Thursday, February 28, 2008
A Day in the Life of Annoying Huckster Billy Mays

Billy Mays is a pitchman for a lot of "As Seen on TV" products that you probably don't need, but that's cool; a dude has to make a living. Unfortunately, he SHOUTS DURING THE ENTIRE LENGTH OF THE ADS. Oh, you've heard him. You heard him when you weren't even in the same fucking room as the TV. A lot of us hear his constant scream even in the deep recesses of sleep.

Let's take a look at his home life.

Billy Mays: "HONEY, I'M HOME!"

Long-Suffering Wife: "I know. I heard you singing along with the car radio as you pulled into the driveway."


LSW: "Just fine. I've only had one migraine so far."


LSW (interrupting): "Billy, could you, for once in your fucking life, lower the volume a little? When I inevitably die of a brain hemorrhage you can shout my god damn eulogy, but until then please speak quietly. And shave that beard. Your face looks a seventies porn cunt with teeth."


LSW: "Well, I'm filing for divorce before my brain turns to mush. Enjoy shouting at bimbos in single's bars, asshole."


LSW: "Honey, I ... I didn't know. I just thought you let your extremely minor fame turn you into a self-parody."


LSW: "Isn't there some kind of operation you can have?"


LSW: "Well, I can't deal with it. I think killing yourself is the only option."


LSW: "Make it look like an accident, though. I could use the insurance money."

Cool. Once he kills himself his autographed picture will be worth a fortune.

Tune in again next week for a day in the life of Carrot Top.

Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Academy Awards "Highlights"

I actually watched the Academy Awards Sunday Night. Why not? It's not like I had anything else to do. Believe me, there wasn't some nubile young lass pining for me as I sat alone watching the Oscars.

The show sucked, as usual, but I have a few observations for my remaining readers.

-Regis Philbin was on the Red Carpet but he seemed confused, like he was looking for Cary Grant or Clark Gable to interview. Regis should stick to doing whatever the fuck it is Regis does.

-George Clooney's girlfriend Sarah Larson is hot. Ok, this isn't news. George Clooney isn't going to the Academy Awards with Rhea Pearlman's less-attractive cousin, for fuck's sake. No one is ever going to look at one of his dates and think "Well, maybe she has a great personality."

-Ellen Page told the world she got drunk on her 21st birthday. Ellen Page is 21? Is she taking those drugs they give female gymnasts so they never develop pesky secondary sexual characteristics? I predict a bright future and ten more years of getting carded for cigarettes.

The Main Event
-Jon Stewart isn't a bad host overall. His political humor is better than his Hollywood jokes. At least he isn't Robin Williams doing the same "cutting edge" act he's been doing for thirty years.

-They show all-time Oscar highlights and somehow Celine Dion makes the cut. That air-raid-voiced scarecrow isn't my idea of a highlight.

-All right, it's time to put Ann Hathaway, Kathryn Heigl, and Marion Cotillard on the "All-Boneriffic" Team. Wow, wower, and wowest.

-An early theme for this year was "Use the Orchestra to Play Off the Babbling Foreigners". A parade of people with extremely limited grasps of the English language are played off the stage while trying to thank every agent and goat herder they've ever met. Loud music during your speech is universal language for "Get the fuck off the stage."

-God, these nominees for Best Song are dreadful. Why must we be tortured by live performances of all five songs? This is the internet age; give the audience a link and let them download the awful music if they please. There are four nightmarish show tunes nominated, but they cancel each other out and two overwrought singer/songwriters win. They sound like something you'd hear at open-mic night at a small town pizzeria, but are easily the best of the evening. Also, they seem like nice folks so I'm glad they won. However, before anyone overstates the importance of the Best Song Oscar, remember that Phil Collins has one.

-Oh my god, Radiohead singer Thom Yorke just won an acting award! Oh wait, it's Tilda Swinton, and the award is Best Supporting Actress. My bad.

-I'm thinking to myself "Who the fuck is Dwayne Johnson?" when I see that it's the Rock. He goes by his real name now. So when you're searching the DVD cut-out bin at Wal-Mart, look for "Dwayne Johnson" above the title.

-Owen Wilson escapes from his straight jacket to present an award. Stay positive, Owen.

-Jerry Seinfeld presents an award as an animated bumble bee. Doesn't he have a hundred billion dollars in the bank? Please go home, Jerry. Larry David has proven to be the John Lennon of the co-writing team, so go count your money and maybe marry a one-legged gold digger.

-Jessica Alba is the hottest pregnant woman ever. She announces the Science and Technology Awards. Good choice, because when you think science and technology, you think Jessica Alba.

