Mr. Yuk Mobilized to Fight in the H1N1 Swine Flu War

With vaccine shipments in short supply and often going missing or ending up in the wrong hands, the government had no choice but turn to the semi-retired, but long battle-tested defense against illness and poisoning, Mr. Yuk last week.

Found living in relative obscurity in a rest home in Phoenix, Mr. Yuk (or Senor Gross, as he’d come to be known in the Southwest) was hesitant about re-entering the fray and putting his face out there again, but when shown the ugly details of the epidemic ravaging the world, Yuck was convinced.

“I do what I can,” Mr. Yuk said at a press conference Monday.  “If they’ve gotta plaster my mug on every touchable surface the world over to prevent the spread of this heinous disease, I say let’s do it.  We’ll be roasting this swine flu at a luau by next summer!”

Mr. Yuk (or Monsieur Bleech, as he’s known in Quebec) is single-handedly credited with preventing death-by-ingesting-Clorox among children and stoned adults in the eighties, and yet he’s never proven successful in battle a disease more potent than common stupidity.  His appearance on cartons of Marlboros didn’t halt the number of smokers coming down with lung cancer, nor did his face on hypodermic needles prevent anyone from testing HIV positive in decades past.

But with little idea for what else to do for a long suffering populace, new Surgeon General Regina Benjamin decided to roll out the old icon in the “Don’t Touch, Don’t Eat” field of prevention.

“Since 1971, Mr. Yuk has been a stalwart soldier in the fight for poison control for the young and illiterate,” Benjamin said.  “We now feel he can help us persuade the public to not touch well handled surfaces, such as doorknobs, railings, vending machine buttons, people’s extended hands for shakes, loved ones looking for hugs, and strippers looking for dollar, dollar bills, y’all.”

Mr. Yuk stickers (or Comrade Disgust, as he’s called in Minsk) have begun appearing by the million in the nation’s cities, with billions more expected in the upcoming holiday season.  This has created quite a surge in popularity for the Pittsburgh-based legend.  Yuk’s green, grossed-out visage is being slapped on everything from cafeteria trays to Grandma’s forehead, with no end in sight.

“Touching is bad,” third-grader Bobby Puse of Southlawn Elementary said when asked about the stickers.  “Mr. Yuk tells us so.  I don’t want to die from the pig sickness!”

Many other elementary students agreed with Bobby, and also swore off eating ham.

But not everyone is thrilled with Mr. Yuk’s return to prominence.  The American Association of Poison Control Centers (AAPCC) has been vociferous in their denouncing the government’s appropriation of their singular symbol. 

“We are as concerned about the H1N1 virus as anyone else,” AAPCC spokesman Donald Ayers announced today.  “But confusing the message of Mr. Yuk in this way is potentially dangerous.  If anything, Mr. Yuk should be on every one of the hand sanitizer stations popping up all over the globe, as that stuff is potentially fatal if swallowed.  Bet you didn’t know that, did you?  Where Yuk shouldn’t be is on your neighbor’s dog’s tongue, or on your child’s school notebook.”

Not to be outdone, Tot Finder has announced it will parlay its formerly ubiquitous image into somehow helping the cause, hoping to get its fireman logo back into mass production shortly.  Mr. Yuk, for one, says things couldn’t be better. 

“I was reluctant to get into the ‘Warning-Everyone-About-Everything’ game again,” Yuk admitted. “That’s what drove Mrs. Yuk away all those years ago now.  Couldn’t take the grind.  24/7/365, it was just too much for her.  Plus, I was way more famous than her, like, by a damn sight.  So she skedaddled, took the kids, and went off to Nome or some such joint.  So it was hard.  But I’m back in the game now, baby, and we’re gonna stop this swine madness yet!  And who knows, maybe there’ll be a new Mrs. Yuk one of these days.  A fella can dream, right?”

At press time, rumors have circulated that Mr. Yuk was fielding a number of romantic offers, and also considering starring in his own reality show for TLC.

John McCain’s Incredibly Hot Daughter Creates Twitter Uproar with Warhol Photo

Meghan McCain finds herself embroiled in controversy this morning after posting a picture on popular social networking site Twitter.com yesterday in which she holds an Andy Warhol biography and smiles, clearly implying she enjoys it.  The wildly sexy McCain, contributing writer for the website The Daily Beast, and her choice of literature elicited hundreds of negative comments and vociferous outrage about her choice of reading material.

 

“WHAT THE -?!” posted Twitter user SirSnarksalot.  “How someone as mind-blowingly attractive as @McCainBlogette could be interested in a pasty no-talent like Warhol is personally offensive!”

 

“Incredible!” posted McDeetzey. “With a YOWZA body and killer smile like @McCainBlogette has, you think she’d know better!  Warhol was a hack!”

 

“I hope @McCainBlogette enjoys her fifteen minutes of fame,” posted hamburglaring211.

 

The gorgeous Miss McCain’s father, former Presidential candidate and Senator from Arizona John McCain, was quick to defend his stunning offspring.

 

“Cindy and I have always supported the reading habits of our children,” McCain said in a statement.  “Even if their tastes run to the mediocre and mundane, it is their decision to read what they choose, and we’re behind them one-hundred percent.”

 

The dazzling Miss McCain has been outspokenly pro-sex in the past, but oddly mute on the issue of 20^th century artists, until now anyway.  “Given her tendency to break from the Republican party’s set line of decision in the past,” Russell Hapsmith, political correspondent for MSNBC said, “It should be no surprise she would court controversy by making this daring declaration of her artistic preference now.”

 

This sudden shove into the national spotlight has afforded the breathtaking, mountain-breasted Miss McCain the obvious opportunity to run for higher office down the road, given the GOP’s recent track record.

Future President McSexy?

 

“We would fully support a Meghan McCain campaign for the Presidency,” Republican National Committee chairman Michael Steele announced this morning.  “She has the lineage, the savvy, and the eyes, legs, hair, and figure to be a great leader.”

 

Meghan McCain, who turns 25 next week, won’t become eligible to run for President until 2020.

Historians Declare Obama Best President in U.S. History

WASHINGTON D.C. – A group of historians polled by Georgetown University has named Barack Obama the best President in the history of these United States.  Not wanting to be seen as premature, a spokesman for the group stated that based on what the president has planned for the country, and assuming all campaign and inaugural promises come to pass, Obama’s legacy will absolutely trounce that of all previous occupiers of the Oval Office.

 

“We felt we waited long enough in making this inevitable declaration,” historian Albert Hedgefellow said at the press conference this morning.  “It’s obvious to anyone with a knowledge of world events and conjecture that President Obama will end up with accomplishments greatly outnumbering those of Abraham Lincoln, Thomas Jefferson, and Franklin Roosevelt combined.”

 

Despite his first year in office so far being marred by an ugly battle over healthcare reform, increased fighting in Afganistan, and Chicago losing its bid to host the 2016 Summer Olympics, the 44^th President’s announcements concerning the greatness of life in the future and potential of the world to come has been more than enough for many.

 

“We have complete faith in the president’s ability to achieve all the lofty goals he has set for himself and America,” fellow historian Louise Verna said.  “Just because no one has managed to fix healthcare up until now doesn’t mean it can’t be done.  And even though we live in a time where Republicans and Democrats are more divided than ever, there is no reason to think that the president can’t convince the sides to come together and agree on the tough issues that plague our society.”

 

The world of 2012 – long assumed to be the magical future time Obama aims for – is scheduled to be fraught with employment and prosperity, all soldiers returned home from the two-pronged war in Iraq and Afganistan, universal healthcare afforded to every man, woman, and child in the nation, the infrastructure of our highways and roads in tip-top shape, worldwide nuclear disarmament complete, Osama bin Laden dead as disco, Social Security prepared to support the exploding senior citizenry, and Detroit again a significant, proud city of automotive excellence, peace, and harmony.

 

“Isn’t that a world you’d like to live in?” Hedgefellow asked.  “With all that coming down the pike, how could we as a learned, educated body not state with certainty that Barack Obama is the greatest president this country has ever known?  Heck, we didn’t consider world leaders throughout the ages in the debate, but I can’t see who would top Obama even then.”

 

While some have expressed concern that proclaiming the president “the most exemplary display of presidential embodiment humanly possible” can only increase the pressure and ratchet up expectations on the still relatively new-on-the-job leader of the free world, Obama for one took the announcement in stride.

 

“I am very humbled by this declaration,” the president said.  “This august body has made a very flattering, encouraging decision, and I can only consider this recognition as a call to action.”

 

The choice of the sitting president was a surprise to many, who’ve come to expect certain names at the top of this type of list.  Perhaps even more surprising in the ranking, though, was Michelle Obama placing 37^th, despite being at least seven years away from even running for the office.  This position placed her ahead of such presidential disasters as James Buchanan, Herbert Hoover, and Andrew Johnson, and just directly behind Richard Nixon.

Summer 2009 Movie Box Office Predictions Bound to Fail Horribly

By and large, predicting box office grosses is nearly impossible.  I think I can ballpark what a film might do as well as anyone, and still you get things bombing or blowing up against all logic and reason.  As well as anyone thought The Dark Knight would do last year, no one figured it to be the second highest grossing movie of all time.  No one.  Just like no one saw Titanic doing what it did in 1997. 

 

Now last year, going into the summer, I did say – to those who would listen, which weren’t many folks – that I thought you’d see seven movies gross over $200 million, and six of them actually did – TDK, Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, Iron Man, Wall-E, Kung Fu Panda, and Hancock.  The one that didn’t was the surprising disappointment Prince Caspian from the Narnia series.  So, with this as rousing proof that for once I sort of knew what I was doing, I would like to impart that onto this summer’s crop of films as well.

 

As far as can be determined, the battle for this summer’s box office crown will be between Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince and Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen.  Both are sequels, like nearly everything big this summer, and both avoid the slaughterhouse of May, with its six major films coming out in five weeks.  Transformers has the 4^th of July holiday as its second weekend, and it opens mid-week, essentially giving it a 14 day opening window.  I think this is key to its possibly unseating Potter for the top spot.  But I still can’t really go with that prediction.

 

So I’ve got Harry Potter  first, and I think this will be the highest grossing film of the series thus far.  All the Potter movies have done well, but only one has cracked $300 million – the first one, Sorcerer’s Stone back in 2001.  It seemed that only the November released films in the series were going to be the big money earners after the 4^th film came out, as the 3^rd was by far the lowest grossing of the bunch and came out in June, but then the fifth installment managed to crack $290 and become the second best grosser of the bunch in a July.  So I figure this one, without one major film getting released after it, will end up on top, in the neighborhood of $325 million.

 

That leaves Transformers 2 with the runner up position.  I don’t know that this can make the typical sequel jump over the first film of a series that you see so often these days, but I think it can be close.  The first film made $319 million two years ago opening over 4^th of July weekend, and was the highest grossing non-sequel of the summer.  This one has this huge lead in to the holiday that I talked about, plus doesn’t have other full on effects driven action films to contend with in July (short of Potter).  So I think a comparable gross to the original is likely, around $310 million.

 

I’ve got a bunch of films hovering just above and below $200 after that, but I think the one that might top out is X-Men Origins: Wolverine.  I can’t imagine it reaching X-Men 3’s series high gross of $234 million, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it caught X2 around $220 million.  Figure, it’s got that prime first-movie-of-the-season slot, it’s an established character without feeling like a third sequel, and the trailer is decent.  Despite the pirated copy floating around the internet, and the massive competition from the rest of May I think it can prevail in 3^rd.

