Brady answers interview questions correctly

Refuses to call Drew Brees a dickhead

BRISTOL, CONN -- An interview that had the potential to be chock full of backhanded insults and bitter resentment produced little excitement, as New England Patriots quarterback Tom Brady said all the right things about Drew Brees breaking Dan Marino’s single season passing yards record before him.

The interview aired Dec. 30, 2011 on ESPN, and saw several instances of interviewer Chris Berman trying to bait Brady into verbally attacking Brees.

“Apparently, Drew Brees said he knew he would break the record before you,” Berman said. “In fact, he even called you a little bitch during his post-game press conference after breaking the record. What is your reaction?”

Brady, who has the all-time single-season touchdown record, barely blinked at the question.

“Well Boom, everyone has their opinion,” he said. “I’ve got nothing but respect for Drew. He’s a great player and a great person.”

The fact that Brady has won three Super Bowls, compared to just one for Brees, was also a subject of Berman’s prodding. Although Berman asked him about the importance of having three times the titles as the New Orleans quarterback, and then repeated the same question four times, slightly louder each time, the Patriots QB refused to take the low road.

“I’m blessed to have played with many great players over the years,” he answered. “Plus, I’ve played for one of the greatest coaches in the NFL.”

Berman would not give up, though, and began to attack Brees for Brady.

“Don’t you think it’s funny that you are married Gisele Bundchen, and he’s not?” Berman asked, his face growing red. “Or what about that weird thing on his face that looks like a shit stain? Come on man!”

Brady barely smirked at Berman’s animated flare up.

“Drew’s got a beautiful family, and I try to keep my personal and professional life separate,” he replied. “Thing on his face? I seriously never noticed it.”

As the interview wrapped, Berman angrily stormed off, said a source close to the story. Allegedly, the interview producer was also upset as he removed Brady’s lapel mic.

“How the hell are we supposed to manufacture a story out of this?” he asked. “You really fucked me Tom.”



This blog is influenced by The Onion, and an interview I saw at the gym today, but didn't listen to. I only saw the subject, and can assume ESPN is trying to make it seem like Tom Brady and Drew Brees have some sort of feud.

Around the Big Top UNCENSORED

Everyone can finally stop whining

(I was told this column was too scathing for print, and that I should water it down. I did. Then I saved the original, added a few swear words, even more insults, and voila!)

Thanksgiving is over and I, for one, am relieved. Now I don’t have to listen to everybody bitch about Christmas songs being played before Thanksgiving.

To the folks, and I know there are a lot of them, who have been complaining about Christmas songs being played, I have a challenge — name me 10 Thanksgiving songs.
   
Done? How many did you get to? Zero? Me too. (And you can’t count a stupid song written by a teacher for a Thanksgiving program in their classroom.)
   
Let’s do the same for Christmas. A lot easier, right?
   
OK, I am no fan of Christmas music being played while children are out trick-or-treating, either.
   
However, if I were to complain about it, I would at least make sure my complaints were original, funny and clever. It seems many Christmas music whiners are just unintelligent mouth breathers secretly waiting with baited breath for those first jingle bells to hit their eardrums. That way, they can be the first one on Facebook to post “Heard Xmas music today! AAHHHH! It’s too early! AAAHHHHH! What about Thanksgiving? AAHHHH!”
   
So, let’s break down this conundrum really quick.
   
Thanksgiving is supposedly a celebration of Pilgrims and Native Americans feasting together in harmony. Who were the Pilgrims? Well, they were Christians seeking religious freedom. And Christians, as we all know, worship Jesus. Christmas honors the birth of … wait for it … Jesus! No Christmas means no Thanksgiving.
   
I doubt Jesus was up in Heaven complaining about Thanksgiving interrupting the lead up to a holiday honoring him. I’m sure he understood. He probably even turned the other cheek.  

Let’s compare the arrival of the Pilgrims with the arrival of Jesus. One brought the good news of salvation and offered himself up for the sins of others. One brought small pox. One marked new beginnings for natives of all lands. One marked the beginning of the end for natives of this land.
   
Look at it from a more secular point of view. We celebrate Thanksgiving by shoveling food down our gullets surrounded by our loved ones. We celebrate Christmas by opening presents, followed by shoveling food down our gullets surrounded by our loved ones.
   
Since Christmas is around the corner, and I’m in a giving mood, I’ll help out the Christmas music whiners for next year. That’s right. I have written a Thanksgiving song.
   
Unfortunately, all the good melodies have already been taken by Christmas songs, so I had to borrow one. This should be sung to the melody of “Deck the Halls”:
   
Line your arteries with gravy
Fa la la la la, la la la laaa
Relatives driving you crazy
Fa la la la la, la la la laaa 
Eating turkey, til you pass out   
Fa la la, la la la, la laaaaa   
That third piece of pie I could’ve done without    
Fa la la la la, la la la laaa.

There you go. Next year, when Thanksgiving is approaching, and you are sick of hearing Christmas tunes too early, now you have a legit complaint. Call up a radio station and tell them you want to hear “Line your Arteries” instead of “Deck the Halls.”
   
But remember, since there is now only one Thanksgiving song, you will hear it roughly 173,820 times before Thanksgiving.
   
So what is the moral of this column? Stop fuckin' whining if you're not funny (had to get at least one f-bomb in here. It's what I'm good at).

Also, Christmas is better than Thanksgiving.
   
   
   

10 Things Republicans Like More Than Health Care

Photo courtesy of Gov. Christie's site. See number 6.

#GOPFoodPyramid

In light of all the Republican presidential candidates hitting the airwaves with their “wisdom” and promises for a better America, I figured I would put together a useful little voters’ guide. Hopefully, this helps you make your decision when you head to the polls for the primary, or next November.

The basis is simple. It’s just a list of 10 things that the Republican candidates like more than health care. When I say health care, I am talking about the Affordable Care Act of 2010 (or was it 2009? I honestly have no more short term memory any more). At its core, these are things more important to Republicans than a child with a preexisting condition such as asthma being able to treat his or her symptom.

Although the list is ordered numerically, there are definitely some GOPers who may like one of these things more than something higher on the list, so keep that in mind. With that said, here we go.

