Time for joy and time for cheer

So here I am in Hometown at the RockitFolks' house contemplating what this time of year means to me. Then some dudes that appeared to be from some kind of village "crew" pulled up in front of the house and started tearing up the front yard with a backhoe. I tried to get a glass of water and when I turned the faucet, brown sludge trickled out for a few seconds and then something down in the plumbing made a sound like gay foghorn.

So I decided to find something to watch on TV and it was the Dateline When Caylee Vanished episode again. As if I haven't seen it 5,000 times already. I could probably join the prosecution team, I know so much about that case. The point is, I ended up watching Blades of Glory and laughing like a hyena, even though I've also seen that 5,000 times.

I wonder what say, the Kardashians are up to today. Are they ripping open packages containing Seven for All Mankind jeans, custom made to accommodate their butts? Did their private chef prepare them a delicious holiday meal of sashimi salad and dry-aged cote de boeuf roti with potato-leek torte? Do they realize that anyone knows their names because (a.) their dad helped inflict OJ back on society, and (b.) one of them "accidentally" released a stupid sex tape?

They're probably musing over what a successful year they had and what exciting projects 2009 will bring. For example, Kardashian stepbrother and douche extraordinaire Brody Jenner is getting ready to kick off his new reality show Bromance, which features possibly the most pitiful band of reality hos to ever grace my TV set (and that's saying a whole lot) vying to be Brody's friend. It's supposed to be the guy version of Paris Hilton's My New BFF. At least with Paris you might get to go on some cool shopping trips. Brody is managed by Spencer Pratt. He's dating some Playboy Playmate. His own reality show with his brother called Princes of Malibu was canceled after only two eps, making even Sean Stewart's pre-Celebrity Rehab reality show more popular.

So on this holiday season, I'd like to leave you with an inspirational thought to keep in your heart during the coming year:
You may not have clean water, or good TV, but unless you are a contestant on Bromance fighting for the chance to be Brody Jenner's friend, things will always get better.

Merry holidays, bitches!


You think Bronx Mowgli Wentz is bad?

This is not going to be one of the usual "OMG, did you hear what Star X named their baby??" posts. That being said, of course I think Bronx Mowgli Wentz is a stupid name for a baby. Everyone knows that kid's going to grow up to fill the Sean Stewart "my parents never loved me" role on Celebrity Rehab Forever. But look who his folks are: Ashlee Simpson and Pete Wentz, two of the biggest fucking douchenozzles on the planet. Even if they named the kid John Charles Wentz, he's still going to eventually be taken down in a hail of bullets after a seven-hour standoff with cops, waving a harpoon gun in a crack-addled haze in a Ralph's parking lot. In other words, when douche sperm meets a douche egg, the resulting zygote is doomed no matter what.

The onslaught of celeb baby births lately has brought with it the usual crop of stories on names. In the last few months, we've welcomed Zuma Nesta Rock Rossdale (Gwen and Gavin's second boy), Felix Griffiths (Gillian Anderson's son), Sophocles Iraia Manasiadis Clement (son of Flight of the Conchords' Jermaine Clement) and of course Knox n' Viv Jolie-Pitt. This means the media must bring up the old faves, like Moxie Crimefighter Jillette (Penn's girl), Pilot Inspektor (son of Jason Lee), Audio Science (daughter of Shannyn Sossamon) and Kal-El Cage (Nicholas' son). One of my all-time personal favorite celebuspawn with a stupid name has turned into quite the little tabloid ho herself: Peaches Honeyblossom Michelle Charlotte Angel Vanessa Geldof. Peaches has three sisters named Little Pixie, Fifi Trixibelle and Heavenly Hiranni Tiger Lily Hutchence. I'm also a big fan of the names director Robert Rodriguez gave his five kids: Rocket Valentin, Racer Maximilliano, Rebel Antonio, Rogue and Rhiannon Elizabeth. 'Cause I like the name Rocket!

As is usually the case, real life is far more unbelievable than the fictitious world of Hollyweird. At least all these kids have famous parents and money, so what do they care what they're named? Some poor kids not only get saddled with a name Mom and Dad came up with after smoking a bowl behind Mikey's Lick n' Wash Ice Cream and Laundry Emporium, they also have to go to public school and then try to get a half-way decent job with monikers like these at the top of their resumes.

The brilliant website Baby's Named a Bad, Bad Thing calls out some of the most common "creative" mistakes parents make when devising a name for their spawn:

• Giving a common name a weird spelling. Just because you name your kid Maedysynn, Aethan, or Ilyssebyth doesn't mean you didn't just name them three of the most popular names in the U.S.

• Naming girls cutesy widdle girlie names that virtually guarantee them a future in Wonderland or the sex industry (Ambriana, Brinley, Kaylana, etc.)

• Naming boys hyper-masculine romance-novel names that virtually guarantee them a future in the Old West or the sex industry. (Cash, Colt, Beowulf, etc.)

• Going Gaelic, particularly if you're not. Because Gwyneira Arwen Ivanovich just sounds stupid.

• Going Native American, particularly if you're not. Because Sitting Bull Buttafuoco also sounds stupid.

• Not thinking the combo of first and last name through. Everyone knows some poor kid named Harry or Dick or Harry Dick with this problem.

• McNames. McKenzie, McKenna, McKaty, McCarthy, McKayla. Dear god. Fucking McKnock it off with this shit.

Here are a few more choice ideas BNABBT trolled from expectant mom message boards around the internets:
Catatonia Calliope
Meloncholia Francessca Antouinette
Aemezolina Mercedes
Legend Haakon
Blakely Grayben
Maston Greene
Young Quinley
Brighton Dade
Steele Gage
Kage Rodan
Celestial Rage
JaCobi Terriyon
KenAira LaTissa
Dayzunique Tylettrell Deiondrianiece
Sloe Harlotte
Tequila AnJanette
Tierrainney Mackanzie
Santiago Joeazie

BNABBT gives one good test to run your name idea through before deciding. Plug the name into the following sentence, "Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States [NAME]." Done and done.

Love always,
Rockit McKingston Shiloh Briannalynne Redcloud Queen


When Doorbusters turns deadly

I've never understood the Doorbusters phenomenon. Perhaps it's because I'm not a morning person, or because I opt to do all my Christmas shopping on-line to avoid the onslaught of crazed frumps tearing each others' hair out for a Hannah Montana Malibu Beach House. Getting up at 2 a.m. to line up outside of Radio Shack for an extra 20% off of the three XBox 360s they have in stock sounds like a situation cooked up by Old Scratch himself.

I wondered if this year's Doorbusters sales might be a little less animalistic than years past, because maybe, just maybe, the financial crisis/gas prices/stock market bullshit would lead people to scrimp and pinch a little more. Not so. Turns out the crumbling economy instead made the usual crowds more bloodthirsty for deals. Yes, folks, Doorbusters has turned deadly.

Today a hapless Wal-Mart temp was trampled to death by mooing herds of shoppers who literally broke the doors down and stampeded into the store, hell-bent on consuming. The poor employee was crushed by hundreds of jackasses for "several minutes." When police were finally able to get to the man to administer first aid, the crowd continued to jostle and push the officers. Other shoppers caught in the melee sustained sprains and bruises and a pregnant woman who fell was rushed to the hospital.

It's being reported that the crowd began to form lines in front of the store at 9 p.m. Thursday. You want to know what for? A fucking $800 plasma screen. That's what this poor 34-year-old temp's life is worth. How many of those lunatics do you suppose had their houses foreclosed on this year? Stupid selfish fucks.

How many of us have experienced vulgar displays of mass consumption on Black Friday that have changed our view of humanity forever? This is the worst it can get, but I found many, many other examples of Doorbusters-incited mayhem on the Internets. Here are just a few horror stories I came across:

My cousin worked in a Wal-mart in the mid-90s, and one holiday season they decided to hide a Tickle-Me Elmo in the store and announce it. People were tearing down shelves, destroying merchandise, and physically attacking each other to find the stupid thing.

I work loss prevention at Best Buy in Humble, Texas. Before we even opened the store we had a streetcorner preacher in line and two guys arrested for wrestling. They were wearing luchador masks. They weren't in line—they just wanted to put on a show. Unfortunately, their wrestling was for real, not a choreographed show, so all it did was get them some shiny silver bracelets.

My friend went out to Wal-mart to snatch up one of those $300 32" HDTVs they had on sale. Upon opening the door the entire line flooded through the door and a woman fell to the floor, being trampled by a few people stepping over her back with her child crying next to her. My friend, being a good Samaritan and an aspiring law-enforcement officer, stepped back to help her up. She was worried about him not getting an HDTV and he was only concerned for their well-being. Needless to say, the 7 HDTVs they had in stock were gone in mere seconds after the rush, but the fact that that woman was nearly trampled was a travesty.

I did get to watch two 60ish year old women hit each other with canes over Beanie Babies for their grandchildren. One of them fell and started to bleed before the loss prevention guys actually tackled the winner. This is why I no longer shop on this day.

[This shopper told of standing in line at Best Buy for hours, hoping to get a voucher for a sale-priced laptop; an employee of the store was handing out vouchers for various items to people waiting in line.] As I waited for the employee to walk back to where I was to inquire about the laptop, I witnessed something I’ve never seen before. At the front of the line were two Mexican men in their 30s. They were grabbing every coupon that was offered. Then, it happened. A white mother in her 40s and her teenage son got out of a black BMW 7 series, walked to the front of the line in place of the Mexicans, and the Mexicans handed their sale tickets to the woman and went back to their beat up car and drove off. THIS WOMAN HIRED THESE MEXICANS TO WAIT IN LINE!! Can you believe this? (Well, it IS Orange County!)

I worked at Wal-mart one year on Black Friday. I had to unwrap a pallet of coffee makers and cheap gizmos. I got knocked over. That same year a manager of mine got a shopping cart rammed in his crotch and also broke his watch.