 

Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian has a lot against it, so I don’t see it coming near the original film’s $250 million.  It should manage enough for fourth, something like $205 million, but it’s got the hellish last weekend in May to deal with, and children’s movies opening all around it, and it looks exactly the same as the original.  In virtually every way, this is a blatant rehash sequel, not one that continues any sort of story.  So while the original (which also came out in a less competitive fall slot) seemed creative and new, this one seems very much a retread.

 

And a big part of Night of the Museum’s problem is Pixar’s Up, coming out the weekend before.  All Pixar films are good for around $200 million lately, so there’s really no reason to think Up is performing any differently.  And yet, it does have one major difference from all the previous Pixar films – magic.  There is considerably less in this more traditional, Disney style film – no robots, no superheroes, no talking cars or animals or toys.  So while I think Up will end up near the low end of the Pixar list of dynamite masterpieces at the box office, it should still gross $200 million.  How can you bet against them?

 

The film with the best chance to crack the $200 club has to be Terminator: Salvation.  The only reason I can’t completely bank on it at this point is that it’s been a looooong time since there was a good Terminator movie, plus the TV show’s dismal performance with ratings doesn’t exactly ring with the endorsement of the populace that more Terminator pictures are what they want.  Plus, without Arnold (at least in any major role) the whole project feels a bit hollow, doesn’t it?  Sure, the trailer’s cool, and Christian Bale is a massive star now in his own right, but does that make this a blockbuster?  I see it at $190 million, just missing out.

 

Also on the fence is Ice Age 3, rolling out over the 4^th of July.  While not exactly the same audience as Transformers, it does have to contend with that, and Potter two weeks later.  The first two films, both big hits, came out in the anemic Spring, and now it’s stuck in the middle of the summer.  It’s a dicey spot to be in, really, and you have to question the logic of moving this successful franchise into the midst of the chaos of summer.  Plus, it looks just like the first two films.  Sure, that didn’t hurt Shrek, but I’m a bit concerned about Ice Age’s chances battling it out in a new season.  I’m giving it a shot at $170 million, and no more.

 

The film with the best chance at pulling a Caspian this summer and wildly underperforming, in my eyes, is Angels & Demons.  Similarities with Narnia are actually significant, as the first films of both were huge successes, based on popular name books, and came out at very key times – Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe in the fall, Da Vinci Code in a very non-adult friendly summer.  Caspian, the lesser known book, didn’t connect, and stumbled away with less than half of what the first film did.  I don’t think Angels is doing that exactly, but close to it.  A large drop off from the original’s $217 million has me placing it around $150 million.

 

Also competing for the adult dollar this summer, with around the same expected success, is Public Enemies.  It is the rare almost entirely non-supernatural film positioned as a blockbuster in a summer.  But, what it has going for it is a showdown between Jack Sparrow and Batman, and good placement around a bunch of kids movies over the 4^th of July.  With Depp and Bale, it has a shot at a huge gross, but I think it’s more likely to land solidly and end up with around $150 million as well.

 

 

 

 

And rounding out my top ten is the film with probably the biggest upside, but the most question marks, Star Trek.  Sure, the trailer is cool, and it’s got all the hype in the world, but most of this is coming from fanboys and Trekkies.  Does the average moviegoer want to see this, with all the stigma attached to a Star Trek film?  Figure, no film in the very lengthy series has grossed more than $109 million, and that’s from the original cast there.  Since Shatner and Co. hung up the phasers, the top movie didn’t even crack $100.  So it’s a bit of an uphill climb for this bunch.  Now, I think it will beat these, sure.  It’s a big flashy action picture.  But it comes out in a horrible month of competition, the weekend after Wolverine targets the same audience, and, come on, it’s Star Trek.  Could it be massive?  Sure.  Will it be?  Hard to imagine.  $130 million.

 

Unlike last summer’s 17 (17!) films to hit $100 million, I’ve only got four more in addition to the top ten getting there this year.  There are a decent number of comedies rolling out this summer, but comedies typically don’t do huge business in the summer unless they are also action/adventure pictures.  Thusly, Land of the Lost should fare best, with its CGI dinosaurs and Will Ferrell.  Looking at $115 million.  Also, Bruno has a hilarious trailer, but it won’t duplicate Borat’s ridiculous success, as that came out in a fall, and came out of the blue, so I’m thinking more in line with $110 million.  Funny People perhaps has the best chance to breakout of this bunch and get in the top ten, with its combination of Judd Apatow/Adam Sandler/Seth Rogan, but it’ll be a surprise if it does, given how many of these type of comedies (i.e. Apatow comedies) are released these days.  Again, $110 million or so.

 

And, with no full trailer yet, I’ve got G.I. Joe still managing $105 million based on little more than the cast and the Super Bowl commercial.  It could be much bigger, or much worse, but there isn’t enough to go on.  Same for Julie & Julia, with no trailer at all, and only pictures, you have to predict based on the words “Meryl Streep comedy” and that lately has equally big box office.  Still, I’ve got it just under $100, at say, $95 million.

 

There are plenty of other films with a shot at $100.  Year One, The Proposal, Inglourious Basterds, The Taking of Pelham 1 2 3, The Hangover, and The Ugly Truth all look to have elements in place for success.  I just think they will end up a bit shy.

 

So there’s my sure-to-implode slate of predictions!  Don’t agree?  Leave a comment with your bright ideas, or don’t!  They’re my predictions, and I’m sticking by them, at least until Wolverine opens and I change my mind!

My Sure Fire Money Making Writing Plan!

Sure, the Bible sequel didn’t pan out.  Seems the church wasn’t willing to sponsor the project and adamantly refused to do weekly readings from the new “good book.”  Fine.  I can live with it.  Also, editing the new book with a million covers and titles has proven disheartening, and the publisher is prepared to just call it Swill and release it without my approval.  You know what?  That’s fine, too.  Cause I’ve concocted my surest firest success yet.

 

Yep, I’m going to get into the world of crank-‘em-out mystery novels.  You know the kind – woman in her forties goes into a bookstore, says to herself that she’s looking for something that “looks like something I’d read.”  They hit upon the mystery section – bingo! – find a book that seems to have a pattern in its title, almost guaranteeing an extended trip with the same characters down non surprising roads for many books to come, and next thing you know, this slightly pre-menopausal lady is out on the back porch, reading about some taxidermist getting himself stuffed in a department store, populated by wacky employees, and bringing in a wacky detective with wacky neuroses, making for interesting reading and light, fluffy evenings of enjoyment.

 

How hard could it possibly be?  I’ve never even considered writing a mystery novel, but honestly, it’s gotta be ridiculously easy.  I’ve read a few of the cheesy variety and you don’t even need a twisty plot.  All it requires is a quirky enough detective and a catchy title.  So let’s formulate this strategy.

 

Titles, titles…letters have been used.  A is for Algorithm, B is for Bacchanalia, C is for Zebra.  Numbers have been used.  One and Done.  Two Screws.  Three Cheery Beers.  That won’t work.  A running animal theme is passé, too.  The Cat Who Almost Won the Derby.  The Dog with No Hind Legs.  The Gerbil Who Went Up a Hill and Came Down in Cheyenne.  That’s out.

 

So what’s a running gimmicky title theme that will ensure my early retirement?  Lines from songs by one band?  Done.  Misheard song lyrics?  Done.  Mishead quotes from politicians?  Done.  These hack mystery writers have used everything up!  No, wait, not everything – I’ve got it!  Groceries!  Fruits and vegetables!  And the detective can be…a grocer!  A grocer?  What is this, the 1950s?  Who’s a grocer anymore?  That snotty kid who stocks boxes of cereal?  He’s the detective?  Nope!  Clearly we have to set it in the fifties, though.

 

Okay, so the first book, Sunday Banana Sundae, will deal with the murder of the local milkman behind the Woolworth’s, across the street from Horrigan’s Grocery Store in (somewhere very quirky, and believably fifties….um….) Endicott, New York.  The milkman, who we find was delivering more than milk to Edna Farmscrabble, wife of town psychotic drunk Felton Farmscrabble, is found by Sparky (the newspaper boy with one webbed foot) with two frozen bananas jammed in his eyes.  The local constable, portly curmudgeon Beefswellus Cod, can’t make head or tail of it, and so the assistance of the one former FBI agent in Endicott is required.

 

Dash Horrigan quit the agency over some bureaucratic haggling – getting passed over for extra rolls at dinner, being denied overtime pay for undercover work in the kennel, etc. – and so he moved to Endicott, opened a grocery store, and settled down, dating the local librarian, Enid Pageturner, ever since and forgetting crime and murder and that tax season is around the corner.

 

Horrigan never removes his apron, it’s his trademark locally, and it is filled with all manner of useful gadgets in the detection and prevention of rotting produce.  He brings this quirky fruit-saving sensibility to the milkman’s murder, which has more suspects and clues than are entirely necessary in a killing this obvious.  The milkman, Johnny Curdle IV, had left many an empty bottle under many a bed in town, and some of the local gents (all lunatic alcoholics and bear hunters) got wise, and it looks like one of them did him in.

 

Or did they?  Beefswellus Cod heard rumors that Curdle was tied up with some kind of illegal importing of Burmese dairy products, and those tough Asian bastards were coming to collect their due.  He also heard that the haberdasher, Henry Blox, had a terrific argument with Curdle at the Slippery Liver the Friday before about what the birthmark on his wife Euclid Blox’s left thigh resembles.

 

Horrigan has the solution to the crime immediately, but to indulge his mystery obsessed girlfriend, the bookish but by all accounts stunningly hot Miss Pageturner, he goes through all the suspects and facts and speculation and puddles of milk and banana peels until the culprit is revealed.  Horrigan strings this little caper along like he strings along his long suffering, mind-shatteringly sexy librarian mate.  In future books, we see their relationship progress incrementally, with never any variance, until finally they are wed in book twelve, 14 Carat Carrots. 

 

This is clearly the best idea I’ve ever had, and I hope to have a good rough draft in the publisher’s hands by next Wednesday.  Wish me luck!

The Oscar Winners of Tomorrow!

This will be a slightly different post than my seven loyal readers are used to here at K.U.  Nary a mention of misspelled tornadoes or unborn babies will crack the entirely serious list I’m going to lay on you here.  Just thought I’d preface what follows with this disclamer. 

As some of you may know, I’m kind of into the Oscars.  I like movies, and the other movie awards out there are kind of crap, let’s face it.  The Golden Globes?  Garbage!  People’s Choice?  Worthless!  MTV Movie Awards?  Horrible!  So while the Academy Awards are largely self-congratulatory nonsense, they are the best thing going, that gets aired on television anyway.   I like hearing what the critics choose in their various groups in December, but until they start airing them on TV with pointless dance routines accompanying, they will not get the same attention from this guy.

So a few years ago, after pouring over some lists and plumbing the depths of my memory, I came up with a list of actors and actresses who had never won but I figured would win an Oscar in the next eight years.  I thought this would make for an interesting study of the awards and how well they can be predicted, as I think I know a little bit about them.  Well, over the course of the last two awards shows now, three of those folks have won, two just the other night.  Kate Winslet, who I had at #1 on the original list, finally got hers, as did Heath Ledger (the list made well before he died), who was somewhat further down.  The third, and the one I was most proud of at the time, was last year’s Best Supporting Actor, Javier Bardem, who your average person had never heard of before No Country For Old Men.  He wasn’t high on my list, but he was there, and I felt good about myself.

