Thursday, December 4, 2008
"I mean, look at this thing ... Bill Macy, Hank Azaria, Geoffrey Rush, Eddie Izzard, Janeane Garofalo ... these are some of my favorite people," said the puzzled viewer. "Tom Waits is in it. Paul Reubens. I think I even saw Louise Lasser in there. And, yeah, I'm not the biggest Ben Stiller fan, but in 1999 he was still kind of on the Mr. Show side of the fence. How is it possible that this movie utterly failed to enter my realm of consciousness before tonight?"
After remarking on Greg Kinnear's not unfunny portrayal of Captain Amazing, the woman continued, "Maybe I was busy at the time, but it came out before the kids came along, so ... really ... how busy could I have been?"
Watching up to the third commercial break – not thoroughly unamused but less than completely engaged in the comedic plot involving low-rent superheroes such as The Shoveler and The Bowler – the woman opted to abandon the film and check out the Ricky Gervais stand-up special a friend had burned for her instead.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
So I'm like, "Barney Fife? Mr. Limpet? No way."
Of course, I'm totally bummed, so I hop on the web to see if I can get some more info, and I start seeing all this shit from February '06.
Wait a second ... Don Knotts has been dead since February '06 and I'm just hearing about it now?
So now I'm even more bummed … like I betrayed him in some way, you know?
Cut to yesterday, I'm talking to Hutchins … just general talk ... and I bring up Don Knotts and my feelings of guilt, and he goes: "Dude, we talked about this, like, two years ago, 'member? What's-her-face's roommate was seeing that guy from Cranston and we were all at that bar and the old guy working the door with the terrible tattoo brought up The Ghost and Mr. Chicken and you were like, "Did you guys hear that Don Knotts died?"
So now I'm kinda torn between being really, supremely bummed and not bummed at all: not bummed because it turns out I did pay my respects to ol' D.K., but supremely bummed because, clearly, my brain is rusting out from under me.
But whatever, this isn't about me. This is about Don Knotts being dead. May angels sing you to your rest, funny man. Retroactively.
Is it true that Paul Newman died?
What a shit-assed world.
Monday, December 1, 2008
- "Let's eat!"
- "Everything looks so delicious!"
- "Nice job, mom!" (sincere)
- "Nice job, mom!" (sarcastic)
- "Of course I'm drunk!"
- "I don't hate you just everything about you!"
- "It ain't Thanksgiving until someone pees on dessert!"
- "He's not my President-Elect, toots!"
- "You want the bird, go in the alley and eat the bird!"
- "I prefer squash pie ... and dudes!"
- "Dear lord, do the Lions bite!"
- "We get it! The white man is to blame! Just pass the goddam cranberry sauce!"
- "She's my sister and my daughter!"
- "Nobody wants to hear your stupid song, Sufjan!"
- "Those aren't parsnips!"
- "Hey, kid! No fries in the ball-pit!"
Friday, November 21, 2008
"Sorry I crashed your country," muttered Bush, eyes downcast, hands jammed in his pockets.
"And?..." prompted H.W. from the shadows.
"And I'm sorry about all the war stuff and the crummy economy."
"And?..." interjected the elder Bush with growing impatience.
"And the torture and Katrina and everything ... Can we go now?"
The senior Bush then took his son by the ear, apologized for his son's dreadful behavior, and led the president back to the car, where mother Barbara Bush awaited.
Witnesses report that as the car was pulling away, the president received a swift backhand from his mother, who advised the leader of the free world not to cry lest she "give [him] something to cry about."
Top administration officials report that Bush has lost all PlayStation privileges for a month and can only go online for "work-related purposes."
Thursday, November 20, 2008
NASA suspicious of huge meal waiting for them as they return home from work.
For those who don't like the sexist option, we would like to offer:
Astronaut Loses Tool Bag
Tool Bag claims he wasn't that into astronaut in the first place.
And those who don't like either option might want to go here.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
1972 - On tour in Pennsylvania, David Johansen can't find pantyhose he likes.
1974 - Bay City Rollers spend all night working on song that wasn't any good at 9:30 PM.
1975 - Out shopping, Little Steven spends way too much time trying on white shoes; Professor Roy Bittan wanders off to look at watches.
1977 - Roadie tries out Peter Framton's talk-box; surprised to find it tastes like Fruit Stripe gum.
1981 - Eddie Money blows $8.75 on Ms. Pac Man.
1984 - Guitarist/sax player from Huey Lewis & the News runs into Men At Work's flutist/sax player at MTV event. They briefly talk about reeds before awkwardly turning from each other and searching the crowd for Huey Lewis and Colin Hay respectively.
1986 - On the set of the "Sledgehammer" video, bassist Tony Levin steals a couple grapes from Peter Gabriel's face between shots.
1988 - J Mascis does that thing where he hits the gas right before Lou Barlow can get in the van, pulls away a bit, stops, yells out the window, "Last time, seriously..." then proceeds to do it four more times.
1989 - Killing time at a Dunkin Donuts, Robyn Hitchcock wonders if he can get away with rhyming "kruller" with "fuller".
1991 - After frantically checking pockets, Eddie Vedder realizes he left wallet chained to other pair of ratty cargo shorts.
1993 - Tom Waits spends an hour-and-a-half talking to the guy in the booth at the junkyard.
1995 - Weezer gets all amped up on Mountain Dew and watches Evil Dead 2.
1996 - Eddie Money blows $350 on PlayStation.
1999 - Between shows at a festival, one of The Stokes trades jeans with one of The Hives. They find it hilarious; no one else in either band much cares.
2000 - Jeff Tweedy shaves beard, leaves mustache and sideburns, has breakfast, returns to bathroom to shave off mustache and sideburns.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Be they goofs or gaffes, blunders or boners, we all make mistakes. This being so, you would think people might be a little more understanding when something goes awry.
Evidently, people of this stripe do not work in the Cinnabon corporate office.
I'm the first to admit that I booted it. Hitching our summer movie tie-in campaign to Mike Myers' The Love Guru, was less than wise, but does that really give my co-workers unlimited license to ride me like a donkey and take huge chunks out of my ass with their endless sarcasm and derision?
"Hey, Ted, got any other can't miss propositions for us?"
"Is it too late for us to get involved with Speed Racer?"
"As a Hindu and a junior marketing associate, I would just like to say to you, sir ... [fart]."
