Sunday, July 30, 2006

The doctor will see you now...

It seems that there is a growing trend in Hollywood to over indulge in plastic surgery, often with disastrous results. So as a public service to clueless celebrities everywhere, I’m here to tell you, that you know you’ve had too much plastic surgery when…

Your plastic surgeon names his yacht after you.

You find yourself peering out through your nostrils.

Just the sight of cutlery in a restaurant compels you to lie on the table and demand anesthesia.

You’ve had enough skin, fat and bones removed from you to create your own personal Mini-Me.

A three thousand-year-old mummy comes to life and asks you who your embalmer was.

People start to mistake your belly button for a tracheotomy hole.

A waiter enraged by your lousy tip throws the coins in your face and they ricochet off with enough force to kill three by-standers.

Your breasts are so large that they qualify for their own zip code.

You are the reason your plastic surgeon has carpal tunnel syndrome.

Frightened villagers armed with torches and pitchforks start chasing you around.

Madame Tussaud’s thinks creating a wax figure of you would be redundant.

Joan Rivers, Michael Jackson and Cher get together and have an intervention for you.

If this doesn’t win me some kind of humanitarian award I don’t know what will.

Friday, July 28, 2006

Just say no...

Yet another very strange story has emerged in the news. This one involves a disturbing trend among teenagers who are getting high by sniffing mothballs. I know what you’re thinking… " How the hell do those kids even know which moths are male?" No, I’m talking about the other kind of mothball, the ones used to keep moths from eating your clothing.

Anyway, I would just like to take a few minutes to "rap" to any young people out there who might be thinking about mothball sniffing. Like, don’t do it man…it won’t make you a "cool cat" or a "groovy chick" and it’s a gateway to the harder stuff.

Sure, you start off just sniffing a few mothballs with your friends on the weekend, but before you know it, you’re snorting athlete's foot powder or "huffing" spray-on deodorants. Then one day you’re hustling on the street for money to buy the Preparation H you are injecting directly into your veins. I’ll bet it doesn’t sound so "cool" now, does it.

This message brought to you by the National Organization to Prevent Kids from doing Really Stupid Stuff.

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

Head butts and butt heads...

A jockey recently found himself in the news, not for winning a race but for head butting his horse. This has got to be one of the more bizarre bits of news I’ve heard in a while. Even his "apology" was a little strange: "I’m very sorry they had to see such a thing". To me, that sounds a little like "yeah, I’m sorry…sorry I got caught!" You’d think he’d be a bit more contrite considering it was done in front of a lot of people and recorded on video tape.

Anyway, I believe that a large part of the blame for this incident should go to Zinedine Zidane. You know, that idiot soccer player who cost France the world cup when he head butted an Italian player in the chest.

Also, I predict that this is only the beginning and this kind of thing is going to spread worldwide. Corporate executives will be head butting the guys in the mailroom, teachers will start head butting unruly students and George Bush will head butt every reporter he sees.

A deed that was once only committed by soccer hooligans and professional wrestlers will soon be common among distinguished scientists and gray haired grandmas. I’m not a biblical scholar, but I think this is one of the signs of the apocalypse…I’ll have to look it up. In the meantime, I’m off to buy myself some stock in an aspirin company…and a helmet.

Monday, July 24, 2006

From deep inside the vault...

Today I am pleased to share with you a couple of items from the official drive-by blogger collection of cultural oddities.

Not many people know that before Charles Schultz came up with his very successful comic strip PEANUTS, he produced a few that didn’t make it. Among the earliest of these is this strip inspired by Schultz’s fascination with the Paris art scene of the 1920’s:

Switching his focus to the great writers of the same period, he came up with this:

Undaunted by the failure of these strips and determined to create a comic inspired by his love of high culture, he also tried these ideas: Coconuts, based on Paul Gauguin’s life in Tahiti and Totally nuts, about Dali and the other surrealists.

Sadly, there don’t seem to be any surviving examples of these strips. However, I am in a bidding war for an original manuscript of children’s nursery rhymes by Scientology founder L. Ron Hubbard…wish me luck.

Friday, July 21, 2006

Casanova in lederhosen...

A volume of previously unpublished letters by Albert Einstein is shedding light on the famed physicist’s extra-marital affairs. According to some reports the letters indicate that Einstein had about half a dozen girlfriends. I guess it makes sense, his wild hair, bushy mustache and rumpled clothes... what more could a lady want? Anyway, here’s one of the Teutonic lothario’s love letters to one of his ladies dating from 1931:

Dearest M,
Thank you for the wonderful gifts you sent me, the meerschaum pipe, the ivory mustache comb and of course the imported silk underwear. However, I must ask you to refrain from sending any more nude photographs of yourself or at least send smaller ones. They have accumulated to the degree that I’m having difficulty finding a safe hiding place for them.