So, for future purposes of feeling good about myself, and to document for good and all whether there is anything to this, I’m reordering and placing the revised list here for all to see and judge.  The only stipulation to the list is that people on it have never won an acting Oscar.  I’ve tried to include a number of people who have never been nominated either, just to add to the amazement if they actually do (it is your job to be amazed!  Be ready!). 

Just for laughs, at the bottom, see an abbreviated list of people I don’t see ever winning, or even being nominated, without being too ridiculous.  I mean, Paris Hilton isn’t getting nominated for an Oscar, but I mean real actors, er, movie stars.  If they do get nominated somehow down the road, we can all heap shame on this guy for calling it the other way.

So here we go, by the time I’m elected President in 2016, these are the people I’m giving the best odds to have Oscar statuettes on their desks, their mantles, or holding open their bathroom doors.

1) Will Smith – Now, I’m not saying he’s the most talented person in this group, or the most deserving, but he wants an Oscar really, really bad, and he’s the biggest star in the world.  They want to give him an Oscar.  He’s been nominated twice, both for decent performances, but the time wasn’t right.  It doesn’t hurt that he can act, and has his choice of projects.  I would say he’s as near to a sure thing as there is.

2) Keira Knightley – I hate Keira Knightley, and yet somehow she’s getting roles and has been nominated once already.  She’s only 23.  She likes period pieces.  I’d say she’ll get an Oscar by the time she’s 30 for sure, God help us.

3) Paul Giamatti – It’s borderline outrageous he’s only been nominated once, and for Cinderella Man, which most people don’t remember he was in, never mind that he hasn’t won.  Had John Adams been a big screen film, this wouldn’t be an issue, but nonetheless, this will no doubt be remedied sooner than later.

4) Johnny Depp – Despite his history of taking quirky roles and playing them in eccentric, bizarre ways, Depp also manages to score award nominations and critical acclaim, not just big paychecks.  Sure, the nomination was the award for Pirates of the Caribbean, but the fact that he makes Finding Neverland and Sweeney Todd show range away from the purely weird (okay, Sweeney is pretty odd).  He’s a huge star.  They like to give Oscars to stars.  He’s popular.  He can act. 

5) Laura Linney – Everything said above about Giamatti for John Adams goes double for Linney.  She’s been nominated three times without winning, and consistently turns in strong work with interesting characters. 

6) Leonardo DiCaprio – Even though it seems he has trouble getting himself nominated for big films (The Departed, Titanic, etc.) he still gets in Oscar type films.  He’s been nominated a couple times, and he’s not going away anytime soon.  It’s inevitable.

7) Naomi Watts – She’s beautiful.  She’s Australian.  She’s great in heavy drama (nominated too!).  She’s great acting against a CGI ape (Kong!).  She gets the roles.  She pulls it off.  I think she gets an Oscar.  As long as she doesn’t make more CGI ape movies.

8. Edward Norton – Despite not being nominated in the past ten years, Norton is still considered one of the best actors working today.  If he’d just stop making silly action/suspense movies and get back to drama, he’d have an Oscar in no time.

9) Julianne Moore – Now that Winslet’s off the board, you’ve got to wonder when Moore will get her Oscar.  She’s been nominated four times, and looked like a sure thing a few years back.  Her turn out of quality films has let up a bit, but the talent is there, and you’d think the next time she’s in the mix, she’s got it.

10) Ed Harris – Should’ve won already.  Four nominations.  Works a lot. Makes his own films, too.  Someday it’ll be his day.

11) Amy Adams – She looked like a one hit wonder when nominated for little indie no one saw Junebug a few years back, but she’s turned herself into a bona fide movie star, and got herself nominated again this year for Doubt.  She’s good in comedy and drama, and if her star continues to rise, I don’t see why she wouldn’t win.

12) Jeff Bridges – The Dude can do pretty much anything.  He’s been in the mix a couple times, playing everything from an alien (Starman) to the President (The Contender).  Sooner or later, that perfect Oscar role will come along.  Maybe, God willing, The Big Lebowski 2: The Dude Abides.

13) Natalie Portman – Star Wars maybe has overshadowed her acting career a bit, but she’s still popular (Hayden Christensen, anyone?) and she’s been nominated once already.  She’s clearly got the talent, and she’s still young. 

14) Robert Downey Jr. – A few years ago I would’ve thought it unimaginable that Downey could be in this discussion, but now he’s A list with all the talent and cred in the world.  Had he kept it together in 90s he’d have an Oscar or two already.  Now it’s time to play catch up.

15) Samantha Morton – Serious dramatic actress, but she can also play for laughs, even if she does it less frequently.  She might need to make slightly bigger Hollywood type movies to get to the top prize, but either way the sheer force of her ability could carry her there.

16) Brad Pitt – Come on, is there any real question now that Pitt will win an Oscar?  I know, he’s more or less Brad Pitt in everything, but you can see the guy’s got the chops for it.  Nominated twice over the last two decades, huge movie star, choice of parts. 

17) Emily Blunt – You ever see someone in a film, even in a limited role, and think that this person just arrived?  That they are going to be a star and a major player in the years to come?  That’s Emily Blunt. She’s never been nominated, and has only appeared in a handful of films, but mark my words, they’ll be calling her name out before long.

18) Mark Ruffalo – Also in the never nominated group, but somewhat more known, is Ruffalo, who is just yet to get the right role.  He’s been strong in a number of prestige films (Zodiac, Reservation Road, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind), but has yet to get the recognition.  It’s coming.

19) Matt Damon – Before he was a full on action star, Damon was turning in great dramatic performances without kicking asses, in Good Will Hunting and The Talented Mr. Ripley.  He still mixes and matches his genres, and pops up in period dramas as well as comedies and adventures.  He’s a huge star.  Oscars go to huge stars often.

20) Michelle Williams – If you told me ten years ago that one girl from Dawson’s Creek would marry the biggest movie star in the world and the other would be on my shortlist to someday win an Oscar, I wouldn’t have been able to tell you which is which, or explain how pigs could now all of a sudden fly.  But that’s what I think.  Williams was nominated for Brokeback Mountain. She pops up in all manner of character and leading roles. 

21) Anne Hathaway – I never, ever would have thought Hathaway could do what she did in Rachel Getting Married.  If she comes back to these type of heavy drama roles in the future, there’s no reason she shouldn’t win many awards.

22) John C. Reilly – A tremendous character actor who does comedy as well if not better than drama.  As long as he doesn’t get too lost doing laughers, he’ll always have a shot at an Oscar.  Unfortunately, Walk Hard was overlooked by the Academy.  I love Dewey Cox.

23) Maggie Gyllenhaal – Never nominated, but incredibly talented, Gyllenhaal appears in the smallest of indies to the second highest grossing movie ever made.  She got range and seems to choose roles (for the most part) wisely.

24) Ryan Gosling – Didn’t think much of Gosling initially (who could, watching The Notebook) but man, what this guy did in Half Nelson was nothing short of amazing.  Should be a real presence at awards shows for years to come.

25) Tom Wilkinson – Remember everything I said about Giamatti and Linney in John Adams? Best throw Wilkinson in there too.  This guy can do seemingly anything, playing heavies to playing politicians to playing lunatics, or all at once.  Nominated twice, works constantly. 

26) Joan Allen – Multiple nominee, but did recently appear in Death Race, so it’s hard to figure out what she’s thinking.  Talent, yes, decision making, questionable.

27) Jude Law – Most just see him as sort of a pretty boy British douche, yet he’s got two acting nods, and pops up in tons of films.  The possibility is better than average.

28) Liam Neeson – How about Neeson has only been nominated once!  For Schindler’s List, and that was it!  If Spielberg’s Abe Lincoln film ever gets off the ground, Neeson could be looking at a return to the big show.  If not then, sometime in the future this guy should get his due.

29) Emily Watson – Maybe she makes too many indie, British films, which might hold her back, but the talent is there.  Breaking the Waves, Hilary and Jackie, The Water Horse.  Okay, maybe not The Water Horse.

30) Ralph Fiennes – Should have won for the greatest Nazi portrayal ever in Schindler, but has only picked up one nod since, and that was some thirteen years ago.  Too many Potter films maybe?  But really, it’s a shame he doesn’t get more Academy recognition. 

31) Bryce Dallas Howard – Still on her way up, never nominated, makes a lot of big budget films, but showed real ability in HBO’s As You Like It.  Ron’s her father.  Oscars in the bloodstream.

32) Cameron Diaz – The only reason for her inclusion, besides being a big star - Being John Malkovich.  Remember her in Malkovich?  Why doesn’t she ever stretch like that?  Stop with the romantic comedies and the dancing around in your underwear!  Win awards!

33) Viggo Mortensen – The former King of Men was nominated once for a movie virtually no one saw, but it proved he can do something post-Middle Earth.  He gets top flight acting heavy parts.  He’s intense. 

34) Toni Collette – She’s Australian, plays a wide variety of roles, was nominated once, pops up in parts of random size, and is now doing television.  Everything but the last one above points toward strong Oscar potential down the road.

35) Tom Cruise – It sure looks less likely these days than it did even five years ago, but you can’t completely rule it out.  Should’ve won for Magnolia. Made Born on the Fourth of July a little too early in his career, or he’d have won for that.  He’s still a huge star, even if he’s a complete nutcase.

36) Bill Murray – It sure looked like he was making a concentrated effort at winning an Oscar a few years back.  Was snubbed for Rushmore and Hamlet.  Nominated but lost for Lost in Translation.  Everyone ignored Broken Flowers.  Seems to have slowed since, but if the desire is still there, I’d bet he can get over the hump.

37) Don Cheadle – Great in everything, finally snagged a nom a few years back for Hotel Rwanda, maybe blends into ensemble films too much to stand out and get awarded.  But makes for an engaging lead, and gets roles.  Had HBO’s The Rat Pack been a theater film, he’d have won already.

38) Annette Bening – Sure looked like she’d crawl through Hell for an Oscar in years past, hasn’t been too relevant of late.  Perhaps she’s waiting for the opportunity to get beat out by Hilary Swank again.  It’s her M.O.

40) William H. Macy – Has a similar affliction as Cheadle – disappears into roles in big cast films.  Aids the overall tremendously, but doesn’t stand out, rarely plays leads.  Nonetheless, he’s a tremendous actor, great in comedy and drama.

41) John Malkovich – Hasn’t been nominated in fifteen years!  Why?  Was completely robbed for Being John Malkovich, where he came so close to garnering the big prize for playing himself, something I doubt anyone will ever do.  What sense is there in a world where Malkovich hasn’t won an Oscar yet?  Come on!

42) Glenn Close – Okay, maybe she’s a television actress now for all intents and purposes, but Close was a five time nominee in a span of seven years in the 80s.  Hasn’t been given a nod since.  What happened?  Where have you gone, Glenn Close?  Come back to a theater near us!

Now, you may be tempted to say, “Sure, if you list enough people, you’re bound to hit a couple over the next eight years.”  That’s true.  But look at how many people win multiple times, or come out of complete obscurity to eat up nominations.  Be more impressed!  Or don’t!

And now, people who will never get nominated, and never win, according to this guy.

Jada Pinkett Smith – Does she even act anymore?  Nonetheless, the Brad/Angelina style double nominations won’t be happening for the Smith family anytime in the near future.

