Make it stop!!!

The Millers and Fandos met up at the local Chuck E. Cheese for a bit of pizza and games this evening, which is one reason I'm posting so late.

There must be something in the pizza or sodas served there that causes adult memory to fatally malfunction, because it's only while you're sitting there that you remember the awful, steaming, pepperoni-scented hell that Chuck E. Cheese is to the adult mind. I'm writing this as fast as I can before the memory eraser takes effect.

I certianly don't mind taking the wee tykes out for video games, and not even the coin-gobbling ticket-dispensing carny games of chance for the prepubscent set. All of that is harmless, noisy fun for kids, and I fancy myself as decent a skeeball player as anyone. Even the pizza is all right. (Stew, hopefully this will throw off Mr. Cheese's lawyers.)

The thing that burrows most deeply and violently into my nervous system are the music and dance shows. If you've never been to a Chuck E. Cheese, I sincerely apologise for the detailed descriptions that follow, and hope that your ensuing therapy goes well.

First, there is the awful animatronic animal band. I've mentioned this before here, but it's really what Disney would look like if it were all done for $5o, and the designers were orcs from the Lord of the Rings. Shields and Yarnell were more exciting. Stew observed that the "animal" (we really couldn't make out what that particular one was) playing the drums was "drum-synching". It would have been far more convincing if the drumsticks had ever got with 10 inches of the skins. The way each of the characters moved, you'd think they were all having seizures brought on by the insipid disco light show that seemed to accompany every song, be it a cheesy knock-off of Smashmouth's "All-Star" ("Hey now, you're a cheese ball..."), to a mellow parody of Celine Dion's song from the Titanic (lyrics to the original here) entitled "My Cheese Will Go On".

Even with the cheap characters, annoying music, and embarassing video productions, an adult mind might survive the evening if not for one thing: The help. With seemingly every song, three employees, joined by a fourth actually dressed as Chuck E. Cheese himself, would run out and dance along with the animatronic figures and the videos. Sadly, this particular night, there was one, a young lady, who took this all far too seriously. She was bouncing around, selling each song as though she had a lead role in "Chicago". At one point, she actually climbed on the stage containing "the band" and leapt off, the way Roger Daltry might have done, were it the finale of "Won't Be Fooled Again". Fortunately, no children were squashed by the exuberant gyrations of this ambitious and singularly untalented young woman, though she did nearly knock over a small girl while servicing the soda machine later. She is clearly fully committed to her job there...or should I say she should be fully committed, period.

Next to her, Chuck E. (Mr. Cheese to you and me) was, quite frankly, a major let down. He was introduced as "Your favorite mouse" over the loudspeaker, and I pointed out to Stew that he wasn't even on my top ten, a list which includes Ben, who happens to be a rat. Nonetheless, all the kids wanted to see and touch this giant bucktoothed rodent, and one little girl at one point cried out, "Chuckie! Chuck E. Cheese!" like a teenybopper at a Beatles concert. Since she looked to be about three, it was all the more heartrending.

Anyway, we all had a thoroughly enjoyable time and will be going back tomorrow and...hmmmm, I think the pizza has taken effect.

I'll take one Cheney with dreadlocks, please

I was thinking to myself today, even though this isn't a kids' site, we still want to be a resource for parents looking for ways to distract, occupy, and otherwise placate the little tykes. I found this tame and uncontroversial site on the BBC, which I thought would be a nice little timewaster for those 3 and below.

Wouldn't you know it; on my 73rd try (blimey, it was hypnotic after awhile), I came across this.



I think this goes a little too far. The least they could have done was used British politicians. I think we all would have enjoyed seeing wacky London Mayor Ken Livingstone in the light blue Criswell get up.

An apology

I would like to take this opportunity, on a late Friday evening when no one is reading, to sincerely apologize for the recent tone of this blog. Among the most recent subjects, we have addressed luh-vers of the royals, "enema cocktails" (which is an awful joke in and of itself), disaster relief from the Playboy Mansion, male enhancement spam mail, at least one popular gay novelty band, and Roger Calero.

