Potential Plot Lines For The New “ALF” Movie
Oh, you didn’t hear? ALF might come back, albeit not in pog form. Paul Fusco wants to mount a brand new feature film based around our favorite Melmacian. Why the hell not? They made a goddamn Battleship movie. Hey Paul, feel free to swipe one of the following ideas:
- ALF escapes his government captors and hides out in the furry community where he learns not every anthropomorphized wolf is as innocent as he or she seems
- ALF escapes his government captors and becomes America’s latest cryptid obsession after he’s videotaped rummaging through a 7-11 dumpster; fleeing to the woods of rural Virginia, ALF is shunned by the Bigfoot community until he brokers peace between the Sasquatches and a band of angry hunters
- ALF escapes his government captors and stows away on a flight to Korea where he is outraged to learn dog is an acceptable meal choice; passing himself off as a hyper-intelligent golden retriever, ALF campaigns for canine rights whilst trying to cover up his shameful appetite for cats
- ALF escapes his government captors and, using information he stole from FBI supercomputers, hacks numerous bank accounts connected to the rich and powerful; a month-long shopping spree ensues, eventually ending in a tense standoff outside a Sandusky Wal-Mart
- ALF escapes his government captors and is immediately hit by a car; the rest of the movie is an endless loop of that one episode where he lip synched that Bob Seger song
A.J. Confessore: 1969-2012
Anthony J. Confessore, better known to legions of heavy metal fans as bizarre fringe character C.C. Banana, died today at his New Jersey home of an apparent suicide. He was forty-three.
According to friends, Confessore had been struggling financially as of late, having invested greatly in a rock tribute album saluting plus-size women. The album, entitled Whole Lotta Love, features an array of ’80s rockers performing songs such as “Baby Got Back” and “Unskinny Bop.”
Whole Lotta Love was not proving as successful as Confessore hoped it would be, leaving him in the red. Matters became more dire when the Garden State native lost the home he shared with his mother; originally reported to be a foreclosure, several people close to the situation have come forward to explain that the house was actually sold without A.J.’s consent by other family members who were concerned for the elder Confessore’s own financial comfort.
Early this morning, Confessore posted a final statement to his Facebook page, which read in part: “Xanadu has been breached, my friends. Cry ‘Havoc!’ and let slip the vultures and jackals. No more past. No more future. Both have been taken away…It took just one year of Hell to undo a lifetime of hope. I am too lost to be found and too broken to be fixed. Let the Monday morning quarterbacking begin…”
Hailing from Nutley, New Jersey, Anthony J. Confessore was a dedicated heavy metal fanatic whose keen sense of humor birthed one of the genre’s most smirk-inducing characters, that of C.C. Banana. Conjured up in 2001 while en route to a Poison concert, the fruit-based mascot was initially created as a mockery of Poison guitarist C.C. DeVille’s decision to start charging fans (via sandwich board) for autographs, pictures, and handshakes.
“At some point [during that car ride] we began discussing the nonsense with C.C.,” Confessore later explained to Metal Sludge. “Apparently C.C. stands for ‘Currency Challenged?’ I looked in the back seat, and saw an enormous yellow fruit staring back at me. ‘Hey, wouldn’t it be funny if I wore the banana suit to the Poison concert?’ Lightbulbs go off over our heads. ‘Hey, wouldn’t it be funny if the banana had a sign, asking people to pay him for his autograph and pictures and stuff?’ Illumination with a brightness equivalent to the entire Poison stage lighting truss fills the car.”
DeVille and Confessore eventually crossed paths that night. Although the guitarist was initially perplexed by his fruit-based counterpart, DeVille eventually gave his blessing, peeking into Confessore’s face hole to say, “You’re pretty smart. I can tell.”
