Wednesday, May 31, 2006

K Fed Cleans Up

O.k., so remember when I said that K-Fed should shave often? Well, I've seen the result of a well-groomed K-Fed, and I have to say, I'm kinda wanting the old K-Fed back. I mean, look at this picture. I realize that this is the first time any of us have seen him without the two-day old stubble and without the haze of cheeto dust and Red Bull Mist that seems to be following him around, so I"m a bit shocked and ill-prepared, but this look is unnerving. He looks like he wants to eat your your first born with A-1 steak sauce accompanied with a nice red wine, right after he's sucked you into his multi-million dollar real estate investment scheme. He looks like the spawn of Al Pacino's character in Devil's Advocate, except with even less scruples. No, no. Who he really looks like is Christian Bale's character in American Psycho, right before he sticks and axe in Jared Leto's head. But More Unhinged

Do you see that smirk? And, and the pseudo-finger guns? It's just... Who does he think he is? Tony Robins? The ghetto version of Tony Robins? "Yo. Let me and my peeps give you some life affirming lessons, Dawg?" This is what will be haunting my nightmares tonight. Forget David Krumholtz, this is going to come raging from some corner of my sub-concsious tonight, jumping out at me from some corner and I'm going to sit bolt upright, maybe even flail and hit Fighting Nun and I'm going to scare the dog all because the clean K-Fed is even more disturbing than the dirty greasy K-Fed. The world, she is upside down.

Tuesday, May 30, 2006

Principal Vernon R.I.P.

I'm so depressed right now, I'm having a hard time forming the words. The man who forever made me a changed woman by uttering the words "Don't mess with the bull young man. You'll get the horns." is no longer amongst us. I'm just soooo... sad.

I haven't felt this sad since Pat Morita died and my dreams of becoming the Next Next Karate Kid were shattered to pieces. I mean, Paul Gleason, for crying out loud. If ever I was to write a movie involving a bitter, yet still in charge, rough police-man or principal, he would have been it. And now, my dreams of that are now snuffed and gone away.

All my 80's cinematic character actos are slowly being snuffed out. Vincent Schivelli, Pat Morita, Paul Gleason. My dream of putting together the ultimate 80's movie Homage is being snuffed out character actor by character. If William Atherton somehow biffs it this year, I'm just, I don't know what I'll do. And if Edie McClurg gives up the ghost *Sob*. It's too unbearable to think about...

More Dreams with D-Listers

It's happened again. Another dream with a D-Lister. What is up with that? That's like th fourth one in as many months. I can say I'm glad it's not a starange sexual dream with a co-worker, because those suckers send me reeling for weeks. I'll look at said co-worker and just shudder because there is not one person in my whole building that I would even think about touching with a ten-foot pole and yet, in my dreams, apparantly I want to, which yeeach! Anyhoo... So the dream this morning was particularly odd, because for whatever reason, it involved David Krumholtz. And not David "Singing Show Tunes in his Underwear" Krumholtz, or even David "I've got Dick on my face, don't I?" Krumholtz. That would be awesome, instead it was David "Yes I realized my hair veered away from Jew-fro territory and is veering somewhere very scary, maybe eve a Pseudo-Jew-Mullet, or Pseu-Jew-ullet territory" Krumholtz.

And he was all wild-eyed and intense in my dream and he had a gun and he was coming after me, and I was in a wedding dress, marrying, I think David Silver and all I could think was "This is going to be one awesome season finale of N3mb3rs." I don't even watch that show, partly because Fighting Nun gets all indignant about the bad math and partly because *Yawn*. But I watched a couple of minutes the other night, which apparantly my brain thought warrented reviewing or something, because there David Krumholtz was in my dream, complete with trucker hat and that hair, which now, coming to think of it is more Jewish Hair Metal Hair that it is Jew-ullet, holding a gun in my direction, all crazy-eyed intense.

My dreams are getting wierd...

Thursday, May 25, 2006

Office Space inspiration

So, I was checking out the hang art gallery when I came across the following picture. It sure seems like the artist watched office space one to many times. Don't get me wrong I like the movie just a little to much myself, but to devote your god given talent to draw a frekin copy machine, that's some strange shit!

"PC Load Letter"? What the fuck does that mean?

