Don't encourage them

Since I work at a gihugemous liquor store, we have copies of Wine Spectator magazine in the break room. Today I was flipping through the latest issue and found this excerpt from an article by someone named Mark Pendergrass. The article tackled the issue of substandard coffee served at fancy restaurants. Here are a few helpful hints from Mark:

"Treat the cup as if you were being presented a bottle of wine. Smell your brew as soon as it is served. If it isn't aromatically appealing, it's probably not going to be satisfactory in the mouth. Take a small sip to see, and then if necessary, politely ask the waiter to bring you a freshly brewed cup."

Yeah, that's a good idea, sending back the coffee. On one hand, the scalding hot temperature of the brew will probably deter the kitchen staff from placing their collective cock-n-balls directly into the cup; however, it won't stop them from turning your beverage into a bodily fluid horn-of-plenty.

I'm not suggesting that anyone pay for bad coffee, but a better idea might be to have it taken off the bill and then make a stop at one of the FIFTY coffeehouses you'll pass on the way home.

Oh, but ol' mister helper Mark Pendergrast isn't finished yet. He continues:

"If even a fresh cup doesn't taste good, talk to the manager. Find out where he or she gets the beans, how long they have been on the shelf, what brew proportion is used, how the water is tested. Make the manager aware that customers expect coffee service to be more than an afterthought."

NO!! Please for the love of Cunty McCunterson don't do any of those things! The world DOES NOT need another needy, entitled consumer. For Mark Pendergrast to give the overpriviledged, spoiled subscribers of Wine Spectator expressed written consent to be giant pains in the arse is inexcusable! By all means, he's saying, waste the restaurant manager's time with coffee questions so obscure they would make Juan Valdez's nuts shrivel. He's just some dumb service industry dork who has nothing better to do than listen to your yuppie minutiae.

Hey, why stop there? What's this asshole's next article? "I think a waiter who serves you an inferior cup of coffee should have it thrown in his face. His permanent scars will serve as a stark reminder of his lower station in life."

I will give the guy credit for one thing: He gave perfect advice to all ladies who may find themselves on the business end of a blowjob: "If it isn't aromatically appealing, it's probably not going to be satisfactory in the mouth."

Why I can never run for Congress

There's a Congressional race going on here in the Louisville area in which the challenger, who used to write for a local weekly magazine, is having his past articles used against him by the horse-faced twat incumbent. It appears that some of his quotes are taken out of context or misrepresented, so it occurred to me that this blog could one day be used against me if I ever decided to run for Congress.

Here are some examples of potentially damning quotes from past blog posts and how the opposition might spin them to damage me politically.

"I like big butts, but I have been known to lie about it."
-If we can't trust Todd to tell the truth about liking big butts, can we trust him to tell the truth about anything?

"...it's humiliating to buy tampons for your inflatable three-entry love doll, whom you've named Charlotte."
-Todd's values are not our values.

"That's what happens when the local mall finally gets a Hot Topic: Rich, spoiled suburban douches-in-training decide to play dress up."
-Todd. Wrong for rich, spoiled suburban douches-in training; wrong for America.

"Thanks to the miracle of birth control, people can have sex without a resulting pregnancy."
-Who wants your underage daughter to have sex with convicted felons? Todd does.

"I don't have a bumper sticker depicting George Bush in a circle jerk with John Wayne, Abe Lincoln, and Jesus."
-Todd recently came out AGAINST John Wayne, Abe Lincoln, and Jesus.

"All of the biggest pricks and dumbest cunts flock here to meet other pricks and cunts, mate with them, and create what may in the future turn out to be the worst society in recorded history."
-Is there anything Todd won't say to get elected?

My Name is Todd

I recently received more than a few boobie pics for my birthday. I would like to thank the ladies, who shall remain anonymous FOREVER, for their kindness.

However, my new blog friend Katie has reminded me of an even better reason to show your cans: The 2006 Boobie-thon. This is a fund raising event to benefit breast cancer research; which, it pains me to admit, is a much better cause than the celebration of my birth.

Since I believe in karma, and the Goddess of Tit has showered me with riches this past week, I urge everyone to go to www.katieschwartz.blogspot.com and read her post about the Boobie-thon. She even interviews the two women who started it! I'm disabling comments for this post because the time spent thinking of something clever to say to me would be better spent reading about the Boobie-thon.

