Time Magazine Makes Me Wanna Smoke Crack

July 10, 2009

I wonder how much money Sarah Palin threw at them for this giant butt-lick?

Let me be clear that I’m not criticizing the Hockey Mom here – just Time. Like it’s not bad enough their content has shrunk to Lilliputian sizes in recent months (giant blank margins are now a regular part of their layout) or that said content is often banal crap like “The History of Television” or the “Hey, Let’s Talk About FDR!” issue they put out a few weeks ago. Now Time is doing PR work for struggling poli-celebs.

That’s all that article amounts to, really. A large, flowery endorsement for SP in 2012. I mean, look – I watched that video of her resignation speech. Woman seemed like she was on her last nerve. I was anticipating another Budd Dwyer incident. Instead, she kept the swirl of emotion just below the surface. There were definitely visible waves. How anyone could report this story and not discuss Palin’s demeanor during her adios to Alaska is just insane. Unless they were paid to lick her butt.

Two other things about this article irritated me – inside the physical issue of Time, on the Editor’s page, there was a photo of the article’s author with Palin. Like, “OMG, look who I partied with!!” That’s just unnecessary. We know you met Sarah Palin. You wrote the goddamn story. Save that kinda bunk for your Facebook page. Also, the following line:

“If ever there has been a time to gamble on a flimsy résumé, ever a time for the ultimate outsider, this might be it.”

UM, I THOUGHT THAT’S WHAT WE JUST DID. WE JUST ELECTED A COMMUNITY ORGANIZER PRESIDENT. Not that I don’t like him. He seems like an alright guy so far. We haven’t been nuked yet, so he must be doing an acceptable job, right? At any rate, the only thing I remember anyone talking about before Obama’s election was how much of a “gamble” he was because of his “flimsy résumé” (community organizer? WTF is that?). That was the only issue the Right nailed Barry on. And you know what? Most Americans said, “Fuck it. Harry Truman made motherfucking hats for a living before he was President, and he was pretty damn good. So let’s go with the one whose life doesn’t resemble some sub-Lifetime reality show.”

So, yeah, I don’t know, maybe I’m just some kinda ignorant asshole over here, but I think championing Palin for the same thing everybody knocked Obama for is weaker than Don Knotts after an eight hour jerk session. And stop givin’ me this baloney about Palin being the “ultimate outsider.” Politically speaking, Rip Taylor is the ultimate outsider. If McCain had picked him as his running mate, the shit would have really hit the fan. Did you know Rip Taylor is GAY MAN??? Not only that – Rip Taylor WEARS A WIG and THROWS CONFETTI AT PEOPLE!! In some parts of this country, that’s way more controversial than shooting wolves from a helicopter.

Anyway, Time sucks lately, and I refuse to offer any kind of constructive criticism and/or solution because that’s not my job and it’s Friday and they ignored all those pleas for employment I sent them anyway. All I’m sayin’ is that if I were in charge, this week America would be reading a cover story that contemplates the artistic road that lies ahead for “Weird Al” Yankovic.

Fuck you, you know you’d read it!


Why Yes, I Did See That Crazy Superman In Times Square Yesterday

July 10, 2009

Talk to any pre-Giuliani New Yorker in this city about Times Square and nine times out of ten you’ll hear a bitter rant damning Corporate America for swooping in a decade ago and completely sanitizing the former seediest of seedy NYC areas. Heck, I remember taking a field trip into the city when I was but a lad and being totally awestruck by a billboard near 42nd & Broadway of some buck naked porn star (drenched in sweat and pure unadulterated lust) that had to be at least four stories tall. These days, the raciest thing in that whole area is the giant cartoon M&Ms that have no clothes on. The charm, as seemingly inappropriate as it was, is definitely gone.

Yes, my friends, the sleaze washed out of Times Square a long time ago, but you’re still liable to see something totally insane on any given day you go down there. Take yesterday, for example. I met up with my pal Ken Chino for lunch. We were just kind of killing time in front of his place of employment after we ate, which is near the corner of 40th & Broadway. An elderly Asian man was seated across the street playing one of those traditional Oriental instruments. A sea of tourists and normal business types surrounded us. For New York City, the scene was practically a bore.

Then Superman showed up. Not the real Superman, mind you, but Long-Haired Teenage Superman In Basketball Sneakers. He looked pretty scrawny, but the costume had those built-in muscles that always give the illusion of strength. In his left hand, a giant flagpole with a proud American Flag billowing from its top. In his right hand…was that a boom box? A purse? We couldn’t quite see. Long-Haired Teenage Superman was walking down the other side of the street with his head held high until he saw the Asian guy playing the thing (man, I wish I had paid more attention in Humanities class in college). Supes put all his junk down next to this musical gent and stood there for a second.