-Former "exotic dancer" Diablo Cody wins for Best Original Screenplay. How sweet that she kept her stripper name; and wore an old stripper outfight to the Academy Awards. She can probably charge double for a lap dance now.

-Best actress Marion Cotillard is simply stunning. I'm glad she won for a film I wouldn't sit through if the fate of the planet hung in the balance.

-Whenever Colin Farrel makes a public appearance, the world gets a little douchier. Don't stare at him for too long or you'll get the eye herpes.

-Renee Zellweger always looks like she was just attacked by a swarm of bees. Maybe Seinfeld stung her face.

-Harrison Ford seems drunk. I wonder if he uses Calista Flockhart as a swizzle stick.

-I miss Daniel Day-Lewis win Best Actor because I'm "leading the Browns to the Super Bowl". I'm sure he said something weird and everyone laughed nervously.

-The Coen Brothers and No Country for Old Men win for Best Director(s) and Best Film, respectively. I was hoping they'd use the stage to give Lebowski Fest a shout out, but no such luck.

Overall, the Oscars simply need a good editor. Eliminate the singing and only let the winners of the major awards give speeches. They're the ones we want to hear. The presenters could just say "And the winner of Best Costume Design is...Blah Blah Blah" and just throw the award at them. "Heads up, Enrique!" Hell, shoot the statue out of a small cannon, since most of the lesser nominees have lousy seats.

They should really let me direct next year's ceremony.

Sunday, February 24, 2008
Hipster's Paradise
I went to a concert Saturday night (featuring criminally underrated singer Shannon Wright) that was just lousy with hipsters. You couldn't swing a size-too-small hoodie without smacking one. It inspired me to write this song, to the tune of Coolio's Gangsta's Paradise. Or if you prefer, to the tune of Weird Al's Amish Paradise.

As I walk through the alley on the way to the bar
I take a look at my life and realize I need a PBR
Cause my lumberjack beard is starting to itch
I look homeless but my parents are both very rich

been spending most our lives
Living in a Hipster's Paradise
Might shower once or twice
Living in a Hipster's Paradise
keep spending most our lives
Living in a Hipster's Paradise
my beard is full of lice
Living in a Hipster's Paradise

Hey, I don't judge people by their facial hair or lack thereof, but I have a problem with scenesters in general. A lot of people came to this particular show to chat and be seen, then left before or during the set of the headliner, who is seriously one of the best live performers I've ever had the privilege to see. Hey kids, the bars close at 4am in this town. There's plenty of time to stay for the entire show and still be able to stand in a crowded bar and drink your insipid Pabst Blue Ribbon or the equally offensive Miller High Life.

In conclusion, I'm a bitter old man who should never ever leave the house. The human race never fails to disappoint me.

Thursday, February 21, 2008
The Last Kiss is the worst movie I've ever kinda sorta watched

One night last week, having safely navigated our snow-covered streets on the way home from work, I settled in to do a bit of light reading. I turned on HBO for background noise and The Last Kiss, a 2006 movie starring human spunk-stain Zack Braff, was getting ready to start. I left it on and started reading. Soon, I couldn't help but take notice of the cinematic abortion that was before me.

SPOILER ALERT (Although all Zack Braff fans have had a year and a half to see this shitburger)

The movie begins with Zack going to a friend's wedding with his pregnant girlfriend, played by Real World Paris alumnus Jacinda Barrett. I'll bet after having to pretend to carry Zack Braff's seed, Jacinda begged her agent for an appearance on one of those Real World/Road Rules Challenge shows. Climbing a greased rope while Puck yells misogynist insults would be a piece of cake after this.

Zack Braff's character is - BIG SURPRISE - a self-absorbed douchebag, as are all of his friends. At the wedding reception, he's wandering around being all pseudo-contemplative when he strikes up a conversation with some chick who used to be on The OC (hold on, I'm googling)...Rachel Bilson. He's attracted to her because she's not pregnant and is nine years younger than Jacinda. She's attracted to him because it's in the script and god damn it Rachel if you won't pretend to find Zack Braff interesting then we'll find someone who will!!!

Zack begins to see Rachel (sorry, I didn't bother to learn character names) on the side, although he never has sex with her because that would mean actually fulfilling a need of hers, and he wouldn't want to do that.

One night Jacinda finds out he's been seeing the other girl, goes batshit insane, and tosses Zack out. Sex suddenly becomes very important to him, so he goes and bangs the beeheyzeus out of Rachel. Since rose petals didn't shoot out of her vage while he plowed her, he realizes his mistake and wants Jacinda back.