Damn, I'm one selfless son of a bitch.

A little Q and A

Q: What do a stock broker driving to the Hamptons in his Mercedes and a teenage girl using her daddy's credit card at Abercrombie have in common?

A: They're both more "punk rock" than Good Charlotte.

Q: Why did U2 play to celebrate pro football's return to New Orleans?

A: There isn't a better way to honor the city's rich musical heritage than having a rock band from Ireland reopen the Superdome.

Q: Did an albino midget live a few streets away from me when I was a kid?

A: Yes. He was vertically and pigmentally challenged. And it was rough for the guy. I lived in a neighborhood where people would just walk up to him and say "Hey, lookee there, we got ourselves a fuckin' albino midget. You should done go and join the circus."

Finally, let's help out a friend of mine. My friend Livi is studying fancy book-learnin' at one of them universities, and she's writing a paper. The topic, and the last question, is as follows:

Q: What is the difference between chicks and women?

A: This is where you come in. Give Livi the benefit of your brilliant insight. Post your answer and maybe it will be sited in an honest to god academic tome.

I write wine reviews and other news

Recently the folks at my job gave me a few samples of wine to try, for the purpose of writing "tasting notes" about each one. The incentive, they said, was an opportunity to have a blurb featured in their monthly ad circular. That's right: No money, no promotion; just a CHANCE, if the reviews meet their high standards of wine criticism, to have my words highlighted in an ad that's glanced at and thrown in the trash.

So, I wrote a few reviews. I think they'll love them and this will be the start of a fabulous career writing about something I know nothing about, kind of like when William Bennett writes about ethics.

Mountain Peak Chardonnay, Napa Valley, 2004

Simply put, this is a putrid tarnish-remover with all of the subtlety of a boot to the ballbag. Be sure to drink this overwhelmingly oaky wine if you want to know what it's like to suck Howdy Doody's dick.

Miracle Cabernet, Oregon, 2005

A true miracle, this is what would happen if Jesus turned water into wine. Except he runs out of water and has to use Courtney Love's pussy.

Finnigan Merlot

If you think "merlot" rhymes with "forgot" this is the wine for you. Pairs nicely with squirrel, raccoon, and other varmit. Has a "pork rind" fragrance and a "burnt gristle" taste up front, but ends with a note of "bongwater".

I hope they pick my reviews. I can't wait.

New Blog
I love to share and discuss music, so I've set up a new blog called Hullabaloozer to post videos and performance clips of my favorite artists. Please visit at www.hullabaloozer.blogspot.com and share your opinion on today's choice. I'll try to add a different clip every day or two.

Shameless Self Promotion
Today is my birthday, unless you're reading this on Monday, in which case you missed it and I'm crying. There's still plenty of time for women to send me breastises pics and the like.

The Bearded Clambake - The Quicker Picker Upper Mutherfucker

This is a clip from my favorite late-nineties Louisville Public Access show, Bearded Clambake, hosted by the always lovable Cappy Dick and his trusty sidekick Blumpie.
As you watch, keep in mind that this profane outburst was shown on basic cable. Apparently the FCC has no control over public access channels.

More reasons why I really need to grow up

These are but a few of the many products I see at work every day which make me giggle like an infant.




Fat Bastard Wine
The first time a customer asked me if I had a full case of Fat Bastard, I punched him in the face.



















Horse Piss Beer
Tourists and travelers LOVE to buy this beer. I think it's just swell when local companies use provincial stereotypes about Kentucky as a way to make money. I can't wait for Ignorant Hilljack Beer to appear on our shelves.















Fighting Cock Bourbon
"Fighting cock" is what you'll become if you drink a bottle of this swill.














Cleavage Creek Wines
"Hey," a corporate viper said, "we have this dishwater wine no one in his right mind will buy, right? Let's put a pair of tits on the label."

















Cockburn Port
Jackpot! Another product with "cock" in the name. The website says it's pronounced "Coh-burn". Well, it isn't spelled that way, jackass! I like to tell gullible people that it's a treatment for severly chaffed penises.

My birthday is fast approaching...

My birthday is this coming Sunday; September 24 for the date-obsessed among you.

