Thursday, June 25, 2009

Weekend at Billie Jean's



So MJ has passed on...and i know we're all choked up. Remember how great his last album was? Oh...oh you don't? How about the one before that? How about any new music or anything he's done since 1991?

No, me neither. But I know you're really upset. I'm sure you'll feel the same way when Billy Joel and Elton John pass away (maybe if the two of them stopped playing concerts together of music from 1978, they'd get around to doing something substanial today).

But hey, I get it, he was one of a kind and uber-talented for over two decades and did put some of the best pop music out in the world.

But the fun doesn't have to stop here. There are several ways to keep Michael moonwalking to a stage near you.

The Weekend at Bernie's method seems like a logical move. The only problem though---you need operators standing with him, or else it's just a listless corpse.


This doesn't seem like a lot of fun.


So that's why we turn to Weekend at Bernie's 2. It's like this movie was written for Michael Jackson. For those of you unfamilar with the plot, basically a fouled-up voodoo curse (they used a pigeon instead of a chicken in the seance...rookie mistake), Bernie comes back to life in order to lead them to his hidden treasure. BUT, and this is important, ONLY WHEN THERE IS MUSIC PLAYING.



It's perfect. Most performers lip synch now anyway, so just blast some Thriller over the crowd and watch the Zombie Michael Jackson break loose for you.

And since through all the settlements he's had to pay out for child molestation and to keep the guy who plays Peter Pan on main st. at Disneyland locked under a giant jar in his basement, he's broke. Really broke. So what money is his family going to get from him?

License his image to be reproduced Beartown Jamboree style in a chain of pizza/burger joints where robotic Michael Jackson can sing and dance for kids birthday parties, corporate events, bar mitzvahs, etc.


It's win/win. Michael Jackson will continue to perform as an anamatronic effigy, and future generations of Jacksons will continue to reap the financial rewards.

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Come for the coffee, Stay for the porn

"Let's take that corner table. Uh, Ian...why is there a Hustler here?"


Reasons to Explain Why We Found A Hustler from the 1980s at Starbucks

1. It was in fact a fake cover hiding the Gray's Sports Almanac from 2015. (Which would also explain why that ornery old man in the deloreon followed me home afterwards)

2. Part of Starbucks new $3.95 tall latte, mushroom-bacon breakfast sandwich, and jack-off deal.

3. In recession, cheaper than paying their fee for wireless internet to go to porn sites

4. Keeps the bums occupied during their baths in the bathroom sink.

5. I left it there the day before.

6. Left by some grad student doing research on his unfinished novella. "It's sort of about the futility of love, and death, and how disconnected we've all become. It's a metaphor for Iraq, you know? It's scary...What? No I don't have a publisher lined up...Do you think my ex-girlfriend will like it?"

Monday, June 22, 2009

"The Chad"

As I arrived for a small birthday gathering of friends at a crowded Saturday night at South this past weekend, I was introduced to a friend of theirs, who, since I didn't plan on remembering his name anyways, I didn't, so for now I'll just call him...Chad, b/c I fucking hate guys with that name- they're always either douches or on crew (which is the same thing, more or less)


Artist's Rendering of a "Chad"

Anyway, the cool thing about this bar was that it had an annex with a small bar set up and one very cute bartender away from the barrage of 85 guys with newly pressed headshots in their trunks all claiming that Brody Jenner worked out at their equinox (that their parents pay for).

So i approach this bartender, you know, a real classy, down to earth kinda gal.

And I order a beer, try to engage in small talk with her, when "Chad" arrives for a high-five, then proceeds to introduce me to the bartender, whose name he gets wrong and tells her vehemently that, "This is Ian. make sure you fuck him up." She nodded politely, the way one does at a bum who asks for change while masturbating. It was like i was being cock-blocked by a bad SNL sketch.

This continued for awhile, Chad coming by, slapping my back, high-fiving, making ridiculous statements like, "ian's in the house!", putting his arm around girls whose boyfriends are standing nearby. You know, real Chad-type qualities.

And when I finally want to tell them that their friend is a douche, i learn, "Oh, we don't know him."

What?

Who the fuck is this guy who thinks that just b/c we're at the same bar, that somehow binds us into some close friendship. This isn't fucking 'Nam, man.

