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...

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?

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."

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?

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.
Bizarre.

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?

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.

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

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...

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!!!

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...

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

Analyzing the last five Minutes of D2: The Mighty Ducks

So, I have a strange obsession with The first two Mighty Duck movies, more of a love-hate relationship really, being that most of the love is directed solely at Elden Hensen's character Fulton Reed because when I was a teenager, the adoration was full on. I'm talking Bloody Munchkin Hearts Fulton Reed in big red ink. Yes, I knew he was a fictional character, but that didn't matter to me. I needed me some long-haired strong-silent ruffian, and I needed him baaad. It was full-on scary ya'll. All that pent-up fifteen-year-old school-girl-crush energy that girls reserved for The New Kids on the Block, excuse me I mean NKOTB I diverted to Elden Hensen, well that in about a bajillion other tertiery characters in about a bajillion other movies (Can you say Seth Green's character in Airborne? Can you also say Breckin Meyer's character in Clueless?), but that's beside the point.

The Hate was soley directed at Emilio Estevez because: Shut Up! Shut Up Emilio's prickish behavior, holier than thou attitude, stupid ass smirk, and feather-ass-that-later-becomes-greasy-ass hair. Shut up the girlish love interests in both movies who are supposed to be the thing that grounds Gordon Bombay (Emilio's Character) who just come off whiny and why would a prick like Emilio end up with wet blankets like that? Because seriously. Does kind of explain Paula Abdul, but that's besides the point...

God, I can't believe how much energy I've wasted on explaining what a prick Gordon Bombay end up being. Here I am stating the obvious again, like that point hasn't already been broadcast in space.

But anyway, to get to the point. Somehow I've been catching D2 on cable alot lately. I haven't figured out why I have to watch it ever time it is on cable because that movie has lost alot of the allure it once had for me. There's so much cheese emitting from the screen I'd be able to make enough fondue to last a lifetime. Usually I skip the last five minutes, because booooring.
But this morning I caught the last five minutes, and I got to say, I'm really freaked out now. Like seriously freaked out.

So here's the thing, at the very end, when the credits start rolling, there's this wierd camp out the whole team does and they are sitting there around a camp fire, with Goldberg lighting his marshmellow on fire and Joshua Jackson looking all cute and "The Bash Brothers" hamming it up and the such. There's two things that have me freaked out about this scene, and its not the lot's butchering of "We Are The Champions" either. First of all, it's the longing stares Micheal Tucker's character Tibbles and Emilio have, which emit "Brokeback Hockey" for the two seconds its caught on screen, which, what is with that really? I mean, ew! Micheal Tucker being the Ennis to Emilio Estevez's Jack is not the mental picture I've ever wanted. But I have it now. And I can't un-have it either. Is that why they all went camping, so that their two characters could play tonsil hockey in a tent while chaperoning the other kids? I really think it is.

The other thing that has me freaked out beyond comparison is right before the screen goes to black, there's this wide shot of everyone around the campfire, and you see the bash brothers wrestling by the fire, which is a brokeback moment in and of itself, but then, on the far right of the screen, you see Emilio rocking back and forth in his seat next to the teacher/wet blanket all scary-like. I think he was supposed to be rocking out, but it comes off all unabomber, Charles-Manson-ish and I have absolutely no idea why. What was that all about? I really want to know. Did the director go "Em, we need you to rock out this last scene, but rock out with intensity." and this happened to be Emilio's answer? Did he some how do some drugs he swiped from his brother Charlie right before he started and just got really into the moment? If that last scene is really indicative of Emilio's normal behavior, well then I am beginning to see why he hasn't gotten alot of work in the last ten years and nobody has greenlighted Men at Work 2.

This is a very long-winded way of me saying that I finally understand why I've skipped this scene the five-thousand other times I've scene this movie, because I am seriously scarred for life now...

Murphy's Law Bites My Ass

I think there's some murphy's law that somehow Karma always seem to want to bring about onto Fighting Nun and myself. Well, there are actually several murphy's laws that get inacted on us on a daily basis, one of which is that, even if you pick the shortest line in the super market, it will inevitably become the longest line, complete with little old lady paying for her thirty dollars of groceries in change.

But the one law of murphy currently kicking our asses happens to be a law that states "Whatever you have put good-earned money into will be irreparably damages so that it is truly yours" or something like that. The thing we put good money on is obviously our new house, and although not irreparably damaged yet, within the month and a half that we've lived there it has become "ours" because between the wine stain and the dog who shall not be name BECAUSE HE IS STILL IN TROUBLE tearing up a patch of the carpet, it's now officially got the "Bloody Munchkin and Fighting Nun were here. You can tell by the swath of destruction we've laid" stamp of approval all over it.

Thing is, we were doing so good though. We've been taking our shoes off so as not to get the carpet dirty. We've been fixing the umpteen little things the home-inspector dude found wrong with our house since we moved in and I have been obsessively cleaning the kitchen like Mr. Clean on crack. We were being the good little home-owners I always knew we could be.

And then what happens? We spill wine, a great glassful onto the carpet. Which sucks but whatever. We got a steam cleaner, we're dealing with it. Although it's turning out to be the little wine stain that could, or the ghost of spilt grape juice past, what with haunting the spot we've cleaned in a vaguely brownish color. But we'll deal. What we don't have good solid answers for dealing with is the spot of carpet by the closet door mr. still-in-trouble-pants decided to create because he thought jut was apparantly a good look for the floor.

But I can't totally blame the dog. Well I can, but part of me, a small sliver of me knows it was Karma putting a murphy's law in action on our asses. I mean, why is it that when the world tries to cosmically balance itself, Fighting Nun and I find we're on the wrong end of the see-saw when it happens?

Babies

Can I just say how endlessly amusing I find it that Tom Cruise's and Brooke Shields's babies are born hours apart? That's gonna be a fun school yard five years from now. "Go back to your pill popping mom." "Shut Up Sari. Why don't you worship Xenu with your couch-jumping dad." And then the gloved will be O-F-F. That's gonna be fantastic...

Words are fun!

I once read a Non Sequiter comic in which the main character were just shouting words at each other because it was fun. I decided to send the comic to Fighting Nun, and we immediately started yelling inane words at each other, like arugula and mestication (well, those were my words really) over e-mail. It was fun. I don't know why we stopped. Oh yeah, that's right, work and stuff. Darn work. Always screwing stuff up.

With that said, today has turned over two doozies that I must broadcast to the world. Well, not the world because I have like no readers and therefore am merely posting where the world can see it if the world so chooses, which it doesn't, but anyway.