“Oh fuck,” I exclaimed. “I think we’re about to see a showdown. Superman is clearly issuing a challenge to that guy.”

“Maybe,” Ken replied cautiously. We didn’t know how far our voices carried.

Thankfully, there was no blood shed. Turns out Superman had stopped to merely reach in his pocket and fish out a coin for the elderly musician. Having supported the local scene, Superman gathered up all his shit and walked approximately four feet to a hot dog cart. There, he dropped all his belongings again and searched the Super Undies for more ducats.

There was a comic book shop a couple of blocks from where Ken and I were standing, so we just figured this Super Fool was out shaking hands and kissing babies for them. Still, I thought there was something very odd about this Last Son of Krypton. He definitely seemed like he was on something. I had bigger fish to fry yesterday, though, so Teenage Super Dork quickly washed to the back of my mind. I had completely forgotten about this cartoon encounter by the time I made it back to my apartment half an hour later.

This morning, I dialed up the Gothamist and was quickly reminded of Mr. Truth, Justice, & Performing In Public Without A License via this story. Turns out Supes was arrested sometime after I left Times Square yesterday following a scuffle with seven cops, during which he punched one in the face. That’s not the American way, you Krypton-loving bitch! Apparently this amateur hero had nothing to do with the comic shop Ken and I saw. Neither did the guy in the Batman costume who was also involved; that dude managed to avoid custody by using crafty tools like his Batarang (also, he didn’t punch any cops in the face).

According to a commenter in the above linked article, this isn’t the first time this Super Dweeb and Bat Weirdo have been spotted in the city. The two were seen “play fighting” in Bryant Park a couple of weeks ago. It’s official: this country’s in a depression.

And before any of my so-called “friends” mention this, yes, I did once dress up like Luke Skywalker and walk around downtown Orlando distributing flyers that advertised my website. HOWEVER, I was totally sober at the time, I didn’t assault anyone, and my costume was so awful that most people just thought I was some kind of karate guy. So the equation in my mind goes something like this:

JG2 costumed idiocy > Times Square Superman costumed idiocy

Stick that in your hunk of Kryptonite and smoke it.


If My Friend Tom Orr Made A Rap Album

July 9, 2009

This is what the cover would look like:

orrderinthacourt

Songs would include “Tom Orr (Ow!),” “Fielding Yost Can Suck My Balls,” and the inevitable club hit “Anyone Who Hasn’t Seen Terminator 2 Yet Is A Complete Loser.”

Yes, I realize this is one of those posts that only twelve six two people will think is funny. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, folks – I’m not into this blogging yazz for the LULZ. I’m in it for the diamonds. The gorgeous, breathtaking diamonds.

Respect to Tom Orr. Let there always be orr-der in tha court.


Crazy Ass Dream: Fake Founding Fathers

July 9, 2009

Last night, in one of the funnier dreams I’ve had lately, my friends and I were reenacting the signing of the Declaration of Independence. We weren’t doing it on a stage or in a park or anything like that; in fact, I’m fairly certain it was taking place in someone’s kitchen. Still, for some reason, we were trying to maintain an atmosphere of professionalism and dignity. I don’t remember which founding father I was playing, but my costume was very authentic and I made sure to speak in ye olde English.

So my friends and I were trading dialogue about the King of England and taxation without representation and all that bullshit when our pal Jim Rumpf suddenly blew into the room with the force of twelve hurricanes. Jim was dressed as Ben Franklin and seated in the most ridiculous-looking wicker wheelchair you can imagine. If this isn’t immediately hilarious to you, picture a guy who looks like a John Travolta stunt double (or just John Travolta) dressed as Ben Franklin and sitting in a giant garish wicker chair from your grandma’s house…only he’s attached wheels to it, and he’s riding it faster than Dale Earnhardt.

Anyway, Jim zoomed up to the table we were standing around at approximately 90 miles an hour, lost control of the chair, and tipped the thing over sideways. From this position (and with a look of steely passion and love for his country) Jim offered up some famous Ben Franklin block quote about life, liberty, and throwing tea into a harbor.

Naturally, we all started cracking up pretty bad and breaking character, which we didn’t want to do for some reason. Were we filming this shit for the History Channel? I have no idea. No damn idea.

