Rachel Dratch as Barbara Walters on 30 Rock

1 04 2008

Simply because it’s not the easy to find… and it’s laugh-out-loud funny:

Barbara Walters: [on The View] Let’s get personal. Your father Werner was a burger server in suburban Santa Barbara.
Jenna Maroney: Yes, that’s right.
Barbara Walters: When he spurned your mother Verna for a curly-haired surfer named Roberta. Did that hurt her?
Jenna Maroney: It was hard on all of us, yes.
Barbara Walters: Flurg murg glurg flurg murg murg murg tennis murg murg. Was a murg murg flurg?
Jenna Maroney: I’ll always be his little girl.
Barbara Walters: [puts her hand on Jenna’s shoulder] Glurg.


12 01 2008

Bits and Pieces – 23 [maybe Madison?]

Date: 2008-01-11, 8:23PM CST
Seeking moderately to exceedingly attractive man aged 23-40. No beards. No mustaches. Please, no crooked teeth either. Sideburns are acceptable as long as they aren’t too long. You preferably brush your teeth twice a day. You do not leave items such as cheese or cilantro to rot for several weeks before detecting a rancid odor that pervades your kitchen. No snoring. No balding. I am a voracious reader, so I am not interested in any man who does not enjoy literature, and by literature I do not mean the kind of books one finds on the bestseller shelves at Borders. By good literature, and you will at least be able to agree or disagree with me having read it yourself, I mean great works such as Anna Karenina, Ulysses, or Remembrance of Things Past. I also enjoy discussing other kinds of literature, such as history/science/philosophy, but please do not be one of those men who sit for hours pouring out like a spout all his philosophical meanderings just to impress everyone. It makes no difference to me whether you filter your water, but you must use recycling. I am more interested in those who know/study an additional language to their native tongue. Someone who values/creates art in some capacity is also preferable—you must at least have some appreciation for aesthetics. Although you may not be certain of his existence, I have no interest in anyone who actually believes in God.

I have no children. No diseases. I cook exotic dishes. I seldom smoke. My favorite writer is Nabokov. I do not care for John Steinbeck. I am attractive—I am neither fat nor ugly. I often wear skirts, knee-high skirts. I do not like camping unless it only lasts for a weekend. I love sleeping on trains. I love to see scattered orange peels on the ground. I love big cities. And I love receiving presents. Thank you.

RIP Herbert F. Kornfeld

1 05 2007

 Herb, you were my accounts receivable gangsta. Rest in Peace.

Arrested Development – Where are they?

7 11 2006

I was investigating NBC’s kickass new show, Heroes, when I found a link to some clips of Peter Jeffery Tambor’s new project, 20 Good Years. For those not in the Arrested Development fan base (and you should feel my scorn and contempt over that), Tambor plays George Bluth Sr., the family’s embezzling, corrupt patriarch. His role was amazing, and he and the rest of the cast cast deserved more credit and love than FOX gave them. Anywho, Tambor co-stars with John Lithgow (yeah!). They play two guys who decide that they’re going to make the best of the rest of their lives and have “20 Good Years” before they die. I only saw part of one clip, but the writing seems sub-par. Maybe that’s because I’m comparing it to Devo, though.

A banner on YouTube caught my eye when I thought I saw Will Arnett (GOB Bluth) in it. Turns out he’s in a movie called Let’s Go to Prison which doesn’t look half bad. Wikipedia (an always reliable source) says he’s got 10 movie projects lined up for the next two years! Wow! I guess he was in the latest Robin Williams movie, RV. My parents said it wasn’t the greatest, but they mentioned that Will Arnett and Tony Hale (Buster Bluth, see my icon) were both in it.

AND I just dug up this picture of Jason Bateman (Michael Bluth) from something like Tiger Beat. Holy crap, huh?

Lastly, I know I don’t get much of a readership, but PLEASE, go vote!
And, Inkysunset, your link was broken. I have a guess as to who you are, but… I don’t know.

Best of CL, another gem

26 05 2006

Here is a brief rundown of my encounters with the other lonely people. You can’t keep this stuff bottled up. It’ll kill ya.

Wow. You are surprisingly beautiful. From Pakistan, you say? How exotic.
No, I’ve never been, but I do support terrorism. Okay, that was a joke. Why are you shaking? Yeah, I’m a bit nervous too. First time and all. After hours of blithering about ourselves you are still nervous? I guess you are just a nervous person. Hey, is that your tongue in my mouth? Yep, it sure is. You’re a great kisser. Oh, you really just see us having more of a friendship, eh? Then, may I ask, why are you moaning and licking the roof of my mouth? I know that I just had a Mento and they are deliciously minty. But really, I’m happy to give you your own.

What lofty position do you have at Alias Wavefront that you have access to the kind of computing power necessary to make your picture look so much less hideous than you actually are? Oh, you’re from Liverpool. No, no, I find accents…sexy. Are we even speaking the same language? We should never have ordered food because now I have to watch you shovel that sushi pizza into your Homunculous face. Maybe you should find a floor grate to eat that over. Jesus Christ. Should I see if I can find a hose? Yes, the little folder that the guy just dropped on our table does contain the bill. Try not to look at it. I don’t mind wasting my time and I love to waste my money but if I have to do both, for you, right now I’m going fucking kill everybody in this place and take the bloodletting out onto the street. It’s okay, I’ll tell you what you owe.

I’m okay. You’re okay. The city is okay. I like spring too. Cats can be nice. The weather has been alright. My noodles are a bit soggy too. But not bad. No, not bad at all because nothing is truly bad nor is anything really that good. Beer is fine. Any one will do. Coffee or tea? I have no preference either. Should I hail a cab for you? We could just walk. Why don’t we just stroll out into traffic together. Alive, dead. What’s the difference, really?

