Archive for August, 2012

If Your Election Lasts Longer Than Four Years…

August 31, 2012

This may be one of the stupidest commercials on TV. Seriously, it’s just so insipid and worthless. Just watch it…

And yet I would prefer to watch this ad on a 24/7 loop beamed into my brain so that I see it when my eyelids are closed than watch one more damn minute of the real-life mishigas called Election 2012. Seriously. You toss aside all the lies and obfuscation and mock indignation and you’re left with nothing but partisan bickering and sheepish fealty. And now we’re stuck right smack in the middle of a convention sandwich that’s as filling as cardboard. Oh my sweet lord dinglepuss on a cracker! Is there any hope for our electoral system?! No! HELL NO!! I’m done. I give up. I’m shredding my voter registration card and pretending the smarmy pants on fire jerkholes on my TV are nothing more than a bad game of Mystery Date and the secret’s out – they’re ALL duds!

Dammit. It’s late. I’m cranky. And I’ve just become part of the problem, not part of the solution.

And now I want Tostitos.

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MY Pen Is Bloke

August 29, 2012

I am neither sexist nor misogynist. I was raised by women and I consider myself a feminist from way back. Equal rights, equal pay – yes, all taken as read. But there are certain truths about gender differences that most, save stand-up comedians, will not discuss openly. That’s why I am so happy that the BIC company, makers of lighters, shaving equipment and stationary products, has seen fit to buck tradition and put out a pen specifically designed for the fairer sex. Yes, at long last – a pen for women only!

I love women. Some of my best friends are women. I married a woman. But we all know two truths that while seeming stereotypical are truths nonetheless: women can’t drive and women can’t use pens properly.

Guys, seriously, how many times have you had a girlfriend or sister or female co-worker borrow a pen and completely mess it up? Hundreds of times, I know. I feel your pain. And so does BIC. That’s why they’ve created BIC© For Her – a ball pen essentially for women.  No more will women have to flail helplessly at pens designed for us guys like the proto ape people in 2001: A Space Odyssey before the monolith gave them consciousness. Now, the female half of pen users will have their own writing utensils. Pen users rejoice! This is truly a quantum leap in writing.

Okay, I’m sure I’ll get some flack for this, as will BIC. But some things are made for men and some things are made for women. Ladies, I wouldn’t think about using your razors or your maxi pads. Now you don’t have to use my pen!

And if you don’t like it you can always write a letter. Now that you’ve got the pen that will let you.

Lemonade, Vegas?

August 27, 2012

This is the Las Vegas advertising response to last week’s Royal spectacle. Chiding the Prince for his outlandish behavior? Perish the thought!  No, Sin City feels it’s more appropriate to chastise the wanker who leaked the photos of the naked romp thereby escewing the Golden Rule of the Capital of Second Chances.

You stay classy, Vegas.

What Kind Of Trash Is This?

August 26, 2012

Today is the multi-talented Shirley Manson’s birthday, so here’s one one Garbage’s first singles from way back in ’95…

A Little Night Hooey

August 24, 2012

When my kids were small they’d sometimes call out for a glass of water in the middle of the night.  When they did, I’d always yell back, “I don’t wanna come in there – the monsters under your bed will eat me!” That sure kept ’em quiet.

Gone And Forgotten

August 22, 2012

I own a lot of stuff. I try not to overdo it and purchase crap I don’t really need or want but over the years I’ve accumulated tons of stuff from comic books to clothes to VHS tapes to Tupperware. Some stuff can be found in boxes and amount to little more than memories (grade school report cards), memorabilia (concert ticket stubs) and mishigas (my junior high retainer). Some stuff is on display (Hello Kitty plush) and in closets (board games) and in drawers (coin collection). And although I don’t read or touch or ponder most of these things on a regular basis I am aware of them, at least distantly. They hold fond memories or are pleasing to the eye or provide comfort or appreciate in value even as they sit unattended in my spare room. But today – tonight – just a few hours ago – I realized there was an item I’d completely forgotten about. Didn’t realize I ever bought it and could have sworn I didn’t own it. Had you asked to borrow it yesterday I would have told you to talk to someone who had one or gave a crap or something. But now. Looking through a shoebox of odds and ends from my first apartment, there it was. Damn, I feel bad. 20 years of neglect and ignorance and what I’m sure, if it were a child, would amount to a pretty good case for social services. I know it’s an inanimate object but still … not to have given it a second’s thought since, I’m guessing 1991 … I just feel bad about it. Like when I forgot to feed the goldfish when I was 8 (still feeling bad about that).