While we do not, in any way, pretend to be a children's or family friendly site, preferring to attract reasonable if inmature adults, it behooves us to take stern measures to make sure that children who accidentally stray on to this site, in the mistaken and persistent hope that they are about to enter the depressing world of Lemony Snicket, do not accidentally come across any of the above subject matter (especially Roger Calero) or wander into links that take them to frightening photographs of Prince Charles and Camilla Parker Bowles like this one, or this one, or especially this one (Sorry, I meant this one). You get the idea.

From now on The Dictionary of Unfortunate Ideas will carry on its masthead (banner, whatever, you Internet geeks) the following warning label in 36 point, bold, sans-serif font:

"Warning: This site may at times contain references to Enemas, Male Enhancement Spam Mail, Roger Calero, photos of Prince Charles in a kilt, Camilla Parker Bowles, and accompanying legal analysis. Oh, and ...This is not a Lemony Snicket site! They are much more depressing."

Seriously, it's not always like this.

****************

Update: I couldn't get the Blogger template to include the warning. You're on your own kids.

We had some surplus at the mansion...

Among the relief supplies sent to victims of the awful Christmas week tsunami were thong panties, stilleto shoes, and six packs of Viagra.

"Um, thank you Mr. Hefner, but I don't think we can use this stuff."

We've Got Mail!

Well, it's happened at last! One of our many (5) readers has finally mailed us. Someone is trying to make contact. Thank you Marchelle! The text of her engaging letter is below:

"Warehouse Priice MEDs (brand new)Disceeretly shiip to ur door in 3-5 days
max via UPSViicodiin, Viiaagra, Codeiine, Cia1iis, C1onazepam, C1onazepam,
Meridiia minute, Lipiitor, F1exiril, Sooma, Zo1oft, Ambiien, Ce1ebrex,
Tramaadol, U1tram, Nexiium & many more high demaning meds never."

It seems to be some sort of poem. It's a strange one though, no iambic pentameter, or iambs at all for that matter. I don't think those are trochees... Also, I think Marchelle is taking a lot of these drugs herself, because they've drastically affected her spelling. "Shiip" Marchelle? "Codeiine" is spelled with one "i" dear. That's what you get for taking drugs that divert the supply of blood away from your brain!

I tried to e-mail Marchelle back but for some strange reason the mail won't go through. I hope the narcs haven't caught up with her! She's the only fan mail we've got so far. Anyway, thank you again Marchelle and please write again soon!

If the briefs don't fit, you must adjust it!!

Earl and Juan, it looks like we have awakened that sleeping giant known as our fictional legal department. I just received this e-mail from our head counsel F. Johnny Lee Cochran concerning our recent posts and others:

Stew, Juan, or Earl

First of all, I wanted to let you guys know we need towels for the restroom. With that out of the way, I wanted to bring to your attention some concerns that are raised by many of your recent posts. Between games of Minesweeper, the staff has noticed a tendency for some of the writing to get a little obtuse. While this isn’t a crime, we would like to see you tighten it up a little bit, because half of the time we don’t know what you’re talking about. Oh, and could you add a few “prima facies” or “habeas corpus’s” to the mix.

Now concerning your descent into the arena of rectal libations we must warn you that this is a sensitive area. We must suggest that you refrain from entering this area as the fallout can sometimes be quite unpleasant. We would not like to be faced with the briefs that would be related to it and could be at a loss for rebuttal.

In regards to the post in which you referred to Prince Charles as “Ole’ Bat Ears” we might suggest the use of “lobular challenged” or after looking at the picture of Camilla Parker Bowles, ocular challenged.

Concerning your use of the Whippet Song in Stew’s post, although we understand as parody it is acceptable, we don’t want to get mixed up with Devo’s lawyers. Do you realize those guys wear the same stupid hats? How would you like to sit in a conference room with six attorneys wearing those silly-ass hats? I once worked for Ringling Brothers and had to deal in some clown litigation… NEVER mess with a barrister wearing a pointy, colorful hat.

Anyhow, there’s a martini with my name on it, so you guys just do whatever the crap you want, AS USUAL.

F. Johnny Lee J.D.

You know, I might worry about what he wrote if I didn’t know that the J.D. stood for Jack Daniels.