Last year, at the old, recently demolished viva las vegASS site, I created a slight controversy by asking for boobie pics for my birthday. Actually, the controversy was contained to a few prudish types who retreated back to their shanties to live a humble life of churning butter and hand-washing their husband's hairshirts, never to visit this blog again. Sadly, it wouldn't be the last time my perversions cost me readers.

So this year, being a little wiser and free from the oversexed shackles of Sin City, will I ask for tit-tay photos again? YOU BET YOUR SWEET JIGGLING PAIR I WILL! But I'm going to add a few other suggestions. Here is my list:

Boobie pics: Ladies, any pics of your sweater pals in any state of undress you feel comfortable with would be greatly appreciated.

Camel toe: If you don't want to show your boobies, how about stuffing this year's crotch into last year's pants? Camel toe is really the only reason I go to certain bars. Please, guys, no man-el toe! All man-el toe photos will be sent to the FBI for identification, and you will be hunted down and killed execution style.

An original composition featuring a humorous use of irony: Girls, I love you for your minds, too. Not as much, of course, but if you fancy yourself a writer send me your work and I'll casually glance at it while I'm ogling the boobie pics.

A hat: Winter is coming and I don't have enough hats. My head is kinda large, FYI.

Baked goods: Fat guys like baked goods. We didn't get fat NOT liking baked goods.

Beer: If you're lucky enough to have a good craft brewery that bottles its own beer in your town, pack up a bottle and send it to me. I'll think of you while I'm drinking it. If you're female, I'll picture you naked while I'm drinking it.

Recreational lesbianism: Girls, if you happen to have a picture of yourself and a "very close" girlfriend playing a little barroom tonsil hockey, feel free to send it this way.

Boobie pics: Oh, right...I already mentioned this. It bears repeating, though. Send boobie pics.

What I really want for my birthday is a good ol' fashioned blowjob, but no one is going to catch the next plane to Louisville in order to step up to the mic, so I'll be forced to troll this town's sleazy bars and taverns looking for a woman wearing beer goggles as thick as a deep dish pizza.

My email address can be found by clicking "email" at the right side of this page. Whatever you do, don't click where it says "Whatever you do, don't click here". Really, just don't.

Thanks in advance for the overwhelming outpouring of indifference this post is sure to generate.

Don't be a punk-ass fuckface if you can't back it up

This Saturday, the University of Miami Hurricanes took time out from their busy schedule of robbing convenience stores and raping coeds to come up to Louisville and play the hometown Cardinals in a game of college football. The Hurricanes began the pre-game introductions by gathering at midfield and collectively stomping on our logo. After the game, they quietly walked back to the visitor's locker room, having been ABSOLUTELY HUMILIATED BY LOUISVILLE, 31-7.

In the past few years, a few other teams thought it was a good idea to congregate at midfield before the game and stomp on the University of Louisville logo. None of these teams have left with a victory. In fact, the combined score of these games is 257-35. Not one of these arrogant groups of assholes has even managed to play a competitive game.

So please, stop coming into Cardinal Stadium and jumping up and down on the logo if you're going to play the football game like a gaggle of stumblecunts. Apparently, the home team isn't intimidated by such tactics. Also, after you are humbled like the bitches you are, you will be repeatedly taunted on Sportscenter. They will play footage of your team's empty pre-game bravado, then they'll show University of Louisville players scoring touchdowns again and again and again.

I'm not saying Louisville is unbeatable; far from it. They've had trouble on the road in the past. But unless you're Ohio State or USC, show them a little respect when you visit their house.

Help me assimilate

I think one of my problems (one of many) is my lack of a discernible image. I just can't commit wholly to any particular subculture. I need your help, reader(s). I'm going to list the pros and cons of various American subcultures and you can tell me which one I should try.

Neo-Hippie

Pro: Lack of ambition, which I respect; and an appreciation for microbrewed beer.

Con: Smelly, leech off of society, rarely eat meat, listen to shitty jam bands, targeted for extinction by Eric Cartman.

Preppy

Pro: They usually date hot chicks; the Dillard's Big and Tall shop sells Polo clothes, a lot of evil preppie villains in bad movies are named "Todd".

Con: I don't come from money and I refuse to pop my collar.

Indie Rock Guy

Pro: I like the music, Indie rock chicks are hot, I enjoy the smug satisfaction of owning a CD only thirty other people on earth own.