Drew Barrymore – Does anything sound more outrageous than “Academy Award nominee Drew Barrymore?”  What possible role is Drew going to stretch into to get her near an Oscar?  I can’t even fathom.

Hugh Jackman – Hosting the Oscars is essentially the kiss of death as far as ever contending for one is concerned.  This fact, coupled with his terrible film choices (Wolverine notwithstanding), trump all the talent the man has, which seems considerable.

Jim Carrey – I add him because I think if he was going to get nominated it would have happened already.  Clearly the Academy cannot get the visions of Carrey talking out of his butt out of their heads.  Should have been nominated for The Truman Show and Man on the Moon.  I don’t think he’ll bother with these kind of roles again, so I think his Oscar chances are gone.

Ben Affleck – Really, is there any debate about this?  Sure, he’s been okay in things from time to time, but not often enough, and his focus thankfully seems to have turned to directing.

Beyonce – Hey, Jennifer Hudson won an Oscar, against all logic, and Queen Latifah and Marky Mark have been nominated,  so I think it’s fair to include Beyonce, who seems to consider herself an actress, even if no one else is buying.  It will never, never, never happen.

Ryan Phillippe – Phillippe’s actually been in a Best Picture winner (Crash) and another film nominated for the big prize (Gosford Park), but he wasn’t acknowledged unsurprisingly, and I can’t imagine he ever will be.  Lots of wooden, monotone work getting done here.

And here are some people who have been nominated, and some who’ve won, who will never repeat their astounding feats: Kate Hudson, Rosie Perez, Roberto Benigni, Jennifer Hudson, Dan Aykroyd, Kevin Costner, the way things are going – Joaquin Phoenix, Geena Davis, Michael Clarke Duncan, Kim Basinger, Cuba Gooding Jr., Jennifer Tilly, and Melanie Griffith.

In the Morning

“Let me tell you, Alex Rodriguez needs to make a sincere apo-“

*SNOOZE*

“I’m trying to go with that, ‘Do I think, do I not think’ and –“

*SNOOZE*

“ – since the beginning of the season that UConn is the most tal-“

*SNOOZE*

“Save big money at Menard’s –“

*SNOOZE*

“I think Illinois could end up as high as a three or even a two seed come Selection Sun-“

*CLICK*

 

6:47. Shit.  I’ve got to be at work by 8.  Dammit.  It’s an hour and a half from stepping out of bed to punching in.  I know that.  It’s always the same, depending on the train, but it’s always pretty much the same.  Okay, okay, yesterday I did the whole thing in an hour twelve, but I got lucky with the train.  Can’t rely on that.

 

Wow, check out the lint in here?  How does that happen?  Whether I wear a shirt to bed or not, lint!  Ridiculous!  And I wasn’t wearing a shirt that color.  How is that the color of the lint in there?  I wonder if I shaved the hair around my belly button if I’d get less lint.  But then maybe I’d get more, as the prickly regrowing hairs might…wow, I can’t get a temperature worth a damn happening here.  Doesn’t matter, gotta keep going, gotta get there by 8.

 

I should shave.  No time.  Can’t shave.  But I really should shave.  I look like hell.  I’ve got some meeting today about…something.  Culture?  Some workplace thing.  I don’t know why.  I don’t know how I got picked for this thing.  But I can’t show up all unshaven and messy.  But I don’t have time.  Can’t shave.  Gotta wear contacts then.  The contacts will balance the not shaving.  If I wear my glasses I’ll look like a bum. 

 

What is wrong with these contacts?  Gah!  Maybe they need to get rinsed off.  No Rub solution my ass.  Gah!  Still hurts!  This is terrible.  Can’t wear glasses, though.  Can’t have glasses and not shave.  I’ll look like hell.  Gah!  I can’t get them to lay flat.  They’re all curving in on my eye.  Christ.  The hell with it, I’ll power through.  Better bring my glasses just in case.  I should buy an electric razor, that’d save time.  But then my neck will…wow, I was in the shower way too long.  Really need a clock for the bathroom.

 

7:20!  Shit!  It’s 45 minutes from locking the door to punching in.  Always.  Except if I get lucky on the train.  Should make a sandwich.  Otherwise I’ve got to buy lunch, that’s eight bucks right there.  No time to make a sandwich.  Gotta get to work by 8.  Dammit.  Okay, gotta remember to make a sandwich tonight for tomorrow so that’ll balance buying lunch today.  Shit.  Maybe I’ll just eat light at the buffet.  Delmonico’s is cheaper after 3.  Maybe I can wait til then.  Save two bucks per pound at the buffet.  But if I’m going to wait until three I might as well just wait until I get home.  I’ll be starving by then.  No, that won’t work.

 

“Okay dear, I’ll see you later.  Send messages.”

 

“Hrmmm, rmmmm, I miss you…”

 

“I miss you too, dear.”

 

*HUMIDIFIER OFF*

 

“Hrmm, rmmm, mmm, I love you…”

 

“Love you too, dear.”

 

It’s 38 degrees outside.  Is that too warm for the coat and the hoodie?  What if it’s raining?  Gotta bring an umbrella.  Scarf?  In 38 degrees?  Is it too warm for a scarf?  Scarf and no hoodie.  That’s the answer.  Gloves.  Gotta bring gloves.  Raining!  Dammit! 

 

Christ, wind.  Colder than I thought.  Still, I think I’m sweating from the scarf.  No hoodie was a good idea.  I wish I lived at Marina City.  Commute would be five minutes.  I could wake up at 7:30, make a sandwich, shower, read the Red Eye before strolling over to work.  Dammit.  We’ve gotta move.

 

“GoodmorningfreeRedEye?”

 

I miss the old Red Eye guy.  He was always having a good time and a “Good morning, people!” and “Happy Friday!”  This guy sucks.  Never taking a Red Eye from him.  Can’t read it at work anymore anyway.  Dammit.

 

Wow, why don’t you just stand right in front of the turnstiles not going through, that’s a great idea.  Ass.  Come on, come on.  Which way is that train heading?  Sounds like it’s coming from…I can’t tell.  They all sound the same right underneath.  I’m missing that train.  Please be going north.  Please north.  I don’t want to just miss the southbound train.  Come on, come on.  Wow, take your time, guy, Jesus.

 

Red line!  Excellent!  And it’s only…7:45?!  Shit!  Not good!  Still, caught the train, pulled right in as I came up the steps.  Great.  Great great great.

 

“Welcome aboard Red Line run 912.  North and Clybourn is next.  Doors open on the right at North and Clybourn.”

 

North and Clybourn.  What a shithole.  Makes we wanna pu…wow, gloomy today.  Everyone looks gloomy too.  Some people with no coats!  It’s not that warm!  Christ!  I wish the Purple Line was faster.  Underground on the way to work is depressing somehow.  Getting the view of the city much better.  Stupid slow Purple Line.

 

And…underground.  Miserable. To North and Clybourn.  Even worse.  Bleecch.

 

“This is North and Clybourn.  Doors closing. Clark and Division is next.  Doors open on the left at Clark and Division.”

 

Depressed now.  Everyone looks depressed.  What is she reading?  Can’t tell.  Blue cover.  Doesn’t look serious.  Probably some silly girl book about empowerment or shopping.  Stupid.  Who is Chris Brown?  On the back of the Red Eye that guy is reading.  I have no idea.  Why is it a big deal what Chris Brown does?  I’m getting old.

 

“This is Clark and Division.  Doors closing. Chicago and State is next.  Doors open on the right at Chicago and State.”

 

Wow my feet hurt.  No seats at this time ever.  That’s fine, I probably wouldn’t sit anyway, but man my feet hurt.  Can’t keep a balance.  Everything on the right foot when the train is moving.  Trying not to hit this lady sitting down behind me with my bag.  But if I put it in front of me I’ll hit this girl sitting here.  Why do I even carry this bag?  Oh, right, the emergency umbrella, in case it’s not raining when I leave the house but rains when I leave work.  I hate getting rained on.  You know where that wouldn’t be an issue?  Marina City.  It’s three blocks from work and made of windows.  No effective windows at our current place.

 

“This is Chicago and State.  Doors closing. Grand and State is next.  Doors open on the right at Grand and State. Thank you for riding the CTA Red Line.”

 

Grand.  When are they ever going to finish Grand?  That place has looked like hell since I moved here.  All plywood and spray paint, Grand.  Terrible work, Chicago.  What time is it?  Can’t reach my phone.  I’ll just check the clock when I turn the corner onto Wacker.  I’m gonna be late.  Shit.

 

“This is Grand and State.  Doors closing. Lake is next. –“

 

Finally.

 

“Doors open on the left at Lake. Transfer to Orange, Green, Pink, Purple, and Brown Line Trains at Lake.”

 

Okay, get near the door.  I can get to the escalator and up quick if I’m ahead of some of these people when the doors open.  Get near the door.  What was that book?  She was reading The Lovely Bones.  Not as chick lit as I though, but still, kind of. 

 

*DOORS OPEN*

 

Come on, come on, come on, come on, come on, come on.  Stand right!  Stand right!  Why aren’t we moving?  This isn’t a ride, goddammit!  Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.

 

Still raining!  Dammit!  Umbrella.  This cheap ass umbrella.  I think this is the one I stole from that guy at the Bulls game.  Mine’s the same, but his still seems cheaper somehow.  Stupid guy.  Stupid umbrella.  Stupid Chicago.  Can’t wait to get back on the train to go home.

 

I’m gonna be late.  What time is it?  What time is it?  Come on, Wacker. 

 

7:56!  I might make it!  It’s eight minutes from seeing the clock on Wacker to punching in, but that depends on the light at Michigan.  If I can get the crosswalk I might be able to do it.  Come on, come on.  Try not to kill me with that umbrella, lady.  If I swung this umbrella in anyone’s direction it would shatter into pieces.  Cheap umbrella.

 

I’m not making that light.  Shit.  I’m not running for it.  Even if I did I don’t think I’d make it.  Sucks.  8:03, 8:04 by the time I punch in.  I was close.  They can’t really fault me for that.  Sure, I should’ve got out of bed earlier, but still.  I can’t believe I’m this guy, having to rush to work.  Last job I’d roll in 8:30, 9.  Once I got there at 10:40.  I didn’t care.  I don’t care about this job.  Why am I rushing?  What difference does it make?  I’m not losing this job.  I’ll be fine.  The hell with it, I should stop for coffee.

 

No, no, let’s not get carried away.  Three minutes late isn’t ten minutes late.  Plus, I’ll sweat my balls off in Dunkin Donuts.  It’s always a thousand degrees in there, never mind now that I’m already sweating and wearing a scarf and running late.  No, no, let’s just get there.

 

Ten people on the elevator, everyone stopping on 13 through 18.  Gotta get to 19.  Wow.  Some luck.  This is looking like 8:06.  Sucks.  That’s pushing the quarter hour.  Sort of.  After 8:08 I always feel I should just wait.  But I was supposed to be there at 8 today.  This is terrible.  I’m going to get fired.  No I’m not.

 

Badge, wand in, door, carpet, cubes, “Good morning,” “Hi,” login.

 

8:05.  That’s not so bad.  I’ll be out by 4:35.  I can live with that.

 

I hate this job.