Monday, May 22, 2006

Celebrity Fisticuffs gone wrong

Now, don't get me wrong, I like a good celebrity catfight better than anyone else. In my fevered brain, I've planned some good ones. I even have imagined a particularly good catfight where Ivanka Trump, decked out in a fox fur, complete with little foxy legs on it, goes up to Pamela Anderson and delivers a mean haymaker to one of Pam's siliconed boobs when Pam decides to go into one of her PETA-approved diatribes regarding the fur Ivanka is wearing. These little fevered dreams of mine make me happy, keep me sane.

But, Axl and Hilfiger Fiieeeeght!?!?!?! Wasn't exactly on my list of celebrity pairings I'd like to see duke it out. Not that Axl hasn't had a good smackdown coming to him for quite sometime, but at the hands of Hilfiger? It just seems not right somehow. I bet that Slash is in his snakepit, reading this news, kicking himself all "Some pansy fashion designer did what I've wanted to do for two decades and counting."

And it also sounds weak in my opinion. I mean, Hilfiger lays into him but yet Axl was still able to get up onstage and sing. What kind of weak, sissy-footed fight was this? If you are in the presence of mind that hitting Axl sounds like a good idea, at least go all the way with it and knock him out, dislocate his jaw or something. Don't just bat him around for a time and then leave him unmarked. Although, I'm not sure what I was expecting, coming from the guy who gave us Tommy Jeans.

And the truly sad part about this, is that Axl got smacked around way past his expiration date. I mean he needed a literal and verbal smackdown somehere during the Clinton Administration or possibly before, before the scary plastic surgery made him look like a waxen figuring of himself and the dreads made him look like the missing link between the Predator and Carrot Top, before he decided to physically abuse not one but two of his girlfriends. That would've blown my brace-faced, acne-fied, perm-haired, fifteen-year-old every-loving mind.

But no, it had to happen now, when the only reaction I can muster about this event is "Meh."

Friday, May 19, 2006

American Inventor Finale

God I knew it. I freaking knew the car seat guy would win.

O.k., I'm jumping ahead of myself. Let me start off quickly by saying that somehow, Simon Cowell is everywhere. He's Ubiquitous. He's everywhere. He's got his hands in everything now. So we're flipping between the Will and Grace Finale and the American Inventor Finale and there we were, watching NBC and they had an ad for America's Got Talent, Simon Cowell's new show. So He's got his hand in Fox, ABC, and now NBC. He's like a disease people! He must be stopped.

And yet, my unadulterated hate for Mr. Cowell didn't stop me from watching the finale. Because I am a dork. In regards to this episode, I'd just like to say I called it. Called it from the very beginning. I, for whatever reason, was rooting for Francisco, but as anyone who's hung out with me for any period of time knows, anyone I cheer for in any capacity (even in issuing a tiny woo, not even a hoo, in somebody's direction) is doomed to not win. So I knew he'd be the first to go. Sorry Bike Dude. It's my bad.

I also knew the football guy didn't have a snowball's chance in hell. Sorry football dude, but your product should be relagated to the infomercials they have on the sports channels when their running the little league world series or whatever children's sports they decide to put on because there doesn't happen to be any major sporting event at the time. It's just, it's really meh. Is what I'm saying.

And game dude? Valient effort, but did you really think you'd win when you were up against a safety seat that could save kid's lives? It was just so predictable.

And looooong. Boy was this episode long. I mean infuriatingly long for an hour program. For the love of little green apples, get on with it Announcer Dude. Stop with the looooong pauses and the commercial breaks for dramatic effect, cause it's been done. And keeps being done on American Idol in fact. Shut Up Ryan Seacrest for making the smurfy dramatic pause to commercial break a thing. It pisses me off. And it especially pisses me off coming from the announcer dude on this show. Also, can someone say wee? Because the announcer guy is teeny-tiny compared to the contestants on stage and it's quite hilarious. You can see the guy trying to muster some sense of superiority while looking up at the contestants nose hairs.

