An M. Night Shyamalan New Year

Imagine that you're a racist, hate-spewing archconservative radio personality. Now imagine that Barack Obama has been hospitalized with chest pains. Would you make fun of that situation?

If so, you're Rush Limbaugh--and you're in the hospital with chest pains. BURN '010!

Tabloid Culture Sneaks In a Late-Year Victory

Regarding Brittany Murphy's death on Sunday, Courtney Hazlett of MSNBC.com's "The Scoop" made sure to mention that "there are speculative rumors of the usual Hollywood chemical abuse beginning to circulate".

Go get 'em, Courtney! You know all about these "Hollywood" people off of whose lives (and deaths) you make your living by blindly judging. They're the ones keeping you from your true calling of...

What, exactly? The Traveling Ass-Clown Circus? I'm not sure that's a real thing.

Professional Sports + Monogamy = Frowny-Face Emoticon

First we had this...now we've got this.

Attention, extraordinarily-fortunate men and women who make up the tiny percentage of humankind that gets paid crazy-good money to engage in recreational activities that the vast majority of married/engaged/in-a-committed-relationship men and women support entirely with hefty chunks of their comparatively much-smaller salaries just so that they can occasionally escape to a fantasy world beyond their realities of quiet desperation while likely living to engage in said activities--for free--on the weekends:

Either stay single or choose a new career path. Should work out better for everybody.


[UPDATE (7:35 a.m. PST): The above blitheness aside, there's nothing funny about Chris Henry's subsequent death. Better odds he'll rest in peace than people will stop being lunatics.]

[FINAL POST TITLE]: Domino's Changing Recipe

[OPTIONAL POST TEXTS (all hyperlinks lead to same page)]:

(A) Domino's had a recipe?

(B) Now what brand of pizza will I continue to not eat?

(C) [something about "The Noid"]

I think I like 'C'; I just haven't worked out all the details yet.

Hillary Clinton's Preferred Alternate Universe Discovered in Bush Country (and none of the preceding was a lesbian joke)

On Saturday, a lesbian won the mayoral race of the largest U.S. city to ever vote an openly homosexual candidate to that office--which I think is awesome.

That city, however, is Houston--which flies in the face of my beloved, east-coast-bred and west-coast-nurtured, hippie-liberal stereotypes of the home state of the Worst President Ever.

But, taking into account that Houston Mayor-elect Annise Parker beat out a black person for the job, it kind of makes sense:

The George Bush-loving rednecks of Houston--faced with what they no doubt viewed as a "lesser of two evils"-type of situation--obviously opted to stick it to the American Negro President and that uppity bitch (and current U.S. Secretary of State) who once challenged the former for the Democratic presidential candidacy by voting for a woman with short blonde hair and a penchant for pantsuits instead of a colored fella.

My liberal bigotry is once again validated; all is right (and/or wrong) with the world.

Old Men, Take a Look At Us Now

It was reported on Wednesday that the Boston Red Sox have reached a preliminary agreement with the Texas Rangers to trade Mike Lowell for minor league catcher Max Ramirez.

The deal could still collapse--because Mike Lowell is an old man with a bum hip--and the emotional side of my Red Sox fandom kind of wants it to. On the other hand, Mike Lowell is an old man with a bum hip and the Red Sox desperately need a new catcher because their current one--whom I love dearly--is an old man with a bum everything.

I don't know how to feel...other than old.

[UPDATE (12/20): No deal.]

Metroville's Movie Corner 2026: Shia LaBeouf IS Terry Francona in 'Reverse the Curse'*

I've been telling my wife for years that Boston Red Sox manager Terry Francona is an older version of Shia LaBeouf. At last, I have found two video clips of the aforementioned individuals that (sort of) prove my case:






*(That might not turn out to be the exact title of the film; perhaps it'll be based on Stephen King and Stewart O'Nan's book.)

Unsolicited Reflections of Jake Busey

Gary Busey died today.*

*(NO, HE DID NOT. I just figured that would be more of a "grabber" opening for a post about that very much (?) alive man's offspring than the actual truth that a twitpic made me think of said spawn.)

Somewhere between ten and two hundred years ago, I lived out in Santa Monica (California...near the ocean). A stone's throw (literally--my roommates and I even had a girl do it one time) from my apartment stood a "Vons" grocery store on the corner of Wilshire Boulevard and Euclid Avenue that I visited regularly. One sunny summer afternoon, I found myself walking into that Vons at the very same moment that a gentleman and his lady-friend were walking out. I stepped aside to let them pass...at which point I all but shit my pants:

That "gentleman" was no gentleman! He was the guy who had tried to kill my beloved Michael J. Fox (and, slightly more recently, my appreciated Jodie Foster)!

But I let him go, anyway, 'cause he was super-scary.


Wonder what he's up to these days.

[Twitter]

'Belicheat...'? 'Belichoke...'?

Nay.

I'll sacrifice alliteration for the sake of game-specific bluntness and propose "Beliterrible"--as in:

That was an absolutely terrible call that Bill Belichick made on Sunday night when he decided to go for it on fourth down, in doing so handing the game over to the Indianapolis Colts for no good goddamn reason other than that he's an egomaniac.

...

"Belimaniac"? Nah...sounds too cool.

Health Care Reform in da House

On Saturday night, the House of Representatives finally, barely passed the Affordable Health Care for America Act. All it took was 219 Democrats and 1 Republican, the latter of whom likely wouldn't have voted for H.R. 3962 if the former hadn't agreed to go all Christian-fundamentalist on the issue of abortion.

But a win's a win.

That is, until the bill gets further bastardized or obliterated completely in the Senate.

