Worker's Comp

There is nothing quite like falling down three stairs and almost to a full face plant in front of a handful of co-workers. NOTHING!

Actually the only upside to said almost-face-planting was I got to use the following line "The execution was flawless but I'll have to take a 7/10's point deduction on the landing." Nothing like figure skating references to make me feel better about various pitfalls and blunders.

If I call in sick tomorrow (Psst. Fighting Nun, how are the winds looking), do you think the bevy of witnesses will vouch for me? I can hear the phone call now "Oh yeah, I'm really hurt today after my fall at work. I'm not going to file a worker's comp charge, but do you mind if I take a couple days off to 'recuperate'?"

Think it'll work?

Headbutts and Yo Momma Insults

That's right folks, Materazzi insulted Zidane's momma and Zidane ain't having none of it. Everyone around the world do me a favor. If you ever end up on some god-forsaken soccer field and you happen to be on an opposing side to this guy in a friendly game of pick-up soccer, whatever you do, do not insult his momma. You'll have a nice little indention in your chest to show for it.

Short Story

So I'm doing something a little different on this blog for a little while. My best friend and I (Hey Xanthia!!! What's up girl!) are thinking of writing together so I added her to my blog and we're going to try coming up with some various fiction and short stories. It's a work in progress, so be patient.

Anyhoo, below I'm attaching part of a short story I'm in the process of writing. Hope you enjoy. Here goes nothing:


It was my last day. It already felt bittersweet. The music store was my refuge, the one place where I could go and feel like an individual, and now I was leaving it. The shift started out like any other, but by first break Natalie and I had already dissolved into tears twice. I was going to miss her most of all. Well almost most of all.
He showed up two hours before closing. It aggravated me. I was doing my best to ignore him, but yet, everywhere I looked he was always in my periphary, daring me to stare, daring me to dream. But I couldn't get caught up in it again. He'd look at me, trying to get my attention. I couldn't let it happen. I was too worried that I'd dissolve into Old Andrea again to notice the music change. He was in the line to be cashed out thirty minutes before closing. I would do whatever I could to avoid ringing him out, but he would just let someone else go in front of him, biding his time. Finally I couldn't avoid him. I took a deep breath and sighed. "Can I take the next person in line?" He came up with a big stack of CDs. "I though you balked at the idea of buying your own CDs and funding 'The System'."
"I do, but see I use to have this friend who made me the most awesome mixed tapes but she's been playing a disappearing act lately. So I'm having to make due."
I looked down and at his CDs. It was a hard jab and I was going to have to take it. "Buying Ashlee Simpson and Mandy Moore? Not exactly making due there chief."
"What can I say, without guidance I can get lost in the cultural wasteland."
"Do you really want these?"
"No not really."
"How about... Vanilla Ice! Josh you have got to be kidding me."
"O.k. the top three are a joke but the rest I want."
"So, is this little excursion just an excuse for spending more of the trust fund, or do have an actual reason for being here?"
"I came to see you actually. I heard you got that internship in Seattle."
I got really quite and stared at his CDs a bit. "I did."
"And you're leaving on Thursday."
"I am."
"I tried calling you."
"I know you did."
"You haven't returned any of my phone calls, or any of my texts."
"I haven't"
"Were you going to tell me?" More quiet.
"I was going to call you once I felt..."
"Felt what?"
"That I was over you and we could start over in ernest without...without my feelings getting in the way."
"And when was that going to be?" Even more quiet.
"I don't know."
"So what was your plan? You were just going to cut off contact with me, not even give me a chance to explain myself, cut line and bail? Does our friendship mean anything to you Andrea?"
"How can you ask me that. It's because it means everything to me that I had to do this." Tears wer in my eyes now. I could feel my throat closing up.
"Will you at least talk to me, I just need to..." I gave him a hard calculating look, trying hard to hold back my quivering lip and tears I knew wanted to come.
"I'm busy packing and getting ready. I don't think I can."
"How about tonight? Can you talk to me after your shift."
"I don't think so. Gino asked me to stock after. I won't get out until way after midnight."
"She gets off in fifteen minutes." Natalie piped up from her cash register. I wheeled in her direction, a look of astonishment and anger probably in full view on my face. I'm pretty sure I threw in a nostril flair for good measure.
"Actually I don't. I get off in an hour because I promised I'd help Gino."
"But Gino told you it is your last day. That you should live it up and that you should take off as soon as sign off and cash in your register."
"But I already made arrangements. I'm staying for an hour."
"But Gino and I both said to take the night off early. We won't allow you to work the extra hour." She looked directly at Josh "She's off in fifteen minutes."
"So fifteen minutes then. Will you talk to me then?"
"I don't think it's a good idea Josh."
"You're not giving on this at all are you?"
I shook my head and finished ringing him up. He handed me his credit card in silence. As he left, he took the bag from my hand and said "Plan B then."
Once he was gone, I wheeled on Natalie "What the hell was that all about?"
"He was your best friend. You're not going to spend one of your last nights here talking to your best friend?"
"What for? So he can tell me that I'm his best friend and that my friendship means more to him than my feelings mean to me so that I can dissolve into the same old schmoopy, mopey Andrea puddle again? I won't do it."
"No Andrea. So you can say goodbye to somebody who meant so much to you. Take my advice. If you don't listen to what he has to say, you might end up regretting it for the rest of your life."
"No. I don't see that. I just see the same old patterns. And I can't fall into them right now... Hold on. What is this playing?"
We listened for a second "It's Bloc Party's ..."
"Modern Love. What was playing before it?"
"Golden Palamino's Rain..."
"Holds. And the Cranberries played before that. Son of a Bitch, Micheal's playing my mixed tape. Hand me the walkie talkie."
"Micheal."
"Yeah." He squawked back.
"What is this you're playing?"
"A mixed CD this guy asked me to spin. He says the mix is yours. It's pretty good. The student has become the master."
"Yeah Yeah, that's great. Could you take it off please?"
"No can do. Guy payed me twenty bucks to play it in it's entirety."
"I'll pay you forty to turn it off."
"Sorry I got a better offer. Same guy is offering me a hundred bucks for the micraphone."
"Micheal. Do not give him the mic. Do you hear me. Do not give him the mic!" There was nothing coming from the other end of walkie talkie. "Son of a Bitch."
I heard his voice coming over the speakers. I tried my best to ignore it, ringing out the customers as fast as I could to drown him out.
"Hi. How's everybody doing tonight?" I saw him at the DJ booth in the middle of the store. "I hope you're all enjoying your shopping experience so far. How do you like the mixed tape so far?" Various customers catcalled and clapped.
"What the hell is he doing?" I asked to nobody in particular.
"Talking to you the one way he's sure you'll listen." Natalie said matter of factly.
"My best friend made this mix. She actually works here. Be sure to tell Andrea how much you enjoyed it on your way out. She's up front at the register." People's necks snapped from his side of the store to mine. "Wave to everybody Andrea, let them know who you are." My cheeks flushed. I felt red all over. I had no idea what was going on and I had just gotten put in the spot light. I put my hand up slightly without even knowing what I was doing. "I hope you'll forgive me this little indulgence of playing this in front of you all, but you see this is my friend's last day working here. She's moving on to bigger and better things. I just wanted to remincse with her a little before she left. She used to make me the best mixed tapes and we used to stay up all night in her tiny room listening to them and talking about everything." He had climbed onto the DJ booth counter now, so that the whole store could see him clearly. "Looking back on it, those nights were the best nights of my life. It was just us and the music and everything felt good. I'm really going to miss those moments. Anyway, on alot of those nights I use to go on and on about the perfect ten. I was obsessed with finding a girl who met with my totally skewed standards of perfection. Not perfect but someone who was perfect for me. But that standard, my system was stupid. Nobody's perfect. I get that now. My best friend isn't. You see, she's suffering from depression, but she's trying to work it out for herself. She's trying to get better on her own terms. I'm very proud of her. I'm not perfect either. Apparantly I'm deaf and blind. You wouldn't know it to look at me. I'm blind because I couldn't see a good thing when it was right in front of my face. And I'm deaf because I never stopped to listen to my heart." Tears were streaming down my eyes, but I also had a quizzical look on my face. Just what was he getting at? "Andrea. I realize I'm a little late on this but I love you. I'm in love with you. And I want to know if you love me too. So do you?"
I stood stock still. The weight of it hit me. "Andrea?" This time I heard the walkie talkie.
I shook myself awake and picked up the walkie talkie. "Does he mean it?" I could see Josh bending down.
"What does she mean do I mean it. Of course I mean it." Boomed from the speakers.
Micheal squawked back into the walkie-talkie "He means it."
I took a long breath and then whispered into the walkie talkie. "Yes."
Over the speakers I heard "What"
"Yes" I said loudly and then I yelled it.
When it finally registered with him what my answer was, He clambered down off the DJ stand and ran in my direction. I met him halfway there. There's something about kissing someone in the stacks of your favorite record store. In the movies, you always see the heartfelt reunion, the romantic climax, and you always wish that it would happen to you. That you could have that moment. I wanted that moment, but I never thought I could have it, not ever, and especially not with Josh. But there I was, in the middle of the record store, having my moment.
"You have lousy timing."
"You wouldn't return my calls. It's not my fault. I'm perfect."
"You're deaf and blind."
"Not any more."