So let me issue an apology to my tape cassette of Del Amitri’s 1989 release, Waking Hours, featuring their hit single, Kiss This Thing Goodbye, and my personal favorite, Nothing Ever Happens. You may have escaped my memory for two decades but I can guarantee you I will not ignore you in the future. In fact, I’ll even listen to you – for the first time since the first Bush administration! Yeah, that’s right. It’ll be as if we never parted and I was still in my 1984 Toyota Tercel and you in my tape deck (not factory installed) as we cruised down the highway on our way to the big city and big dreams. Sign. Big failed dreams.

Oh well, back in the box. Another 20 years won’t kill you.

Freak Out!

August 20, 2012

I admit the 1970s were bizarre time and place. For instance, there was a moment when Ralston Purina thought it would be a good idea to create a cereal full of hideous mutant creatures, sort of a Captain Crunch meats Tod Browning’s macabre masterpiece Freaks. Or maybe a Snap, Crackle & Pop for the Love Canal generation. Regardless, the Freakies were born and kids around the world became devotees of this ghastly cadre of breakfast beasts. Well, perhaps not around the world – but definitely around my breakfast table. The Freakies was my favorite cere-eel. I think I still have my rubber Snorkeldorf around in a box somewhere. (And, no, that’s not a euphemism.)

That’s What I Want?

August 18, 2012

“Money is like manure. You have to spread it around or it smells.” – J. Paul Getty

Like manure, eh? Good thing it really doesn’t grow on trees then.

There We Were All In One Place, A Generation Lost In Space

August 17, 2012

It seems hard to believe that it was only 43 years ago we all gathered together there on Yasgur’s farm.   I don’t recall much of the experience, primarily due to sleep deprivation. (Do you know how hard it is to catch forty winks when half a million hippies are groovin’ to rock music?  And the music was, like, nonstop!)  Still, I jotted down a few notes for my school paper.  Sadly, the article was never published because the principal refused to celebrate “those counter culture weirdos.” 

Nonetheless, here are a few excerpts from my own personal Woodstock diary:

“An Aquarian Exposition: 3 Days of Peace & Music.” So says the poster.  For 18 bucks, the Beatles better show up carrying the Rolling Stones, the Doors and Cream on their freakin’ shoulders!

A 20-mile traffic jam?  We are not walking all that way!

Sigh.  We’re walking all that way.

Granola sucks.  Every hippie knows it and yet they treat it like it’s ambrosia.  It’s not; it’s one step removed from twigs and rocks.

John Sebastian is so messed up.  I’m guessing he got his Lovin’ Spoonful from Timothy Leary.

Oh, wow, this is so groovy.  Like one crazy, magic love-in of freedom and beauty and peace.  And I just love how all the free spirits are shedding their inhibitions along with their clothes.  Nudity is love and peace and freedom and so beautiful and groovy, man, and – EEW, GOD, NO!  Fat chicks should keep their tie-dyes on, man.  That’s so uncool.

I could be mistaken, but I think there is a definite possibility that more than a few of these folks are a little high.

Will someone please tell Abbie Hoffman to kindly shut the fish cheer up?

“Breakfast in bed for 400,000?” I’m so incredibly hungry, man, Wavy Gravy better not talk about breakfast unless he produces some Aunt Jemima out from under that scraggly “Hee Haw” hat of his!

Wow.  Joe Cocker must be detoxing something awful.  Those are the worst DTs I ever seen!

The line for the bathroom was about 4 hours long.  After about 90 minutes, I said “screw it” and took a leak in one of the forty-zillion mud puddles around this place.

Just talked to some cat on the Please Force.  When I asked “When do the Monkees go on?” he just rolled his eyes.

Flower children?  Whoever named them “flower children” was definitely not standing downwind because these freaks do not smell like lilacs after three days of not bathing!  If they ever make a perfume called “Woodstock,” it will smell like BO, pot, vomit and wood smoke.

Sha Na Na?  Seriously?  Sha Na Na?  Seriously?!  Sha Na Na?  SHA NA NA?  40 years from now, the brown acid will most definitely NOT be the worst thing people remember about this freakshow.

Shouldn’t He Be Driving A Mustang?

August 16, 2012

I have absolutely no idea what the hell’s going on here but I can’t stop watching it. And I bloody well want to play this video game.