Bottoms Up!

Stew, your post reminds me of the famous line from Walt Kelly's comic strip "Pogo": "We have met the enema, and he is us."

You've convinced me that there's a whole burgeoning audience for fine posteriorly-administered mixed spirits. Knowing the appetite human beings have for anything that might provide a buzz, I went rummaging around the Internet expecting to find pages and pages of sphincter bar recipes. It appears the market is, pardon the expression, wide open. So, I've taken it upon myself to provide a few below. Perhaps at some point I'll expand the collection into a small book entitled Bottoms Up! Cocktails for the Colon.

(Please understand that at this point, were we to actually have a large legal staff employed at the DOUI, they would be standing around me with shotguns insisting on the following statement which, in a sane and responsible society, would be unnecessary. However, since I don't want to inadvertently provide the script for the next episode of MTV's Jackass (literally, in this case): These receipes are for entertainment purposes only and are NOT intended to be imbibed by human beings via any orifice whatsoever. Oh yes, I also would like to take this opportunity to apologize in advance to anyone offended by the following concoctions. That would include me, also.)

• Bum Buzz - 2 oz. Gin, 7 oz. Listerine
• Fizzy Fanny - 3 oz. Peach snapps, 3 oz. orange juice, 1 bag of Pop Rocks, blended well
• Whoopie Cushion - two ounces vodka, 1 jigger of Mountain Dew shaken not stirred
• Tequila Moonrise - 2 oz. Tequila, 6 oz. hot salsa, 1 jalapeno pepper for garnish
• Jello Scooters - Jello mixed with rotgut and soaked in olive oil for 24 hours
• Atomic Bum - 1 oz. Gin, 1 oz. Vodka, 1 oz. Scotch, 1 oz. Irish Whisky, 1 oz. Rum, 1 oz. atropine
• Irish Enema - As it turns out this is an actual, normally administered drink. (Go Metric!)
• Lowball - 1 ounce whisky, 6 ounces prune juice
• Bend-Me-Over - OK, this one's real too. Who'd have thought it?
• Singapore Skid Marks - 1 oz. Kahlua, 12 chocolate bars melted and whipped into a froth
• DuckFart - Real again! Blimey!
• Wedgie Whistle - 3 oz. SlowGin, 3 oz. liquid oxygen
• Zima and Soda - Self explanatory

Speaking of bottoms...

Sorry about leaving you all alone Earl but I had to walk the whippet. Actually the problem has been what to write about. The Super Bowl went off without a hitch or wardrobe malfunction and didn’t everyone expect Scissors Sisters to win at the Brits? Ah, but we can always count on Yahoo! to come through in a pinch. Reading this story I have to believe this is either the worst alibi ever proffered or the worst way one can imagine to tie one on, no pun intended.

As a guy that has the occasional aperitif or dram of some spirit I find this story both sad and intriguing at the same time. We have to think if this becomes a trend that our drinking terms like “bend the elbow”, “drink like a fish”, and “take a nip” will become obsolete. We may have to talk about “a nip up the fanny” or “inner tubin’” or some such nonsense. Homer Simpson would probably be asking for a “Duff up the duff” at Moe's Tavern.

We would also be exposed to a new generation of drinks, if they can be called that, as bartenders and mixologists experiment with a world of new concoctions. I can just hear the names now: A Rum in the Bum, A Beam and coke, Foggy Bottom, Kick in the Backside, Rump-lestilskin, and even a non-alcoholic Perrier for the Derriere (ok so that may be taking it too far).

As for me I’ll just have a Heine. Oh grow up, I mean the beer… and not in the tookus.

It's lonely at the top...bottom...wherever we are.

Well, I thought I was feeling isolated and ignored simply because our new reader traffic is right around nil (those 2 new visitors who stopped by today...God bless you, and no, this isn't a site about Lemony Snicket.) As it turns out, I feel that way because our authors are also ignoring me.

This will be my sixth straight post without a message from Stew or Juan Carlos. Zimpter won't return my e-mail anymore. Chico y Jose has (have?) ignored our blog invitation to join for about two weeks. I'm being blognored.

