against his own unbridled ambition, Bret Lockett would inevitably become the only victim here.-But you know the more I think about it, the more I can’t figure out why he didn’t go with Coach Berkowitz.
the ideas, beliefs, and opinions of the author.
Wednesday
Monday
Tuesday
Predator Press Interviews: Satan
Predator Press
One may think that finding the Devil would be fraught with challenges. But I found him where everyone else does: on TruTV -right smack in the middle of an episode of ‘Operation Repo.’
LOBO: You’re not foolin anybody Beelzebub. No television show this bad stays on the air without your direct influence.
Satan: Okay. You got me. I’ve been pretty bored since Tim Allen retired.
LOBO: I must say -in regard to the music industry- I’m a huge fan of your work.
Satan: Thank you.
LOBO: Do you really make deals with people for their souls? I mean, like, you could get my band famous?
Satan: You mean 'Vaginal Slide?'
LOBO: Hypothetically of course.
Satan: LOBO I would love to help -but there are just some things that even evil can’t do.
LOBO: Really?
Satan: The triangle player is in an asylum. The entire didgeridoo ensemble hasn’t been heard from since they crossed the Mexican border in 2006. Oh, and the tuba player is dead.
LOBO: You pick now to have a problem with zombies? That tuba player was a prima donna anyway. And yeah, those didgeridoo guys hadd some pretty good chemistry, but that triangle player was a talentless hack. Who plays triangle for Van Halen? Maybe we could audition him.
Satan: LOBO even I am not so evil as to make you a superstar. How about a Wii instead?
LOBO: How many controllers are we talking about? Hypothetically.
Satan: One.
LOBO: One? Really? I think I should get four controllers.
Satan: See, I don’t know. Four? With the economy like it is? And let’s face it: yours isn’t the soul of, say, a Mother Theresa. Heck …. Mother Theresa had WAY more potential of getting that rock star deal than you do.
LOBO: Well I don’t know what people have against evil frankly. I mean what has evil ever done to them?
Satan: LOBO, I’ll give you two controllers, but the second is only because I like you.
LOBO: Do you have a pen?
Satan: You have to sign these contracts in blood.
LOBO: That seems rather barbaric -and unsanitary. How do we do it without getting your squirty blood everywhere? And when is the last time you were tested for HIV-?
Satan: No. I mean your blood.
LOBO: My blood? Hah! Fuck all that. I'm not into that whole 'pain' and 'suffering' thing.
Satan: It only hurts for a second. LOBO, I’m the devil. I wouldn’t lie to you. I don’t need to lie to you -I could incinerate you into rumor at the simple whim.
LOBO: Well lah-de-dah. Maybe I don’t want to work for you at all then. I would require an Incineration-Free clause, weekends off, numerous paid vacations, and a hip-looking posse that refers to me as ’Dog.’ And four Wii controllers.
Satan: Two.
LOBO: How about if I throw in occasional weekend work?
Satan: LOBO, Wii controllers cost $20 apiece even at Walmart. Two controllers. Period.
LOBO: Well how about if you sweeten the pot on my end? Let’s say maybe I never have acne again. Or I can fly.
Satan: I can’t make you fly because that would be too obvious. And the reason you have acne because God is punishing you for all that masturbation.
LOBO: Let’s talk about this some other time then. ‘Operation Repo’ is almost over.
Satan: Really? Tanya Harding is coming on! Hubba-hubba.
LOBO: You’re not foolin anybody Beelzebub. No television show this bad stays on the air without your direct influence.
Satan: Okay. You got me. I’ve been pretty bored since Tim Allen retired.
LOBO: I must say -in regard to the music industry- I’m a huge fan of your work.
Satan: Thank you.
LOBO: Do you really make deals with people for their souls? I mean, like, you could get my band famous?
Satan: You mean 'Vaginal Slide?'
LOBO: Hypothetically of course.
Satan: LOBO I would love to help -but there are just some things that even evil can’t do.
LOBO: Really?
Satan: The triangle player is in an asylum. The entire didgeridoo ensemble hasn’t been heard from since they crossed the Mexican border in 2006. Oh, and the tuba player is dead.
Satan: LOBO even I am not so evil as to make you a superstar. How about a Wii instead?
LOBO: How many controllers are we talking about? Hypothetically.
Satan: One.
LOBO: One? Really? I think I should get four controllers.
