Thanks again for all the e-mails and comments. I'll try to answer some more this weekend if I have time (I won't). Anyway, just wanted to do another shout-out to a friend of mine who's started an online store for her stationery/crafts projects - I added her to my links (she's the first one), so check out her stuff. And I know you can afford it if you've got the leisure time to sit around reading this cavalcade of idiocy, so she'd better not report back to me that she didn't make any sales. Come on! 10% of each purchase goes to children's charities (not true). Anyway, it's your life - if you want to keep the soulless chains like Wal-Mart and the dope-dealing, pet-molesting Big Crafts cabal in business, it's your conscience you've got to live with. I merely point the way to a better tomorrow and cry as the world ignores my advice.
Hope everyone has a good weekend. Enough love. Now, as the prophet said, it is time for hate.
Entertainment Weekly, March 21, 2008
Thanks for featuring the Jonas Brothers ("The Three Mouseketeers")! "It's about time" EW recognized them. Their YouTube videos are hilarious.
South Salem, N.Y.
The sad thing is, those videos aren't supposed to be funny. But then, neither was your letter, I'm sure (though it gave me quite the chuckle to think of anyone over the age of 12 sitting down to compose a letter about these freaks). But then again, who gives a shit? I'm pretty sure that, just by virtue of my being a male over 30 years old, merely typing out the words "Jonas Brothers" on my keyboard gives the FBI sufficient cause to bust in through the windows and search my hard drive for kiddie porn, so why don't we change the subject? As I mentioned in yesterday's post, there are many topics that make for more fascinating discussion than neutered teen singing groups or celebrities with cancer. As I also mentioned yesterday, one of those subjects is peanut butter, which children and adults the world over consider delightful and nourishing. Cereally, Meri, have you ever seen a peanut? They're hard and oval, somewhat similar in consistency to pebbles that have been buffed smooth from sitting in a lake bed for centuries. And yet, nearly 2,000 years ago (the 1800s), somebody came up with the idea to make the damned things spreadable. And guess what? They did! That's fucking genius, if you ask me, and I mean actual genius, not like when people casually toss around the term to refer to shitheads like Jim Morrison or Jerry Garcia. They even made both a creamy variety and a chunky variety! Do you realize what that means? For the chunky, the crazy bastards had to rig it so that not every molecule of the peanut was mashed into paste, but they also had to ensure that the peanut chunks left in the mix wouldn't be so large that you'd choke to death every time you got stoned and dipped a Hershey's bar in the jar for a snack. How do they do that? I have no idea, and neither does anybody else. As far as I know, they have a team of Keebler elves working 'round-the-clock to carve up the peanuts into regulation-sized morsels with their wee pickaxes and miniature jeweler's tools. All I can say for sure is: There's something magical involved. And that magic translates to a taste sensation unlike any other. It's like there's a party in your mouth, except without any of the undignified sexual connotations you probably think of when you hear that phrase. Trust me, Meri - once you try peanut butter, you'll forget all about innocuous boy bands and enter a real garden of earthly delights. Now begone, wench, afore I lose my patience with your tomfoolery and give you a walloping!
p.s. If any peanut butter company execs want to use the preceding in their ad campaigns, you can have it for a cool £5,000 (that's pounds, not dollars - I don't deal in currency that's likely to be worthless in a year or two) in unmarked bills (I don't know why this is desirable, but it's what the kidnappers always ask for in movies, so it must be cool), but if I see even a fragment of it in your literature (and I subscribe to Peanut Butter Industry Press Releases Weekly), I'll sue your asses back to the Bronze Age. And that was not a good age for peanut butter, my friends. I'm totally fucking serious, assholes. Don't test me. You'll be sorry. Oh yes, you will be sorry.
Jesus loves you!
Don't shoot someone tomorrow that you can shoot today,
Will Ferrell has played a basketball player, an ice-skater, and a NASCAR driver ("A Man for All Seasons"). What's next: a hedge clipper?
Moundsville, W. Va.
Yes, next is a hedge clipper. Good one. Or at least it would have been a good one if a hedge clipper had anything in common with professional athletes. Instead, you had to fuck up the punchline by vomiting up some non sequitur that probably seemed like the pinnacle of wit when you first uttered it to your drunken friends as you all huddled around the engine block of your Dodge Ram or whatever it is you do to pass the time there in Moundsville (awesome name, by the way - are your neighboring cities Lumpy Meadows and Faintly-Nugget-Shaped-Protrusions Township? Because they damn well should be). But I have to tell you, you may have wanted to try it out on somebody sober in the cold light of day before sending it in for publication, because I guarantee you're never going to get another date after this travesty. Way to inadvertently ruin your own life, maaaaan. I'm a little sad to even be associated with you tangentially. Man, what were you thinking? Stick to knock-knock jokes if you want to retain any kind of credibility whatsoever. I mean, people will still think you're a stupid fool, but at least they'll know you didn't actually write the things. Dude. Not cool. Not cool. I'm just going to go over here now, before somebody thinks we're together. I'm sorry it's got to be this way. We'll always be bros, but I need to be in my own space for a while. Thanks for understanding. I love you, but I'm not in love with you. You know the drill.
You in your autumn sweater,