And as I saw he was hanging only exclusively with our group, it became clear that he'd come to the bar alone.

He was on a mission since he walked in to leech himself onto a group of friends like a fucking cold sore.

"Listen," I told the bartender as I then tried to order another beer after Chad arrived and put the kaibosh on the whole thing, "I do not know that guy. He is not with me. Please don't take his behavior as any sign of my own because you think I'm the kind of person who would be friends with him."

Yes, bars are social places where people can mingle and flirt, whatever. But they are not the fucking playground at school Chad, where you can try to make a new group of friends instantly.

...fucking Chad. Infuriating....

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Bill and Ted Are Kind Of Dicks

Dudes, so congrats passing that history exam of yours, but all those hilarious, goofy guys you travelled back in time to help you, most of them get seriously fucked up after this so-called “excellent adventure” of yours…

The least you could have done is warn them or something.

Let’s take a gander…

Socrates: People in Athens got pissed b/c he was smarter than them and had him tried, found guilty, and forced to drink deadly poison.

Joan of Arc: Maybe if you weren’t so busy trying to get under her chainmaille, you might have remembered to give her a heads up on that whole ‘tried as a heretic and BURNED ALIVE AT THE STAKE’ thing she’d have endure down the road. How painful do you think that was for her? But yeah, she probably didn’t want any kind of warning or anything.

That certainly looks like fun, no? Thanks guys.

Billy the Kid: So not only was he a wanton murderer to begin with, he was also violently gunned down in New Mexico at 21.

Abe Lincoln: I mean, really? Not even like a “You probably should avoid Ford's Theater if you can”? The guy brought an end to slavery…no heads up?

Sigmund Freud: Granted Freud lived into his eighties, he was alive to see his books burned by the Nazis and then had to flee to England once Hitler annexed Austria. Oh, and he also committed suicide to avoid a battle with oral cancer.

Beethoven: Basically the guy shat and vomited himself to death.

But I’m glad you had a good time at the mall with him.

And by the way, what’s up with your obsession with chicks from the middle ages? You are aware that it was considered in poor spiritual taste to bath regularly back then, right? Probably major bush as well. Fucking filthy, bros.

You guys are always saying ‘Be excellent to each other.’ How about you start by being excellent to your friends? Fucking dicks…

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Weighed in the Balance

Ian: Two pound low sodium turkey, please.
Harvard Grad Deli Guy: That was a pound, right?
Ian: Nah, two pounds.
Harvard Grad Deli Guy: Gotcha.
Harvard Grad Deli Guy: Here you go, a pound, right?
Harvard Grad Deli Guy: ...yeah.
two minutes later
Harvard Grad Deli Guy: Anything else?
Ian: Yeah, pound of white american cheese.
Harvard Grad Deli Guy: Ok, it's at .72 lbs, little under. Is that good?
Ian: Um...would you mind adding more?
Harvard Grad Deli Guy: ...whatever, man.

Now, I have a college degree, so maybe I'm not the BEST person to be offering this kind of advice, but, is it just me, or does it make a lot more sense to put the scales they weigh the meat on, ON THE FRIGGIN'S SCALES??

I mean, why have this woman with a wart on her forearm the size of an indian head nickel waste my time walking back and forth and back and forth, testing how much meat she's cut?

Look, she's already laying it down flatly on the base of the slicer. Has science not found a way to attach the scale there?

Is this going to be like a cure for Cancer? People just toiling away for decades on an answer, never getting close.

Think about how much time you'll save. Yourselves and us. I mean, I've already got to stand around for half an hour at the selfcheckout while this idiot scans each apple individually.


You arrogant sonofabitch.

Don't Quit Your Day Job

No, I'm afraid all those years of being in the chorus for the school musical won't save you this time.

To put bluntly: Taking your karaoke performance seriously WILL NOT GET YOU DISCOVERED.

I know what you imagine- somewhere, in the back of this bar at 3am, there's a talent scout, finishing his last drink, knowing that if only, only he could find that one voice he's been looking for, he'd just know he could make them a star.
But what's this? This...this sound of beauty coming from the bar stage. That voice. That look! That style!
"I'm the President of music kid and I'm gonna make you a STAR!!"