We are obviously attracted to each other. You are a bit of a pot-head but I can live with that. You’re voice is like sandpaper on my inner ear. Again, I can live with that, for now. You often repeat yourself and I’m not sure I can live with it but I’m doing my best. You didn’t need to tell me how many guys you’ve banged but it is interesting nonetheless. You have a knack for spotting guys who just want to fuck a redhead, eh? I had no idea that was any kind of fetish. Funny. No need to worry, though, it’s familiar territory. Hey, right on, we are fooling around on my couch. I am really horny. Oh my god, I’ve somehow killed you! Oh, its okay. You are in fact alive. What’s wrong? You are just really quiet? You are sure that you are into this? Because I think that you may have just had a mild stroke. I wish I was one of those depraved redhead hunters because your lack of passion is inversly proportional to the hardness of my dick. Hmmm, I’m getting bored. Let’s just smoke some more weed and I’ll crack some more jokes.

You are cute in a Katie Holmes-ish, down syndromey kind of way. This bar is really loud so I miss a lot of what you say but it doesn’t seem to effect our lopsided conversation one bit. You talk a lot but you only tell me stories about your friends. All I’ve gleaned about you is that you are an only child and are addicted to some reality show I’ve thankfully never heard of. Will you excuse me? I’m going to steal a car, drive to Malvern and see if I can get some high school kids to shoot me in the head. We settle up with the waitress and you didn’t bring any money. How regal of you. No, I’ll get it, no problem. At about 2:30 I ask, “Wanna get outta here?” You reply with, “I have to go home. Alone.” I’m not sure how hot or interesting you think you are but what I meant was, “Can I please get the hell outta here?”

Your profile is amazing. We have all the same interests. You have an easy laugh. You’re calm, independant, active, adventurous. You included a picture of your back tattoo eluding to some greater sensuality and the back that carried it was lithe, blemishless and sexy. We exchanged a few notes. The back and forth of electrons was full of wit and charm. We set up a date. I get there a few minutes early. You’re late. More time goes by. I have another drink and then you’re really late. After about 30 minutes I think to myself, “Thank God… whoever that is.” You never show up and I just want you to know how happy I am. You never got the chance to befoul the perfect image I have of you. You will always be lithe, sexy, funny, happy, laid back and down to earth. And I will always be that snappily dressed, sarcastic, confident, mysterious hot guy without ever having the few minutes it would take to fuck it all up. I consider this my most successful connection to date. Um, to date.

By now I’ve seen enough. You sound sweet and you are attractive but I’m really just waiting to find out exactly why you and I will never stand on common ground and share a moment where the world makes sense from the perspective of being wrapped in each other’s arms. I don’t put much effort into getting ready for you. I don’t even shave. I actually put on cologne that I don’t like and I struggle with the psychological implications of this as I force myself out the door. When I see you its like looking in a mirror. No, you don’t look like an unshaven dude. But you are just as jaded the one you are half heartedly listening too. We would pretend to be interested in each other but we aren’t even pretending to be that interested in ourselves. You and I should probably go into counselling. And I don’t mean together.

Now I’m really fucked up. When I was younger and dated a variety of women I always knew who the one with the problems was and it was always you. Now I’m not so sure. I’ve been really repulsed by some of these morons but it dawns on me that some of them probably found me silly. Maybe dorky. Maybe even stupid. The common denominator here is me. Oh, this is really bad. I got into this whole thing to meet women, have some fun and feel good about myself and now I’m starting to think that maybe I’m the idiot. So I sit here waiting for you at this noisy little cafe and I have no confidence at all. I’m a complete fucking tool! My mind is all frazzled. Maybe I can get out of here before you show up. Oh, shit. That’s you isn’t it? Short, brunette, glasses. Built like a shit brickhouse. You throw your hips as you stride over to me. My mind is completely corrupted. Complete system failure and there is no time to reboot. I start with the bad jokes right away. And worse yet, I’m laughing at them myself. You aren’t. I feel like a drunk clown trying to entertain a cranky two year old. I stop recording before the pie hits me in the face. I don’t want to remember this shit.

I’ve taken a few weeks off and my synapses are firing properly again. I’m a wonderful person. People like me. I wear that cologne that makes me smell like candy. We take our interweb conversations to a patio for some reality. Pretty standard stuff. You turn out to be a hot cougar. At least your body has stayed hot. No kids, I guess. The cigarette lighter suddenly illuminates the gauntness of your face. “Just What I Needed” comes over the speakers and I’m waiting for you to reveal that you are in fact Ric Okasek. Your voice has been soaked in gin and its kind of like being gurgled at by those vulture-things from The Dark Crystal. We decide to order some snacks. You pull your eyeball out of your head and hold it high in your hand, twisting it around like a periscope in an effort to spot the waitress. She doesn’t see you at first but your barking gets her attention. You screech out your order with all the eloquence of a bandsaw cutting a piece of slate. You never look at the waitress and, in fact, treat her like shit. I enjoy my calamari despite the saliva, earwigs and bits of dust that I’m sure have found their way in there. I sit back in my chair and with one sip of wine my whole body relaxes. I smile as you prattle on. I’m so glad the problem is you and not me.

this is in or around Toronto

How to French Kiss – Ze Style

5 05 2006

More Ze Frank: Just follow the link! – He rips on Cream Ale, too. Hah.

And dirty space news.


4 05 2006

Birthday thoughts from Ze Frank: http://www.zefrank.com/theshow/archives/2006/03/post_1.html

So well put.

The Mooninites

29 09 2005

Alright. Fine. F&*k it. Just say “Here” and we’ll consider the word “Here” to stand for “Here I am, rock you like a hurricane.

You shall do as the Scorpions have done before you.