I must’ve been really freakin’ hideous before

You all know I’m a fat ass, right? Well recently I’ve lost a bit of my fat, but I still have every bit of my ass; so don’t worry, I’m still a card-carrying member of the fat fuck club. Everyone keeps splooging a mancream facial full of compliments in my general direction and it’s really annoying. In all honesty, while not being a Farley anymore, I am still a Belushi and things like “you’ve lost so much weight” do nothing but make me question just exactly how terrible I used to look. This whole situation got me to thinking; what are some similar, just as honest, things you don’t hear quite as often?

Your voice is so tolerable now!
I can totally hear this being said at Thanksgiving dinner. You haven’t seen your mother-in-law for a few months, maybe she’s just gotten over a case of laryngitis, and you’re trying to fill those awkward moments between second dessert and unzipping your pants in front of football. What? She can’t take a compliment? Stuck-up whore, should have buried her alive when you had the chance.

Have you gained IQ points?
I’ve actually heard a variation of this one posed to a family member (from a family member) and not that kind of soft-insult humor either; it was said in complete honesty… and the recipient did not get it. Perhaps the appropriate answer to the question was, “No”.

You’ve still got a job?
We all know at least two or seven of those guys (I am one! Yet again, I fit a mold!). This is one you expect to hear from the mother-in-law, perhaps as a response to the voice comment? Why’s your mother-in-law such a bitch?

Your penis is so cute
At least we don’t have to worry about that pesky “left or right” question, right? Did I say “we”? I meant you… you don’t have to worry. No guy wants to hear this, but you know they have. Imagine it was like losing weight, “Your penis is getting so small! Pretty soon you won’t be able to please me at all!”

Have you ever gotten the “you’re so whatever” treatment?

A View from Stadium Seating: Mamma Mia!

You know those music videos that some musicians put out because they want people to think they’re actors; so they spend loads of money, go to an island somewhere, and shoot this elaborate ordeal of convoluted situations filled with extras, bad dialogue, and a contrived plot that loosely fits into whatever their song is about? Yeah well, Mamma Mia! is like a string of those but instead of having a disillusioned singer it’s got loads of seemingly talented actors who were apparently just looking to vacation for a while on a Greek island. I almost expected R. Kelly to pop up, break the fourth-wall, and sing to me about some midget shitting his pants, which, really, wouldn’t have been that out of place.

In case you don’t know Mamma Mia! is about a chick who’s just little too giddy about learning her mom used to be the island bicycle. The girl’s getting married and she invited her three possible fathers to the wedding. That’s all I’m giving you, and really, that’s all there is.

The only thing that got me through this movie is that it’s based on ABBA songs (if you don’t like ABBA, you don’t know ABBA). After a while, and not being given any reason to care for the characters of this film, I just started waiting for the next song to come along. These songs are entertaining even when sung badly; which just happens to be the case here. I mean, Pierce Brosnan in a musical? Do what? I’m a fan of Pierce Brosnan, but this is supposedly a romantic comedy and the only times I found myself with the urge to laugh was when he was singing… and I’m fairly certain that wasn’t the intention.

There’s just nothing here beyond the music, and if you think, “well, that’s a musical” go watch Moulin Rouge, or Chicago, or freakin’ Dreamgirls. Even Hairspray, which I do not like, has some modicum of substance. While Mamma Mia! does have its moments, they can all be completely attributed to the music. You feel no contribution from acting, directing, and especially writing. If that’s going to be the case, then why spend two hours listening to bad renditions of good songs forced into an idiotic plot? Just buy ABBA’s greatest hits and save having to put up with a bad movie.

Come on, Hefner, get on that

How many of you remember the Olsen twins posing in Playboy? Me neither. That’s because it didn’t happen. For years guys all over the world waited with baited breath for their eighteenth birthday to roll around because, dammit, they’ll be old enough for Playboy. All that anticipation, numerous hours spent staring at online countdowns ticking away, days at a time being lost in the mere idea of it; all for naught. Eighteen came and went. Anorexia, drug addiction; taking away much of the desire. These are the risks we run with so much time to wait — That’s not to say we shouldn’t, I don’t want people to think I’m saying that. The thing is, we all knew, for them to eventually decide to pose nude, there would have to be a certain degree of corruption occurring, right? It’s just that they had a little too much time to ferment. When the time came to harvest, the fruits weren’t exactly ripe (more like shriveled and chimpish).