It should be noted that this entire time Zack Braff is giving the performance of a doped up monkey with a brain tumor. God, he is fucking awful. He should be imprisoned. Really. He's that bad.

Anyway, Zack decides to win Jacinda back by living on her front porch. AND SHE DOESN'T HAVE HIM ARRESTED! She just ignores him. Oh, I almost forgot: She is starting to come around a little bit when Zack decides to tell her "Hey, remember when you threw me out? Your tears weren't even dry and I was balls deep in the other woman, but since her puss didn't shower my cock with frankincense and myrrh I decided to come back to you."

Okay, he doesn't use those exact words, but he tells her he fucked Rachel Bilson. Jacinda goes even batshittier insane. Zack seems annoyed that his "honesty" isn't met with an immediate blow job complete with swallowing.

He continues to sit on her porch, even when it rains. Most of the rest of the movie is Jacinda going about her daily routine while Zack Pussyfart Braff sits on her fucking porch. Finally, they have a weepy conversation through the door and SHE LETS HIM IN.

Was I supposed to be happy with this ending? Was I supposed to be glad that this douchebag was forgiven? Well, I wasn't pleased, to say the least. I wanted the local police to drag him off that porch, drive him to the middle of nowhere, and shoot him execution-style.

A jaunty indie-pop song playing over the credits as vultures picked Zack's bones clean would have been the perfect ending for this film.

Wednesday, February 20, 2008

Rolling Stone just published a rather scathing article about Britney Spears' fall from America's Sweetheart to America's Toe-Rag. The cover photo looks eerily like the one they ran of Kurt Cobain after he killed himself. So if you're ever on the cover of Rolling Stone and the photograph is in black and white, you're fucked.

Highlights of the article:

-When asked for an autograph after having a meltdown at a mall, Britney said to her young fan, "I don't know who you think I am, bitch, but I'm not that person." NICE.

-Britney got breast implants at age seventeen, but had them removed after she developed naturally. Jesus, wasn't there an adult around to tell a child she shouldn't get a pair of saline scum magnets?

-Kevin Federline, well known in the LA club scene, was nicknamed "Meat Pole". Damn, a guy with his dazzling intellect also has a big dick? It hardly seems fair. Oh, note to self: Become all-powerful and destroy the person in the LA club scene who hands out nicknames.

-There are twenty photographers assigned to cover Britney on a full time basis, and that number jumps to almost a hundred if she does something exciting like getting thrown out of a club or neglecting her children.

After reading this article I'm convinced Britney was driven insane by a cruel stew of bad parenting, natural stupidity, fame, fame vultures, substance abuse, and having children with the "meat pole" attached to Federline's dick.

Is her downfall a tragedy on the scale of a terrorist attack or a natural disaster? Of course not. It's not even as bad as when something horrible happens to a talented, intelligent, or nice person. The worst thing about the whole affair is that no one truly cares about her situation. Rolling Stone fakes empathy to sell a few magazines, but Britney doesn't sell records anymore, so to the music industry she's just Meredith Brooks with a meth habit. If there's anyone out there who cares about her life and doesn't just want something from her, they'd better step up or the Associated Press will be completing that obituary they've already started.

Sunday, February 17, 2008
Kulture in Kentucky?

When I lived in Las Vegas and people would inevitably try to paint Louisville as an indoor-plumbing-bereft backwater, I'd go on a mini-rant about how Louisville had an opera and an orchestra and an art museum not attached to a casino; in other words, things Las Vegas did not have.

Those rants lasted about a month until I got tired of fighting and just agreed with the morons in the most condescending manner possible. "Oh thank god for Las Vegas and the endless wonders of the horseless carriage."

Truthfully, I never really take advantage of this town's culture, so Saturday night I went to the Kentucky Center for the Arts (pictured above) and saw the touring production of Sweeney Todd: The Demonic Barber of Fleet Street. How was it? Well, the reviews have been 100% positive, and most of the cast are from the original Broadway production. But I think I have a problem with musicals. They all remind me of that Simpsons episode where Troy McClure stars in Planet of the Apes: The Musical:

"I hate every ape I see
From chimpan-a to chimpan-zee
No you'll never make a monkey out of me..."

Before the show, we had a few drinks at Jeff Ruby's. He's the guy who tossed OJ Simpson out of his restaurant, which makes him kind of a hero to me. I can't afford to eat a proper meal at his expensive steakhouse, but I was happy to sip on a couple of high-end bourbons in the lounge area. Drunken culture is more my speed.