I was working at a Wal-mart the year of the Tickle-me Elmos. Our store had a police substation in it, and I was given a pair of uniformed officers as escorts to deliver the pallet of Tickle-me Elmos to the floor. This was to insure I wasn't accosted on the way to the department, and that I would be given ample time to get my pallet jack out of the pallet and head back to the recieving area before they pounced on it.

Here's a fun story: Three years ago, when I was working for Circuit City, people outside were selling their tickets that guaranteed them a $600 (normal price $1,100) TV to other people in the line. Several of the tickets went for over $1,500. To recap, tickets for a TV that was $600 that normally sold for $1,100 were being sold for $1,500+. Think about that.

Bloodbath on isle 12! For the record, I'm not picking on Wal-mart. Nearly all of the stories I found just so happened to have taken place there. Weird.


13 craziest examples of rock star creativity gone horribly wrong

I had a dream the other night that Guns N' Roses played at this local watering hole called Andyman's Treehouse. It was Guns from back in the day, but with Matt Sorum on drums. Cowtown readers will immediately understand why this can be translated as a stress dream for me. The "stage" area at Andyman's Treehouse is about the size of a large peanut and has a tree right in the middle of the room. In my dream of course, I was trapped behind the tree and unable to see anything that was going on. I woke up in a sweat, as you can well imagine.

Don't ask what that story has to do with today's post. I just wanted to tell it in the hope that getting it out will prevent it from recurring. All I need is for that to join the one I have about twice a week about having to go back to junior high for a do-over...I'm on the brink of insanity, mind. Just let the GN'R at Andyman's dream be a one-shot deal.

OK, I guess today's post does have something to do with my dream. It involves rock stars taking their craft to a place that we all wish we'd never seen. Like Axl does...Mr. Obsessive-Compulsiveness took 13 years to release the Chinese Democracy because he can't get along with anybody. But low and behold that album comes out next week and lemme tell you, it's well worth the wait. But besides that point, let's get to today's fun, shall we?

13. Prince
I love Prince. Love him, love him, love him. Who doesn't? But now that he's a Jehovah's Witness, he's not the Mr. Lovesexy we all used to know and love. He won't perform some of his racier songs anymore. And when he hired director Kevin Smith to make a documentary about the release of his album The Rainbow Children all the footage poor Kevvie got was of Prince lecturing fans about religion. So basically it turned into a video version of the Je-Wits showing up at your door, literature in hand, to spread the gospel. After weeks of filming and getting nothing, the documentary was shelved. (Note: If you want to hear the whole hilarious story straight from Kevin Smith's mouth, I highly recommend renting the DVD An Evening With Kevin Smith...it's worth it just to hear this one.)

12. U2
Remember in Spinal Tap when Derek Smalls got stuck inside the pod onstage? Well, that very thing happened to Bono and the gang on their 1997 Popmart Tour. Only with a giant lemon.

11. Warren Cuccurullo
You would think that being a somewhat accomplished guitarist who's worked with Frank Zappa, Missing Persons and Duran Duran (he even wrote one of my favorite D2 songs "Come Undone") would be enough to make a boy happy. But not Warren. He wants to give his fans more...more than they ever could have imagined. Like the Rock Rod, a dildo modeled after his own wang. The toy did wonders for Warren's rep: he quickly became a gay icon, did a little nude modeling and is currently an outspoken 9-11 truther.

10. Rick Wakeman
Rick is the keyboardist in one of the most keyboard-rific bands of all time Yes. Ricky's a wizard on Ye Olde Casio...literally. He dressed like a wizard and performed his concept album The Myths and Legends of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table with a full orchestra, two choirs and PERFORMERS ON ICE! The Yes Capades! The ice-stravaganza was a big hit, but it was also supa-expensive. Rick nearly went bankrupt bringing his vision to life.

Have you ever longed to hear Gene Simmons sing "When You Wish Upon a Star" or wished he'd done a duet with former girlfriend Cher? Ever thought Paul Stanley should do a cover of the '50s hit "Hold Me, Touch Me (Think of Me When We're Apart)"? Felt Ace Frehley never really got a chance to shine? Wondered what Peter Criss' singing voice sounded like? Well, then the four simultaneously released KISS solo albums are all you need to make these dreams come true!

8. Pat Boone
Charles Eugene Boone was the face of '50s shiny happiness. Singer of happy ballads, preacher, Christian activist, conservative talking head, Mr. Family Values. But then in 1997 he decided to show everyone his saucy side. That's when Pat released In a Metal Mood: No More Mr. Nice Guy, a collection of metal covers, and showed up at the American Music Awards wearing a leather daddy vest and a dog collar. The album includes Pat's versions of "Panama," "Enter Sandman," "Paradise City," and "Crazy Train," which you may remember as the opening theme to The Osbornes reality show.

7. Happy Mondays
If you've seen the movie 24 Hour Party People, you'll be familiar with the Happy Mondays who were staples on the Manchester doll scene in the late '80s. Problem was, the Mondays were a little too into the doll scene and their label hoped to clean them up to record their follow-up to the hit album Pills, Thrills and Bellyaches. The solution was to fly the band to Barbados to record, but little did they know that while the island was heroin-free, it was crack heaven. The band members went ape shit, smoking up to 50 rocks a day, selling their clothes and gear for drugs and holding the master tapes hostage. Which would have been good because the resulting Yes, Please album is, not surprisingly, really shitty.

6. Brian Wilson
The Beach Boys' Pet Sounds is widely considered one of the best rock albums of all time, so of course expectations were very high for the follow-up. So when he started recording SMiLE, Brian Wilson went balls-out: he created a gigantic sandbox inside his house, he made his band wear little fireman's hats and then, sadly, had a nervous breakdown. The end of this story is happy, though: Brian took the project back up and performed it live in 2004 to critical raves.

5. Julian Cope
You may have never heard of Julian before reading this, but you'll never forget him! The British songwriter is the king of wild n' wacky creative ventures. Among his more interesting endeavors:
• He recorded the vocals for an entire album while crouched on the floor wearing only a giant tortise shell.
• He protested taxes in London by dressing up as an alien named Mr. Sqwubbsy and plotted to assassinate Margaret Thatcher.
• He wrote several books on prehistoric monuments of ancient England (all got rave reviews).
• He stabbed himself in the gut with a broken mike stand on stage.
• He lived on a traffic island.
Ah, Julian...the lovable scamp of music kooks. Gwar has nothing on this guy.

4. Madonna
If you've ever wanted a look into the mind (and pants) of Madonna, then look no further than her much-hyped 1992 book Sex. Believe me, you'll wish you hadn't. Some choice passages:
• I think for the most part if women are in an abusive relationship and then know it and they stay in it, they must be digging it. I suppose some people might think that's an irresponsible statement. I'm sure there are a lot of women in abusive relationships who don't want to be, who are trapped economically; they have all these kids and they have to deal with it. I have friends who have money and are educated and they stay in abusive relationships, so they must be getting something out of it. The difference between abuse and S&M is the issue of responsibility.
• Sex with the young can be fun. One of the best experiences I ever had was with a teenage boy. But he gave me crabs.
• My pussy is the temple of learning.
If these zingers wasn't enough to induce flaccidity (and nausea), be sure to check out the pics of Madge romping around in the altogether with Vanilla Ice. Seriously.

3. Michael Jackson
Let's say hypothetically that you have just been let off the hook after being very publicly accused of playing hide the sausage with a prepubescent boy. The details of your utterly insane life and vivid descriptions of your naughty bits are now being discussed at watercoolers around the world. Everyone in the universe thinks you're a major freak. What do you do? Why, spend $30 million erecting giant statues of yourself near famous European monuments, that's what! Don't forget to put one on the hill overlooking Prague...on the exact spot where a giant statue of Stalin once lorded over the landscape to show people how smart and sensitive you are!

2. R. Kelly
Mr. Pee Pee Man's epic 22-chapter hip-hopera goes a little something like this: Married man cheats on his wife with married woman, married woman's husband comes home and catches them then reveals he's cheating on her, too...with a man. Married man goes home to his wife, who's in bed with another guy. Someone gets shot. Everyone is sleeping with everyone else. Then a midget shows up. R also dresses in drag. It's hard to tell if R's being serious or if the jokes on us, but remember this is the man that peed on a teenager and said of his subsequent arrest, "Osama bin Laden is the only one who knows what I'm going through." It would be number 1, if it wasn't for this:

1. Garth Brooks
In 1999, the pudgy, balding country singer from Oklahoma adopted the alter ego of a heroin-thin, emo-haired alt-rocker from Australia for a movie that never came out called The Lamb. A whole backstory combined with guerrilla marketing campaign were cooked up, and included a fake Behind the Music, album, phony Grammys and a staged "comeback." Instead of wonderment, the public reacted with confusion, disinterest and plenty of mockery. Poor little fatso Garth...one imagines him sitting at the kitchen table in his little farmhouse thinking about Ziggy Stardust and Spinal Tap and then telling his old hound dog, "Dag-nabbit, I'm one talented sombitch and I'm gonna show the world that Garth Brooks ain't just a one-hit wonder. No-siree-bob! I'm a-gonna become one-a them gee-runge boys and show 'em all what I can do! Yee-haw!"



So my usual surly demeanor has fallen by the wayside out of excitement, pride and enthusiasm! CONGRATULATIONS, PRESIDENT-ELECT OBAMA! I don't know about you, but this is the most hopeful I've felt in months...what an amazing day!

And, for those of us in OH, we've redeemed ourselves...we're a blue state again!!! Yee-haw yippiee!!


Damnocracy in action

Ah, the election and booze—two great tastes that taste great together. For now...in an hour or two I might change my mind.

