Yes, There Is New Alice In Chains Floating Around Out There

Jerry Cantrell, Sean Kinney, and Mike Inez have inexplicably decided to record a new album, Black Gives Way To Blue, due this September. Pinch singing for the deceased Layne Staley is William DuVall from Comes With The Fall. Yeah, I ain’t never heard of ‘em either.

Earlier today, the reconstituted Chains “leaked” a tune from Black called “A Looking In View.” Talk about an exercise in futility. “Looking” sounds like every grunge retread band circa five years ago got together to write the most listless Alice tribute song possible. Check it:

Just a big gross snot bubble of a song with no sharp hook, riff, or solo. It’s miles away from the Alice we all know and love.

I will never understand why these iconic bands like the Chains and Queen and the Doors attempt reunions after their crown jewel lead singers die. What’s the point? Is the guy from the Cult really going to “wow” us with a better rendition of “People Are Strange?” I’m saying this and I’m not even that big a Jim Morrison fan.

It’s just so off-putting that these clowns would throw together state fair versions of groups people worship the world over just for money or to jack off their own egos. I never buy that shit that there’s a new version of Queen touring to honor Freddie Mercury’s memory. Do you know how fucking offended Freddie Mercury would probably be if he rose from the dead tomorrow and saw someone like Adam Lambert singing his songs? He’d probably go apeshit. I imagine Layne and the Lizard King would have similar (albeit more subdued and drug-clouded) reactions.

The only time crap like this works in any capacity is when the band gets an exact sound-a-like (which William DuVall is not). You know, like when Judas Priest got Tim “Ripper” Owens, or when Journey hired that squealer who looked/looks like Kenny G (haven’t seen recent pics of that guy). Otherwise, it’s just a major disappointment. If I wanted to hear Ian Astbury singing Doors songs, I’d commit suicide – I’m sure there’s plenty of that shit going on in Hell.

Oh, by the way, I put “leaked” in quotations earlier because AiC didn’t just throw the MP3 of “A Looking In View” up on their site. You had to sign up for their mailing list and then they e-mailed you a link. Mailing list? WTF? Is this 1998? Hey, Alice in Chains, when I want to know what’s going on at your Geocities-hosted website, I’ll just turn off “The Weakest Link,” put down my copy of The Dilbert Principle, and dial you up on AOL. I get enough spam from dinosaur grunge bands at is it.

Recent Work

- a love letter to Sugar Ray’s “Mean Machine”

- a love letter to the Less Than Zero soundtrack

- a quick note about xbxrx’s Un Usper

- an angry response to some bullshit some old guy said a while ago

Feldman/Jackson Feud: The Plot Thickens

Since the not-very-surprising death of Peter Pan Michael Jackson last week, the most visited post on JG2Land has been a little something I wrote almost exactly one year ago about the bitter feud between MJ and Goonies star Corey Feldman. Admittedly, it was a pretty one-sided affair: the Feld Man was apparently in New York City on 9/11, and none of the rescue limos his good pal Jacko sent into Manhattan came to pick him up. Boo hoo. At least he got out alive. About 6,000 people who didn’t star in Goonies can’t say that.

Of course Feldman has a blog, but I didn’t think to take a look at in the days immediately following MJ’s death. I guess I was more concerned with the welfare of Mike’s beloved chimp friend Bubbles. Anywho, I just dialed up Corey’s blog, and of course he wrote a post about his ex-BFF the King of Pop. He talks about the beef, but what’s interesting is the date he throws out as the starting point for their falling out:

“Unfortunately Michael and I had a falling out on Septenmber 10th 2001 and that broken friendship had never been repaired.”

Emphasis added. As you can see, Feldman spelled “September” wrong, which is perfectly alright considering the emotional state he was probably in when he wrote this. However, September TENTH? I thought this feud began after Mike refused to rescue Corey from the war zone that was lower Manhattan one day later. Is it possible that, in his grief over MJ’s death, Corey accidentally forgot that 9/11 literally happened on 9/11? Has the date on his calculator watch been one day behind for eight years now?

OR, or, did Corey Feldman just slip up and inadvertently admit the American government had prior knowledge of the September 11th terrorist attacks? Did this Corey/MJ feud actually begin one day earlier when Uncle Sam issued a secret warning to all the rich people/celebrities/Michael Jackson pals living in Manhattan to high-tail it outta there? In that case, why couldn’t Feldman just hail a cab? Why was he so reliant on Jacko’s limo service? Is he that lazy?