Later in this same vision, I got into a fight with my dad about who the funniest member of our family is, which lead to the amazing quote, “My toenails are funnier than all you people.” Then I wandered the highway system in some major city with my friend Ben Ditzler.

Somewhere along the line, there was a large body of water.


MJ’s Ghost Spotted At Memorial Service!

July 7, 2009

CFeld

Oh wait, no, that’s just Corey Feldman.

The MJ blogging ends here. The only other thing I’m gonna say about Das King Der Pop is that he got away with naming two of his kids Prince. I can’t believe no one else ever caught that sly fuck you to his biggest musical rival from the 1980s. Like, “Oh, I just LOVE your music SO much, Prince, I’m gonna HONOR YOUR TALENT by naming my kids after you.” Cue snide giggles and maybe one or two guffaws.

I mean, come on, that’s kinda like Mozart naming his kids Salieri. Well, no, wait a minute – I feel like I’m shortchanging Prince a little with that one. Jacko would have had to name his kids after El DeBarge to be like Mozart naming his kids Salieri. I guess the reality is more like Dan Aykoryd naming his kids after Joel or Brian Doyle-Murray.

Does that work for ya? Brian Doyle-Aykoryd? Get back at me about that. I have to go wash all this MJ media coverage off my body.


MJ Memorial Service Haikus

July 7, 2009

John Mayer on stage
slow-jamming “Human Nature”
sexy funeral

Al Sharpton’s yelling
just broke everyone’s damn ears
bring it down a notch

MJ KFC?
leave to Magic Johnson
to bring the mad LULZ

the roses look fresh
shiny, Iron Man coffin
the real Iron Mike


Jacko’s Wacko Grape-Throwing On “Captain EO” Set

July 5, 2009

A few years ago, I wrote a book of humorous essays revolving around Star Wars fan culture entitled Star Wars Ruined My Life. I came this close to getting the thing into book stores, but then every interested publisher suddenly realized I wasn’t some super famous jack-off from the movies, TV, or the Internet. They then basically all told me to go “build an audience” and come back when I was a profitable commodity. Instead, I bought a gun and tried to shoot the President.

No, I’m kidding. I tried to “build an audience” by not leaving my house and eating ice cream all day, but that didn’t work. Fast forward to 6/25/09. Michael Jackson dies, and I remember that one chapter in Star Wars Ruined My Life extensively covered Jacko’s 3-D EPCOT attraction Captain EO (1986). You all remember that one. It had singing, dancing, puppets, and Anjelica Huston. On the whole, far more entertaining than that crap inside the giant golf ball OR Ellen’s Energy Adventure.

EO
Like Star Wars, but with more squealing and crotch-grabbing.

Captain EO was produced by George Lucas, who at the same time was burdened with the task of creating a separate Disney attraction based on his blockbuster Star Wars movies. Obviously EO, directed by George’s buddy Francis Ford Coppola, was of higher priority. That fact was punctuated sharply when the lackluster Star Wars ride, Star Tours, finally debuted at MGM Studios in 1987. The five minute zip around space with C-3PO, R2-D2, and some robot voiced by Pee Wee Herman was less exciting than some of the bathrooms in the park.

So I wrote this chapter that directly blamed the King of Pop for the suckiness of Star Tours. The whole EO project was his idea in the first place; since he was the almighty MJ, all he had to do was call a few people and that was enough to make everything else on the entire planet secondary. The original text I cobbled together makes it clear just how ridiculous Michael Jackson’s Seventeen Minute Intergalactic Third Tier Muppet Freak-Out was in terms of time and money:

Captain EO was one of the most expensive movies ever made, at one million dollars per minute of film. I know that doesn’t seem like a lot, especially when you consider the fact that 1997’s Titanic cost about 12 jillion dollars per nanosecond, but in 1986 seventeen million dollars was a lot of money. The highest-grossing movie of that year, Top Gun, was budgeted at $15 million, and they used real fighter jets and aircraft carriers in that one. Captain EO cost two million dollars more, and the majority of the cast was foam rubber. Plus, Captain EO was ninety-three minutes shorter than Top Gun! It was the 1980s, though, a time when money was thrown around like Styrofoam packing material, especially by people like Michael Jackson.”

EO dance
Aw, he did the same shit in “Thriller.”