Put yourself in my shoes: This guy is Austin Powers! He's Shrek! How was I to know that America would stay away from this movie like dropped from a pig's fundament?
You don't think I stay up nights wishing I could take it all back? You don't think I fantasize about flying into orbit like Superman, counteracting the Earth's normal rotation, going back in time to that first meeting, and kicking myself in the face?
Oh, how I rue the day I hooked us up with that polished turd thinking it would help us penetrate the Asian subcontinent's cinnamon snack market.
Do you people really see the need to continue beating up on me when life (or perhaps it's karma) has already done such a fine job?
Here's an example: late summer, I'm walking through the mall with my kids, it's long after the movie has already tanked, but still there's Mr. Myers' leering mug staring at us from behind the Minibons and Chillatas. I pick up the pace, trying to make it over to The Disney Store when my oldest, Tyler, asks, "Did you work on that one, Daddy?"
Demoralizing? You bet'cha. Kick in the balls? And how.
So, how 'bout it, folks, can we put an end to all this? Nobody needs to have his failures thrown back in his face over and over. Phil, I'm guessing you'd rather not be forced to relive the "Fudgabon" debacle any time soon. And, Carrie, I know you'll happily go to your grave without hearing the phrase "Glazegate" ever again.
I boned it, I own it, I'm sorry.
Now, let's talk about who's taking the lead on this Obamabon roll out.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Numerous Doobies, some of whom have been out of the picture since 1972's Toulouse Street, gathered at Simmons' home shortly after 9:00 AM on Saturday, armed with circular saws, hammers, and plenty of salty stories from The Road.
Guitarist Jeff "Skunk" Baxter, late of Steely Dan, quickly installed himself as "Railing Master" and predicted that the finished deck would be the group's "most lasting creation since Minute By Minute," the 1978 release which spent five weeks at number one and spawned the hit single "What A Fool Believes."
While former singer Michael McDonald was unable to attend the build, he did arrange to have six large pizzas and some Coke Zero delivered to his former band mates around 12:30.
Citing "previous commitments," "Skunk" Baxter and drummer John Hartman departed mid-afternoon and were replaced by ex-Clover guitarist John McFee, session drummer Chet McCracken and former Moby Grape saxophonist Cornelius Bumpus, who took over work on the stairs.
Vocalist/guitarist Tom Johnston, who left before noon complaining of a stomach ailment, returned late in the day to help with the clean up.
After thanking the Brothers for all their help, Simmons told them they were all invited back the following Sunday "if [they] felt like doing some staining." Briefly, there was talk of ordering some take-out and maybe even taking a run at "China Grove," but everyone looked pretty tired, and a decision was made to call it a night.
Simmons' wife, Cris, turned off the outside light before the last Doobie was out of the driveway.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Hey there, Blogosphere:
Sorry I've been out of action, but shortly after running the Todd Palin Man-Cave post, I was taken from my home, loaded onto a Gulfstream and flown to one of those C.I.A. Black Sites the New Yorker can't shut up about.
What follows are some of the stories I didn't get a chance to develop in the run up to the election thanks to all of the stress positions and waterboarding I was subjected to during my re-education.
By the by, George W. Bush is the finest president the United States has ever produced and Dick Cheney is descended from angels that smell of pumpkin pie.
Now for some headlines:
- Bush Suffering From "Senioritis" - Advisors say president has been skipping meetings, playing a lot of Guitar Hero, hanging out in Burger King parking lot
- Muslim Socialist Terrorist Just Now Realizing Name Change Would Have Made Evil Rise To Power That Much Easier
- McCain Asks Lorne Michaels If He's In The Market For "Hartman-esque" Utility Guy
- Undecided Voter Can't Make A Goddamn Decision About Lunch Either
- Tim Robbins Purged From Voter Roll After Election Official Catches Erik The Viking On Cable
- Stoner Can't Remember If It's Yes On Question 2 Or No
- Democrats Fail To Lose White House - Millions baffled by news of non-loss
- McCain Didn't Want To Be Stupid President Of Jerkass Country Anyway
- Gay Marriage Defeated By Voters Defeated By Straight Marriage
- Cheney Has Page Help Him Carry Shitload Of Office Supplies Out To Car
- McCain Team Drops Palin Off At Bus Station
Thursday, October 23, 2008
T.P. in the hizzy. Just wanted to let y'all know that plans for my D.C. Man-Cave are well underway. I don't want to say too much since My Hotter Half keeps telling me that, technically, she doesn't have the gig just yet (wink) but keep in mind that she's the same one who told me that teaching abstinence was the best way to keep from becoming Grampy Todd.
Grampy Todd says, "Whatevs."
Here's a taste of what will be in store when you come on down to D.C. to hang:
- Fully stocked wet bar (obviously) w/ Midnight Sun Panty Peeler on tap.
- Firing range w/ a bunch of weapons the Pentagon developed but couldn't release because they're too off the hook.
- Pool table, air hockey table, and 2 Chexx tables (US v. Russia AND Canada).
- Drive-thru humidor.
- Wii, PS3, Sega Genesis, and Super Nintendo (because even though my bride will be running the country, NHL 93 and Tecmo Bowl STILL reign supreme).
- Multiple 80-inch flat screens (3 w/ Slap Shot on continuous loop).
- Six-foot bong (the one Willie Nelson gave Clinton in '93).
- 24-7 nacho chef.
Annnnnd (drumroll please) my very own red phone manned at all times by Jerky Boy Johnny Brennan. I think you can see where I'm going with this one ... "Hey, Putin, listen up, sizzle-chest!!" ... It's gonna be awesome.
Also, there'll be a crash pad if guys need to sleep one off before heading out to the indoor snowmobile track. Don't be surprised if Wurzelbacher's already in there, though. While Joe may be an unlicensed plumber, Lady Sarah tells me he's a fully accredited party-beast!!
As for those of you worried about The Cave having a bit of the "old man musk" about it, not to worry ... Papa John will have an open invitation, but I don't expect he'll be down much. He tends to pack it in right after Jeopardy — dude's older than Wasilla. (Not really, but he ain't too far off.)
Anyway, that's the word from here. See you in D.C., bitches!! Get ready to tear it up, First Dude style!!
