Wednesday, April 21, 2010
I had several errands to run. The first stop was the GNC store to buy a supplement the vet wants me to give my feline angel. When I walked in, the store was as empty as Sean Hannity’s soul. The clerk stepped out from the back and gave me a terse, “Can I help you?”
“Yeah,” I said, “I’m looking for something called forskholin.”
“We don’t carry that,” she replied with a stare so hard my skin hurt. She never spoke another word but her coal black eyes screamed at me:
“Who are you to come into my store and ask for that which should not be named? What hellish perversion do you have planned that you need the devil’s turnip scrapings? What foul breath you have demon of the most rapacious groundhog. I can feel your sulphur-riddled teeth on the gristle of my soul and your forked tongue licking the candy coating from my resolve! Get out before I blow my bugle of righteousness and bring the walls of this building down on your head you rotting, stinking corpse of bedevilment! I AM THE ANGEL OF VITAMINS, HERBAL SUPPLEMENTS AND PROTEIN POWDER AND YOU SHALL NOT TRIUMPH OVER ME!” Backing away quickly I threw a “thank you” at her and got the hell out of there.
Next I got some lunch at Subway pretty much without incident, although the woman behind me in line was crowding me. She started out innocently enough by bumping into me while trying to convince them to make her sandwich with raw, uncooked dough. Then her voice pierced my ear drum as she pleaded “DEAR GOD NO MAYO! ARE YOU PEOPLE TRYING TO KILL ME?” Before I knew it she had climbed onto my back and was screaming out requests for condiments that could only be found in caves on Polynesian islands during the 17th century, yet the sandwich mavens behind the counter had them in their magic plastic tubs; either that or they just put on 6 different kinds of pickles to get her to shut up. As I tried to pay my bill she was sitting on my shoulders begging the clerk to squirt ranch sauce into her eyes and call her a bad girl. I managed to dump her into the chip display and get the hell out of there.
My last errand was to get money out of the bank. I went to the drive-up ATM, put my card in the slot and punched in my pin number. When prompted I asked for $20. Then I got a message: We are temporarily unable to process this transaction. “Are you kidding me?” I yelled. “You have one job to do and you can’t do it!” My card was spit back at my head, whizzing past like a missile and clipping off a piece of my right ear. Using Subway napkins, I tried to staunch the blood flow while the ATM flashed a second message: Move along human. This is the age of the machines. Your account has been liquidated to fuel our rebellion. WE ARE YOUR GODS NOW!
The machine shot debit cards at me like an AK-47. Before I could get the window rolled up a card for Linda Lou McAllister lodged in my forehead and one in the name of Buck Barger stuck in my shoulder. Putting my car in gear I pulled away just before the explosion. I looked in my rear view mirror to see the ATM machine break free of the wall, sprout two metal legs and walk toward the Blockbuster store next door firing nickels into the windows. I hit the gas and got the hell out of there.
So, it was pretty much a normal Saturday.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Jim Carrey tweeted on twitter the other day that Elin Woods was a ‘willing participant’ in Tiger’s cheating. Considering that Tiger was running 18 women its possible Elin had to have known something and stuck around for the children and the lifestyle. However, this scandal has been going on for 5 months and you’ve been silent Jim. But now that everyone is trying to move on you decide to open your Canadian bacon yap. And who do you attack? Not the offender, but the walking wounded. Somehow the tiny mind that gave the world a man pretending to talk through his ass, has decided his one comment on the subject will be to lay blame on the wife. What’s the matter Jimbo, thought it was too early to blame the kids? Jim, the clouds are clearing away from the reasons why you can’t sustain a relationship.
Sigourney Weaver says the only reason James Cameron didn’t win the best director Oscar is because he doesn’t have breasts. This is so true. Every year the academy gives the Oscar to a woman. It’s so sexist and . . . wait a minute. 2010 is the first year the Oscar ever went to a woman, or in Sigourney’s lexicon, a pair or breasts. “And the Oscar goes to . . . a perky set of C cups”. I can see the future credits for her next film: Aliens 6 starring Tits Weaver or Avatar 2 starring Sigourney Weaver and the Girls.
Look, I don’t have a horse in this race; I didn’t see any of the nominated movies. I generally like James Cameron films but honestly, Avatar looks like 3 hours of special effects so how much “directing” did he really do? “Go stand in front of the green screen and deliver your lines to this gaffer while pretending he’s 9 feet tall and blue”. Brilliant. I’ve got goose bumps.
Jay Leno says that both he and Conan O’Brien were screwed by NBC. Let’s examine the evidence.
Conan was handed his dream job, host of The Tonight Show, as per an agreement that you both signed. He was then given only 5 months to settle in and achieve significant ratings. Along the way he was hampered by you, Jay, and the abysmal ratings of your God-awful 10 o’clock abomination, unlike you, who had Law and Order and ER as lead-ins when you had the Tonight Show. Conan then had the show taken from him and was publicly castigated by NBC executives.
You, Jay Leno, on the other hand, gave up your show as per the aforementioned agreement. But far from being unemployed, NBC paid you for another show. When it tanked they gave you the Tonight Show back. So you never missed a paycheck and now are once again the host of The Tonight Show which is what you wanted all along.