Reckoning Day Has Arrived for Santa and Rudolph

Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer is very average.  Yes, I’m talking about the Rankin/ Bass, claymation Rudolph, with Hermie the aspiring dentist elf and Yukon the man mountain prospector and the Abominable Snow Monster and all that jazz.  It’s really average.  Heck, I’d be tempted to go so far as to say it’s not terribly good at all, if it weren’t for Burl Ives as the snowman narrator and the fun songs.  But the work as a whole?  Not the best.

 

Now, hold on a second, before you go darting away from this blasphemy, hear me out.  The main problem when tackling any subject so famed and beloved is that a) everyone has already seen it, so no one is really reading your review to decide whether or not they should watch it and b) for the most part, everyone has seen it a thousand times, and thus lost any objectivity toward the subject.  So step back for a second and imagine this is the first time you’re hearing this story.  Take the song out of the equation as well, and just focus on this cracked tale of the North Pole.

 

Rudolph is born to the flying reindeer Donner, and is instantly considered a freak, because of his shining light bulb of a nose.  Only his mother doesn’t seem to mind when first seeing it, because she’s his mother, obviously.  Santa Claus, beloved by children the world over, actively hopes this “situation” clears up as he gets older.  Donner scrapes some muck off the cave floor and slaps it over Rudolph’s offensive proboscis.  End opening.

 

Let’s pause here a second and review this bizarre intro.  No where in the song does it say Rudolph’s parents or his future employer (the nicest man in the world, mind you) were biased against him at birth. Both are ashamed and embarrassed by Rudolph, Santa through his words, and Donner through his actions.  Sure, this sets up the opportunity for the characters to change, but we’re talking about a jerk reindeer and a saint.  Keep that in mind as we continue.

 

So Rudolph’s vibrant nose problem doesn’t go away as he gets older, and he attends reindeer tryouts/practice wearing his goofy, false, mud schnozz.  He meets another reindeer kid, Fireball, and they pal around, Rudolph doing well with the flying, impressing the tail fur off the does, and everything is looking good.  That is, until his fake nose falls off, with Santa again present, and everyone loses their minds.

 

Reindeer kids start making fun, as per the song, but the adult reindeer teaching them, Comet, excludes Rudolph from further reindeer games, not the other children.  The song has a childish bent to it to begin with – all of the other reindeer used to laugh and call him names, they wouldn’t let poor Rudolph join in any reindeer games – so this is the catchall that allows Comet to join in with the bullying.  How’s that a message for the children watching?

Sure, friendly enough now

 

 

 

Still worse, this self centered, pig headed, borderline racist Santa Claus tells Donner he should be ashamed for covering up Rudolph’s nose, not in some supportive way of the kid being different, but that it deceives everyone else.  He even says “He had a nice takeoff too,” in regards to his flying, as though the shiny nose made any difference!

 

Keep in mind, we’re not talking about a different species here. Rudolph is a reindeer, so I suppose it’s not so much racism as basic ignorance and lack of accepting anyone who is different.  Am I making too big a deal of this?  I think not.  You can say “But look at how the story ends!  Everyone comes around and is redeemed!”  To which I say “Phooey!”  Why do they have to redeem Santa Claus?!  Is it the idea that as you get older you lose the belief in St. Nick’s existence, so therefore you are capable of believing anything about him?  Including that he’s only concerned with the execution of his job and that he’s not open to people or things that are a little different?  Not vastly different, again, not a different species, but just slightly different?  Sure, it’s for dramatic purposes, but it’s mighty disturbing.

 

Okay, okay, so Rudolph is now essentially ostracized from the entire North Pole community.  This hot chick deer he’s making eyes at is still into him despite his nose, but her father, another adult reindeer, completely disapproves, and forbids her to see this red nosed punk again.  She dutifully obeys, which teaches kids to listen to their parents I guess, but it also undermines everything she tells Rudolph up until that point.  She’s gone, and Rudolph then meets Hermie.

 

Outcasts!

Again, bear with me on this, but seriously, what is the big deal with the elf who wants to be a dentist?  Rudolph wants to be a flying reindeer, he aspires to the job he’s born to do.  Hermie apparently is the first elf in the history of the elf world that doesn’t want to make toys.  This is what we’re led to believe?  You’re telling me Santa is ageless beyond imagination, he’s got this troop of sweatshop elves cranking out toy trucks and ping pong paddles, and none of them ever had a problem with it before?  All they do is sing songs and paint figurines all day every day from birth to the Elf Cemetery?  And what kind of argument does this story make?  Again, Hermie should be ashamed of denying his basic desires and goals in life.  Conformity.  Slightly different from Rudolph, but still the same ugly head reared in the name of being exactly the same.  Again, you can say “But what about the ending!  Everyone is redeemed and accepts them for who they are!”  To which I say “Phooey!”  What kind of psychotic, single-minded, Big Brother society are these elves toiling under where any deviation isn’t tolerated?  A society run by this degenerate Santa Claus, that’s what!

 

 

 

 

 

Okay, I’m trying not to get too carried away here, I’m sorry, but nonetheless, you have to admit I’ve got a point.  The characters are either fascist, racist, ignorant, or imbeciles – I’ll get to Yukon in a minute.  This is what has been established by the first half of the picture.  The snowman, who will ultimately die as a puddle, is the only warm, comforting presence to guide us through this opening.

 

You root for Rudolph and Hermie and they set out to…do what?  Nothing.  They’re going to be independent together.  Well that’s just great.  Now things are really looking up for the individualists in the story.  They’re wandering around the arctic doing their own thing, without a friend in the world except each other.  Touching, but barbaric, no?

Colossal Dumbass

 

 

 

This complete idiot prospector, Yukon, who drags his sled dogs around and licks his ice pick in hopes of discovering silver and gold, comes across these two hiding ostrich style in a snow bank, and then they join in with this wacky homeless crackpot.  And, of course, because there isn’t enough adversity, they get menaced by this giant cross between a polar bear and King Kong, the Bumble Snow Monster, or the Abominable Snow Monster of the North (which implies there are similar directional monsters in China, the U.S., and Rio as well). 

 

As with most monsters, the Abominable is stupid to the point of lunacy, and not altogether too brute.  He can’t swim, a point that Yukon knows before we discover it, and yet the Abominable jumps in the freezing sea after them.  We find out that without his teeth he’s completely harmless.  Does that make sense?  This giant monster, that could stomp and destroy the group of them in the cave at the end, is completely neutered by his lack of teeth, and then driven over a cliff.  What what what?!?

 

But I’m getting ahead of myself.  There are plentiful other issues in this middle section of the story.  Primary among them is the entire Island of Misfit Toys, its existence, the characters on it, and its flying lion leader, King Moonracer.  Cute idea?  Sure.  Necessary to the plot?  Sort of.  Fits right in with the already established views of Santa Claus and this society?  Absolutely.  If anything, this is worse than everything that’s led up to it.

 

You see, the Island is the halfway house for unwanted toys, which are basically a bundle of paradoxes and mutants.  The concept of this Island is again based on this vile Santa Claus, who figured that no child would want to play with these improper, “different” toys.  You can infer this much from the fact that the toys are there at all.  There’s no toy factory on the Island, pumping out these monstrosities, so they must have come from the at-least-somewhat-nearby North Pole.  Which means they were tossed aside by the big man himself as inadequate. 

 

Literally racing the moon? Moron!

So this flying lion, which is apparently the only non-toy on the Island of Misfit Toys (apparently proving and adapting the adage about the one eyed man in the land of the blind), runs this place, yet has no interaction with Santa, because he asks the outcasts from Christmastown to talk to the big guy about these sad sack toys.

 

 

 

 

 

My biggest problem with the misfit toys, though, is that half of them don’t appear all that different from normal toys, which implies a more vast conspiracy of intolerance than it first seems.  Charlie in a Box’s only problem is that his name is Charlie.  He didn’t make himself, so it is unlikely he chose his own name.  He looks the same as other Jack in the Boxes, yet he’s on this Island, because someone named him Charlie.  The doll that hangs around singing with the Charlie and the Elephant with malaria doesn’t seem to have any real defect at all.  The train only has square wheels on the caboose!  That’s enough to land yourself on an Island with a bird who swims?!  Night and day!  Black and white!  This Island is basically a concentration camp, pure and simple.

 

Again, I’m trying not to get too carried away, don’t be offended, please.  I’m just trying to point out how bizarre this film is, considering its prestige and popularity, and how bewildering it is that it is accepted as a holiday classic.  People get up in arms about the use of the word “retard” in Tropic Thunder, or more recently by Saturday Night Live’s joking at the expense of New York’s legally blind governor.  Yet, this film, which takes abusing people for being different to a whole other extreme, is perfectly fine for the whole family every December just because everyone is redeemed in the end?

 

And let’s talk about this redemption for a second, shall we?  When Rudolph gets back, he finds his parents plus that sexy doe gone looking for him.  Santa Claus tells him this, saying they’d been gone for months.  He follows it up by saying he’s very worried.  Just when you’re about to think this Santa has a heart, he says he’s worried because “Christmas is just two days off,” and without Donner the sleigh won’t fly.  What a egomaniac, loathsome jerk this Santa is!  That’s what he’s worried about?!  With the Abominable Whatnot roaming around plus the frigid temperature?  For months, this pack of deer has been looking for Rudolph, and their safety barely registers to Santa?  Why would they even want to go back upon finding out about this nugget of concern?

 

But in the end, yes, Santa realizes he was wrong, the elves realize they were wrong and could use some good dental care, Yukon inexplicably survives his moronic move of tackling the Abominable over the cliff (because “Bumbles bounce!” Give me a break), and teaches the monster to put a star on a tree.  After which I guess it just stands in the corner taking coats and drink orders, right?

 

It is just fortunate that everyone survives, or Santa and the elves and the other reindeer coming around to the idea that different is okay would seem like too little too late.  The Bumble’s eating venison by the pound and Santa would be stuck home watching the A Christmas Story marathon like the rest of us on Christmas Eve.

 

So where are the positives in this morally bankrupt tale?  Well, the vocal performances are good, the songs are fun, the day is saved in the end, and it provides the opportunity for the right ambitious screenwriter to craft a prequel explaining how The Island of Misfit Toys came about.  Was King Moonracer so aghast at this soulless, heartless Claus that he fled Christmastown, to start his rehab center for depressed playthings?  Did Moonracer build himself that castle?  Was it there to begin with?  If so, did he have to fight some kind of war to conquer the island?  If not, why would he build himself such a lavish palace?  How is he a king, anyway?  Is he from a race of flying lions?  Were they all royalty?  If so, how did he end up babysitting a bunch of crybaby freak toys?

Thank God for this lump

 

 

 

But I digress.  There are things to enjoy, superficially, in Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.  Burl Ives is magnificent, and the end moral is that everyone is equal despite their minor differences, abilities, or interests.  And isn’t that the kind of message of acceptance and love that should be shared at the holidays?

 

It’s just done better in a lot of other places. 

A Letter From My Unborn Child

Written in direct response to my earlier Letter to My Unborn Child.

Dear Sir,

I have received your recent letter, and while it was nice to hear from you finally needless to say I’m somewhat taken aback at your tone.  I have to decry your attitude towards me, your still unconceived offspring, and toward parenthood in general, as being surprisingly awful and offensive.  Any plans I may have had for a life as your child are now officially, indefinitely on hold.  I’ve refunded my ticket on the Womb Express, and have cancelled my massive binky order from Binkys N Things.