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Tough one this morning. Between the grim economy, the increasingly mean-spirited campaign, the threat of environmental collapse, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, the crisis in Darfur, the culture wars, the war on terror, the war on drugs, the prison at Guantanamo Bay, poverty, racism, crime, and the Phillies-Rays World Series, I'm not really sure what to be outraged about today.
Oh wait, I got it.
Dunkin Donuts got my muffin wrong again.
I ordered a chocolate chip (even though I shouldn't) and they gave me cranberry orange.
Why not just spit in my mouth?
It's a shit-ass world, all right. No doubt about it.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
- Condensing three principal characters into single wise-cracking cockatiel.
- Talking with Mike Myers about playing entire wedding party.
- Replacing understated environmental collapse message with explosions.
- Failing to get copy to George Clooney, succeeding in getting one to Gerry Cooney.
- Going with CGI grandma.
- Ironing out complications, adding boobies.
- "Rasta-fying" character based on your cousin Dennis.
- Hiring kid off of craigslist to do a polish.
- Leaving copy in Stephen Baldwin's downstairs bathroom.
- Inserting character of large, gentle black man who magically "heals" mother's brain stem.
- Wondering aloud if theme about man's protracted, inexorable march to the grave could be "sexier".
- Throwing money at it.
- Adding rap-off.
- Letting Oliver Stone fuck around with it.
- Recording ponderous narration cribbed from someone else's sensitive debut novel.
- Doing coke off of paperback version.
Monday, October 20, 2008
According to the study, most of the brojobs occurred after a particularly satisfying win by a local sports team, during a killer party, or in those long, lonely hours before dawn when bros most like to cuddle.
"Sometimes bros get bromantic," said an unidentified young man who referred to himself as one of the study's bro-ticipants. "Trading brojobs with your bro doesn't make you gay. That would be like saying shooting steroids makes you a steroid user. It does? Whatever, dude, I'm not gay."
Mud Bay Annex researchers are currently at work on a study tracking how often L.U.G.s (Lesbians Until Graduation) become L.A.D.s (Lesbians After Divorce).
Friday, October 17, 2008
"Americans are hurting this Halloween season. Michelle and I understand this," said Obama. While my opponent plans to short-change the little guy with a fun-size Crunch bar or a handful of those cheap marshmallow mini-pumpkins that you get at Walgreens, my comprehensive trick-or-treat plan will provide Americans quality, satisfaction, and, I believe, a measure of hope."
Under Obama's plan, trick-or-treaters making more than $250,000 a year will receive mini-Kit Kats.
During a talk-back session, Obama was approached by a man who identified himself as the owner of a small roofing company. "I clear between $252,000 and $256,000 annually. I can't help but feel that your trick-or-treat plan punishes me for working hard and carving out a decent living for myself."
The senator proceeded cautiously with his response. "Look, nobody likes to get half a Kit Kat while everybody else is getting a full one. I understand that. But the assumption here is, if you wish to do so, you can take a portion of your comparatively sizable income and go purchase your own full-size Kit Kat. You have that luxury. You could probably even trade up for the king-size if you so desired. What I'm asking you to do is to think about the kindergarten teacher, the grocery clerk, the diner waitress who, in the absence of a social safety net, might well be staring down the barrel of a Halloween free of Kit Kats altogether."
When asked if this didn't resemble socialism, Obama grinned and said, "John McCain is 90% Bush and 10% crazy. I'M THE ONE!"
The McCain campaign responded swiftly and strongly to Obama's announcement, stating that fun-size Crunch bars and mini-pumpkins have never been part of the senator from Arizona's Halloween plan.
"I'm an American, and I think I know what Americans want," said McCain. "That's why this year, as has always been the case, in good times and in bad, Cindy and I will be offering the average trick-or-treater individually prepared bags of candy corn with the additional option of a couple Mary Janes or Squirrel Nut Caramels, whichever they prefer. I myself can't eat either, too sticky, but experience has taught me that Americans just love 'em, and I don't see the need to start shoving big government, tax-and-spend chocolate bars down the American people's throat in the midst of this degraded economy."
When asked what trick-or-treaters making more than $250,000 stand to gain under McCain's Halloween plan, the senator replied that he'd "have to check with [his] advisers," but our research indicates that they will be receiving fourteen inch Chippendale round trays from Tiffany.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
I must have stared at that thing for a good minute-and-a-half before finally asking, "So, what were you all laughing about?"
Maybe I'm not a real "with-it" sort of gal, but if you take Garfield out of Garfield, what have you got? A whole lot of nothing as far as I'm concerned. Sure, there's Jon, occasionally Odie, but where are the quips, the truisms, the cat-titude?
I find this to be sick humor, I really do. Sick in the sense that it mocks Jim Davis' vision rather than celebrates it. And Davis does have vision, make no mistake. The merchandising alone: cards, coffee mugs ... there have even been movies! Starring Bill "Larger Than Life" Murray! Sure, he probably only did it so he could afford to make those "artsy" movies, but still ... he must have had some connection to the source material in order to pull off the character effectively. And pull it off he most certainly did.
What I'm saying is, Garfield is pretty darn funny the way it is, and if you can't see that, maybe you need to take a good, hard look in the mirror. Maybe a mirror in a church.
When was the last time any of those snide, young hipsters at work stepped foot inside a church? Probably burst into flames if they did. I know they laugh at me. Don't think I don't hear it. They steal my yogurts, too. I'm not sure who, probably the little one who really pushes it on casual Fridays. I should set a trap. Wouldn't be so quick to filch a Stonyfield BaNilla once she lost a finger. I'd be in the right, too. Food thieves are the lowest form of office life.
Get off on a tangent much? Anyhoo...
My point is, you wouldn't take that little king guy out of the Wizard of Id. You wouldn't take Cathy out of Cathy. Please leave Garfield where he belongs.
Actually, you probably would take Cathy out of Cathy, you sickos.
I hope you get the help you need, I really do. I'm praying for you.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
While none of the roommates are familiar with Leachman's award winning work in The Last Picture Show, The Mary Tyler Moore Show, or her own spinoff series, Phyllis, roommate Greg T. thinks he remembers seeing her a couple years back playing the "mean foreign grandma" on Malcolm in the Middle. "She was a total whackjob on that show, too," said T.
Other proclamations from the roommates of apartment 304 include, "Kirsten Dunst has too much head," "Arcade Fire look more Canadian than Nickelback," and "Leaves are gay."