Maybe Corey wasn’t on the list of people who got the advanced warning. Maybe he just overheard something about it in some V.I.P. lounge he was about to be kicked out of, and then he called Michael to see what the hell was going on. Mike was probably like, “Sorry, bra, I only got so many limos.” Thus began the feud.

Hey, stranger things have happened.

My friend John brought up a good point about the whole MJ-sending-limos-to-rescue-his-celeb-pals-on-9/11. Can you imagine how much you would have had to pay anyone to drive into Manhattan on 9/11 or 9/12 (or even 9/10 if they knew the city was going to be attacked)? Sure, Michael Jackson could have afforded it, but what if Jack Klugman had friends trapped in Tribeca or Chinatown? I’m sure he probably did. Who was gonna rescue Jack Klugman’s friends? That guy couldn’t afford $60,000 a limo or whatever insane amount you’d have to pay me to drive into Manhattan on or after 9/11.

Until Feldman clarifies his statement, I’m pegging him part of the conspiracy. Charlie Sheen was right, man. If anyone needs me, I’ll be in my bomb shelter.

The Grim Reaper Is A Major League Asshole

Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water, bearded advertising dynamo Billy Mays up and dies on us. I’m not even joking. Details are incredibly sketchy at the moment, but so far there is no evidence to suggest Vince Offer (a.k.a. Vince ShamWow, a.k.a. Vince Slap Chop) had anything to do with his arch rival’s sudden demise.

Stop having tuna, stop having a boring life…stop having any kind of life at all. Goddammit.

So, what? Now we gotta start talking about Billy Mays in the past tense? That guy was just gettin’ warmed up. You got greedy, Death. There was no need to rob us of this era’s Crazy Eddie. I shall curse your name long and hard tonight as I drink Billy’s figurative blood from my 1983 Return Of The Jedi collector’s glass (from Burger King). Jabba shall glare at you disapprovingly, as he always does, and my teeth will grind as if King Arthur’s sword was betwixt them for sharpening.

You and me, Death, we gonna have some words.

Blanket’s Dad Buys The Farm

“You know, what was great about Elvis was he could do the greatest thing in the world followed by the stupidest thing in the world within a span of five minutes and not know the difference. That’s America in a nutshell.”

- Mojo Nixon

The above quote, spoken to me earlier this week by the man who did indeed play Toad in the Super Mario Brothers movie, could easily be applied to Michael Jackson. Michael was certainly the Elvis of my/our generation, and there’s no question he habitually offset his lofty genius with moments of pure insanity ported straight from the nearest mental ward. Not only are we talking about the man who made Thriller, the most monolithic and undeniable pop album of all-time, we’re also talking about the man who put on a Spider-Man mask a few years ago and invaded the office of a California politician to demand more Taco Bells be built near his residence.

Michael Jackson was just fascinating, plain and simple. He had more talent for singing and dancing than anyone else on the planet. He created the world’s sexiest Halloween song. He made America fall in love with a ballad dedicated to a killer rat. He got the Bloods and the Crips to stop fighting for five seconds so they could appear together in the “Beat It” video. This cat was overflowing with so much ability, charm, and charisma that even his worst songs made people get up and lose their proverbial shit. This man’s failures were still awe-inspiring objects to behold.

Yet MJ fell into that Howard Hughes trap, that cavalier, play-by-my-own-rules-no-matter-what, super rich mentality, the same dangerous hubris that turned a dashing Texas billionaire into a delusional pile of skin and bones wearing tissue boxes for shoes. Throw enough money and power at anyone and they will go crazy (whether they know it or not). I’m not saying everything Michael Jackson did was dubious; sometimes I think my own life might benefit from the presence of a Hawaiian-shirted chimpanzee, and I often give children nonsensical nicknames.

Dangling your infant son from a hotel balcony, however, and spending most of your time partying with eleven year olds when you’re pushing forty…well, let’s just say Prince never did stuff like that, and people still consider him to at least be in the same zip code as normal. Of course, Prince didn’t make Thriller. Prince wasn’t in the Jackson 5. Next to Michael Jackson, Prince was just some drama club reject from the Midwest. Prince could never hope to command the kind of global respect Joe Jackson’s most popular son had earned. When’s the last time you saw news footage of crying teenage girls in the Philippines screaming, “Prince! Prince! Purple Rain! We love you!”? I’ve never seen that. MJ, on the other hand…that guy made dudes in the most remote tribes in Africa want to moonwalk.

