Tuesday, January 31, 2006

Welcome to Spamalot...

Who knew that the world was full of so many people concerned about my health and happiness? I certainly didn’t and yet everyday my email inbox is filled with dozens and dozens of messages from people who seem to have my physical, emotional and financial well being on their minds.

They’ve offered to procure for me just about any pharmaceutical product in the world very cheaply and without any of those annoying little prescriptions,although for some reason they seem especially concerned with the size and performance of a very particular part of my anatomy.

I also get many wonderful, confidential stock tips guaranteed to make me fabulously wealthy. I haven’t the heart to tell them that I’ve apparently won several European lotteries just this month, so I don’t really need the extra money. It seems that they also think it’s time that I settled down because they keep offering to introduce me to "dozens of barely legal teens" and "sexy MILFS"…whatever they are.

Rolex watches, hair growth products and low interest loans are just a few of the things my unknown, would be benefactors want me to have. The international community has been just as generous as the good people here at home. Why, just from Nigeria alone I’ve received many munificent, if somewhat confusing business arrangements. Bless their little hearts, I hope each one of them gets what they deserve…I really do.

You know, it’s almost as if these people have the impression that I’m a bald, poorly endowed, lonely and financially naïve individual... it’s like they’ve been reading my diary.

Saturday, January 28, 2006

Come out with your paws up...

I’m not a person who is given to spiritual or mystical thoughts in general, but I must admit I have sometimes wondered if cats might be reincarnated criminals. I don’t say this because I dislike cats; I do like them. I admire their natural grace and agility…it’s just that there are certain things about them that put this idea in my head.

Take their stealthiness for example; the term ‘cat burglar’ comes from the cat’s uncanny ability to go around unheard and unnoticed. Of course, I can’t remember the last time I actually heard anyone use that expression, but you know what I mean. We had to put a bell on our cat just to have some idea of where the hell she was and she still finds ways to sneak up on us.

Like most other cats, ours seems to enjoy breaking the rules. No matter how many times someone chases her off the table or counter top, when she thinks no one is looking she goes right back on. I can hear you saying, “Perhaps the wee beastie doesn’t know any better.” Then tell me why as soon as she knows she has been spotted she jumps right off …and why are you speaking with a Scottish accent?

Then there’s the little matter of carrying concealed weapons, by which I mean those retractable claws that they’re always ready to use to vandalize various pieces of household furniture. Do you see a pattern starting to emerge here? And what about those occasions when a seemingly normal cat will start running around the house as though it’s tail was on fire. Are they having a flashback of being chased by the police in a previous life, some kind of karmic hangover?

Despite this compelling evidence, I still find it difficult to believe in reincarnation. Even if I could, I’m not sure I could be convinced that coming back as a cat after having been human is actually a step down the spiritual ladder.

Anyway, I have to go now…I have to take our cat to see her parole officer.

Thursday, January 26, 2006

It's nice work if you can get it...


I started this blog by criticizing reality television and I stand by what I wrote. However, I have come across one show that, though it might technically be called ‘reality TV’ is the proverbial exception to the rule.

If you have seen the television show called MYTHBUSTERS, then you know that it’s hosted by a couple of guys, who with the help of several assistants, get to blow up, shoot, crush and drop all manner of objects. They do this in the name of testing all sorts of urban myths and other dubious tales and they do it with a resourcefulness that makes MacGyver look mentally challenged.

When I watch this show my inner child slips loose from his court ordered straightjacket and runs amok, furthermore, it’s on the Discovery Channel, so you know it’s educational…somehow. Of course, not everything they do is as much fun as blowing up a cement truck or tying a crash test dummy to a life raft and dropping it from a plane, for example, things like getting sprayed by a skunk or testing sea sickness remedies. Well, no job is perfect and anyway I’ve noticed that as the show has gone on, they’re passing more and more of the less pleasant tasks to their young and inexplicably willing assistants.