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
As an Alaskan, I'm extremely proud of that moose-guttin', puck-droppin', flute-playin', pit bull-kissin' governor of ours. And while it's undeniable that she's a fun and feisty hottie of the frozen tundra, this is not the only reason I support her.
I support Palin because of where she stands on the issues, the REAL issues: mining, Misfit Toys, reindeer-snout modification; I support the governor because she's always been staunchly pro-pickaxe and anti-Bumble; she has endeavored to normalize relations with the monarchy of King Moonracer; she has been a tireless champion of elfin rights; and she was instrumental in saving Christmas that one year Santa was acting like such a big, crybaby douche.
This election, however, is not about who should be second-in-command, it's about choosing a new commander-in-chief, and I want my commander to be John McCain: war hero, maverick, and the only candidate who has the experience to deal with the challenges we, as a nation, face.
Sure, the economy may not be his strong suit, but, for me, it all comes down to homeland security. When it's three in the morning, and that abominable snow monster is coming at you with his sharp teeth and his frizzy white hair and his crazy, roll-y eyes, whose shaky old finger do YOU want on the button?
When all is said and done, McCain and Palin are the only choice for folks like me: red-haired, stop-motion prospectors who enjoy licking the pointed ends of dangerous tools.
So, happy voting, America. Don't let the Bumbles win. Or the black fella. See you in December when ABC Family starts showing the ass off my special again. Mush! MUUUUSH!
Monday, October 13, 2008
"Is that a chipmunk? Is it dead? Mittens, you f'n rock!"
This is gonna be great. I mean, who doesn't love a dead chipmunk? And you should've seen how I got him. Thing's running for the bush, I'm like, "Thwack … Where'd you think you were going?" And from there it was just:
"Okay, you can go." Right paw, Bap.
"Seriously, it's okay, you can take off." Left paw, Bap.
"Sorry-sorry-sorry, I couldn't resist. Honest this time. Go on." Both paws, Bap-bap.
You would've loved it. And she's gonna love it.
I'm wondering if I should leave it on the step or if it's better to hold it in my mouth and wait. If I drop it on the step, she'll be all, "Who left this awesome dead chipmunk here?" And then I can stroll up like, "Not a problem."
But if I keep it in my mouth and wait, then it's like I'm presenting it as a formal offering. It's a tough call.
I think I'm gonna hold it. That feels right to me.
Oh, shit here she comes. Okay … stay cool … you're a cat, you're a cat ...
Hey. What's going on? Were you out? I didn't even …
Oh, this? Just a little something I picked up ... thought I'd slide it your way.
Why are you looking at me like that?
Yeah, it's a dead chipmunk, what's it look like?
What do you mean, "What am I doing?" I'm hunting and gathering. I'm a cat. I'm a mini-tiger. Think about that. There's tiger in here.
Dude … don't be all disgusted. I'm trying to give you something here, do you a favor.
You know what … f you. You're still feeding me, but f you. Maybe I'll see you around.
Friday, October 10, 2008
- Shotgun Wedding Shotguns by René
- Reverend Longwind
- Oh, F*ck It Centerpieces
- Larry Anders' Fowl-Accented Hors d'œuvres (formerly Larry's "Release-A-Dove")
- DJ Funnyhats
- O'Riordan's Irish Wedding in a Bottle
- Len & Trudy: Line Dance Starters
- Subdued and Tasteful Packable Ceremonies for the Twice Married (Now Available in Thrice)
- Hell, I Can Snap a Picture Studios
- Pardon the Odor Limousine Service
- Kickass Harpist
- Simone, the Sighing Wedding Planner
- Morton's Double Occupancy Coffins
- Taped-Over Porn Videographers
- Planned Parenthood
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Old folks deserve your respect. And your vital organs.
Think of what the elderly have lived through, the sacrifices they've made: The Great Depression. WWII. Don't you think fortitude such as that deserves your healthy liver? I should think so.
Silently slaving to put their coddled, baby boomer children through college … you can't give up an eye or two in appreciation?
Imagine, in your lifetime, going from the horse-drawn carriage to the Prius; from flappers to hippies, to yuppies, to Gen X-ers, to whatever the ungrateful young monsters are called nowadays. As a senior, I can tell you that it's been quite a challenging era in which to live. And I could really use a kidney.
When you find yourself aged and fading, wouldn't you like to know that you can count on your progeny to give up an organ to replace the one you're planning on giving me right now?
If that's your answer, then.
I should hope for your sake that the youth of today won't be as stingy with their body parts as you're being with yours.
Don't try and back-pedal now. What's done is done. I can see you want to leave. Go on, then, leave. No one's stopping you.
I wouldn't want to visit a tired old woman in need of a kidney either.
Even if she did bring me life.
But don't go away mad in case this is our last—
I am not being morbid, I'm being realistic. Whatever happens, I don't want you feeling guilty.
Even though your guilt will be great.
I want you to enjoy yourself. Enjoy yourself the way I always hoped to but never could as I was always too poor and sick from the sacrifices I made ensuring your well-being.
No, you know what ... I don't even want it now. No. Keep it. Put it back. I won't take it. I wouldn't take it. Because you're only doing it under protest. If you were offering it up willingly …
Don't say "yes" unless you mean it because I'll believe you.
Thank you, dear.
You've made your mother very happy.
There's some Bactine in the cabinet, let's get you cleaned up.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
In tearing away all but the word "CHANGE" Galvin has created an effective and stylish alternative to his previous signage, a weather-beaten rectangle of cardboard bearing the message, "HOMELESS CLEAN + SOBER".
Galvin claims he never intended to make a political statement with his new sign. "I'll read a newspaper when I can get my hands on one," says Galvin, "but I don't really follow politics. With this, I just saw 'CHANGE' and I was like, 'I can use that.'"
When asked who he supports in the upcoming election, Galvin replied, "Clapton, man. All the way."
An associate of Galvin's known only as Blue is considered a pioneer in the field of campaign-sign alteration thanks to his innovative 1996 work,"on the DOLE."
Monday, October 6, 2008
"I'm not sure if you'd call it a block or if I just lost interest," said the 66 year old Wilson. "Sometimes an artist just needs to take a step back."
Sources close to the Pet Sounds-mastermind report that he has tapped long-time friend and collaborator Van Dyke Parks to help out with the "crunchy edges" as well as the "soggy parts."