Attention, Football Fans of Maine

You like the New England Patriots? I do...because I was born and raised in Massachusetts--34 miles from Foxboro--where the Patriots actually play.

By comparison, your state [capital] is two states and 199.23 miles away from Foxboro--which is in Massachusetts, where same-sex marriage is legal.

You don't like same-sex marriage? Then you don't like the Patriots.

Go ahead and abscond to Canada...and its socialized medicine. (GASP!)

(Seriously, though, Maine: Fuck you.*)


*Not you, Stephen King... You love the Red Sox and are dope.

World News for the Narcissistic American

People are leaving Venice, and nobody knows why.

I used to live out near Venice--before I moved back east into West Hollywood--so I am uniquely equipped to offer a theory:

Homeless people. They smell, and they make me feel bad for owning a dope-ass flat screen.

If the people of Venice kick enough homeless people out in time, they--in turn--will not be forced to relocate...thus retaining their homes (and, resultantly, their balls-to-the-wall home entertainment systems outputting at HD-1080p).

In which case...you're welcome, America.

Celtics Defeat Yankees, 92-1

As any deluded sports fan knows, the best (irrational) way to cope with one season's team's failure is to carry over the resultant disappointment to the next season's team in the (meaningless) hope that the latter will, in victory, take the sting out of the former's most recent defeat.

When such a victory occurs on the same night as a decisive thumping of your former season's team's archrival...well, that's just Phantastic.

Idiot

Following the (suckass) Generally-Pacific Coast Angels of But Also Maybe Portugal?'s improbable victory over the (suckass) New York Yankees (actually of New York, unlike the NFL's Giants) in Game 5 of the ALCS on Thursday, the Yankees' ballerina-armed centerfielder Johnny Damon--the Judas who conveniently ended his tenure with the Boston Red Sox by grounding into an out that ended the Red Sox's postseason in 2005--was knuckleheaded enough to make the following statement:

"It gives them a couple more days of hope, and hopefully that hope ends on Saturday because anything can happen, especially with as tough of conditions as we’re going to be playing in... They still have to beat us two times at our place, and hopefully that’s going to be tough to do.”

Anything can happen? No shit, Professor Recall.

God, I hate both of these teams so much.

GO--uh...THE RETROACTIVE CANCELLATION OF THE 2009 MAJOR LEAGUE BASEBALL SEASON?

(Yeah, that works.)

A Second Look at Han Solo

See, kids? It's not always cool to not play by the rules.

[YouTube via IWatchStuff]

'Pessimism vs. Optimism': A Play in One Act

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

METROVILLE, a smart guy.
MRS. METROVILLE, his wife.
MALE FRIEND, Female Friend's fiancé.
FEMALE FRIEND, vice versa.
THE CAT, Metroville's strikingly handsome cat.


SCENE 1

A patio area at a (vaguely douchetastic) sports bar in Los Angeles. Amongst the CROWD are METROVILLE, MRS. METROVILLE, MALE FRIEND and FEMALE FRIEND. On television is NBC's broadcast of a USC-Notre Dame football game at halftime: "Saturday Night Live's" SETH MYERS is performing a live mini-version of 'Weekend Update'.

METROVILLE: Wow...NBC really has nothing. Is it possible for a major broadcast network to fold entirely?

MRS. METROVILLE: Why are you so cynical?

On TV, Seth Myers partakes in a gag referencing the "balloon boy" story.

MALE FRIEND: Did you see that kid puke on two different TV shows? What was up with that?

METROVILLE: What's up with that is that the kid's dad is a psycho attention-addict and the whole thing was staged. Kid's got crazy-parent vertigo and probably some sternum bruising.

MALE FRIEND: Heard that.

FEMALE FRIEND (to Male Friend): Why are you saying that now? Is that your new thing?

MRS. METROVILLE (to Metroville): No, you were asleep while the whole "balloon boy" thing was happening, so you don't know. We were glued to the TV at work, freaking out. When the balloon landed and he turned out not to be in it...god, I could cry right now just thinking about it...it was unbelievable.

METROVILLE: No shit it was unbelievable--whole thing was horse poop from jump street.

FEMALE FRIEND: I don't know. The dad seemed pretty genuine in that first press conference.

METROVILLE: This is a dude who was on "Wife Swap" twice.

MALE FRIEND: He was on "Wipeout"?

METROVILLE: No... What?

MRS. METROVILLE: I also heard "Wipeout".

FEMALE FRIEND (to Metroville): I think you're thinking of "SuperNanny".

METROVILLE: I'm thinking of "Wife Swap", 'cause that's what I said.

MRS. METROVILLE: You mumble.

METROVILLE: You know what kind of people choose to appear on reality shows? Psycho scumbags. And the fact that this dude--the "balloon boy" dad--forced his family to participate in that garbage on two separate occasions renders it mathematically near-impossible that he'd find himself in the national spotlight--by accident--a third time. Dude set the whole thing up, I guarantee it.

MRS. METROVILLE: You're wrong.

METROVILLE: I'm right. Bet me.

MRS. METROVILLE: I'm not going to bet you. I feel bad for you that you walk around with this dark view of the world.

FEMALE FRIEND: You guys are cute.

MALE FRIEND: Kid puked twice just on the "Today Show"... Fuckin' nuts.


SCENE 2

METROVILLE is in his office at home, browsing on his computer. He comes across an article (on MSNBC.com)...and gets very excited.

He rises from his chair and skips jauntily from his office, to the living room, and finally to the bedroom...where MRS. METROVILLE is struggling to reclaim possession of a sweater from THE CAT.

MRS. METROVILLE: I hate this fucking cat.

METROVILLE: But he's so handsome.

MRS. METROVILLE: Still hate him.