Con: I don't chain smoke and it's impossible to find my size in a thrift store.

Bitter Recluse

Pro: I'm eighty percent there.

Con: My other twenty percent likes crowds.

Yuppie

Pro: Society seems to exist to satisfy their every whim.

Con: To actually be a yuppie, don't you have to make more money than a ghost town street performer?

Circus Freak

Pro: I like to travel; I hear the bearded lady gives great head.

Con: A steady diet of corn dogs and fried dough won't help my weight problem; carnies are basically apolitical hippies.

So, what do you think? If you have any other ideas, let me know.

What the Critics Are Saying About "Death Wore a Feathered Mullet", Part One

"Does for blogs what Fast and Furious: Tokyo Drift did for driving like a complete fucking jackass." -Roger Ebert, Chicago Sun-Times

Things I think about when I think about things

Just a few things I've thought about recently. Nothing earth shattering, really.

-When you're on myspace and you see three pictures under the heading "Cool New People", those people are never cool. Ever.

-My favorite food on the planet just may be Indian food, but I can't eat it unless I'm going to be home for the next twelve hours. Trust me on this one.

-It irritates the piss out of me when I mention I grew up in a blue collar neighborhood and someone engages in such broad stereotyping I'm forced to defend people I never really liked in the first place.

-Saturday I was at the Original Highlands Neighborhood Music and Art Festival. I had a great time eating good food, drinking beer and listening to local music. According to this website, the theme was "Diversity". In the Highlands neighborhood, diversity means a mix of white scruffy alcoholics and white scruffy bohemians, but they did have a bad Salsa band on one of the music stages.
Also, while the website touts Louisville as America's Top City for Relocating Families, I cannot confirm nor deny this claim.

-I don't miss Las Vegas in an "I want to live there again" sort of way, but in an "I want to spend a long weekend there and do lines of coke off a stripper's fake tits" sort of way.

-See, that's the mind-altering mystique of Las Vegas, making me think I'm going to do something in 3 days that I never did in almost 4 years.

-Other American cities I'd like to spend a long weekend in, whether or not doing lines of coke off a stripper's tits, fake or otherwise, is involved: Chicago, San Francisco, Austin, Seattle, San Diego, Dallas, somewhere in New England, Hollywood, Orlando, and Portland.

-Number of those cities I'll most likely visit unless I win a lottery I never play: ZERO.

-I just heard that somewhere on the internet there's a video of Paris Hilton pleasuring herself with the remnants of Ashlee Simpson's old nose.

-"Lickspittle" is a word that isn't used enough in our society.
Lickspittle: A contemptible, fawning person; a servile flatterer or toady.
example: "George Bush is Dick Cheney's reliable lickspittle."

-All I want to do is fall in love with someone whose very existence doesn't make me feel embarrassed for having human emotions. Is that too much to ask?

-I hate when I order pizza with a bunch of people at work and they all try to put in exactly the amount they owe without regard to tax or tip. I'm bringing my own lunch from now on.

-I wish I had been more ambitious when I was younger. Or not. Who cares?

-After three fucking years, The Dixie Chicks STILL can't tour in the South; and several country music stations STILL refuse to play their songs. Compare the harmless thing their lead singer said to the hateful, insane ramblings of Ann Coulter and Rush Limbaugh. They don't have any trouble being heard on radio stations.

-My least favorite blog? All of the self-important Sex in the City rip-off New York chick blogs are tied for first.

-This post reminds me of the senile ramblings of Larry King's USA Today collumn: "You know what is truly appreciated in the King household? Oxygen."

-I've noticed that real women aren't as quick as their porn movie counterparts to give random blowjobs to complete strangers.

-Why didn't the other castaways just kill Gilligan? Come on, after the tenth rescue attempt he bungled, any other group of people would have gone all Lord of the Flies on his ass.

-I'm accepting marriage proposals if anyone is interested in throwing her life away.

What's My Age Again?

I had an unprecedented three days in a row off from work. On Friday afternoon, on the way out, I was shouting at everyone, "C U Next Tuesday!" "Hey, (cashier's name), C U Next Tuesday!" "(Store manager's name), "C U Next Tuesday!"

"Later, Todd," they'd all reply, innocently.