The two words of the day are:

Goldiglo

Teledildonics

They could also be in contention for awesome band names, but Teledildonics would have to be a really loud, Lords-of-Acid-like band to really pull off the name.

The President's Head is bouncy

I don't know why I find the above link so perversely amusing, but I do. There is something disturbing entertaining about watching a charicature of the W getting bounced and crushed and put through his paces in a wierd little bouncy ball world. And you have mouse control, so if the president gets stuck, you just pull him through or over an obstacle. I have found that I'm taking too much pleasure in putting this guy through his paces. Let me tell you, you have not lived until you've watched the Commander in Chief forced through a tiny opening doing the full standing splits. I also like that when W is stuck somewhere, his little character body is heaving, like he's breathing heavy as if he's just had to think incredibly hard or was straining to comprehend foriegn policy or something like that.

I wonder if Barbara Boxer or, like the founding members of move-on are playing around with this right now all "And this is for the War in Iraq, and this is for your policies on public education, and don't eeeeven get me started on this new immigration bill." Heh!

Turtlegate

I'm not sure if its obvious, but apparantly I'm hardwired to buy a bunch of kitchy crap I don't really need. There are certain things that I'm convinced a company in China made specifically because they new I would by it. Any sproingy, brightly colored toy of varying cuteness or playfulness I will either buy or lament not buying, and in some cases, I will buy multiples of. Take my cubicle for instance. Somehow I have amassed three slinkies, two bean-bag lizards, four strechy rubbery lizard toys, all in various states of decay and destruction (it's not my fault their legs are easy to rip off, really!), at least ten bouncy balls, some of which light, some of which light and make noise, some of which are supposed to light and make noise but whose batteries have died, four jelly rings that light up, a lava lamp glittery thingy and a plastic Godzilla Lizard, and a stuffed Intel Guy. And that's just a partial listing of the toys I can see!

So, point is, if it is cute and amusing, chances are I either have it, have multiples of it, or deeply waaaaaaant it if I don't have it already. Usually, Fighting Nun is able to curb that instinct I have. Our new house isn't cluttered with cute and amusing things, sadly. This is because my need to outfit our house with needless stuff is usually met with a good helping of resistance. A trip to Bed, Bath, and Beyond usually goes something like this:

"Look, it's a soap dispenser thingy with froggies floating in it!"
"You don't need it!"
"But it's, It's a soap dish.... With little froggies.... Floating in it!"

Fighting Nun usually pats my shoulder, rolls his eyes and walks away from me at this point, thus settling the dilemma and leaving me without an amusing froggie-floating dispenser, sadly. But sometimes, just sometimes, Fighting Nun can't walk away from my stunning powers of persuasion mixed with the desire to have amusing things, such as our latest outing to the hardware store. Yes, I realize that a hardware store is hardly the place to find something that suits my cuteness needs, but this last time, there was just the thing.

Bloody Munchkin: Look, they have a glow in the dark froggie light!
Fighting Nun: *rolls eyes*
BM: No, but look, its a little solar-powered frog that can sit outside in our new backyard and it can be an extra patio light. We need another one! You said so yourself...

At this point, Fighting Nun walks away from me, but the beauty of a hardware store is that nothing is where it is suppose to be, so you end up walking up and down the same aisles a bunch of different times, trying to find the stuff you need, which at this particular moment was cloth fiberglass, bondo, a spreader and expandable foam (don't ask) all of which were conveniently not placed anywhere close to each other which meant Fighting Nun and I were forced to walk passed the same spot where the awesome glowing froggies of wonderfulness happened to be. Which meant I could ply my wonderful powers of persuasion on him *cough wearing him down cough*.

Bloody Munchkin: But see, he's so cute and he needs a good home.
Fighting Nun: I am not buying you a glow in the dark frog.
BM: But he'll light up in the patio and he's soooo cute and I'll name him Ralph!
FN: You name EVERYTHING Ralph!
BM: No I don't! I name everything Pepe and that can be blamed on the movie Airborne. The only things I name Ralph are my shoes, and those are only the righties!
FN: *walks away*

After the third time walking past the display and "persuading" Fighting Nun that we needed a lighted up frog, Fighting Nun was at his wit's end.

FN: I AM NOT BUYING YOU A GLOW IN THE DARK FROG!
BM: But, but, but... (Cue pouty lip and big, puppy dog eyes)
FN: ....But I will buy you the glow in the dark turtle.
BM: There are turtles!!! I didn't even see those!!! Those are awesome! I like those better!

So we now own a glow in the dark turtle which I have ceremoniously dubbed Thomas (I couldn't name him Ralph because all my right shoes are named Ralph, and I couldn't name him Pepe because my plant at work is named Pepe, so I had to come up with something else. And besides, Ralph the Turtle? Does not have a good ring to it. Now, if I can just convince Fighting Nun the next time we go to the hardware store that Thomas the Turtle is lonely all by himself in our big, huge patio and needs friends, like say possibly two more glow in the dark turtles and maaaaaaybe a frog? Come on, what do you say?

Made-Up Band Names

Metrosexual Backlash.

I'm envisioning a very grungy plaid wearing alternative band, but not in Kurt Cobain kind of way, more of a Mel Gibson meets Grizzly Adams kind of Way. Zack Galafanakis, I think I have the band name for you!

Screw You Weather, Part Deux

What is going on with the Bay Area's weather right now? I mean seriously. It's April. April for Godsakes! Fighting Nun and I are supposed to be Windsurfing! right now. I am, by all accounts supposed to take my humongoid life raft of a beaten-up board and one of Fighting Nun's beat up sails and I'm supposed to be beating them up right now. Not right now as in right now, but right now as in, we were supposed to start windsurfing back in March. It's supposed to be sunny and windy and Fighting Nun are supposed to be out at one of the handful of windsurfing locations scattered around the bay area right now. Everytime we drive over the bridge, Fighting Nun is supposed to look forlornly out to bay and lament not being able to sail the white caps. Now Fighting Nun just looks out to the bay and laments it not being windy. We're both inside, miserable, watching the rain come down for like the umpteenth consecutive day, listening to the doom and gloom of the weather reports on TV ("Mudslides in Marin, Highway 1 closed forever, more rain for at least a month, more at 11").

And its not just the lack of windsurfing I'm lamenting. It's Baseball. Did you know there was supposed to be a game last night? Had there been a game last night, we would have watched it, but instead, it got rained out and Fighting Nun made me watch the first thirty atrocious minutes of "Saw". Shut Up Weather! You're screwing up baseball and forcing me to watch horror movies with my husband, and that I just won't stand for! Do you hear me weather, or do I have to drone on and on about what you happen to be doing to MY HAIR in addition to the havoc you are wreaking with my social activities? Because I will!!! Just you wait. Except I've already droned on about my weather-related hair woes here before, but I will again if that is what it takes for you to stop raining and turn sunny and windy! Don't think I won't, because I will!! I mean it!! And don't think I don't have an extra special rant about what this rain is doing to all the traffic in this area, because I do. Short form: It's turning people into idiots. Well, even more so than they were before.