Speaking of drunkenness, we went to a bar after the show. Holy fuck, that place was crowded. As I stumbled through a crowd of thinner, younger drunks, I felt like Uncle Buck as he made his way through that high school party. I'm just glad I wasn't wearing a hat for some young punk to steal.

I'm not completely lowbrow, though. I love paintings, especially this one.

Wednesday, February 13, 2008
FUCK YOU, BUDWEISER! and other subjects

Hey, if people enjoy the taste of mass-produced, watery swill beer, good for them. But fuck Budweiser for claiming the brewmaster's high ground in their latest series of commercials.

In these ads, some arrogant schmuck claims that "It's hard to brew an American-style lager, because you can't hide the flaws." Maybe that's true. It's hard to mask flaws in tap water, so it probably isn't easy to mask them in overly carbonated tasteless beer. The douche then goes over the line when he claims "Dark, cloudy beers can easily mask flaws." With what? Flavor? Way to use your billion dollar ad budget to disparage breweries that actually take pride in their craft. A monkey with a spear through his head could brew Budweiser and its cunty counterpoint, Bud Light.

-I pulled up to a McDonald's drive-thru late Saturday night/early Sunday morning and ordered a Big Mac, only to be told they were only serving breakfast. Why is it impossible for McDonald's to serve both breakfast and lunch/dinner at the same time? It isn't like everything is made to order. Can't someone half-assedly slap together the ingredients of my Big Mac and then somehow switch gears and thaw out a biscuit for the guy behind me? I ask too much of society, don't I?

-The next time there's a mayoral election in this town, I'll support the candidate who promises to FUCKING CLEAR THE STREETS AFTER A SNOWSTORM. For some reason, this isn't a priority of the current administration. Next time, I'll be voting for Mr. or Mrs. Plow. I don't care if I'm voting for an embezzling drug runner who doesn't speak English and has a collection of Weekend at Bernie's memorabilia. I want my streets clear, god damn it. (Huh huh...mayoral sounds dirty)

Monday, February 11, 2008
A positive note about religion...

If the topic is religion, why the picture of this delicious Maker's Mark bourbon and Coke? Soon, all will be revealed.

In years past I was a counselor at a church camp. No, really. Stop laughing. Actually, it's a very liberal, non-fundamentalist denomination; and no, I never hit any of the campers in the face with a shovel, even though many of them deserved it.

Flash forward to this past Saturday night. I was out on the town celebrating the fact that Louisville beat Georgetown and trying to forget the pimp suit that Louisville coach Rick Pitino wore during the game. While at a dueling piano bar, listening to a few marginally talented guys butcher songs that weren't good to begin with, I ran into one of my former campers, who is now a cocktail server there. She gladly provided free drinks for the remainder of the evening.

What is the point, other than the fact that I'm very very old and should never go anywhere but early bird dinners at the local cafeteria? Well, it puts a positive spin on organized religion. Thanks to church camp, I got to drink for free. Praise the Lord and pass the Maker's and Coke!

Friday, February 08, 2008
Every Good Mormon Deserves Fudge
Despite the desperate pleas of talk radio and Fox News, W. Mitt Romney dropped out of the Presidential race yesterday. Therefore, I'm through ridiculing him (other than showing this embarrassing photo). I wish him well and look forward to his recurring role on the HBO series Big Love.

My question is this: Why do people subject themselves to the process of running for president?

Look at this man! Regardless of what you may think of his political beliefs, he's an educated adult; and here he is putting on a rectal exam glove at Aunt Fannie's Fudgefuckery in Methville, Iowa. He had to do this so some rube would say to his fellow rubes "That Romney fella, he's all right. I'd have a beer with him if he didn't believe alcohol consumption condemns your soul to hell."

Fuck the issues. Those of us with political convictions (on both sides) already know how we're going to vote. The rest of this campaign is going to be about John McCain, Hillary Clinton, and Barack Obama going around this great country kissing the asses of the undecided voters.

The thing I used to like about McCain, before he became Bush's puppet in 2004, was his obvious hatred of almost everyone! It's still his best quality, really. He has that forced smile and you know he's thinking "I was tortured so you spoiled fucks can have your cellular telephones and your portable music devices." I have a feeling he's going to lose it before November. He'll have a photo-op at a Vietnamese restaurant and he'll just go apeshit insane.

/flips over table, weeps uncontrollably

And on the other side, how long will it take before Hillary Clinton has her own kind of flashback?

Hillary, to an assistant: "Why does the entire audience consist of chubby young girls in blue dresses? Is this some sort of Vast Right Wing Conspiracy?"