So they may have been lost, but hey, war is hell. There’ll be new recruits, redemption is afoot, and I believe we all know who I’m referring to. I’ve long thought Miley Cyrus would be lured to the dark side, but more to the area of Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan (you know, getting drunk and not wearing underpants). I’ve slowly come to think she’s got more potential than I give her credit for. I mean, first she posed for that magazine and then those other pictures were leaked of her and her friends. We could be witnessing something here. As a plus, she only has to survive 3-4 years in the business without going Twiggy LunchStopping or snorting Mr. KoolAid. I think she could make it.

After reading Kevin’s blog today wherein he linked to this picture, I believe we can officially start the countdown. Hugh Hefner is still chasing his white whale of the Olsen twins, but he needs to wake up and aim his harpoon at something with meat on it. That circus has left town. A new show is rolling in and it’s a country fair. Come on, Hefner, get on that.

Do you think Miley Cyrus will pose for Playboy when she turns 18, will she somehow fall apart before then, or will she just take the pictures herself with her cell phone and send them out with the Christmas cards?

I can’t believe I watched Big Brother… for hours…

Many nights I end up surfing for softcore porn to watch for the five or so minutes it takes to fondle myself and fall asleep, but last night, in the absence of such programming, I stumbled across Big Brother After Dark. Why I began watching it? I could lie to myself and say I was hoping to catch a random shot of tits, but I think we all know I was actually drawn to the theatrics of fictional voyeurism. It may come as a surprise to you, but I’d never seen any Big Brother before this and up to this point I had blindly asked how could anyone ever be interested in such inane bullshitery? After being glued to my television for upwards of two hours (two hours I should have been sleeping, no less) I no longer ask such a ridiculous question.

It’s subliminal hypnosis. There’s no other answer. Why else would I, a seemingly heterosexual male, choose to subject myself to mindless rants from liquored-up skanks met with empty empathy from unassuming dudes? I mean how often can women really crawl into bed, hug a pillow and cry into it? It’s not humanly possible. Then there’s those pre-taped outros from Julie Chen’s bobble head looking to have been hammered by the fuckup shovel. As I droned on, blankly fixated, I tried to ignore the fact that two chicks look like they could be related to me, one reminds me of a girl I new in high school (slutty bitch), the black guy looks like a druggie I got into a fight with in school (pothead bastard), and the old man creeps me the hell out (bicycle shop). It’s like an even less understandable game of The Sims that you can’t control… if you could, I have a feeling there’d be a whole lot of putting’em in a doorless room till they die.

Could someone please explain to me, without referring to Orwellian thought police or the fact that 1984 lends more to this shitty show than the base for its name, why is Big Brother such a freaking big deal? Are there really that many sheeple out there?

I’m glad softball stats don’t count toward Hall of Fame status

With All-Star weekend each year we are treated to two things: the homerun derby which always has the potential to do as it did this season and explode with mammoth blasts and the all-star and celebrity softball game which never fails to produce epic fail level mediocrity. That’s not to say I’m not entertained by the idea of huge celebrities and masterful hall of famers duking it out in a grand battle where there’s guaranteed to be major bloodshed and limb-loss, but ideas almost never come to fruition. The truth is, each year, they trot out the same increasingly decrepit hall of famers who struggle to hit out of the infield and decreasingly b-level celebrities in such shape that can only be described as polygonal. This makes me wonder if Mark McGwire will be out there soon in his shriveled glory. Why aren’t Scott Baio and Danny Bonaduce traipsing around out there.

How could they improve all-star weekend’s utilization of “celebrities”?

Ooh, they could have a reality show softball league. Although, there wouldn’t be nearly enough death. They could play dodgeball and fill it with nitroglycerin. That’s a hell of a show. Put that on pay-per-view. You could even give them live ammunition and have cocaine as the award. Do you know how many celebrities would sign up for that shit? Now that’s a festivity worth watching.

How about an STD raffle? First you lure in some annoying freaks, you know like all the terrific human beings from shows like Laguna Beach and The Hills, with promises of hair gel and spray tan for the winner of the fakest personality contest. Then you lock them in a barn with rabid farm animals and drunken New Jersey hookers. At this point you could draw numbers for arbitrary creams and ointments.

Actually, the best use, would probably be the George Carlin approach to the death penalty; catapult them straight into a brick wall one after the other. Highly entertaining and everyone leaves with a feeling of immense accomplishment.

I feel like I’m blogging about sports a lot lately; so I’ll review a movie tomorrow or something.

Is it a mouth… or a nose?

With all the focus on Jason Giambi’s mustachioed mug, and the fact that the humidity here is murder on a bearded man such as myself, I decided to shave off my 2+ month-old face sweater… all but the mustache, that is. That’s right, I’m perfectly fit to deliver a hot pizza to some young meat-lover at some cheap motel in an independent porno. Not that I wasn’t a damn good fit before, but now I’m probably going to be actively pursued for AVN award-caliber vehicles.