One of the first freelance pieces I ever wrote was an itemized wrap-up of MJ’s 2005 molestation trial. I’ll never forget the fervor Jackson’s supporters displayed outside that courthouse. They were like Slayer fans, screaming for MJ until they were red in the face, fighting with cops and various nay-sayers…these people got behind their man. Granted, I would not say the Jacko courthouse crowds were a microcosm of the nation at large – most of America wrote Jackson off after his first molestation arrest (which he followed up with that absolutely creepy publicity stunt marriage to Lisa Marie Presley) – but that kind of love is hard to come by. Did Obama inspire Americans like that? Barely. Just barely.

Michael Jackson fans are absolutely unwavering – we all remember Dave Chappelle solemnly muttering the phrase, “He made Thriller…Thriller!” in defense of MJ on “Chappelle’s Show.” A lotta folks just threw this guy a lifetime pass and loved him unconditionally no matter what, which is kind of odd when you realize how much there is we still don’t know about Michael Jackson.

Forget all the scandals. Michael Jackson was the most popular entertainer – nay, the most popular human being – of the past few decades. What were his politics? What did he like for lunch? How did he view other artists? Did he have any career regrets? How did he view his own body of work? How many songs had he written in his life? What was Michael Jackson’s favorite TV show? Did he think the moon landing was faked? Did he think Oswald acted alone? Did he think Carrot Top was funny? These are topics I never heard MJ address, probably because he was so media shy/wary to begin with, but also because most journalists were really only interested in getting to the bottom of oddball crap like his plastic surgery fetish.

Of course, now that Michael’s gone, all this stuff is going to come out. Little by little, treasured Jacko secrets both mundane (“Michael loved cucumbers with Tabasco sauce!”) and freaky (“The first Bubbles drowned in Michael’s Olympic-sized swimming pool! Mike was trying to coordinate an all-primate swim team!”) will trickle out from his friends and family, and we’ll lap it up like thirsty dogs. It might take a while, but eventually we’ll get as complete a story we can about the most famous man in the world and all his proclivities. I’m sure the definitive book about MJ’s life when it comes will be the read of the century.

I think my only immediate criticism of Michael Jackson as an artist is the fact that he seemed a little spineless at times. If a song or video of his caused even a ripple of discomfort with the general public, he’d bend over backwards trying to apologize or fix the problem. He put that “I’m not into the Occult” warning in front of the “Thriller” video, he had racial epithets digitally added to that car he smashed up in “Black & White,” he changed the “kike me” lyric in “They Don’t Care About Us” – it was like he wanted to be daring and forceful, but only if no one got upset. That’s not really how it works. You’ve got to stand by work if you really believe in it. Throughout his whole career, the only thing that seemed overboard to me was the “kike me” thing. Everything else was like…who cares? If you wanna smash up a car, smash up a car! You’re Michael Jackson.

Concerning the worldwide “shock” over his death – well, yes, it was a tad unexpected. He was only fifty. However, as Bill Wyman pointed out on his blog yesterday, Michael Jackson had the body of a frail Eurasian woman on the wrong side of ninety. Any zest for life or vitality he possessed dissipated long ago. Can you recall the last time he was seen in public not sporting a surgical mask? From about 1993 on, he looked like E.T. after being captured by the government and put in that long white tube. Just on the verge of death. It’s not like big ol’ burly Mike Jackson was out chopping wood yesterday and his manly heart burst from too much axe-swingin’. More like a small gust of wind came by and knocked his ass to the floor. Jacko probably should have never left the ICU (or, you know, done all those drugs everyone’s saying he was probably doing).

Still, it’s quite strange to think we now live in the post-Michael Jackson world. Whatever slim hope he had of pulling a massive comeback out of his silk pajamas or dropping another masterwork like Thriller has completely evaporated. Never again will we read or hear about a brief, unexpected Jacko cameo in the strangest of venues (read: local mall, dog track, FedEx Kinkos). No one will ever have the opportunity to sit down with the King of Pop one last time and say, “Seriously, you’ve only had two plastic surgeries? Who the fuck do you think you’re kidding?” It’s all over now. His throne has officially been abdicated. Will there ever be another King? Will anyone have the balls to swipe that title from Michael Jackson? Could anyone in the future ever hope to attain the kind of global fame/God-like status he enjoyed/reviled?

I dunno. I’m just some jerk with a blog.