10. War. According to a Gallup poll from late October, 75 percent of all Americans approve of President Obama’s plan to get us the hell out of Iraq by the end of the year. When it comes to the Republicans, of course, since Obama is a Democrat, only 43 percent approve of the withdrawal. In that desert paradise Afghanistan, only 34 percent approve of our continued involvement. Now, some righties in the Republican party have called for a withdrawal, that much is true. But when Obama announced a plan for starting to bring our troops home, many GOPers criticized him for it. John McCain, the Arizona Senator who ran against Obama in 2008, and lost badly (nanna nanna boo boo, stick your head in doo doo), has been very vocal against the President’s withdrawal. McCain was known as a “maverick” who could work across the aisle leading up to 2008. Since then, he has joined the GOP call to oppose everything Obama does. Especially breathe.

9. In the closet homosexuality. If someone is out of the closet, the GOP does not believe they should be able to serve in the military, get married, or have basic rights and privileges that we straight folks enjoy. However, from Larry Craig to Bob Allen to Marky Mark Foley, many great men of the Republican party have been able to lead perfectly normal lives, minus their gay sex scandals. Complete denial, from the members of government and their supporters (isn’t there some saying about the blind leading the blind?), has somehow allowed some of these Rainbow Republicans (I just made that up!) to continue to do what their constituents put them in office to do - vote against any legislation that makes homos and heteros equal. Oh yeah, shout out to that fruity crusader Marcus Bachmann, for not only covering up his “queer” ways, but for praying the gay out of others as well.

8. Oil spills. Who doesn’t get sick of the crashing blue waves on the shore and the sight of miles of white sand? The GOP knows that by letting big oil companies erect off shore oil rigs, and leaving them unregulated, beachgoers can get the excitement they are really looking for - explosions, burning water, and of course TAR BALLS!!! Texas’ finest Joe Barton was sick of all the finger pointing at BP after they made a little mistake, and maybe let a little oil trickle into the ocean, and did one of the most compassionate things any Republican has ever done. He apologized to BP for people being mad at them. Barton didn’t think BP should clean up its own mess. Which brings us to …

7. Fucking everything up and then expecting someone else to take care of it AKA the deficit. See George W. Bush. And by the way, if we’re going to talk about spending, deficits, and debts, we should also talk about taxes for the wealthiest one percent (Oh wait, they‘ve created sooooo many jobs). But not the GOP. For any of you reading this blog, looking for holes in it so you can anonymously criticize me in the comments (I welcome it!), read this first. It talks about your hero, Reagan, and his deficit-raising policies. Let’s not pile on Ronnie, though, if he were alive today and supported the same things he did as President, the Tea Party would be hanging him in effigy.

6. Obesity. Under Reagan, ketchup was classified as a vegetable by the USDA. Now, with our current tea bagger Congress, the newest vegetable is … wait for it … PIZZA! Food group confusion not withstanding, you know what makes the GOP even madder? Someone trying to help children be healthy. Especially Michelle Obama. Ooohhh how dare she care more for your child's wellbeing than you. I believe Sarah Palin, that sexy dip shit, even said the first lady was trying to steal our desserts. The nerve. In honor of Sarah and the GOP tards, I’ve reclassified some more foods to help them make it into the Republican Food Guide Pyramid (#GOPFoodPyramid).
    Sweet Tarts/Sprees/Runts/StarBurst: Fruit
    Carrot Cake: Vegetable
    Milk chocolate: Dairy
    Beer: Bread and grains
    Gov. Chris Christie’s fat ass: 100 percent USDA grade A lean meat

5. Gun crimes. Republicans love the shit out of their guns! For this example, I’m not going to talk about Sarah Palin putting targets over Democratic candidates such as Gabby Giffords on her website (whoops, just did), or conservative protestors bringing loaded weapons to Obama’s campaign stops in 2008 (there I go again!). Seriously, I’m not going to talk about Fox News, the unofficial Republican PR machine labeling Dr. George Tiller “Tiller the Baby Killer” in spots, prodding some nut bag to take justice into his own hands (is this joke getting old? One more time). And I wholeheartedly promise not to mention the University of Texas College Republican member who said shooting Obama was “tempting.” Let’s not forget Dick Cheney shot another man in the face.

4. Hypocrisy. See number 9. Then see number 7. Then see Newt Gingrich trying to impeach President Bill Clinton for getting a knobber from Monica Lewinsky while he was getting some on-the-side play during the impeachment trials. Or, go through the list of dickhead GOPers who voted against, and condemned the 2009 stimulus package, and then turn around with their hands out. That one was specifically for Michigan Rep. Dave Camp, a true epitome of the term “douche bag.” Don’t forget those grandstanding assholes like Rick Perry, who, as Governor, swore he wouldn’t take any federal stimulus dollars, but really just wanted to be on TV. Hey, speaking of Rick Perry …

3. Being a complete and utter fuckin’ dumbass. Rick Perry recently couldn’t recall during a debate what the three federal agencies he would eliminate were. Apparently, the third one was “oops.” Palin, not wanting to be out-stupefied, was caught ink-handed with the word "tax" on her hand while giving a speech (because the GOP hardly ever talks about this). Michelle Bachmann is stupid as hell, and will probably be the GOP primary front-runner next week on the Republican primary carousel. She also, in an interview said that GOP candidates could not agree with Obama on anything …. anything. Need I bring up Donald Trump’s embarrassing birther flirtation earlier this year? Or the birther/racism issue at all?

2. Marital infidelity/being a sexual predator. Hermain Cain, Newt Gingrich, Mark Sanford, John Ensign, Larry Craig and the rest of the anti-gay rights gay guys, Sen, David Vitter, Chip Pickering, Rudy Giuliani, Bob Livingston, Rush Limbaugh … you get the point.

And the number one thing Republicans like more than health care (I’m not sure when this turned into a Letterman list) …

1. Freedom. The GOP and their friends in the Tea Party love freedom, there’s no doubt about it. That’s why they exercise so many types of freedom: the freedom from math, freedom from common sense, the freedom to hate discriminately, the freedom to declare war due to non-existent WMDS, the freedom to misspell words on their protest signs (or to have them read "Keep your government hands off my MediCare). Republicans, ironically, are also the party of religion and values, and by embracing this label, it has given them the freedom to live in a tax-exempt church that is really an apartment building. From there, this gave them the freedom to use the place as a spot to hold triages with their mistresses. This freedom allowed them to use their freedom of speech to lie about said affairs. Republicans are also free from the bonds of shame. GOPers are free from the lessons of history, and free to claim that history was taught by a bunch of Socialist public school teachers. The same goes for math. Apparently, being a Republican also gives you freedom from vision. They can’t see that people are sick of them sucking on the supple tit of Wall Street. Maybe they’ll get some 20/20 vision in 2012.