And don't, for the love of all that is right in this world, do the whole, "You didn't win but since we're going for the jugular of the collective viewing audience, you really did win" thing by giving the three runners up special opportunities and internships and whatever the hell. And for Christ's Sake, Stop showing up every where Jerry Rice! What, Once football was over, did you sign your soul over to ABC? I thought once Dancing with the Stars was over we wouldn't have to see your preening ass anymore. But nooooo. There you are with your shit-eating grin and the stupid superbowl ring AROUND YOUR NECK on my TV. AGAIN. Just stop. Grrrr. And don't think you get a free pass LANCE ARMSTRONG! SHUT UP. And take off your bike jersey. You RETIRED, remember?

O.k. I think that's out of my system. So in summary, American Inventor is a stupid, jerky show, that I somehow had to watch to the end. I guess I really do like my righteous indignation. Otherwise, why would I be watching this show?

Thursday, May 18, 2006

Dreams Featuring D-Listers

O.k., I can not figure out what is going on with my dreams lately. I mean seriously, they've become bizarre. And they've suddenly involved a calvacade of unusual and low-ranking celebrities. Usually, I leave it up to Fighting Nun to have the truly bizarre dreams involving celebrities. I mean he had a dream involving XZibit, and he doesn't even like X to the Z. I'm the Pimp My Ride fan, at least I could get An X visit in my dreams, but no.

Take a dream I had a couple of weeks ago. So it starts out with me complimenting the guy who played Squints in The Sandlot and telling him how much I loved his recurring character on The Gilmore Girls and he's all "I didn't think anybody knew about that" and I'm all "Of course I do, I've seen everything you've been in. I'm a big fan" which is a big fat lie, to which he gives me a strange look.

And then suddenly I'm at a wedding, having to do some minor things before the wedding and I'm being directed by... wait for it... Suzanne Somers. No, I don't know why either. She's having me do something in this garden before the wedding reception, and I'm trying to pick flowers or something and I'm getting stung by ants. And I start crawling up this wall and I'm all, I have to tell Suzanne. And I see her across the garden talking to people and I refuse to flag any one else down. I apparantly had to flag her down. And she had the exact same hair she had in that one infomercial and she's wearing red spandex and she comes up to me all sweetly and I try to explain the fire ant situation to her and that's when I wake up.

O.k., I knew dreams could be bizarre, but I didn't know they could evoke alternate dimensions. Because, if the E! True Hollywood Story about Three's Company and that VH1 movie about Three's Company is any indication, a geniunely nice Suzanne Sommers is utterly impossible.

Some of the dreams I have about celebrities I actually revel in. Like, man why'd I have to wake up revel. Shortly after the Olympics I had this dream involving Apolo Anton Ohno and Bode Miller in which they were playing beach volleyball not unlike that scene in Top Gun. I have no idea who was playing Iceman and Slider to Apolo's Maverik and Bode's Goose because that didn't matter. What did matter is later on in the dream Apolo started doing the Hasselhoff Baywatch run. Which Awesome.

But the one this morning I can not figure out at all. No seriously. Apparantly in my dream I happen to be a person with violent tendencies so bad that I'm relagated to an anger management camp for 5-10 year olds and Eric Palladino is trying to make out with me, a whole lot like his character in "Can't Hardly Wait" tried to make out with Jennifer Love Hewitt's character except he had gum in his mouth. Like what? I don't understand.

Why do I have to have such bizarre dreams?

Friday, May 12, 2006

American Inventor

Can we talk about American Inventor for a minute? By all rights I should not be watching this show, and in truth I'm not watching the show per say, so much as flipping through the channels, catching it for a little bit, rolling my eyes, getting beligerent in the direction of the tv only to turn the channel only to turn it back to repeat the cycle. I don't enjoy it. It is my personal belief that anything in which Simon Cowell had a hand in making is not meant to be enjoyed, merely tolerated. But I kind of have to watch it and I can't figure out why. I even watched most of the penultimate episode last night. Why? I think because I like to watch people cry, but let's talk about why I shouldn't be watching:

The judges all annoy me and they all remind me of people who are more famous than themselves. The redheaded woman? I had thought that she was the poor man's Catherine O'hara, but now I'm kind of convinced she's more like... O.k. I hate to admit this, but I actually watched Don't Tell Mom, The Babysitter's Dead like five thousand times. And the red-headed boss* who's all sweet to Christina Applegate's character? That's who she reminds me of. The guy with the glasses and the bad hawaiian shirts? Poor man's Dylan Baker, only fatter, with a bigger bald spot and less professional credentials.Or maybe he's when you splice Dylan Baker's and Rick Moranis's genes together. And can we talk about the Hawaiin shirts for a minute? O.k., this guy is supposed to be some big high-falluting inventor dude, and he keeps showing up to every show in a Hawaiin shirt. Do you see your compatriots buddy? They know this show is just as big a sham as you do, but at least they dress nicely.