This was satisfying on a couple of different levels. First of all, it reminded them that while they were at work that weekend, I'd be somewhere else, somewhere other than work. Also, it was a safe and effective way of calling the lot of them, both male and female, "cunt".

I laughed to myself the entire way through the parking lot to my car.

I really need to grow up.

The Real Truth About 9/11

A lot of people are concerned about the ABC "docu-drama" Path to 9/11, claiming it is biased and unfair toward the Clinton administration. As a good citizen of these United States, I previewed this film and am happy to share my findings.

Here is a transcript from a pivotal scene in the "docu-drama". I'll let you judge for yourself if it is indeed biased.

Scene: A CIA operative has captured Osama Bin Laden and calls the White House to confirm the order to kill.

CIA Operative: "I've captured Bin Laden. All I need is the President's permission to take him out."

White House Staffer: "Well, President Clinton is busy right now having sex with a goat, which he will then sacrifice to his lord and savior, Satan."

CO: "But I have Osama Bin Laden. Public Enemy Number One. He's mocking the United States, saying we don't have the balls to kill him."

WHS: "He's probably right. We pride ourselves in being scrote-less little girls."

CO: "He says if I don't kill him now he'll organize a terrorist attack on the United States."

WHS: "That's big talk from someone with bad kidneys. Tell him to not piss in five different directions at once, and then we'll listen to his threats."

CO: "He says if we let him live, his followers will fly planes into the World Trade Center and the Pentagon on September 11, 2001."

WHS: "Okay, I think the President has finished fucking beasts and worshipping the devil, so I'll let you speak to him."

President Clinton: (portrayed as the devil, complete with horns and a pitchfork) "What the hell do you want?"

CO: "Mr. President, I've captured Osama Bin Laden. If I let him go, he vows to destroy the Twin Towers. If I kill him, the plan dies as well."

Clinton: (casually browsing through a kiddie-porn magazine) "Let him go. He's giving me two of his wives in exchange for an unlimited line of credit at a flight school in Florida."

CO: "Mr. President, I cannot in good conscience...."

Clinton: (interrupting) "Shut up and obey my orders or I'll do to you what I did to Vince Foster."


Well, there you have it. Draw your own conclusions.

When in doubt, give 'em a bad album cover

Some recording artists are such worldwide superstars they only need one name: Elvis...Madonna...Ken?

The name of Ken's masterwork is By Request Only, so don't expect him to just show up in your town uninvited. You have to ask for Ken.

I think Ansel Adams took these cover photos. Notice how the extreme close-up, which highlights Ken's hair helmet and cheesy moustache, contrasts nicely with the seated shot, which features Ken's trademark off-white leisure suit and a background that was later used in child pornography.

There are many rumors as to the whereabouts of Ken. One theory holds that he's now a homeless man wandering the streets of Oakland, California; while others insist he was found dead in a public bath house in the early eighties. Where have you gone, Ken? A nation turns its lonely eyes to you.

The Pretty Factor

Thanks, Flounder, for pointing me in the direction of these hilarious "inspirational" posters.

Beauty equals power in our society. I'm not saying it's right, or ideal, but it's the truth. As far as relationships go, looks are less and less important to me as time goes on (and were never a major concern), but I will freely admit that a beautiful woman sometimes leaves me utterly dumbfounded.

Last week I was at work and a young lady walked up to me who was so hot, I had to think about William H. Macy in a speedo to avoid sporting a woodrow. She had dark hair, olive skin, and when she blinked her tits jiggled. I was flabbergasted. She asked me a question about vodka or rum or you know...one of the clear liquors and it was all I could do to give her a coherent answer.

You'd think I'd grow out of that, but it's the same as when I was in college. Every once in a while, when my group of friends sat at our usual table in the student center, a girl would join us who didn't resemble the lead singer of the Cure. This was a rare occurrence, so the girl would be treated like visiting royalty by all of the guys, myself included. We'd laugh a little too loudly at her jokes and basically make asses of ourselves. We wanted to think of ourselves as liberal progressive types, but the penis is at least a moderate.

Back to the present, lord knows I likes the tit-tays, but never underestimate the power of the female ass. I've seen guys walk into retail displays looking at a shapely turd-cutter. There is a reason I don't resent the success of Jennifer Lopez, and this is the reason. That ass should be worshipped as a god, or at the very least be on the new five dollar bill.