Indeed, Captain EO was pricey. Yet, it was all up there on the screen, and the thing must have been popular. Disney didn’t remove EO from their parks entirely until 1997, long after MJ’s career had imploded and most people were afraid of leaving the guy alone with minors. That has to speak to the film’s quality, right? Tourists won’t put up with any ol’ kind of 3-D puppet-related crap, no matter HOW good that icy seventeen minutes of air conditioning feels. Then again, Disney replaced Captain EO with Honey, I Shrunk The Audience, a show based on a decade-old Rick Moranis franchise. Maybe they have no idea what they’re doing down there (and maybe all tourists are complete heat-exhausted idiots).

But I digress. I interviewed a handful of people who actually worked on EO for this chapter, but only one managed to provide me with the strange, funny, and sometimes sad background stories I craved as a gossip-hungry member of John Q. Public. That person was Terri Hardin, a Hollywood costume builder/sculptor who not only created creatures for EO but also portrayed two of its characters – Idy and Ody – and did stunts for Anjelica Huston. I didn’t include much of what Terri said in the original chapter because it didn’t seem all that relevant, but now her stories/insights prove to be most interesting (because, you know, Michael Jackson just died). Here now, some selected quotes from Terri about the Captain EO experience.

On working with Coppola:

“He always wears Bermuda shorts. He is so casual that the first time I met him I did not recognize him. This was good, because I handled myself well, instead of [acting like] a blubbering fan.

“Coppola had us improv. There I was, acting with Angelica Huston and Michael Jackson. In one scene we did, Angelica was the boss of a camp, Michael was the camp counselor, and we were the spoiled children. Francis [went] to Angelica and whispered, ‘you are going to fire Michael.’ And to Michael, he whispered, ‘You must get these kids to behave.’ And to the rest of us, the children, we were told not to behave under any circumstances.

“Well, Michael kept asking us to behave, and we just kept being brats. Then Angelica storms in, grabs Michael by the shirt, and literally lifts him off his feet and says, ‘You insignificant little worm – YOU’RE FIRED!’ She then throws him across the room. We rehearsed in large studio and the floors were slick; Michael slid a long way on his butt, and shuttered in fear. Real fear. After that, he would not go near Angelica. He was very frighted of her.”

anjelica
“Where’s that little shit Prince? I wanna throw him around, too.”

On working with MJ:

“Working with Michael was quite interesting. So many people loved this guy in ‘85. Not like today, where he is labeled as a freak. He had the mind of a twelve year old then, and I used to talk to him as I would a young boy. He loved to have grape fights in the morning. He would have a crate of grapes sent to his trailer every day just for this purpose.

“Michael also loved to play jokes on me, as I can be very gullible. His favorite was the rattlesnake egg joke. This is the one where you approach someone and tell them that you have just gotten some rattlesnake eggs sent to you and you hand your chosen victim the envelope. When they open it, there is a bobby pin with a rubber band and it makes a rattling sound and scares the crap out of your victim. I was always the victim. Michael would pull this prank again and again on me. As far as dancing or music, though, he was the master. Never had I seen such raw talent.

“[And he] could remember you name, no matter who you were. Once you had met him, he could call you by name from then on. Think of all the folks who have crossed his path. Amazing!”

On the kids from SpaceCamp being total dicks:

“On one occasion, the kids from that production walked over to Michael’s trailer and when he did not come out, they grabbed hold of it and began to shake it violently. Chucky, a security guard lent to Michael by Stevie Wonder, had to literally pull these assholes off the trailer. And these are supposed to be professionals.”

spacecampmovie
Every single one of these kids is an epic douchebag.

On Anjelica Huston’s star trip:

“When I first met Anjelica, she was an angry, demanding woman. She insisted she play the queen as well as the witch, and the girl who was to play the princess originally and be a love interest for Capt. EO was fired. You see, Angelica was up for an Academy Award, and the Disney folks really wanted her in the film.

“I thought that she could not really be this angry. So each day, I would open her trailer, say, ‘Morning, Angelica!’ and slam the door. I did this for about three days before she demanded I step inside. When she asked me what my problem was, I told her that I knew she could not be as angry as she seemed and that I felt she needed a smiling good morning to cheer her up. She laughed and we were friends from that day forward.

“It was Angelica who suggested me to stunt double her for the flying sequences as she would not do those.”

Interesting stuff, and nothing too freaky. Grape fights, LOL – way to waste food, you rich asshole. Guess that’s where all that money went. I wonder what Anjelica Huston has to say about her Captain EO experience. Would she own up to being such a mega-bitch at the start of the production? I don’t know, I’ve never even met her!