The English guy doesn't really remind me of one person but reminds me more of a bad emalgum of several English guy stereotypes. Take a nice stock of Anthony Stewart Head, add in some Alexis Denisoff and Hugh Grant to spoil said stock, season with several bad Monty Python and Fawlty Towers stereotypes and add in some "Inventor Cred" and you have this guy essentially. And the one I can not stand is the one guy at the end. Why oh why does he remind me of this guy? I can't figure it out.

The narrator/Ryan Seacreat knockoff that doesn't require a beard that's a Desparate Housewife guy? O.k. first of all, I realized you were trained at the Shatner School of the Dramatic Pause, but you don't have to use it every freaking second of your air time. Secondly, I realize that now that you aren't just nasally narrator dude and now have to be intense moderator dude, you haven't exactly figured out what you're doing on stage with the contestants. But for the love of little green apples don't blue steel them and the viewing audience to death, Mmmkay? And it's all right to be a little jovial with the contestants. You're not telling them they are getting a death sentence, you're letting them know that one of them has a chance a million bucks. Try to loosen up a little bit. Oh, and lay off the fiber. You look constipated.

And the contestants? Sweet Jesus on a Pogo Stick where do I start? Look, don't get me wrong, I love a good schmoopy cry more than anyone else, but God! Stop milking it for all it's worth contestants! You're already on TV. Jesus! Let's take the final four for example. With the exception of the guy with baby seat, no one has a "good" reason to cry per se, but they all do anyway. Every one of these weenies cries like they all saw Steel Magnolias for the first time or like somebody cut an onion up in front of them. But I'm tired of the pulling at the heart strings. Let's take the guy with the word game. The first couple of times he cried, it might've meant something. But good Lawd, put the breaks on. And Francisco? The kid with the bike. O.k., he's kind of my dark horse for reasons I can't quite explain, but he's so weepy. He's acne-fied and bit too passionate for his own good, but mostly weepy and it's driving me Bazoo.

And with the exception of the centrifical force baby seat, none of the inventions are that good. You remember how I said that I get beligerant watching this show? Well I lied. I don't get beligerant. Fighting Nun does. Every episode we watch or paritally watch is met with the following monologue "American Inventor? They're not inventing anything interesting. And they don't know how to sell their product or even make it halfway interesting. These aren't american inventors, these are people with hair-brain ideas that want to try and get them off the ground. I've had better invention ideas in my sleep. My little pinky has produced better ideas. This show sucks." If anything can raise my husband's ire, then it has to be annoying.

But there is a reason I watch it, I think, other than it's fun to watch Fighting Nun get all irate in front of the TV. I think because there's little hidden gems in that show that are just too snarky to pass up. Take the episode in which Car Seat guy won. So he was up against "Bathroom Stall" woman and "Toilet Seat" couple. At the end, the "Bathroom Stall" woman said "I just really wanted to make my mark" to which Fighting Nun remarked quizzically "In the Bathroom?" which is priceless from where I'm sitting. It's the inadvertantly hilarious that make me put up with this show. This show proved a better source for watching the strange parade of life than American Idol has which is saying something.

*Side Note: I just found out that the woman who played the boss in Don't tell mom... happens to be none other than Joanna Cassidy who kicked all sorts of ass in Six Feet Under and thus I feel ashamed to make such a comparison. The woman on American Inventor doesn't deserve such a kind comparison.

Thursday, May 11, 2006

Moral Dilemma of the Afternoon

"The homeless guy has the right ot way right? Looks like he's taking it whether it was his or not. Best give it to him so you don't have to worry about homeless guy splatter and trying to de-flannel-fy your grill. Because running him over would be wrong. But there wasn't a cross-walk there, so technically I'm right... Hmmm."

An Open letter to K-Fed after reading his Spin Interview

Dear K-fed, errr I mean Home Slice, uhhh I mean Kevin Federline:

Dude, can we talk about your Spin Interview for a second. Because seriously, we need to talk. I realize I haven't wanted much to do with you, up to and including knowing who you are, but unfortunately that can't be undone, so you've driven me to this.