So, anyway, I shaved down everything but my clit-tickler and, while I’m no Seth Rogen in Superbad (those handlebars kicked ass) by any means of the imagination, I must say it looks decent. With that said, I was always taught (by the drunken hobos I partied with as a child) that the curtains should match the drapes. At the time I didn’t think it wise to take interior design tips from a man who’s choices had amounted to no more than that of a refrigerator, but I’ve come to realize the wisdom in those slurred words.

Therefore, I gathered together some shaving gel, a disposable razor and let down my pants and became confused (not the first time). This is where your sage advice comes in handy: in the face-to-crotch comparison equation; where exactly does the penis fit in? (also not the first time I had to ask that) You know what I mean, right? Is it a mouth, or is it a nose? You see, if it’s a nose (which I believe is always the case in similar situations for pranks and/or portraits) then the mustache would be placed underneath just so. How’s that going to look? It would be hidden (unless it’s a might cold out) and we can’t have that. Then it’d just look like I’m some Portuguese gigolo out on the town looking for white women and Mexican men. The way I see it is the mustache should be placed on top, out there where it can have its presence known. Although, I can see how some would disagree. Then, all of a sudden, I’m Johnny Crazy-Crotch with the unibrow penis. I don’t know about you, but I can’t be having that on me.

I’m kind of falling out of love with this whole idea. Seriously, what if the fad moves on and I’m stuck here with Giambi balls and it’s parachute pants all over again. Even though I’ve decided against it, I’d still like to know, which is it? A mouth?… or a nose?

A nation waits, people.

Favre for president

Throughout Brett Favre’s career there’s been many a drunken cheesehead wave their equally cheddar signs adorned with those very words, “Favre for president”. Now, while I’m sure each and every one of those diehard Lambeau loons would indeed have voted for Favre in each election since Green Bay traded for him (and I’d bet a few of them have chosen him as their “write-in vote”), there really wasn’t much about him that screamed “presidential”. That is, until now. Given, he’s a rich, white guy with an accent, but he earned what he has. He wasn’t born with, nor did he marry into, that money; though I’m fairly certain he came pre-assembled white with built-in accent, but where does he stand on the issues? With his continued career limbo, I believe it’s safe to assume he doesn’t know when to pull-out. So we’ll extrapolate that into him being pro-war (and pro-choice). Hey, don’t jump on me. I’m a lifelong Favre fan. It’s not easy for me to jump to these erroneous conclusions, but I felt I had to for the good of the nation.

Do you think Favre would win if he were running against Obama? Neither do I, but I do know he’d be a hell of a lot more fun than McCain. McCain’s like Al Davis; you know he’s too old to do what he’s doing, but there’s nobody that can really tell him that. Who’s Obama like then? Mark Cuban, maybe? I guess that could fit. I mean, to the old white guys he represents youth and change, which old white guys are apparently against, but if you look at him more closely; he’s really not all that young or different. I suppose it could be said that the Republicans are like Major League Baseball in that they don’t want to let the young maverick into their midst because they thinks he’s too different, but really if he was just allowed in they’d see he’s pretty much just like they are but with less age and more skin pigmentation. Wait, am I talking about Obama or Cuban? I’m not really sure anymore, but how about that: Cuban vs. Favre for the United States presidency? One’s a maverick looking to make some changes and the other’s a set in his ways old dog who sometimes says the wrong things. Although Favre’s usually good in front of a mic and he’s younger than Cuban… and Cuban is always saying controversial things… hmm… One’s a slick maverick with a history of misguided quotes and the other’s slightly younger pressroom fireballer… Although, Cuban isn’t really the maverick people think he is; I mean, just look at his goatee… and Favre’s, well that’s a pretty good description of Favre.

So, it’s a perceived maverick with a history of controversial quotes and bad facial hair decisions versus a slightly younger guy who wants change and just doesn’t know how to go about getting it but makes pretty good speeches. Yep, now that’s an election I could really get behind.

Hello world?

Who says “hello world?” I feel like I just came out of the closet and I’m carrying a spiked dildo.

Anyway, I’ve been blogging on MySpace for a while (somewhere in the neighborhood of three years) and I’ve finally got off my ass to move off there. Really, I’m not looking to reinvent the potato here. I’m very likely to confuse you with my inane ramblings and half-assed thoughts. Perhaps you’ll stick around and perhaps I forgot to give you the sedative and you’ll manage to scurry off into the bushes. Either way, I’m still going to be here… or somewhere else (I’ve tried, but I can’t defy physics). What I’m trying to say is, why are you here and don’t you have something better to do?