Weather, hurry up and do what you are supposed to do: get sunny, get windy and get ready for me to shred!

Paralyzed with Helping, Part I

So a couple of weeks ago, I went into this huge rant about public schools and how we as in the government we is trying to do things to help the school system but it instead hampers them and weighs them down with unnecessary red tape and not enough funding to clear the red tape and help the kids out at the same time. I even wrote quite a lot of paragraphs about it for the blog, but, because what was starting as an articulate rant ended up as an inarticulate gurgle of fury directed at anyone in charge not seeing the problem. Lots of vigorous head shaking and unexplainable frustration weren't really gonna get my point across.

Which brings me to my point. There is an organization that is doing something about helping our kids, and that I enjoy helping very much. Here's the problem. I recently came into a little money as part of my departed grandmother's estate (I haven't talked much about her or that experience either, well I have, just not in this space. I wanted to keep that experience of losing her separate from what I'm doing in this space). So Fighting Nun said that any devices I had for the money were my own. Part of that money went into a project for the house (buying my awesome dog Kissinger a doggie door so he can get in and out of the patio easily). It's a piddly thing to use the inheritance on, but I don't think my grandmother would mind. So now I have 40 dollars left over, and I'm paralyzed as to what to do with it. I've thought about spending it on myself, but I'll just buy crap and I'd like to do something nice in my grandmother's memory, so I'm thinking of earmarking that money for a project on Donor's Choose.

Thing is, I can't decide which project to give my money to. There's so many good ones, and I'm paralyzed with the choosing and the helping, and also asking other people to help and get the project I pick on the ground and rolling for these kids. So I'm leaving it up to my two readers to help me decide. Right now, I'm leaning to these two projects: Marin Headlands Camping and Bay Area Kids Experiencing the sea around them. I'll make my decision soon, but any ideas would be appreciated.

The Mustache Strikes Back

Remember when I remarked about how bad Fabritzio's mustache was? Remember how I also said how I was horrified that the 70's pornstache was making a comeback? Well, this topic came back up in discussion, and I'm still mystified by the fact that there are men out there who think they can pull off the nice thick mustache without coming off sleazy, creepy or not like Ron Jeremy. Because I'm here to tell you, trying to pull off that stache will not work. And I know why.

First of all, the guys trying pull off that stache are twenty-something wannabe hipsters who are trying to come of as ironic or retro or vintage or however they try and spin it as. First of all, if it's the ironic facial hair that you're going for, well that train has passed. The age of The New Sincerity is upon us. The Age or Irony is so 1996. So don't do it. And if you're trying to grow it because you think the perfectly groomed mustache will be a great accessory to go with your vintage "If this Trailer's a Rockin', don't bother Knockin'" t-shirt and Camaro belt buckle, well then you are an idiot. Look, the only think that accessorizes with that t-shirt is a grease fire (although the belt buckle is pretty rocking) and secondly, the porn-stache accessorizes with nothing but orange shag carpeting and the "wakka-wakka" music of impending bone-age.

My friend, the one who is considering a forray into this most unfortanate of trends argued that his stache could maybe be very Sam-Elliot-like. Let me explain something. There's only one person, well two people in this whole wide world that could pull of the Sam Elliot mustache and those two people are Sam Elliot and my dad. But see, Sam Elliot knew how to work that mustache, and he also accessorized it with awesome salt-and-pepper hair and a Harley a la "Mask". My dad pulled off that mustache, and continues to pull it off, because he's rocking the same salt-and-pepper look and also because my dad looks a lot like Sam Elliot, only with a bigger beer belly and a more pronounced bald spot.

And don't even bring up the Sellick. O.k., I respect the Sellick, and, fine I'll relent that he rocked the stache on Magnum P.I., but if you even think you can go Magnum, well then you are delusional and an idiot. Only Magnum can go Magnum and only Sam Elliot and my dad can go Sam Elliot.

My friend also argued that he thinks it would be cool to try for the handlebar. Why? No, really. Why? There's only been two people in recent TV history to sport the handlebar, one of which is pretty much portrayed as an idiot. An idiot with good intentions, but an idiot nonetheless. The other was a guy on a reality make-over show and he was forced at camera point to shave the unholy union of a banana slug and pubic hair off his lip. Why would you even want to try a handlebar? Because you think it might be fun to reenact old vauldvillian schtick or every silent movie involving a helpless damsel and railroad tracks? Because if that job's not already taken, it should be, by Rip Tayler. Because the crazy, and abnormal facial hair are both prerequisites for that job, and he's already got both qualities in spades. I mean, did you see the picture?

So please, for the love of all God's creatures, save us the inhumanity and don't don the stache. Please. For me?

Gum on my shoe

So, I've got gum on my shoe. I'm not sure how it happened, but it happened. It happened earlier in the week actually, but now it's making it's presense known to me. I've also got gum on my car floor mats, because of the gum on my shoe which means that I can't put my left foot certain places when I'm driving, which is consequently the foot with the shoe that has gum on it. My life is one gummy nightmare and I want to wake up. Reason # 232 why I HATE gum. HATE IT! With a fiery passion that is usually reserved for boy bands and Kenny G albums Hate it! I hate gum so much I'd rather listen to said boy bands have a medley featuring Kenny G while I'm getting a brazilian wax by monkeys than chew a piece of gum. Gah! Hate! Evil! Gah! Someday I'll explain the other 231 reasons I hate gum, but for now I'd like to talk about the evils of gum as it relates to my footwear, because...

My poor shoe. It deserves better than this. Seriously. The kicks I'm wearing today are these awesome brown suede and pink leather Pumas I got last February and have held up like champs. I mean, they've been put through the ringer and have held up magnificently. They've survived many a beer-drenching concert, several rainy outings, a trip to Vegas and several packings. And now the guys (Yes, my shoes are guys, The lefty is named Larry and the righty is named Ralph. Like you don't name your shoes. You don't? Oh, well, nevermind) have gum on them. And the gum has gone from the wierd pink-white color it was originally (at least that's my assumption) to the horrendous grey-black color that is faintly tar-like in color and is just evil. Not just evil, eveeeel (Insert Mike Meyers' annunciation from So I Married and Axe-Murderer here). I tried cleaning it with soap and water in the bathroom, but without much luck, which means I have the cleanest gummy sticky spot on my shoe in town. But it is totally annoying. Everywhere I step I feel my shoe slightly stick to the ground, and I vaguely hear that "crk, crk" noise like velcro being smushed together and pulled apart over and over again. HATE! Hatey-Hate-Hate! Just, Grrrrrrrrrrr.Evil (Insert Inarticulate Hate Gurgle Riiiiiiiight Here). I know Larry and Ralph will survive this as they have many other trials and tribulations I've put them through, but they shouldn't have to deal with the sticky evilness that is gum.