Wait. There’s more.

Honorable mentions: The GOP also likes 80-plus year olds getting pepper sprayed by police at Occupy rallies, bullying (another shoutout to the Michigan GOP) and scaring people: Mitt Romney saying Obama’s reelection would  mean Iran getting a nuke is an example here. What, pretty boy? You thought I’d leave you out.

Fuck you Mitt.

A blogworthy television experience 3.0

Stan Lee’s Superhumans

#HolyShit

“I’m not gonna do what everyone thinks I’m gonna do…”

That’s right. When my first two “blogworthy television experience” blogs were written (Holy shit, way back in June!), I was quite cynical. Making fun of “My Cat From Hell” and “Finding Bigfoot” was pretty easy, though, you have to admit.

But “Stan Lee’s Super Humans” is a different monster. Therefore, this blog will not poke fun, but praise Mr. Lee’s creation. 

“Why?” you ask. Well, for those of you who have never had the pleasure of watching, let me break it down for you. As you might have guessed, the show features Stan Lee. (If you don’t know who he is, e-mail me your address, and I will call for a dump truck full of comic books and have them poured out upon you until you cease to breathe. He’s the owner of Marvel Comics, which is responsible for Spider Man, the X-Men, Incredible Hulk, Thor and just about every other movie you’ve seen in the past decade and a half.) Stan is joined by a “Superhuman” host, the world’s most flexible man, Daniel Browning Smith.

Smith, whose power is downright nauseating in action, is dispatched by Lee from a downtown Los Angeles rooftop each episode, and travels around the world to witness Superhuman feats. Smith, along with doctors and/or scientists, then judges whether the individual performing for them is, in fact, super human.

Sounds corny, right?

That’s what an asshole would think. (No offense if you did answer yes … asshole) The stuff the viewer gets to see on this show is amazing. In the first season, I witnessed Isao Machii, a samurai, slice a bullet in two. One guy could perform complex mathematical equations in his mind faster than Ivy League math students could using a calculator. There was a blind guy who rode his bike through city streets, clicking his mouth to use echo-location to detect obstacles in front of him.

And my favorite, of course, was Dean Karnazes, who could literally run forever. (What a great talent in case of a zombie outbreak! See, if you had read Max Brooks’ bestselling “Zombie Survival Guide,” you‘d know that a car is not ideal transportation, but one should … what the fuck, none of this matter right now.)

When I say run forever, I mean it too. Doctors tested him on a treadmill, and as he ran, his lactic acid levels actually decreased, rather than increased, so he wasn’t feeling the pain and muscle fatigue that most of us do when working out. Thus, Dean is a … DA DA DAAA … SUPERHUMAN!

So far in the second season, I’ve seen a dude from Milwaukee jump over a moving car and a seven-foot wall. There’s also been an archer who shot a freakin’ arrow into a piece of aspirin tossed into the air.

Not to mention the Shaolin Monk that drilled an electric drill into his windpipe … and was unaffected!

And there’s only been two episodes so far this season! #HolyShit! Folks, this stuff is mind-blowing. (Sometimes gross, too.) And like I said, it’s backed up with medical and scientific data during the demonstrations and tests.

One thing I’ve really enjoyed, though, was when little Daniel called bullshit on  Tom Cameron, of Chicago, who claimed that his “Chi” could deliver a knockout blow without him actually touching his target. While it worked on his students (Daniel suggested hypnosis, I suggest an occult-like following, or some heavy choreography.), Smith, who weighs maybe 140 pounds, just stood there unaffected.

Oh yeah, here’s another example of this bullshit Chi attack stuff not working out so well: Kiai Fighter Vs. MMA.

When they’re introducing/discussing the next potential superhuman, there are also these cool little comic book drawings of the subjects showing their powers. In fact, the whole show kind of carries a comic book or comic book movie feel, which I think is pretty cool. The camera work is great, and has to be, since in most cases, extreme slow-mo and close ups are needed. (You can’t see a bullet getting sliced out of mid-air without some help from technology. If you can, call Stan.)

So next time you are sitting on your ass all day aimlessly flipping through the channels, check out Superhumans (It’s on the History Channel, by the way). Even if you don’t like reality TV, it’s worth a watch - guaranteed to make you say #HolyShit.

Your Uncle Tim would never steer you wrong.

#FYP.

Rednecks in Los Angeles

Hick. Peckerwood. Redneck: All words used to insult a white man who chooses to live like a backwoods Podunk rube.

All words that I thought could not be used to categorize me.

Living in downtown Los Angeles, I figured the days of swigging piss warm Pabst and belligerently shouting “WHEWWWWW” were left behind me. The memories of those days remained in Michigan, adoringly preserved in the small town of Prescott, along with the ghosts of the 2004 Detroit basketball season and the parties that willed the Pistons to the title that year. (These parties could be subject for a blog themselves. In fact, I could probably write a fuckin’ novel about the absurdity of these shindigs.)

But sometimes the truth manifests itself over time, and is only clear when we take action and force its development.

For me to come to terms with my country roots, it took three separate occasions, all of which occurred after I moved to Los Angeles — the city known for Hollywood, music, fashion, and too many non-English speaking minorities.

The first incident was the day we filmed Jason’s narrative project for film school. (Again, a whole blog could easily be dedicated to this whole event. It entailed two people’s cars nearly getting towed, the fire department coming to our apartment, and of course, the making of a hilarious video.)

Anyhow, Jason needed a ping-pong table for his project. One small problem. We don’t have a ping-pong table, nor do we know anyone who does. This called for improvisation. With Home Depot only a short drive away, Ryan and I jumped in my car and headed toward the do-it-yourself heaven. We were on a mission for plywood a makeshift ping-pong table.

“So Tim, using your car (a 2008 Chevrolet HHR), how did you get the plywood home?”

Well that was easy. Using some twine that we also purchased (the twine was to serve as a net. This was not your average pong table), we simply secured the table top to the roof of my car. It was a short drive and no problems incurred. A few of the many Mexican day laborers waiting outside of HD, flagging down potential employers, laughed at us as we strapped the piece of plywood to the roof.