The End

O.k., it needs some work, I get that. But I'm interested to see what anybody has to say about it.
Thanks in advance.

The Bloody Munchkin

Headbutt Heard Round the World

I don't really talk about sports around here because I don't feel very qualified to talk about it at any depth. And so it should come to no surprise that this post is about something so banal and menial as Zadane's headbutt at the end of World Cup Final.

That? Was Awesome. I'm sorry that this statement basically marks me as having the emotional maturity of a five-year-old, but it really was awesome, like hockey fight awesome. It was unexpected and just shocking and, sure it's not what anyone, especially Zidane, would've wanted. I get that if they had to do over again, the parties involved might not have done it, or Zidane probably would've controlled his temper (I can't vouch for the other guy).

But sadly, I'm kind of glad he did it, if only because it was memorable. I mean I remember other parts of the game, and other games in this world cup too, but what's going to stick with me for years to come? This. And why? Because it surprised me, and got me talking about Soccer with Fighting Nun more, which we don't usually do. And it also got me theororizing what might've ticked him off (I thought it was actually a Yo' Mama style diss, but apparantly not so much. I mean, a racial slur? That's it? Weak.), talking about how viciously the commentators turned on Zidane in the end. And I mean, what was with that? For the previous 109 minutes, they were putting him on a pedastal and lauding him with praise. It was sickening me there for awhile ('Will they just tell him how they feel and leave us out of their crush? Jesus!') Then, the 110 minute happened, Zidane Headbutts the guy in the chest and suddenly? The commentators treat him like he just ate a baby with A1 sauce in front of everyone. Take it easy commentator dudes, he didn't kill anybody. Now if the guy he head butted was seriously injured, like paralyzed for life injured, then I'd be pissed at him, but as it is, the dude wasn't heart and played out the rest of the game, smarmy smile and all.

Do I think what Zidane did was wrong? Yes. Do I think it merited a red card. Yeah, probably. I mean they weren't in the midst of a play, so it was unnecessary contact, but do I think his little action got blown way out of proportion. Oh yes definately. Like I said before, his behavior was hockey fight bad. Not, egregariously and monstrously bad, just letting the adrenaline and anger get to you kind of bad, and should therefore be cut a break in the press.

It's not like I like the guy, because after the five-thousandth "Zidane and his prolific career, Zidane is such an amazing player" the commentators made, I wanted to throttle both him and the commentators, I just don't think he did anything that bad. So cut the guy a break. Or he'll headbutt you.

Badges of Adulthood

O.k., so remember when you were in elementary school and somehow, and you’re not really sure how you were reeled into this, all you know is you were enlisted into a scouts of some kind? And you did stuff? And remember how they gave you like badges that you wore on a sash signifying the stuff you did.