So, the Spin Interview. Let's start with the cover shall we. When you happen to be the ugliest thing on the cover and you happened to be featured in the same eyeline as Flea's spandexed crotch, then you got a whole mess of problems to contend with, not the least of which is the stooopid fatigue hoodie you happen to be wearing. The other problems happen to be the scary facial hair, the scary hair you've decided to put back with a pony tail and the stupid-ass earrings. Not that you are harboring under these dillusions or anything, but you are not, in fact Claire from The Breakfast Club, so take out the diamonds MmmKay?

Also, when the only nugget of information that the Spin Editors can deem worthy for their front cover happens to be "I didn't pimp Britney.", well not that we needed any more proof but it just sets us all at ease that you didn't pick a career like brain surgery or rocket science.

And the the interview. Good Lawd, the interview. First off, don't blame the media for pushing you into a rap career. First off, if the media and the rest of the world had it's druthers, it wouldn't be pushing you into a rap career but rather into a flea bath and possibly a car wash containing a high-powered water gun, because bro, I'm here to tell you, you look like you've got a layer of grime on you that won't come off and hasn't come off since the Clinton administration. Is it the Red Bull, the Cheetos, or possibly a nefarious concoction of both? Maybe the world will never know.

And how "hawd" was growing up in Fresno anyway? It's Fresno. You make it sound like Compton. It's Fresno for Christ's Sake! I get that you were "rolling with your posse" or whatever, but it couldn't have been that bad. O.k? In this same interview they've got a picture of you in your soccer uniform. Proves your point so succinctly, don't you thing?

Also, "I did the You Got Served movie and all that." There's about seventy-five things I find funny about this statement, all are way too obvious to mention. But I will say this. I have in fact seen You Got Served (don't worry I didn't pay for it, it was on cable), and I did so just to play "Spot the Federline" and try as I might, I couldn't find you. Granted trying to spot the skeazy one with the bad facial hair and the baggy pants wasn't much to go on, because everyone on that movie fit that criteria. But the point is, don't be name dropping a movie you were in when the people watching said movie can't even find YOUR SKEAZY ASS!

Also it should be said, that when spin quotes you directly as saying "y'knowwhatI'msayin'" then you either need to enunciate, or better yet, stop talking altogether.

Take care and shave often;
The Bloody Munchkin

Monday, May 08, 2006

Keith Richards Has Head Surgery

When I first read this headline, my first reaction was "Shouldn't those surgeons be working on his liver instead? Because seriously." Is that wrong? I think that's wrong...

Sunday, May 07, 2006

Kung Fu Breakfast Club

Alternate Titles for this topic:

Kung Fu Hardly Wait
Kung Fu-less
Kung Fu Things I Hate About You

O.k. I need to know something right now. Why, in the world hasn't there been a movie in which the two greatests cinema genres, being Kung Fu and teen comedies, been combined. I'm serious about this.

This weekened has provided me the opportunity to watch two of my favorite genres at work:
the teen comedy and Kung Fu movie. Saturday night I got to watch the most awesomest double feature ever to be devised by man, Kung Fu Hustle and Zatoichi. First of all, I didn't even know about Zatoichi, which I'm holding all of the Internet responsible for. Seriosly, none of ya'll told me this movie existed. What's wrong with you? It's your responsibility to let me know that something as awesome as this existed. But did anyone tell me to watch a movie in which a blind man that was not, repeat WAS NOT, Rutger Fucking Hauer, kicks fucking ass? No! No one told me to watch a fucking kung fu movie involving a blind man who was not Rutger Hauer kick ass. I'd have watched a movie, A KUNG FU movie, well a Samauri movie, not technically a Kung Fu movie (I get that, trust me I do), involving a blind man and a sword kicking FUCKING ass, if only somebody had told me, but NOOOOO!