I'm not despondent though. With the Grammys upcoming and the Oscars right around the corner, I'm certain there will be plenty to blog about. Chris Rock is hosting the Oscars after all, so the "five-second delay" jokes can start pouring like milk and honey right away. I suppose if they get too worried the Oscar producers will just dub in some old Bill Cosby routines for that Godzilla movie look. Chris will know what's happening when he hears the producer in his head saying, "Could you do a little more comedic mugging through this segment, Chris? Also, say something about your family and Jello pudding."

Prince Charles to wed again...

Well, Ole' Bat Ears, HRH Charles, Heir to the British Throne, Prince of Wales, Duke of Cornwall, Earl of Fando, Thane of Caldor, Burl of Ives, has finally decided to take the plunge again. He has finally decided to make an honest woman out of Camilla Parker Bowles, whom the AP describes as "his lover". I imagine you reading the word in the same way I'm saying now...exactly like Mike Myers in the old Saturday Night Live sketch "Sprockets". Blimey, I'm ancient.

That's "Luv-ER" in a thick fake German accent, for those of you not familiar with the sketch.

By the way, for those of you too young to have heard the expression, when I say "make an honest woman out of her", I don't mean that he's going to break her of her shoplifting habit, if she even has one. He's marrying a member of the British aristocracy, not Wynona Ryder.

It is, however, still shocking to some that the potential head of the Church of England even has a LLLLUUVVV-ERRRR. (OK - I've got carried away and I apologise.) For some, that would be an automatic disqualifier for the throne. We're sort of back to the Middle Ages on this one though.

Back then, disreputable kings and church officials would find ways to hook up with their favorite romantic partners and if anyone had anything to say about it, they'd be the afternoon show at the Lord High Executioner's outdoor cabaret and market. Just ask Thomas More, if you can find his head that is.

I suppose some traditionalists should take solace in the fact that Charles can't run for Pope, but really the main technicality there is that he's not Catholic.

I don't begrudge Charles wanting to finally wed the woman he loves, but I do suspect that future royals will push at the boundaries a bit more. I can easily envision the headline "Heir to Throne Enters into 6 Way Domestic Partnership with Scissors Sisters" sometime in the near future. Of course that would probably start in some place like Holland or Denmark. Britain is still a little too old fashioned for that sort of thing. Even Henry VIII felt the need to marry women before divorcing and executing them.

Blue to Scissors OR Who Cut the Cheese?

Britain sent the world a message last night with its version of the Grammys, creatively entitled "The Brits". The message: "Disco is alive and well in Britain." No reports on whether "Blue" were offended by the shutout they were handed at Britian's music awards (well, pop music at least).

The big winners were a group called the Scissors Sisters, which appeared to be mostly, if not entirely, comprised of men. They did not win the "Most Ineptly Named Group" award however as that honor went to the 4 Scots who form the bloke Franz Ferdinand. Instead they pulled down the awards for Best International Group (apparently the voters were stoned off their beans and forgot about U2) and Best International Album among others.

What's interesting about Scissors is not that they were "dismissed by many in the music industry as a gay novelty act", which never stopped Frankie Goes to Hollywood, but the multiple descriptors used to, well...describe them. The Yahoo article on the event described them as a "radical US dance act " and "disco rockers", which to me is the same as saying "disco-country and western" or "disco-polka". I mean, no-one's a band anymore. Even some of the groups that call themselves bands aren't. Remember 98 Degrees? They were described as a "boy band". What instruments did they play...boys? The whole thing makes your head spin like a washing machine driven breakneck through a traffic circle.

A disco-rocker-gay-novelty-radical US dance act wins a "music performance" award? Even Natalie Imbruglia appeared confused.