I’m not sure why I was in the girl scouts, other than that I’m convinced that my mother would rather I spend hours making lanyard key chains for no purpose whatsoever than to be in her hair at that age, but for whatever reason I was in the girl scouts. I don’t really remember the stuff I did in girl scouts. I think there was something about knots and I know we made stuff, like key chains and bracelets. And I’m pretty sure I got badges for stuff I did during those all important girl scout meetings I attended that I don’t really remember now. And I actually don’t remember any of the badges, and I’m no longer in possession of said badges because I’m pretty sure I got rid of all my girl scout stuff during my “Kurt Cobain is my co-pilot, Green Peace is my calling from God” phase (It was the Mid-Nineties and I was a rebellious spawn of hippies in a bible-belt state, what can I tell you?). I regret getting rid of them, not because I look fondly on those badges, but because, Damn It, I want some badges for stuff I’ve done and I want them NOW!

Let me explain. So today I went windsurfing, which, for me, can be awesome or my Achilles Heel depending on what day it is, what my mood is and whether or not the Windsurfing Gods have decided to spite me or not. But today? It was awesome! I did some bad-ass shit out on that water, well bad-ass for me anyway. I tackled my first non-planing jibe (Yah!) and I thought I was a plane, or sounding like one anyway.

WARNING: Long Anticdote to follow.

So there I was on the water, going faster than I normally do, which is awesome (AWESOME!). I hear this noise. I think the fact that I am going faster than I normally do is creating said noise. I think there is something on the fin of my board creating said noise. I realize there is nothing on said fin creating the noise. I really do think I am making said noise. For a split second, I’m convinced I’m breaking the speed barrier. I… realize it’s a plane flying overhead making the noise. My ego is immediately deflated. Then I realize that this whole thought process might be the single funniest, most idiotic thing I’ve ever thought and begin laughing convulsively. I get my board back to Fighting Nun, laughing the whole time and convey said story to Fighting Nun. I realize I’ve made a huge mistake because I’ve now created more fuel for the “Tease Bloody Munchkin about something she said or did” fire, which frankly needs no more fuel. Fighting Nun and I have been together just shy of a decade and within this amount of time I’ve said enough unintentionally funny and embarrassing things and done enough embarrassingly stupid stuff that Fighting Nun now has a huge artillery of embarrassing Bloody Munchkin tidbits, which now include this story. (End Anticdote) But this is not my point.

My point is, I did some pretty awesome stuff out there today. A non-planing jibe. I actually pulled off a non-planing jibe today, which I frankly thought was beyond my abilities, which makes me proud beyond belief. But do I have anything to show for it? Photographic evidence? Video footage? A cool scar even? Noooooo! And do I have anyone other than Fighting Nun to share said accomplishments with? Nooooo! I couldn’t even share this with my mom because she starts getting all gaspy any time I mention I’ve attempted a sport any more dangerous than shuffleboard. And Fighting Nun is tired of my bragging, not just because he’s done several non-planing jibes himself and is therefore a bigger bad-ass than I am, but mostly because after my fifteenth attempt at bragging about the stunt, complete with flexing my “Guns” and posing, he and I both knew it has lost its appeal.

That’s why I say I want a badge marking the occasion. I want a sash with a little iron-on badge that say “Non-Planing Jibe” on it. In fact, I think there are a lot of events that happen to us as adults that we deserve badges for, or maybe even a gold star. I mean seriously, where is the reward system for accomplishing stuff anymore? Just cause we’re out of elementary school doesn’t mean we dislike blue ribbons over here. And it’s not that accomplishing stuff isn’t it’s own reward. It is. But Damn It, some days, not everyday, but every once and awhile I want proof of reaching my milestone. I want my Girl Scouts sash back and I want to fill it with accomplishments, however small, that I find meaningful. Like the Non-Planing Jibe badge or “Didn’t flip off the guy who cut me off in traffic, even though he really deserved it” badge or “I actually made it through a day of work with out pummeling my co-workers down ruthlessly with my words” badge. I want to wear this sash complete with badges around all the time and point them out like I did back when I was a girl scout, even though I can’t remember what those badges were.

So I propose we as adults start a new scout troop, complete with sashes and badges that mean something to us now. We’ll call it the Bloody Munchkin Adult Show-Off Scouts of America! Who’s with me? Anybody? Bueller? Bueller? Fry? Fine. I’ll just be over here in the corner, sewing on my Windsurfing Badass badge onto my sash and polishing my “I’m smarter than you” medal. If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.

I have voodoo powers...

Or something. Not a day, A DAY, after I verbally jibed Rob Schnieder's career, did he come back in the news. I am very sorry to hear that he was injured and/or suffered a bout of exhaustion on the set and had to be hospitalized. I am also just a tad freaked out that the day after I wrote a strongly worded epitome about how is career sucks that nature and/or karma decided to take matters into her own hands. I can hear Karma now. "You know what, The Bloody Munchkin was right. Maybe I should do something about making sure he doesn't make a movie about an Ex-con who learns kung-fu". But somehow, he survived and his evil plans for world domination, er I mean making mediocre films is still underway, because apparantly you can't slow down robbie boy, probably be he sold his soul to the devil, or Adam Sandler, which given that Adam Sandler played Satan's son in Little Nicky, not really a stretch...

The Regrettable Career of Rob Schnieder

So, I've meant to do one of these posts for several different people for awhile. My idea is to analyze some sagging celebrity careers in a hopes of pinpointing where it all went wrong, or, in some cases, why it was never right to begin with. I've wanted to write about a few people, but it's never seemed quite timely or topical.

My choosing to analyze Rob Schnieder's ailing career might be only topical to me, because as far as I know Deuce Bigelow: African Gigelo hasn't been made yet (THANK! GOD) and aside from Benchwarmers, he really hasn't been on the horizon for awhile. But somehow, within the last four days, I've seen 20 minutes of two utterly regrettable movies he made: Surf Ninjas and Judge Dredd. After doing so, I'm under the direct impression that my own circle of hell would be being forced to watch all of Rob Schnieder's movies in twenty minute snippets, over and over again, because, with the exception of his guest spot work in Adam Sandler's movies and some of his sketch characters on SNL, he has been in some exceptionally crappy stuff. I mean, there's a couple of things he gets a pass on, but on the whole? Yeah, not so much. When the highlights of your career happen to be various bit players and Adam Sandler stooges. It's time to rethink that career path is what I'm saying.