METROVILLE: I love it when you talk negative.

MRS. METROVILLE: I never talk negative. I just want my goddamn sweater.

METROVILLE: Embrace it, baby: When all cards are on the table, pessimism--

Mrs. Metroville wins the fight, freeing her sweater from the cat.

METROVILLE: ...pulls us through.

MRS. METROVILLE: Save it. I beat your douchebag cat with positive thinking.

METROVILLE: Good intentions triumph over evil, love conquers all...that kind of thing?

MRS. METROVILLE: Exactly.

METROVILLE: Remember that "balloon boy" thing we were arguing about earlier today?

MRS. METROVILLE: Yeah...

METROVILLE: Guess what?

MRS. METROVILLE: What.

METROVILLE: "Charges to be filed."

MRS. METROVILLE: You're kidding!

METROVILLE: I am not! How you like that?!

MRS. METROVILLE: I don't like it at all. I think it's super-fucking sad. Guy's got a wife and three kids... This could tear the whole family apart.

METROVILLE: Yeah, okay, but... How about a high-five for me being right?

MRS. METROVILLE: No, thank you. I'm taking a bath.

Mrs. Metroville passes by Metroville (without high-fiving him) and enters the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Metroville looks at the cat.

METROVILLE: You got me, though, right?

Metroville picks up the cat and sort of makes it high-five him, getting scratched in the process.

METROVILLE: Ah, what the hell.


EPILOGUE

Later that night, METROVILLE is heading from the kitchen to his office. THE CAT approaches, rubbing against his legs.

METROVILLE: No dice, chief. We're still fighting.

Metroville's mobile phone buzzes in his pocket. He produces the phone, reading a text message...and frowns.

METROVILLE (calling OFF STAGE to Mrs. Metroville): Yankees won in the thirteenth! You gotta be fucking kidding me. I'm certainly not sad that the Angels lost, but the fuckin' Yankees? Major playoff in my favorite sport...

MRS. METROVILLE (from OFF STAGE): What about the National League?

METROVILLE: I'm talking about real baseball, not the pseudo-Canadian version with a guaranteed failed bunt in every lineup.

MRS. METROVILLE (from OFF STAGE): You're funny.

METROVILLE: I appreciate that but please do not distract me from my rant. Major playoff in my favorite sport and I want both teams to lose and neither to win. How am I supposed to enjoy that?

MRS. METROVILLE (from OFF STAGE): Maybe pessimism doesn't always pull us through, smart guy.

METROVILLE: Heard that.

Metroville goes back to work.

(THE END)

Oh, NOW They 'Bumble'...

Shut up, baseball. I hate you.

Red Suckers

Here's a screenshot of what arrived in my inbox ten minutes before the time of this posting:


Yeah...let me just grab my credit card and do that, billion-dollar franchise made primarily on the backs of the middle- to low-income people whose souls you crushed not 48 hours earlier. Can I throw in an extra few bucks for your thoughtful timing?

Pap Smear

Grrrr...look at me...look at my mean face...

Mean faces count for outs, right?

What? No?

[Ed. note: Fuck you in your stupid fucking face, Papelbon.]

All Right, We Get It...

You're better than us. That's why we voted for you, Mister President.

(Now how's that health care bill coming along?)

A Case for 'the Providence Red Sox of Boston'

When the Boston Red Sox--despite having been staggeringly incapable during the final few weeks of the 2009 season--managed to stumble ass-backwards into a playoff spot (a break owed entirely to the team's early-season dominance), I was concerned about their chances.

On Thursday night, when the BoSox promptly shit the bed against the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim-California-United States of America-Continent of North America-Earth-Earth's Solar System-Milky Way Galaxy in the first game of their division series, my concerns were unfortunately validated.

The question now is: How can the lethargic Red Sox turn the tide against the charged-up (and mathematically due to win the series) Angels?

Get their pitching to not suck? Hogwash. Have their batters hit the ball and reach base safely? Balderdash. Care? Stratego.

There's only one thing the Boston Red Sox can do if they hope to stand a chance a chance against their extraneously-named ALDS rival:

They need to add more cities to their name.

Think about it: in 2002, the first year since 1965 that the (then just "Anaheim") Angels acknowledged their geographical location on their jerseys, the team won its first (and, to date, only) World Series. No one outside of Anaheim gave a hoot (and even the majority of those living in the Anaheim area were only pretending to give hoots in order to hide their shame over having been unaware that their city had housed a professional baseball franchise since 1966); the team went on to suck for the following two seasons, a suckitude made much more embarrassing than its previous incarnation by the fact that the rest of the baseball world was now vaguely aware of the existence of Anaheim in all its irritating worthlessness. (I thought Disneyland was just Disneyland, remarked everyone, oblivious to the trenchant accuracy of that discarded belief.)

Prior to the 2005 season, the Angels ownership--no doubt realizing that the wholly artificial, rapidly decreasing "fan base" that came to exist just three years earlier might soon vanish entirely--struck upon the ingenious idea to rebrand the team to arbitrarily include the name of a city 40 miles away: a city that, importantly, people had actually heard of. And, voila: the [One City] Angels of [Another, Completely Unrelated City] went on to make the playoffs in 4 of the 5 ensuing seasons.

Sure, Providence, Rhode Island, is 45 miles from the city in which the Red Sox actually play--not to mention in a different state--but the Anaheim Angels didn't let silly things like "facts" and "logic" stand in their way en route to their recent postseason-appearance streak; the one thing that has stopped them, time and time again, from advancing beyond the division series is the Boston Red Sox. The hard truth currently facing the Red Sox is that they can't, in all likelihood, keep knocking the Angels out of the postseason forever. [UPDATE (10/11/09): Called it.] For that streak to continue, the Red Sox must take a page from the Angels' book and add a city.