This has been an interesting one and right now things are too close to call. At a time like this, I think who you have backing you will be a good indication of what kind of president you'll be. I know who I'm backing, but my opinion doesn't matter. The opinions that really matter? Celebs.

Let's take a look at who the stars are putting their valuable support behind:

Barack Obama
Eric Avery, Halle Barry, Jessica Biel, Judy Blume, Zach Braff, Warren Buffett, George Clooney, Cindy Crawford, Taye Diggs, Dennis Haysbert, Samuel L. Jackson, Scarlett Johansson, Eddie Murphy, Leonard Nimoy, Edward Norton, Sidney Poitier, Ellen Pompeo, Will Smith, Bruce, Springsteen, Will I Am, Oprah Winfrey. Note: Obama's camp also turned down a public endorsement from Lohan.

John McCain
Burt Bacharach, Wilford Brimley, Joe Eszterhas, G. Gordon Liddy, Heidi Montag, Spencer Pratt, Tom Selleck, Rip Torn.

So if you're a last-minute undecided voter, hopefully this information will help you make your important democratic decision. Good luck! In the meantime, I'm gonna grab another Schlitz...


I don't think you can handle this!

So Beyonce has apparently changed her name to Sasha Fierce. Is this real? God, I hope so.

She explains, "I have someone else that takes over when it's time for me to work and when I'm on stage, this alter ego that I've created that kind of protects me and who I really am. Sasha Fierce is the fun, more sensual, more aggressive, more outspoken side and more glamorous side that comes out when I'm working and when I'm on the stage."

She's even started a Myspace for Sasha Fierce...her top friend is Tom! She's holding a Sasha Fierce contest where one lucky winner gets a personal message from Sasha Fierce "when she is ready to reveal her identity" and a $500 gift bag. She has a French phrase on her page that translates to "I walk among holds the first role," according to Babelfish. She's uploaded pictures of cosmos, palm trees and a robot hand.

Sasha Fierce! It's the stupidest and best thing ever! It sounds like a nickname Flav handed out to her. I can't stop saying it: Sasha Fierce! Sasha Fierce! Sasha Fierce! I'm totally getting one of those Sasha Fierce t-shirts she's selling on her Myspace page and I'm going to wear it at all times.

So is she now going to take on a whole new persona, a la Garth Brooks and the whole Chris Gaines debacle? Is she going to release albums under both names? What does this mean for her sister Solange? Is she now going to change her name to Shasta Intense to compete? And does Jay-Z call her Sasha Fierce? I would think that he would frown on such stupidity, but it's adding some spice to their sex life so he just quietly tolerates it.

She'd better watch out for Tyra Banks...fierce is her word! Sasha Fierce! Sasha Fierce! Sasha Fierce!


Tricky treats

Halloween is the greatest, most bestest time of year! I've been formulating a gazillion Halloween-themed post ideas and wasn't sure where to start. Then I read this bullshit from Yahoo and had to comment.

This is a "witty" eats column on the worst Halloween treats. I don't know who this "Erin Zimmer" food snob is, but it seems she hates everything that as long as it's delicious. I hate lots of things, too, but if they are delicious, they get a pass. This is one batch of choices that makes no sense whatsoever. And it's not at all funny, to boot.

Among Erin Zimmer's picks:
• Candy Corn. Zimmer calls them "the fruitcake of Halloween." What?? Candy Corn is fucking delicious! Of course, if you're rolling around nude in a pile of Snickers bars and Reese's Cups (see below), I guess Candy Corn might seem inferior to your tony trick-or-treat tastes.

• Dum-Dum Pops. Zimmer quips that these wouldn't even be good if they were "deep-fried and served at a fair." Once again, candy snobbery. They may be small and cheap, but Dum-Dums pack a bold punch. Name me another lolly brand that offers such awesome flavors as root beer, cream soda, orangecicle, buttered popcorn (which is really, really tasty, by the way!) and the elusive Mystery Flavor.

• Necco Wafers and Smarties. Zimmer derides both as being "too chalky." Clearly, she has never smashed them into powder and snorted them like any self-respecting child of the '80s does.

• Fun size candy bars. I find this to be the most shocking of all, because her reasoning is that the folks that hand out "fun size" items don't know the meaning of fun. Ms. Gourmet would rather trick or treat in the rich neighborhood to get a bag full of FULL-SIZE candy bars. What a greedy pig! How many goddamn candy bars does this hog need?

• Tootsie Rolls. Proof positive that this bitch is crazy. She whines that Tootsies will strip the fillings right off your molars. Hm, weird...I love Tootsie Rolls and I have never had a cavity, Zimmer! Coincidence? You decide.

Certainly this was all done to get some yuks from the lowest common denominator, but I take this shit seriously. I am a firm, steadfast supporter of all the treats listed above. What I find far more disturbing than Zimmer's distaste for the sublime, are all the other, far nastier, items that are absent from the list. But then again, Zimmer probably thinks these are all awesome:

• Circus Peanuts. Down with Circus Peanuts! I'd rather eat circus barf than this orange fluff that was probably emitted straight from Beelzebub's ass. Have you ever met anyone that actually likes these things? If so, let me know and please specify if they are able to feed themselves.

• Pal Gum. With Bazooka, at least you get the stupid comic. With this piss, you get a mouthful of pink sugary slime that disintegrates in seconds. Pal Gum is most definitely NOT your pal.

• Bean Boozled jelly beans. These have since been rebranded as Harry Potter jelly beans, probably as a way to get rid of leftover stock. With flavors like booger, earwax, rotten egg, vomit and soap, you'd be hard pressed to get even Gene Simmons to endorse these.

• Saltwater taffy. Every year, you'd find a handful of loose taffys rolling around in the bottom of your treat bag. They lure you in with their pretty colors and traditional candy wrapping. But then you eat one. And it's like that time you tasted Silly Putty (you know you did!).

• Brach's Jube Jels. This is what you get when you leave Jell-o squares out for too long.

Where do you even go to get a full-size candy bar on trick or treat night? Have you ever even heard of such luxury? What's next? Louis Vuitton treat bags? Vera Wang-designed princess costumes for 5-year-olds? Our country is on the brink of collapse and this is how people choose to spend their money. GAH! I refuse to let this ruin my Halloween!

On a side note, do parents still check their kids' candy for razor blades? That was a big thing when I was a kid. Allegedly, some kid in my hometown got an apple with blades shoved in it. One question always remained unanswered: why? Like some nefarious group of toughs was out putting bear traps in treat bags and handing out cyanide-laced Good n' Plentys for the sole purpose of ruining Halloween for youngsters. If only I knew then...


Pride: the sin we all let slide

How do you like my cool new header? Pretty sweet, isn't it? I did it all by myself! Just preparing the blog for impending fame. Anyone who would like to advertise on S&C can just leave me a comment or something and I'll get back to ya.

The financial crisis has me in a major twist lately, as it has many people. Thus, I urge you to support the Financial Crisis Half Marathon, which will be held in Cowtown on October 20. Support for this race means you are a true American and a professional thwarter. I'll be there, with my AK-47 in tow, wearing an American flag bikini. Made out of a real American flag! Take THAT, bureacracy! Pew, pew!


Love and tortilla warmers

Joshua Duggar, the oldest of the 17 (soon to be 18) Duggar kids and one of the stars of the avalanche of Duggar-themed shows on the Discovery Health channel, got married last weekend. That's them in the picture, almost touching.

And so it begins.

If you'd like to see more pictures of them looking wholesome and participating in wholesome activities (but none that require Wholesome Swimwear, thank god), take a gander at their website.

Josh and Anna are both 20 years old and met at a homeschooling conference, a.k.a. the singles mixer for kids who get to leave home once a year to go on vacation to a homeschooling conference. They both really, really, really love Jesus. And they also love wearing matching brown, striped polos. And they want to have as many children "as God gives us" (prediction: the first kid is born nine months to the day of the wedding).

I want to know more, but the site is incomplete. I was especially looking forward to the "Marriage Tools" section, but unfortunately, that too is "COMING SOON!!!!" But they did take the time to inform readers how to find their true purpose in life. I bet you can't guess what that is. By the way, if you think you can get into heaven by being a good person, the correct answer is NO. You have to give Jesus "the right to be the boss in [your] life" first.

I was trying to think of something funny to say about who the boss in my life is, but then I noticed that Josh and Anna conveniently included that they're registered at Wal-Mart and Bed Bath & Beyond. Of course, I just popped right over there to see what these two crazy kids asked for and found some very shocking items on their list:
• Springmaid 400-thread count Egyptian cotton sheets!
• A $130 digital picture frame!
• Pringles, Sprite, M&Ms, Swedish fish and several types of beef jerky!
• An iPod touch!
• A $350 Uniflame gas grill!
• A $500 Dyson vacuum!
• Another $300 Dyson vacuum!
• TWO Kitchenaid mixers!
• A tortilla warmer!
• and a gazillion other things that any normal college student would already have by now!

I'm flabbergasted. This is by far the greediest gift registry list I have ever seen. And last I checked, GREED was one of the seven deadly sins! I mean, who needs a fucking tortilla warmer?? And who puts junk food snacks on their wedding gift registry?? And who tries to sneak an iPod touch in there?? Greedy, greedy, greedy.

Not only that, but the pastor and the church prepared the food for the wedding, according to their site. "Hey, happy church community, to save money on food, we'll take you up on your offer to prepare the 80 pounds of shredded chicken, 100 pounds of potato salad, 100 pounds of macaroni salad, eight hand-carved watermelon baskets with sliced fruit inside (don't forget, Josh likes seedless grapes!), 40 pies of different flavors and loads more country goodness for the 10,000 guests at our wedding (9,000 of whom are Duggars). And don't forget to bring us gifts! We really, really need two Dyson vacuums! Praise Jesus!"

