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Funniest Newscast Ever
Okay, I’m not usually one to post audio clips and other shit on here, but while downloading drops for the upcoming podcast…
Oh, I didn’t tell you about the podcast? Well, starting in mid-May, I will have the pleasure of co-hosting a comedy/talk show with the incredible jessica drake. Those who know her, and according to Twitter, it’s about 60K of you, know her as a Hall Of Fame adult film star/writer/director. But, did you know she is also very personable, and has an incredibly Wicked wit? She does, and we’ll be recording our first podcast soon. It will be available on our site, stfushow.com or on iTunes. Totally free, and totally funny, you have my word.
Back to the drop search. A “drop” is an audio clip inserted for effect, e.g. John Wayne might be used when reporting an event which disappoints. Anyway, while searching for the hilarious, I came across a newscaster, quite formal, with one of those booming baritone voices. He was given copy to read of a quite outlandish story, and couldn’t even come close to getting through it, although I applaud the effort. I defy ANYONE to listen to this, and not crack up. As for me, I can’t decide if I lost more fluids through tears or pissing myself. You be the judge: click here to listen to the newscast.
Oscar Day 2011
There’s a big to-do in California, as it’s been discovered that prison guards are the main cause of inmates possessing cell phones (big no-no). It was reported that even Charles Manson had a cell phone. Question…who the fuck is HE gonna call? Tex Watson? “Hey Tex, got a parole hearing coming up, and, I don’t want to jinx it, but I think I got a pretty good shot this time. So, we’re getting the gang back together. (listens) Yeah, rape, kill, all the shit we used to do. We’ll meet at Spahn Ranch, just like always. That old fuck better not have tossed out my Beatles albums.”
Speaking of music, I did a little listening to Slacker radio on my phone the other day; the 70s Hits station. A little Styx, some Grand Funk, and up pops the goddamned Pina Colada song. It’s quite possibly, the worst lyrics ever written. I’ll explain. I was tired of my lady. We’d been together too long. So, basically he was one nag away from going total OJ on this bitch. So far, so good. Now this was long before match.com, and computers; back when you placed a personal ad in the local paper, then waited a week for a response. So, this dude is reading the personals, while his lady is asleep in bed, next to him. The ad that caught his eye? If you like Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain. If you’re not into yoga, if you have half a brain. No picture or description mind you, just this catchy ad, and suddenly the guy was hooked like a stupid bass? For all he knew, this chick could have been tipping 250 lbs, but it’s okay. She likes Pina Coladas. Personally, if the girl looks like Angelina Jolie, she can drink pickle-flavored energy drinks, but that’s my personal taste. Tomato, tomahto. So, the guy agrees to meet this girl at a bar the next night. First, he’s assuming that she reads the paper every day, and will see his response. I’m thinking it wasn’t the Wall Street Journal, but I digress. So, the dude’s in the bar, and in walks his current girlfriend. She placed the ad, and that’s okay with him. They laugh, and go home. How about the fact that they were cheating on each other, you fucking hack! And her ad copy about if you have half a brain, seems to imply that she thought he was an idiot. Is THAT the kind of girl you want in your life? Someone who cheats on you, thinks you’re a moron, and after all that time together, didn’t know what kind of booze you like? How about you kick that bitch out of your shitty apartment, and tell her to take her fucking Osmond records with her? Hmmm? How ’bout that? Make her a fucking pina colada for the road. It makes me think that, in the 70s, I could have waltzed into a recording studio, dropped trou, squatted over a reel-to-reel tape machine, and whatever came out of my ass, had an excellent chance of going to #1 (okay #2 if you like puns). The 70s weren’t enlightened, because for every Jefferson Starship “Miracles”, there was some pothead pussy writing the Pina Colada song.
Sorry for the rant…Enjoy the Oscars.
The Meaning Of Friendship
It’s been a while since I’ve blogged, and the reason is, I’ve been real busy finishing off a script, and because I’ve been Tweeting. But having all this time to think, I couldn’t help but laugh at one of my true stories of youth, and felt it was time to share.
I hear all kinds of ditties about what constitutes friendship. I’ve heard the one about how a “true friend” will help you dispose of the body, etc. While that may be true, it’s really, really unlikely that it will ever come up in your life experiences. I, however, have a story which might happen to anyone and, hopefully, you’ll do just as I did some 20+ years ago.
My best friend John and I decided to drive cross-country from Chicago to Los Angeles for a little vacation. It wasn’t really a vacation…we had this wild idea to try out for Wheel Of Fortune, and figured we’d put in a little R&R while there. I had a 1985, two-seat, mid-engine, MR2, which, for a long-ass drive, was only slightly better than taking turns pulling a rickshaw. Anyway, we made excellent time, and decided to stop in, of all places, Flagstaff, AZ to party and bed down for the night. It was the middle of March, and while the rest of Arizona was enjoying 75-80 degree weather, Flagstaff was cold as shit, and still had plenty of snow on the ground. We found a cheap motel with two double-beds, and set off to see how the town partied. Well, Flagstaff sure knew what it was doing. John and I drank, pretty heavily, and I picked up a local woman with seemingly no moral padlocks whatsoever. She had a tattoo near her groin, and plenty of alcohol in her, so she met my minimum standards. There was only one problem. John and I were such cut-ups that I knew he couldn’t be in the bed next to me, or I’d spend the whole night laughing instead of playing “locate the labia”.
The solution to me was obvious. I’d take this little trampolina to the room, while John slept outside. Surprisingly, John didn’t put up much of an argument. So, for the next half hour I had my way, while John sat outside in a car with seats that didn’t recline, the lightest of jackets, and a dusting of snow falling all around him, as the snot froze in his mustache. Picture John Candy in Planes, Trains, & Automobiles.
I must admit I felt a little guilty. After all, John and I had split the cost of the room. So, once I was done I walked to the door, looked out, and motioned for John to come back in. I also gave John a sign that it was “his turn”. John immediately jumped into his bed, and I told the girl, “Hey, show John your tattoo”. She stumbled from the bed, and stood naked in front of John, so he could get a good look. John was sharp enough to know a green light when he saw one, and grabbed her hips, pulling her to the bed.
Now, I know this doesn’t sound like such a great friendship story so far, but here’s the friend part. Behind Flagstaff’s finest I was doing my best Marcel Marceau, trying to let John know, not to kiss her. You see, only moments before, I had decorated her uvula, and decided John had suffered enough for one night. I must have pantomimed some kind of puckering motion, wildly pointing to my mouth and waving “no”. Then, as if this acting wouldn’t get me that Emmy, I held the back of my own head, while bobbing up and down, mouth agape like a striped bass proudly mounted on a wall. Whatever I did worked, for when she went to kiss him, John performed a reversal that would have made Brock Lesnar proud. He had his way with her, I got some much needed alcohol sleep/coma, and most importantly, the woman slept in John’s bed.
The next morning she rose and went on her merry way. She didn’t want our phone numbers, didn’t want us to stop on the way back, it was perfect. And John and I continued on to LA for our wonderful adventure. During that trip we also ventured down to Tijuana, but that’s another story…
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