What I want to know is why when we were growing up did no one tell us that this kind of work would be available? Those damned, useless guidance counselors. They also neglected to tell us that if you get a job reporting the weather on television you could be wrong most of the time and not get fired. Hell, they could’ve at least told us where to go to get the necessary skills to work on a film crew in the adult movie industry. I guess that even though it’s too late now I should try to look on the bright side…maybe I can sue someone.

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

He ain't heavy, he's my dummy...

What is it about ventriloquists? They seem to occupy a strange place in show business, somewhere between a standup comic and a sideshow act. Every once in a while a ventriloquist will gain a much wider audience than usual, but even the really good ones don’t seem to inspire the same kind of love and affection that other performers do.

For instance, no one has ever written a tell all book about being a "ventriloquist groupie’, Although, just how the dummy might fit into that scene would make for some interesting reading. There aren’t any sitcoms starring a ventriloquist and every time someone makes a movie about one (which isn’t often) the always turn out to be a borderline psychotic who thinks his dummy is alive and evil. Just once I’d like to see a film where the ventriloquist claims the dummy is alive and insists on working with Habitat for Humanity or something.

You would think that they would at least have gotten a talk show. Nearly everybody else in Hollywood has had one, for god’s sake…Carson Daly has a talk show. I think the only requirements are a SAG card and a valid driver’s license. Even reality television hasn’t found a use for them, and this is a genre that thinks weight loss makes for riveting TV. Where is the American Idol style competition to discover the next great ventriloquist?

Simon: "That was awful. I’d like to set your dummy on fire and beat you to death with it."

Paula: "So…are either of you seeing anyone?"

Randy: "I’m going to lunch dawg."

It’s perhaps a little surprising that kids aren’t more drawn to ventriloquism than they seem to be. There have been plenty of child prodigies in music and acting has always had it’s precocious kids, but I’ve never seen a five year old get up on stage and drink from a juice box while his little dummy sings The Itsy Bitsy Spider. I think the ventriloquists are aware of this and sometimes try to over compensate. One of the greatest, Paul Winchell, when he wasn’t performing was working on an early version of a little something called the artificial heart.

Whether or not he had any help from his little wooden friend could not be confirmed.

Sunday, January 22, 2006

The wide world of sports...

Darts, poker, badminton and miniature golf…these are just some of the fast paced and action packed sports competitions that can sometimes be seen on channels like ESPN or ESPN 2. Hey folks, it’s not easy to fill up twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week and it’s only going to get worse.

My sources have managed to get hold of a list of little known and seldom seen "sports" that are being considered for broadcast:

THE 450TH EUROPEAN CHEESE ROLLING CHAMPIONSHIP: (Not to be confused with the much younger European cheese throwing championship).

THE NORWEGIAN HUMAN SNOWMAN COMPETITION: Naked contestants are completely covered in snow and whoever can endure it the longest wins. (In the event of identical times the winner will the person who has lost the fewest body parts to frostbite).

GIANT TORTOISE WRESTLING FROM THE GALAPAGOS ISLANDS: (The list doesn’t make it clear whether it will be people wresting the tortoises or if they’ve found a way to make the tortoises wrestle each other).

THE URBAN OUTDOORSMAN: A hunting competition from NYC. Contestants have one hour to bag as much urban wildlife as the can. The point values are as follows: Pigeons 25, Squirrels 50, rats 75 and hotdog vendors 100.

THE INDIA 500: Kind of like the Indy 500…but with cows.

EXTREME CHESS: Played outdoors with life sized chess pieces that weigh 200 pounds each. (Last year’s final match was called on account of hernias).

Lastly, it looks like they’ll also be including more sports related movies like these…
PIGSKINS AND PAPER CUPS: You’ve seen them on the sidelines handing out drinks to the players…this is their story.
And
SUMO GIRL: The story of Japan’s first woman sumo wrestler; how she dealt with the public outrage over the idea of a woman wrestling men while wearing next to nothing and her own heartbreak when it turned out no one could tell the difference.