The Duggars need to be exposed. They have no problem whoring themselves out for TV and probably accepting money for the appearances. I mean, did you see their fucking house? The one they built themselves, "by hand." They flaunted the fact that they used the slave labor of their own underaged kids to build that monstrosity!

I'm shooting off an angry e-mail to Discovery Health right now to alert them to this ungody gift registry. We'll see if the Josh and Anna get that Duggar wedding special that I'm sure they're banking on!


How do I feel right at this very moment?

Exactly like supertramp Kate Moss and anorexorcist Allegra Versace Beck in this picture. I've been without internet and cable TV for over a week. That's seven Rockit years. I am completely out of touch and drooling at this point. My power was out for three days. I felt like Abe Lincoln. By that I mean I started reading by candlelight and wearing a top hat at all times. And I think I started growing a beard but it retracted when the power came on.

Anyhoo, things seem to be back to (ab)normal and I'm now once again able to obsess constantly about Blohan and Samro, Project Runway and the Caylee case. That family is a bunch of kooks, aren't they? Major weirdos! But would they make fun of Allegra Versace's eating disorder like I did? Who knows? And who could blame her for having one? I mean, the girl had a feeding tube up her nose for christ sakes and you could pretty much see why. First, she grew up in the always-supportive and accepting world of fashion. Her mom is a vacuumhead who looks like Janice the Muppet during the world's longest Electric Mayhem tour. She's named after an American allergy medication. Where are the "Free Allegra" t-shirts? The girl's only 22 years old and she's palling around with Kate Moss, ex-galpal of Pete Doherty, a.k.a. King Crackus the Seventeenth. She's also worth half a billion fucking dollars (Donatella was left 20% of Gianni's estate; niece Allegra was left 50%).

Allegra, you need better friends. Hang out with ME. I might not have power or internet or cable, but we can have mozarella sticks and cookie dough Blizzards for dinner. We can totally watch Gossip Girl. It'll be FUN!

Criminy, I'm rambling and completely delusional from lack of media stimulation. Please forgive me. I'll be back shortly with my regularly scheduled commentary. But right now I need some tranqs...


I sense conspiracy

Every year I insist on watching the VMAs even though I know it's going to be a geyser of shit.

I do it because I still believe I'm going to miss something big, like somebody falling, a drunken meltdown, or a drug-induced performance fuck-up. Like last year, for example. Remember, if you will, the dazzling spectacle of Britney with her budget weave, lurching around the stage dazed and confused and having either forgotten the lyrics to her own song or forgotten how to lip-sync, her paunchy belly jiggling with each faltering misstep. Now that was some quality television! There's nothing I love more than seeing people humiliating themselves on live national television—unless that person is Britney. Then that is officially the best.

This year, hype indicated that Britty would be attempting her comback *again*, so I was hoping for another glazed, bot-like performance disaster. I waited with baited anticipation for more fabulous Britney embarrassment.

Instead what do we get? We get canned pre-show banter between Brit and Jonah Hill in which Britney is treated as if she is hot again. Come on, people! Have we forgotten already? The weave may have been upgraded just a notch and she got new caps and she may be slightly less bloated than last year, but we all know what's underneath that spackled-on Bobbi Brown Creamy Concealer. We all know the truth!

Next we have the highly-anticipated show opener. But this time, there was no disaster. Instead, Brit simply shuffled out on stage, woodenly repeated some lines off the teleprompter, then turned it over to Rihanna, who launched into a Grace Jones-lite impersonation. Letdown #2!

Then to make matters even worse, the braindead MTV "voters" awarded Britney with three trophies, including Video of the Year for "Piece of Me." OK, letting her have a second chance to embarrass herself less on TV is one thing, but giving her pity trophies is something else all together! Conspiracy! Did you even see that video? It's the shittiest, most phoned-in piece of film of all time. Keep in mind that past winners of Video of the Year include such innovative classics as "Money for Nothing," "Sledgehammer," "Nothing Compares 2 U," "Virtual Insanity" and "Hey Ya." Not to say that other winners of this so-called top award are all sick, as the kids these days say, or even memorable, but "Piece of Me"? Jesus christ...pity awards! Next year, Britney will probably be on trial for chloroforming her kids and they'll give her Video Vanguard.

Ug, my temples are throbbing. It's time to move on from this topic, and discuss the other ongoing theme of the evening that got me in a twist: purity rings.

Yay, hurray for the Jonas Brothers and Jordin Sparks and Hannah Montana for wearing their NoMoHo chastity belt buckles and keeping their no-no holes in their pants until god or Pat Robertson says it's OK. They all probably had a prayer circle backstage and congratulated themselves for winning the lost through pure, innocent song. Kind of makes you want to put in their CDs and fuck someone seven ways to Sunday just for spite. But that's impossible—those songs are real mood-killers.

I especially liked when Jordin stood up for the Purity Police by saying, "It's not bad to wear a promise ring because not everybody—guy or girl—wants to be a slut." What am I, in 5th-grade health class and the school nurse is reminding everyone that it's very important to care about your reputation? Jordin was going to encourage everyone to maintain good posture by walking around the Paramount backlot with a books on their heads, but the orchestra cut her off. Then the Jonas Brothers were supposed to come out and tell us that we're going to get hair in new places on our bodies and Hannah Montana was going to give a lecture on different types of maxi pads. Don't wear a tampons! You won't be a virgin anymore!

I don't know who Russell Brand is, but he's the best for calling that shit out.


Goofus & Gallant: The S&C True Hollywood Story, Part 1

One was a pretentious, moralistic brown noser with a compulsion for rule-following and a steel rod up his ass. The other: a devil-may-care loner who lived by the motto "rules were made for breaking."

Together, they personified right and wrong, good and evil, virtue and sin—two icons of ethics that polarized the world—until a spectacular fall from grace demolished the empire they created and threatened to destroy them and everyone around them.

This is their story.

The Goofus & Gallant S&C True Hollywood Story.

The golden boy
Gallant Quentin Barclay Godard was born on January 1 to Dr. Quentin X. Godard and Viscountess Elizabeth Barclay of Cranborne, an only child who was extremely gifted at birth.

"From the time he could walk, he was already opening doors for people, brushed and flossed his teeth twice a day and ate his brussel sprouts without complaint," says nanny Alice Leeds. "He was almost compulsively polite."

Gallant was a voracious learner who excelled in school. "When I asked him to start his homework, he'd always reply, 'It's finished and in my backpack, Mrs. Leeds. May I help you finish the dishes?' He never brought home less than a 100%. We ran out of room on the refrigerator!"

While Gallant had many friends, Leeds says some of his peers didn't understand him. "Many of the other kids' parents used him as an example of how they should behave, and that made him a target on the playground," she recalls. "It's not easy for a youngster to hear, 'Why aren't you more like that nice boy Gallant?' all the time."

"He was a major tattle," says former elementary school classmate Sally Wheedle. "You couldn't do anything fun without Gallant ruining it. Once we stole cigarettes from corner market and met behind the school to smoke them. Then here comes Gallant sauntering around the corner and lecturing us about how stealing is wrong and smoking is bad for you. We kept smoking anyway and he went and told Principal Dunkleman on us! Me and Matty and Gary and Hannah got detention for a month! And all Gallant had to say about it was, 'I'm just trying to do the right thing for everyone.' Fucking jerk."

One of the classmates serving detention was born the same day as Gallant and wound up being the golden boy's greatest foil.

The bad seed
Gary Ray Goofington was born to footstool factory worker Mike Goofington and his waitress wife Bev. The Goofingtons worked hard and scraped by as best they could, but little Gary Ray was often left to his own devices. "Gary Ray liked to use the bathroom in my begonias," remembers former neighbor Marva Cleary. "Whenever I told him not to and that it was bad, he would stick his middle finger up at me. And this from a four-year-old!"

Even as a child, Gary Ray had a heady influence over the other children in the neighborhood. "Why, they would follow him around like he was their guru," Cleary says. "And he could talk those kids into anything! Eggs in the mailbox, graffiti on the side of the house, Roman candles on the front porch...any mischief-making going on in our neighborhood had Gary Ray Goofington behind it."

The neighborhood kids had a nickname for Gary Ray. "We called him Goofus," says childhood pal Matt Duffy. "He would triple-dog dare you to do something right off the bat, and if you didn't agree to it you'd get the most brutal titty-twister of your life. I smoked my first cigarette because of him, I smoked my first joint because of him. I even rode Cape Fear-style under a bus to Fort Lauderdale with him. 'Free vacation!' he said. But I now have this exhaust pipe impression on my chest that will never go away."

Goofus' troublemaking wasn't just regulated to the playground. "He would make these little noises like a cricket in the classroom," says teacher Arnold McMann. "You would hear this sound coming from his corner of the room and before you knew it, other kids were joining in. Soon the entire class would be filled with students following his lead and making these 'eep eep' sound effects." Then entire class, that is...except for one student. "I had no idea it was Goofington until Gallant informed me after class," McMann recounts. "He was concerned that Goofington's antics were disrupting the other students and preventing them from learning about photosynthesis."

But it was when Gallant turned Goofus in to school authorities for smoking that a bitter rivalry was born...a rivalry that would rocket both boys to worldwide fame and, eventually, catastrophic ruin.

To be continued


Nomi Malone's Skool of Self-Esteem

Hot on the heels of yesterday's hot goss, we have another Saved by the Bell-related item:

Showgirls star Elizabeth Berkley is set to become a reality TV guru—she is launching her own show aimed at boosting teenage girls' self-esteem. The actress has signed a deal with MTV to develop a programme which will follow her around the U.S. as she teaches young women about confidence in special workshops.

The star has been running the sessions at American schools for over two years and MTV bosses were keen to reach out to the underrepresented demographic. Amy Bailey, MTV's vice president of News + Documentaries says, "We had been looking for a program that tackled the same issues, so it seemed like a perfect match." The show—entitled Ask-Elizabeth—is expected to debut in the U.S. later this year.