Satan: See, I don’t know. Four? With the economy like it is? And let’s face it: yours isn’t the soul of, say, a Mother Theresa. Heck …. Mother Theresa had WAY more potential of getting that rock star deal than you do.
LOBO: Well I don’t know what people have against evil frankly. I mean what has evil ever done to them?
Satan: LOBO, I’ll give you two controllers, but the second is only because I like you.
LOBO: Do you have a pen?
Satan: You have to sign these contracts in blood.
Satan: No. I mean your blood.
LOBO: My blood? Hah! Fuck all that. I'm not into that whole 'pain' and 'suffering' thing.
Satan: It only hurts for a second. LOBO, I’m the devil. I wouldn’t lie to you. I don’t need to lie to you -I could incinerate you into rumor at the simple whim.
LOBO: Well lah-de-dah. Maybe I don’t want to work for you at all then. I would require an Incineration-Free clause, weekends off, numerous paid vacations, and a hip-looking posse that refers to me as ’Dog.’ And four Wii controllers.
Satan: Two.
Satan: LOBO, Wii controllers cost $20 apiece even at Walmart. Two controllers. Period.
Satan: I can’t make you fly because that would be too obvious. And the reason you have acne because God is punishing you for all that masturbation.
LOBO: Let’s talk about this some other time then. ‘Operation Repo’ is almost over.
Satan: Really? Tanya Harding is coming on! Hubba-hubba.
Ragnarök
Predator Press
[LOBO]
I don’t really watch much prime time television –in fact I’ll wager 85-90% of what I watch is documentaries.
My favorite show, I guess, would be “The Universe” on the History channel.
At first blush this series appears to be a modern incarnation of Carl Sagan’s “Cosmos,” but it has one huge noteworthy difference: ‘The Universe’ is utterly devoid of the trademark feelgood optimism Sagan seemed to insist on. ‘The Universe,’ in contrast, makes it a point to scare the hell out of you: many a night I’ve found myself involuntarily rocking in an upright fetal position on the couch, making peace with Jesus while waiting for a rouge pulsar or quasar to incinerate the our atmosphere. Or perhaps an undetected black hole, swinging by at seven zillion miles per hour, pulling our solar system out of orbits around the sun. Or maybe just a good ‘ol fashioned colossal meteor strike that’ll bake the bones of the lucky to ash, and leave everyone else to slowly die in the subsequent nuclear winter.
Thusly rendered unable to sleep, over the next few hours I’ll try and relax myself with more uplifting material such as Forensic Files -a show often about solving unbelievably ruthless murders. This show typically runs back-to-back until about 5:00 am -at which point the rising sun will find me hiding under the coffee table, swinging the table lamp at anything vaguely resembling moving ankles with deadly precision. Everyone in the house –from Terri down to my cat Phil- now walks with a limp, but a few bruises are a very small price to pay for my personal safety. And if you think about it, what am I supposed to do? True, the house is probably oozing serial killers with ankles distinct in appearance ... but the last thing I would need is a bunch of selfish family members oozing nuclear fallout under the coffee table with me: if I get radioactive poisoning, who will be left to ensure the serial killers aren’t the only ones left to repopulate the Earth?
SO last night -with a 2-hour gap between intergalactic apocalypses and sociopathic killing sprees- I found myself deeply engrossed in a show highlighting the National Transportation Safety Bureau’s efforts to solve mysterious plane crashes. This was followed by another program dissecting the space shuttle Challenger’s final, fatal voyage.
And behind my bloodshot, riveted eyes, my brain started quietly working over the question Why am I doing this to myself?
I’m too young to remember Evil Knieval’s career when it was in it’s heyday, for instance. But I remember having the toy motorcycle [pictured], the Snake River Lunchbox, and a vague sense of hope that -whoever this lunatic was- he would somehow survive failing to jump something insane this week. Let’s face it: Knieval’s daredevil skills and stunts were in inverse proportion … the more his jumping skills seemed to diminish, the crazier his stunts became.
But at that age, I was out of the “media loop” and operating off of schoolyard legends. In retrospect, Evil Knieval’s daredevil career was already over … and this was probably good for Knieval: over a long enough timeline, him smashing headlong into the Sears Tower filled with half-starved piranhas, rabid ocelots and flame-spewing sulfuric acid in a futile attempt to jump it was inevitable. Imagine how many lunchboxes he would have sold after that!