Now that…is must see TV.

Friday, January 20, 2006

Don't you dare hurt that fly...

I recently read about an idea that’s supposed to be gaining ground among animal rights activists, something to do with lobsters and a more ‘humane’ way to kill them. At least in restaurants anyway, there would be no more pulling them out of a tank and plunging them straight into a pot of boiling water, although I’m not sure what method the activists (or the lobsters for that matter) prefer.

The problem with groups of any kind, political, religious…whatever, is that from them often come ‘splinter’ groups. These splinter groups always feel that the original group made a good start, they just didn’t take things far enough. So, taking the ‘lobster lobby’ for a starting point (I don’t think they’re really called that, I just like the imagery) I wouldn’t be surprised if a group comes along that wants to extend its ideas to include all and I mean all living organisms.

This will lead them to do things like never wash themselves with soap to protect the millions of bacteria that live on every human being (‘It’s like an entire civilization, man!’) and to never launder their sheets or pillow cases…you know, because of the dust mites. They are also likely to believe that it is wrong to alter your pets either physically or behaviorally, so whether the dog is crapping on the carpet or getting romantic with your leg…it’s just part of owning a pet. Oh, and don’t call them pets…or say you own them, instead they will be referred to as your ‘cohabiting non-human companions’.

Of course, none of this applies to the animals themselves, since they don’t know any better they’ll still be allowed to do harm to each other and to us. So, if you ever find yourself about to be devoured by a pack of feral dogs, forgive them for their ignorance…and wish them ‘bon appetit’.

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

Television kiddie style...

Speaking as someone who is and has been an uncle for a long time, I can truly say that I’ve endured my fair share of children’s television. TV programs for children can be cute, annoying, strange or any combination of the three. As you might have guessed, I’m here to talk about the annoying and the strange.

Let’s start with the purple phenomenon himself…Barney. Beloved by millions of children, to adults he’s the most hated dinosaur this side of Godzilla. With it’s hypnotic ‘I love you, you love me, we’re a happy family’ theme song I’m not sure if this is a TV show or a cult for kids and the syrupy sweetness of this program is enough to kill a diabetic.

For strangeness, I thought it would be hard to top the Teletubbies with their oddly shaped antennae, video screen bellies and that flaming baby head sun thingy. However, I recently saw a show called Boohbah and all I can say is that it looks like the Teletubbies genitals detached themselves from their bodies and some how got their own show.

If you ever get a chance to see these programs back to back you will see what I mean and if another adult comes into the room while you’re watching, just tell them you are, uh…doing important social research, yeah…research.

Monday, January 16, 2006

Thank you for your submission, unfortunately...

Aside from wanting to write for the weekly tabloids, as I’ve already mentioned, I have also been busy trying my hand at writing children’s books. Unfortunately and inexplicably…they’ve all been rejected. So, here is just a glimpse of the touching and imaginative stories that future generations of children will have to miss out on thanks to blind and timid publishers who wouldn’t know a good idea if it crawled up their left nostril and clog danced on their frontal lobe! But I digress…

Here are some of the titles from my educational series of children’s books:

WHERE THE SHARP, POINTY THINGS ARE (a pop-up book)

NEW FISH, OLD FISH, SICK FISH, DEAD FISH (teaches about pet care)

SANTA’S LITTLE HEART ATTACK (promotes good eating habits)

MOMMY AND THE MILKMAN (teaches kids about complex modern relationships; also in this series: Mommy and the Postman, Mommy and the Cable Guy and dozens more)

Then there’s the whimsical THE TAPEWORM AND THE ENCHANTED INTESTINE and the inspirational THE LITTLE CHAINSAW THAT COULD.

Finally, here are two books that I truly believe would have become holiday classics:

EASTER BUNNY STEW AND OTHER WOODLAND TALES and PUMPKIN HEADED TIMMY in THE BOY WHO HATED HALLOWEEN.

I wonder if Dr. Seuss had this much trouble getting published?