I don't know about you, but when I think "self-esteem," I think MTV! And I agree wholeheartedly that unattractive girls who are don't flash their boobs everytime they see a camera or gang bang the lacrosse team for a free T-shirt ARE an underrepresented demographic! So, way to go on that one, MTV!

As it turns out, Elizabeth has an entire website dedicated to helping teens feel good about themselves. But interestingly, the bio section completely leaves out her greatest cinematic (sinematic?) achievement. No, I'm not talking about the infamous Saved by the Bell "I'm so excited! I'm...so...scared!" episode. I'm talking about the celluloid (celluloin?) masterpiece known as...Showgirls!

Yes, another word that comes immediately to mind when I think of "self-esteem" is Showgirls. Elizabeth is really doing her young charges a disservice by leaving out this important fount of wisdom. Because there are so many good lessons to be learned from Showgirls. Lessons that teen wallflowers can really take to heart:

• Believe in yourself. If someone makes you feel bad, push them down a flight of stairs...topless.
• Don't sell yourself short. If a boy tries to sleep with you, get out of it by telling him you have your period. If he doesn't believe you, make him stick his hand down your pants and find out for himself.
• Dance like no one's watching! If someone criticizes your moves, kick them in the crotch.
• Want a mood boost? Do some volunteer work! Boat shows are a great place to lend a hand to old white men in need.
• Always hold a little bit back. Remember: dancing ain't fucking.
• Be a good friend. If someone brutally beats and rapes your BFF, do the right thing. Accept hush money then perform vigilante justice by seducing the perpetrator and spearing him with your stilletos.
• Take good care of yourself. No burgers for you...only brown rice and vegetables. How else do you expect to fit into the latest hot fashions from international designer Versayce?
• Believe in yourself—you can do anything! It may seem disgusting to lick that stripper pole, but imagine how proud you'll be when you get all those extra tips!
• Always be yourself! Even if "yourself" is a skanky, unscrupulous hooker.

She could even have Kyle MacLaughlin come out and discuss dating with the girls. He can tell them the real secret to getting a boy to like you: let him pour champagne on you in a swimming pool and then flail around like you've got an outboard motor attached to your back. (By the way, if you want to see something funny, rent Showgirls (unrated version only!) and watch the pool scene in reverse fast motion—hilarious!)

Anyway, this whole thing is about as hilarious as when Tyra said she felt she was put on this earth to instill self-esteem in girls. *jack off motion*


Sex, drugs and Saved by the Bell

This sordid little tale comes to us courtesy of RockitSis, who I tortured for years by trying to force her to watch Saved by the Bell with me. What I felt was a harmless and hilarious way to get my lil' sis riled up has turned around to bite everyone in the ass in the form of a tell-all Saved by the Bell book penned by none other than porn star and Harvey Walden III-annoyer Dustin "Screetch" Diamond!

According to NYMag:

Sometimes a book deal comes along that you never knew you were waiting for, but, once it's announced, you realize it has been your secret wish all along. Which explains our reaction to the news that Dustin Diamond, whose high-pitched nerdy exploits as Samuel "Screech" Powers figured prominently in nearly thirteen (!) years of Saved by the Bell incarnations (plus that infamous sex tape), has jumped on the tell-all bandwagon. Behind the Bell, which Gotham Books preempted from Objective Entertainment's Jarred Weisfeld, promises to detail "sexual escapades among cast members, drug use, and hardcore partying," and for those of us who spent untold hours in our formative years memorizing "I'm So Excited" and the entire back catalog of Zack Attack, this is the greatest book deal in the history of the universe.

But Diamond, with an assist from veteran ghostwriter Alan Goldsher, will really strike pop-culture gold if he can answer our most burning question: What if Miss Bliss had moved to Bayside with the SBTB gang instead of Principal Belding? The course of television history might have been irrevocably altered.

Sexual escapades? Drug use? Hardcore partying?? Only if it's Belding!

Freaks like myself will remember that many of these gossipy tidbits were already revealed in the Saved by the Bell E! True Hollywood Story. We already know what became of most of the kids on the show:
• Tiffani-Amber Theissen was bitchtastic Val on 90210 and Billie on Fastlane.
• Mark-Paul Gosselaar was on some cop show and starred in one of the most underrated comedies in my twisted mind Dead Man on Campus.
• Mario Lopez continues to be everywhere although I don't know why. He played Greg Louganis. And didn't he supposedly rape someone at some point?
• Elizabeth Berkley followed her dreams to Vegas to make it as a skanky topless showgirl, eat hamburgers and push Gina Gershon down a flight of stairs.
• Dustin Diamond, of course, made one of the only celebrity sex tapes that I refuse to watch and almost got is ass kicked by drill sergeant Harvey on Celebrity Fit Club
• I think I saw the girl who played Lisa in a Lifetime Moment of Truth movie once.

And we also already know that they pretty much all screwed each other (except Screech, of course) and smoked weed in their dressing rooms. So I hope it's not just that kind of stuff. And I did always wonder what happened to the biker lesbian Tori.

Anyway, more to come as this story develops! B-buh-B-B-B-Go Bayside!


Yay Freedom! Let's blow some shit up!

In the U.S., the Fourth of July means many things. It means history. It means patriotism. It means getting drunk and catching the grill on fire.

But most of all it means independence. Sovereignity. FREEDOM.

So on this day, let's celebrate by reflecting on the man who is the personification of these words: Count Grishnackh.

Oh wait, I'm sorry...I got it backwards. Count Grishnackh is actually the personification of the opposite of those words. Why, you ask? Because his fucking parole was revoked again! Hahahahahaha!!!

According to Norway's Aftenposten news the Count's harrowing escape attempt in '03 and his commisseration with neo-nazis didn't work too well in his favor. Of course, poor Count just doesn't understand it. He insists he hasn't talked to his SS pals in a long time and is upset that the cops are trying to make him apply for welfare. "They want me to make arrangements with social services, even though this is unnecessary," he bitched. "Must I be on welfare in order to be released? I have a house, a job and a family waiting for me."

A house? A job? A family? Ah, yes. I may have mentioned it in passing once, but the Count's got a kid. According to him he's only seen the little lassie twice since she was born in 1993. And, oh my god, if his Wikipedia page is to be believed, some lucky gal had his son in 2007 AND he's married! Excuse me for a moment while I clean the puke off my keyboard. What the living motherfucking fuck?? That prison is like the Eliot Spitzer high-class ho hotel! Conjugals, meds, carpeted rooms...it's better than my house! I think we should all move to Norway, commit crimes and then whoop it up in the party pokey for 21 years.

Now I'm all pissed off. I need something to make me feel better...oh, here we go: a documentary about the Count! Finally! And it's a pretty good one. In Satan Rides the Media, we're treated to the usual story about Count's crimes, plus some new details from the case (at least ones I, the president of the Norwegian Black Metal Research Commission, haven't heard before). Most notable is a media frenzy over a cave that was dubbed the Count's "catacomb." Local newspapers speculated that this cave was filled with gnawed-on human bones, weapons and other Satanic goodies, but it ended up being just full of swamp sludge, which is kind of funny.

Also worth noting is the really awesome Burzum video we get to see. Basically, it's just camera-phone footage of clouds, forests and forests with clouds over them. I expect this is meant to depict Norwegian pride because I think they have a lot of forests and clouds or something over there, but it could have just as easily been filmed at Keemosahbee Boy Scout Camp in Eastford, Connecticut.

Also watch closely during the coverage of the Count's trial, particularly around the 39:20 mark. You'll see some sad little groupies in the courtroom who all gasp when the Count waltzes in and...tosses his hair like he's filming a Pantene commercial. It's fucking hilarious. What a media whore.

It's all pretty entertaining, but my favorite part is when they mention Kiss as a black metal influence and show Gene rocking out to "I Was Made for Lovin' You." From the fucking Dynasty disco album. Brilliant. Also, check out Anton LaVey's cute little devil outfit, complete with plushy little horns. It's adorable and I want one. I think I'll have my Grandma make me one for Halloween.

Happy 4th, wackadoos!
XOXO, Rockit


SPECIAL MINI-REPORT: Ken & Barbie Killers or Spencer & Heidi?

Had I gotten my act together and posted the 2008 Stupies by now, Spencer Pratt and Heidi Montag would be this year's recipients of the Why Is This Person Famous? Award. Not only are they talentless douchebags that may actually do less than Paris Hilton, I somehow know all about them even though I'm still not exactly quite sure who they are and have never watched an episode of The Hills before. These two love a photo op like Buffalo Bill loves lotion.

Besides the fact that they're fucking everywhere and really annoying assholes, I've also found these two kind of creepy. I couldn't put my finger on it until now: Spencer and Heidi remind me of the Ken and Barbie Killers.

For those of you who aren't disturbingly well-versed on fucked-up serial murderers, Paul Bernardo and Karla Homolka were a Canadian couple who kidnapped, raped and killed three teenage girls, including Karla's own sister, in the early 90s. Because of their shiny, happy, bleached appearances, they were nicknamed the Ken and Barbie Killers by the media.

I think you'll find the similarities are staggering.

1. Stand by your man.
Here we have two girls with crippling insecurity and the guys that hate them. Karla stole tranqs from the vet's office she worked at and used it to knock out girls for Paul. Spencer hit on other chicks in front of Heidi and encouraged her to get huge fake boobs and a nose job; he's now her svengali-like "manager."

2. Dubious employment
All of Paul's friends and family knew him as a successful accountant. In reality, he was making a living hustling ciggies over the Canadian border. Spencer's MySpace lists his occupation as "Executive Producer, Writer, Manager." Which translates to: Unemployed/Living Off Anyone Who Is Stupid Enough To Pay Him For Club Appearances."