OK. So that was one instance where my “Who gives a shit?” redneck ways were on display. But it wasn’t the last. Fast forward to a couple of weeks later. (I have no idea as to the actual date). While working on the moving truck, a generous man, or woman, again, the details aren’t coming to me, offered us their old coffee table, which they no longer wanted.

Well, at that time our lone piece of living room furniture save the couch was a brown cardboard box. It served its purpose well enough, but I think all three of us agreed that having a cardboard cube serve as the centerpiece for the room where we watch TV, eat; and where I happened to sleep, was not in the cards we planned to play.

We needed to get the table home from Orange County, where the customer lived. It didn’t fit in my car.

The services of the car roof would once again be required. We padded up the roof, strapped the table to the roof upside down and went on our way.

I’m happy to say the table and my car both made it back unscathed. My car continues to run well enough to get me to Point A to Point B and I am currently typing on a computer resting on the coffee table.

Sure it may have caused passers by to snicker, probably even causing some to say things like “Oh my God. Look at those idiots,” but we got a sweet table from it. So fuck them.

HHR roof was not out of the forest yet, though. Perhaps our most rednecky caper of all happened just a few days ago. It once again started in Orange County, more specifically, in Rancho Santa Margarita.

It was a rare rainy day in Cali, and we were at Ryan’s truck, which had just been sold. However, as we are all financial whizzes, and always keep our heads on a swivel looking for a quick buck or big break, we thought of a way to squeeze a little more money out of the transaction.

See, the truck was equipped with an aluminum topper. And who in their right mind would sell the truck with the topper, when there is a perfectly good scrap yard in La Mirada right off the expressway?

As should be expected from a tri-fecta of Northern Michigan peckerwoods, we figured we would scrap the aluminum cash cow.

Whoops. Transportation would be needed again.

Yes people, we strapped the pickup topper to the top of the HHR.

This is when it dawned on me. I drive a car that says, “Look at me. I’m a high-mpg-driving urbanite.” I live in California, the last state expected to be full of country bumpkins with little regard for what others think of them.

But I couldn’t escape the truth. I have redneck tendencies.

And they are fuckin’ hilarious.

By the way, we got $13.50 for the topper.

Tell me that shit’s not funny.

The cat lady

You ever get yourself into a situation that you know you will talk about forever, yet completely despise? I had one of those magical moments, make that days, Friday, when I and four other unfortunate souls were assigned to a move in Orange, Calif.

We were moving a cat woman. I don’t mean the former foil to Batman, a sexy Halloween outfit for a lady, or even the finest Thundercat of all, Cheetara. I’m talking about an animal-hoarding slob of a woman whose home reeked of cat piss and wet dog.

Each room was worse than the next, culminating in the clearing of the garage, which was home to 11 kitties (there was supposed to be one more, but the lady, we will call her “Deb,” since that’s her name, never recovered the missing cat. I salute you, kitty, welcome to freedom!).  Keep in mind that 11 cats are also, eating, playing, and, oh yeah, SHITTING in the same room.

Before we actually started breaking down the cat prison Deb wardened over, I had convinced myself that it wouldn’t be that bad. I mean, I was already covered in cat hair and gagged while moving a leather couch that Deb kept in her “office,” (apparently her work involves dogs and cats claiming their territory time and time again on he furniture without it being washed.) so I assumed it couldn’t be much worse.

But the problem with assumptions is that when you are wrong, you are caught off guard. I stuck my head in the garage for the first time and took a big whiff. I had to. It’s like when someone farts. You know it’s going to smell like shit, but a few seconds after you hear one blast out of an asshole, you have to get a taste.

My big nasal inhalation nearly floored me. I slammed the door and retreated. After a few minutes to regain myself, I ventured into the garage with my coworkers. The floor was caked with old cat food, and of course, a few kitty patties that had missed the litter boxes.

Oh yeah. Litter boxes. Let’s talk about those. Deb was in shock when it was requested that the litter boxes be cleaned out. “I can dump them,” she said.

OK dirty Deb. No fuckin’ problem. And those brown shit streaks, do they dump out as well?

This was about the time I think everyone started to finally get over being nice. We tried all day to be our charming, polite selves, but were treated like crap by Deb, who, by the way, WASN’T PAYING FOR THE MOVE!

Nope. That’s right. Know who was paying for the move? Her fucking landlord. This lady was such a sloppy bitch that a person making income off of her living in his house, actually agreed to pay for the removal and relocation of all of her stuff. That’s crazy. It’s like when Rep. Joe Barton (R-Texas) apologized to BP for the way they were treated after their oilrig ejaculated into the Gulf of Mexico, and they never paid any child support for the greasy baby. The landlord was basically fronting the money to clean up Deb’s greasy BP baby that was her home.

To tell the truth, I think I would’ve preferred scooping tar balls out of the sand to moving this psycho’s hairball covered mattresses and area rugs.

Of course, because the Debster wasn’t leaving on her own terms, she had nothing packed. We all had the pleasure of packing up all of her knick-knacks, collectibles, bullshit and then moving it from Orange to Corona.

No, if you are wondering, we didn’t have to move the cats. I did however, consider setting them free on multiple occasions. One of Deb’s dogs got loose as she was loading her car up to head to Corona. And wouldn’t you know it? Despite the calls from her loving owner, Maddie the dog kept walking away.

That reminds me. How come a celebrity wears a fur coat, PETA throws paint on them (or whatever gay shit those douches do now), but a woman like this keeps her pets caged up in a small space, and there’s nothing. Can’t the ASPCA dicks take a few minutes from talent scouting one-eyed dogs for their next instant depression commercial to address this issue? It was like Misery with cats. Deb was Kathy Bates, minus the knee hammer.

All of this, though, and I still gave Deb a small chance to redeem herself. However, when we were unloading her junk in Corona, and she was rudely snapping at me and other workers with no inhibitions or respect, I grew more irritated by the second.

To her, everything was broke. Everything was in the wrong spot. Everything had to go upstairs, but belonged downstairs and had to be moved —

BITCH YOU AREN’T EVEN PAYING. Be glad I don’t wipe my ass with your clothes and throw them out of the back of the moving truck while it is in motion. We could’ve parked at the top of the hill, opened the door and repeatedly drove and stopped until everything fell out into your lawn, but we took the high road.

So what does the future hold for cat lady Deb? Well, my guess is that since her new house was contaminated with the odor of sour cat urine and hot dog breath before we left (abruptly, without telling her, and without assembling her cat cages. BIATCH!), I’m guessing Deb will need a new home within the next year.