Saturday, January 14, 2006

Get out your hankies...

My uncontrollable weeping has subsided enough for me to be able to type, but my sense of outrage is still off the charts as yours will be when you read the story I must tell you…

It seems that a member of the DuPont family, one of the richest in America, is being forced to live in squalor on a paltry allowance of three thousand dollars a month. That’s right, I said
three thousand dollars a month! I’ve heard that Donald Trump spends at least that much on just hairspray and Martha Stewart’s cats have almost twice that amount of cash shredded up in their litter boxes.

Just think of the privations this man must endure! Ordinary table wine instead of champagne… taxis instead of limousines and…god help him…buying clothing off the rack. How can something like this happen in this country. It’s not like the man hasn’t done his part. He got himself born into a family of wealth and privilege…what more do they expect of him?

Spending with reckless abandon should be his birthright and yet he is denied. Will no one stand up for this tragic victim of oppression before he is forced to celebrate another Christmas with an artificial tree and gifts bought at Wal-Mart.

As for myself, I’m going to write to the president and ask him to start a program I have in mind called ‘No Millionaire Left Behind’. Won’t you join me?

Friday, January 13, 2006

If I print it, it must be true...

A previous previous post of mine dealt with tabloid newspapers and started me thinking. Why should real life celebrities the only victims of gossip and innuendo? Why should famous fictional characters be let off the hook? So, with the idea of correcting this great injustice rattling around in my brain, I’m considering publishing my own tabloid newspaper. I don’t have a name for it yet, but here are the sorts of headlines you can expect from this bastion of imaginary journalism:


DNA TEST PROVE MARMADUKE IS SCOOBY DOO’S DAD (ZOIKS!)


HORROR IN WONDERLAND! ALICE SELLS WHITE RABBIT TO TEST LAB, FEEDS DOOR MOUSE TO CHESHIRE CAT!


HOMER SIMPSON GROWS MULTIPLE BODY PARTS! MARGE STRANGELY HAPPY ABOUT IT.

INVESTIGATIVE REPORTER FIND OUT THERE IS NO MRS.CLAUS! JUST ELVES TAKING TURNS WEARING WIG & NEGLIGEE!


SNOW WHITE KILLS DWARVES WITH PICKAX AND BAKES THEM INTO A MEATLOAF WHILE SINGING ‘HI, HO, HI, HO, IT’S LOW CARB YOU KNOW’!


GENIE OF THE LAMP SAYS ALADDIN GUILTY OF INAPPROPRIATE RUBBING. ALADDIN CLAIMS ITS WISHFUL THINKING ON GENIE’S PART.


VERY OLD GULLIVER HAS BLADDER PROBLEM, FLOODS LILLIPUT AGAIN! DOZENS FEARED DROWNED, ALL THE REST JUST REALLY DISGUSTED.


PINOCCHIO’S TRUE STORY. REFUSES TO BECOME REAL BOY, MOVES IN WITH ‘COMPANION’ HOWDY DOODY.


RONALD MCDONALD WAS EXPELLED FROM CLOWN SCHOOL FOR SPRAYING LION TAMERS’ CLOTHES WITH LIONESS PHEROMONES. SAYS DEAN ‘HAVE YOU EVER SEEN A MAN TRAPPED WITH SIX AMOROUS MALE LIONS? IT WASN’T PRETTY.’


There you have it…Pulitzer prize here I come.

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

Hey Arnold...

So, Governor of California Arnold Schwarzenegger had a little motorcycle accident did he? They say he’s fine, just some stitches, but wait what this…he was riding a motorcycle he doesn’t have a license for? That would mean…that the governor...has broken the law!

We really shouldn’t be surprised, I mean, if Kindergarten Cop and Jingle All the Way don’t constitute crimes against humanity what the hell does? What is the point of being as rich as Arnold is said to be if you don’t have someone who is paid to drive you around? OK, so maybe he likes riding his motorcycle, the sun in his face, his pectoral muscles flapping in the breeze. Fine… then go out to some wide-open space where he can’t hit anything and stay the hell out of traffic.