So maybe your letter wasn’t written with the intention of wanting me to come popping out of a vagina and into your waiting arms, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings, does it?  You think just because you don’t want me it gives you license to treat me with such abuse?  What kind of way is that for an adult to behave?  What sort of productive member of society must you be?  I shudder to think.

Let me sketch out my idea of your future, O exalted father.  Your brazenly harsh and ignorant attitude toward fatherhood ultimately drives away any female companionship you may have somehow secured, and you go on to live a long, long lonely life, watching your friends scorn and shun you as they have many joyous years with their children and you have to make do with your own sorry, wretched, mothball smelling self in your old age.  Ultimately you die wealthy but poor in spirit and alone, with only the bare walls around you to hear your last words, which will probably be something about how you should’ve eaten less pork sausage.

How’s that sound?  Barrel of yuks that, huh? Looking forward to retirement now, are you?  Listen, I’m not trying to be cruel.  You’ve made your thoughts clear to me, and I just wanted to respond in kind.  You think I’d want to stumble into living now knowing I’ve got you as a role model?  As a provider?  As an acquaintance of any sort?  I could only hope to suffer the joys of crib death, providing you haven’t decided to toss me on the mercy of the state for my upbringing.

Any future correspondence from you will be sent to my solicitor.  Please do not bother contacting me again, as I have no interest in continuing this inter-dimensional, phantasmagorical conversation any longer.  Let me close by saying I may have been a Nobel Prize winner someday, I may have been the first person to walk on Venus, I may have been President someday, given the lax qualifications it now requires, but thankfully neither of us will ever know.  I hope you secretly live near nuclear waste and go sterile for humanity’s sake.

Yours in perpetuity,

Junior

The Candidate Interviewed by the Authoring Auctioneer

John Savo, the force of nature responsible for The Authoring Auctioneer, has been a likeable acquaintance of mine for some time, and an unlikeable one even longer.  We grew up together in the mines, unearthing coal in the PA tunnels and owing our souls to the company store like many generations before us.  Somewhere along the way, this guy got blogging and drinking enough to qualify as middle class, and next thing you know he’s spending more time in Olyphant than is recommended for one’s health and calling it a life.  Strange, I know.  Recently, he contacted me with hopes of conducting an interview regarding my rousing campaign for the Presidency in 2016.  After many consultations with my legal team (i.e. my girlfriend and my lunatic upstairs neighbor), I agreed.

 

: Your day-job involves processing insurance claims.  This is your first qualifiction to be President of these United States.

 

: Nothing prepares you to sympathize with the plight of the common man like working in medical insurance. I suppose it would be better to be an oil man?  Or a golddigger?  Not that I’m against golddigging – fine sport, really.  But really, besides education, money, real world experience, poise, and a zest for young interns, what do politicians have?  Nothing that you don’t find in your average claims processor.  Let’s not discount the years I spent working in the mall either, slick.  That’s real f*ckin’ life right there.

: Oh… See, you felt the need to spin that in a positive way.  I meant that working as an insurance claims adjuster helped your qualifications to be President because you’ve had a lot of practice screwing people.

 

: Ah, I see where you were heading, and it’s true.  Also I spent a fair amount of time in whorehouses.  Not as a customer, mind you, just as that broke guy hanging around the whorehouse, waiting for scraps.  And again, not referring to the whores, just scraps of whatever meatball sub someone happened to be eating pre or post coitus.

: Well, I’ve known you a long time.  I know that you’re an honest man.  In fact, sometimes you’re too honest.  So, honestly, why do you want to be President?

 

: Why do I want to be President?  Honestly?  Commander in Chief?  Leader of the free world?  How many blatantly obvious answers are there to that?  I mean, seriously, outside of having that nuclear war phone and being able to throw ass kicking keggers in the Lincoln Bedroom whenever I damn well please, I need something else?  Why do I want to be President?  I don’t think it’s an issue of must.  I think more than anything, given the bizarre tastes of the American public, the country deserves me as President.  I won’t fail to entertain.  And that’s pretty much what it’s all about.

: So.  You would find a thrill with “having the nuclear war phone.”  Would you ever order a pre-emptive nuclear strike?  And against whom?

 

: Well, I think it depends on the word “pre-emptive.”  If it literally means before we are affronted in any way, then no.  But I mean, if Canada is off running their mouth about how their healthcare is awesome compared to ours, and that they’ve got better looking women and sidewalks, well, those may just be fighting words.  But if we nuke them, we risk contaminating ourselves.  Hmm.  Okay maybe not Canada.

But let’s say that Kim Jong Il clown gets it into his head to take a piss on this guy and kick the Statue of Liberty in the nuts.  Well, I wouldn’t hesistate to light up another hemisphere like it was the goddamn Fourth of July, I tell you what!  In fact, if we could time it so that we did nuke Korea on the glorious 4th, what better way would there be to celebrate?  American might displayed in a globally patriotic way!

: Would you use your power for personal vendettas?  And if yes, against whom?

 

 

: Absolutely, without question, because anyone I’ve got a vendetta against has it coming.  Plus it would no doubt benefit America to have those folks suffer.  Who in particular?  I’m not sure, exactly.  Give me an example of someone and I’ll let you know if they’re in line for my wrath.

: Well, what about me?  I’m sure you owe me at least a kick in the nuts.

 

 

: Many times over!  But as you’re helping to promote the campaign, and may end up in the cabinet, I can’t yet say that you’ll be a target of the cleansing that may or may not be on the drawing board as we speak.

 

: Really?  I may end up in the cabinet?  Which position?  Secretary of…

 

 

: Mere details, Savo.  I was leaning toward the Treasury, so then I’m assured of getting my paycheck on time, which can be a hassle as the top dog, I imagine.  But now I’m thinking, even though it’s not technically a cabinet post, you should definitely head up the ATF.  Nothing says Savo like a little drinking, smoking, and shooting.  How’s that sound?

: Oh… I was hoping I could be Secretary of Whores and Porn…

: Well we can always create a little something like that for you.  Maybe we should just move the White House to Vegas while we’re at it.

 

: Ah, Vegas… Sin City.  Speaking of sin, what is your religious affiliation and how would it affect your policies, decisions, and Supreme Court appointments?

 

: Well strictly speaking I’m Catholic – Roman Catholic, not any of that other nonsense – but since I began writing my Bible Sequel, I haven’t been able to connect with the religious groups terribly well, and the death threats are just an added hassle to an already complicated campaign.  But in reality I don’t think this will have any serious impact on how I run the country.  And I’ve already made plans for the potential openings on the Supreme Court during my administration.  I think the first guy I’m pushing forward will undoubtedly be Judge Wapner, because that guy was awesome as shit.  Of course, in 2017, Wapner will be damn near 100 years old, if he’s even still alive then, so I may have to resort to my second choice, Judge Reinhold.

: As President, what would be your first order of business?

 

 

: Well, I made some promises right after deciding to first run, so my first order of business may seem a hair odd, considering the state of the union.  Honestly though, come 2017 who the hell knows what’ll be important to the American people?  Hopefully it will be addressed by my first act in office – making sure there is a Taco Bell within walking distance of every man, woman, and child in this great nation. Again, this was part of the initial agreement made when the candidacy was proclaimed.  It also included free pie for everyone voting for this guy, so that should negatively impact the national debt as well.  My bad.  We’ll bounce back from that though once we tax the living shit out of things like Blue Moon, men’s gymnastics, and Shia LeBeouf movies – things I don’t much care for, I mean.

: I like Blue Moon.  If you’re going to tax a beer, it should be Coors Light or your favorite from your underage days: Milwaukee’s Best Ice.

 

: If I’m gonna tax a beer it’s going to be one that requires f*cking fruit to drink.  Blue Moon rides the top of that shitty list, let me tell you.  Oh, but those horrific college beers will get the hammer as well.  Why not tax Beast and Natty Ice and Keystone Light?  Those college kids aren’t footing the bill.  Loans, baby!

: Will you continue to blog if you win the White House?

 

 

: Hard to say, really.  I may be so drunk with power (and so drunk literally with bathtub gin) that I may not be able to form complete sentences.  I may blog about the occasional tidbit of gossip I receive concerning the Chinese ambassador’s predilection for underage tail, or something like that.  But really, after eight years of blogs about this campaign, I’ve got a feeling the public with appreciate the reprieve.

: Can we expect you to have an illicit affair with a young woman (or man) while you are in office?

 

: If this was 1999, I’d say emphatically yes.  It would be part of my campaign actually.  But nowadays, no.  I’ve got this terrific girlfriend, who is also on the short list to be my running mate, so there will be no illicit affairs in a Cetta White House.  That’s partly why I’m going to insist my cabinet is made up of questionable deviants, whose deplorable behavior will hopefully distract from the bizarre policies I enact.  Any suggestions?  Who do you think would make a decent Secretary of War?  I was leaning toward Yosemite Sam.

: Hmm.  I would suggest Stewie Griffin or Dexter.  They both have excellent laboratories.

 

 

: Ah, excellent!  This cabinet is really coming together!  We put a nice varnish on it we can shill this baby to the public no problem!

 

: Yes, but wouldn’t putting such people in your cabinet–including myself–just frighten people?  Your latest campaign poster, the one with the tornados, is a new twist on scare tactics.  (Pun intended.)  Will you continue to use fear to bolster your administration should you be president?  Come on, be honest! You’re going to pull a Palpatine.  Once you’re in there, you’ll claim yourself emperor, disband the other branches of government, and find some young apprentice.

: You’re wrong on a few counts, but you’re heading in the right general direction.  First off, an emperor isn’t what I’ve got in mind.  That’s giving one schmoe too much power, and too impressive a title, all at the same time.  No, I think it’s about time we get a monarchy rolling in this country instead, and I think there’s no better guy for the crown than King Goat Ass the First, or as I’ll be known popularly – King Goatius Primus Maximus.  Secondly, I’m not planning on setting this country up for the day when I’m not in charge.  We’ll be disbanding and tossing out some old institutions and customs (like the two term president law, for example), but I will not support, endorse, or encourage anyone to try and follow the dog and pony show I’m gonna put on.

As for the general use of fear in the campaign, I think it is just a more overt version of what you constantly see from candidates.  Whether Obama claims McCain will bring more of the same old Washington politics with him to the White House, or McCain claims “I can’t find my pills,” it’s all scare tactics.  I just want people to know where I stand.  And the answer is, I stand against things that can and will kill them if given the chance.  Tornadoes and white bread are all I’ve got on the list so far, but we’ll be adding to it shortly.

: Okay, so then what do you feel is the greatest threat to America?  Certainly, it can’t be white bread. 

 

: I would say the list of threats, as I currently draw it up goes something like this:

5) Korea – which is clearly on the back burner now that we’ve got -
4) Iran to worry about.
3) White bread – still no day at the beach.
2) Gypsy moths – They must be stopped at all costs.
1) Two and a Half Men – this shit has to be taken off the air immediately if we are to have any hope of surviving as a civilization.  I promise that if in 2017 when i take office this garbage is in the middle of its 14th season, the armed forces will immediately take over the CBS network and rend it asunder.  Campaign promise right there!

: Well, unfortunately, Two and a Half Men is the funniest show on regular network TV.  Except for Family Guy.  Oh yeah, and American Dad.  Oh right… Even the Simpsons are still funnier…

Anyway… Speaking of the armed forces… If the war in the Middle East is still raging on if and when you take office… How will you bring it to an end?

