You stole my story

OH my GOD! In response to a comment by Ariana on my last post I just had the craziest flashback to Secret Window, aka 96 minutes of my life that I will never get back.

You know, it really does not get much better than this: John Turturro as the menacing yokel, that last shot where Johnny bites into an ear of corn, the HAT that *somehow* plays a star fucking role?!? I cannot express my consternation with myself (and you, Ariana) for having seen this film- and JOHNNY DEPP! You, sir, should be horsewhipped.

If memory serves, I think I fell off the bed while watching this movie, and then threw a temper tantrum because it was so so SO bad. I am losing my shit now just thinking about it. Watch the trailer.

It's no 'close up of Johnny Depp's teeth biting into an ear of corn' ( I swear to god, that is the final shot of this movie), but it might give you SOME idea of the mad panic that spread through the city that day.

And lastly:
Ariana, you complete me.

I've totally been called out on my rubbish research skills

And, as if by magic...






Two images of 'old men eating soup' (though let's be honest, that 'old man' in the second photo has a pretty big rack)! What the fuck? My credibility is totally shot. I would like to say that I spent hours in the archives, a la Johnny Depp's rare book collector in 'The Ninth Gate' (have you SEEN this film? It's fucking mental. I have no words. The plot outline from imdb.com: 'A rare book dealer, while seeking out the last two copies of a demon text, gets drawn into a conspiracy with supernatural overtones.') It's kind of the story of my life, isn't it?



I mean, sans facial hair, glasses and odd, out-sized cigarette, we could be TWINS!





I know, I really didn't have to. I was having a bit of a BOOM BOOM moment there and could not resist.

Anyway, old men eating soup: alas, I did not find these myself, they were given to me by an anonymous benefactor- which also isn't treally true, but it sounds very dark and Dickensian. My usually free time was otherwise occupied at WORK, actually SAYING OUT LOUD to a bunch of 13 year olds in a kind of shaky, desperate voice:

'These shoes fit me perfectly when I bought them, but now it seems my feet have shrunk and they keep falling off! Does that ever happen to any of you?'

The upside is that two kids raised their hands. Things just went downhill from there.

But anyway, the best part is that one of the photos file name is 'stock photo'. Get it? STOCK? SOUP? Did I overdo it? Did spelling it out like that kill the magic? Well, it's true. Stock Photo! Stocks!

Which brings me to...



Yes, that is my dad. ha! Just kidding. It's not. My father would never wear shorts in public. Unless you count lederhosen:



Dad, Brad and Chad, Chicago 1961.

ha! Kidding again. man, you're gullible!

Dark Days

There are times when the internet just lets you down. I did a Google image search for 'old man eating soup' and NOTHING! Nothing I can use. Am I just going to have to break into my OWN image bank of photos of Walter Matthau at the Campbell's factory? No sir. This will not break me.

I had a whole thing planned out about old men eating soup, but will now have to resort to other, much more disturbing imagery:



Okay, cheap shot. The whole 'creepy doll' thing has been done to death, I know. But it's a cliche because it's TRUE people: look at the eyes. More importantly, look at that little devil down in the lower left hand corner, looking to usurp the throne of the big doll. You just know that the glassy-eyed demon has slipped something 'extra' into the other one's afternoon lemonade, and by the look of it, it was something STRONG.

The drugs DO work, friends, that's the secret the dolls never told you. They let you cry your little heart out over, say, a little boy named- oh, I DON'T KNOW- maybe MATTHEW CARROLL, who you LOVED and who NEVER LOVED YOU BACK... and it could have been as simple as a little dose of vicodin to take that pain away, but those dolls don't share. Fuck you, Matthew Carroll, I'm OVER IT!

Oh my god, I have become Miss Havisham.

Annyway...



Yeah yeah yeah, I know. I'm losing my touch. More scary baby dolls. This one is actually a real baby that has been laminated. It's true, I checked before I bought it. I don't want no fake ass baby dolls. This one has that magical baby smell, plus that magical laminating machine smell of burning plastic!




Boo yah! I bet you thought I was going to slip another tired ass doll picture. Think again, Poindexter! I wasn't born yesterday! I LIVE this shit. Look at that long, silky hair. Two words: Barbra Streisand.