Anyway. My point is I wasn’t hoping he would crash. In contrast, I was rooting for the guy to survive himself somehow. Was that just youthful naivety, or did I change? Or did we change as a culture collectively? Following my implied trend from Knieval, we see the dramatic rise of NASCAR –a sport enthusiasm for which I cynically suspect comes largely from the inevitable spectacular crashes. “America’s Funniest Home Videos” soon thereafter broke ground with the idea that watching a guy snap his femur in a bizarre trampoline accident would make we, the viewers, laugh and laugh and laugh. Add to the list the “Faces of Death” series and [admittedly poorly juxtaposed, but bearing mention] John Walsh vehicles. Today, we have websites and entire cable television networks wholly devoted to cataloging car crashes, tragedy, disasters, and general human boobery.
Don’t get me wrong ... I’m aware the Roman Coliseum was built for explicitly these same purposes. But haven't we evolved at all since then? Judging from the materialization of a lucrative schadenfreude-based, ShamWow-fueled economy, as a species we seem to love this stuff now just as much as we ever did -if not more.
But why?
[LOBO]I don’t really watch much prime time television –in fact I’ll wager 85-90% of what I watch is documentaries.
My favorite show, I guess, would be “The Universe” on the History channel.
At first blush this series appears to be a modern incarnation of Carl Sagan’s “Cosmos,” but it has one huge noteworthy difference: ‘The Universe’ is utterly devoid of the trademark feelgood optimism Sagan seemed to insist on. ‘The Universe,’ in contrast, makes it a point to scare the hell out of you: many a night I’ve found myself involuntarily rocking in an upright fetal position on the couch, making peace with Jesus while waiting for a rouge pulsar or quasar to incinerate the our atmosphere. Or perhaps an undetected black hole, swinging by at seven zillion miles per hour, pulling our solar system out of orbits around the sun. Or maybe just a good ‘ol fashioned colossal meteor strike that’ll bake the bones of the lucky to ash, and leave everyone else to slowly die in the subsequent nuclear winter.
Thusly rendered unable to sleep, over the next few hours I’ll try and relax myself with more uplifting material such as Forensic Files -a show often about solving unbelievably ruthless murders. This show typically runs back-to-back until about 5:00 am -at which point the rising sun will find me hiding under the coffee table, swinging the table lamp at anything vaguely resembling moving ankles with deadly precision. Everyone in the house –from Terri down to my cat Phil- now walks with a limp, but a few bruises are a very small price to pay for my personal safety. And if you think about it, what am I supposed to do? True, the house is probably oozing serial killers with ankles distinct in appearance ... but the last thing I would need is a bunch of selfish family members oozing nuclear fallout under the coffee table with me: if I get radioactive poisoning, who will be left to ensure the serial killers aren’t the only ones left to repopulate the Earth?SO last night -with a 2-hour gap between intergalactic apocalypses and sociopathic killing sprees- I found myself deeply engrossed in a show highlighting the National Transportation Safety Bureau’s efforts to solve mysterious plane crashes. This was followed by another program dissecting the space shuttle Challenger’s final, fatal voyage.
And behind my bloodshot, riveted eyes, my brain started quietly working over the question Why am I doing this to myself?I’m too young to remember Evil Knieval’s career when it was in it’s heyday, for instance. But I remember having the toy motorcycle [pictured], the Snake River Lunchbox, and a vague sense of hope that -whoever this lunatic was- he would somehow survive failing to jump something insane this week. Let’s face it: Knieval’s daredevil skills and stunts were in inverse proportion … the more his jumping skills seemed to diminish, the crazier his stunts became.
But at that age, I was out of the “media loop” and operating off of schoolyard legends. In retrospect, Evil Knieval’s daredevil career was already over … and this was probably good for Knieval: over a long enough timeline, him smashing headlong into the Sears Tower filled with half-starved piranhas, rabid ocelots and flame-spewing sulfuric acid in a futile attempt to jump it was inevitable. Imagine how many lunchboxes he would have sold after that!