And if I was tennis player Serena Williams, I'd join the men's tour and play with my back to the opponent. There's no way a man can look at this ass and be able to concentrate on tennis.

The Pretty Factor has far-reaching effects. Has an attractive woman ever received a speeding ticket from a male cop?
"Ma'am, driving while intoxicated with a dead midget in the passenger seat and a trunk full of uncut heroin marked 'Sell in front of elementary school' is illegal in this state, but I'm going to let you off with a warning."

Women are guilty of playing favorites too. Her new boyfriend with the "great sense of humor" is almost always a handsome guy who's about as funny as aquarium gravel. And the better looking a guy is, the more some women will put up with. I guarantee when it comes to the ladies I have less "margin of error" than Brad Pitt. No one has ever broken up with ol' Brad for some of the reasons women have ended things with me.

"Todd, I don't like your shoes. We're breaking up."

"Todd, you forgot my third cousin's birthday. We're through."

"Todd, is this a Letters to Cleo CD? Get out and never call me again."

"Todd, I can't date tall, fat, underemployed men when there's an 'r' in the month. See you next May."

May came around, and she didn't return my calls.

Summary: M-TV Video Music Awards

It was another three hours I'll never get back, folks. Why do I watch this show? I know I'm too old and I'll hate almost everything I see on the screen. But what the fuck, let's review it.

-Remember in the late nineties when Justin Timberlake was in N'Sync and talked like a whiny little white kid? Then around 2001 he started talking like a black guy, or at least how a whiny little white kid thinks a black guy sounds, and everyone is apparently okay with that. Why? Why is this acceptable? He didn't grow up with black people; he was a Mouseketeer. Musically, he's one more bad Off the Wall-era Michael Jackson impression away from being a living minstrel act.

-Jack Black is the host and it kind of reminds me of a few years ago when this really attractive girl threw me a mercy fuck. She was pretty good, but her heart wasn't in it.

-James Blunt wins the first award. He looks like the butthole-baby of Tom Cruise and Beck. I've heard the song "Beautiful" before, but I always thought it was performed by a twelve-year-old girl with a cleft palate.

-I declare shenanigans! Black Eyed Peas win an award, and it isn't for "Worst Group Since the Manson Family Was Arrested". They should be beaten with sacks of oranges.

-It wouldn't be an M-TV award show if Shakira didn't move her fine ass. Her ass shakes like Lindsay Lohan in rehab.

-The fucking awesome Raconteurs are the house band, and that's good news....FOR THE AUDIENCE AT THE THEATER. The TV viewers are stuck with twenty-second song fragments as we go to and come back from commercials. Please fire whoever made this decision, then beat them with the corpses of the Black Eyed Peas.

-Kelly Clarkson is a no-show. She's probably giving Simon Cowell a contractually obligated rimjob.

-The Pussycat Dolls, who have a nightclub in my former place of residence, come out and I'm thinking "Viva las tits and vegASS" but then they collectively give the longest speech in the history of award shows. These aren't smart girls, either. It was as vapid as Paris Hilton reading from Jessica Simpson's diary.

-Speaking of Jessica Simpson, she is amazingly dumb and sounds too much like Anna Nicole Smith for comfort, but at least in this age of anorexia she brings the body.

-The All American Rejects? Are whiny androgynous bands being grown in a field somewhere? Too bad the pesticide DDT is banned.

-Will you stop putting Nicole Richie on television? Please? You are enabling her eating disorder by scheduling these appearances. And more importantly, you're MAKING ME ILL. The sight of her makes me think I'm watching the worst Karen Carpenter biography ever.

-Chamillionaire wins an award and thanks God, who's probably tryin' to catch him prayin' dirty.

-Beyonce makes a grand entrance by dropping from the ceiling. She falls faster than the careers of those other two Destiny's Child chicks.

-It wouldn't be a half-assed celebrity circle jerk without an appearance from Sean "Diddy" Combs. He introduces a rapper named T.I., the self-proclaimed "King of the South". After watching his tone-deaf performance I feel it is my duty as a semi-Southerner to announce that the emperor has no talent.