And now, just because I CAN:



What? Don't you secretly dream of being this fucking cheesy? Is there a riverboat somewhere we can push these two off of after having relieved them of their undeserved winnings at Mississippi Roll Em Poker? One major issue: The guy has let himself down by NOT wearing spats. When will I ever think of say that again? Let's hope never.

One last thing, and then I will leave you be:






God I fucking love dumplings.

What would Prince do?

I have a lot to say about Prince. Too much to really write down here. A few basic things:

He is the only man who wears paisley in earnest
He invented the color purple
He also invented unicorns
He speaks in rhymes
His skin glows with the power of a thousand suns
He is actually the son of Zeus
He is also the only man who could wear the following items of clothing and NOT get killed by an angry mob:












Actually, he would probably combine them all to create a mind-destroying outfit that would simultaneously cause blindness and all women within a 10 mile radius to suddenly fall preganant. Then he would jump onto his purple sex dragon and fly away, leaving behind a trail of smoke the shape of greyhound with a gossamer cape and a crown of black pearls.

I still love you

Just like Wayne Newton still loves:

footie pajamas
being bloated
frozen cadbury creme eggs
spangled Wranglers
Disco Duck
Toilet Duck
botched plastic surgery

I am very busy at work now and it is REALLY eating into my internet time. So much so that I was only able to find ONE decent 'pizza farm' image on the internet.



Sorry guys, I've really let myself down.

What's Up, Bitches!

What? Oh, yes, that IS Lumpen Everyman Kevin Pollack. Who else? You may remember him from Grumpy Old Men and The Usual Suspects. He is the classic B List Celebrity, not v. memorable. Unlike this little pricless nugget of madness:



Wow! Who's that guy? Is he famous? NO, he's just some ass who has pasted his face onto the body of a dancing elf. Famously fucking worthy of a violent death, maybe, but not famous in that Brad Pitt way. Not even famous in the Kevin Pollack way.

That said, is it better to paste you face on the body of a dancing elf for the amusement of yourself and others... OR to just, say, dress up as an elf in a totally half-assed way when you duck outside of the grocery store to call your wife and tell here there is NO WAY IN HELL YOU ARE BUYING HER TAMPAX. Because there is NOTHING more humiliating than standing at the checkout, paying for femal hygiene products. NOTHING. This man is taking a stand. No fucking Tampax here, bro. This guy is keeping his dignity.



Whoa. Are aprons the new bathrobes? Is it possible that they have now replaced the terrycloth robe in the ever more rapidly growing list of things that might make me vomit in my mouth? All signs point to YES.















Oh my god, my strength is sapped. Completely. I need something to give me a boost, I don't know maybe something like a picture of a sexy anthropomorphic unicorn, but there's NO way I'll ever-

OH! Wait a minute!



Phhew! That was close one.

Craig T. Nelson speaks to God

I spent most of Sunday feeling pretty awful and craving pizza. I really dream of a nice, crisp thin crust, with that special chewy, bubbly dough... Alas, I settled for supermarket pizza.

It just really angers me that THESE bozos are eating better pizza than I am.






Even VERMIN have access to better pizza! This is unacceptable! I might as well chuck the whole thing in, change my life, my name, my SEX, move to the Midwest, get a job as a football coach at Sub Par U and just FACE the fact that I am Craig T. fucking Nelson and I should resign myself to eating pizza that is bascally ketchup on a scone.




Yes, that's me. Coach.



Just imagine CTN growing up in Spokane, WA and having NO idea that someday he would be the STAR of one of the WORST tv shows ever made. Ever.

I imagine him sitting up late at night saying, "God, how the FUCK did I get saddled with Jerry Van Dyke? Seriously, how is it that I am inextricably linked with the LESS talented Van Dyke brother? I've paid my dues: I was in Troop Beverly Hills, for chrissake, and now THIS? Jerry and his raspy old man slacks, Werthers Originals and bad jokes about 'tight ends.' I hate him, God. I just hate him. At least Dick Van Dyke can tap dance."




Jerry Van Dyke: there oughta be a law against it.