The only thing in the back of the bar sport, is the guy getting a hand job under the table by the prostitute he brought in with him.

You look more than ridiculous. Hand up high on the mic, one arm dramatically behind your back in some napoleonic stance, dressed in a tight black shirt with long leather bands from wrist to elbow. No, you will not be discovered here for your singing talent...only for your award as 2009 Scott Stapp Lookalike Winner of the Year.

"Thanks, yeah, I...I'm okay. Me? No, not professionally. Yeah, maybe I could. You know. I used to like, sing a lot in school."

Oh great, here comes the overweight sista. let me guess sweetheart? Celine Dion? Tina Turner? Let me do you a favor Aretha- Everyone else here, we just wanna get drunk and make fools of ourselves. Did you see a sign pointing "American Idol Auditions This Way --->"?

I know your friends at the salon are always telling you, "You could totally do it baby girl! You gots the talent!" But please, just...just...it ain't gonna happen. Not here.

Put down the warm gingerale you've been nursing all night (don't want to damage the pipes god forbid!) and leave the karaoke bars to us drunks at 4am. Get in line to be rejected by American Idol like all the other karaoke showoffs.

Monday, June 15, 2009

In Plain Sight


Fat guy with his Tshirt on in the pool....Do you work for the Defense Department, because that camouflage you’ve got on is state of the art.

Listen, you’re fat. Okay? I know it. You know it. Your negligent parents know it. That girl you have a crush on during third period that you fantasize dancing with at the 8th grade dance with this Friday…she definitely know it. (she only smiled at you that one time because she needed a better angle to copy the answers off your test, sorry)

So…what’s with the shirt? No one’s fooled, kid.

And why a white shirt? Have you considered colors that don’t become translucent when water is applied. I hear black is very slimming. Don’t you know things turn ugly when they get wet?

The whole shirt in the pool routine is passé man. You don’t become a Loony Tunes cartoon and suddenly appear thin enough to hide behind a flagpole.
How am I supposed to feel better about my own body, if I can't see the pathetic state of yours without having to use my Superman X-Ray vision to penetrate that poor rag of cotton, stretched beyond the laws of physics.

That's more like it!
You’ve seen one fat person, you’ve seen them all. But by being the guy with a shirt on in the pool, you turn yourself into a Where’s Waldo, a character everyone seeks out to mock and chide behind his back.

(douche?)

Now, there is a chance you’re also wearing that shirt to cover those silver dollar pancake nipples of yours as well (Again, do you know what happens to white shirts when wet?).

If this is the case then you already know what to do- grab some syrup, half a stick of butter and chow down Porky, it’s snack time. You know you want to take a bite…just…just one little bite won’t hurt. No one will ever know…

deeeelicious...

Friday, June 12, 2009

I Lost A Bet With My Agent

Part of the whole deal of celebrity culture, is you basically get a free pass to screw around with other hot, successful people.

So then what's going on here with these Hollywood couples?

Toby, it's clear that you're AC/DC and prefer hot dogs to clam chowder, but this is the best thing you can do for a beard? She looks like the girl who used to sit alone at Hebrew school and pull her hair out in clumps.

You're Spiderman. Even Kirsten Dunst is laughing at you.


Pierce Brosnan and Keeley Shaye Smith.

Just because you're not James Bond anymore, doesn't mean you have to give up on life, not care if your wife lets herself go, stay in on sundays in sweats, wiping the potato chip grease off on your shirt.

Christ, the sight of her almost makes me prefer this Bond pairing.

...almost.

Here's Chris Noth with the tranny he got over the internet from Manilla



















Hugh Jackman. Why is no one putting effort into finding a decent beard these days?

Not only is she old enough to be your mom, the two of you look like you've both just bumped into each other at a GLAAD convention.

But tell her I loved her in Nip/Tuck this past season.


James McAvoy. Older women aren't the answer. Neither is finding the most british looking cigarette butt lying in the gutter.

Freshen your drink. guv'nr?

Lastly, poor Sarah Paulson.

She thought she was a lesbian, until Cherry Jones disrobed and she discovered it had all been a horrendous Jame Gumb ruse.

...I'd fuck me.