It's not to say that his acting is wholy terrible, sometimes it is, but sometimes, in some truly crapacious crap, he can be a bright spot. Take Surf Ninjas for example. O.k., I actually have to backtrack a little on this one. When I was in high school, one night I rented a bunch of bad movies and was granted permission at having a few wine coolers while watching said crappy movies by my parents, which I readily agreed to, because it was that or cruising the mean streets of snoozeville USA, again for the umpteen hundredth time of my adolescent career. So there I was, a smidge bit tipsy off Lemon-Lime Bartle and James (I think) watching Surf Ninjas. So my mind at the time, which was clouded not only with sugary wine coolers but also with just being a giggly sixteen year-old girl, which is like a double whammy, so not only did I think that Ernie Reyes Jr. was like the Hottest Martial Artist eva! but I also thought this movie was the funniest thing ever to hit the streets.

And then I saw the first twenty minutes on Sunday, and then suddenly, everything I thought I knew was wrong. This movie kind of really sucked. It sucked Awesomely! (Tone Loc, a cop? Leslie Nielson in metal? Heh. Brilliantly bad!) but overall it sucked. The writing was horrendous, with most of the lines not only being clunky, but on the whole just way over the top surfer-dude-ish to be good. This movie is proof positive why I'm glad Ernie Reyes Sr. has decided to run his chain of martial art studios here in the bay area and has not decided to pursue an acting career full time. Can you say wooden? Somewhere, up in the redwoods of of this fine state of mine, there's a big ole tree going "Yeah that'll do Mr. Reyes Sr. Sir. You're giving us a bad name." But somehow Robbie boy was a bright spot. No, I'm not sure how either. I mean "Moto-surf". Really? But the second he came out in a wheel chair, effecting the most horrible scottish accent, I couldn't help but laugh.

But Judge Dredd? Dear Lord God! There is just, there are no words for how craptacular that movie is. Anyone involved with that POS should have had their SAG cards revoked. And Mr. Schnieder Sir, if you are not only in one but two of Mr. Stallone's more horrid offerings, your card should not only have been revoked, but you should have been walked out of Hollywood, barred from ever coming back. But did that stop you? No! You kept coming back, with even more horrible offerings. The affore Mentioned Deuce Bigelow and Deuce Bigelow sequel, the former of which I have seen, the later which I have not, because I have learned from my mistakes. You apparantly have not, because: The Animal. Also, The Hot Chick.

And sadly, I wish I could say that it's just his career that's becoming regrettable, but somehow it seems to have passed onto his wardrobe lately as well. I mean, have you seen him? I mean, is he trying to become the wee version of Lorenzo Lamas? What is the deal with the suede vest anyway.

So, in conclusion, Robbie boy's career is quite regrettable, but thankfully his body of work is quite avoidable. That is, until the next time Fighting Nun decides to turn the channel to something else he's in that makes me wanna rip my hair out...

Twelve Things I Realized After Seeing X-Men III

1. I'm impossibly slow on the uptake. Like impossibly slow. I don't want to ruin it for everybody, but the scene? At the end of the credits? Lost me for a good five minutes until?
   
   Bloody Munchkin: Huh? I don't get it.
   Fighting Nun: Because the guy, in that one scene!
   Bloody Munchkin: What do you mean?
   Fighting Nun: *Whispers in ear*
   Bloody Munchkin: Really?
   Fighting Nun: *Rolls Eyes* Yes really!
   Bloody Munchkin: Dude! Dude! That like... Whoa.
   
2. Out of all the hairstyles they could've given Aaron Stanford, they chose the absolutely worst one for his face. The bad peroxide job? The bad cross between "The Spike" and a pompedor? Not working for him. He was so cute in Tadpole. He deserved better than that. So did his hair.
   
3. The Kid? Still freaks me out. I caught a snippet of Birth on cable the other day, and I just shuddered the whole time. I mean seriously. I can't put my finger on why, but he's just freaky, and he seems to chose roles meant to freak me out. In fact I'm gonna go as far as saying he should've gotten the part in The Omen. He was robbed! Also, *shudder*.
   
4. I can't divorce Ben Foster from his role in Six Feet Under. I like Ben Foster. I even sat through the atrocious teen movie he did with Kiersten Dunst. I cringed when they removed all his piercings in The Punisher. So it saddens me to say that I still see him as the namby-pamby ineffectual, getting-it-on-with-his-teacher bisexual. Sorry Ben, you deserve better. I'll try and work on that. Also, you needed more work in this movie... Also, also, what is with the hair? Talk about Pompedor...
   
5. I seem to love movies where I can go, "Ooh, ooh, ooh, It's that guy!" and I can place exactly what else he's been in, or even name him. It's one of my few talents in life.
   
6. "Don't you know who I am? I'm the Juggernaut bitch!"Might just become the new line I use in traffic. I've been using "Sack Up Ho" with wild abandon in traffic, so it's time to add to my repetoire of phrases to use in traffic, right alongside "On Your SIDE, Snore-y Feldman" (long story) and "Get Behind me Satan!"
   
7. Arclight is probably the most androgynous person I have ever seen in a movie ever. Like, not since looking at a picture of the lead singer from AFI has the "Is it a really affeminate boy or a really ugly-mannish looking girl?" quandry been so hard to solve. Like seriously.
   
8. So you've just been electrified by a combination of lightening and falling backward on a generator. Apparantly the thing that sizzles most, if not the only thing on your persons that sizzles, is your chin piercing. Not your hair. Not your skin, or your clothes. Just you chin piercing. Apparantly all those informative lectures that I had to sit through when I was growing by the power company were wrong. Interesting.
   
9. Dude, Mystique's character lasted a totally of like five minutes in this movie. I did not see that one coming.
   
10. The scene with the younger Magneto and younger Xavier? Really bad make-up job yo. I mean seriously. Like scary with the de-age-ifying. Ian McKellen does not unage well is what I'm saying.
    