I'm also growing more and more depressed at some of the names performers are going by these days. I know "Earl Fando" is no great shakes, never mind my colleague Zimpter Fiforg, but I'm in the humor game (even if barely). Making you laugh is the idea, even if it has to start with my ruddy name. I'm not sure that the following performers listed in the Yahoo! article had that intention (time for another list Stew!):

• Dizzee Rascal
• Ana Matronic (Lead singer of the Scissor Sisters)
• Mike Skinner, also known as "The Streets"
• McFly (Could that be Marty McFly?)
• Eminem (I'm sorry but I will never take seriously someone whose name sounds exactly like a candy that "melts in your mouth, not in your hands")
• Bob Geldof

So the world of pop music continues its downward spiral towards some sort of lowest common denominator hell that will allow both humans and protozoa to dance to a common, oh-so-funky beat. For those of us who thought Milli Vanilli was the nadir of pop music this is extraordinarily depressing. For those of us in the comedy blog business though, it's a veritable gold mine.

I say, strike while the iron is hot. Bring on the disco-country-polka-ska-thrash dance acts now.

(PS - Just how does Franz Ferdinand do it? Do they all hop into little vehicles and join together into one mighty Franz like the Power Rangers, or do they take turns being Franz, and the others just hang around playing entourage?)

Who Moved My Post?

(Actually, my post wasn't moved. Stew has got me hooked on the lists again. They're like comedy crack!)

One of the biggest phenomenon in business and management today is the "clever" book, symbolized by the mega-bestseller "Who Moved My Cheese?", which, of course, is about intrigue and good-ole' fashioned corporate backstabbing in the dairy industry.

So I expect to see the following titles targeted at various industries and populations any day now. (Blimey, I should write one! It would pay better than this blogging gig.)

• "Who Sprinkled Parmesan on My Lasagna?" - by Chef Boyardee
• "Who Left My Toilet Seat Up?" - by Gloria Steniem
• "Who Erased My Hard Drive?" - by Bill Gates
• "Who ****** My *****?" - by Insane Klown Posse
• "Who Decided to Wear Fuschia with that Awful Paisley Sweatshirt?" - by Carson Kressley
• "Who Moved My Moldy Cave?" - by Mullah Omar (I hope it tanks! Pun intended.)
• "Who Leaked My Son's Kickback Scam?" - by Kofi Annan
• "Who Moved My Pasty?" - by Janet Jackson
• "Who Straightened My Hair?" - by Donald Trump
• "Who Threw Something From the Stands? I'll Beat On You!" - by Ron Artest (forward by Latrell Spreewell)
• "Who Ate My Sea Urchin Bisque'?" - by Iron Chef Japanese Masaharu Morimoto
• "Who Moved the Bridge?" - by Ted Kennedy
• "Which Guard Took Down My Decorative Wreath of Dried Macaroni that I Spent 3 Months Sneaking out of the Kitchen in My Shoes?" - by Martha Stewart
• "Who Moved My Fleece?" - by Ken Lay
• "Who Switched My Tape?" - by Ashlee Simpson
• "Which Movie Am I Acting in This Week?" - by Owen Wilson

Bad Possible Product Names

I was mulling over Super Bowl ads and Stew's recent post and thought, it could be much worse. How bad you ask? Here are some product names I'm glad we didn't see on Super Bowl Sunday or anywhere else for that matter:

1. Squirts Cola
2. Cadaver Brand Air Freshener
3. Breach Condoms
4. Trump Chocolate Mousse
5. The New Chevy Rollover (Substitute Ford, VW, etc.)
6. Sting Aftershave
7. Windy Bottoms Block Cheese (Comes in Limburger and Limburger Blue)
8. Hurl Toothpaste
9. Cheech-toes
10. Blisterine
11. Squint Eye Drops
12. Chum Brand Chunky Tuna

Ground Control to Major Madonna

Evidence that the Material Girl may be thinking about joining the U. S. space program sometime soon.

Come to think of it, this is news that may allow NASA to eventually promote a scheme to fund itself. Never mind that current space travel would have to account for several hundred to thousand years for such missions to pay off. If people were rational about this sort of thing, we wouldn't have had events like the California Gold Rush. Plus, they'd just have to get it by Congress, so it's not like they'll get a bunch of scientifically relevant questions.

NASA Scientist: "Well Representatives Pelosi and DeLay, it's going to take a very long time to reach these planets."

Rep. Pelosi: "I don't care how many weeks it takes! I ... I mean, the people of America, need those diamonds now! What cut do those come in?"