Just for the record, Terri also mentioned that no less than Sophia Loren and Babs Streisand were calling MJ on a daily basis during EO’s production and leaving him breathy, lovey-dovey messages. Also, Tony Cox (the little person from Bad Santa) played Hooter in EO, and there was apparently an incident one day where Cox almost passed out from heat exhaustion and no one did anything until Terri picked up Hooter’s head and threw it across the floor out of anger/disgust.

Lotta throwin’ on that movie! I guess that’s just how people communicate on film sets.

Another interesting note to end on: the kids from SpaceCamp got a karmic kick in the ass when their stupid little movie was forced to come out shortly after the Challenger explosion. The shuttle malfunction that befell Lea Thompson and wee Leaf Phoenix in the film was almost identical to the one that blew up the real rocket ship in January of 1986, claiming seven lives; moviegoers trying to forget the disaster stayed away in droves. So fuck you, Larry B. Scott and Kelly Preston, for fucking with Michael Jackson’s trailer!


A Clarification About My Father’s Gambling

July 4, 2009

Remember the Super Bowl post I wrote earlier this year that detailed the epic $10,000 bet my father placed on the Pittsburg Steelers in Super Bowl XIII? Well, it turns out I got the story wrong. During a recent visit with JG1, the old coot said the figure in question was a mere $3,000. He also pointed out that he actually lost that bet. Seems Pop put his money on the Cowboys for that game. Damn you, Terry Bradshaw.

Before you start feeling sorry for poor Papa Jimbo, please take into consideration the fact he netted an alleged $14,000 from a bet placed on a Monday Night game that took place a few weeks before the Super Bowl in question. Again, that’s not a typo – that’s FOURTEEN THOUSAND DOLLARS. One Four Comma Zero Zero Zero. This should tell you A) what kind of tax bracket JG1 was in at the time and B) why he’s on such a strict budget today (I don’t think he’s purchased anything “luxury items” outside beer, KFC, and cigarettes for years).

In fact, when JG1 was relaying this tall tale to me, he mentioned that when he met up with his bookie to collect after the Super Bowl, the bookie told him he threw an extra hundred dollars into his winnings.

“Why did you do that?” my father asked.

“Because you just had a son,” the bookie replied. “And at the rate you’re going, he’s never gonna make it to college.”

And here we are now. Not only did I make to college, I graduated, too! My father isn’t broke, the mob isn’t after him, and Terry Bradshaw currently looks like the monster in Young Frankenstein. I’d say all is right with the world.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I do not vouch for the complete accuracy of anything my father tells me. This is the same man who once claimed to have simultaneously been Elvis Presley’s stunt double and one of the Everly Brothers.


My Letter To Uncle Sam For America Day

July 4, 2009

Dear Top Hat,

Hello there, how are you? I am okay. It doesn’t really feel like Independence Day this year. That’s probably because it’s been raining so much. Do you hang out with God or Jesus ever? If you do, you should ask them to let us have some sunshine sometime before Halloween this year. That would be nice.

I have tried to be a very good boy this year and not say anything bad about America. I took very good care of my flag and blew kisses to the President every time he came on TV. Once or twice I forgot to say the Pledge of Allegiance, but only because I was sick or because a Lady GaGa song came on the radio.

For Independence Day this year, I would like lots of fireworks and John Phillips Sousa and a little bulldog dressed up like you. I would also like you to give Donny Osmond a hit record, force Megan Fox to stop talking, find the people who killed O.J. Simpson’s wife, make the Star Wars prequels better, and bring Doug Henning back from the dead for one day so he can do more magic.

Here is a picture of Franklin Roosevelt I drew for you. I hope you like it.

fdr2

Have fun and be careful visiting all the picnics and barbeques today. I LOVE YOU, UNCLE SAM!!!!

Love,

Jimmy G.

P.S. – My mommy said a swear yesterday, so don’t give her any war bonds.


About That Cracked Article

July 3, 2009

You know the one I’m talking about. RE: the awkward slavery joke – not defending it because I didn’t write it. That’s what happens when you’re a writer sometimes. Your bosses take your material and add awkward slavery jokes. I’m serious! Read the original script for “Roots” and you’ll see what I mean. That show was originally about a woman who owned a flower shop!

While I’m bitching here, there’s also a hard grammar fumble in the same paragraph as the slave joke that I had nothing to do with. My protests over this died in committee, but hey, it’s not the end of the world. I mean, it’s just one article. If I get shot tomorrow, I’ll still be mostly remembered for my role as “Boy Scout #2″ on “Mr. Belvedere.” Bob Uecker was like a second father to me.

In other news, Michael Jackson’s secret girlfriend was an industrial refrigerator and his children are holograms!