Somebody's Making a Videogame of my hopes and dreams

Bob Ross: The Videogame. This might possibly be the Best. Idea. Ever!! No, I have no idea what the premise would be about or how they could possibly pull it off, but if the videogame in some way, shape, or form involves the phrases "Happy little cloud" or any other of his little catch phrases, I will happily play this game until my thumbs fall off and my eyes bleed. And I don't even play videogames! Such is my love for the departed yet immortal in my heart Bob Ross. Bring on the Bob Ross love in videogame form, is what I'm saying!!!

Walken + Ping Pong = Awesome

So, apparantly, Christopher "Needs more Cowbell" Walken has decided to make a movie about competitive ping pong, ahem table tennis. I haven't been this happy since I was convinced he might be president in 2008. (I still have my Walken for President button ready to go if you want me to campaign for you Walken. Seriously, call me. I had these awesome little daydreams in which Willem Defoe was his Vice President, and Scary Blue Velvet era Dennis Hopper was his secretary of defense. It was a strange world full of True Romance references and Spider-man posters in Lincoln's bedroom, but it was awesome). When I found out it wasn't true, well, I haven't been that depressed since I actually sat through New Rose Hotel. Twice. But I still have him posted up in my cubicle along with my two other dark horse Presidential candidates, General Zod and Invader Zim. Sure, they want to enslave us, but at least they are honest about it.

But this movie. Will. Be. Awesome. If, and this is a big if, the Correct Walken shows up. What do I mean by "Correct Walken"? Well, let me elaborate. To my mind, there are two Walkens. There is the utterly entertaining and fun, song and dance Walken, a la that Fatboy Slim video where he dances and floats and is generally awesome. The "Needs more cowbell" Walken is equally entertaining. The Walken that does not need more air time is the Suicide Kings Walken, the Batman Returns Walken, the Hickey Walken. That Walken still gives me the creeps. Just, blech. I'm shuddering just thinking about it.

Looking at his c.v. though, there's a whole slew of Walkens I didn't know, or had forgotten existed. The awesome 80's Walken, the period piece Walken, which Wha???, the what the hell are you doing? Walken. But that's besides the point, the point is, the funny Walken better show up and this movie better involve no fewer than 23 crotch shots, or I'm resending my services as your campaign coordinator. That's all I'm saying.

Only a boy...

Would design a video game system that could be installed in a FREAKING URINAL. As if Fighting Nun didn't already going number 1 was a fun little game that he got to play with his "joystick", now he actually can play one, with his, erm "joystick". This is so freaking wrong, in so many ways. I wonder if they've installed a bonus round in the actual stalls. "Two kerplops = 2,000 points." Ugh, I just made myself sick...

Random Morning Commute Topic

Becuase Fighting Nun and I have had to car pool right now, we've ended up having some strange discussions. This morning's went something like this:

Fighting Nun: You need to have a coffee pen name.
Bloody Munchkin: A what?
FN: A name you can put on your coffee order.
BM: I don't understand.
FN: You need to come up with a name to put on your coffee order.
BM: Is this because you're tired of me using your name, because we both know it's easier because if I give them my name, I'm gonna have to spell it, and then their gonna look at me all wierd and then I have to do that eye roll that tries to convey "Yes I know the spelling and the name don't match, my parents are hippies that thought giving their daughter a strange name would be fun" in less than a split second...
FN: I'm not saying use your name. I'm saying come up with some name, other than mine to put on your coffee order.
BM: Like what?
FN: I don't know, Cat or something. And then you could like use it as one of your aliases, like if you ever write a book and stuff.
BM: Cat?
FN: I don't know, it's just a suggestion.

Fifteen minutes and a dance in my car seat to the tune of Morningwood's Nth Degree, and we came back to the topic.

BM: So, like how complicated should the coffee pen name have to be?
FN: Not very.
BM: Because I have Evanka on the brain.
FN: Fifteen minutes and the best you can come up with is Evanka?
BM: I don't know. I've had like five hundred other thoughts, most of which revolve around the fact that One Tree Hill sucked last night.
FN: Hey, you're the one who wanted to watch it.
BM: I know, I know. Well, what other names?
FN: I don't know. I'm kinda liking Cat. Short for Catarina. You could pull off a Catarina I think.
BM: It does seem to be the dark horse doesn't it.
FN: Dark horse? It's the only horse we've come up with.

Ten more minutes elapse...

BM: Angelina?
FN: Maybe...

A few more minutes...

BM: Violet.
FN: I don't know...
BM: Violet Benderspink. Violet Benderspink the Third. I kinda like that as my coffee pen name.
FN: Violet. Benderspink. The Third. Hold on. What? VIOLET. BENDERSPINK. THE THIRD? The hell?
BM: Well, not that I can't pull off the Russian Spy persona that handing off the name requires, but.
FN: Persona?
BM: Well, I mean, don't you have to assume a Russian Spy name if you're assuming the name of Cat?
FN: You aren't assuming a whole other persona to put down a FREAKING name on a paper cup!
BM: But if I'm using the pen name to write a book, then I'd have to give the person writing the book a whole other persona, thus Violet Benderspink the third. I think I could pull her off really well.
FN: O.k. first off, do you really want to give your "persona" a last name that sounds like sphincter?
BM: Heh. Sphincter. Good point, she was probably teased alot in school.
FN: O.k. Heh. But, not the point. The point is you're making a whole other persona TO ORDER COFFEE.
BM: Hey, this was your idea...
FN: Which you've taken to a wierd, wierd place. *Pats shoulder, rolls eyes*

The subject was then summarily dropped, not to be spoken about for the rest of the trip. But I'm convinced this topic is still open. Its Coffeegate people!

She said, he said

She Said "Damn it, it doesn't have to be all or nothing all the time!"
He Said "See, that's why I like anal sex and you don't!"

Second Best Music Video. Ever!!!

I am serious. The genius of this song and video is only eclipsed by Aha's "Take On Me" (You can argue with that contention all you want. But resistence is futile. "Take On Me" is the best music video ever. Keep argueing if you want to but you'll see things my way.)