3. Frightening videos
During their trial, the jury saw nightmare-inducing videos Paul and Karla shot of their crimes. Anyone who has seen Heidi's "music video"—hand-shot by Spence himself—also had nightmares of a completely different, pink-bikinied, beach-humping variety.

4. They're all blonde.

5. They're all republicans.
Heidi has announced to the press that she's voting for John McCain because "I'm a republican" and "he has a lot of experience." Of course, as of yet, Miss Vote or Die is not registered to cast her ballot. I'll be honest: I haven't found hard evidence of Paul and Karla's political affiliations, but I'm going to go ahead and make the conjecture that they're conservative anyway. Because all the people that come out as hardcore freaks usually scream family values from the hilltops.

Next time: Is Lohan the new Aileen Wurnos?


Hollywood shitavalanche!

I can't stand Mike Myers. He's not funny and I heard that he's also a dick.

Every time I see ads for his new movie The Love Guru I want to drive sharp sticks under my nails just for a little enjoyment and comic relief. As if this movie wasn't ridiculous enough already, Jessica Alba plays the owner of a hockey team. If there's anything worse than precious resource-wasting bad comedies, it's movies with stupid skanks cast as thinkers. Sort of like when Tara Reid played a street-smart anthropologist and when Denise Richards was cast as a brilliant nuclear physicist in that James Bond movie.

Anyway, The Love Guru is just one in a long line of offensively unfunny-looking comedies that are currently (or about to be) crapping all over the big screen. You Don't Mess With the Zohan is the latest Adam Sandler vehicle. He's another one that I don't get. The man is not funny by any stretch of the imagination. This latest abomination has him doing a stereotypical impression of an Israeli who fakes his own death to follow his dream of being a hairstylist in New York. Wow, that sounds fucking HILARIOUS! How far into it before they make a hairy crotch joke?

Here's another one for you. Read this synopsis and just guess who the star is: "A crew of miniature aliens operate a spaceship that has a human form. While trying to save their planet, the aliens encounter a new problem, as their ship becomes smitten with an Earth woman." Surprise! Eddie Murphy is playing the "spaceship"! And he's also playing the alien pilot! And about 50 other roles in the movie! One of which I'm sure is a fat black woman in a bikini! And another of which is a fat kid who farts a lot! Get in line now for your tickets to the cleverly-titled Meet Dave because it's going to be a cult hit! And maybe it will even win an Oscar like Norbit did!

Also coming out soon is the movie version of He's Just Not That Into You, starring Tinseltown's favorite sad sack Jennifer Aniston. Now there's a casting director with a sense of humor. This is a movie that's based on a self-help book. Oh my god, it's going to be excruciating! I predict the "plot" will revolve around a group of friends who meet up regularly in a hipster-filled coffee shop/mojito bar to lament their latest hilariously lousy dates and good-naturedly grouse about their hopeless love lives. Yippee, another one! I'd almost rather watch Meet Dave. Almost.

So anyway, the point is that we can pretty much count on no haw-haws this summer. No laffs for you! Just comic book movies.

Here's what Hollywood needs: a new rating system that labels comedies by how fucking stupid they are. The Lowest Common Denominator Rating, as it were. Here are some suggestions to get the ball rolling:

F(D)S: Fat (Drag) Suits

DCCC: Descecration of a Cherished Childhood Character, i.e. Doctor Doolittle, the Cat in the Hat, Garfield

F125: lead character will essentially Fart for 125 minutes straight

DB: Dating Bitchfest

EES: Eisenhower-Era Stereotypes, i.e. mincing gays, loud black women, boob-grabbing Down's kids

Any other ideas, you mad genii?

That all said, I completely loved Semi Pro. And I think I might be the only person in the world that thinks Dead Man on Campus starring Mark-Paul Gosselaar is fucking hilarious. Yeah, I'm all about dopey comedies, especially if they involve mascot abuse and Will Farrell in his manties. I just hate Mike Myers, Sandler, Eddie Murphy and Aniston.


13 scariest celeb stage parents

I've been gone for a minute, but now I'm back with the jump-off. Seriously, work's been crazed and I got out of town for a bit, but now I'm back and ready to bitch! Did you miss me? I totally missed you!

So for my first topic in a while...it seems Hollywood parents have been in the news lately, what with the new Bonnaduce show and all the hubbub about Living Lohan. Plus, it's seedy and sleazy and everyone likes to make fun of them. So I thought I'd do a little research into this crazy world and choose the craziest ones I could find. Since it's been a while, let's get to it!

13. Leslie Panettiere
I hate this bitch and I don't really know why. OK, I DO know why. She's sort of like a Dina Lohan—totally glomming on to her marginally-talented daughter Hayden's success and getting plastic surgery, hamming it up in huggy pics with her daughter, posing on the red carpet and obviously wishing some casting agent would say, "You know, Hayden's good, but what we really want is YOU!"

12. Teri Shields
Teri shoved daugher Brooke in front of the camera before she was even one. By the time she was 13, Brooke was doing her first nude scene with Mom's approval. "I knew it would be tasteful," says Teri. "Anybody who calls it child pornography has not seen the damn thing. I don't mind Brooke being called a sex symbol. But nymphet and Lolita rub me the wrong way." Although still close with Brooke, Teri drinks like a fish and is known in Hollywood as a ball-breaking meddler.

11. Duncan Nutter
Never did anyone live up to their name as well as Nutter. He's a man on a mission like you've never seen before. And his mission is break himself, his wife and all seven of his kids into showbiz, no matter how much they resist. Nutter's obsession drove him to pack the family up from a comfortable five-bedroom home and cram them into a two-bedroom NYC apartment and then force them to go to auditions, all of which was documented on the Bravo classic Showbiz Moms & Dads. His children seemed to regard him with a sort of amused indifference and completely ignored the fact that's he's obviously gay. It all made him the most memorable stage parent kook on a show full of really memorable stage parent kooks.

10. Wanda Holloway
Wanda would be higher, but no one actually died. Yep, she's the infamous Texas cheerleader murdering mom, known for taking out a hit on the mother of her daughter's cheerleading rival in the early '90s. Wanda served six months in prison and is presumably still fulfilling her 1,000 hours of community service. Two movies were made about the brouhaha (and frankly, I always liked Leslie Ann Warren's Wanda better than Holly Hunter's). Oh, and even after all that, her daughter still didn't make the squad. Way to go, idiot! After everything I did for you!

9. Lynne Spears
Remember when Lynne and Britney used to be best friends and they would go tanning together and Britney would buy Lynne a new Mercedes every Mother's Day and they would co-authored that horrible novel about how a mother's love can help naive little kuntry girls with big dreams make it in the backstabbing flesh factory that is Hollywood? And remember when Lynne got a book deal to share parenting tips right around the time her 16-year-old daughter got knocked up and her other daughter was admitted to the psych ward for holding her two toddlers hostage? That was awesome.

8. Jeff Archuleta
I don't watch American Idol and I don't know anything about this guy, but as I was doing a little research for this post, his name kept popping up. Apparently, he was banned from the backstage area on Idol and when his son David appeared on Star Search, Naomi Judd called him the worst stage dad she'd ever seen. So you know...that's pretty bad.

7. Robin Browne
Living Dolls is the best child pageant queen documentary ever and it's all because of Swan Brooner. Swan, a five-year-old mini-pageanteer, displays the heroism of a war hero for not ripping the face off of her harpy drill sergeant mom-coach. Robin smokes intensely and screams at little Swan for turning too fast on the runway. She sprays Swan with cans and cans of Aqua Net and screams at her when she winces. She trowels enough makeup to supply an army of drag queens on Swan's face and screams at her if she messes it up. She spends thousands of dollars on mini Cache outfits to costume Swan in and screams at her when she doesn't smile appropriately. (I know that Robin died a few years ago, and it's unclear if Swan, who is probably about 13 now, continues to do pageants. My guess is that she's planning to join the Army for a break.)

6. Dina Lohan
Poor Dina...the press just won't leave her and her nice little family alone. They keep following them around and spreading lies and accusing her daughter of being a lesbo and making Dina look like a party animal stage mom who pimps out her kids for profit and takes them out to parties and snorts coke off toilet seats, allowed Linds to star in I Know Who Killed Me, etc. So what would any good parent do to help shield their children from teh interrogation-room lights of the cameras and stop the papers from cruelly judging and telling lies about their lives? Star in an E! Television reality show, that's what! Come on, Dina had no other choice! Oh, and she also refers to herself as the White Oprah, whatever the fuck that means...

5. Michael Lohan
The only thing worse than a drug-addicted, ex-con media whore stage parent is a drug-addicted, ex-con media whore stage parent who's found god. Mike won't pass up a chance to flap his gums about Lindsay and Dina's antics and who they're going to have to answer to when their livers finally give out. He even calls up Perez Hilton to offer "exclusives" on how many martinis Linds had at lunch or how horrible Dina is for exploiting their kids. I'd almost feel sorry for the Lohan kids if they weren't such a bunch of annoying sub-talented debu-brats.

4. Joe Simpson
Is there an FBI task force watching this guy? Because I'm sure a quick dig in his backyard will uncover a pit filled with the bodies of girls who mysteriously went missing after going to an "audition." He infamously made leering jokes about his own daughter's double-D boobies and talked endlessly about her promise to remain committed to Daddy and not let anyone touch her vagina until she got married. Then his other daughter got knocked up pre-nuptials by a girl-man.

3. Jaid Barrymore
It's easy to forget that the goofball flower child Drew Barrymore of today was an alcoholic and pothead at 10 and a champion eight-baller by 13. That was in no small part thanks to her mom Jaid who regularly took her young daughter out partying in the seedy underbelly of New York and LA (they were regulars at Studio 54) and exposed her to the likes of Paul Stanley and Halston. Now estranged from her mother, Drew once posed for Playboy several months before Mommy followed suit.