(And though it may be too late for the Red Sox to do so this season, there's always 2010 for the Providence Red Sox of Boston; and if that doesn't work...watch out for the New England Boston Braves-Red Sox of Pennsylvania in 2011.)

American Homosexuals to Masturbate to Nudie Pics of Father of Iconic Conservative Republican's Bastard Grandchild

...Just another day in Sodom.

Metroville's Movie Corner: Decipher the Dialogue in the Bootleg 'Expendables' Trailer

I count 23 instances of attempts at spoken English in the bootleg trailer for The Expendables (seen below); following it are my results at translating them, sorted chronologically, along with my best guesses as to what actor is responsible.



(1) "Drop your guns!" - PASS/Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje?

(2) "Fat chance." - Transporter

(3) "whydooyooinssablamma." - Sylvester Stallone

(4) "I kill them ALL! I don't CARE!" - PASS/Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje?

(5) "wunsekkin..." - Sylvester Stallone

(6) "Gettin' a text." - Transporter 2

(7) "skyoodamee?" - Sylvester Stallone

(8) "North thing flower... AH! BLAH!" - PASS/Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje?

(9) "Shift it no!" - PASS/Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje?

(10) "How did two obvious professionals pass right through security?" - Julia Roberts' brother

(11) "Makes we one of 'em." - Dolph Lundgren (aka "Sacrilegious He-Man")

(12) "Bring it, happy feet!" - Sacrilegious He-Man [Ed. note: Hey, I guess he and Sylvester Stallone stayed friends even though he killed Rocky's black friend]

(14) "OF ALL KARMA!" - Sacrilegious He-Man

(15) "Again...the man's name." - The Cable Guy's Eric Roberts

(16) "You are done here!" - PASS [Ed. note: This guy sounds like the guy I thought was (but probably isn't) Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje; ironically, he resembles one of Akinnuoye-Agbaje's fellow 'Oz' cast members, David Zayas]

(17) "I OWN YOU!" - Eric Roberts [Ed. note: He appeared in an episode of 'Oz' as "Richard L'Italien"]

(18) "Who sent you?" - PASS/'Stone Cold' Steve Austin?

(19) "Your hairdresser!" - Sylvester Stallone [Ed. note: If that IS 'Stone Cold' Steve Austin he's talking to, that's superhilarious 'cause 'Stone Cold' Steve Austin is bald]

(20) "We will kill dis American disease!" - PASS/David Zayas?

(21) "What's he sayin'?" - Transporter 3

(22) "He said 'we're dead', wid an accent." - PASS/Tyrese?

(23) "FOOD, DESTRUCTION, FORTUNAYO." - PASS/the bad guy from the Saw movies?

Can you do any better?

(If so, shame on you.)

[YouTube]

Pilgrims' Progress (Where the Buffalo Fumble)

If you're a fan of any NFL team other than the New England Patriots, you probably hate Tom Brady because he's handsome and has led his team to more Super Bowl victories than he has yours. As a Patriots fan, I happen to like Tom Brady because he has led my once-maligned team to three Super Bowl victories (so far) and is handsome.

If you're a fan of any NFL team other than the New England Patriots, you were probably pleased with the Patriots' performance through the first three-and-two-thirds quarters of their opening game Monday night--Brady's first regular-season contest since suffering a season-ending injury in the first quarter of the previous year's opener: the offense's timing was off, the defense seemed to constantly be a step behind their opponents and Brady himself appeared skittish; hence, the Buffalo Bills were leading the Patriots 24-13 with 5:32 left in the game. As a Patriots fan, I was not pleased with their performance through the first three-and-two-thirds quarters of their opening game Monday night, as a result of which they were trailing the Buffalo freaking Bills by two scores with five-and-a-half minutes left in the game.

If you're a fan of any NFL team other than the New England Patriots, you probably weren't particularly concerned when Brady connected with Ben Watson in the end zone: after the Patriots missed the two-point conversion, they were still down by a touchdown and the Bills were getting the ball back with 2:06 left. As a Patriots fan, I was deeply concerned after they failed to score the aforementioned attempted two points, to the point where I had to struggle against the urge to contemplate the possibility that letting Matt Cassel go had been a bad idea.

During the ensuing kickoff return, Buffalo's Leodis McKelvin (to be known for the next week, at least, as "Scott Norwood") inexplicably ran forward out of the end zone instead of just taking a knee, got slugged into fumbling and Patriots' placekicker Stephen Gostkoswki (to be known for the next week, at least, as "Stephen Gostkowski Of All People") ended up recovering the ball at the Bills' 31-yard line. If you're a fan of any NFL team other than the New England Patriots, this was the moment where your mood began to turn sour. As a Patriots fan, this was the moment where my mood began to head in the opposite direction. Both of our instincts were correct, because we knew for sure that the game was destined to end in a ridiculous, come-from-behind victory for the Patriots.

Which it did.

Rather than bicker about the outcome of the game itself, I think we should come together in celebration of our shared ability to have accurately predicted it (at a certain point). Hooray for all of us!

Nobody Rips Motherf**kers' Throats Out

...or at least they don't like Patrick Swayze--who succumbed to pancreatic cancer on Monday at the age of 57--did in Road House:










RIP, Dalton. (And, okay, also Johnny Castle and Point Break.)