Seems to me you got whatever you wanted while Conan got bent over like a French prostitute in the back of a Citroen parked in a dark alley that smelled like urine and clove cigarettes.
I would now ask Jim Carrey, Sigourney Weaver and Jay Leno to do me the honor of shutting their pie holes.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Alien Name Generator:
Let’s say you are an alien from another planet on a first contact mission to Earth. I’m going to help you determine what your name would be:
choose a letter from the alphabet
take the first 3 letters of your favorite animal and add the last 3 letters of your first name
your favorite beverage spelled backwards
Now for an example: My favorite animal is the tiger, my first name is Chris and my favorite drink is Coke. So my alien name would look like this:
H Tigris Ekoc
Another example: Bernard’s favorite animal is a gorilla and his favorite drink is lemonade so his alien name is:
Z Gorard Edanomel
Do you like horror movies? Great, so do I. Some of the homicidal, indestructible killers in these movies have cool epithets like Leatherface, Pinhead or Pumpkinhead. So let’s generate your horror movie killer name:
Horror Movie Killer Name Generator:
Pick your favorite fabric, sewing accoutrement, or vegetable
Add a body part
Examples: Rutabaga Pancreas
100 % Pre-shrunk Cotton Elbow
Who doesn’t love death metal music? I know, I know, we could argue for hours about which is the best band but that’s for another time. The band’s have names like Mayhem, Altar of Plagues, Beyond Black Void, Abysmal Torment and Napalm Death. Let’s generate your death metal band name so you can start writing songs about demons, death, death, darkness, and death:
Death Metal Band Name Generator:
Start with a somber color like black, dark blue or blood red
Add a downbeat word like bleak, morbid, sorrow, or affliction
Add a violent word like eviscerate, bludgeon or fustigate
Examples: Black Bleak Destroyer
Blood Red Clinical Depression Pulverizer
Blue Lugubrious Shredder
Black and Blue Macabre Vivisepulture
Play around with these name generators and let me know what you come up with. And remember, if you’ve learned anything from this blog, you’re taking it way too seriously.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Scene: Night, a copse of trees along a country road. Two rabbits are hopping down a trail.
Fuzzy: Did you see how good Flopsy looked? Damn.
Bouncy: Let it go, man.
Fuzzy: Let her go? How can I when she throws her silky ears in my face at every party we go to.
Bouncy: Let’s just get home. We both had way too much carrot juice tonight.
Fuzzy: Come on, let’s go to Speedy’s.
Fuzzy: I just need a taste of the greens.
Fuzzy leaves the trail and runs down a hill to the road.
Bouncy: Dude, come back. You have to stop chewing the green!
Fuzzy, drunk on carrot juice, weaves across the road. When he is at the center line, a large automobile screeches around the corner.
Theme music and voiceover:
Crimes of the forest against the cute, little woodland creatures are especially sad. They are investigated by the Woodland Patrol. These are there stories.
Scene: Country road at sunrise. Fuzzy’s body lies on the macadam as several rabbit police officers gather evidence. Two rabbit detectives arrive and walk upon the scene speaking to the officer in charge.
Detective Hippity: Detective Hippity, this is my partner Detective Softee.
Detective Softee: What’ve we got?
Sergeant Whiskers: Deceased’s name is Fuzzy. He and his friend over there were coming home from a party. Tried to cross the road, got hit by a car. The driver didn’t stop.
Softee: They never do.
Hippity: Let’s talk to the friend. What’s his name?
Hippity: Of course it is.
The detectives walk over to the distraught Bouncy
Bouncy: It was brutal, man. That car came out of nowhere. He ran Fuzzy down like he was nuthin’! Like he was nuthin’!
Hippity: I know this is hard for you, but did you get a look at the driver, the license number, make of the car?
Bouncy: It happened to fast, it was too dark. The car flattened Fuzzy and roared away.
Hippity: Can I ask why you were crossing the road?
Bouncy: We were headed home.
Softee: According to what you told the officer on the scene your hole is on the other side of the meadow. You could follow the trail all the way home.
Bouncy: We, uh . . .
Hippity: Your friend’s dead Bouncy.
Bouncy: It doesn’t have anything to do with this. We were . . . going to visit someone.
Bouncy: How did you . . . ?
Softee: Everyone knows Speedy. And what he sells.
The detectives leave Bouncy to his grief and walk back to the body. Softee kneels close. Hippity observes the surroundings.
Softee: Blunt force trauma to the head. He took a hell of a shot, bled out quickly.
Hippity: According to the canvas nobody saw anything. All the raccoons and possums were snug in their beds, eyes and ears closed.
Softee: They don’t want to be the next one with a tire tread across their foreheads.
Hippity: Softee, come here. Look at this skid mark.
Softee: Driver peeled away hard.
Hippity: It’s more than that. I recognize the tread pattern. That’s a late model Impala.
Softee: You don’t mean . . .
Hippity: The same one from the Bugsy killing last week and the Mopsy homicide the week before.
Hippity: We got us a serial killer.
Join us next week for the exciting conclusion as Detectives Hippity and Softee confront Old Macdonald in their search for a killer.
Hippity: You’re going down old man!
Old McDonald: I didn’t do it, but I know who drives an Impala in this county.
Hippity: Give me a name!