2. Kit Culkin
A former stage actor, Kit infamously projected his failed dreams onto his kids and ruined everyone's lives in the process. He demanded and threatened, overworked and mentally abused his little cash cow Macaulay and alienated pretty much all of Hollywood. Mac eventually took Dad to court to get control of his millions, then got married and divorced and now continues to act (well and in good movies like Saved and Party Monster) and dates That '70s Show cutie Mila Kunis. Still doesn't excuse the fact that his father allowed him to spend the night with Michael Jackson. Which brings us to...

1. Joe Jackson
We only need to look to the one and only Wacko Jacko to see the damage a stage parent can do. Just watch The Jacksons: An American Dream to get the scoop on Joe. It sometimes airs on VH1 and stars Freddie "Boom Boom" Washington as Joe. Anyway, Joe worked The Jackson Five to death, mentally, physically and sexually (according to LaToya during her really crazy years) abused them, fucked all kinds of groupies basically in front of his wife, and drove Michael to get all that freakshow plastic surgery (at least according to Michael in that infamous Martin Bashir documentary). But according to Jacko, his dad has "really mellowed out a lot."

Well, this post just went from pathetic to depressing. Aren't you glad I'm back?


Don't you forget about me

Sorry I've been remiss on blog posts...I'm up to my neck in various bullshit. Don't worry, there's plenty of delicious rants pent up inside me so expect a projectile upchuck of bitchiness soon.

I say this like anyone even noticed I haven't posted in a month...


13 Dumbest "Therapies"

You know what word I hate? Wellness. I'm sick as a dog right now. I just want to hack up a lung and get it over with if that's going to make me feel better.

Wellness has been haunting me lately. It's everywhere! Once it's in the forefront of your mind, you can't get away from it. You'll see what I mean in the next week or so. And I'll apologize in advance.

This term has become a substitute for the word health, but with a pretentious "holistic" twist. It's thrown about liberally when discussing such crankery as holistic medicine, chiropractic care, and other pseudosciences. Other favorite words of holistic practitioners include energy, chakra, toxins, cleansing, balance, healing, vibrations, purification and all-natural. Typically, we're tantalized with the promise of ancient healing secrets that the Chinese have known about for centuries and laugh and laugh because stupid Western scientists can't figure them out.

There are two types of people who offer these kinds of services: 1.) people who honestly think what they are doing is working as a "complimentary medicine" to actual medical care, and 2.) con artists who take advantage of naive and desperate people who want a cure for the incurable. Take a look at these two, for example: Alex and Rebecca Rogan. After you've stopped laughing at their ridiculous "Endless Love, Endless Lives" potrait and tagline, take a look at their "qualifications" to help you be a healthier, happier spiritual being—certified hypnotherapist, past life therapist, chakra balancing, crystal healing, biofeedback specialist, craniosacral therapist, transpersonal hypnotherapist, clinical herbologist, "Angel healer practicioner," soul-mind therapy, etc., etc., ad nauseum. Oh, and they're also certified California real estate agents! Alex and Becca do it all!

How the fuck do you become certified in past life therapy? Or any of this stuff?
Instructor: OK, Alex, now that you've finished all your bookwork, it's time for hands-on training. Tell me about my past lives.
Alex: Hmmm (thinks). You were a slave to Julias Cesar, a nameless beggar in Bangladesh and Adolf Hitler.
Instructor: Terrible job! No certification!
Alex: You were a soldier during the Roman empire, a wealthy plantation owner and Winston Churchill.
Instructor: Congratulations! You are a certified past-life therapist!

You'll also notice at the bottom of their page is the disclaimer: "Wellness Therapies does not replace orthodox medicine rather integrate and enhance. It is also illness prevention therapy. We do not diagnosis nor prescribe drugs." Wow, from all their certifications and shit I figured they'd be able to reanimate the dead. So does that mean that all these "certifications" are fake?? In that case, I want to make up my own certifications. Can I be a Licensed Rockologist Or a Certified Free Trip to Rome-ist? Hey, I could be both! Dame Dr. RockitQueen, LR, CFTR, Esq.

Just to give you more of an idea of what kind of other bullshit is out there, I've compiled the following list of some of the stupidest "treatments", "therapies" and "healing" methods I've run across. While the methods I've listed here are all essentially harmless (if you don't count the harm it does to your bank account), I'd like to note that there are many more, some of which are very harmful and even deadly. I highly recommend the Quackwatch family of websites to learn more. Don't be a victim of wellness! We're all a bunch of diseased freaks and we need to learn to live with that.

13. Reiki
Reiki is the practice of channeling energy from the universe to make someone, or yourself, feel awesome. All you have to do is put your hands on or anywhere near your victim and look appropriately spiritual. Reiki is also known as "theraputic touch" or "jacking off." If you learn anything about reiki, just know that the key is in the happy ending.

12. Emotional Freedom Technique
Feeling down? Depressed? Full of anxiety? Afraid of heights? Addicted to love? Got post-traumatic stress? Any kind of stress? Then place your fingers just beneath your eyes and tap. Then tap your eyebrows and then your temples. Just tap-tap-tap in the exact sequence your EFT therapist tells you. Then roll your eyes, hum a few bars, think happy thoughts, and...viola! You have "tapped" into wellness! Yaaayyyyy!

11. Craniosacral therapy
You know how when some dudes decide to shave their heads, they don't take into account how lumpy their noggins might be and are suprised to discover that their new hairless pate looks like the surface of Mars? What they also don't know is that those lumps and bumps on their heads are evidence of emotional or physical trauma that is impeding their aching bodies from healing themselves. The solution is to have a therapist rub your head twice a week until the stressful twist your body has gotten itself in can straighten out. For $150 a session.

10. Konoki foot pads
You've probably seen these ads on TV, which feature someone sticking what looks like a regular gauze bandage to the bottom of their feet and then, after a time lapse, ripping them off to reveal disgusting black shit that has allegedly been sucked out of their body. From what I've heard, the foot pads work even better if you've been walking around barefoot, preferably outdoors and in a muddy environment. The claim is that "distilled bamboo vinegar" draws grody toxins out of your body when you wear the foot pads overnight. But since the skin is not permeable, I'm guessing it's something else. Satan maybe? Yes, that's what it is. The dirtier your pads are, the more you've been sinnin'.

9. Iridology
If the eyes are the window to the soul, then surely they are also the window to all your emotional baggage, ingrown toenails and tummyaches. Proponents of this "therapy" claim that you can tell what's physically and emotionally wrong with you based on the colors and patterns in your eyeballs. So if you have a brown spot in one of your irises, that means you have gastrointestial problems or something. What isn't explained is what happens if the patient is blind. Or if they're just nearsighted...will that show up in the eye patterns, too? And do they have to do that puff test to find out? God, I hate that fucking puff test.

8. Laser stop smoking
There's a local commercial that airs here in Cowtown promoting this weirdness. It shows the "doctor" sticking a laser pointer into the ear of her victim. I know what you're thinking: how in god's name is this supposed to help someone stop smoking? By targeting "energy points" on your hands, nose, ears and wrists to release endorphins, of course! Duh! Everyone knows that endorphin release is the key to curing a nicotine addiction. The Columbus program boasts a 55% success rate...and with those odds, who wouldn't want to shell out $400 a session?

7. Ayurvedic therapy
This is one of those quack therapies that claims to be "ancient Chinese secret." I've included it on this list because the explainations on how it works are so drawn out and convaluted that you would probably have to achieve total nirvana just to understand. Everything means something and is connected to some god. Oh, also there's some kind of "cleansing ritual" that involves boiling milk and cow's urine twice. If you can read about this and understand it, then more power to you. Frankly, I think the whole thing just talks in circles until you've spent all your money and suddenly realize that you don't get it either.

6. The Chi Machine
This has nothing to do with the Deftones' bass player. It's actually a little vibrator that you stick your feet on that's supposed to help with "lymphatic drainage" and put your chi back in order or some shit. Some makers will try to have you believe that it's a "passive exerciser", like one of those belts that is supposed to shimmy your fat off that Bugs Bunny uses. Here's what the Chi Machine can do for you:
• Temporarily relieve minor muscle aches, pain and tension caused by fatigue or overexertion
• Temporarily increases local blood circulation
• Relaxes muscles locally
• Relieve vertebra joint pressure
• Promotes a sense of well being
You know what else does this? Vikes. And they're FDA approved.

5. Ear candling/ear coning
So you have a little bit of an earache. Maybe it's waxy buildup, maybe it's an inner ear infection...either way, it's annoying and you just want it to go away. What's a person to do? Forget visiting the doc and getting some eardrops or antibiotics. Let's jam a hollow, lit candle in there and let the heat and dripping wax somehow magically pull the "toxins" out of one of the most delicate and easily damaged areas of the body. Allegedly, when you pull the special little ear-toxin collection cone off the bottom of the candle, it's supposed to be filled with wax. Big shockeroo! It's a fucking candle!

4. Q-Ray bracelets
If you pay a visit to the Q-Ray website, you will learn that this product is worn by people with active lifestyles, features an exclusive design and should not be worn by people allergic to metal. What you won't learn is what this magical bracelet is supposed to do for you because the makers of Q-Ray have been gagged from making medical-related claims that are unfounded. Originally, the manufacturers claimed that the bracelet could cure cancer pain, improve athletic ability and make you feel more energetic. However, a lawsuit alleging false advertising mysteriously caused these awesome attributes to disappear. Poor Q-Ray! It's like the Superman of jewelry—no one ever sees it in the same room with the people it's helped...

