Speaking of man’s best friend, one thing I’m really glad we don’t emulate with dogs is how we go to the bathroom. Imagine how long the lines would be in a bar if you sniffed the first urinal, peed in the second one, stopped, then peed in a third one. Then on the way out, stopped for one last splash in the sink. Damn, you’d get to the bar at happy hour, and your next drink would be at “last call”.

I guess on the other hand, dogs are probably thankful they don’t have the guilt that humans have regarding looks and sex. You don’t have two bulldogs at the dog park talking it up…Dog 1: Hey dude, who’s that bowwow I saw you with yesterday? Dog 2: Oh man, it’s nothing serious. She was just in heat, and I decided to throw her some lovin’. Dog 1: Yeah, right. Dude, she looked like a St. Bernard. She pumps out a few homely puppies, and next thing you know, she’ll have your ATM card for the next 12 years. Plus, you know she’ll never lose the litter weight. But I know how it is, the bitches all get better lookin’ at sunset.

And of course, the female dogs would have their conversations too. Dog 1: Oh girl, you can’t back into every pug you see, just because of a few hormones. Dog 2: He’s not just any pug, he’s got a job and everything. Dog 1: Oh yeah? What does he do? Dog 2: He’s an actor. Dog 1: Actor, my blue ribboned ass. What’s he done since Men In Black? He’ll leave you for a poodle, and then where will you be? A single mom with eight kids. You’ll be damn Octopooch.

Amanda Bynes announced via Twitter that she is “unretired”, reversing her decision of June 19th. Apparently with Betty White taking so many gigs, Bynes quickly grew bored in the Retired Actors’ Home without a Wii partner.

A 52 year-old eastern PA woman was cited by police after she allegedly used her 26 year-old son’s toothbrush to clean the bathroom, then put it back in the holder. The woman was arrested for harassment, and the son was arrested for being 26 and still living with his mother. The son quickly posted bail, and declined comment when approached at Comic-Con.

In an effort to gain more control over inventory, Wal-Mart announced it would start putting “smart tags” on items such as mens clothing. Initial enthusiasm ebbed when it was also announced that the smart tags wouldn’t do shit if applied to the typical Wal-Mart customer.

Sense Networks hired former Nielsen Company Senior VP David Petersen as their new CEO. While addressing shareholders, Petersen stated that 42% of men 18-34 years of age working at Sense, approved the hire. The other 58% of the men missed the poll entirely, as they were sexting their girlfriends.

Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez threatened to cut off oil sales to the U.S. if U.S.-ally Colombia attacks over rumors that Venezuela provides haven to Colombian rebels. Not wanting to risk an all-out attack from angry Americans, Chavez also announced that illegal drug shipments to the U.S. would continue unabated.

In Arizona, illegal immigrants have threatened to march against the enforcement of SB1070, the controversial new law scheduled to take effect Thursday the 29th. In an effort to ease tensions, Governor Jan Brewer assisted in the organization of the march. It will now start along the U.S.-Mexico border, and continue ten feet backward.

My other tale of woe concerns my first days in sunny LA. It was 1987, and after an appearance on Wheel Of Fortune, I decided California was the only place to live. It was a spectacular place back then. I had a great bachelor pad in Hollywood, and shortly after getting settled I took in the beach in Santa Monica. As I came back from the sand and surf, towel around my neck, I arrived at where my car was supposed to be. I looked up, and right in front me I saw a guy driving right by me in my car. I must have looked very sad as that little Vietnamese man drove away from me in my own vehicle. My only thought was, Welcome to California. Now go home. I had no other choice but to take the bus home. On the bus, a man with everything he owned in a couple of bags beside him could see my disgust with life in general. “What’s the matter?” he asked. I was barely able to mutter, “Little Vietcong stole my car”.  “Oh man” the guy said, “Well keep your head up. It’ll all turn around for ya. One day you’ll have five of them cars.” I thanked him and went back to staring out the window, avoiding the dried loogey left by a former patron. But you know what? I’ll be damned if that dude wasn’t right. Today, in my garage, I have five 1977 Chevettes. And I don’t feel any better.

The cheers you are hearing

As much as I love Janine, she’s made a bit of a mess with her personal life, and this story is too damned funny to pass up. Porn starlet Janine, who was cheated on by hubby Jesse James before he cheated on newly ex-wife Sandra Bullock, has supposedly given up the porn life, and now has a degree from, drum roll please…CLOWN COLLEGE! Can’t help but wonder how that conversation with Mom went:

Janine: Hey Mom, it’s me.

Mom: Yes dear, I’m very busy. The senior bake sale is this afternoon.

Janine: Well, I know how you’ve hated my career in adult movies, so I wanted to be the first to tell you that I’ve officially given up porn.

Mom: That’s nice, dear, but prostitution isn’t much of a career change.