Republican Attempts to Turn Presidential Speech Into 'Jerry Springer' Taping

"The Jerry Springer Show" has existed for eighteen years (and counting). Thanks to the pussy-ass liberal U.S. Constitooshun--

Except for the part about guns; that gun part is awesome cuz it’s all like RAT-A-TAT-TAT BLOOSH KA-POW ZEEEEEEEEEEOW KER-BLAM ‘SPLODE GUTS BLOOD GRENADE TAKE THAT [MOM AND/OR DAD AND/OR SMALL PENIS AND/OR SUBCONSCIOUS AWARENESS OF SUB-PAR EDUCATION] FUCK YOU [SEX WITHOUT CRYING]!

--and prolly a buncha faggot Mexican science teachers who think they know how to spell "Constitution" and "probably" (not to mention "bunch of" and "Americans") better than real Merokins, that’s already ten more years than "The George Dubya Administration", a program that was not only cut from the mold of "Springer"--what with its senseless violence cheered on by a reactionary score of toothless inbreds ravenous to see stuff done git smashed without caring what (or why or where) that stuff was--but totally improved upon it.

If you're a real Merokin like me, who loves the "Springer" show and loved the "Dubya" show even more, you were doubt no mad as (white Christian) hell when, on Wednesday night, America's Negro President--who I don't hate because he's a Negro; according to Glenn Beck and Bill O'Reilly and Sean Hannity, I just hate him because he wasn't born in America and/or because he wants to kill Sarah Palin's grandma and/or because he's a goddamn nigg--

Er, that is, "because he wrote a book"...

--showed up on my talk-box talking about healthcare. To my chillins!

(Or least he woulda been talking to my chillins had not all of them passed out before Obama's broadcast as a result of their diabetes: my family currently don't got no health insurance thanks to the Jewish conspiracy to funnel the money from my unemployment checks (that I can't apply for cuz--as the insurance lady on the phone told me--the president is black) into Chinese-terrorist Canadian abortions. 9/11! Never forget!*.)

*Provided that you remember the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001 as the fault of Saddam Hussein and not the other guy that George W. Bush never caught.

Thank Caucasian Jesus for South Carolina Congressman Joe Wilson: when Choco-Muslim Fake-President Handsome Mussolini O'Bortion dared to convey the (well-established) fact that the proposed Healthcare Reform Bill would not mandate coverage for illegal immigrants, he--and only he--had the courage to blurt out, "YOU LIE!"--in front of Congress and everybody.

It doesn't matter that Representative Wilson was repugnantly out of bounds with his outburst, nor that his assertion was incorrect. All that matters is that Joe Wilson did the best that anyone could do to prove one's dedication to former president George W. Bush:

He acted like he was on "The Jerry Springer Show".

Some of My Unborn Baby's Unborn Best Friends Are Black

Or they will be, anyway...just so I can stick it to Newsweek and its ridiculous allegation that white people can be racist at the age of 6 months.

News flash, Newsweek: I'm white, way older than 6 months, and my wife--who is also white and older than I am--is pregnant. Between the two of us, we personally know three black people, not including the two that are half black (just like some guy who's currently President of the United States).

(Totally off topic...if you or someone you know is pregnant with a fully black baby that's due in the spring and lives in the Los Angeles area, email me.)

Quick! Name Your Favorite DJ AM Song.

Unless you count the late Adam Goldstein's involvement with Crazy Town--which you didn't remember/know about until you read it just now--in which case you maybe recall the title of that one song they were known for--and even then, you can't, because to consider "Butterfly" DJ AM's song is to attribute "Push It" primarily to Spinderella--you can't.

But, as long as you're a proper narcissist, that hasn't stopped you from Tweeting your sadness about DJ AM's death, has it? Because he was on "Entourage" once and that makes him important...or at least certainly more so than the four people who didn't miraculously survive that plane crash last September and therefore had no chance to celebrate their new lease on life by fatally OD'ing less than twelve months later.

Those people never dated Nicole Richie and therefore do not warrant a second thought from the likes of John Mayer or any former cast member of "That '70s Show".*


*[Ed. note: I'll allow that Danny Masterson may have (along with Travis Barker and Goldstein's family members) actually known DJ AM as a human being and is therefore genuinely impacted by his death; Demi Moore's trucker-hat rack, on the other hand, gets no such pass.]

The Death of Ted Kennedy: Many Cons, One Pro

Massachusetts Senator Edward Kennedy--the "Lion of the Senate"--passed away on Tuesday.

Being that I am both a native of Massachusetts and a big fan of the rare politicians who actually care about the people they represent, this bums me out to no end (not to mention that I'm probably going to have to put my dad--who is essentially a Republican--on suicide watch: that's the kind of effect that Ted Kennedy had on people...especially Boston-area Irish Catholics who are dead ringers for him).

The 'cons' of Teddy's death are plentiful and obvious. The top three:

(1) He's dead.

(2) It further jeopardizes the chances for President Obama's proposed health care reform bill to pass while maintaining any element of actual "reform".

(3) The ignorant, Bush-loving, hate-filled racist troglodytes of Fox News and their ilk are all but certain to raise the issue of Chappaquiddick in discussing Kennedy's death, thus emboldening the dumbfuck right-wing "Christian" conservatives--both in their general viewing audience and on Capitol Hill--in their anti-humanity opposition to the aforementioned health care reform bill.

However...there is one 'pro' to be found in this tragic loss:

Edward Kennedy--unlike his brothers--wasn't murdered by an anti-humanity nutjob.

Suck it, antihumans! You missed one!

All hail Ted Kennedy!

Jesus Is on the Internet

Should thou initiate a Google search borne of the phrase "Jessica Biel", thou shalt be smote by all kinds of viruses on behalf of Jesus.

At which point thou shalt be all like, "Oh, no, Jesus--that was an accident! I meant to search 'the dangers of masturbation'! Crazy typo!"

And Jesus shall reply, "Tell it to the smiting", before driving away on his most awesome of motorcycles, Amen.