: I would have no intention of bringing the war to an end.  If it is somehow still going all those years from now, then I’d feel our time there was over and pull everyone out.  Do I have an obligation to continue what was started two or three presidents ago at that point?  Do I owe the region something?  I would say not.  So I’ll just pull up stakes, pack the humvees, and beat it the hell out of that nightmare.  Let them sort it out.  Sure, it may just turn out like Vietnam after that, but really, enough is enough.  I don’t honestly believe it’ll still be going on at that point, but I suppose anything is possible.

: So are you pro war or anti war?  A hawk or a chicken?  Chunky or creamy?

 

 

: Depends on the war, old socks.  I mean, if it’s a general question you ask anyone, then I’d have to say answering Pro War makes you borderline psychotic.  Who’s Pro War just out of principle?  That’s ridiculous.  But, if there’s a good reason, sure.  Coming back to my earlier point, if as a world leader I get personally offended by another world leader’s comments regarding my personal hygiene or my grandfather and his wooden leg, then we may have to invade.  But, there has to be a good reason.  This current war doesn’t have that, even if there is some element of revenge involved, and revenge is almost enough in most cases.

: You contradict yourself every chance you get. Can we expect such double talk with you as President?

 

: You absolutely can.  That’s what makes America great.  Taking the ability to give it straight to the people, and then being able to change one’s mind and opinions, mid-sentence if need be.  That’s what the founding fathers would have wanted.

 

: Do you have any preliminary choices for VP?

 

 

: I’ve got some folks in mind, but I am not prepared to announce that at this time.  Mainly because none of them will return my phone calls.

 

: Well, it’s plain to see that this interview is going nowhere and I’d like to apologize to anyone who has read this far.  Anything else you’d like to add before we wrap it up?

 

: I would like to apologize as well, and I promise that if elected I won’t do any more interviews by blog.  I also won’t sing in public.  Campaign promise. Thank you for your time, America.  And thank you for your grammar, Savo.

###

For more information about my campaign for the 2016 Presidency of the United States, please see:

 The Initial Annoucement

The First Updates from the Campaign Trail!

The First Campaign Poster

Our Evolving Platform

The Last Good Day for This Haircut

Well, I’ve reached it.  This is the end.  I’ve run with it as long as I can, and now I’m here.  This is the last good day for this haircut.  As hair tends to do, its been growing the last few weeks and has now destroyed what was originally constructed on my head by the Korean lady at Supercuts.  Yep, it’s pretty much through.  From here onward it’s an inevitability that I’ll just have to get it cut again, and in the meantime I’ll be trying to just make it look passable.  Good is out of the question.

Cause really, even if I wanted to redesign myself as some manner of shaggy long hair, there would be a pretty severe learning curve while I determined how the hell exactly to make that scheme function on this old head.  I ain’t no Giuseppe Franco, I tell you what.  Even in the first week or two after visiting with shears I still have days where I don’t know what the Christ is happening up there.  It’s all over the place, and getting thinner, so my follicle problems are multifold most days.

I think it stems back to the one time I shaved my head, a good five years back now.  It was a Saturday night and my plans for the evening fell apart at the last minute.  So instead of killing time as was my custom in 2003 (Colt 45 and Shannon Tweed movies), I looked in the mirror decided I should try to fix what was happening scalpwise.  Hell, I thought, my dexterity and skill can’t be any less than a Korean lady. 

So I pulled out the clippers, snapped on an attachment that looked plenty long enough to leave me still well coiffed, and commenced the attack.  it went pretty well for about a minute.

See, I wasn’t looking in the mirror as I hacked away at the afro I’d developed.  My apartment at the time had a carpeted bathroom for some reason, so I was half in the tub shaving away so as to make clean up easier.  It was only once I stopped for a breather that I checked out the mane in the mirror and was surprised to find that the attachment I’d been using wasn’t remotely as long as I thought it was.

Halfway to bald, I decided I couldn’t very well leave this punk hairdo as it was, especially considering I’d recently gotten a role in a local production of Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest(a decidedly un-punk role at that), so the rest of it had to go.  When I showed up at the read-through looking remarkably different than when I’d auditioned for John Worthing, let’s just say the production team wasn’t entirely pleased.  The term “Shit Hemorrhage” comes to mind, even though I don’t know anyone who uses this colorful phrase besides my old man.

Ever since then my hair has grown in all manner of peculiar.  It lays in all different directions, sticks up intermittently like Alfalfa, rejects the best efforts of mousses and gels, and makes a general nuisance of itself.  I mean, I’m a guy, after all.  How much fretting over my goddamn hair should I have to do?  I’m not bald yet, I shouldn’t have to spend all this time and effort in an epic struggle with what I’ve got hanging on up there!  Not fair, life!  Not fair!

So haircut times are nice because at least most of the directional issues get solved when it’s short.  But not anymore.  Not after today.  This is the end of the line.  We’ve come to the close of yet another chapter in the tale of my silly ass hair.  Gonna have to try to keep it inoffensive until I get a chance to head back to the Supercuts.  It’s not gonna be easy. 

Life.  Don’t even talk to me about life.

Rejected Titles for My New Book

With 85,000 words down and only 10,000 or so to go, I figured it was time to start throwing out titles for the new book, just to see what the brass thought.  The last one went through dozens of names before we (mostly) agreed on The Sunshine Man, even though in retrospect something more appealing to the public should probably have been sought.  I say this as I still have two thousand copies of Sunshine sitting in a garage I rent out for the purpose in Wyalusing, PA.  If you want one, just go grab it.  I leave the padlock undone on purpose, so there’s no need to call the cops.  Take as many as you like.

 

Anyway, this book naming business has long been my Achilles’ heel, and as this new book doesn’t have a snappy character or town name that immediately would lend itself to front the tale, I’ve had to go through a great many volleys with the people at Histrionic Press, my publisher.  Here is where we’ve been so far:

 

It started out simply as:

 

There’s a minor character in the book who’s former Navy that factors into the framework stunningly in the third act.  My agent said it would give the wrong impression, as it is also the name of a sexual position.

 

So I changed it to:

 

They said this was too nautical, and also had similar sexual connotation, which seemed to them inappropriate for my novel largely set in a day care center in Topeka.

 

Abandoning the admiral’s involvement, I tried:

 

“This is stupid,” my agent told me.  The publisher never saw this option at all.

 

Next up:

 

This went over better, even if it sounds a bit flowery and pretentiously vague.  I’d almost convinced everyone why this fit (which was a masterpiece of doubletalk and horseshit on my part) when it was discovered that this was the name of a Joni Mitchell album from the 70s, so it was pulled off the table.

 

The book then became:

 

The president of Histrionics, Samuel Millsberg, said this title sounded like “something Dickens pissed out in his sleep.”  I never did quite get that, but it led me smoothly to the next title option:

 

 

The publisher never saw this either.

 

I then tossed them:

 

This was rejected out of hand as narcissistic and moronic.

 

New option:

 

No one could understand this one, and I couldn’t explain it.

 

 

Even though one of the characters does refer to himself this way once in the book, my editor thought it wasn’t a strong enough reason to put it on the cover.

 

 

Again, went over okay, until it was found this too was the name of a Joni Mitchell album.  I pulled a list of her records off the internet for personal reference after this second mistake.

 

Finally I hit on one everyone could agree with:

 

Problem is this wasn’t something I pitched, it was my description of a silly ass cooking show I’d just seen on The Food Channel, and my agent thought it fit.  I fired that asshole, and so had to start over pitching the old titles at the new agent.

 

So I figure maybe I’ll just wait until it’s done and then look for a phrase in my Keats or Milton that seems somewhat applicable.  That’s a reliable plan of action, if a bit tedious, as you are required to read a lot of Keats and Milton to do it.  Any thoughts?  Suggestions?  I realize you haven’t read the manuscript (and don’t ask to, you reader’s copy gathering scum), but any input would be helpful.

 

 

As for me, back to the Smith Corona!

The Life of J. Flagler Brownstone

The following is our first attempt in short form biography here at K.U., to later be used to prove non-fiction crafting ability, secure employment for the author, and then lord it over lesser biographers who couldn’t do either of the previous.

The Brownstone homestead in Sandusky

On a balmy day in May with the clocks all striking fourteen, the toddler J. Flagler Brownstone took his first step, off the family porch in Sandusky, Ohio, and broke his leg in two places.  This wouldn’t heal properly, due to the lackluster medical attention of his live-in besotted uncle Manfred Poxx, and would ultimately give Brownstone his trademark limp.  It would also allow him to wield a sword cane with great dexterity from his childhood on, a skill that would come in particularly handy when he had to kill his uncle many years later.

As a gimpy lad, J. Flags – as his family would call him – had few friends and no athletic ability.  A sickly child, he would spend most summers in the family attic, befriending spiders and building them homes out of toilet paper tubes and sardine tins.  This worried his mother, the once beautiful Loretta Poxx Brownstone, who would encourage her son to hobble down to the schoolyard and join in the merriment.  After a half dozen beatings and countless more jibes and taunts, Little Flag – as his Aunt Candy would call him – would instead go to the wharf and listen with glee at bathroom doors to the sailors’ defecations.

This led to young Brownstone’s first job, as cabin boy on a garbage merchant’s barge on Lake Erie.  He enjoyed immensely the general abuse and squalor prevalent on the ship, and would later consider it some of the happy times of his youth.  His parents, unaware of their son’s absence for nearly seven months, tracked him down on the Lilac Dutchman and brought him home, unhappy with his gallavanting, and with the many trash shanties he would now sing incessantly.

Having experienced the worlds of rubbish trafficking and arachnid housing, Flagy Browny – as his drunk uncle Dr. Poxx would slur at him – decided he’d had enough of school and dropped out.  He began selling homemade recipes for nail polish and flapjacks off the back of his tricycle at flea markets throughout the region.  He was arrested, naturally, after his customers confused the recipes and were poisoned.  His father, a dignified prick named Johannes Brownstone, thought his seven-year-old son needed some toughening up, and so left him in jail for five long years.

Momo and his posse

It was here, in Erie County Prison, that JFB – as his cellmate Tony would coo at him – learned to read, to write, to do laundry, to do squat thrusts, and to perform one-legged jumping jacks.  While in county, Brownstone also received his first pair of spectacles, tattooed directly onto his face by the skilled hands of Momo the Ink Giver, leader of the Cracklin’ Rose prison gang.

Once someone took notice, the charges against J. Flagler Brownstone were dropped and he was released.  The fact that he’d spent half a decade behind bars, with adults, for little more than a misunderstanding seemed harsh, but you must remember, Ohio was a harsh place in those days.  He was now approaching thirteen years of age, and had lived a life filled with more knife fights and buggery than most men twice his age.  He knew it was time he made his place in the world.  His abilities and interests were varied and peculiar, but he knew that he was destined for great things, and set out to establish himself in the firmament of history.

This post-tween Brownstone attempted invention after invention to no avail, ultimately scaling back his ambitions so that he just worked to improve what already existed.  When this too failed, he tried to sell what other people invented, usually without their knowing, and finally he passed himself off as these people, at which he was horribly inept.  Flat on his back from the punches and whippings of the wronged parties, the now mostly adult Brownstone swore to go the straight and narrow, providing there was glory and vast riches on this strange course of integrity.