I can tell you this: “Beat It” is a kick-ass song. So is “Billie Jean,” “Smooth Criminal,” “Leave Me Alone,” “Scream,” “Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough,” and pretty much everything he did with his brothers in the Jackson 5. And without Michael Jackson, “Weird Al” Yankovic would just be some dipshit with an accordion making fun of the Knack. So for all that, you nose-destroying freak from Gary, Indiana, we thank you.

Highlights From My 8th Grade Field Trip To Washington, D.C.

- almost missing the bus the morning we left because I was too caught up playing “Pac-Man” or “Dig Dug” with Adam Boyaji in the school cafeteria; yes, we were such spoiled rich assholes that sometimes our school brought in big-time arcade games for us to play

- listening to lots of MC Hammer on my Walkman during the bus ride

- listening to lots of “Weird Al” on my Walkman during the bus ride; at one point, Lauren Lee Rae grabbed my headphones to see what I was jammin’ to; thankfully, she mistook Al’s “Isle Thing” (a parody of Tone Lōc’s “Wild Thing”) for the genuine article and I was saved from mockery

- a bunch of kids playing that crazy game with the folded up piece of paper that supposedly predicts your future (“You’re gonna live in a shack in Mississippi with Amanda Boyce and fifteen wild pigs!”)

- stopping at the Vince Lombardi Memorial Truck Stop in New Jersey and smelling the most puke I’d ever smelled anywhere

- Bill Rapp getting in trouble at a mall in Delaware for buying a pellet gun

- Jim Raymond NOT getting in trouble for buying a lighter somewhere that was actually one of those super powerful joy buzzers and tricking every single person on the bus into getting shocked

- some kid on the other bus supposedly shoving a Coke bottle up his ass in a misguided attempt to impress a girl

- Pete Rappoccio violently enforcing the five minute shower rule we instituted in our hotel room

- Jim Raymond covering me with tissues and toilet paper one night while I slept

- our official Washington, D.C. tour guide, who looked and acted just like one of the Beastie Boys from the “Sabotage” video

- our typing teacher getting into trouble for drinking wine at the hotel one night (this may have actually happened the year before, but I’m including it here because it was pretty much THE scandal of our day)

- World War III breaking out in our room after Jim Raymond grabbed my camera and started wasting film; our chaperon eventually had to come in and brake things up after he heard Josh Wyatt pounding my head against the wall

- having to do these goofy skits in front of everyone during our final continental breakfast at the hotel; I remember this because the big joke in our group’s skit was this epic burp I was suppose to unleash at a certain point; of course, when the time came, I choked, so instead I just did some kind of dumb Chevy Chase pratfall

- getting together with the female portion of our group in their room to discuss the aforementioned skit and being too nervous to really say anything (these girls were in their PAJAMAS still…OMG FTW FML LBJ)

- one of the buses breaking down on the way home and having to spend like twelve hours on the side of the road somewhere in Maryland; lots of mindless chanting ensued, and I believe at one point Jim Rumpf actually grabbed the bus driver’s microphone and tried to incite some kind of riot

Jay Leno: Now More Than Ever

Here’s another one from the rejection pile. Submitted this article to Salon.com a couple weeks ago and they didn’t even have to courtesy to e-mail me back to say, “Hey, guy – screw off. You didn’t even mention Obama or the economy once!”

Whatever. As the cashier at Popeye’s told me, I’m too good for them. So here it is, my thin, meandering “Jay Leno is the Richard Nixon of comedy” editorial. Warning: certain themes and ideas below have already made appearances on JG2Land.

P.S. – Yes, it did take the death of Ed McMahon to remind me I wrote this piece. Boo.

JAY LENO: NOW MORE THAN EVER

By James Greene, Jr.

You know what was so epic about Richard Nixon’s resignation from the presidency (aside from the fact it was a resignation from the presidency)? You knew there would never be a comeback. The poor droopy bastard had already done that once, carving out a final legacy on borrowed political time until his own hubris buried it all under six feet of manure. Despite those smirk-inducing “Nixon in ‘88” shirts that popped up a few years later, America knew there was no chance RMN would ever rise from his theoretical grave for another shot at redemption. For a significant chunk of the American people, knowing Nixon couldn’t pull a Freddy Krueger at any given point in time was a huge burden lifted from their weary shoulders.

Yet how would we as a nation have reacted had successor Gerald Ford, in addition to his jaw-dropping pardon, announced in September of ‘74 that Tricky Dick would return shortly to Washington for some kind of useless figurehead position (like, oh, I don’t know, Secretary of Lying About Cambodia)? The stifled rage directed at Ford probably would have boiled over. Perhaps rioters would have burned Yorba Linda to the ground. Perhaps Yale would have tried to revoke Jerry’s law degree. Perhaps Jimmy Carter would have forcibly taken the White House a la Charles Bronson, transforming from meek peanut farmer into the kind of resolute action hero championed a decade later during the Reagan 80s.