C.C. Banana would become something of a fixture at Tri-State area rock events in the early Aughts, teasing/snagging photo ops with such acts as Kiss, Jani Lane, Quiet Riot, and Twisted Sister. Outside of the hair n’ leather set, Confessore managed to get audiences with such pop culture luminaries as George Lucas and the late Gary Coleman (the Banana engaged Coleman in a lengthy, enlightening conversation about “Robotech”).
A graduate of NYU, A.J. Confessore went by “Tony” with many of his friends and was well-liked for his warmth, humor, and charm. As C.C. Banana, Confessore injected a great sense of mirth into a hoary old scene that otherwise seems to have difficulty laughing at itself. It’s so tragic that such mirth apparently vanished from his own life. The world’s missing someone hilarious now. We’ll never forget him, though, or his thousand-watt grin.
Rats off to ya, Banana Man.
Krusty The Clown Is A Bigger Jerk Than You Thought
This shocking Easter egg (click photo to embiggen) was spotted by my friend Chris P. in the recent “Simpsons” episode “A Totally Fun Thing Bart Will Never Do Again.” Guess Krusty’s still bitter he never got that spin-off.
My Roommate Bought Me A New Coffee Press
Our long national nightmare is over. Thanks, roommate.
Open Letter To My Coffee Press
Dear Coffee Press,
I am sorry I was not home Saturday night to protect you from my drunk roommate who picked you up and threw you against the wall to prove some kind of point about cleanliness. Had I known this would be your fate I would have brought you with me to Albany. Unfortunately, I’m not psychic. Now I have to bury you, something I never ever wanted to think about.
We had some good times together, coffee press. Remember the first cup of joe you made for my Empire Strikes Back mug? Remember that time I accidentally forgot to clean you and you got that mold beard? Man, what crazy times. I’m glad we got to share so many memories.
We’ll be together again one day. Until then, try not to begrudge my drunk roommate. He threw the dish towels once too, and even though they survived that tantrum they’ve never really been the same.
Your pal,
Jim
Unsolicited Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol Haiku Review
Mystery, intrigue
Tom Cruise’s insane hairpiece
better than Jaws 4.
Gratuitous Picture Of Myself On The Verge Of Total Sickness
Here I am in Paris in October of 2009, sitting in a pub, waiting for someone to bring me another Coca-Cola. The flimsy hoodie that’s zipped over my frame (K-Mart, $15) was the heaviest garment I brought with me. For some reason, I thought France would be agreeably warm so close to Halloween. I’m not sure why. Guess I really earned that C+ in tenth grade geography. October in France offers plenty of unbridled chilliness, and while I was visiting that chilliness was generally coupled with endlessly dreary rain-streaked skies. This photo captures me mere hours before the worst cold/flu of my life, which I helped nurture by staying up all night at a raucous dinner party where I was the token American who had to explain why Obama hadn’t fixed the world yet. Hey man, I don’t know, just pass me the embalming fluid so my corpse looks presentable for the plane ride home.
Hear Danzig’s Awesome Cover Of “Devil’s Angels”
From the forthcoming album of cover songs Glenn and his Get Fresh Crew have been working on. This song was originally performed by Davie Allan & the Arrows for the 1967 John Cassavetes film of the same name. On a scale of one to ten, I give this song a twenty-seven. As one YouTube commenter put it, “It’s like hearing some long lost song by the Misfits. It gives me that feeling that I never thought I’d experience again.”
Adios, Nathanial Hörnblowér
Super def rhymes aside, the greatest thing about the late Adam Yauch was his ability to somehow balance earnest activism with heaping doses of wacky-ass bullshit. Sure, he founded a non-profit dedicated to the liberation of Tibet, but he also interrupted R.E.M.’s acceptance speech at the 1994 MTV Music Video Awards dressed in lederhosen and a fake beard so he could angrily declare that George Lucas had ripped him off. Who else could pull that off but one of the Beastie Boys? Nay, the toughest Beastie Boy? Adios, Nathanial Hörnblowér. We’ll miss you dearly.