Some of the Brownstone wives, at a reunion in Toledo

During these lean years of trial and error and trial and acquittal, Mr. Brownstone began the other great pursuit of his life – women.  He had a tendency to marry often and badly, always ending up considerably poorer for the experience.  He had a lust for the tall and the thin and the round and the short and the busty, and they all knew he was good for free meals and eventual alimony.  The whorish calvalcade of broads who would call themselves Mrs. Brownstones could fill another short form biography by themselves, so we will here offer a simple summation – JFB’s wives were not ideally chosen or quickly enough disposed of.

It was in the midst of one of these nauseating courtships that J. Flaccid Browneye – as his classless second wife Pinky called him – got the inkling that would grow the mighty ink.  He was in the process of intricately cutting a chicken breast while being fellated when a jet of blood from a heretofore unseen vein in the meat splattered him and his obseqious damsel.

Mixing amorous and dining adventures as he enjoyed doing, Brownstone found this event decidedly unappetizing in both ventures.  His lady was grossed out so as to halt and discontinue her involvement with his member, plus the chicken was now rather vile and messy.  And then a bolt of lightning struck Brownstone’s imagination, and head, right through the window.

As he recovered, he drew up diagrams for what would become his hands free chicken de-veining apparatus, known the world over thanks to the ubiquitous infomercials as the Flagstoner.  There had been instruments that could rip veins and tendons from beef and chicken before, but the Flagstoner had two distinct advantages.  The first was its patented computerized, automatic, self-cleaning, three-blade design, so that it would cut up the evening entree while you were sexing the missus to your heart’s content.  The other was that it could also be used to neuter cats and dogs, a feature that Brownstone insisted trying out on all his wives’ animals.

It was a massive success, especially after being featured on The Price is Right one whole season.  J. Sexy Studpants – as many erotic letters to him from admiring female fans were addressed – was now living the good life at long last, having made his name in the world.  Nothing could stop him from achieving the total happiness he so deserved.

Home Sweet Home

But of course, tragedy struck.  His beloved parents, who reacquainted with him after he became fabulously wealthy, were killed by his deranged uncle Manfred, who Flagstoned them to death with the popular device.  J. Flagler arrived too late to save them, but just in time to eviscerate his uncle by way of sword cane.  He was promptly sent back to prison, despite his wealth and his uncle’s heinous crime, where he languished for another five years.  His current wife predictably divorced him, and his multitude of children from these many marriages jointly agreed not to visit, even though they all sent postcards in hopes of retaining some inheritance.

Three days ago, J. Flailing Millstone – as the press has dubbed him – was released from his second stint in Erie County Prison.  He is now slightly past middle age, mostly unrecognizable for his many yard fight shiv wounds, and more than a little twisted by the events of his life.  Still, he has been called by some (in the free newspapers, largely) “the most important inventor of our time,” and “one of the great unproven humanitarians to ever live.”

Still, this short biography only tells the mundane events of the man’s life thus far.  We didn’t touch on his warped politics, his bizarre recreational endeavors, his basic temperment and personality, and only very slightly delved into his awesome perversions.  Even after this look at the entirety of the man’s life, it’s as though we still don’t know him at all.

Great Moments in Death Pool History

Since its inception the Death Pool has been one of the world’s most popular sporting events.  Celebrity deaths are as much a staple of sporting life in history as the discus, the marathon, and the New Orleans Hornets. They have the ability to bring people together in sorrow, but also in thrilling elation when your team grabs the points for a recent corpse and contends for the DPE championship trophy, the Tin Mickey cup.  There are have been controversies (Team Baguette owner Charles Guiteau assassinating President Garfield in 1881 comes to mind), but by and large the DPE has been riveting, enthralling, wholesome entertainment. 

Some of the most memorable moments in Pool history are reminisced over and argued about from generation to generation, at Christmas dinner, over a pint at the pub, in the bleachers at team stadiums around the globe, and everywhere in between.  Let’s look at some of those unforgettable moments and match ups now, shall we?

Heartbreak Hotel indeed!

One of the most dramatic seasons on record, 1977 was highlighted by the tremendous showdown that evolved in week 33.  Team Querulous had a commanding season lead going into their head-to-head match up with what had long been considered a novelty outfit, Team Wham-O, notorious for drafting irrationally, aiming for huge payouts by drafting celebrities unlikely to die, and thus they normally finished near the bottom of their division.  But, on Tuesday the 16^th of August,

The secret word was "Querulous"

Wham-O stunned the world with the death of the King, Elvis Presley, jumping them out to a strong lead, the first the team had this late in a season in over thirty years.  Not to be outdone, though, Querulous

bounced back on Friday, snaring points for comedy legend Groucho Marx, throwing the clubs into a dead heat.  Wham-O would score the week victory, their first ever against this opponent, but Querulous ultimately claimed the Cup with the deaths of Zero Mostel in September, and Charlie Chaplin icing the cake Christmas Day.

Suicide pact, maybe?

Like many early years of the DPE, 1826 was pretty light on scoring.  This is largely due to the fact that there weren’t many worldwide celebrities to choose from (the draft only went seven rounds back then), and so considerably fewer died than do today.  Going into the summer, Team Corpuscle was out in front, having claimed the one significant corpse in recent months – the German composer Carl Maria von Weber.  But then, on the fourth of July, archaic outfit Team Excessum exploded into first with the demise of the second President of the United States John Adams, as well as the third President Thomas Jefferson.  This ultimately would bring Excessum the Tin Mickey, after which the club changed its name to Team Foufa (for “Founding Fathers”).

After the strike shortened season of 1994, when all the dying picked up their IVs and walked off the job, there was debate whether the DPE could ever fully regain the public’s trust.  Like boxing and horse racing, the Death Pool was seen as a sport on the decline.  In 1997, with attendance sharply down, and the league operating heavily in the red for the third straight season, the number of teams contracted from 45 to 33, and many inside the

A couple of honeys in the morgue

sport worried that the death knell may have tolled.  It would take a major event, or a major showdown, to revive some life in the Death Pool.  As the summer of ‘97 wound down, attendance reached an all-time low.  For the first time since World War II the All-Star celebration hadn’t sold out, and the pennant race was remarkably uninteresting, with Team Rigor Mortis up by a bundle, having recently extended their lead with Robert Mitchum’s death July 1st.  But in the final hours of August came the grisly death that would reverse DPE fortunes, and indeed return the entire sport to prominence.  Team Precipice’s third round pick of Diana, Princess of Wales had seemed like a waste in the New Year’s draft, but her demise in that Paris tunnel turned the club from a middling also-ran to a powerhouse.  The worldwide grief was only eclipsed by the global Death Pool interest her death invoked, and suddenly the fans were back.  Precipice followed Diana with a strong second act - Mother Teresa in the grave six days later – and so the great Rigor Mortis/Precipice rivalry was born.

Poisoned, stabbed, shot, burned, eaten by peasants

It isn’t every season the DPE championship is decided in the final month, never mind the final week.  More times than not over the years the Thanksgiving front runner goes on to victory, due mainly to the number of teams and the comparatively small number of celebrity deaths.  But, 1916 was no ordinary year, I don’t need to tell you.  Going into the final days, scheduling had lucked out on a masterpiece of a head-to-head contest.  Team Chickory held a slight lead for the overall title on their final opponent, Blitzkrieg United.  Both had scored with authors (Henry James and Sholom Aleichem, respectively), and were the only legitimate contenders for the DPE Tin Mickey cup.  On the 28th, Chickory appeared to sew up the win on word that Edward Strauss, a lesser Strauss in the Strauss musical dynasty, had passed on.  Their somewhat obscure pick up now looked like a genius move.  Yes, the cup was practically filled with the traditional victory mutton leg, or so it seemed, but lo! The Blitzkrieg was not out of surprises!  The next day , with time on the calendar quickly running out, the news blared across loudspeakers at stadiums everywhere.  One of Blitzkrieg’s late round selections, whose name was only mildly known around the world at this point, had died, and died, and died.  His name?  Grigori Rasputin, the Mad Monk himself!  The result?  A stunning victory for Blitzkrieg United, and a thrilling ending to an incredible season!

This has been Great Moments in Death Pool History, sponsored by Camel cigarettes, the Ford motor company, and thanks to contributions from viewers like you!

Everything’s Coming Up Scranton!

Long a stronghold of mediocrity and disappointment, Scranton, Pennsylvania has recently enjoyed a resurgence of prominence, thanks regionally to the election of Bob Casey Jr. to the U.S. Senate, and nationally to the success of NBC’s sitcom The Office.  But now Scranton has a chance to really snatch the brass ring, as local boy Joe Biden has been selected as the Vice Presidential candidate on the Democratic ticket, and life virtually has ceased making sense for this guy.

The Vice President!  Of the United States of America!  All of them!  From Scranton!  I know, at first it seems an illogical and impossible concept.  Scranton?  That depressed town destroyed by the loss of coal as viable fuel? A place devoid of industry, culture and general respect?  More a punchline than virtually anywhere in the nation, besides Cleveland and New Jersey?  The home of the Pennsylvania Polka?  Scranton?!

It boggles my mind, and I’m very, very pro-Scranton, realize.  Up until now, the most prestigious individuals connected with the city are Pulitzer Prize winner and Academy Award nominee Jason Miller, who later in life became a raging alcoholic, dying in a bar downtown; Gerry McNamara, starting point guard for the 2003 NCAA basketball champion Syracuse Orange, who has gone on to play in Bakersfield, California and Europe; Michael Scott, who doesn’t really exist; and me, tentative front runner for President in 2016.

Future Veep?

And while he has always been noted as hailing from Scranton, Biden is naturally more connected with the state he represents in the Senate, Delaware.  Now, though, it’s time for Scranton to take full credit for the birth and early years for the potential Vice President.  I mean, what’s usually considered the most important time for developing a person into who they will ultimately be?  That’s right, their childhood!  Their formative years!  And where did the future (maybe) Vice President do all his diaper-wearing and thumb-sucking?  Scranton frickin’ PA, baby!  Back on the map, and still north of Wilkes-Barre!

Who the f*ck?

Really, though, I guess it shouldn’t be too surprising, Biden being chosen.  Not only is he the chairman of the Foreign Relations Committee, which gives Barack Obama more traction with voters critical of his lack of international experience, but he also hails from an area rich with heritage and culture and genealogy.  Besides that, the Vice President is historically considered a near non-entity in politics.  Remember Garret Hobart?  Charles Fairbanks?  Elbridge Gerry?  Nope.  The second in command is only significant it seems when they are connected to scandal – resignation (Spiro Agnew), murder (Aaron Burr), or shotgunning the face of friends (Dick Cheney).  So maybe a V.P. from Scranton isn’t so far fetched.  We as a whole are a nondescript, non-impact having people.

Now, if Biden someday is forced to take over the Presidency, I would have some concerns.  Not so much about the subsequent state of the country, but about the aerodynamics of swine and Satan’s frostbitten testicles.  It will be a bit too much for me to believe.

So rejoice, Scranton!  Not a punchline today, despite our greatest contribution being a more affordable place for people to retire than Florida!  Sure we’ve got more bars and funeral homes than anywhere else, but we also can take credit for the man directly underneath the juggernaut Obama!  We’ve shuffled off the image of being a bunch of downtrodden, ignorant drunks!  At least for now.

Hooray, Scranton!  And good luck, Biden!  You’ve given Scranton the most hope its had since the opening of the Mall at Steamtown back in ‘93!  Let’s hope you turn out slightly better!

Not the best