And a new group of unlucky young men will be faced with the burdens of foul odors, dust, hair and a batshit crazy client.

Good luck, whoever you are.

Cali 1.0 (with link to video)

A man who truly has it going on.

#ScottTheMover
#GoPro

#heaskedifiwasjewish

Well, the plan was that when I got to Cali, my fingers would be blazing left and right over the keyboard, and I would be writing new, compelling, hilarious material every day.

That hasn’t exactly happened, but I figured I would write something, anything, today,

To get everyone caught up, I got to Torrance, Calif., last Tuesday. I think it was Aug. 9, but I’m not positive.

Anyhow, I’ve been applying for some writing jobs, and writing some skits and shorts, but to make money until I get a writing job, or until I stumble upon the California dream of fame, fortune, women and drowning in my own vomit, I have been working for a moving company.

Manual labor, or blue-collar work, whatever you want to call it, sucks. My bougie ass was quite comfortable sitting behind a desk pounding away the keys for hours, and now I’m getting up early and lifting heavy furniture and other shit all day. But we get paid at the end of each work day, and I get to work with my good friends Jason Fritz (aka Uncle Jay aka Juicy J aka Juice aka Jason Beatty) and Ryan Hodorovich (aka Uncle Ry aka Rye Bread aka Hcivorodoh Nayr aka Germ 2.0), so it’s all good.

Not to mention the guy who owns the company, #ScottTheMover, is probably the biggest character in So Cal. I mean that figuratively and semi-literally. 

The job has allowed me to ride along the PCH through Laguna Beach and see other sweet stuff, too. Which is cool.

If you’re wondering about some weird or funny stuff that I’ve been up to, here goes. Yesterday, I was shopping in Santa Monica, when three people — a man who appeared Hasidic who was accompanied by a young Hebrew and Shebrew I could only assume were his kids — approached me. The father, or “Ab” in Hebrew asked me “Excuse me, are you Jewish?”

I couldn’t help but smirk a little as I said no.  #heaskedifiwasjewish

Yesterday, we also made an impromptu little spot using only a #GoPro camera. I suggest you do some research on these badass little toys. They are simple to use and capture amazing footage. Oh yeah, they are durable as hell, too. Here’s a link to the video titled "Ciggritts."

There was also a fun little excursion the second day I was here when I went to pick up lunch at a place called Sushi Boy. (Say it like a Sensei, it’s fun.) I entered the restaurant, and a young Asian man whose nametag read Kobayashi (I’m not making that up.) took my order. Soon after taking my order, he picked up a bottle of cleaner and a rag and began to clean the stainless steel behind the counter.

That’s when the Mexicans took over. Not only did a Mexican cook my order, but another one handed me the food. This sparked a new theory I’m promoting —

Mexicans in the Los Angeles area are so great in number and power, they now have the ability to use racial exploitation — a power once reserved for whites.

So am I working on anything funny in particular? 

I found a neat little ad on Craigs List asking for writers to submit funny, 1-2 minute short scripts to be animated. It requested that the scripts be based on pertinent subjects. Writers whose scripts are used are paid $200-$500, and they may be offered a job to write more. I am working on a script based on Marcus Bachmann’s “Pray Away the Gay camps.”

In case you’re not up on things, Marcus is the husband of Michelle Bachmann, who is attempting to become the country’s first female Minnesotan Bat-shit crazy, autistic-child-soul-devouring president.

By the way, Marcus Bachmann is gay as a leprechaun wearing pink near a pot of assholes at the end of a rainbow. I don’t know if that analogy makes sense, but he’s pretty fuckin’ queer.

Well, besides the fact that I have been jotting down standup bits here and there and trying to find some open mic nights, that’s about all I’ve been up to. I haven’t done much sightseeing, but there will be plenty of time for that. 

I miss my people back in Michigan, especially when I am driving. (All the rumors you hear about Cali traffic are true. But the amount of traffic isn’t necessarily the bad part. It’s all the idiots in that traffic.) But I'll see you all soon. 

D UP!

Moving sucks

#OldFolksHateLoudButCan'tHear

I don’t know if there’s much in this world I dislike more than moving. The process just infuriates me.

I’m not talking about actually moving — walking, working out, dancing — that’s not all that bad. (Although I’m not much of dancer unless I’m blasted beyond the point of having feelings.) I’m talking about relocating.

Loading up a truck. Unloading a truck. Loading up a truck. Unloading a truck.

That’s about my last three nights in a nutshell.

The happy part of all this? I get to do it all again in about three weeks! Woohoo!

The August move won’t be that bad, if you consider a cross-country drive not that bad. I can’t wait to arrive in LA, though, and breathe in that delicious smog-filled air. I can almost taste the pollution-induced phlegm now. Ahhhh.

Anyhow, I’m basically blogging because I haven’t done any writing, other than that which was required for work, since July 5.

I started a blog after my last standup act. But it turned into an old person-bashing blog, so I decided to scrap it.

For those not familiar, I participated in the West Branch Gong Show July 8.

After about the first three acts, which included people either 10 and under or 85 and over, I began to realize that I, being 27 and all, was a little out of place.

But I got on stage and did my thing. It was going well, and I was about 20 seconds from being done, when some elderly woman, not the designated “gonger,” mind you, actually got up out of her seat, walked forward, took the gong hammer from the gonger, and hit the gong.

Looking back it was kind of funny. I was angry at first, as about 15 family members, friends and co-workers were there to watch me.

I discussed the experience with my buddy Luke. We decided that I was probably too loud for Ethel, or whatever her name was.

Which is weird to me. Old people hate loud noises. But they also can’t hear noises at regular volume. It’s one of life’s weird misnomers. (I don’t know if this is the correct way to use this word, but screw it.)

As Luke and I were having this conversation about the mean old lady, who didn’t realize that I HAD JUST SUFFERED THROUGH 45 MINUTES OF LITTLE ANNOYING KIDS SINGING CAMP SONGS, we happened to be stuck behind two groups of golden golfers.

By golden, I mean old as shit. (I had to use shit, since I didn’t use a swear word in this entry up to now.)

All in all, though, I still feel that the gong show wasn’t totally meaningless. The people there who were my age, and a few others who were slightly older, told me they thought I was pretty funny and did well. Also, I realized that just because I have multiple ways to work a joke, I don’t have to use them all.