Anyway. My point is I wasn’t hoping he would crash. In contrast, I was rooting for the guy to survive himself somehow. Was that just youthful naivety, or did I change? Or did we change as a culture collectively? Following my implied trend from Knieval, we see the dramatic rise of NASCAR –a sport enthusiasm for which I cynically suspect comes largely from the inevitable spectacular crashes. “America’s Funniest Home Videos” soon thereafter broke ground with the idea that watching a guy snap his femur in a bizarre trampoline accident would make we, the viewers, laugh and laugh and laugh. Add to the list the “Faces of Death” series and [admittedly poorly juxtaposed, but bearing mention] John Walsh vehicles. Today, we have websites and entire cable television networks wholly devoted to cataloging car crashes, tragedy, disasters, and general human boobery.Don’t get me wrong ... I’m aware the Roman Coliseum was built for explicitly these same purposes. But haven't we evolved at all since then? Judging from the materialization of a lucrative schadenfreude-based, ShamWow-fueled economy, as a species we seem to love this stuff now just as much as we ever did -if not more.
But why?
Saturday
Wednesday
Monday
Saturday
Revolting
Predator Press
[LOBO]
In May of 2007, Paris Hilton was sentenced to 45 days in jail only to be released after serving 50 hours. After much public outcry and drama, she was returned –ultimately serving a total of 23 days.
And admittedly I’d already been a Paris hater for years. It started with “The Simple Life” -a FOX Network reality show starring her and some other similarly vapid frosted flake I can’t remember, explicitly engineered to ridicule and humiliate the American working class.
That said, let’s skip ahead to a week ago. I had to renew my expiring driver’s license –including a CDL which cost me a month of intensive training and roughly $4,500.
While relieved it wasn’t the four hour ordeal I’ve grown to expect from the DMV it was all for nothing anyway: despite having no criminal record at all, my still-valid license, birth certificate copy, SS card, apartment lease, car title, marriage license -and my legally-verifyable wife Terri standing right beside me- the California DMV "could not help."
-My Birth Certificate wasn’t certified. Born in Chicago, my certified Birth Certificate would have to be attained via Illinois ... Even if I spent a fortune it would take a week.
I was told “tough luck,” and subsequently have no legal identification or driver's license –and that $4,500 CDL potential source of income? Bye-bye. I have to take written tests, driving tests -everything all over again.
Well I apparently went to the wrong DMV altogether: according to TMV [story linked here], in Santa Monica it was prearranged for Paris Hilton -criminal record and Probation in tow- not to wait in any lines at all, take five photos, and all employees were ordered to turn their cellphones off so no other photos got leaked. All this was done during regular business hours, and right in front of clearly less-important people such as ourselves.
As far as DMVs go, Santa Monica appears so uncharacteristically accommodating I think maybe I’ll provide a few links to the relevant agencies. What a fine example! They should be contacted so their unique Customer Service insights be shared, and we can enjoy the same treatment at all DMVs across this Great Nation:
The Santa Monica Department of Motor Vehicles
2235 Colorado Avenue
Santa Monica, 90404
(800)777-0133
Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger
California State Capitol Building
Sacramento, CA 95814
Phone: 916-445-2841
Fax: 916-445-4633
email
[LOBO]In May of 2007, Paris Hilton was sentenced to 45 days in jail only to be released after serving 50 hours. After much public outcry and drama, she was returned –ultimately serving a total of 23 days.
And admittedly I’d already been a Paris hater for years. It started with “The Simple Life” -a FOX Network reality show starring her and some other similarly vapid frosted flake I can’t remember, explicitly engineered to ridicule and humiliate the American working class.
That said, let’s skip ahead to a week ago. I had to renew my expiring driver’s license –including a CDL which cost me a month of intensive training and roughly $4,500.
While relieved it wasn’t the four hour ordeal I’ve grown to expect from the DMV it was all for nothing anyway: despite having no criminal record at all, my still-valid license, birth certificate copy, SS card, apartment lease, car title, marriage license -and my legally-verifyable wife Terri standing right beside me- the California DMV "could not help."
-My Birth Certificate wasn’t certified. Born in Chicago, my certified Birth Certificate would have to be attained via Illinois ... Even if I spent a fortune it would take a week.
I was told “tough luck,” and subsequently have no legal identification or driver's license –and that $4,500 CDL potential source of income? Bye-bye. I have to take written tests, driving tests -everything all over again.