But this video is in the running. I mean, it has everything. The bad powder blue tuxes, Intel look-alike dudes, girls in skimpy Robert Plant "She's Addicted to Love"/Motley Crue "Girls, Girls, Girls" hybrid outfits, which are so sluttily awesome that only Sir-Mix-Alot's "Baby Got Back" video had more sluttily awesome clothes, the disco ball. Which, can I just stop for a sec and explain how underused the disco ball is in music videos. I'm serious. It is way underutilized, and I, for one, want it used more widely in music videos. No, really. If you have a music video in which you instruct me to shake my groove thang, or my ass, or my moneymaker, I better know you're serious. And the best way to do that? Put a Disco-Motherfucking-ball right smack in the middle of it bitches!!! That's how.

I lurve this video. Since FIghting Nun, who is the epitomy of cool, sent this to me, I have listened to and partially watched this video new fewer than 2394 times and I plan to watch it many more time. The Pen Fifteen Club. Makers of the Second Best Music Video. Ever.

An Open Letter to DirecTV

Dear DirecTV;

I realize we've only been together a short time and I might not be giving this relationship enough of a chance, but I'm starting too have second thoughts.

Don't get me wrong, your a great TV channel service provider, I just don't think you have what it takes to meet my needs the way cable and TiVO met my needs. Yes, true you swept me out of a strange love triangle, but it was a simbiotic love triangle that provided me with so much comfort and joy. And their programs were easy to find and TiVo recorded what I asked it too. I'm not getting the same level of loyalty from you and I'm starting to reevaluate the relationship.

Let's take the last two night for instance. Wednesday night, I asked gently that you record the final episode of Beauty and the Geek for me(Yes, I watch Beauty and the Geek, loyally. I didn't ask for your mocking in the manner, I asked you to record the program for me, which YOU DID NOT! So shut up!). I tried to Watch it last night, and nothing. I either couldn't find where you would store such programming, or you outright refused to record it for me. I thought this was the beginning of a beautiful relationship, so why you running so hot and cold for me?

And then, last night, you leveled me with an act of outright disobediance. You. Would Not. Play Invader ZIM. Would outright not display the show on TV. Look, I know I asked for that channel, I outright saw that channel displayed on my little channel guide thing, which said I would get channel, but you? You didn't not display the channel. You said you were "Trying to Find" the channel, but you would not display the channel. Forgive me for turning into my mother and guilt tripping you, but there is not a lot I ask for in this relationship, (well once I figure out the DVR thing, there will be a lot I will ask from this relationship, one of which will be to record ever episode and rerun of both Made and Pimp My Ride, but baby steps...) but one of those things is to watch Invader ZIM on a regular basis. Tivo didn't mind this, hell, Tivo recorded it without me asking and introduced me to the goodness that is GIR because my Tivo knew that I liked The Tick. You wouldn't even play Invader ZIM, much less record it for me. What am I supposed to think about how you really feel about me?

And another thing, last night, I couldn't sleep and I went to you for support, to be consoled because I was feeling icky and you looked like you were going to be compassionate to my needs, what with being on the exact channel that "My So-Called Life" happened to be on. Yeah, it was the last fifteen minutes of an episode, but it was pure goodness. I mean, Brian Krakow and Jordan Catellano for Christ's Sake. I was consoled, and I was happy, and I thought you really got my needs, but the rest of the hour I spent tooling around, nothing. Well, there was Ice Castles, which totally enthralled me as a kid, but is doing absolutely nothing for me now. (Robbie Benson, where did we go wrong?). But Nothing, I was hoping for another episode of "My So-Called Life" and You said you had "Aah, Real Monsters" to play, but alas with the "Can not find station" crap again, I couldn't watch it.

I just don't know if it's going to work out. You are just not at a level I need you to be. I know you say that I should give it time, but the Tivo/Cable relationship, as strange as it is, is looking more and more appealing. Just don't make me regret this big change I made. That's all I'm asking.

Love;

The Bloody Munchkin.

Phil Collins and His Wife are splitting...

There's a joke in here somewhere about Phil spending way too much time at the GBC clubhouse, but I can't quite put it altogether. Let's just hope he didn't divorce her by fax this time...

New Holiday?

I didn't know this was a new holiday. I'm sure Fighting Nun is creating a petition right now to make this a national holiday. Can I claim religious differences so I won't have to observe it?

Twelve Things I Realized After Seeing Ultraviolet

1. Anything, and I do mean anything, can be made better by the presence of William Fichtner. I am absolutely convinced of this. I can't substantiate this claim with real proof at the moment, but I'm convinced I'd watch an opening of a landfill if he was present, just because he is that freaking cool.
2. I am absolutely convinced that there is some rule about sci-fi movies that there absolutely has to be tight vinyl in at least 3/4 of the movie in order to make it a believable sci-fi movie, which I utterly do not understand because, we have vinyl and latex in the present, but we have the presence of mind not to wear it absolutely all the time, so what gives? What, in the future we're all going to be "Let's where impossibly sticky and hot vinyl"? Sure whatever.
3. Milla Jovavich has a nice ass. I'm jealous.
4. The kid in that movie is starting to creep me out. I mean Dakota Fanning level creep me out. I mean, first of all, that kid is starting to be in like everything and secondly he's trying too hard to be preternaturally ... something. I don't know. The kid just wigs o.k.
5. Another rule of sci-fi happens to be that vampires are stupid. Sure, they were called hemo-phages or what the hell ever, but seriously.
6. "You cannot have a yankable ponytail in a chicken fight." You think in the future, your average henchman would, you know, get that. But apparantly not.
7. Any bad movie (with the exception of "Dude, Where's my Car?") can be made better when you are under the influence. Two cape cods and that movie when up a letter grade. It was a C- but with a little drinkage in my system, and being able to laugh at the dialog, it became a B- easy.
8. "It is on" "Oh Yes. It is on." is the new "You got served."
9. The bad guy in this movie, not so convincing. I don't know. He is just not bad enough. He's menacing and kinda creepy, but he's obviously way too Howard Hughesian about the germs and all. I'd just be around him when my allergies were bad and watch him have a germaphobic fugue and pass out. Easy enough..
10. All your armies of darkness or mal-intent or whatever, especially if they are robots and especially if they are ROBOTS MADE OF GLASS are easily destroyable, and you are an idiot for building them.
11. Anything, ANYTHING (even this pile of crap) can be made better by the presence of William Fichtner.
12. Did I mention that William Fichtner can make your movie better?