Especially if there’s old people around.

Other than that, I’ve been coming up more bits here and there. My lifelong homies Jason and Ryan, whom (who) I will be moving to Cali with in August, will be in Michigan soon, and I can’t wait.

The ride west will be fun with those guys, and we have some plans to shoot some videos during the trip. Watch for them on the youtube page.

Oh yeah. Here's part of the gong show act.

Reflecting on Independence Day

#PatrickHenryWasKindOfADick

It was a long weekend. For nearly all of it, I was in a state of overstuffedness.

Let’s review how I spent Friday, July 1, through Monday, July 4.

Days I consumed alcohol: 2

I went to the West Branch beer tent Friday, and drank at a birthday party Sunday. I don’t believe I drank at all Saturday, although Sunday was the only day I didn’t have to work. Exhaustion is a hell of a way to stay sober.

Days I worked: 2

Saturday and Monday. Enough said about that.

Days I ate until I felt like I was going to puke: 3

Saturday at my mom’s house I think I ate for three straight hours. Sunday I ate lunch at my parents, then went to aforementioned birthday party, where I ate again. Monday I was with the family again, eating and eating and eating.

Times I forced alcohol down even though I felt like there was no room left in my poor stomach: 2

Both times I drank I felt like I couldn’t possibly fit anything else inside my internals. Yet the Budweiser was flowing. Is that healthy?

Times I got legit exercise: 1

Saturday before going to take pics of a parade for work, I went to the gym. Needless to say anything positive it did for my body was erased.

Times I watched fireworks: 2

I covered the Skidway Lake fireworks show Saturday night (I got some pretty sweet pics, if I say so myself). Monday, after working in the morning, I stopped at my friends’ house. We lit off some snakes off the porch. It was epic. It looked like the stoop was shitting upward. We also tried to light off two bottle rockets. The first one was just stuck in the ground, (I’m pretty sure that’s how it showed how to do it on the box. Oh, it’s not? They’re supposed to be in bottles? I get it now.) while the second one was in a can. The first one whistled and popped … but didn’t move. The second one was a dud.

I can only imagine what I would have felt like had it not been for the times I worked during the weekend. It’s probable that the “Days I consumed alcohol” would have been greater.

I did manage to write some new standup bits, too, actually. Monday morning, I arrived for an event I was covering TWO HOURS EARLY (I could go on a rant here …). Unfortunately, the event was too far away from anywhere that I could drive to and not punch myself in the nuts for wasting gas. But I made the best of it.

The material, I think, was quite funny. It covers something I learned while getting a physical in high school, an awkward racial moment in college, and foreign doctors.

Or, as you may call them, doctors. What other kinds are there?

So, when it comes down to it, I think I celebrated Independence Day in about as American of fashion as one could. For instance, I covered many of the staples of modern Americanism.

1. Capitalism: I worked during the holiday (pictures at a parade, fireworks show and kids fishing derby), and worked on my own side project (standup).

2. Obesity: I don’t want to look at a hot dog for at least six weeks.

3. Alcoholism: True I didn’t consume to excess, but I consumed nonetheless.

4. Greed/gluttony: Did I need to eat until I felt like I was going to puke? Hey, it’s a holiday! The founding fathers (Is that supposed to be capitalized? Sue me.) fought for these rights (Interesting side note: Patrick Henry, who proclaimed “Give me Liberty or give me death!” received six slaves as a wedding gift in 1754. His wife also went crazy around the time he made the speech, and he confined her to a basement room. He wasn’t fond of liberty for others.)

5. Explosives: Fireworks.

6. Stupidity: Snakes and bottle rockets “launched” from the ground.

That about sums it up. All in all, it was a pretty rad Fourth of July.

Now I’m going to cry into my pillow because I used the word rad.

Clip of first show

This video shows my closing bit during my first standup routine at the Tumbleweed Cantina's Free Comedy Night Wednesday, June 29.

Keep in mind that the camera adds 100 pounds. At least that's what I'm telling myself.

Apparently, I talk waaaayyy to dirty, as well. I have clean bits, and should probably clean up some of my others. You'll see what I mean.

Anyway, watch and enjoy. There isn't the raucous laughter I was hoping for, but the place wasn't exactly packed with people there for the comedy. It was still fun, though, and I got some feedback from some other comedy folks there. I had a blast.

I'll be doing a little stand up in West Branch during Fabulous Fridays The Gong Show July 8.

Yes, it will be curse word-free. I swear.

Get it?

When bad stops being funny

#hotresort

I can’t be the only person who enjoys watching those corny 80s movies like the Mark Harmon as a cool guy vehicle-“Summer School” or the cheesy dance flick “Breakin’.”

These movies are generally bad. But they offer a couple of laughable one-liners. Plus, the “badness” of the films also adds to the level of humor.

Am I making sense so far?

Anyway, I stumbled across one last night that sounded like it fit the mold of the “so bad it’s funny” 80s movie — Hot Resort.

The info described it as a slobs versus snobs comedy (think “Animal House” or “Revenge of the Nerds”) set on an island resort. The slobs in the film were the crew of hotel workers, who were all at the resort to earn money for college. The snobs were a collegiate rowing crew that, for some ungodly reason, was sailed to an island to shoot a soup commercial.

I don’t want to sound like a sarcastic prick here, but why would a commercial have to be shot at an island? Couldn’t they have shot this in any body of water?

In the movie, some New Yorker named Marty Sullivan, played by an actor I never heard of, led the slobs. The crew included a New Yorker named Brad, played by Bronson Pinchot — Balki from “Perfect Strangers.” A third member that I recognized was the token fatty, Chuck, who was played by the fat guy from “Head of the Class.”

I had to use IMDB for the last one.

The fourth and final slob was the token nerd. Other hotel workers, none of whom had a speaking role or any development to their characters, joined them.

The snobs were the typical 80s frat-house douches who talked with one of those high-class accents made famous by Grey Poupon commercials.

Of course, there were plenty of ladies at the resort. Wouldn’t you know the slobs and snobs were all after the same ones?

Some other characters that should be mentioned are the big, military-style black guy who was apparently hired just to whip the resort crew into shape and keep them out of trouble; and Stephen Stucker — the gay, wisecracking hotel assistant, who portrays the same gay, wisecracking dude in “Airplane.”

He was basically the same exact character, and like in “Airplane,” did supply some legitimate laughs.