90% of U.S. Money Laced with Cocaine

Thank god my mom's in Europe right now.

She'll be back within two weeks from the time of this posting, America, at which point you will have two options: (A) stop using cocaine or (B) switch to the peso standard.

Although...if we're talking Mexican pesos...

Forget option 'B'. Either (A) stop using cocaine or (C) stop using money. Trade animals for goods instead.

Although...

They're Too Busy Singing to Put Any of Their Fraudulent Wives Down

Charge: $136,866 stolen by Micky Dolenz's wife in a housing scam.

Verdict: Whatever. The Monkees rule.

Metroville's Super-Secret Plot to Make All Poor White Americans Angry via Rich White Americans on Their Televisions Ruined

Could August 6th, 2009, have been a worse day for me? To prove so would be difficult, given three of my favorite things:

- iconic filmmaker John Hughes
- the Boston Red Sox
- my lifelong plan to snake my way into the American presidency only to reveal myself as a black person and do all kinds of scary black stuff to you fool-ass crackers.

What happened on August 6th, 2009?

(1) John Hughes up and flipping died
(2) the Red Sox got absolutely murdered by the Yankees (as a result of the "senior citizen starting pitcher" gag presumably set into motion by Ashton Kutcher)
(3) I, while searching for a long-buried personal document, stumbled upon a copy of my birth certificate (which I had retrieved many years ago in order to apply for a passport and then filed away)...only to discover that it is not a birth certificate--but rather, a "certificate of live birth".

Point '3', Exhibit 'A' (as in, "Ah hate dem white folk!"):


In light of the recent razor-sharp detective work of patriots such as Lou Dobbs, Bizarro Arianna Huffington and the on-air Muppets of Fox News in their holy quest to unmask America's current president as the partially black person that he truly is, you can bet my secret warehouse full of fried chicken and watermelons that there ain't no way, no how I'm ever again going to try to pass myself off as an American citizen.

In fact...it'd probably be best for me to leave the United States altogether and start my life anew in some exotic foreign location. Hawaii, maybe.

Samantha Baker Can't Believe They F**king Forgot Her Birthday; I Can't Believe John Hughes Is F**king Dead

And I have to suspect that I share that sentiment with anyone who grew up during the 1980s and cares at all about movies.

"Life moves pretty fast..." et cetera.



[YouTube]

Metroville's Movie Corner: Guess the Secret of 'Orphan's' Orphan

(a) She's a dude.

(b) She was dead the whole time.

(c) She's Macaulay Culkin.

Having seen Orphan, I can state with complete confidence that Esther's secret is one of the above or something else entirely.

You know what else I can state with complete confidence? That Katherine Heigl looks like Mr. Bill and hates women; that the computer-animated guinea pig you think is voiced by Flavor Flav is actually voiced by Tracy Morgan, which makes you a racist; and that Orphan (at the time of this posting) has a higher positive-rating total on Rotten Tomatoes than do The Ugly Truth and G-Force combined.

Also, anyone over the age of 17 who voluntarily goes to see Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince is a pedophile.

Sports Writer Unaware of Sports Fans

I need to get off the internet.

I can't, of course, because doing so might force me to directly interact with other human beings. But if I could, I might have a better chance at avoiding articles like the most recent one from "NBC sports.com contributor" Tony DeMarco wherein the author critically wounds the Boston Red Sox's chances of winning the World Series this year by brazenly asserting that the Boston Red Sox will win the World Series this year.

Way to know your readers, DeJinxo. Sports fans are by nature superstitious; Red Sox fans are by nurture quite unhealthily superstitious; ergo, you are a big jerk with a stupid mustache.

Unless, of course, your prediction turns out to be accurate (knock on wood)...in which case you will be a great guy with a stupid mustache.

Panty-Sniffer Hopes to Kidnap, Drug and Eat Your Children on Christmas

Pictured above is Jedd Medefind of the Christian Alliance for Orphans; I know this because of the superimposed title.

But that's not all I think I know.

To wit:

(1) The two 'D's in Jedd's Medefind's first name refer to the "double-D" bra cup size. This means that Jedd Medefind is a pervert obsessed with feminine undergarments.

(2) The first syllable of Jedd Medefind's last name is "med", which is short for "medicine". This means that Jedd Medefind is a drug addict as well as a drug dealer.

(3) The last syllable of Jedd Medefind's last name is "find". This means that Jedd Medefind wants to find things to give drugs to and then have sex with.

(4) The name of the Christian Alliance for Orphans includes the word "orphans", which refers to children. This means that the things that Jedd Medefind wants to find, give drugs to and then have sex with are children--your children, probably...since that's also a thing I just thought of.

(5) The name of the Christian Alliance for Orphans includes the word "Christian", which refers to Christmas. This means that Jedd Medefind wants to find, give drugs to and have sex with your children on Christmas, which is Santa Claus' birthday.

(6) Jedd Medefind's mouth is open in the above picture. This means that Jedd Medefind wants to eat your children on top of everything else.

Unless you love rape, the illegal drug trade, kidnapping, child molestation and/or cannibalism, and you hate Santa Claus, you will join me in boycotting Jedd Medefind and the Christian Alliance for Orphans.

While it may be true that I made absolutely no effort to understand anything about Jedd Medefind or the Christian Alliance for Orphans beyond their names, I assure you that that does not mean that I am behaving like a fear-mongering, narcissistic twit...

Or at least not any more so than Jedd Medefind and the Christian Alliance for Orphans (and this lady and these pinheads) are behaving in reaction to a movie called "Orphan".

Nomar Smoltz

Nomar Garciaparra returned to Fenway Park on Monday. Yay!