Janine: No, Momma, I’m completely done with all that. I went back to college and got my BJB degree.

Mom: Blow Job…

Janine: No, it’s a Bachelors in Jackass Behavior. I just graduated from Emmett Kelly University, magna cum!

Mom: Don’t you mean magna cum laude?

Janine: No, just magna cum. I had to persuade the instructor to pass me because I missed a few classes.

Mom: So what can you do with a clown degree, dear?

Janine: I have no idea. It’s kind of like my friend who majored in fine arts. But I feel so free now! I could join the rodeo, or be a mime. The world is my oyster! Aren’t you proud of me, Momma?

Mom: A rodeo clown? A fucking mime? All things being equal, I’d prefer you go back to porn. At least then I can go to the AVN’s in Vegas. I think I read somewhere the national mime convention is in Des Moines. Well, I think my pot brownies are done, dear. I better go. Call me when I can see my grandchild.

Editor’s Note: With all seriousness, I hope Janine can somehow, someway, get her life squared away. She’s definitely made some piss-poor choices, but if you know her personally, you’re rooting for her to turn it around.

My final thought of the day: Will someone PLEASE tell Dr. Oz that there are a number of effective laser treatments for hair removal? Either that, or he has to start wearing a long sleeved shirt. Every time I have to look at his Sasquatch arms, I can taste my own vomit, and feel the need to jump into a swimming pool full of Nair.

Ringo Starr turns 70 today?

Either way, Best not only got the short end of the stick, but had it stuck firmly in his rectum (Rectum? It damn near KILLED him! …old joke, sorry). Best continued on with an unspectacular career, while The Beatles became the biggest selling act of all time. Reportedly, each of The Beatles makes in excess of $10 million per year in royalties, merchandising, and other fees. Meanwhile, the ultra successful show Love, a tribute to The Beatles, plays to sold-out crowds night after night at the Mirage. The tribute to Pete Best, titled The Beatles Can Fuck Themselves, plays to a handful of degenerates at the El Cortez.

It wasn’t all bad for Mr. Best. He tried to capitalize on his brief Beatles fame by recording/releasing songs on the defunct Prune label, eerily similar to Beatles standards. During his sexual years he recorded two songs: Help, My Nuts Are On Fire!, and Lucy In My Bed With Herpes (#898 on the British charts). Later, he had a failed cartoon effort with Yellow Snow. In 1972 he had a string of legal run-ins, and chronicled them with Hey Judge. His final shot at making it on his own was with The Ballad Of Woody And Soon-Yi, and the closest thing he ever had to a hit, Let It Simmer, which was a finalist for the theme to Rachel Ray’s show. It seems poor Pete just couldn’t catch a break. With that in mind, I think it’s only fair that somehow the remaining Beatles should kick down a little of that $10 mil per year. Not enough to make him rich, just enough to keep the heat turned on. After all, with just a hint of luck (or a pockmarked face), Best could have been the one on the Ed Sullivan Show, and smoking hashish with the Maharishi. Instead, he splits a bottle of ripple with a homeless bloke named Ollie. Nearly fifty years later, it’s time to show Pete Best some love.

Cracker is my pet Shiba Inu.

And scientists always talk about this special sense animals have when it comes to earthquakes. How they can “feel” the earthquake, long before humans. Fuck me, the last earthquake, 8:30 at night, the house shakes. He didn’t even wake up, much less give me an advanced warning. That being said, if nothing else, I’m a realist. I don’t annoy my friends with tales of how smart Cracker is. In fact, my theory is that if Cracker spent a week with a sight dog for the blind, the following week the sight dog would be walking Ray Charles down the 405 freeway during rush hour. But, being a realist, I recognize the little peckerhead for what he is…an adorable animal who relies on my generous nature to survive; a good companion as long as I have a Puperoni nearby, and he’s a pretty good chick magnet, though unintentional I’m sure. Damn it all, I love that little turd.

And by the way, for any man that catches his girlfriend reading any article about a huge divorce settlement, and hearing words like, “Damn right!” or “Girl should have taken him for more”, run for your fucking life. Run like the penalty for drug possession is death, and you’ve got a quarter-ounce in your pocket. If I were you, I’d wear a condom all the time, even when flaccid…can’t take any chances.