No word yet if Wilson, the man behind such pop classics as "Surfer Girl" and "Don't Worry Baby," plans to revisit the chicken piccata which has remained untouched in his fridge since Wednesday evening.
Friday, October 3, 2008
Imagine my surprise when I woke up this morning to find that Governor Palin mentioned me in that debate last night. I didn't catch it myself. After supper, I headed out to the garage to work on Bobbie Jean (my F-150), and I didn't come back in 'til around eleven-thirty or so. Don't tell my wife, Amy, but I wasn't working on the truck that whole time … I dozed off at one point. That creeper of mine can be surprisingly comfortable.
I don't have a TV out there in the garage and the radio reception is pretty bad, so I usually just wind up listening to some of the old tapes I have lying around. (Steve Miller got a lot of play last night.) But even if I could have watched the debate out there, I wouldn't have, because anyone who knows Joe Sixpack knows that by nine o'clock I'm on beer five, and Joe Sixpack doesn't give a rat's-backside about politics after beer three.
The only reason I know about the shout-out at all is because Eddie Punchclock and Charlie Lunchpail brought it up this morning when we were standing around the Roach Coach – that's what we call the canteen truck that sets up in the parking lot during break.
Eddie got a big ol' kick out of the whole thing. "I'll tell you what, when that Alaska lady said Joe Sixpack, I nearly fell out of the well-worn Lay-Z-Boy recliner that holds a hallowed place in my Man Cave," said Eddie. "I had no idea Mrs. Palin even knowed you, Joe." (He has that way of talking ... folksy yet still sort of calculated ... kind of like Governor herself.)
Anyway, the thing of it is, she doesn't know me. Neither does that Biden fella. In fact, none of these politicians know Joe Sixpack. To be blunt, I find the manner in which they evoke my name a rather hollow, cynical gesture. (There I go, revealing that I'm not the backwards, ignorant slob these politicos assume me to be.)
Governor, let's try this from here on out: you don't mention me on the stump, and I won't mention how I never would have heard of you at all had Hillary whupped Obama or had McCain been allowed to pick Lieberman like he wanted. Sound like a plan?
That Lieberman's an odd duck, isn't he? His voice reminds of the father from Alf. 'Member that guy? Max Wright I think his name is. Friggin' Alf … Classic.
Sorry 'bout the tangent, folks … Joe Sixpack just hit beer four … I'm done with politics.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
While I appreciate you allowing me to accompany you on this excursion to Target – might I say that I am particularly elated to be riding in the main section of the cart rather than the far more constraining upper berth as the authorities would prefer – there is still the matter of Halloween candy that, much to my chagrin, has brought us to this uniquely odious impasse.
Though I understand full well that I have yet to consume my evening victuals, and that a mound of Skittles does not and cannot constitute a quote-unquote "nutritious snack," neither of these observations hold sway as I am deeply desirous of said Skittles, and I insist on being granted license to consume copious amounts forthwith.
I discern from your expression and from the hushed though insistent snake-like hiss you are now employing in your voice that we remain at odds on this Skittles-consuming score. Perhaps a temper tantrum will allow you to see things from my perspective.
Bear in mind that it concerns me not who stops to watch my eruption, nor how my behavior may reflect upon you as a caregiver, all that matters to me is being allowed the opportunity to shove fistfuls of rainbow-colored goodness into my gaping maw. And should you fail to meet my demands, I VOW TO SUMMON THE WRATH OF SHIVA THE DESTROYER TO RAIN DEVASTATION UPON YOUR PITIABLE HEAD! I WILL REND SINEW FROM BONE! I WILL REDUCE YOU TO CINDERS! I WILL—
Why, thank you, Mother, they're just as delicious as I'd anticipated.
Now, if it's not too much trouble, I should like to visit the toy aisle next.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
I don't want to take up too much of your time. Just wanted to check in, see how you're holding up. Wish I knew what to say.
It sucks, y'know? Just ... man.
I'll tell you something, though. There're a lot of shows out there don't even make it to a network. Not even a cable network. There are shows out there who dream of making it as far as you did.
You hold your head high when you walk out of here with all your shit in a box.
And, yeah, would it have been nice if they aired more than just that first episode? Sure. And would it have been nice if you got to shoot a couple more so you could maybe pay down that credit card a little? Absolutely.
But you know what else would have been nice? If Huey Lewis married Elizabeth Shue. Wouldn't that be nice?
Anyhoo ... yeah. Sorry, man. Seriously.
You took a run at it though, didn't you? You went out there, and just ...
Listen, I gotta go, you hang in there.
You know what they say ... He closes a door, He opens a window ... God ... that whole thing.
Hey, f 'em, right? What do they know?
I love you, man. I do. You're my favorite show. And I'm not just saying that.
Can you hit everything with a Clorox wipe on your way out, we got someone else moving in in the A.M. Cool? Cool.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Only 8 yrs. old. Asking $700 billion O.B.O.
REPLY TO: firstname.lastname@example.org
Monday, September 29, 2008
It was never my intent to share this site with co-workers. Not that I'm ashamed of it, I'd just rather not have people I work with:
1. Know too much about me.
2. Find me weirder than they already do.
3. Consider me confusing and profoundly unfunny.
In the course of researching the 9/26 post, I was on Rhapsody pulling up all manner of Bryan Adams albums. When the post was finished, I minimized the program, and went about my day.
Later, while discussing music with a co-worker, I mentioned that I could probably pull up the album in question on Rhapsody. He came over to my desk, I opened the program, and staring us right in the face was Bryan Adams' "Kids Wanna Rock."
Needless to say, the ribbing commenced immediately, followed by my lame defense:
"No. See. It's not— I'm not actually listening to 'Kids Wanna Rock.' Well. I am, but it's for something. I have this thing— Look. I'm not listening to Bryan Adams to listen to Bryan Adams. Ugh. I'll send you the link."
And with that, I'd been outed.
In order to convince my co-worker that I was not listening to Bryan Adams in earnest, I had to reveal the address of my blog. Chilling stuff, no? Like Sophie's Choice meets Reservoir Dogs meets Bryan Adams.
(My goodness, if Mr. Adams has Google Alerts, he's going wonder what the uptick on Blogger is all about.)