Lost in the Quagmire

Quagmire. God that is such a strange word. Seriously. But I am. Lost in it, I mean. I'm seriously knee deep in crap right now. Moving Crap, Work Crap. And to top it all off, I don't have cable. Do you know it has been a week since I've seen an episode of Made or Gilmore Girls. I'm starting to twitch. I might have to be admitted to Betty Ford if those goes on much longer. I actually cracked a book last night. That's how deprived I am. I have had everyone, including my mother, tell me every juicy detail of the Academy Awards, which: Salt, meet Open Wound. I'm sure you'll become fast friends.

To top it all off, I haven't felt very writing inclined. I just feel drained of anything to say. Well, that's not exactly true. Fighting Nun and I have had fifteen-hundred conversations, most of which were funny (one of which involved us getting a mouse chouffeur which launched into a discussion of whether or not said mouse should be able to cuss at traffic. The Verdict? Absolutely.) and probably blog worthy but are now lost to the anals of time (heh, I just said anals) because I haven't (read: didn't) taken the time to write them down.

I feel constricted in the writing department right now, like there's so much that needs out of my system but that I can't concentrate on any one thing so nothing gets out. I do not know why. I've been sitting on a post about this awesome dream I had involving Apolo Anton Ohno and that shirtless volleyball scene in Top Gun where Val Kilmer and Tom Cruise are in Volleyball Match to the D-E-A-T-H which I haven't done anything with. Quite heartbreaking really. But rest assured, I'm trying.

Those Crazy Australians...

...and their band names.

So I'm listening to Live 105 this morning, which really isn't bad now that Howard Stern is gone. So I'm listening and they play a band called Wolf Mother. Let me reiterate. Wolf Mother. From the country that brought you Midnight Oil and Silver Chair, please enjoy Wolf Mother. The band ain't half bad, what with it sounding something like cross between The Darkness and Jet, but... Wolf Mother. That's the best you could come up with? Really? No offense or anything, but hoakey...

Baby Huey Is My Co-pilot...

(Pete Levine for Congress!!!)

...Or, at least he should be.

I was going through a strange bit of ennui today, and then Fighting Nun sent me this and a couple of sound bites from this guy (which if I were brighter and less lazy, I'd link to) and it totally made my day.

Since the Olympics started, I've been a bit enamored with this guy. I mean how could you not. He's that Starbucks commercial where that guy has his own personal cheering section following him going "Hank, Hank, Hank", except he is one guy, and he is all sorts of awesome. How could you not want to shred the mountain with this guy cheering you on. "Come on Bloody Munchkin, put the hammer down." O.k. Mr. Baby Huey, I've never skiied before but because you've got such a demanding presence, yes, yes I will."

Any other cheering section in the whole of the Olympics has paled in comparison to this man. The German Bobsled coaches? They try, what with the gutteral screams and all, but they lack the key phrases like "Put it down" and "It's your day today." to really get me going. Who ever has the cowbell up in the luge stands, well, it needs more cow bell compared to this guy.

I'm convinced this guy needs to be my personal motivator. Can you imagine how utterly awesome that would be. He'll just be sitting behind me at work, and any time I'm lacking in motivation all "Blah, blah, blah writer's block, blah, blah, blah bored", he'd be all "Come on Bloody. Get it done blood. (That's the nickname I think he would give me.) It's your day. " And I'd be instantly ready to tackle my task. He'll be back in Tahoe when this is all said and done, not to far from me, I wonder if he needs a job.

In short. Baby Huey, you have an awesome nickname, you are utterly awesome and I would so much like to be your friend. Coffee's on me when you get back from Torino. What do ya say?

Crawling out of Grey

It's been over a week since my last post. I apologize for not updating but I've been dealing with some personal issues that have gotten me to start writing seriously again (Good!), just not here (Bad!) which sucks, because that part of my brain that catalogues and stores all this awesome, inane pop-culture-y crap has been supercharged as of late, but I can't find the time and energy to put it all together. Between the moving and the work and the other personal issues that have come up and all the Olympics I have tivoed and need to watch? No time for posting.

Not a good excuse, but bear with me. I feel the floodgates open and the creativity about to pour out, it'll just take time...

Olympics Opening Ceremonies Or....

So this is a game I like to call Olympic Opening Ceremonies Or... in which you the reader come up with your caption for what is really going on. Feel free to add your ideas in the comments. Here we go.

Olympic Opening Ceremonies Or....

A) A pyromaniacs loving ode to Tron
B) A volcanic helmet test gone awry
C) A literal definition of what spandex really is: Flaming

Olympic Opening Ceremonies Or...

A) A giant red orgy
B) A mass butt sniffing (Dude, Who pootered, we must all hand our heads down in shame

Olympic Opening Ceremonies Or...

A) Picasso's rendition or performance art?

Seriously, that's the best I can come up with. This part was just... wierd really.

Opening Ceremonies Or...

A) Heffer: The Icecapades.
B) Udder: The Musical.

You know, this one is just too chewy. I'll wait to see what the comments have to say...

Olympics Opening Ceremonies

O.k., so I know I said I’d dotingly recap the Olympics. I was hoping to go day by day, but with this whole house buying thing and what with cleaning and packing, things aren’t going as I had planned. But I have for you the Opening Ceremony, lovingly recapped.