Oh yeah, Frank Gorshin also has a few cameos. One is kind of funny. He tells the chubby guy how to hit on some hot chick at the pool. I don’t want to go into too much detail. His advice, and the slob putting it into use, does garner some laughter.

But the generic storyline and predictable ending (the slobs have to row off against the snobs for the commercial, and win because the snobs’ boat sinks) aren’t what made the movie bad.

It’s the fact that whoever made this pile of shit didn’t go through the fuckin’ trouble to MAKE SURE THE DAMN BOOM MIC WAS OUT OF THE SHOTS!

Seriously, there are a few scenes that I can clearly remember seeing it plain as day. For instance, one of the rowing guys is in a hotel room next to one of the girls being pursued by all parties. He and one of the girls — Liza French — are leaning over the railing and speaking to each other.

The mic is visible between the two of them for like 30 seconds straight while they converse. Then, after a couple of close-ups, we come back to the shot of both of them, AND IT’S STILL THERE!

It’s one thing to totally mock the whole filmmaking process a la Mel Brooks with Blazing Saddles, but it’s quite another thing to say you’re making a movie that’s not meant to be a spoof, and just let the mic dangle on screen.

There’s another scene where the big black guy is speaking with his boss, the hotel manager or owner (I’m not sure what he was, I just know he was in charge), and again, right above his head, there’s the friggin’ mic. It happens at other times, but these are the instances where I remember it the most vividly.

Now, was this movie worth having re-shoots for these scenes? I don’t know. In the grand scheme of things, it still would’ve been pretty bad. But perhaps it would’ve been so bad it was funny.

Besides the whole microphone on screen issue, there were some other parts that seemed ripe for comedy that totally whiffed. For instance, there’s the awkward moment where the snobs arrive and the slobs have to carry their bags up to their rooms. It’s not long before the slobs start hoisting their bags off the second story. But any witty dialogue or smart physical comedy is missing at this point.

Instead, it’s a bunch of “Oh yeah? Watch this” and “Hey, you can’t do that.” It’s just a bunch of yelling over one another.

The same thing happens when our cast of troublemakers meets the big black guy playing their supervisor. He yells, and they all yell. It’s just a lot of talking over one another.

You would expect at least one cast member to be scripted with some witty lines, such as the case whenever this scenario happens in any military comedy with an intense drill instructor.

But nope. Not in “Hot Resort.” Even some parts that seemed like they were at least loosely organized and written for laughs come up short.

We find out late in the movie that Chuck, the fat guy, has been banging pretty much every woman on staff. Before this, we do see him hook up with a black cleaning lady, who acts as though she needs some help and rips off all her clothes when his back is turned.

I don’t know if it sounded funny when I just typed it up there, but in the film, it just didn’t come off as funny.

We also have a couple hooking up in a VW Beetle, when the guy throws his back out. Apparently, this is supposed to be the same couple that we see earlier in the movie having sex in a limo and in a boat. However, I had no idea it was them, until she says something to him along the lines of “Do you think you can go one more time before the wrecker gets here?” (The top of the car had to be torn off and a crane airlifted the guy out. Again, not as funny as it should’ve been.)

The biggest problem with this whole movie is that it was like 20 minutes into it, the director or producer realized “Wow. This movie is shit” and decided they wouldn’t even try anymore. Whoever was calling the shots was like “Fuck it. We have to sit through this train wreck, so let’s just go ahead and ruin for the few people who might actually find it entertaining, too."

Which is the reason it went from being “so bad it’s funny” to just plain bad. Real bad. We’re talking a shit sandwich here.

But, while “Hot Resort” was probably one of the worst movies I’ve ever seen (I texted my friend Colin “I think im watching the worst movie ever made” during it), I am still thankful for the experience.

Because at the end of the day, I learned something.

People in the 80s thought some dumb shit was entertaining. A movie can be so bad it’s not funny.

And I devoted about 90 minutes to watching it and another 30 blogging about it.

Somehow, I feel like the loser in this situation.

Directions to the Cantina

A lot of you have been asking me about my show Wednesday, June 29 at the Tumbleweed Cantina in Corunna. Many people have said they want to go, but aren't sure how to get the the TWC. Here is a detailed map. The roads are I-75 and M-21. Good luck finding your way.

Yes. I'm a smartass. But seriously, I hope to see many of my friends at the TWC as I make my standup debut during the bar's comedy night. I am excited and a little nervous, but also ready.

Look for video soon after the performance. I'll be going on for 10 minutes.

Interview with my mom

#magnum40
What took me so long to update my blog?
Well, I was working on this:

It's an interview with my mom about the state of education in Michigan. No laughing matter... or is it?


This was my first go-round with iMovie 4, and it sucked. A couple of things — I know the editing is shoddy. Big deal. I also know that the camera is shaky at parts. Who cares? Also, there was a second camera, but we couldn't use any of the footage off of it. It was too dark. And the laughing you hear in the back is my dad.


Rough? Yes. But it's still funny. Enjoy.

A blogworthy television experience 2.0

Finding Bigfoot

#stagingabigfootsighting      #squatch

I wouldn’t say I’m hooked on Animal Planet, but after watching “My Cat From Hell,” I figured I just couldn’t miss “Finding Bigfoot.”

The show is pretty simple. Four “experts” in a group known as the Bigfoot Field Research Organization go to places where a Sasquatch has been “seen” and investigate, trying to find “proof” of sightings, or the Bigfoot itself. (Three sarcastic quotation marks in one sentence? Yup.)

The team consists of Matt Moneymaker, Bobo, Ranae and Cliff.

Moneymaker, with his balleriffic name, is the leader. He also seems to be the easiest one to convince that a real Sasquatch sighting occurred. I bet that if I wore a gorilla mask through downtown Standish at night and someone saw me, he would tell them that he thinks they saw a Bigfoot.

I might try that actually. #stagingabigfootsighting

Matt’s claim to fame in the world of Bigfooting is that he was the first person to discover that sasquatches knock on trees to respond to a call. (This, apparently, is pretty controversial. If you visit the show’s website page where it describes The Team, you can see the Facebook RSS feed. A lot of people call Moneymaker out on it, and claim that the “knocking theory” is common knowledge)*

* If your show is about trying to prove the existence of a creature that probably 85 percent of the world doesn’t believe in, you shouldn’t show what people say on Facebook about it right on the show’s website. 