11. Can I just say, that if you insist on putting a memorial up in the front lawn of all the members you lost, you're gonna run out of room in your lawn quick. Why couldn't you just put an urn up on the fireplace like any other self-respecting, God-fearing family.
    
12. Wolverine and The Beast are still battling it out in my brain for who has the best hairstyle. I'm saying, the blue? Good look for Kelsey.

The Coreys

I know I'm mental, but this article just filled me with glee. The Coreys? On my tv screen? Again? And I'm not watching The Lost Boys? I'm just so happy! And the reason I'm happy is not because I had a crush on these guys growing up, because I can categorically tell you, that boat came and left the dock by the time I was able to have real meaningful crushes. No, the reason I'm happy about this, is that the two of them are utter train wrecks. The drug problems, the sexual addiction, the scores of bad movies made during and after the drug problems. Whatever it was that happened to Corey Haim's teeth. That awesome episode of Greg The Bunny that "The Feldster" saw fit to do, in which he gets clubbed by the cops. They are so utterly bad, they're good. Which is why I watched season 1 of The Surreal Life (The Feldster can not catch a ball to save his life by the way). And is the exact reason I would watch this show. That and, well I tend to watch a lot of crap on tv. Have I mentioned that before?

Bloated Stars

I saw this article this morning, and immediately three thoughts popped into my head:

1. It's not "The Bloat" it's "The Spread" and it happens sometimes. Sometimes people get over it. It happens.

2. Luke Wilson DOES NOT look that bad. Leave the poor man alone.

3. I don't think that before the bloat pictures actually exist for the lesser (only career-wise, because if you're on a list of blated celebs, it sure ain't literal) Baldwin Brothers because I think their bloat is perpetual and all encompassing. Isn't pointing out said perpetual bloat, like kicking someone when they're down???

Stop the Simon Cowell Pandemic

So I realize I'm about a season too late to jump on the bandwagon, if there is a bandwagon to jump on, but Hell's Kitchen? I kinda love it you guys. I kind of knew about it last summer, but I guess I never watched it. Last night, as I was trying to find something to entertain me in between innings, I found Hell's Kitchen. And. It. Is. Awesome. At first I couldn't really care. The main chef guy? Was grading how they cut meat. Grading. How. They. Cut. Meat. Snore. But then I turned it back for the Dinner Service, which was probably the best thing ever. "You, Mophead! What're you doing?" and "They're all a bunch of muppets." had Fighting Nun and I affecting a snooty English tone and repeating the phrases over and over again.

But it got me thinking. What the hell is with the influx of British Assholes invading my TV? First it was Simon Cowell. Which, with the first seasons of American Idol, was easy enough to avoid, but then he started producing every freaking thing and then it's like all the sudden it snooty Brit with, and I'm sure this is on some casting sheet somewhere, "biting wit" and a penchant for telling people they suck suddenly became a hot commodity. How the hell did this happen? It's not like us Americans don't have ready supply of jerkwads willing to insult people. I mean attending any sports event in an arena will tell you that we have plenty. And I mean plenty. And it's not like England is just overrun with snooty assholes, I'm sure they have their share, but I've watched Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Professor Giles was cool. Anthony Stewart Head, in all his incarnations, from the guy who made Taster's Choice kinda sexy to the Awesome Giles, is not an Asshole. There have to be more of 'em where he came from.

So what's with the influx of British Ragewads on my TV? Really? I'm dying to know. I mean, I can think of a handful of them right now. Simon, the snooty guy on American Inventor, the other snooty guy on So You Think You Can Dance.There's a snooty, but slightly hot, but still very snooty guy on America's Next Top Model. I think there was even a snooty guy on Dancing with The Stars, but I can't totally recall because I could only watch it for like two minutes before my eyes threatened to explode. The funny part is that, with exception of this guy on Hell's Kitchen, none of them are really all that entertaining. It they were more like they guy on Hell's Kitchen, I might give "America's Got Top Dance Idol" or whatever the hell a chance. But I'm telling you, if the next show involving a panel has another Damned Snooty English Asshole, I'm going to go postal.

I'm calling this trend, or what I really think happens to be a pandemic, The Simon Cowell Pandemic or SCP for short.

Won't you please put a stop to the pandemic? Won't you think of the children???

The myriad emotions experienced while cleaning my house

Alternate Titles:
The Bloody Munchkin vs. The Vacuum Cleaner's Green Light of Cleanliness
1. Determination - "This kitchen is gonna gleam damnit!"

2. Frustration - *Tromp Tromp Tromp* "God Damn It FIghting Nun! Swiffering Here!" *Tromp Tromp Tromp* "I. AM. SWIFFERING!" *Tromp Tromp Tromp* "Pick A Room! Stay In It! Respect the swiffer!"

3. Confused Frustration - "O.k., so let me get this straight. I've vacuumed over this part of the floor at least thirty times, but theevil Red Light of floor dirtiness on the Vacuum cleaner hasn't gone off and the Green Light, representing all that is good and clean in this world has not come on? Why? I mean, I've vacuumed over this spot several times. It can not be that dirty. Can it?

4. Guilt. Guilt and Shame. - "O.k., maybe the floor really can be that dirty. I mean, when was the last time I vacuumed? Has it really been that long? Yes, yes it has been. This floor has to be absolutely. There's probably enough dog hair residing in this carpet to build a couple other dogs, or a sweater, or perhaps knit a blanket. I am so horrible. I can't believe I haven't vacuumed in so long that the floor will now be perpetually dirty. The dude from Dirty Jobs is now going to host a show in my carpet because it is that dirty. I am so horrible. I've had this house only, what, three months and now the carpet is so dirty that it will never get clean. I am horrible.

5. Contrition - "O.k. God, or the carpet gods or whatever. I promise from now on. to clean the carpet and vacuum every week if you see it fit to just make the clean light come on for just a little bit so as to verify that the rug is just a little clean. Please that's all I ask."

6. Anger - "What the hell do I have to do to get the FREAKING Green Light to come on so that I know that the carpet is at least somewhat clean for Christ's Sake? I just. HATE!!! HATEY HATE HATE!!!