Rep. DeLay: "I must confess I agree for once with my colleague from Massachusetts . I have heard rumors that the Red Chinese are planning a manned mission to these diamond planets. Gentlemen, I suggest we have a diamond gap!"

Just don't cut my MTV!!

As our vast readership is aware we try to avoid political comment in order to keep you two happy. We don’t want any spats to occur due to one of you liking Lyndon LaRouche and the other being a disciple of Roger Calero. However, with the budget battle looming and cuts being made, we want to bring you the top 10 items that are being cut from the budget.

10. Federal subsidies for research into the use of Mentos as an aphrodisiac.

9. Closing down of the federal program “Meals for the Deceased” due to widespread non-participation.

8.Cutting research and development of the military’s “Sex Bomb” and change of focus onto developing a bomb which gives the enemy Trump Hair making them easily identifiable from a distance.

7.Ending federal subsidies for “Richard Simmon’s School of Masculinity”.

6.Stop development of Spamtrak, the new rail system entirely composed of organ meat.

5.Closure of any program dedicated to ceasing our ability to produce “Kick-Ass Rock”.

4.Cuts for research and development into a method of locating and matching socks which become lost in the dryer.

3.Closing federal program which airs Scott Baio’s oeuvre, especially “Joanie Loves Chachi” and “Charles in Charge” to third world countries, entitled Air Mediocrity.

2.Ending federal subsidies for Clinton-era plan “Queer Eye for the Military Guy” run by Carson Kressley. Aquamarine camouflage found to be useless in field studies.

1.End funding for nuclear research and divert money to the promising field of nucular technology.

It is our considered opinion here at DOUI that funding of comedy blogs be considered by the President and Congress in the future. We don’t mind being on the dole.

While I'm Bashing MTV...

Have you seen the current front page of their web site. It's tailor-made for a game of the old Sci-Fi Channel/MST3K "Caption This!" (...though it will probably have changed by the time you see it and you'll wonder what in blazes I was blogging about.)

There's the #1 video by "The Game". The picture makes their front man look like he has a facial tic of some sort, as though he's had one too many run-ins with Inspector Clouseau.

Green Day's lead singer looks as though he's trying to blow his brains out with his index finger. Someone tell him it's not loaded.

There's also a soulful picture of J-Lo. I imagine her thinking, "Maybe that big Boston doofus Affleck wasn't so bad after all. Marc is on my last nerve, baby!" I'm sure I'm just projecting.

Finally there's the ubiquitous (Latin for "can't sing in public") Ashley Simpson. I saw her "performance" during halftime of the Orange Bowl on T.V. She sang a song that was apparently entitled "You Make Me Want to Grunt". She's destined to get the Emmy for "Most Unconvincing Animalistic Shagging Noises by an Actual Female". It sounded more like the woman's voice from Duran Duran's "Hungry Like the Wolf" as done by Soupy Sales. All I can think of these days when I see Ashley is to picture her standing in front of Robert Reed and Florence Henderson whining, "Jessica, Jessica, Jessica!"

She has a whole television show to herself on MTV. That's a pretty good way to sum up the network these days.

MTV Programmers must be quaking in their boots...

...as they plan the next 30 episodes of "Cribs", "Date My Mom" (starring Prince Andrew), "The Real World - Tehran", and "Ride My Pimp" (or is that "Pimp My Ride"?) Record Executive Clive Davis will have none of it!

I look forward to the sight of seeing record executives in pitched battle with MTV. It's the entertainment business equivalent of the Soviet Union declaring war on Red China. The only winners are the rest of the world.

Perelman would say it better.

Another year of Super Bowl commercials is, alas, in the can. At a remote location, Britney Spears has had a fresh coat of lacquer applied and is being hermetically sealed in her sarcophagus. Yet, there is little time for the gnomes on Madison Avenue to drink their lattes and bask in the glow of freshly renewed contracts. What follows are the inner workings of one of those many ivory towers, the ad agency of Keebler and Kringle, a firm hard at work on next years campaign.