Ultimately, I think you have to blame the special effects industry for Arnold becoming governor in the first place. Look at it this way, without special effects Arnold makes a few Conan the Barbarian movies, maybe a Hercules flick or two and then he disappears off the face of the earth. Instead, because of special effects, films like The Terminator and Predator become hugely successful and the next thing you know…boom…Arnold is sitting in the governor’s mansion.

Thanks Hollywood, we owe you one. What’s even worse is that it’s probably not over. When his term is over some prestigious California university will likely give him a job teaching…though I’m guessing it won’t have anything to do with motorcycles…or acting.

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

On your mark, Get set, Eat...

Every summer, a group of people (mostly men) get together for a hotdog-eating contest at Coney Island. Some of these people (again, mostly the men) are so large they may qualify for the own personal zip codes. In recent years however, these imposing and dedicated eaters have been getting there butts kicked by Japanese contestants that are about half their size.

It turns out that having a gigantic, cavernous stomach isn’t required to consume a record setting amount of food…who knew? The competitions haven’t even been close; the Japanese champion holds the record at 53 ½, while the closest American was only able to eat 37. By the way, if you think eating that many hotdogs sounds unappealing, you ought to try seeing it. Yes, they have televised this event.

So, other than hoping that the Japanese champion loses consciousness, falls across the plate of a much larger contestant and is ‘accidentally eaten’ how can the Americans win back that proud mustard yellow belt? I’m glad you asked. I believe we must send to Japan a group of our most promising young people to study their techniques and training methods (among whom I would include the Olsen twins, not because they’d be any good, I’d just really like to get rid of them for a while).

In time, from this group would arise a great new champion, the ‘Chuck Norris’ of hotdog eating (minus the crappy movies and TV show). Then the USA will once again be able to boast of its gluttonous, gastronomical greatness, but we must do it soon. I have a hunch they’re going to make this an Olympic event someday. Go for the gold!

Sunday, January 08, 2006

Stop The Presses...

It seems to me that writing for one of those tabloid newspapers might be a fun job. Not the ones with all the gossip and photos of celebrities, but the ones that have stories like JFK is still alive and running a Bed and Breakfast in Guam. So, in the unlikely event that an editor from one of them is reading this, here are a few examples of the kind of stories you’d get if you hired me:

Psychic talks to dead presidents: World renowned medium Ima Putwonovaonya says that she’s most recently been in contact with the ghost of George Washington and apparently he’s very upset about all the lies regarding his dentures. Putwonovaonya quotes George as saying: "Enough with the teeth already! They weren’t made of wood. They were made of porcelain, you got that…porcelain!"

Big Foot found Dead: Scientists confirmed a rug in the backwoods cabin of Billy Joe Phister is indeed the hide of the legendary Big Foot. "I just thought it was a funny lookin’ bear when I shot it. I didn’t know nothin’ about no Big Foot. I ain’t got no TV and I don’t read much" said Billy Joe.

Hail to the King: A fanatical group of Elvis impersonators has bought a remote South Sea island and have founded the Republic of Elvisonia. When reached for a comment a spokesman for the newly formed nation would only say, "thank you, thank you very much."

Throw out your cookbooks: A man in Ohio claims to have discovered an amazing new diet. According to Sid Mandrill you can eat almost anything, but it has to be alive: "Fish and chicken are no problem, but beef is a little harder."

Speaking of ET’s finger: A secret government file that was leaked to the press indicates that the aliens who’ve have been abducting and probing earthlings for decades may be a group of rogue inter-galactic proctologists demonstrating their support of universal healthcare.

So…what do you say? Do I get the job?

Wednesday, January 04, 2006

Have ya ever noticed...