7. Scientific Analysis - "It seriously can not be me and the floor. There's gotta be a reasonable explanation. Maybe the filter needs to be cleaned or replaced or I need to empty out the container...."

8. Dirty - This isn't so much a feeling as it is actually a physical state, because when I pull out the container and the filter, a huge mushroom cloud of fine silty dirt and dog hair came out, covering me in a thin layer of whatever's been residing in my carpet since the last time I vacuumed. I look like a badly assembled muppet that wasn't assembled with felt but with dog hair and flour. Actually, I look like... O.k. so remember that scene in The Sandlot when they're trying to get the Babe Ruth baseball out of the clenches of the beast and they use a vacuum cleaner, but then the beast pinches the hose and the vacuum cleaner builds up and explodes and covers all the kids in dirt? Yeah. Like that.

9. Triumph - "Ha Ha. Green Light of Cleaning success!!!! I am not a horrible cleaning person thingy! Yeah!!!"

10. Repeat Emotions 4 - 9 a good five times. I had to empty out that vacuum cleaner and clean the filter the same amount of times because I have a dog. Who is shedding. Shedding the equivalant of this body weight in fact. All over my carpet. And has been doing so since the last time I vacuumed which means I could build at least five little dogs out of the amount of shedded dog hair I cleaned up.

11. Commiseration - "Oh, Dirty Jobs Father's Day Marathon, how much you have brightened my spirits. I'm so feeling him right now."

12. Glee - At the same time I was cleaning, Fighting Nun and his dad were doing manly things and working on a car. And when you work on a car you get greasy. They asked me to help them get clean, which meant running the hose and doling out soap, which meant... In best Harvey Kietel voice "Well, now I'm sure you've both been to county." Then I sprayed them with water and cackled. It's not often i get to use that one. It made me inordinately happy. No, I do not know why. Yes, I will be seeking therapy. The second moment of glee came when I watched somebody twelve-point park a mini van in the Target parking lot. It was a cross between that scene in Austin Powers where he gets the golf cart stuck and like some stranger performance art.

13. Inadequacy - I can only blaim my feelings of inadequacy on the fact that my battle with the vacuum cleaner had left me feeling just a little bit vulnerable and shaken, but when I went down the cleaning supplies aisle, I felt my unworth just a little bit. My inner monologue went something like this "Dude, that is one big broom, and the little hand held broom with the dustpan." "What would you even use that for. You are not an umpire." "I know but it's all cool and tidy like. Ooh, look a the aweome little soap dispensing scrub brush. I want one of those." "You do not need a soap dispensing scrub brush." "Yeah I do... Oh look, a squeegee!" "You do not need a squeeqee, what would you even use it for any way." For squeegeeing stuff, and to get to say the word squeegee alot." "YOU DO NOT NEED A SQUEEGEE." "But look at all this stuff. No wonder I don't have a clean house, I am missing the important tools with which to do my job!" "Fine. Grab the soap dispenser thing and let get out of here.

14. Frustration - "God damnit Mr. Clean Magic Eraser. You are supposed to be the magical solution to all my marked wall problems! I demand! You Supply, Magic Eraser Thingie. Obey Me!" "Aren't you supposed to get it wet first?" "Really?"

15. Admiration - "Look at that, the markings on the wall came off!"

16. Urgency, followed by panic - So you know that rule about whatever can go wrong, will? I think that rule is trying to play itself out in our house. We sprung a leak, or more to the point, the second bathroom shower sprung a leak that decided to drain out through a hole in the eve overhanging the garage, which totally freaked us out. And made us curse up and down that we weren't more organized with our paperwork involving our warranty or whatever.

17. Control - One call to the warranty guy later, I felt in control of the situation, which isn't much like me at all...

18. Indignation - "Damn It dog! I just vacuumed! Did you have to pick this particular moment, right after I could build a to scale replica of you WITH YOUR OWN HAIR to shed the equivelant of another muppet costume? That's it. You're getting a B-A-T-H."

19. Commiseration - "I know you don't like getting a bath. But it's really not that bad. You're outside, see, so it's o.k. You'll get to roll around and lay in sun all you want once I've desasquatchified you. Really."

20. Wet - Not once, in the 6 years of owning this dog have I figured out how to fend off or avoid "The Shake" altogether. He shakes off water, I get wet. These are the facts.

21. Contentment/Exhaustion - "The house is clean, the dog is clean, unhappy with us, but clean, we've warded off domicile apocolypse for the time being. I think I'm gonna take a nap..."

I Got Quoted!

Like for real! On like another blog and everything! Somebody is actually using something I wrote to prove a point and like stuff. That, like never happens! But it's for a good cause! Bring Back Ish. And Danny. And Alex. And Big Dane.

Pimp My Ride: The New Class

So I caught the new episode of Pimp My Ride in the new garage, with the new cast last night, and may I just say, it was exactly as dissapointing as I predicted. Overall, it did what a Pimp My Ride episode does best, it had plenty of X to the Z eyebrow pops, it had the pimpee in question freaking out when he got his fixed up ride. What it didn't have was Alex, and Danny, and Ish, and Big Dane. What it did have was an owner who was too busy mugging for the camera to care about anything else. And can we talk about the owner, Beau or whatever, for a sec? What is up with the hair? Jon Bon Jovi circa the Dead or Alive video called. He wants his hair back. And while we're on the subject of hair follicles, the dude who is a sub-par accessories guy on this show, the one with the spikey hair and the equally sub-par eyebrow pops and half-ass attempts of looks of inquisitive that turn into looks of stupid confusion because all the TIGI products he is using to make sure his hair will not move have apparantly eaten at his brain? That guy? I refuse to learn names for the new cast because they are unworthy at this point, but that's besides the point. The point is he looks stupid with the hair and the hair dye and piercings and all. I'm not against the punk hair. I usually applaud the mohawk and the faux-hawk and especially the died mohawk. That hair takes guts and anybody who has got the guts to go for it, well in the immortal words of Eddie on Empire Records "You're a Rebel Man, We salute you."

But on this guy? It's just for show. The hair is pretentious and so is he. If you are sporting a certain look, you've got to own it is what I'm saying. Alex owned those chin spikes. Owned them. This guy? Not so much.