Scene: A conference room at Keebler and Kringle’s Madison Avenue high rise. Ad writers Squiver, Piquant, and Tink, all of whom are under five foot two and sport festive pointed hats, sit around a table knocking about ideas. Time to time, when one of them chuckles at a particularly clever notion, bells can be heard.

Squiver: O.K. here it is. We show Britney giving a concert on a ship in the Pacific, when suddenly she is washed overboard and has to swim to a tropical island.

Piquant: Is it Temptation Island, because we can definitely get the rights.

Squiver: No! er yes it doesn’t matter, now listen. The island is inhabited by cannibals who capture her and chop off her tongue. Th…

Tink: It’s great, I think we should push it right into production. I know where we can get the ax.

Squiver: I’m not done yet, Ricky Martin then flies in on a jetpack and distributes Pepsi to the savages. He and Britney’s disembodied tongue then sing a duet while the natives and the rest of her body dance in the background. It will fit right in with the new tagline “Pepsi – Give it some tongue”. What do you think?

Tink: I like the tongue cutting off angle, but do you think it’s too Gilligan’s Island?

Piquant: Tink’s right, let’s work on the Budweiser spot. I see a pack of rabid lemurs chewing their way into the “What’s up!” guys apartment and…

Squiver: Oh, shut up. You guys haven’t liked my ideas since that unfortunate Pet.com incident.

Tink: Let’s put the past behind us and move on. Now, my idea is that Cedric gets a dose of gamma radiation which makes him grow to about 200 feet tall. He is so plastered that he tries to get it on with the Statue of Liberty before urinating in New York harbor.

Piquant: A patriotic theme; that’s very big right now.

Squiver: You guys suck.

Tink: Bite me fruitcake.

Piquant: Guys, can’t we all get along? If we keep this up we’ll end up in the “Toy Department” if you know what I mean.

Tink: Who do you think you’re talking to lemur boy?!

Piquant: It’s go time pipsqueak!!!!!!!!

At this point they chase each other around the conference table until they all melt into butter. The boss a rather rotund, jovial sort of fellow with a big white beard comes in the room after hearing the argument. Seeing his ad writers melted on the floor he mops them up and calls in three more for a brainstorming session.

Super Bowl Roundup

Some odds and ends from this year's Super Bowl:

• Former Presidents George H. W. Bush and Bill Clinton were seen entering the stadium together. Both were doing the "Ickey Shuffle".
• The coin used for the ceremonial toss at the start of the game was a specially designed Chuck E. Cheese token. The team that won the coin toss also won 10,000 tickets from the restaurant. These could be applied to purchase a variety of gifts including a gigantic foam #1 finger, a small plastic football with the logo "Official Super Bowl Miniature Plastic Football", or one dozen Tootsie Rolls.
• The halftime show went off without controversy. The only small glitch were the heart attacks 3 FCC Comissioners had when Sir Paul McCartney unexpectedly adjusted his guitar strap, just above his right nipple. In a related story, there is no truth to the rumor that Janet Jackson had another warddrobe malfunction at the precise conclusion of the halftime show, while dining in a Bob's Big Boy. The person in question was Tito Jackson. (First Tito joke of the blog!)
• The Gatorade dumped over Bill Belichick this year was Extreme Mountain Breeze Lime Fudge Ripple flavor. This is a special Super Bowl flavor and is not available in stores.
• Terrell Owens was immediately traded to the Detriot Lions after the game for the rights to Carl "Action Jackson" Weathers and a pack of Dentyne gum. The trade was voided by the NFL Commissioner after it was learnt that Detroit had the rights to neither of them.
• The fireworks used during the halftime performance were especially designed to look like fireworks used at a Beatles performance sometime during the years 1964 -69. One glitch: Everyone was too stoned back then to remember what the originals looked like, although Sir Paul reportedly said, "sparkle-y".
• Terry Bradshaw reportedly fell asleep in the second half, muttering either the phrase "Roger Staubach and I would clean up nowadays." or "Batwings, walkman, cornucopia, fizzle...why won't Howie let me call him on my cell phone?"
• There is no truth to the rumor that Justin Timberlake was seen on the sidelines randomly pulling the tops off of cheerleaders, and at one point, Philadelphia coach Andy Reid.