Spotted in the claw machine of my local Steak n’ Shake: an officially licensed Apollo Creed plushie (seriously, the tag had a United Artists logo). Too bad he looks more like Michael Winslow. Man, if Michael Winslow had played Apollo Creed Rocky would have been one short-ass movie.
In a related story, yes, I know my phone is prehistoric.
I have a friend who hates guacamole. I asked him why and he tells me: one summer when he was a child growing up in Pennsylvania he begged his mom to take him to Florida for vacation. The mom said they couldn’t afford it or didn’t have the time or whatever, but my friend just kept on bugging her. Eventually the mom says, “If you can find a way to get to Florida this summer, you can go.” This was meant as a bluff, but my friend took it at face value. He asked every teacher he knew at school if they were planning a trip to Florida for that summer. When he finally found one who was, a twenty-something female driving down for a college reunion, he asked for a ride.
Amazingly, she said yes.
So they go in this station wagon, and along the way the woman picks up a friend. They drop off my buddy with his family for a week or two and then they reconvene to head back to Pennsylvania. Well, at some point teacher and her friend had gone avocado picking (I know, right? Who does that?) and they had filled the entire car with avocados. I mean that in the literal sense—these avocados weren’t in boxes, they were just piled into the car like munitions. There was no room for my friend to sit, so they carved out a body-sized space in the rear bed of the wagon amongst the largest amount of loose avocados and he had to just lay there like this was a completely normal occurrence.
A side trip to Chattanooga (again, what?) provided enough time for all the avocados to go bad. At some point during the return to Pennsylvania, the teacher driving took a really hard turn, and my friend who was lying next to all these rotten avocados was thrown into them face-first. In the blink of an eye he found himself covered in rotten avocado junk. What’s even more messed up is the two so-called adults in charge did not take him to a hotel or a YMCA to shower off. He had to wipe himself down with a towel.
I know this sounds like the subplot from an episode of “Leave It To Beaver” but my friend swears it to be true, an honest tale of horror from our modern era. I guess I’d be scarred too.
Somehow no lawsuits were filed in the wake of this incident.
I have seen the best minds of my generation destroyed by investment in late night talk shows. There’s gotta be a prescription medicine I can take to stop caring about this stuff before my own pretty alright mind completes its inevitable transition to clam chowder.
At any rate, Colbert’s a genius, he commits, he’ll give us plenty hilarity in Dave’s chair before fatigue sets in (and it will, it always does). For some reason when I heard the news today the above clip from “Strangers With Candy” was the first thing that came to mind. Classic.
A: Same place where I am with Ghostbusters 3. It’s possible Star Wars 7 will crush it Rocky Balboa-style…and yet I accept there’s a chance we’re looking down the barrel of Phantom Menace 2: This Pod Is Still So Wizard. Who knows? It’s a crapshoot. Disney’s gonna churn out a few more Star Warses either way, because those two words are a license to print money. Thus, if J.J. Abrams decides to give Chewbacca a pair of very prominent nipples we’re gonna hafta live with it for six or seven years.
Still the reigning champ of Nirvana songs in this cobwebbed mind. A stellar performance here, and also you can see Kurt clicking his jaw to keep time. Deceased celebrities: they’re just like us!
Letterman’s retiring in 2015, which I guess means I have a year to finish that papier-mâché statue of him I got an “incomplete” on in ninth grade art class. It was always my intention to send the end product in to “The Late Show,” but the hair wasn’t coming out right and somehow giving up on this statue didn’t affect my final grade…so I did. Even though I’ve not done any papier-mâché since I’d like to believe my skills have somehow improved and Dave will be thrilled to receive his pulpy likeness as he exits stage left.
I would pay thousands for a recording of this dog’s “loud belching sound.”