The point is, the anger and frustration would have been beyond palpable, just as it was among Gen Y comedy fans late last year when NBC announced that recently departed “Tonight Show” host Jay Leno, the vanilla ice cream/Vanilla Ice of humor, would be returning to the network in September of 2009 for a daily talk exercise at 10 P.M. To the “Ninja Turtles” and Nirvana set, Leno is quite comparable to Tricky Dick: a populist suited figure with a prominent facial protrusion who appeals mostly to Middle America (the Silent Majority). While it’s hard to actively hate or despise Jay Leno, it is easy to dislike him. For seventeen years, he served up lukewarm laughs on “Tonight,” playing it safe and only garnering headlines when he asked Hugh Grant about a blowjob. Leno’s arch rival Letterman may have calmed down significantly by the time Jay pulled ahead of him ratings-wise circa ‘95, but by comparison, Dave had the more exciting, unpredictable show (and most of the time, Letterman was merely quizzing people on cuts of meat and dropping paint from the roof).

As it’s been pointed out so often in recent weeks, “The Tonight Show” brand depreciated in value thanks to Leno. The Dancing Itos and “Jaywalking” were nothing compared to the general tomfoolery of Letterman or previous “Tonight” tenant Johnny Carson. This cheap dollar store edition Leno jockeyed couldn’t go on forever like that. Even Jay himself knew. So, in 2004, it was decided that jittery goofball Conan O’Brien would graduate from his “Late Night” show to the desk once helmed by that white-haired comedy God-among-men. This seemed like the post-Cobain college crowd’s ultimate validation. Corporate America believed in our guy, this rooster-haired lunatic from Harvard who frequently appeared on camera naked, crying, or both. They were gonna beam him from here to Kalamazoo, and if Joe and Jane Lunchpail didn’t like it, they could lump it.

At the time, Leno was quoted as saying we’d see a “smooth transition,” because he didn’t want to relive the ugliness and hurt feelings of his infamous battle to initially gain control of “Tonight” in 1992 (in which his old pal Letterman became his mortal enemy).

“Quite frankly, I don’t want to see anybody go through that again,” said the Mighty Chin.

Well, here we are, into week three or four of “The Tonight Show with Conan O’Brien,” and while the literal transition was smooth and Conan seems to be finding his footing in his new home, there is still a dark, ominous cloud hanging over the proceedings. The vague stress is apparent on the face of all involved. Conan and his crew know they really have to perform in these summer months. They have to build up their brand to Ferrigno-like strengths. If they don’t, come September, they might get steamrolled by the gray-haired smile pusher cruising around his promos in that cherry red sports car. That guy still carries an ample amount of the country’s support. Sure, the official line is “The Jay Leno Show” will provide a strong lead-in to Conan’s program, but the fact of the matter is there’ll be a thirty minute news break between both shows. That’s just enough time to shut off the TV and fall asleep. If Conan can’t charm Middle America harder than the Chin at his absolute ingratiating best, O’Brien might be out of a job by December.

Which is the truly sick thing about “The Jay Leno Show” – it manages to further diminish whatever magic “The Tonight Show” has left by exporting its format to an earlier, safer television time. The whole thrill of that program when Carson hosted it was that it came on after bedtime. You were being granted a special privilege if your folks let you stay up to see even a snippet of it (double so if you made it to Letterman’s bizarre, gimmick-heavy version of “Late Night”). Of course, the idea of dropping mini-Leno into prime time should come as no surprise from the National Broadcasting Company. This is the same network that’s going to take “Weekend Update” from “Saturday Night Live” and inexplicably drop it into Thursday nights. Nothing is more sacred to Jeff Zucker than ratings.

For his part, Conan O’Brien has been quite civil about the entire “Jay Leno Show” affair. He’s thanked Leno on and off the air and only admitted to quietly pondering what Leno’s return will mean in terms of the bigger picture. I’m sure long after O’Brien retires and Leno dies we’ll get the full story, the hard truth that finds Conan confronting his overlords in a curt, angry manner and considering taking a walk like Letterman. Unfortunately, Conan has nowhere else to go. Dave just extended his contract at CBS through 2012. FOX’s late night game has always been poison. ABC’s never been much better (they gave Jimmy Kimmel a show, for the love of Peter Jennings). Too confident to do cable and too wired to hang around waiting to host awards shows, Conan’s gotta stay put until fate intervenes. So Ol’ Red remains cordial, polite, a true gentleman.