It's not say that this episode didn't have it's moments. The new interiors guy? The pseudo-Ish? Cracked My Shit Up. He made me momentarily happy. He gets a pass. But everybody else on this show, Mad Mike included? Better step their game up if they expect to keep me as a viewer is what I'm saying. Who am I kidding? I'll probably watch anyway, that's how low my TV watching standards are. I even watch "So You Think You Can Dance" so it's not like I ask alot from the programming folks, but still. Pimp My Ride, Step your game up or I'm walking...

Stephen Dorff, Confused Crossdresser?

Fighting Nun is not going to let me live this one down....

So once upon a time I was obsessed (OBSESSED) with Stephen Dorff. I mean, it was my teens and all, but it was full on. I'm talking just a leettle bit over the edge here. Actually let me start from the beginning. I was nine years old and I stumbled upon a really bad horror movie on WGN called "The Gate". I was enamored. Hated the movie. Loved the boy in the movie.

Fast forward to my teens when I become obsessed with a movie called "The Power of One". I'm talking "Had the Soundtrack and the Movie Poster" obsessed. Swooning obsessed. Later I found out that the lead boy in the Gate was one in same with the older PK. And it WAS ON. I have forced Fighting Nun to see some god awful movies to try and sate my Stephen Dorff fix. Space Truckers. Feardotcom. That Britney Spears video.

Fighting Nun made a joke out of my obsession, to wit "Why you into a gay man?" And now, here's some vaguely worded proof, or something. He's into women's clothing. If he's the next Ru Paul, I might have to fling myself off a building...

Nacho Libre

So am I nuts or am I the only one who wants to see Nacho Libre? I know I'm the only one in my household anyway. I get all excited when one of the commercials comes on, Fighting Nun just rolls his eyes and not even the dog can be bothered. But it's genius. Geeenius.

Jack Black. In Blue Tights. And what I'm taking to be a Jew-Fro. Wrestling. What's not to love? I mean that hair alone is worth the price of admission. And the mustache. And the eyebrow pops (I know, I know, he does that in every movie). Come On People. Brilliant!!!

O.k., I get Fighting Nun's reservations. We've been burned before. Orange County. School of Rock. Saving Silverman (shudder). But that doesn't change the fact that I'm Jack Black's bitch and have been since Airborne. He was Augie Damn it! The second he was in that film sealed my fate as such. That's a long story, but still. It's Jack Black in Tights and Jew-Fro. How can the man who brought to the world Inward Singing and Karate Schnitzel be bad? You know how? You don't do you, because HE CAN'T BE. He's in Tenacious MOTHER-FUCKING D for Christ's Sake. You and I must see his movie now!!! Jack Black Commands You!!! So Do the Tights!!! And the Jew-Fro!!! The Jew-Fro asks for Your Obedience!!! Obey!!!!!!!!!

The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drifzzzzz

O.k., this is not a review of the movie, because I haven't seen it, am not going to pay money to see it in the theaters, and have done good to avoid the Fast and the Furious enterprise as a whole, except for the first one, and no I don't have a good reason why I watched it. I just did, O.k.?

This post is more of a gripe about Lucas Black, who I used to like whole hell of a lot, not in a Ohmygodheissooooocute kinda way, because I was in my late teens when American Gothic came out, and that show, and him by association gave me the heebs, but I can remember admiring him because here he was a kid in a very dark TV show and he pulled off his character convincingly. And Slingblade. He was great in that.

He was this kid actor, taking up unconventional roles and I applauded him for that. But jumping in on the Fast in the Furious franchise? It just bums me out. I thought better of him. And the way he's coming off in the ads, especially in the radio ads. Jesus. His accent in those ads makes me wanna tear my hair out. Tone it down a bit with the "Ahm juss a good ole boy" by way of the ghetto accent your trying to pull off, because? Not working. Also? Making you sound ridiculous. Also, when did you start looking like a cross between Sean Patrick Flannery and Paul Walker? Cause, when you were a kid, I did not see that coming. Now, looking at your IMDB profile, I can hear a casting agent in head going "Now where can I find a country-fried Paul Walker , but with slightly more brain cells? Hmm, I've got it. Lucas Black." And that just depresses me. I expected more from this kid is all than being a Paul Walker knockoff and starring in Paul Walker's throw-aways.

Pimp My Ride

I'm sure that the small audience I do have is probably sick of hearing me go on and on with my TV related rants, but you're about to hear another one, regardless. Ready???

Sunday, I got to do my second favorite activity, which is stay at home while Fighting Nun goes windsurfing so I can have complete control of the remote control, able able to watch whatever crap I want. There's something to be said about the utter fulfillment I get from being able to watch whatever happens to be on the television without the dreaded veto looming over me. You know what I mean, statements like "Oh My God, we are not watching this." and "This is a re-run. We have already seen it. Turn. The. Channel." with the eye roll to follow whatever channel choice I decide to make. The Veto. And let me just say that I know the crap I watch is crap. I know, that at my age, I have no earthly business watching whatever it is the braintrusts at MTV decides to roll out with, but I watch it anyway. But that's not the point here.

So I'm watching Sunday, and the skies part and the heavens open wide and there is a Pimp My Ride marathon on TV. I love Pimp My Ride. I love Pimp My Ride Marathons. I love Pimp My Ride reruns, which really annoys Fighting Nun because, see above. Yes I know I've seen the one where they make over that girl's truck and create a wall of TV's in the truck bed, but it does not diminish the awesomeness. I don't care. I will watch it again. Whenever it is on TV. That's how much I love Pimp My Ride. So I'm watching yesterday, and teasers for the new season come on. Which makes me happy. The teasers show a new garage. Which makes me confused. (GAS? This is not West Coast Customs. What is going on here???) The teasers show a whole new cast. Which makes me sad. It makes me more than sad. It breaks my heart actually. It breaks my heart into a million teeny-tiny pieces. You mean to tell me, that this new season is devoid of Ish? And Big Dane? And, and Alex? And, and, and Danny? I just, I just... *Sob*. I do not know what to do with this information. I mean, I love me some Xzibit and I'll probably follow him to the ends of the earth because he has some of the best one-liners and dead pans I have ever witnessed. But the thing is I loved the cast at West Coast Customs too. Alex hung chandelier parts off his chin spikes. That's some funny crap right there man.