Bobo is pretty much a Bigfoot himself. He also serves as the comedy relief for the show. Which backs up my theory that really tall, overweight, ogre-ish people with long hair and low voices are never really taken seriously, even if they could snap a grown man in two like a twig, unless they happen to be Andre the Giant or the Big Show. (I know the Big Show is bald now wrestling fanatics, calm down.)

Cliff is the heartthrob, ladies’ man, closest thing to normal looking on the team when it comes to the three guys. I don’t think I’ve seen him in two episodes without shades on. He’s pretty cool, you know, besides the whole “dedicated his life to finding Sasquatch” thing.

Last but not least is the token female/token skeptic — Ranae.

Here’s where I kind of get lost. If someone doesn’t believe in Bigfoot, why would they be in the Bigfoot Field Research Organization?  My guess is that the producers and creators hired Ranae to provide a little bit of credibility. Of course, while the rest of world sees Ranae as realistic and credible, the BFRO sees her as a pessimistic bitch. Reality is a strange place for those of us living here.**

** This phrase was unofficially trademarked by me in a column published in Northern Michigan in October 2010. Take a look. It’s funny. 

During the episodes, we get inundated with sasquatch knowledge — we hear calls (Bobo, Cliff and Matt screaming and bellowing loudly), we see all the fancy equipment needed to hunt Bigfoot (infrared scanners and night vision cameras probably have no greater purpose in the world, right?), we hear from eyewitnesses (I could’ve used more quotation marks around “eyewitnesses”) and or course, we get in on the lingo.

Just today, while watching the second episode On Demand, I learned that sasqueetch (I just made that up as the plural for sasquatch) in Florida are known as Skunk Apes because they smell like shit. I also learned that insiders commonly call a Sasquatch a “squatch.” (Another unpopular topic on the Facebook feed that IS LITERALLY ON THE SHOW’S PROMOTIONAL WEBSITE, SO ANYONE CAN SEE HOW MUCH SHIT IS BEING TALKED ABOUT THIS SHOW!)

In all seriousness, though, the word squatch is awesome. #squatch

As you would probably expect, there has been no official, on-camera Bigfoot sighting on “Finding Bigfoot” in the first two episodes. I’m betting that this will be the case all season.

But I’ll be watching. Just in case. 

Midweek rantings

The ugliness of the NBA finals
#lebronshairlinethemesong
#marionjumper

Is it me, or have these been some of the ugliest NBA finals in recent memory?

I’m not talking about fouls, missed three-pointers, turnovers or the overall lack of scoring.

I’m talking about the actual people playing the game. Now, I don’t consider myself any sort of sex symbol (What’s that? You do? C’mon, you’re too sweet. I know, I know. Thank you.), but lets take a quick rundown of the rosters.

Not the full rosters, just the ugly people.

We’ll start with Miami. And when you start with the Heat, you might as well start at the top.

1. LeBron James — Now the king may have a muscular physique, and at first glance, looks, well, non-ugly. But look closer. See how he wears his headband? It looks very high up on his head in the front, right?

That’s because he has a receding hairline from hell. LBJ’s about three years away from a natural three-stripe mohawk. Interestingly enough, earlier today on twitter, a trending topic was #lebronshairlinethemesong. Some of the notables were “Lean Back” by Fat Joe, “So Far Gone” by Drake and “Top Back” by T.I.

Enough, though, there’s plenty of hideousness left to talk about.

2. Zydrunas Ilgauskas — Big Z has an ailment that curses most foreign players. He’s foreign. And looks different. And by different, I mean ugly. Give him another three inches, a goatee and flattop and we’re talking George Muresan-ugly. (I don’t care if spelled his name wrong. He made “My Giant” with Billy Crystal, so he got more than he should have.)

But Z doesn’t have the Muresan facial or scalp carpet. In fact, I’m pretty sure that he’s completely hairless.

3. Udonis Haslem — I swear, sometimes, I think I’m the only one who sees this, but when dudes rock the cornrows back really tight, and match it with a goatee in which you can’t see the chin hair, they look like a catfish. Anyone else? Look at Haslem again. Pretend he has gills.

4. Eddie House — Gotta be honest here. Just can’t stand him. He’s one of those guys who gets on the court and something clicks in his head that says “You’re the best player out here. … Take every shot. Shoot a three Eddie! … Argue with that call. You are a superstar! … Talk trash. You deserve it Eddie.”

Thankfully, he has been absent for most (maybe all) of the finals.

5. Mike Bibby — Again, maybe it’s just me, but Mike Bibby looks like an overgrown version of Mini-me. Not a miniature me, the Mini-me from “Austin Powers.” Look up a picture. You’ll see what I mean.

Alright this is dragging on way too long, so let’s go to Dallas. Like with Miami, we must start at the top.

1. Dirk Nowiztki — Dirk doesn’t have the same problem as Big Z. He’s not ugly because he’s foreign. He’s ugly because he looks like Skeletor. Also, I don’t know if it’s his mouthpiece that does it, or is he has a weird lip curl, but Dirk looks like he’s got some monster beaver-ass buckteeth.

At least at the moment, he is smartly rocking the long hair, which covers up some of the bony features on his face.

2. Rick Carlisle — Dude looks EXACTLY like Jim Carrey. When I say Jim Carrey, I mean Fire Marshall Bill.

LET ME SHOW YA SUMTHIN!

3. Shawn Marion — Since we’re talking about ugliness, insert joke about his jumper (#marionjumper).

But that’s not all we have to talk about. Marion has a face for radio… radio in Mars. He looks a lot like that alien named Ed in that movie by the same name. Unless he’s hanging around with wisecracking Brits, I really could do without watching his “out of this world” (in a bad way) game.

4. DeShawn Stevenson — Remember that stuff I said about Eddie House? Put a fro-hawk on it and make him the type of player that you see at the gym or playground that makes you whisper “Shit. So and so is here. I hope he doesn’t see us. Fuck! Here he comes. He wants to play.”

5. Jason Kidd — Hall of famer? Yes. Great point guard who continues to adjust to stay relevant? Yes. Cross-eyed?

Hell mutha-f’ing yes!

OK, I think I’ve made my point — I can make fun of people. But let’s not forget some of the others playing for the trophy — Chris Bosh, Brian Cardinal, to name a few.

And no matter who you are rooting for, a word of advice — this may be one series best viewed in standard def.

I thought I had other rantings, but this was just waaaaayyy tooooo long.