Here goes…

8:00: We open with the lovely “Look at the landscape, look at the architecture. The backdrop for the Olympics is Sooooo beautiful montage.” Like we weren’t expecting that…
8:01 The “Italy is beautiful” montage quickly morphs into the Athlete Montage. Nice segue. And what is with the narrator trying to channel James Earl Jones and failing. Yo buddy, this isn’t CNN and You are not his father.
8:03 The “Italy is beautiful” montage morphs to Athlete Montage morphs to “U.S. Olympic Athletes Kick Ass” montage. Who would’ve seen that coming?
8:04 Figure Skating Montage! Sweet!
8:05 “A City of succulent style”. Did he just say that? What the hell did that mean?
8:06 The announcer tries to pronounce peninsula correctly and fails.
8:09 Bode Miller, blah blah blah. If he’s their big story for the whole Olympics, there might be a dull spork residing in one of my eye sockets by the end of this two weeks. Also, the Flying Tomato has to be the best nickname in the history of the games.
8:17 Downhill skiing practice. Why are we watching practice runs? Oh, so Fighting Nun and I can argue about the blue lines being course limitations or if they are merely suggestions, which apparently they are. And we’re also watching it so I can apparently have little heart palpitations and gasp every three seconds because every jump, every turn these guys look like they are going to biff it and there is going to be a yard sale on that very hill of skis, mitts and internal organs. I’m not sure I have the fortitude that watching this sport commands. Also, the announcers. “Stiffness in his hips” Hee! Am I recapping Olympics or porn you decide…
8:28 The announcers again. “Massive and strong” also a strong contender for Olympics or porn or romance novel. “Massive and Strong”. Jesus.
8:34 Fighting Nun pleads with me and the Tivo to fast forward past the first of probably 9500 Bode Miller interviews sure to take place during these games. I comply.
8:46 Shawn White, The Flying Tomato. This kid is a big dork. Therefore I’m totally rooting for him.
8:54 Can we hurry up with the ceremony? Jesus!
8:55 Costas, or as Fighting Nun likes to call him. Costass. First of all, what is with the hair? This starts off a fun little game Fighting Nun and I have come up with called “Toupee or Grecian Formula” which we’re going to play every time he comes on screen. It is real easy. Anytime costas comes on, pause your Tivo, stare at the marvel that is a cross between Hasselpouf and the feathery Lief Garret but with some bacon grease added on top for color and argue “Is he wearing a hair peace or is that some bad coloring?” Its going to be the mobius strip of these fair games people. Also, Shut up Costas. Just for good measure.
8:58 Team USA close up. Team Hats close up, to which Fighting Nun said “Who designed the hats? Some goth dude who was listening to too much Duran Duran while doing so? What the hell is that?”
8:59 Chris Witty is one manly woman. Wowza.
9:04 The Opening Ceremonies, finally! The opening ceremonies have provided me with a fun game I like to call “opening ceremonies or…” which I played quite vigorously. I’ll explain in a separate post. Stay tuned.
9:05 There are rollerblades and skateboards in the Opening Ceremonies. What the heck is this? Also, I knew that the director for the remake of Rollerball has been unemployed for quite some time now, but did they have to give him work as the costume designer of the opening ceremonies, because really. I haven’t seen this much pyrotechnics since the Green Day concert. The Opening Ceremonies are turning into some strange Rollerball meets Cirque Du Soliel meets Stomp hybrid.
9:07 A “Beating Heart” is displayed on stage. Thanks Costas, because that really looked like a red orgy on stage.
9:08 The red flaming dude. Hee! I said “red flaming” apparently he’s supposed to be the “sparks of passions” Again, am I recapping the Winter Olympics or a romance novel over here?
9:09 Alps Horns, Ricola dudes in liederhosen. Skating Christmas trees. Skating Cowprint. I have no idea if I’m still recapping the opening ceremonies or if I have somehow taken a hit of acid, because surreal.
9:10 Fighting Nun “We are doing the magical dance of the heffer.” Thene there are these moving cow statues. And yet even more liederhosen. I’m overcome with tears of laughter and joy. If the compulsory dance section features these awesome cow print outfits, I’d watch ad nauseum.
9:15 Some Georgio Armani outfits are featured which leads Fighting Nun and I to have an interesting discussion about whether or not we’ve accidently started watching Logan’s Run.
9:26 What’s with the ski dudes on stage? Its like Picasso performance art. You have to tilt your head to look at it and even then you don’t know what it is. Those crazy Italians.
9:28 Can I just say that a bunch of people all wearing climbing headlamps makes me feel less geeky.
9:34 More Cirque Du Soliel. Fighting Nun and I are seeing them on Friday. I’m skipping this part.
9:36 Let the pageantry of Nations begin. Only Five Albanians? That’s sad. Andorra. Poor Andorra.
9:38 Fighting Nun “God Forbid we miss a country. Jesus.”
9:39 Argentina. “At least they’ve got beanies. Armenia had dunce caps.” Fighting Nun and I then discuss all the team hats presented from this point on, until Fighting Nun falls asleep thirty minutes later, leaving me to point out hats on my own. Also, the dress. The dress they’ve forced the poor girls who hold up the signs with the names of the countries? Is the ugliest dress in all of creation. And I should know. I read GFY on a daily basis. It has mountains on it people. That’s just not a fashion statement anyone should make, least of all the Olympic costuming people. Not right!
9:43 Azerbaigan? What? They didn’t get hats. Poor guys. We should’ve taken up a collection. Bermuda. One guy. You know they’ve known to wear Bermuda shorts in the past. But they didn’t this time. Disappointing…
9:47 Brazil. Interesting Hats. Bullgaria has fuzzy hats. Canada has fuzzier hats with little ear flaps. I like Canada
9:52 The Blossom hat has made its rousing return with the Chinese. I do not know why.
9:54 I like Costa Rica’s Beanies. Denmak has the strangest looking earmuffs. Also, Go Ethiopia.
10:02 Germany rendered me blind with their green. Also, “Speeding White Sausage”. That just over took Flying Tomato as the best nick name. Also a contender for “Am I recapping the Olympics or Porn.”
10:07 Me and the Olympics Music Committee need to have a talk. “Funky Town” You have got to be kidding me.
10:09 Grandma Luge, I salute you!
10:10 Israel. OMG the announcers did not just mention Munich. You have got to be kidding me.
10:12 Kyrgyztan! Best named country ever! Also, awesome hats.
10:14 Luxembourg has a team? Who Knew?
10:18 “Sweet Dreams”? Jesus!
10:19 Mongolia officially has my vote for awesomest Olympic hat ever! Fuzzy and furry and long. Also “Video Killed The Radio Star” The music selections. I don’t understand it.
10:20 Men’s Cross Country Relay Skiing. That’s actually a sport?
10:21 New Zealand, you tried admirably to get my vote for best hat, but Mongolia surpassed you. I am sorry. Signed. The Bloody Munchkin.
10:30 Slovenia – The Green color is scaring me. Also “YMCA” I have officially thrown my hands up in the air in disgust.
10:31 USA! USA! Chris Witty! See Above. USA! USA! Shut Mrs. Bush! O.k. that was a little counter-patriotic. Also, bad hats. See Above. Flying Tomato! Lindsay Jocobellis has poodle hair. Shut Up on Bode! Yeeach already.
10:39 Tajikistan. Awesome. “Jump” by Van Halen. Not awesome.
10:45 Italy. What is with the Jetsony overcoats? I haven’t seen that much gold metallic clothing since I cleaned out my grandmother’s closet.
10:51 Go Flame Go!
10:53 Flag Twirling. Blech. Thank you Tivo Fast forward.
10:55 The Olympics are proving once again that they are ripping from Cirque Du Soliel
10:56 These Moon Things are scary and very Baren von Munchhousen.
11:02 The Ferrari is actually pretty cool. What can I say?
11:15 The Olympic Flag. “The Women Of distinction.” That is just plain awesome really. And Susan Surandon is just incredible.
11:20 Apparently, we went from women of distinction to men of indistinction. But the knock-off robin hood hats? Kind of awesome.
11:27 Another Cirque du Olympics piece kicks off that I can only call “Brokeback Acrobatics” This is promptly where I shut off the TV and drag Fighting Nun’s sleeping carcass off the couch and to bed. The only thing you need to know about the last 30 minutes is Yoko Ono needs to cram it, Luciano Pavaratti needs to lay off the Grecian Formula and the Fireworks need to end. Amen.