Well I apparently went to the wrong DMV altogether: according to TMV [story linked here], in Santa Monica it was prearranged for Paris Hilton -criminal record and Probation in tow- not to wait in any lines at all, take five photos, and all employees were ordered to turn their cellphones off so no other photos got leaked. All this was done during regular business hours, and right in front of clearly less-important people such as ourselves.As far as DMVs go, Santa Monica appears so uncharacteristically accommodating I think maybe I’ll provide a few links to the relevant agencies. What a fine example! They should be contacted so their unique Customer Service insights be shared, and we can enjoy the same treatment at all DMVs across this Great Nation:
2235 Colorado Avenue
Santa Monica, 90404
(800)777-0133
Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger
California State Capitol Building
Sacramento, CA 95814
Phone: 916-445-2841
Fax: 916-445-4633
Wednesday
Predator Press New “Man of the Year” a Woman?
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Yes folks, it’s true. Larry Craig -the undefeated Predator Press Man of the Year for two years in a row- just might have finally been unseated.
And I’m proud to announce that the new nominee has an extra “X” chromosome! (Or a "Y" ... I dunno. I lose track. What do I look like? A chromosomologist?)
Sure Miss Hilton has let herself go a bit [woof!] since she and Nicole Richie’s "The Simple Life" garnered four consecutive nominations for the Teen Choice Award. But wouldn’t you be bummed if you were nominated four times for something you didn’t win? Teenagers, if you think about it, are far too preoccupied growing their hair weird 'an listening Def Leppard and Bruce Springsteen records to know what’s really “cool” anyway.
Who besides Miss Hilton has the courage to trash-talk a posse of rap artists, get bitch slapped, and then Tweet in tearful desperation while waiting for the ambulance and police [as seen here]?-And before you say it, does Glenn Beck even have a video blog?
Sunday
The South Will Rise Again
Predator Press
[LOBO]
I don’t need my remote control anymore.
I've found my favorite station.
Not only does truTV have some of my favorite Forensic Files-esque shows, but I’m now a monster fan of virtually anything by The Smoking Gun Presents (such as Worlds Dumbest [add plural noun here]” and “Most Shocking [add plural noun here]"). Still not enough high-speed car chases for you? TruTV also tops you off with a slew -nay, a bevy of police documentaries like "Cops": it’s a veritable symphony of automotive destruction and reckless blue steel boobery.
The fact is if you live in Mobile, Alabama, I’ve seen you blown up in a dragster, "tuned up" by cops, or being set on fire during a drinking game a half a dozen times already. (If not, please be patient ... I just discovered this channel a few weeks ago.)But I’m simultaneously getting "numb" to it all as well, and often find myself preoccupied with the Mobilite [Mobillian?] future. Sure already-existing footage will doubtlessly leave them reigning supreme in the ratings for at least a few more months ... with luck, perhaps even into 2010. But the wonderful citizens of Mobile have really raised the bar when it comes to entertainment: how are they going to top all this?
This is no time for complacency. Mark my words: Mobile, at some point, is really going to have to ratchet it up if it wants to continue on as America’s media darling. Fame of this magnitude cannot be maintained without a great deal of hard work and carelessness, and I know for a fact Tuscaloosa and Birmingham are watching for any and every opportunity to snatch it all away.The obvious solution –filming a cop on fire beating a drunken Mobilite in a dragster that explodes- is probably far too dangerous.
Still, nobody ever said celebrity was easy.
Friday
What the Heck is Wrong With My TV?
Predator Press [LOBO]
Still unemployed (oh yeah … moving here was a fantastic idea), I’ve settled into a morning routine of chugging coffee and watching Lassie Come Home reruns.
-Well, I did until today anyways. Man I couldn’t get my television to work no matter how hard I beat on it.
I’m an old pro with the rabbit ears, and have little arrows drawn that articulate the complex angles required for viewing: Lassie Come Home is due north, Leave it to Beaver is south by southwest (unless I want audio too … then it’s a hair more westward and upwards.)
But today I got nothing anywhere.
Nadda.
Zilch.
-It turns out that some genius has decided to stop analog broadcasting altogether!
Obviously I’m furious. I didn’t spend $30,000 of Terri’s hard-earned money on this 360-by-144 inch Pioneer Elite Kuro PRO-111FD to not be able to watch no TV! Yesterday at this time I could count Hugh Beaumont’s nose hairs, and hear Barbara Billingsley’s crisp, upright wisdom in full mono surround sound ... now I can’t even get Bonanza.How am I supposed to get my fix of The 700 Club now?
You would think they would’ve warned us or something.
Wednesday
I've Already Repented, So God And I Are Cool On This
Predator Press
[LOBO]
I’m a news junkie I guess. While surfing, I’ll have my television running CNN or MSNBC or whatever in the background, and news ticker widgets a go-go feeding me “headlines.”