Along the same “Why can’t the tail wag the dog?” reasoning, I’ve finally got around to commenting on Megan Fox being dumped for Transformers 3. The official statement on Fox’s dismissal was that Execs were worried about her extreme weight loss/appearance. Let me translate that for you…”Megan was a douchebag on the set. A pretty douchebag, but a douchebag nonetheless. And because we’re making a movie that will generate a gazillion dollars worldwide, it’s better to create a part for someone who will be a little more appreciative of the opportunity, and not so douchey.” Of course, it was Fox who, feeling like she was bigger than the movie/franchise on T2, expressed that Director Michael Bay was akin to Hitler (a charge dismissed by the entire cast/crew), and was constantly putting the stars in jeopardy with dangerous stunts. Really? In this day and age of stunt doubles and CGI, Bay is going to risk a potential billion dollars, just to have Megan Fucking Fox personally do a stunt? As Shakespeare would say, “Giveth me thy fucking break” (Hamlet, I believe). Fox should really just shut the fuck up, show up on time, and do her scenes. She’s quickly learning that hotness in Hollywood is easily replaced, and that ignorance, even in a smokin’ bikini, isn’t a career-builder (by the way, how’s that new Jonah Hex movie doing for ya?). If I were her PR rep., I’d say, “Megan, Booby, go to the press junkets, but no talking. Explain that you’ve got laryngitis and have to rest your vocal cords. And wear something skimpy, without a bra. If you need some wardrobe help, give Miley Cyrus a call.”

Speaking of The Joker, I’m reminded of some songs that have just irked me for whatever reason, and as good as The Joker was, I want to meet the guy who called Steve Miller “the Space Cowboy” or “The Gangster Of Love”. Gangster Of Love, isn’t that just a tad long for a nickname? How ’bout just calling him Stevie? Next on my list is The Hustle. The only lyrics in the whole goddamned song is, “Do the Hustle”. Is that guy that wrote those lyrics really getting the same residual every time it’s played as Robert Plant (Stairway To Heaven) or Lennon/McCartney (Hey Jude, Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds)?

While we’re at it, one of these days I have to corner Gene Simmons of KISS and ask him this question. KISS has released some of the greatest rock anthems of all time (Shout It Out Loud, Rock & Roll All Nite)…doesn’t it bother the shit out of him and Paul Stanley that their number one, biggest single is….Beth? Beth is the syrupy dedication by on again/off again drummer Peter Criss to his then-wife, who patiently waited as the group tried to “find a sound”. I can almost taste the bile in the back of my throat. You would think at some point Simmons and Stanley would pool their money together and keep hitting the purchase button for Shout on iTunes until Beth is surpassed in sales. At 99 cents each, how much could it cost, a couple of mil? Seems like a small price to pay for dignity. Just my opinion, mind you.

Next up…Seasons In The Sun (the 45 rpm version). Not only was it the only hit single from Terry Jacks, whenever I hear this song I’m reminded of the b-side, which was titled Put The Bone In. I’ve never heard it, can’t tell you if it was good (b-sides rarely were) or if you’d get the same sound by putting a mule turd into your CD player. I just love the title. One of these days I’ll have to track that little ditty down, and give a listen…maybe I can find it on Rhapsody.

The list is long, and one day I’ll have to do a follow-up column, but lastly, we come to (drum roll please)…The Night Chicago Died, by one-hit wonders Paper Lace. The lyrics are all fictional bullshit. There was no “East side of Chicago”. You go East of Chicago, you get soaked because you’d be in fucking Lake Michigan! There was no showdown between Al Capone and the police, where “Bout a hundred cops are dead”, or “the last of the hoodlum gang, had surrendered up or died”. And there was no day known as “The night Chicago died”. Three and a half minutes of total bullshit, and it somehow got to number one. Fuck me raw! It’s like if I wrote a song called, The Day Heidi Montag Won On Jeopardy, and morons from coast to coast just ate it up, contestants fighting on American Idol to perform it. How the fuck did we ever survive the seventies?

Okay, we’ve just had a 5.7 earthquake

Speaking of porn, it shouldn’t be too long before we get to see Joran van der Sloot’s gay jail porno. I guess it’s every Aruban’s dream to be a June bride. Now I know that whale shit is on the bottom of the sea, but if you dig about five feet under that, you’ll find van der Sloot’s soul. I don’t care what anyone says, he’s responsible for Natalie Holloway’s death, and, regardless of what Aruba courts will or won’t allow (oh, for example…his CONFESSION), the only thing I need to know is that he killed someone else. Everything else is legal horseshit. He killed the Peruvian girl, therefore he killed Holloway. Case closed. Let’s hang him and go have a mai tai on the beach. Right now, he’s in seclusion in a Peruvian jail, but the authorities are considering putting him in the general population. Prediction: If van der Sloot is put into the general pop., he’ll be bent over more than the pages of a borrowed library book. I can’t wait until he meets his new cellmate, Carlos the angry drunken sailor.

Surprise! Word has leaked out that the Sunderland clan has had a reality show deal in place for some time now. If true, and authorities don’t go after this scumbag, then I don’t see how the Thousand Oaks PD can continue to use “To Protect And To Serve” as a motto. If the reality show doesn’t draw viewers immediately, Papa Sunderland has asked little Abby to next sail around Aruba during Spring Break.

The proud Parent Of The Year nominees are shown at left.  As a last comment, I can only say that one should never underestimate Reality Show Producers, and their desire to appeal to the lowest common denominator.