3. E-meter
(See picture above): "The oddball apparatus is called an E meter, and Travolta uses it every day. He and fellow Scientologists Tom Cruise, Nicole Kidman, and Kirstie Alley say the lie-detector-like machine measures mental anguish. The faithful claim it's so sensitive, it can pick up the pain a human feels when pricked by a nail. 'You hold two metal rods in your hands, and an experienced teacher can tell from the movements of the needles on the meter where the problem is in your body and soul,' Travolta told the German magazine STERN. 'I use it every day, at home or in the celebrity center in Hollywood. I also take a machine with me with I'm on location. It's a religious device and I enjoy it. I'm always totally refreshed by it. And, luckily, it doesn't have gaydar!'"

2. Leech therapy
So a few weeks ago, I see the following headline: What's Demi Moore's secret to looking so sexy at age 45? Thank god Us Weekly is on the case because I've been wondering that myself for years. Finally, Us reveals Demi's real, all-natural beauty secret: leech therapy! Demi says that all you have to do is put leeches on your body and let them bite you because they detoxify your blood with enzymes in their little mouths. Demi advises putting the leeches into your belly button for best results. I'm going to try it! Demi always looks so great, especially her knees. She has the best fucking knees ever!

1. Urine therapy
Apparently, there's no need to ever have to buy another product, pill or health supplement after all—you've got your very own natural healing remedy available right now! Did you know your pee has all kinds of health benefits? Let it go on your feet when you're in the shower and bye-bye athlete's foot! Pour it on your arms and legs for sunburn relief! Best of all, you can treat everything from a hangover to heart disease to hepititis by drinking it! That's right: you can turn back the clock, cure what ails ya, prevent future breakouts and turn up the kink in your love life by taking a whizz in a cup and gulping it down. Believe me, I wish I was making this up. So the next time you feel the urge to go, don't let that all that healthful liquid go to waste! Piss in a jar and keep it on hand "just in case." You'll be glad you did! And so will all your friends!


Viva Sambora!

In case you've been waiting with baited breath wondering what happened on the last few eps of RoL because I wasn't here to tell you, Ambre "won." Yes, Bret found love with Three's Company replacement bimbo Jenilee Harrison. I think she might have also been on She's the Sherriff, but I'm not sure.

So that means we can kiss the life-ruining phenomenon that is RoL goodbye, right?


Word on the street is that Rock of Love 3 is in the works with none other than Bon Jovi axeman Richie Sambora as the new rock star bachelor! While it's not so hard to believe that someone who made a sex tape with hep C factory Pam Anderson would go on a VH1 dating reality show, I find it blasphemous that a man once married to foxy Heather Locklear (and not that long ago, I might add) would. Just a year ago he was snorting coke off of Denise Richards' butt on the beach, right? I mean, does this guy really need to stoop to reality TV to find a skank to go out with? Lohan's available!

I had a friend in junior high who was completely obsessed with Richie Sambora. This was around the same time that I was convinced I was someday going to marry Duff McKagan of Guns N' Roses. So basically we spent most of our time trading posters from the Metal Edge Bass Aces and Guitar Greats special issues and setting our VCRs to tape the World Premiere GN'R and Bon Jovi videos on MTV. And I didn't even HAVE MTV. I had to call her up and remind her to tape the GN'R premieres for me. Remember the "Wanted Dead or Alive" video? Oh, and when the "Patience" video came out and it had Axl stomping on that neon light-up phone in it? Man, those were the days! It was such a huge treat when your favorite video would come on—we'd sometimes wait all day just to catch a repeat of it. You think people do that for Fall Out Boy? If so, NOT COOL.

Anyway, this has nothing to do with the item at hand.

Another sign of the times is the pitiful mugshot that Richie produced a few weeks back when he was arrested for DUI. His hair looked like one of the people in the after pictures on those Faces of Meth posters. It's not even fun to make fun of. I mean look at that picture above—how did he go from that to being the husband of Heather Locklear to that fucking mugshot? God!

Actually, now that I think about it, I don't think Richie would make a very good candidate for RoL anyway. He seems kind of boring. You never really heard anything sordid about Bon Jovi, either. With Poison, you had all kinds of groupie action and infighting and coke freakouts. With Bon Jovi, all you have is Jon, who has been with his wife for, like, 30 years. The only exciting thing Richie has ever done is make the "wow wow" background sound effects on "Livin' on a Prayer." Big whoop.

If they're looking for drama, the VH1 producers need to look elsewhere. How about David Lee Roth? Now that would be some good, motherfuckin' crazy-ass TV! Or how about Rick Allen of Def Leppard? He's got one arm and he's a drummer AND he beats up his girlfriends.

Frankly, the dream candidate would be Axl. If they got Axl to be the next rock bachelor, the ratings would beat out the Super Bowl, Roots, the final episode of M*A*S*H, and the OJ verdict combined. With that special kind of crazy that only Axl can bring, I can just imagine the "challenges" that would go down on that series. Each and every decision would have to be first run by Axl's psychic. The girls would have to write new racist lyrics to "One in a Million." The penalty for entering Axl's bedroom without an invitation would be death. He'd bring in Erin Everly on the "exes" episode. The "winner" would be the girl that drove him to frightening, destructive tantrums the least.

The show would also be the perfect tie-in vehicle for Axl to release the long-awaited Chinese Democracy album. I actually heard it...I'm not kidding. GN'R released it for 30 minutes on some website and a friend of mine managed to download all of the songs but two. Everything I heard was beyond badass, too. An album 13 years in the making has disaster written all over it, but if he would just suck it up and release the songs that I heard, it would blow people away. People might even forgive him for the cornrows.

I just remembered another junior high story: once in my English class we had to write an essay on the thing we want most in the world and why and then read it in front of the class. Everyone was saying things like Fort Knox or a four-wheeler or for school to only be one day a week. Then Tina Smith got up and said three words: "Jon Bon Jovi" and sat back down. No explaination. It was awesome and Tina Smith instantly became my hero. You know each and every person in that class wished they had to balls to say Jon Bon Jovi. And you know they all wanted to!


Time to turn that frown upside down!

I've been a little blue this week for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the final episode of RoL. I'm utterly depressed over all the time and energy I've put into obsessively blathering about this show. Any normal person would say, "Fuck posting synopses of the rest of the episodes. I have other things to do and need to move on to other projects." But not me. I'm like a mental patient.

Here's more proof. I can't stop giggling because I thought I'd entertain myself by making fun of Immortal a little bit. Somehow I got the idea in my head that it would be hilarious if there was a Tiger Beat or Bop or Tutti Frutti some other teen mag special issue dedicated to black metal. I don't have Photoshop, so you'll just have to imagine a collage of super-sexxy black metal babes in full makeup, spiked shinplates and Horgh-style leather gutguards next to teaser lines like:

Awesome 6-page Snap-Out Scrapbook!
Sizzling Super-Centerfolds!
Abbath Answers Your Most Intimate Questions!
BM's New Hot Hunks!
Horgh's Date Do-and-Don't Secrets...Shh! Don't Tell!

What would one of those articles be like?

7 Things You Didn't Know About Horgh!
OK, here's whatcha DON'T know about frizzy-haired, crazy-eyed cutie Horgh! He's 37 years old. He lives in Norway. He has black hair. And he rilly, RILLY hopes you like the new Immortal album Damned in Black! That's the kind of guy Horgh is...the kind that cares what YOU think. Got it? Now here are 7 things you DON'T know about Horgh!
1. Horgh's middle name is Dorcas!
2. Off the stage, he's into billiards...and bowling!
3. His showbiz friends include Infernus, Destructhor, Nocturno Culto and Amy Winehouse!
4. He was secretly embarrassed of the "Call of the Wintermoon" video!
5. Horgh's favorite shows are World's Wildest Police Chases, Survivor and Everybody Loves Raymond!
6. Horgh changes the message on his voice mail every day!
7. He reads all the fan letters you write him!

I can't help picking on Horgh, because he's the fat one. And, OMG, his b-day is totally the same day as mine!! Killer!

Frankly, it's getting a little boring making fun of black metal. I need more inspiration. Where is Until the Light Takes Us?, the black metal documetary that was allegedly coming out in "late 2007"? According to their official page (which is, of course, a Myspace page) "Peter Travis" of Rolling Stone has reviewed the movie, calling it "a nonstop roller-coaster ride of adrenaline fueled action!" Hmm, suspicious. I've never heard of this Peter Travis, great and powerful reviewist from formerly cool rock mag. Perhaps they mean Peter TRAVERS? Strike one.

The filmmakers have also released another hellishly boring clip from the movie, this time of Darkthrone member Fenriz talking on the phone. Big fucking whoop. First we get a jailhouse interview with the fucking Count, and it turns out to a snoozefest. How can anyone possibly interview the Count and not come out with anything good? The guy wore Swiss Miss pigtails to his murder trial. Strike two. Directors of Until the Light Takes Us, I have little faith.

We don't need anymore wuss directors taking on these projects that they can't follow through on. Here's another example.

This documentary features black metal vocalist Gaahl, who is a big huge meanie. His home in Espedal, Norway, looks like Appalachia only far more depressing. It's a place where it can rain for 70+ days straight. He went to school with only one other student his whole life, a student that committed suicide at 18. Everyone in town is afraid of him and refuses to comment on him, and only one journalist will make a statement, but under the condition that his face is blurred out. He obviously fancies himself some sort of Count Dracula-like master of the dark who swoops through the town and sucks the blood out of children and defiles innocent virgins as they sleep.

So the subject matter is ripe. But this film crew blows it. Or more accurately, they blow Gaahl. A good five minutes of the doc are wasted on too-long shots of Gaahl trying to look creepy and intellectual and focusing on the filmmakers whining about the "project" being in "jeopardy" because Gaahl makes them climb a mountain to see the shack where his grandparents lived. It's worse than Celebrity Fit Club. Quit your whining and give the people what they want: freaks saying freaky things. Well, maybe that's now what all the people want.

Anyway, if it's what YOU want: check out the doc here:
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5

Come on, jackoffs. Ask the right questions and stop the whining. We want to know what Gaahl's favorite color is and hear him describe his perfect date!