His Oakland A's beat the hell out of elderly John Smoltz and the Boston Red Sox. Less yay.

What Did You Get America for Its Birthday?

Whatever it is, I doubt it will be better than Sarah Palin's gift of early retirement...with a rumored cherry on top of resigning from politics forever.

Can I Be a Dick for Two Seconds Regarding the Below Caption?

(1) No, you don't.

(2) Some people do.

To the video!

"You Can Have Your Money Back, Sure. But Wouldn't You Rather Have a Piece of Paper that Isn't Money?"*

*To paraphrase the ingenious plan of the promoters of the late Michael Jackson's never-to-be concert tour in their attempt not to eat 90 million dollars.

Everyone You Might Have Heard of Is Dead

Barely did this website--my mom's number twelve source for news--have time to pay glib, meaningless tribute to the passing of Ed McMahon last Tuesday when the Celebrity Grim Reaper expanded that incident into an all-out bender that claimed Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson, pitchman Billy Mays and, most recently, impressionist Fred Travalena.

That's enough, Death! Very uncool of you to pull this shit while I was looking the other way.

Cash4Gold, MC Hammer Held for Questioning in Ed McMahon Death

Yeah, no, they aren't. Plus, one of them is a website.

But Ed McMahon is dead...and that is sad.

White Hawk Down

Hillary Clinton broke her arm just to get out of a meeting with Angelina Jolie...because Hilldog keeps it real.

That Theme Song Goes with Anything

Leave it to the internet to finally make a worthy Star Wars spinoff.

Somewhat ironic that Tom Selleck was originally cast as Indiana Jones...

[YouTube via Movieline]

The Boston Celtics Had Seen the Future

And it was a four-game sweep at the hand of the Cleveland Cavaliers.

Understandably, the Celtics opted to turn that privilege over to the Orlando Magic.

UPDATE: Replace "Cleveland Cavaliers" with "Los Angeles Lakers", subtract one win, and quadruple my resentment over the fact that the Celtics were eliminated by that Mickey-Mouse organization.

The Matthew McConaughey/Kate Beckinsale/Gary Oldman Dwarf-Based Rom-Com You Might Have Missed

According to the trailer for the unreleased 2003 film Tiptoes, "when the going gets rough, it's only the size of your heart that counts."

This statement is only half true for stars Matthew McConaughey, Kate Beckinsale and (especially) Gary Oldman, who plays a freaking dwarf in the movie. From their perspective, probably the other thing that counts is your agent's ability to keep potential career-ending mistakes buried.

[YouTube]

Fruity Culpa

When the Boston Celtics signed Stephon Marbury back in February, I--like many of the team's fans--was less than complimentary of the troubled player.

Having seen Marbury spark yet another ridiculous Celtics comeback in the fourth quarter on Tuesday, I temporarily amend my description of him as "a poisonous lunatic" to "a burst of fruit flavor".

(Though he's probably still a lunatic.)

[ESPN]

Large Infant Inspires Radio Announcer to Boast to Mother About Eating Small Dog

When the Boston Celtics' Glen "Big Baby" Davis hit a 20-footer at the last second to defeat the Orlando Magic and tie the series on Sunday, that was crazy.

Little did I or anyone else watching the game on TV know at the time, however, that the play's level of insanity was nearly immediately challenged by WEEI-Boston radio broadcaster Cedric Maxwell, who hysterically exclaimed:

"That is how ya do it, big fella! You GO GET IT! It's ON THE LINE! Mama, I'm coming to see ya, somebody get me a napkin--'cause this puppy is OVER!"

The "napkin" part I kind of get, as it references a phrase previously coined by Maxwell (last quote)...but everything else raises questions about Maxwell's personal life whose answers might be too disturbing to explore...

John Furia, Jr. - 1929-2009

In terms of modern celebrity, there are two kinds of artists: those of widespread fame and those who are subjectively famous, known primarily to students of their particular field and/or work.

Screen and television writer John Furia, Jr., who passed away on Friday, falls firmly into the "subjective celebrity" category for me. Had I not the privilege to know the man personally as well as to be taught by him, it's likely that I wouldn't know his name.

But I did, so I do...and I will remain forever grateful.

Here's to you, Professor Furia.

Innings of Love

In daylights, in sunsets
In midnights, in cups of coffee
In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife
In five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure...
An inning in a game?

With an AL record-breaking 12 runs before recording an out is how, we musical-theater-loving nancies--I mean YOU! Not "we"! Just you! Ha-ha, what a weird typo!

I only like sports and I therefore have no idea from what fabulous stage play are the above lyrics. And I'm definitely NOT humming the tune associated with them as I write this.

Manny Using Manny (Drugs) Getting (Suspended) Manny (Games)

The Los Angeles Times has broken the story that Dodgers superstar and "model citizen" Manny Ramirez will be suspended for 50 games beginning Thursday after testing positive for performance-enhancing drugs.

...Hooray? ...Boo?

Eh, I don't care. As long as he's not on the Red Sox anymore or on my fantasy tea--ah, crap.

The Acquittal of John Wilkes Booth

"A bullet to the head didn't kill Abraham Lincoln. It was...

[dramatic music]

"CANCER!"

[crowd gasps; monocles drop into mint juleps; several women "get the vapors" and faint]

That scene or one like it will be included in the never-to-be-produced revisionist screenplay that will be written if Dr. John Sotos' theory turns out to hold water.

Red Sox Celebrate Metroville's 400th Post by Peeing All Over New Yankee Stadium

There will be many games played between the New York Yankees and the Boston Red Sox at the ill-advised sinkhole that is the Yankees' new stadium between now and the time that the Yankees go bankrupt, but there will only be one first game to take place there between the two arch rivals...and--on Monday (Tuesday local time)--the Red Sox won it.