Assistant: "Uh, Senator Clinton....uh, this is a Shriner's convention. The audience is all male. Old men. Old men wearing fezzes."

2nd Assistant: "Remember? We're trying to shore up your weak numbers among elderly fez wearers."

Hillary, looking past her subordinates: "Bill! Bill, get away from those brazen hussies!"
/attacks and kills Shriner

It's going to be a long and ultimately depressing dog and pony show, folks. To paraphrase Terrell Owens, "Getcha barf bags ready!"

Thursday, February 07, 2008
I Hate Your Band

In case you haven't noticed, it's I Hate Your Band Day here at DWAFM. In fact, I'm going to keep that slogan as my blog's tagline for the foreseeable future.

Obviously, I didn't invent "I hate your band" but I'm co-opting it, because "I hate your band" is the go-to insult for today's bitter curmudgeon.

Bothered by the hippie band bassist who works at the local coffee shop? "No, I do not want soy milk in my latte. I HATE YOUR BAND!"

Is some skate punk thrash metal douche bumming change in front of your favorite brew pub? "I'm not giving you a cent and I HATE YOUR BAND!"

In fact, if you frequent independently-owned restaurants, bars, record stores, etc., everyone you come into contact with, both employee and customer, will be in a band. And those four words will sting, man.

If you work in a professional setting you probably don't interact with a lot of aspiring musicians, but never fear. "I hate your band" becomes a confounding non sequitur when screamed in mock anger at your company's IT guy. Yell it at your lame-ass boss when you decide to quit. He'll think you know about his homoerotic childhood obsession with The Bay City Rollers and he'll go home to cry in front of his children.

Tune in again next week when our featured insult will be "Your mom sells her mouth for a nickel."

Monday, February 04, 2008
You win some, you lose some.

Sunday wasn't a very good day for Tom Brady. First, he was awakened at 6am by the sound of Randy Moss beating a hooker. Then his team, in one of the most historic choke jobs ever, lost the Super Bowl. And finally, his latest supermodel girlfriend, Gisele Bundchen, dumped him before he could impregnate her.

The Death Wore a Feathered Mullet news team released this written account of the Big Dump:

Tom Brady: (admiring himself in mirror) "Hey babe, we lost."

Gisele: (in hot Brazilian supermodel style broken English) "I know. I watch game from box in sky."

Tom Brady: "Yeah, the owner's luxury sky box. Nice, huh?"

Gisele: "The wine was swill and odor was of a Rio de Jaineiro ghetto, but that not important. You lost contest, and that make Gisele not smile. I leave you for forehead boy, winner of contest."

Tom Brady: "You're dumping me for Eli Manning? But..but...I'm much more handsome."

Gisele: "It matters not. I want be penetrated by cock of champion."

So there you have it. Gisele is now giving it up to this guy. He is going to Disney World.

Sunday, February 03, 2008
Welfare? Whatever.
I'm not going to defend the welfare system by spouting a bunch of familiar liberal platitudes about helping the less fortunate, because you either want to help them or you don't, and nothing I say will change your mind.

As a liberal I think MOST people on public assistance have a compelling reason for needing help, but I'm going to go ahead and play devil's advocate by stating that perhaps SOME people are on welfare because they just don't want to work.

My response to that: I don't care. Good for them. Give them their check and let's get on with our lives. Let's provide jobs for the people who want to work and government handouts to those who don't.

Some of you may be thinking "Gosh darn it, that's crazy talk." I know nothing bothers a conservative more than the thought of someone going to the mailbox and picking up a "lazy check". Oh sure, they love corporate welfare, just not the kind that helps the poor. But I'm here to say that welfare is necessary for American society as we know it.

Seriously, think of all of the incompetent service you encounter in a typical day: The surly teenager who double-scans your groceries; the squirrelly meth addict who leaves the middle bun off of your Big Mac; the jaded cashier supervisor at your typical suburban mega liquor store who hates you for writing a check *ahem*. These people go to work of their own free will. Can you imagine the level of service that would be provided by those FORCED to work?

In the past eight months I've personally supervised some of the laziest, most incompetent members of our dying nation's work force. The thought of our government throwing into this stew of sloth a group of citizens who will only work by threat of incarceration makes me wince.

"Billy Bob, why are you sleeping on the counter?"

"Dude, it's 9am! I didn't get up till noon until the government forced me to get a job."

"Well, get up and do your....(sniffs)....What's that smell? Roberta Jo, are you cooking meth in the break room again?"

Viva welfare!