So at this point you’re probably asking yourself "Is that all you’re going to use this blog for? To complain and offer ridiculous suggestions?" To which I can only reply…yeah, that sounds about right. Although, I do hope to occasionally make ridiculous observations as well, like the following…

Human beings have a strange relationship with animals. On the one hand they are our pets, beloved family members. On the other hand they are food. Not the same ones of course, we have a rigid though arbitrary system to tell us, which is which. To any dog or cats that might be reading this you can breathe easy, you are and will probably always be (at least in this country) on the do not eat list.


It’s a little trickier for birds; some are on the list some aren’t. If you’re a canary or a parrot you’re probably safe, but if you’re a turkey or a chicken…now you’ve got a problem. Not that there aren’t people who have chickens for pets, there are, you just have to watch your neighbors a little more closely.

Which brings us to the really strange part of this animal business. It is perfectly legal to behead, pluck, disembowel, cook and consume a chicken, but it is illegal to make love to that same chicken. Even if it’s of legal age…whatever that might be for a chicken.

" Well, that makes perfect sense", I hear you say. "Who the hell the hell wants to make love to a chicken?" I agree, although I’m fairly certain that there’s a website somewhere devoted to that very topic. Just imagine however, that you could give to a chicken the same kind of conscious self-awareness that humans have. Then tell the chicken it has a choice: to go with the man in the apron to be beheaded, cooked and consumed or go with the man in the bathrobe who’s going to have sex with you but let you live. I guarantee you that chicken will light a few scented candles and put on a Barry White record so fast your head would spin.

Of course there are some animals that we don’t want anything to with at all. They’re neither friend nor food; they are parasites. Once in a documentary about the different kinds of parasites a man told a story that I will never forget (try as I might). According to this man he was in the bathroom, answering nature’s call, when he noticed what could only be a worm protruding from his rear end.

How far out this worm had to be extended for him to be able to see it, I can’t say, but that’s not the most amazing part of the story. He then says he called his wife in to the bathroom to have a look at this worm, which she does and then goes on to cut off with a scissors the part of the worm that’s visible. Then of course it’s off to the doctor to get rid of the rest of it.


My question is this: how long do you have to be married before you get to be this blasé? Him for asking and her for looking and then actually helping instead of running out of there screaming. They probably don’t give medals for things like that, but she sure as hell deserved one.

Monday, January 02, 2006

In The Beginning...


I don’t really know why I’ve decided to add to the ever-increasing number of blogs. There certainly isn’t any need for it and I may not be any good at it, but that’s never stopped me before. How regular this blog will be I’ve no idea, my posting will probably be as random as my subject matter. So with that rousing statement acting as an introduction, lets start with the plague that is reality television.

Oh, how I envy those lucky people in biblical times with their plagues of locusts, frogs and crudely made sandals that offered no arch support. I’m sure that eventually the frogs ate the locusts and improvements in footwear, along with a little energetic stomping, took care of the frog problem. Unfortunately for us, however, there seems to be no such easy solution to reality TV.

So in the spirit of that grand old defeatist tradition ‘if you can’t beat them, join them’ I am ready to wave the white flag and surrender…provided some changes are made. First, any show that takes place on an island and has the word survivor in its title damn well better involve actual survival. No silly competitions, no immunity and no food except whatever they can catch and kill. I myself would have that include the other castaways but I’m willing to compromise.

Secondly, I want a law passed banning the use of has-been ‘celebrities’ in any reality show regardless of its premise. It used to be when a celebrity passed into has-been status they would fade from view, leaving us to occasionally wonder what ever happened to them. Now, they’re harder to get rid of than Dracula himself. So, whether they’re sharing a house, dancing or arm wrestling for the last rice cake on some fat farm, they’ve all got to go. Then again, in the spirit of compromise, I’m willing to consider ‘Celebrity Autopsy’. (Just to be clear, they would be the subjects of the autopsies, not the ones conducting them).

And finally, the networks and producers of these shows will all have to contribute money to an organization that I have started to find a cure for reality television. All donations are to be sent to our main office, which is, located in Bermuda…for, uh…tax purposes.