That's on the books forever and ever, Yankee fans. Nana-nana boo-boo.

Reading Comprehension Begins at the Stable

It's been two days since 50-1 longshot Mine That Bird stunned gamblers, hicks and rich hicks alike by winning the Kentucky Derby, and I have yet to solve the mystery of the gelding's seemingly misspelled name beyond the discovery that it is a combination of his sire's name, Birdstone, and his dam's, Mining My Own (I've also learned that "sire", "dam" and "gelding" are fancy horse-talk names for "dad horse", "mom horse" and "horse with his nuts chopped off", respectively).

Optimistically, I hope that whoever named Mining My Own was a miner. Realistically, I am concerned that the person responsible meant to name the horse "Minding My Own" but spelled it wrong. If the latter scenario is accurate, not only did/has that dam live(d) her whole fool life oblivious to her egregiously misspelled handle, the error was passed down to her foal ("baby horse")--compounded, even, by the opportunity missed in the adjustment from the present participle to the present verb form.

Unless his dam's owner wasn't an excavation enthusiast and his current owner is (which would be one hell of a lucky coincidence), Mine That Bird is setting a terrible example for young horses everywhere by furthering the delusive notion that if you're good at sports, your education doesn't matter. He is in effect the Kobe Bryant of horses (save for the raping, of which MTB is incapable for reasons mentioned previously).

Then again, perhaps Mine That Bird isn't solely to blame. After all, he is a horse and therefore might have--in comparison to the humans around him--no idea as to where is or what he's doing or what the hell is happening at any time, ever; if that is the case, I'm glad that dumb sonuvadam has his wealth to rely on. (The horses get most of the money earned from their races, right? Because horse racing is a "sport" and they--like Floyd Mayweather Jr. in boxing and Dale Earnhardt Jr.'s car in car racing--are the essential participants? Maybe I'll look that up, too.)

Joakim: Ah, No

Derrick Rose and Ben Gordon are the real deal. Be they members of the Chicago Bulls or another team, we will be seeing one or both of them in the NBA finals sooner than later.

We won't be seeing them this year, of course, because the Boston Celtics--in the deciding game of what might go down as the greatest first-round NBA playoff series in history--finally eliminated the Bulls on Saturday. As a Celtics fan, I am obviously happy about the end result; that I can commend the legitimacy of Rose and Gordon as a fan of the team that bested them ought only increase the assertion's merit.

You know who's a knob, though? That flailing, immature, untested and overrated emotional wreck, Joakim Noah. As a Celtics fan (and a basketball fan in general), I am unrepentantly pleased that I will not have to watch his unearned chest-thumping for the rest of the NBA season. F that crybaby's ass back to the Barber Shop for Wannabe-Hipsters from which he escaped. (It's probably in Florida...or maybe France.)

More of the same goes for Aryan Nation leader Brad Miller: I'm fairly certain that that violent psychopath should be in prison instead of the NBA--or at least in the NHL.

In conclusion: (1) Noah and Miller suck leprechaun cock and deserved to lose; (2) Rose and Gordon are talented basketball players who deserve respect; (3) YAY, CELTICS.

(All told, #3 is my favorite.)

Who Told Selena Roberts I Have a Birthday Coming Up?

Beginning with his shift from would-be Yankees' savior to be playoff poison, I figured that, following the divorce, the Madonna mess and--of course--the steroid scandal, my Alex Rodriguez schadenfreude had reached its apex with the mirror-mirror smoochy-face gay porn photo spread. Little could I have imagined that the gift that is A-Rod's freefall had more to give.

It comes in the form of further revelations from Selena Roberts' upcoming biography of the manchild, A-Rod: The Many Lives of Alex Rodriguez.

Not only did Roberts break the story that A-Rod tested positive for steroids in 2003 (when he was playing for the Texas Rangers), her book reportedly includes evidence that Rodriguez--despite orange-faced promises to the contrary--continued to use illegal performance-enhancing substances when he was a member of the New York Yankees. Part of this evidence--the best part, far and away--is that A-Rod's Yankees teammates called him "Bitch Tits" because of his "round pectorals, a condition called gynecomastia that can be caused by anabolic steroids".

My cup runneth over.

Rodriguez also, according to Roberts' book, has a gambling problem, is a bad tipper at Hooters and (speaking of tipping) is a fan of signaling opposing batters to let them know what pitch is coming with the expectation that his cheating will be reciprocated.

The latter practice is called "pitch tipping", which is similar to the nickname that will--god willing--haunt Alex Rodriguez for the rest of his life.

Then again...I don't want to be greedy.

[NY Daily News]

"BOS! TON! SU-aaah, We Probably Should've Started This Chant Earlier."

I dislike the "[OPPOSING TEAM] SUCK[S]!" chant that is so prevalent at Major League Baseball games. It's crass, it's unoriginal, and--because its popularity can be directly traced to "YANKEES SUCK!"--I find it particularly embarrassing as a Red Sox fan. My enjoyment of it only ever takes place retroactively--and then only ironically--after its occurrence has been hilariously ill-timed.

Pay close attention to the first second of audio in the following clip:



What you've got there is manna from heaven against uncreative sports fans.

Sweep the Dregs

While it's too late to provide unique insight on the Red Sox' 3-game sweep of the Yankees over the weekend--including Jacoby Ellsbury's ridiculous steal of home (y'know, the base to where the pitcher is throwing the ball in the first place!)--I figured I'd squeeze in my obligatory mention of it before the Red Sox begin their series against Cleveland, who has a better of beating Boston than the Yankees do, because the New York Yankees are a terrible baseball team.