I had to discover such things for myself on Starz Edge of all places where they decided to play a Kung Fu Hustle, Zatoichi double feature. Now, I know I've mentioned before how much Kung Fu Hustle kicks ass (There are men. With Axes. Dancing. That is all.) But Zatoichi? Kicks Ass! O.k. Sure it's a little stagey, and a little long ( the end choreographed scene. WTF? And the Geisha dancing? Was that really necassary? No, I mean really?). But this movie has some awesome parts. I mean, really awesome parts. And nobody, within the first three years of this movie's existence ever said "Hey, Bloody Munchkin, You need to track down this movie and track down this movie now. " Where were you guys? I'm disappointed.

But then Fighting Nun decided to leave me home alone and with a little bit of a wine festival wine buzz on. Which means I will preceeded directly to the nearest teen movie playing on cable. Do not pass GO. Do not collect $200 dollars. The first teen movie to meet my direct gaze happened to be Sky High, which the less said about that the better. Actually, just a little needs to be said about that movie, that little being that Bruce "The Chin" Campbell is in it.That's right, Bruce "The Geriatric Elvis" Campbell is in this movie. Just his mere presence in any movie guarantees that said movie will go up a letter grade. This movie started out a D, but was upgraded to a C+ because of Bruce and also because of the addition of not one but two Kids In The Hall.

But back to the point, why hasn't somebody invented a Kung Fu Teen Movie? If someboy could come up with a hybrid of Kung Fu Hustle and say, Can't Hardly Wait or Clueless, you would have invented the perfect cinematic formula that would require me, The Bloody Munchkin, buying at least fifteen opening weekend tickets, and, AND! dragging The Fighting Nun along. Thats at leat a good 30 opening weekend assured ticket sales. Why hasn't Paramount greenlighted this yet? I'm not kidding here. I'll even write the script. Come On! Give me a chance. It'll kick ass!!!

Wednesday, May 03, 2006

Solving the World's problems

So I think I solved the problem of depression, low energy, hell I think the answers to world peace might lie somewhere in this very solution. Ready for it?

Talk to your best friend. Call her. Call her right now and talk to her and talk to her some more and then listen. Laugh. Laugh hard. Make her laugh. Cry just a little. Realize that your best friend is little bit neurotic but realize that you are a lot neurotic so you compliment each other perfectly. Blame both sets of parents for making each of you neurotic. Laugh about how neurotic your parents are. Talk about and also laugh about how neurotic your extended families are. Make plans. Not just plans to see each other again, although those need to happen to, but real honest to goodness plans, something creative and exciting. Moan about being a grown-up and how much being adult sucks, and mortgage payments, bills, blah-blah-blah-let's-go-back-high-school-except-not-really-because-high-school-sucked-but-we-actually-got-to-see-each-other-more-than-once-every-few-years-so-getting-to-spend-time-with-you-back-then-actually-rocked-but-high-school-sucked-cakes. Tell her to stop calling her ex and to stop taking his calls. Have her tell you that everything will work out somehow and not to worry.

I'm serious about this. Yesterday, given that it was Concert Recovery Day, I was wiped. I mean exhausted. I just wanted to lay down on the couch with Fighting Nun and veg out. And then she called and from the second I heard her voice, I was instantly energized. She was a blast of fresh air and whether I knew it or not, was exactly what I needed. We've been friends for years now. Given the small town I'm from, we've actually known each other from elementary school, but our bond didn't really form until high school. And even though I'm a horrible friend and I don't call her as often as I should and because we both move so much, we have a hard time keeping track of numbers and such, the bonds still run deep. Doesn't matter how long we go without talking, when we do talk, we always pick up right where we left off. And when we finish the conversation, we always say "I love you". And we mean that. J will always be my girl and I'll always have her back and she'll always bring me sunshine. I feel renewed and I feel grateful that she's in my life.

Hey J, I love you girl. Just thought I'd say that...

Tuesday, May 02, 2006

Various letters to people, places and things before, during, and after the Morningwood/The Sounds Concert

Dear the couple sitting next to us at the Thai food restaurant we went to before the show,

I'm sorry for any inappropriate comments I made during the meal. I blame the wine.

Mea Culpa,
The Bloody Munchkin

Dear awesome bartender at Sushi Groove,

Your Sake Cosmopolitans were awesome. I did not know there was such a thing as a sake cosmo. Now I know. I also know that I can not sip a sake cosmo and that I can put two down in relatively quick fashion. I now also know how to make one so that I can continue to put them down in relatively easy fashion in the comfort of my own home. I don't know whether to thank you or charge you for all my future hospital bills due to a failing liver, because Sake Cosmos Yummy.