-Amy Lee of Evanescence and Jared Leto present an award together. Amy Lee looks (a)like a suburban girl who's like, totally taking advantage of her best friend's employee discount at Hot Topic, and (b) embarrassed to be there. As for Leto, it is shocking to see grunge-era icon Jordon Catalano morphed into a foppish dandy. What's next, Chris Cornell in a tu-tu?

-They present an award for Ringtone of the Year. I don't know who won because the all-encompassing lameness of the award made me slip into a temporary coma.

-I thought Panic! At the Disco was okay until I heard them live. Sucky! At the Awards Show.

-Avenged Sevenfold won Best New Artist. They're so new I'd never heard of them before.

-Video director Hype Williams was presented with the Michael Jackson Video Vanguard Award. Since he won an award named after Michael Jackson, Hype took the stage and promptly fondled an eight-year-old boy.

-The "coveted" Viewer's Choice award went to Fall Out Boy. And a cry arose from the huddled masses: "We really like crap."

-Oh my god, who dressed Jennifer Lopez? She looks like a Puerto Rican Judy Jetson. Seriously, Jennifer Lopez can't sing. At all. And she stars in shitty films like Monster-in-Law. Plus, by most accounts she is an unpleasant and difficult human being. Her looks are all she has going for her, and that outfit took them away. She should throw her cell phone at the underpaid lackey who put her in such a wretched ensemble.

-Las Vegas natives The Killers are the closing act, but I have to go to the bathroom so I miss most of it. They're okay, though. Axl Rose introduced them, which is why I had to go throw up.

Next year I'll watch it drunk. Maybe that'll help.

The Louisville Follies

Note: This post won't be of much interest to anyone except me, but oh well.


I love my hometown, I really do. Hell, I gave up living in "The Entertainment Capital of the World" to come back. But sometimes the old white men who run this town can be pretty fucking stupid. Let me give you a few examples...

In the 1970s, in an effort to revitalize the downtown area, city planners closed the former heart of the retail district to vehicular traffic and built a pedestrian mall. Due to construction delays, a lot of the businesses that opened early were already closed down by the time the mall was completed, leaving empty storefronts, a few dying holdovers from better days, and a seemingly endless string of ugly wig shops. I remember going down there as a kid and thinking "Who is buying all of these wigs?" I came to the conclusion that downtown pollution caused baldness. A lot of people must have come to similar conclusions, because by the early eighties the pedestrian mall (and almost every non-wig business) was gone.

There were other mistakes, but the most ridiculous one involved The Louisville Falls Fountain. Any Louisville native reading this is either laughing or shuddering in horror at the very mention of our city's watery albatross.

In August of 1988, I joined thousands of fellow Louisvillians as we gathered downtown, on a bridge closed for the occasion, to witness the debut of the fountain. Beer was consumed, state fair-style food was sold by temporary vendors, and a good time was had by all. Then they unveiled the fountain. You could have scooped up the collective disappointment with a snow shovel. As soon as everyone saw the unsightly and unimpressive floating joke, the bridge was evacuated in depressed silence.

For months, the media had been hyping the arrival of the Louisville Falls Fountain. One city leader said "It will become a tourist attraction, much like the Arch in St. Louis." Okay, there's a picture at the top of this post featuring the fountain against a backdrop of the Louisville skyline. Does it remind you in ANY WAY of the St. Louis Arch? The St. Louis Arch is "The Gateway to the West". The Louisville Falls Fountain was "The Gateway to Someone's Pontoon Boat".

Also, the water from the fountain was supposed to form a fleur-de-lis, which is the official logo of the city of Louisville. Kindly look at the above photo once again. Does that resemble a fleur-de-lis? No, it looks more like a fleur-de-open-fire-hydrant.

Oh, did I mention that the fountain, donated to the city by now-dead rich folks, rarely worked properly and cost the taxpayers a fortune in upkeep? Finally, in 1998, after ten years of sitting near our riverfront, serving as a stark reminder of our town's second-class status, the Louisville Falls Fountain stopped working altogether. Rather than spend an estimated $500,000 to fix something everyone in the area despised, our mayor decided to shitcan it. It was dismantled and sold for scrap. There was much rejoicing.

Look, I'm Famous!

I saw this yesterday while driving past my neighborhood McDonald's. One of the cashiers, who wears an eye patch and is a little slow, thinks my blog is "cute".