Don’t Hate Me Because I’m Beautiful

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Marrying a hot chick should have inherent perks.

See on a scale of 1-10, if you factor in the charm, raw genius, and Adonis-like physique, I’m only about a 12.

But unfortunately, this makes my wife roughly a 19-22.

-Mathematically this equates being married to a big pain in the ass according to science.

See, a 19-22 such as my wife should regard a lowly 12 as pretty mediocre, right? I should be the jealous one. Sure I suppose it’s remotely possible a bunch of rogue, drunken supermodels might somehow not notice I’m married, taser me, inject me with drugs causing a thick amnesiatic fog, and toss me -kicking and screaming- into a van with tin foil covered windows in order to tie me up and live out sick and debauched fantasies.

But would that be my fault?

I think my slacker wife and drunken perverted supermodels with tasers, drugs, tin foiled vans, and a preternatural gift for skillful knot tying should share some culpability here. I mean maybe you could overlook the wedding ring, but shouldn’t this big, throbbing vein in my forehead be a dead giveaway to my marital status too?

Well apparently not.

Whenever Terri and I go shopping, I always have to stare at the ceiling joyces and lighting fixtures lest my eyes randomly fall in the direction of anyone even vaguely female. And how do you shop like that? I once went into a WalMart for catfood, and came out with six stitches and a mulching lawn mower.

-Despite the tongue lashing I gave the manager, that light fixture is still flickering and my cat hates me.

I’ll bet the lawn looks good though.

White House to Bail Out Tampa Bay Buccaneers

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In news that came as a shock to a sports world still buzzing over Rush Limbaugh’s failed bid to purchase the Saint Louis Rams, Hilary Clinton has announced her intent to acquire the Tampa Bay Buccaneers.

“Guess what, you ****ing ****s,” she told press conference attendants. “It really was a Vast Liberal Conspiracy! Now unless it's Election Day, get the **** out of my face you ****-knocking piece of ****-eating ****stick -or I'll have your **** removed, and your entire family tree ****ed, ****ed, and ****ed.”

Details of the conference are garbled.

-My “*” key kept getting stuck.

Chicago Cubs File for Bankruptcy

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As a Chicagoan, I’ve been following the Cubs for years.

-Drafting them in my Fantasy Football League was the last thing they needed.

Jealous?

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I’m both puzzled and alarmed at the media distress over Obama winning the Nobel Peace Prize.

First, it seems to me that a sitting American president getting one could only be a good thing in regard to global politics and the "world stage."

Second, who cares? Unless you were another nominee and screwed out of yours, I don't see this as much more than pointless whining and pining about something that has nothing to do with you anyway.

And didn't two American win Peace Prizes in economics this year? Haha -anyone upset over something 'Noble' isn't even spelled correctly on needs a nap.

But fret not! When you wake up, there's this cool place you can go to called a "trophy store" and buy a correctly-spelled Peace Prize. Or anything really! For less that a hundred bucks you can get a spiff one waaaaay bigger'n Obama's, and get it engraved with something cool like "2009 Superbowl MVP" too.

Besides, having the "But I've got a Peace Prize" phrase in your chamber is fantastic against counter arguments: case closed, end of debate, nothing torpedoes logic more effectively. So relax. I'm sure this White House -as would any other- will be putting that baby to good use almost immediately. I myself have three or four Peace Prizes for precisely this reason.

-And that isn't counting the one I sent back when the delivery guys scratched it on the ceiling fan either: once my “Just for Bein’ Kickass” Peace Prize is replaced, I think I'll have five.

But that one is my favorite.

I'm golfing on that one.

Frozen Ted Williams Head Sparks Controversy

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Alcor, the company facilitating storage of baseball great Ted Williams' frozen remains, is reeling under media siege due to scandalous allegations of post-mortem abuse to the decedent put forward by former employee Larry Johnson.

Cryonics is a process where remains are frozen and preserved in hopes that one day medical science –once sufficiently advanced- may be able to revive and cure the deceased.

“I wasn’t the slightest bit suspicious until the company picnic,” claims Johnson. “But finding that Red Sox cap in my daiquiri really got me to thinking.”

While Alcor has thus far refused to talk directly with mainstream media, Predator Press got an exclusive interview with Chairman Charles Platt.

“We are flatly denying these shocking and baseless accusations, accusations made by a clearly disgruntled former employee,” says Platt. “We have begun an internal investigation regarding numerous recent record-setting three legged race results. But that is purely a coincidence, and you would be a fool to think otherwise. Crap. I said that out loud, didn’t I? Oh, look behind you! Britney Spears!”

Kanye West has yet to comment on the unfolding drama, but I might have missed it when I was looking for Britney Spears. Still, I feel confident West would have concurred with my gut instinct that a baseball player that wants to make out with space chicks wasn't a very good story, and that Predator Press readers would prefer some good, juicy dirt on Kevin Federline. Heck, what was Britney Spears doing here anyway? Was she going to freeze her head too?

Unfortunately, it appears Britney Spears is very elusive when it comes to interviews and I never found her.

Ah screw it.

Never mind.

I’ll Take a Case of Those Baskets, Please

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This post comes with a battery of "hat tips." First, that image was found at CrownDozen.com -an interesting-looking site I'll certainly be exploring in some greater depth.

Second, this post is inspired by a podcast by Adam Carolla and Larry Miller; it was they who made the astute observation I’ll distill simply as “In ‘70s cinema, there wasn’t anything not to susceptible to demonic possession."

This goes for cars, dolls, kids, dogs, severed appendages, televisions, statues, totems, jewelry, clothing … ah cripes, that list just goes on and on and on.

Everything in the ‘70s would at some point would try and kill us. And if it wasn’t due to an outright demon possession, it was some crazy recluse exercising some unexplained mind control, sicking killer bees or hounds or something on some hapless and well-intended yet far-too-nosy tourists. Or a monster or robot that inevitably turns on it’s “master.”

Again, I’ll return to paraphrasing Adam and Larry’s funny dialogue: it starts with the indignant “How dare you! I made you!” But this former minion is undaunted, having gained some insight to it’s own evil misuse: right smack in the now-burning “control center,” it would kill the puppet master -and itself- even as the evil human mastermind unconvincingly screamed ”Noooooooooo …!”

The people who voted on the Oscars –“the Academy” or whatever- in the ‘70s must have been very, very bored and overpaid.

Still, another ten years or so of the ‘70s would have produced some fairly interesting results ... On that trajectory, a movie about robot zombie space piranhas would have been completely inevitable.

[*sigh*]

-Now I can’t get anyone to look at my screenplay.

How The West Was Spared

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