And I would like to think the only reason I even heard Miss California Carrie Prejean’s remarks on same-sex marriage is because it’s kind of a “local story.”
But here I am.
In short, during the course of the Miss USA pageant she was asked her opinion and –oops- she gave it.
While I didn’t agree with her, it wasn’t some frothing hostile rant. Frankly, considering the -ahem- "forum," it was well-articulated. It was the kind of thing you might hear and shrug, “Well, I don’t think anyone is going to be changing her mind on it soon,” and that would be that.
Also worth mentioning perhaps is that I don’t have any particular stake in her opinions, and maybe that makes me a little less sensitive than I should be: my evolving a profound social view based on a teenage beauty queen’s insights is about as unlikely as me becoming gay myself (and based on this logic, were I ever to attempt watching a Miss USA Pageant I doubt I would even have the volume up).But while disagreeing with what she said, I think -eh- editorials like Perez Hilton's aren't warranted. (-And wow has Hilton let herself go since "The Simple Life." Woof!) Still, the subsequent national freak out does intrigue me: it would appear this issue won't be back-burnered for much longer.
People are getting pissed.
So why do people oppose same sex marriage? Is it homophobia? What exactly are these so-called “straight” people so afraid of? Do they think well-catered Oscars parties will just spontaneously explode in their newly redecorated living rooms?
You have to look at the religious aspect with some skepticism too. Look if blowing up busloads of people because your mystical boogeyman doesn’t like their mystical boogeyman sounds rational, maybe that's your bag. Go crazy. Knock yourself out. If you can't find a dead chicken to wave over your television, I'm sure a can of Campbell's Chunky Chicken Noodle will do.But why should the Government care what sex you are? -Especially one so deeply ensconced in nifty buzzwords like “Freedom”?
I wouldn't be so blunt, but the Religious Right treats these people like livestock: we should take the gender questions off of marriage licenses so the churches can go fight their own battles. Let's give the issue back to the people maintaining “Liberty” from of one side of their mouths and supporting persecution from the other.
-This isn't my problem, Miss Prejean.
It's yours.
TV Dinners
Predator Press
[LOBO]
I don't watch "Survivorman", so I didn't immediately recognize Les Stroud and his Science Channel camera crew.
Unbathed and naked -save for makeshift shoes made from palm fronds and duct tape- he started a fire blindfolded with wet sticks one-handed to boil the leeches he caught. Then, he stuffed six big red hot rocks up his arse to prevent toxic fluid loss from bloody diarrhea.
I don't know how long they were actually waiting in the drive-thru, but I sure hope that McDonalds gets it's act together.
Friday
The Hunt for Red November
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Doc Mike and I finish watching Duane "Dog" Chapman on Larry King Live, and come to separate conclusions.
Doc clicks off the widescreen. "You know what would have been funnier?"
"Funnier than this guy listening to an authentic recording of himself being a racist asshole, and blaming the National Enquirer?" I says. "Not really."
"Well, this guy is a bounty hunter, right? And bounty hunters are supposed to be tough. But this guy is crying on television? He shoulda rolled with it. Shaved his head. Got some swastika tattoos. Offered a half-price special apprehending black men while spitting foam all over the place."
"Yeah," I concede, cracking open another Blue Beaver Beer. "And then Oprah paratroops in -Mission Impossible style- rips off one of Larry's legs an beats the shit out of everyone with it."
"And how about that kid that sold the tape to a tabloid?" Doc continues. "I mean that family must be a total mess."
"I'll bet Thanksgiving dinner at that house is nothing short of spectacular. The kid walks in, 'Hi dad, I want you to meet my new girlfriend ...' Then the needle screeches accross the Perry Como record, and is followed by this big long awkward silence."
Doc muses for a moment. "Can't you just picture Dog carving the turkey with the gravy boat stickin out of his back?"
"That would certainly sell a lot of Tide and Shout commercials," I agree. "It's like a violent version of 'Dancin With the Stars', with 10% more white trash." I grab my laptop and boot up. "We should get Trew Life to narrate it. The ratings will be stellar."
"And right at the end," says Doc, creative juices flaring, "Al Sharpton comes in, pours the cranberries off of the hubcap they're using as a serving dish, and decapitates everyone with a single mighty throw."
"And carrying Duane's head by the mullet," I says drafting furiously, scrawling HTML like a machine gun, "he gets away by stealing the El Camino in the yard? I'm way ahead of you."