The conference will be over in three or four days and we can get together then. I can assure you that "little Albert" has missed you terribly. By the way, my hot little strudel, have you given any thought to that three-way that I mentioned last time we met in Düsseldorf?

Passionately yours,

Einstein, his wife and girlfriends…just imagine that on the Jerry Springer show.

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Rock the Casbah...

Back in April it was reported that Osama Bin Laden released an audio tape recording containing one his usual rants. However, what wasn’t mentioned is that in addition Osama has released a music CD, on which he performs songs he has written himself, presumably hoping to appeal to young people. Thanks to my sources in the CIA, I’ve managed to obtain a copy:

Personally, I think Cat Stevens is behind this.

Saturday, July 15, 2006

A bit of family history...

Someone once asked me if I was the only member of my family to take up writing. Actually, their exact words were "Are there any other scribbling malcontents in that lunatic asylum you call a family?" Choosing to ignore this rudeness, I proceeded to tell them about a journal kept by my great-grandfather during his ill-fated attempt to be the first person to reach the North Pole. I humbly submit these excerpts for you perusal:

March, 4 1907
In an effort to acclimatize my self to the cold I sat in a bathtub filled with ice shavings from a nearby ice cream parlor. My wife is still mopping up…and swearing like a sailor I might add. I didn’t even know she knew some of those words.

March, 10 1907
Gave two weeks notice to old man McGinty at the factory. God, I’ll miss the old place. Sure, making asbestos is hard work, but it’s a trade with a real future. It’s the wonder material of the age I tell you. Note to self; see doctor about clearing up this cough before leaving on trip.

April, 3 1907
I’ve managed to assemble what I believe to be a hardy and steadfast crew:

"Fritzy" Mueller, a sausage stuffer from Pennsylvania who weighs over three hundred pounds but assures me that it’s all muscle.

"Cubby" Rothington III, the black sheep son of a wealthy Boston family is also helping to finance the expedition.

And finally, a one eyed former gold miner known only as "Slim" who claims to be 1/16 Eskimo, will be our guide.

May, 22 1907
Arrived at Ellesmere Island, disappointed to find only three of my sled dogs are huskies. The rest are a mixture of breeds ranging from Collies to a Dachshund whose legs don’t even reach the ground when he’s in the harness. The little fellow is all heart though…I think I’ll call him Doxy and make him our mascot.

June, 18 1907
It is with great sadness that I must record that "Fritzy" Mueller has eaten our mascot Doxy. Rations have been running low and apparently six hours without food was more than he could stand.

June, 27 1907
Our misery continues unabated. "Slim" who has been suffering from frostbite in his one good eye, has fallen into deep crevasse. It was the final straw for "Cubby" who had already become very unstable. He ran off into the frozen landscape, screaming something about finding Santa’s workshop and performing unnatural acts on the elves…we have not seen him since. So, that just leaves "Fritzy" and myself to carry on. It will be difficult, but I believe that if we stick together we can still make it to the pole.

July, 9 1907
I’m afraid that I had to shoot poor "Fritzy". For days he had been looking at me very strangely and last night I awoke to find him pouring salt on my leg. I tried firing a warning shot, but he would not turn loose my leg. What my next move shall be…is uncertain.

As it turned out, his "next move" was to hightail it home and leave the honor of being the first to the North Pole to Robert Peary. The expedition did leave its mark on my great-grandfather though. My great-grandmother said for years after he would sometimes wake up in the middle of the night screaming "Fritzy, I’m begging you…drop the salt shaker!"

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

For your eyes only...

I don’t know about anyone else, but I was surprised to read that a man had actually been arrested for trying to sell Coca-Cola’s secrets to Pepsi. Secrets? Are they talking about the "secret formula" that’s used to make Coca-Cola? I always thought that that was a myth, you know, a marketing ploy. Anyway, even if it does exist, why such ruthlessness in keeping it a secret? Could it be that there’s some ingredient in it so appalling that if it were made public it would bring the company to ruin?

We here at the Drive-by Blogger laboratory have decided to get to the bottom of this and have started analyzing this beverage to discover the "secret" ingredient that makes Coke "the real thing". We’ve still got a lot of testing to do, but we’ve narrowed it down to these substances:

Pork fat

Cough syrup

Ragweed pollen

Monkey glands

Orphan sweat

Low grade plutonium


Hobbit toes

McDonald’s special sauce…you’re next.

Sunday, July 09, 2006

Stars among the stars...