I mean, I guess I get that the show decided to follow Mad Mike to the new garage or whatever, but he was probably in the bottom three on my list of favorites in the crew. Because did I mention Ish? And Big Dane? And, and Alex? And, and, and Danny? Those guys were awesome. They made me happy. Ish with his broken English, Alex with his chin spikes and picking on Danny, and Danny taking shuttlecocks to the huevos and Big Dane being Big Dane. They were great. They put a smile on my face and now they are gone, banished to reruns, from which they may never return. And Fighting Nun has twice denounced the procurement of Pimp My Ride DVDs, so I have no idea what I'm gonna do to get my fix.

And based on the trailers for the upcoming season, the new crew looks like a bunch of preening assholes. Your cockiness does not impress me dudes. You're gonna have to be funny, and ridiculous, and silly if you want to gain my love and respect. Danny did a take-off of that Mitsubishi Car Commercial with the dancing and the Dirty Vegas song, complete with ridiculous pink cap and scarf to win my affections. What are you gonna do for me? Huh, huh, huh??? Is this cast and crew willing to look like big dorks to win me over? I think not. Which saddens me. X to Z can only take it so far with the funny one liners and the eyebrow pops of confusion and the cracking up wildly on camera. The new cast has to bring it, with funny costumes, and completely over the top sight gags, and just the general tom-foolery, which I don't think is gonna happen. Which depresses me.

Once I saw the trailer a second time, I turned off the TV, thoroughly depressed in what I just saw. My heart just couldn't take it anymore. Watching old episodes of what is never to be again? I just, I couldn't take it. Pimp My Ride, why have you forsaken my West Coast Customs crew needs? Why would you do this to me?

Now if you all will excuse me, I'm gonna go sit in a corner and cry.

An Open Letter to my Car Radio/CD Player/Tape Player

Dear Radio;

Please, for the love of God, stop freaking out on me. I just can't take it. You've worked well for 6+ years now, but all the sudden you're starting to go all wonky and I'm at a loss regarding how to deal with it. When I first got you, along with the car, I was all "Rad! It's got a CD player and a Tape Deck. Sweet!" But truth is, I haven't used the Tape Deck part of you in the time I've had a car. I'm not sure if Fighting Nun and I even have tapes anymore. The one tape I even know that we still have happens to be a mixed tape I made back in high school that is highly embarrassing because It happened to be a mixed tape I made over something I had taped when I was in elementary school, which happened to be my third-grade self singing a song I had written at that age with my little casio keyboard. Not my best work. Trust me. I didn't exactly record over that part really well, so right at the very beginning of side B, I think, there's me singing. And Then Smashing Pumpkin's Siemese Dream starts up, which is a bit bizarre, but anyway. Fighting Nun loves this tape, for reasons I can't quite understand and has kept it in a safe location unbeknownst to me, because I swore that if I ever saw that tape again, I'd destroy it on sight.

Ahem, back to point. It just so happens that the tape deck part of you is the part that is freaking out. And I'm talking FREAKING THE FUCK OUT. I'm talking Joan Crawford style freakout except in tape form. I mean, I'll be listening to one of my CD's or the radio. And everything has to stop in obeisance of your temper tantrum. I get to listen nothing else for at least a good five minutes but you whining and throwing an electronic version of a SHIT FIT for no good reason. And not two minutes later, just when I think you've settled down, YOU DO IT AGAIN! You did that two me a total of seven (SEVEN!!!) times this morning. And I don't appreciate it not one bit.

Look, I'm sorry I haven't used you at all since I've had the car, but please, please don't do this to me. I'll go mad. Literally mad. I have not once had to endure a forty minute car trip alone, with no music and only my brain to keep me company, and I'm pretty sure that if I did, every subsequent trip would be the car ride equivelant to "The Yellow Wallpaper", and I can tell you right now, that ain't gonna be pretty.

So, please tape deck, no more tempertantrums please. I get now that you don't like me, and I'm starting to detest you, but let's just live in relative harmony for a couple more years. Although Fighting Nun says, that if the problem persists, we might break out a tape and try get you to working, which means we'll have to break out "The Tape" which means I might have a shot at destroying it, so by all means, go right ahead...

Keep it up and I'll show you a Real SHIT FIT;
The Bloody Munchkin

Sumo!!!

There's Sumo Wrestling to be had in the Bay Area, soon, and nobody told me??? For Shame. I had to find out about this event on the back of a municipal bus. And can I talk Fighting Nun into it? No. Not at all. Which sucks, because... SUMO!!!

Our conversation went something like this:

Fighting Nun: Hello.
Bloody Munchkin: So, uhm on the 17th of June, there's going to be Sumo Wrestling at the Oakland Arena.
Fighting Nun: So?
Bloody Munchkin: Soooo. SUMO! There's sumo and there's wrestling and... and SUMO!!!
Fighting Nun: That's nice dear (right here is where I could swear I heard his eyeballs physically rolling up into his brain.)
Bloody Munchkin: But, but, but... SUMO!!! Big guys, small short underwear things, one ring, two men enter, one man leaves... Come On. SUMO!!!
Fighting Nun: ...
Bloody Munchkin: It would be so awesome, and there'd be... and the... you really don't want to go do you?
Fighting Nun: Not so much.
Bloody Munchkin: Fine...

O.k. I realize I have probably an unrealistic view of the sport, what with the way it's portrayed on TV and all, but SUMO!!! I don't care if it has been sensationalized on TV and the event itself might probably way boring, but I'm convinced that watching two very big men both having man-boobs the size of my head slap each other around and wrestle for a couple of minutes each, cannot be boring. If we could drink, even better. I'm convinced there is a drinking game to be played somewhere in this event.

I'm still plying Fighting Nun, because SUMO!!! It's just... SUMO!!! What, now I'm losing you guys too? Sumo? Aw c'mon. Sumo! Sumo? Sumo...

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.

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...

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...