Anyway, my co-worker couldn't access this blog from his computer—for some reason (divine interverntion?) it was blocked. So I guess I'm still safe during business hours, but now he has the address. And I don't think he's convinced that I wasn't really listening to Bryan Adams.
But I have.
In fact, back when I was first learning to play guitar, I listened to Bryan Adams quite a bit.
Which is probably why I rock so f'n hard.
[Insert "Nan-nah-nah," section of "Cuts Like a Knife" here.]
Friday, September 26, 2008
Sent: Friday, September 26, 2008 9:13 AM
Subject: RE: MixMaster
How's it going over there? Just wanted to thank you for the mixtape. You clearly spent a lot of time on it. (The cover, in particular, is killer. Do you have Photoshop or something?) I had no idea you were into Midlake. And putting that Beach Boys-inspired Dukes of Stratosphere tune right after the Brian Wilson piano-only version of "Surf's Up" was downright inspired. Nicely done!
One thing I wanted to bring up, though, I noticed you put quite a few of your own songs on there, too. Don't get me wrong, your music's ... you've had quite a successful career there ... I'm just curious as to why you decided to include so much of your own stuff on this particular mix?
Kicking things off with Robert Pollard's "I'm a Widow" was unmistakably badass, but following it up with "Kids Wanna Rock," then going directly into "(I Wanna Be) Your Underwear" ... I don't know, man ... it just struck me as a tad lazy. (You wrote that one with "Mutt" Lange, huh? Who did the lyrics? Not that you're asking, but I found them to be a little ... I kinda wanna say "racy" but I also wanna say "lame." Just being honest, my friend.)
And I don't mean to imply that it's not okay to put your own music on a mixtape. Certainly, part of the experiment is to share stuff you like. The thing is, it's sort of a given that you like your own stuff. (Some of it at least.) However, the other part of the experiment is sharing stuff that I may not have run into before. And while it's true that I was not previously aware of "If You Wanna Leave Me (Can I Come Too?)" – a deep cut from 1993's "Waking Up the Neighbours" – I can't help but wonder if that would have been a good slot to put ... I don't know ... someone else's song.
I hope these words don't put the kibosh on our great mixtape exchange. I really am curious as to what you're listening to these days. And maybe that's where I'm way off base ... maybe that's exactly what you have done ... maybe this mix is a completely accurate portrayal of what you're listening to: a little Jay Reatard, a little MC5, a whole lot of Bryan Adams. Who am I to judge?
Anyway, I'm totally looking forward to the next one. How'd you like mine? Figured you'd get a kick out of that Loverboy tune. Fellow Canadians, yeah?
Take it easy, B.A. Keep on rockin'. (And, on your more Adult Contemporary stuff, not rockin'.)
Thursday, September 25, 2008
"Do you think that polar bear is depressed?"
Well, here's your answer, Mr. and Mrs. John Q. Dipshit: No, I'm not depressed. Surprised? Disappointed? No fur off my white ass.
I'm a polar bear, okay? Let me give you a taste what's going on in my brain: "I want some fish ... I want some fish ... I want to kill that thing in the baseball cap ... now I want some fish again ..." If you want to call that depression, be my guest. I call it being a polar bear.
You see me swimming around my scummy little concrete pond in the same repetitive pattern and you say, "Isn't that a sure sign of depression?" Maybe so. You want to know what else is depressing? Wandering around the Arctic, trying to find some goddam fish EVERY WAKING MOMENT OF YOUR LIFE.
Sure, being in a zoo sucks, but I'm guessing being in the Arctic sucks even worse. I can't be sure, of course, as I was born in a zoo. Oh, you didn't know that about me? I'm shocked. (And by that I mean, I'm not shocked in the least.) Yeah. Zoo born and bred. So when you start wondering, "Don't you think he'd be happier in the wild?" the answer is, "Umm ... no, probably not." In fact, I'm pretty sure if you dropped me in the wild I'd get my ass handed to me by sea birds. So, yeah, thanks for thinking of me, Cap'n World Wildlife Fund, but maybe you should just focus on your gig at Circuit City.
What was I saying? Right. The zoo. Yeah, not a ball. But I'll put it back on you: Would you rather be a crackhead locked in a crackhouse with a steady supply of crack on hand or a crackhead living on the street with jack squat and a nasty jones?
Yeah. Me, too.
So, there you have it. Not depressed. Or maybe it's more accurate to say, "No more than you, Kid Belly-Bag ... wandering around the zoo with your shrill mate and your scabby-ass brats ... go buy some more ice cream, fatty ... go bother the ostriches or something ... just leave me to my listless swimming around this dank, concrete wasteland.
Good lord, maybe I am depressed.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
- Who are these creeps walking around taking pictures of everything?
- When I place my mouse on the southernmost tip of Chile and spin the globe really, really fast should I be getting nauseous? 'Cause I am.
- Why can't I zoom into windows, particularly bathroom windows?
- How come there's no Africa on this thing? Oh, wait, there it is.
- Who are these creeps walking around taking pictures of everything and where do I sign up?
- Y'all have Texas showing up smaller'n Alaska. You can't get that fixed?
- Who's that girl walking past the garbage truck (1058 W. Addison, Chicago)?
- You people caught me on the absolute worst possible day. I was laid up in June 2005. My lawn never looks that bad. Can I get a retake?
- Do you want more shots of Hayes, Nebraska? No? That's cool.
- Maluku? Seriously? Maluku?
- Umm ... where's all the ice that's supposed to be on top of the world?
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Past objects of Grandpa's affection include Laura Linney, Holly Hunter, and Crystal Giroux, the physical therapist he used to see every other Wednesday.
While certain family members don't particularly enjoy hearing about Grandpa's "geriatricrushes," others are pleased to learn that "the geezer still has some fire burning in the ol' engine room."
Historically, Grandma has remained more tightlipped when it comes to revealing those she fancies, but relatives have heard her speak admiringly of local financial planner Tom Peterson as well as each of the three male leads from NBC's Frasier.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Anyway, I just wanted to toss it out there … if you're interested … the U.S. is totally available, and I know for a fact—
Why are you looking at me like that?
Of course the U.S. would be into you. Why would you even— You're cute, you're intelligent, your healthcare system is ranked 31st by the World Health Organization …
Wait a minute. I know what this is about.
It's because the U.S. fat, isn't it?