Thanks for the tip,
The Bloody Munchkin

P.S. I didn't know that Mondays are the new Sundays for the binge-drinkers in denial. I now know that. I guess I should probably thank you for that information, I think.

Dear Sake Cosmopolitans,

Why do you have to be such harsh mistresses? You were tasty and easy to drink but apparantly hated that I decided to have two Full Sail Ales at the concert so you consorted with the beer and the wine to create a low grade hangover that's still flagging me down. You're so mean!

Bite My Ass,
The Bloody Munchkin

Dear the guy with the "I Fucking Hate Fall Out Boy" t-shirt working the merch booth,

Cool t-shirt dude.

The Bloody Munchkin

Dear the guy in the "I'm not fat, I'm American" t-shirt;

You also have an awesome t-shirt.

The Bloody Munchkin

P.S. Uhm dude, not to harsh the compliment or anything, but never ever wear flip-flops at a concert where you are relatively sure that there will be pushing and moshing and general rough-housing. Close toed shoes for concerts, you rank ametuer. Remember that tip, your toes will thank me later.

Dear Action Action;

I told you, the lead singer, as I was leaving that you played a great set, and I meant it. Fighting Nun and I might pick up one of your albums the next time we go to Rasputin.

The Bloody Munchkin

P.S. I'm only saying this cause I care, but collectively, as a band you guys should pick better hairstyles for yourself. The shaved-side-faux-mullet your bassist was sporting was scary. And the Faux-Hawk your other guitarist was sporting somehow turned into a bad Flock of Seagullsish 'do and it was doing him no favors whatsoever. I'm just telling you because I care.

To The Lead Singer of Morningwood;

I think I love you. You are sassy and working it and you wore a leather gun holster for your microphone, which awesome, and you carried a wooden pony onstage which you proceeded to stick down your pants and then made out with. You have so much moxy that you sold it. And you also made it damn fun. Although I am disappointed you didn't play Babysitter, you were totally forgiven when you stripped the guy you dragged onstage to his undies. I really think I love you.

Be My Valentine,
The Bloody Munchkin

P.S. Sorry I grabbed your ass when you walking through the audience. I blame the Sake Cosmos. And the wine. And the Beer.

To the Drummer in Morningwood;

You are sporting the most awesome fro I have ever seen in my life. You deserve praise.

Keep up the Hair,
The Bloody Munchkin

To the Bassist from Morningwood;

Gunner Nelson called, he wants his hair circa 1989 back.

Are you the lost Nelson Brother?
The Bloody Munchkin

To the girl whose stilleto got stuck in my laces;

Thanks for the bruise and the dent on my foot. Also, when I tell you lift your foot up, don't give me bitchface, just do it. YOUR STILLETO HEEL IS MAKING A CRATER ON THE TOP OF MY FOOT. Lift your leg, Untangle what I'm assuming are ugly-ass heels from the laces of my pumas, do it fast, before we're pushed some more and stay tangled and fall or I decide to push your tiny bitch-face ass out of the way and off my foot!

Thanks for the Stilleto Indentation, NOT,
The Bloody Munchkin

To the guy in the wheel chair who pushed his way up to the front for The Sounds;

You've got moxey dude. I hope your o.k. It was pretty violent up there. Call me. Fighting Nun and I wanna make sure you survived.

Mad Props,
The Bloody Munchkin

To the lead singer of The Sounds;

Just a few quick notes to you. First of all, Formal Shorts? Are a) totally not a good look for you b) an atrocity to fashion, and c) look really bad in black. Were you sporting Cameltoe or was it just me? Read Go Fug Yourself, get a clue as to what to wear that won't make you look like Fergie or a rejected Project Runway model. Also, try as you might, you are not the Blonde Parker Posey. Snear all you want, but you just aren't. Also, that strange tattoo on your forearm of a girl or something looks totally smurfy. I'm just saying.

Formal Shorts are out,
The Bloody Munchkin

P.S. You sounded good for the fifteen minutes that we listened to you though. Whatevs.

To my feet, head and bruised body;

I'm sorry for all the trauma I put you through. I realize I'm going to have to deal with mystery bruises for a good two weeks after this, and I apologize.

The Bloody Munchkin