Of course, leave it to Norm MacDonald to cut through the bullshit. Appearing on one of O’Brien’s final episodes of “Late Night” last December, the comedian more or less opened with the following remark (eliciting much nervous laughter from Conan):

“It’s stunning how Jay Leno outfoxed you again…everyone thinks like, ‘Oh, I’m Jay Leno,’ they do the voice and everything…meanwhile, he’s the shrewdest guy…you’re in good company – he outfoxed Johnny Carson, he outfoxed David Letterman…every ten years, some red-headed rube shows up…”

This evokes that great Hunter S. Thompson quote about Richard Nixon: “The kind of guy who could shake your hand and stab you in the back at the same time.”

Speaking of Nixon observations, how about the one by Swedish Prime Minister Olof Palme? “He has a technique that I am disconcerted with, because he appeals so forthright, all the time; as soon as he gets entangled, he tries to get sentimental.”

How did Jay Leno choose to end his final “Tonight Show” broadcast, which everyone knew damn well wasn’t any kind of going away party for the genial former Doritos spokesman? By trotting out a bunch of kids, the children of his staffers, and getting sentimental. Leno seemed to be saying, You can’t hate on me. Without my seventeen years of crappy O.J. jokes, these kids wouldn’t exist.

Jay Leno may not have obstructed justice or bombed Cambodia or lied about Vietnam or cursed at a dog named King Timahoe, but the guy certainly is shrewd and tricky. We will have the Chin to kick around again, sooner than you think. The problem with that is the Chin might kick back and inadvertently stomp Conan and “The Tonight Show” into the same void as the missing eighteen minutes from the Watergate tapes. The man has already devalued Carson’s famous franchise. Now, he’s poised to destroy it.

Instant Ed McMahon Tribute

STEP 1: Hit “PLAY” on the following YouTube video. Wait a second to get past the requisite bullshit homemade introduction.

STEP 2: Stare at the photos below.

STEP 3: Read the following hilarious tidbit about Ed McMahon from my life.

In middle school, I knew this kid named Pete Rappoccio. Pete’s younger brother, whose name I cannot remember (Ralph? Tim?), was an especially confused little boy. Case in point – the kid actually thought Ed McMahon and Santa Claus were one in the same. Like, he was under the impression Santa took off his beard and hung out with Johnny Carson all year after Christmas.

One day I called Pete up for some reason, and in the background I could hear the other Rappoccio brother freaking out.

“What the hell is his problem?” I asked.

“Oh,” Pete casually replied. “We got one of those Publisher’s Clearing House things in the mail, and dumb-ass thinks Santa Claus sent him a personal letter.”

That made me LOL pretty hard.

Rest in peace, Ed McMahon. To at least one American child, you were a beacon of love and hope (and presents).

In case anyone gives a rat’s ass, both Rappoccio brothers currently work in the golf industry.

P.S. – Yes, Ed McMahon is dead. Miss him. Miss him.

THIS JUST IN: Ghostbusters 3 Apparently Already Made, Released In 1998

According to Dan Aykroyd’s filmography on the 1941 DVD:

How did everyone on the planet miss this? Man, I sure hope that marketing team got fired.

Thanks to “CrimsonGhostbuster” from the Ghostbusters Message Board for bringing this to our attention.

In all seriousness, everyone knows Ghostbusters 3 came out in 2001 under the name Evolution. Oh snap! I went there!

My Awesome Idea For An Episode Of “Spongebob Squarepants”

“Jeffrey Llama”

Spongebob and Patrick are terrorized by Jeffrey Llama, a quiet and bespectacled llama character who kidnaps residents of Bikini Bottom and forces them to clean his bathroom. Jeffrey Llama, of course, would be a thinly veiled parody of American serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer; in fact, I’d like to see Jeffrey Llama dressed only in what appears to be a prison jumpsuit with a forlorn, “why me?” expression on his face at all times.

I’m not sure what the stupid twist at the end would be – maybe Jeffrey Llama hooks up with that Squirrel character, and they hit it off because A) she’s also a land-based mammal challenging herself by living underwater and B) she loves cleaning bathrooms. All I know is at some point Mr. Crabs needs to show up wearing a shirt that says “100% Crab” so he can yell at Jeffrey Llama to the point that he has to be restrained by an underwater baliff.