Hey Mike Wise...

Shut Up! No, seriously, shut up! You're article did nothing but frustrate me. And do not, DO NOT call the Olympics the Look-at-me games. The athletes don't want the celebrity, they just want to compete, to be part of something that is bigger than themselves. Sure, all of them want to win, but most of them aren't out there to trot out for your dog and pony show. And honestly, you, the media, created the dog and pony show that the athletes just have to put up with in the first place. If "their antics" annoy you that much, don't watch, and don't report about it in a holier than thou manner, because that's not what the athletes want.

(Finding a Happy Place, Finding a Happy Place. Breathe In, Breathe Out)

Sorry, I just find that sort of finger-pointing journalism infuriating. The only thing I even halfway liked about this article was when he called Michelle Kwan the Susan Lucci of Figure-skating. Hee! In happier news...

Opening Ceremonies are tonight Bitches! Anybody trying to part me and my Tivo from the opening ceremonies will meet my vengeful wrath!!!

The Olympics are almost here ya'll!!!

Eee! Friday is Opening Ceremonies, and I almost can't handle it!!! It's getting so bad that I actually Eeked loudly on the bridge on the way home when they played an Olympics spot. I'm shvitzing over here I'm so excited! (Actually, I have no idea if I'm actually shvitzing or not, but I'm still freaking excited!! The Olympics, people!!! Bring it on!

Life is Truly, Truly Great...

When you get to see the thing from the diagram first hand. When you get to hold it, and be in awe of its, well, see for yourself...


This one is labeled "Soft and Texturized".

This one's glossy.

This just keeps getting better and better.

Life is Truly Great...

Better than it was before when a second e-mail with a diagram, even more glorious than the first appears in your inbox:

How does one proceed with all this, dare I say, Chewy Goodness? Lightning never strikes in the same place twice, but somehow it did today. This graphic doesn't have any of the great text really describing it as the first one did, such as "Water In" and "Friction Fit", yet I really think the image speaks for itself, don't you?

Tears of Mirth People. Tears of Mirth, that's what work has brought me today...

O.k., See, No.

O.k., see this is just wrong. Not that I don't wanna knock these guys for expressing themselves and all, put, the faux-fu-manchu, or the pseudo-pornstache, or however you want to label it, should not happen in a modern civilization. And there should certianly not, under any circumstances, be a revival of this stache. At all. Ever.

It's not the facial hair I'm quibbling with per say. Fighting Nun has stopped shaving until our purchase of our house is final and official, and I'm fine with that. But he is grooming his facial hair and beard in such a way that does not evoke 70's porn music playing in my head when he enters a room. Any time a "wakka-wakka-onsa-onsa" beat plays as inner theme music in somebody's brain when you and your stache enter a room (and the stache is probably entering the room before you are, but that's besides the point) you should rethink your grooming routine.

This kinda mustache evokes in me the same sort of reaction I have to trucker hats: confusion and repulsion. I, I just don't understand it. I don't understand how people who are not in their 40's, overweight, not driving anything with Yosemite Sam or Naked Girl mud flaps decides that these two things are good looks. I further do not understand how either of these things can become a trend. I get that ugly is the new pretty among certain circles, but that still doesn't explain why on God's Green Earth, someone would inflict themselves with this kind of ugly. I just... I don't know.

Life Is Great....

When I receive something this awesome in my e-mail inbox.

Three guesses as to what this pertains to. No, I don't work in a company that makes sexual devices (Pervert)!! Although it certainly looks that way. Try again....

(This drawing sent me into a giggle fit. I can't believe our e-mail filters didn't filter it out....

Analyzing The Strokes

Thanks to the cover of the new SPIN issue, Fighting Nun and I had the following conversation last night;
Bloody Munchkin (ME): Dude, I know we're about to have dinner and all, and I really don't wanna effect our appetites, but what the HELL is with Fabrizio's mustache?
Fighting Nun: I have no idea.
BM: I mean seriously. It's like the worst parts of the 70's pornstache and the Tom Selleck Magnum PI stache combined. Not a good look. Drew Barrymoore was going out with that?
FN: Really? Ew gross, she could have at least gone out with the decent looking one in the group. What is her problem?
BM: Whatever it is, it is the same problem she had when she married Tom Green for crying out loud. And also, are we looking at the same cover? Because I'm not sure there really is a decent looking one in the group.
FN: Well, I mean I'm a dude so I'm not qualified to make a statement like this, but the lead dude?
BM: Julian?
FN: Yeah, he's at least decent looking, better up her ally than pornstache guy.
BM: Not in that plaid suit, but yeah, I get what you're saying. He's the least scary of the bunch, not that they are scary, they are just not normal looking, or something.
FN: What is with the guy in the scarf? Hey buddy, lay off the heroine.
BM: Yeah, what is with that? His cheekbones are totally sucked in. Newsflash to that dude: Don't suck in your cheeks like a fish when the camera flashes.
FN: It's not just that he has no cheekbones, he literally doesn't have an ounce of fat on him. No heroine needles, o.k. dude, and eat a sandwhich, or a fat burger.
BM: He can't the one in the middle, with the self-satisfied shit-eating grin is eating all his food.
FN: Hee. I can see the gaunt one saying 'dude, I'm coming down now. Hand me a sandwich.
BM: And the fat one is all 'I can't... BURP!' He's the stoner to the other dude's heroine addict."
FN: 'That's gotta be a fun tour bus. 'Dude, I have the munchies.'
BM: "Fine, go eat "Needles's" stash in the refrigerator." It's a symbiotic relationship really. Now I must bring up the other dude on the end.
FN: Dude, what is with that hat?
BM: My point exactly. That guy should be sat down and told that the look he's sporting, the "Lucas Haas as an Amish Kid in Witness is out. In fact it was never in. So loose the hat, and the vest."
FN: Maybe the fat one will eat it.
BM: Hee! He's already eaten the poor heroine addict dude's jacket. He's probably full.
FN: Don't we like this band?
BM: Yes.
FN: We're being pretty mean to them.
BM: Yes. But they brought it on themselves. Don't be sporting Thin Ron Jeremy-stache circa 1976 and expect that I won't bring the scrutiny is all I'm saying.
FN: Yeah, and eat before the photo shoot. Goes double for the heroine addict.