Well, the space shuttle was launched a few days ago, even though there still seemed to be some disagreement among the experts at NASA regarding safety issues. If I ruled the world I believe I could solve that problem as well as find a way to generate a lot of money for future missions.

Instead of sending up intelligent people who possess valuable skills, I would create a new reality show called "Celebrity Space Shuttle" and send groups of desperate, attention grubbing celebrities into space. Ok…so they can’t all be celebrities, after all we can’t expect these idiots to actually fly the damn thing, but most of the "crew" would be celebs.

Viewers would be able to vote someone off the shuttle every few days and those people would then have a rocket pack strapped to their backs and be shot off into deep space. I know this is bad news for the losing celebrities, but if your gonna make an omelet, you gotta break some eggs.

The sole surviving celebrity would then return to earth and get a book deal or something. Since it’s my idea, I get to pick the first group to go and these are my choices and why I picked them:

Michael Jackson, because I’m pretty sure outer space is where he came from anyway.

Regis Philbin, he thinks he can sing…he has actually recorded a CD…he is quite possibly insane…he must go.

Ashley and Mary-Kate Olson, since the combined weight of these two is less than one normal person we get to count them as a single celebrity

Howard Stern, just tell him that there are quadruple breasted lesbian strippers on Mars…I’m sure he’ll go for it.

Joe Rogan, my personal choice to be voted off first, we’ll find out if fear is a factor for him.

Donald Trump, I want to see the effects of zero gravity on the world’s most famous comb-over.

If the show was a hit we could do another one involving a submarine, the Mariana Trench and celebrity torpedoes…fingers crossed everyone.

Thursday, July 06, 2006

By any other name...

I don’t remember whom it was but someone once said that the term housewife could be replaced with the title of domestic engineer. I think this idea could be used to add a degree of prestige to other kinds of jobs as well. So I’ve taken it upon my self to come up with a few new titles for some old familiar jobs:

Ingress and egress facilitator (doorman)

Mood enhancement technician (bartender)

Vintage vehicle re-circulator (used car salesman)

Genital hygienist (prostitute)

Surplus currency solicitor (beggar)

Feral canine wrangler (dog catcher)

Dinning surface reorganizer (bus boy)

Refuse coordinator (garbage man)

Animal parts distributor (butcher)

Follicle reduction artist (barber)

Tubular meat facsimile dispenser (hot dog vendor)

Now I’ve just got to come up with some names for non-paying jobs…like blogging.

Tuesday, July 04, 2006

Scout's honor...

Having grown up in a large urban area, I’d always associated the Boy Scouts with things like camping and…umm…more camping. So I was surprised to learn that the list of merit badges that can be earned includes Architecture, genealogy and chemistry. Anyway, this got me thinking of starting a branch of scouting just for kids who live in the city. Here’s a list of the merit badges that "City Scouts" will be able to earn:

Traffic dodging

Subway tunnel spelunking

Recycling crack vials

Hostage negotiating


Turnstile jumping

Pimp slapping

Switchblade handling

Tranny spotting

Elevator surfing

Three card Monte

Pigeon plucking

The Boy Scout motto is "Be prepared", so I think we’ll need one that captures the essence of the City Scouts…maybe something like "What’re you lookin’ at" or "I swear, he was bleedin’ when I got here". Now all we need are uniforms and we can start molding the future leaders of America.

Sunday, July 02, 2006

Death, be not humble...

I have an email subscription to a website called Celebrity Death Beeper. Whenever a celebrity buys the farm I get an email telling me about it. A little morbid perhaps, but I like it. However, lately I have become concerned about the quality of "celebrities" that have been included.

For example, of the last six or seven "celebrities" to kick the bucket, I’d only heard of three of them and one of those was the dog from the TV show Frasier. Now, I don’t blame the site, I can see where you wouldn’t want your subscribers to go too long without hearing from you, so you use the term celebrity in the broadest sense.

No…I blame the celebrities. They’re just not dying the way they used to. James Dean, Marilyn Monroe and Jimi Hendrix…those were noteworthy celebrities dying in a newsworthy fashion. Too many of today’s stars are health and fitness nuts. Where is the excess, the reckless over indulgence that used to a big part of the Hollywood lifestyle?

Oh sure, you have a few celebrities doing there part for this grand old tradition, like Kate Moss reportedly snorting any white powdery substance within fifty feet of her and for a while Billy Joel would occasionally crash his car into something, but it’s just not enough.

So I’m asking all of you A and B list celebrities out there to put down your bottled water, fire your personal trainer, pick up a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and a pack of smokes…just to get things started. Remember, for best results your demise should untimely, unexpected and if at all possible, spectacular.

Hell, at this point I’d even settle for D list celebrities…
Kathy Griffin, are you listening?