No, Finland, you didn't say it, but you're thinking it.
Look, I'm not gonna blow smoke … the U.S. could stand to drop a few pounds … what country in the industrialized world couldn't? But the States has such an awesome personality, I'm positive you two would have lots of fun together.
What are they into? What aren't they into? Music, movies, tv, video games …
…and restaurants, yes (very funny). But they love the outdoors, too. Sometimes. I'm sure if you asked them to go hiking or whatever they'd give it a try. I know for a fact the U.S. loves to dance. And funny? Oh my God, the U.S. is so funny. Way funnier than Norway.
They can be a bit racist (but so can you, Finland, be honest). And they have been known to start fights … particularly while drunk … but that's all part of what makes them exciting!
I'll tell you what, let me give you their cell … give 'em a call, send 'em a text, see if anything clicks … totally no pressure.
Do you bowl? Because the U.S. loves to bowl, and that would be a great first date—social, active—we can double if you want. I'll bring Peru, they're up for anything.
Just give it a shot. What have you got to lose? One night of your life.
No, I don't have Canada's number. Anyway, I'm pretty sure they're still seeing Portugal.
Friday, September 19, 2008
Let us water it with kindness,
And tend it with patience and good judgment.
Let us plant a row of empathy,
And another of generosity.
Then a row of corn.
Two, actually, let's do two rows of corn.
Cherry tomatoes, though, regular ones are too hard.
No lettuce. Fuck lettuce.
We'll do a row of candy instead.
Not the ingredients for booze, actual booze.
If we're planting "empathy" I'm pretty sure we can figure out how to plant booze.
So, what do we got, we got kindness, corn, tomatoes, candy, booze ... what am I forgetting?
To keep out the birds.
And the assholes.
We'll probably come up with some other stuff as we get into it, but this is a good start.
This is gonna be a kickass garden.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
"I'm not looking for the royal treatment, but this guy took it a little too far in the other direction," said Carpenter. "Something about the way he kneeled next to the table when he took our drink order … it kind of got under my skin."
Apart from the signature kneeling, "Wags" is well known among Chili's clientele for calling male patrons "bra" and female patrons "milady."
"Sure, I found the way he talked sort of 'ick'," said Andrade. "Not writing my order down is what really set me off, though. I was giving him these really specific instructions about my margarita grilled chicken – I have allergy issues – and he just kept nodding and biting his bottom lip like, 'Yup ... got'cha ... cool ...' I just didn't trust that he was actually listening, you know?"
When contacted after his shift, Wagnall responded, "Hey, some folks dig the Wags vibe, others dig not. Can a rope be a stick? Don't think so, broham. Wags must roll the way Wags rolls."
Manager Janice Wohlers pledged to have a sit down with Wagnall when he comes in on Friday. "Part of the goal here at Chili's," said Wohlers, "is to make the customer feel cozy, not skeeved out."
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Over the last couple of days, it has become evident that we, as a nation, are in the midst of a full blown laundry crisis. All of our standard, go-to outfits are in the hamper, and we've already tapped reserves deep in the back of our closet.
Yesterday, we even considered calling in sick before discovering a pair of pants that had evidently slipped off its hanger some years ago. As you well know, the pants barely fit, they had dried gum or something in the pocket, and the label indicated that they were from Structure. Structure. Now, we made it through the day, but I don't think any of us want to face another one like it anytime soon.
Some of my colleagues are suggesting we should just run down to Target, pick up a pack of Hanes, a couple of cheap tops, and push through to the weekend. "Spray some Febreze," they say. "Leave everything on the fire escape overnight."
This, my friends, would be tantamount to slapping a Band-Aid on a shark bite.
It is not only unwise, but downright irresponsible for us to try and spend our way out of this problem. The only sensible option we have is sacrifice. As unpleasant as it may be, we simply must get down to the basement and put in a load before suppertime. We must stay up a little later to get those towels folded. We must set that alarm for two in morning, drag ourselves out of bed, and get those whites in the dryer. Not much fun, I grant you. But neither was the Depression. Neither was WWII.
Unless we act now, we risk facing a far more serious crisis down the road: lugging everything into the car and burning our entire Saturday at that creepy laundromat next to the weird grocery store that always looks empty.
I don't know about you, but that's not a future I'm interested in. Not for me, not for my children.
Let's clean it up, America.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Yesterday afternoon while looking for a snack, the economy came up behind me and slammed the refrigerator door shut. "Think about what you want before you even touch the handle," it said. Then it stormed off muttering something about "not paying to cool the whole damn planet."
Do you remember how the economy always used to keep a pot of coffee going in the kitchen near the reception desk? Well, the coffee's still there, but now there's a jar next to it with a little sign: "Take a cup, leave a quarter, coffee isn't free."
That was it for me. I went by the economy's office, fully intending to get into it, but when I got there everything was dark, and the economy was just sitting there, staring at its computer – the monitor wasn't even on! And I can't say for sure, but the economy's eyes looked really red, almost like it had been crying. Maybe it just hasn't been sleeping, but, either way, the whole scene sufficiently freaked me out, and I just kept walking.
I'm thinking about asking the economy if it wants to grab some lunch at Uno's. Maybe it'll be more willing to talk in a more relaxed environment. Or maybe I should just keep my head down, keep my mouth shut, and wait for things to blow over.
I've never been all that close to the economy, but it's tough to see it in pain. Of course, it didn't really give a shit about me when I got sick and couldn't make my credit card payment.
You know what? F it. I'm not the economy's mama. If it wants to talk, it knows where I sit.
- Voidoids travel alarm
- Sly Stone's Flytastic Spice Drops
- Pavement: The Game
- Iggy Popsicles
- Dusty Hill feminine hygiene spray
- Lou Reed tip calculator
- Ohio Players Olde-Fashioned Riding Crop Polish
- Hüsker Dü Dü
- Eddie Money Dryer Sheets
- Difford & Tilbrook's Potted Toast
- Calvin peeing on Joy Division
- Meat Loaf
Sunday, September 14, 2008
It would seem I've been passed over again. What gives, Hollywood? Is my Ghostbusters 3 script too real for you?
Friday, September 12, 2008
Try as I might, I just can't get my kids to say the cutest things.