[LOBO]
Doc Mike and I finish watching Duane "Dog" Chapman on Larry King Live, and come to separate conclusions.Doc clicks off the widescreen. "You know what would have been funnier?"
"Funnier than this guy listening to an authentic recording of himself being a racist asshole, and blaming the National Enquirer?" I says. "Not really."
"Well, this guy is a bounty hunter, right? And bounty hunters are supposed to be tough. But this guy is crying on television? He shoulda rolled with it. Shaved his head. Got some swastika tattoos. Offered a half-price special apprehending black men while spitting foam all over the place."
"Yeah," I concede, cracking open another Blue Beaver Beer. "And then Oprah paratroops in -Mission Impossible style- rips off one of Larry's legs an beats the shit out of everyone with it."
"And how about that kid that sold the tape to a tabloid?" Doc continues. "I mean that family must be a total mess."
"I'll bet Thanksgiving dinner at that house is nothing short of spectacular. The kid walks in, 'Hi dad, I want you to meet my new girlfriend ...' Then the needle screeches accross the Perry Como record, and is followed by this big long awkward silence."
Doc muses for a moment. "Can't you just picture Dog carving the turkey with the gravy boat stickin out of his back?"
"That would certainly sell a lot of Tide and Shout commercials," I agree. "It's like a violent version of 'Dancin With the Stars', with 10% more white trash." I grab my laptop and boot up. "We should get Trew Life to narrate it. The ratings will be stellar."
"And right at the end," says Doc, creative juices flaring, "Al Sharpton comes in, pours the cranberries off of the hubcap they're using as a serving dish, and decapitates everyone with a single mighty throw."
"And carrying Duane's head by the mullet," I says drafting furiously, scrawling HTML like a machine gun, "he gets away by stealing the El Camino in the yard? I'm way ahead of you."
Steve Fosset Searchers Find 200 Other Crash Sites
Predator Press
[LOBO]
According to CNN, the search for Steve Fossett may provide clues to 200 other lost crash sites.
First let me say that in the unlikely I ever disappear in an airplane, dont fuck around: get those guys to look for me.
But at 200 people per, my calculatrons indicate that by losing a mere 117 more millionaires more we could solve the mystery of the Bermuda Triangle once and for all.
I'm recommending Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie for starters.
... Wouldn't it make for a kickass reunion episode of "The Simple Life"?
[LOBO]According to CNN, the search for Steve Fossett may provide clues to 200 other lost crash sites.
First let me say that in the unlikely I ever disappear in an airplane, dont fuck around: get those guys to look for me.
But at 200 people per, my calculatrons indicate that by losing a mere 117 more millionaires more we could solve the mystery of the Bermuda Triangle once and for all.
I'm recommending Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie for starters.
... Wouldn't it make for a kickass reunion episode of "The Simple Life"?
Richie Sentenced to Four 'The NASA Life' Episodes
Predator Press
No one appeared more stunned than Nicole Richie when she was sentenced to do pilot episodes for a Fox Network reality show called The NASA Life --except maybe her own lawyer when she shot him right through the forehead with a 9mm.
"Order," demanded the judge, banging his gavel. "Young lady I said ORDER!"
Nicole, seeming to shake that spooky 'vacant' look, promisingly set the safety on her pistol and strapped it back into her thigh holster. "I'm sorry Your Honor."
"The fact that you murdered a lawyer in my courtroom won't get you any points with me today, Missy," said the judge coolly. "I'm going to make you ridicule honest and hard working middle class people for four whole episodes in space."
When asked for comment, Paris Hilton's Parole Officer claimed Paris was “already making daiquiris in the centrifuge”.
No one appeared more stunned than Nicole Richie when she was sentenced to do pilot episodes for a Fox Network reality show called The NASA Life --except maybe her own lawyer when she shot him right through the forehead with a 9mm.
"Order," demanded the judge, banging his gavel. "Young lady I said ORDER!"
Nicole, seeming to shake that spooky 'vacant' look, promisingly set the safety on her pistol and strapped it back into her thigh holster. "I'm sorry Your Honor."
"The fact that you murdered a lawyer in my courtroom won't get you any points with me today, Missy," said the judge coolly. "I'm going to make you ridicule honest and hard working middle class people for four whole episodes in space."