Here's an example. We go over my mom's house. Do the kids say (as they've been instructed), "Why does grandma have cotton candy on her head?" No, they sure don't. Neither do they use the material about her ribbon candy or the bit where they come out of the bathroom with the Preparation H saying, "Grandma's toothpaste tastes funny!"
What I'm saying is, there's funny and then there's my kids. Or to express it in mathematical terms:
MY KIDS < FUNNY
I guess I just thought going in that the whole "kid" thing would produce more chuckles than it has. Looks like the (lack of) joke is on me.
Even as I write this, there they are … mouths open, expressions blank ... JEEPERS CROW, YOU CAN'T SQUEEZE OUT A SINGLE KNOCK-KNOCK JOKE BETWEEN THE TWO OF YOU?
Maybe I'm being unfair.
Or maybe these jabronies just need to nut up and start bringing the funny.
Both kids grow up to be exceptionally skilled comedians who routinely mine their painful childhood for comic gold. Neither maintains contact with their father.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Little is known about Muffintop other than he enjoys chasing a feather at the end of a flexible wand and he's pro-choice. While Republicans are leveling charges of cynicism and shortsightedness at the Obama camp, Democrats everywhere are rallying around the feisty feline.
During Tuesday's night's appearance at George Washington University, DNC chairman Howard Dean said, "True, Muffintop hasn't logged a lot of time in government, nor does he have much experience when it comes to foreign policy, but wook at his widdle face. How do you not vote for that?"
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
HK: I think you should, absolutely.
RN: Because they have done us in on this thing … They started it. They want to have a gut fight; they're going to get one … Now, I want you—now, this is not going to go out till Monday, but leak it to somebody. Talk to one of your liberal friends and say we've got a blockbuster coming out …
HK: Certainly I can.
RK: Good. Good. Is that—
HK: One other thing ... I have the Bowie ...
RN: The new one?
HK: Aladdin Sane, yes.
RN: What is it?
HK: Aladdin Sane, Mr. President.
RN: What the hell's that supposed to mean?
HK: I believe it's the new character.
RN: New character? What do you— Why can't this son-of-a-bitch just a sing song, for crying out loud?
HK: I ... don't ...
RN: Who does this— Does Lennon have to become a new character every year-and-a-half? Does Dylan?
HK: To be fair, one can point to distinct phases—
RN: Oh, I don't give a damn about that ... a phase is not the same as a— I'm talking about indulging in this ... this fruity, theater-y ... dressing up, and, and, putting together a back-story ... How can you compare that to—
HK: Well, on Nashville Skyline—
RN: No, I already know what you're going to say, and it's a bullshit argument. Dylan changed his voice. Right? On Nashville Skyline. Is that what you were going to say?
HK: Yes, that's—
RN: Okay. Yes. His voice is different. But he's still Bob Dylan. He's not— He didn't start calling himself ... Charlie Bumfuck or some such—
HK: But, surely, "Bob Dylan" himself ... itself ... is a, a construct, Mr. President.
RN: He's living the construct, is my point.
HK: How can you be so sure—
HK: I'm only playing devil's advocate. How do you know that Bowie isn't living his characters?
RN: Because I've seen the pictures, Henry! Look at the— Crack open a Creem, he's right there. Out on the town ... what's Bowie wearing? Corduroy jacket, scally cap ... whatever they call 'em. The one's the Micks are always wearing. Son-of-a-bitch isn't walking around London in that bullshit leotard, is he?
HK: Mr. President, I am no Bowie defender ...
RN: Well, you seem to be right in there ... pitching hard for him ...
HK: That was not my intent. I was just— I have the record, I thought perhaps—
RN: Sure, sure. Put it on.
(Silence followed by sound of a needle on vinyl.)
RN: Don't scratch it, Henry. Jesus.
HK: I'm sorry. My fingers—
(Sound of "Watch That Man.")
RN: Well, this one's right out of the playbook.
HK: He's been listening to his T-Rex.
HK: That was true of Ziggy, as well, though.
RN: Yeah, but Ziggy has that ... Ziggy has that vibe ... that apocalyptic, cinematic ... It's not Bolin Lite. It's not faux-Stones barrelhouse. There's a vision there.
HK: Well, this is just the first song.
RN: It's never "just" the first song, Henry. It's the opener.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Audience members were perplexed by the band's refusal to proceed to the bridge as requested. "Stacks asked them eighteen, twenty times by my count," relays fan Tracy Biggums. "At first, I thought they were just building up tension, but after a while it became clear they just weren't going to take him at all. You could tell Stacks was hurt."
"I am mortified, horrified, mummified, and country fried," says the 63-year old Tolliver. "I don't know what I did to those boys, but they have wounded me on a level I can't fully verbalize." Dabbing his eye with the edge of his shiny purple cape, the singer continued, "Is this not America? A man should not be subjected to such indignity, this day and age."
When approached, trombonist James "Bonedog" Breckinridge would only comment, "You ask Stacks what happened to our pre-show quesadilla … then we can talk about the [expletive] bridge."
Friday, September 5, 2008
It is with a heavy heart that I announce the departure of Beige Tape Dispenser. In 12 years of dedicated service, T.D. has not only been an instrumental part of the Could You Hang That Up? team, but, since 2002, he has also provided much needed support to the Something Ripped department.
Regardless of whether you needed to slap a nasty note on someone's door or just clean some lint off your pants, you could always count on T.D. to offer up his unique services. While we're sad to see him go, we're confident that he will thrive in his new position at the bottom of a box next to the broken copier in the basement.
Yours very truly,
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Low Rider Rides Again – I don't even think you need to change this one that much. Just use the same music and throw in some new lines like, "The low ri-der … is going through the drive thru … the low ri-der … has ex-act change."
Brother Christian – Perhaps he's motoring, too. Or not motoring at all. I'll leave that decision up to Night Ranger.
Another Incident on 57th Street - This time Bruce should spend a little more time with the "sister [who] prays for lost souls and then breaks down in the chapel after everyone's gone." Does she have other interests?
Even More Than a Feeling – Instead of talking about hearing "that old song they used to play," Boston can talk about hearing "More Than a Feeling" on the radio, and how that brings up all kinds of memories about working on the first record, and how THAT reminds them of Marianne ... like mirrors within mirrors.
Sunday Morning's Alright for Stitching Up Knife Wounds - I don't think I need to say more about that. It's on you now, Bernie.
Born in East L.A. 2 - Just so we know what happened next.