When asked for comment, Paris Hilton's Parole Officer claimed Paris was “already making daiquiris in the centrifuge”.
Thursday
Revenge-Seeking Paris Hilton to Record New Album
Predator Press
Paris Hilton, embittered by three weeks in prison, has re-entered the recording studio in order to exact her merciless vengeance upon Humankind.
On the condition of anonymity, a public relations executive from Apple --the iPod designer and manufacturer-- spoke with Predator Press immediately prior to his suicide. "Last week, we were worried about the liability when that kid almost got his head blown off by a lightning strike. Now this. I don't think even rampant iPhone profits will cover all the inevitable destruction and chaos."
Scientists from around the world are expressing agreement that the devastation will take on many forms besides the obvious economic ones. "We've linked last week's earthquake in Japan to the exact time Paris' sound checks were being done," explains noted physicist Stephen Hawking. "You know how a voice can shatter a glass? Well, picture busting God's glass, and spilling red wine all over His cosmic lapels!"
The EPA, distressed by the sudden flight of virtually all wildlife from the west coast, offered little comfort. "Let's put it this way," says Regional Director Alan Fremont. "We're so fucked, even the trees are leaning east."
Reports of mass immolations are pouring in, and human ears and bloody tufts of hair dot the streets between the broken bodies of jumpers. Bracing for shockwaves 'with the catastrophic potential to crack the planet in two', FEMA, the Peace Corps, and the National Guard have been recalled from all over the globe so they may spend their final days on Earth distributing contaminated ice with their friends and loved ones.
"We survived Yoko Ono, Paul Stanley's solo album, and the last few years of the Rolling Stones," says a homeward-bound missionary. "I was almost starting to think we had a chance."
Paris Hilton, embittered by three weeks in prison, has re-entered the recording studio in order to exact her merciless vengeance upon Humankind.
On the condition of anonymity, a public relations executive from Apple --the iPod designer and manufacturer-- spoke with Predator Press immediately prior to his suicide. "Last week, we were worried about the liability when that kid almost got his head blown off by a lightning strike. Now this. I don't think even rampant iPhone profits will cover all the inevitable destruction and chaos."
Scientists from around the world are expressing agreement that the devastation will take on many forms besides the obvious economic ones. "We've linked last week's earthquake in Japan to the exact time Paris' sound checks were being done," explains noted physicist Stephen Hawking. "You know how a voice can shatter a glass? Well, picture busting God's glass, and spilling red wine all over His cosmic lapels!"
The EPA, distressed by the sudden flight of virtually all wildlife from the west coast, offered little comfort. "Let's put it this way," says Regional Director Alan Fremont. "We're so fucked, even the trees are leaning east."
Reports of mass immolations are pouring in, and human ears and bloody tufts of hair dot the streets between the broken bodies of jumpers. Bracing for shockwaves 'with the catastrophic potential to crack the planet in two', FEMA, the Peace Corps, and the National Guard have been recalled from all over the globe so they may spend their final days on Earth distributing contaminated ice with their friends and loved ones.
"We survived Yoko Ono, Paul Stanley's solo album, and the last few years of the Rolling Stones," says a homeward-bound missionary. "I was almost starting to think we had a chance."
Tuesday
Was Paris Hilton Really Released?
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Here is a photo of Paris before prison:
But here is a photo of Paris being released from prison today:
Now while the resemblance is incredible, you might notice that "post-prison Paris" has more delicate, effeminate and attractive features than the original --a mistake commonly made during makeshift prison plastic surgeries.
Scienticians from the Predator Press Research Laboratory have taken tiny microscopic measurements over areas such as the forehead slope, bust size, chin length, et cetera, and have come back with a startling conclusion:
Clearly, what we have here is an imposter.
Was this a mystery person that spent three weeks doing "hard time" for our beloved princess? Or part of an elaborate prison escape?
Hm?
[LOBO]
Here is a photo of Paris before prison:
But here is a photo of Paris being released from prison today:
Now while the resemblance is incredible, you might notice that "post-prison Paris" has more delicate, effeminate and attractive features than the original --a mistake commonly made during makeshift prison plastic surgeries.
Scienticians from the Predator Press Research Laboratory have taken tiny microscopic measurements over areas such as the forehead slope, bust size, chin length, et cetera, and have come back with a startling conclusion:
Was this a mystery person that spent three weeks doing "hard time" for our beloved princess? Or part of an elaborate prison escape?
Hm?
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