Nothing Worse.

Listed on Humor-Blogs.com

My greatest fear has always been the prospect of having some trauma or some injury that turns me stupid. As it stands now, I am no towering intellect; I was once fooled into thinking that The Love Boat was actually the USS Nimitz. Regardless, I am chilled to the bone at the prospect of a post-injury SinisterDan who would be incapable of understanding the present SinisterDan; I’d hate to ever be incapable of telling that I’m not a very good writer.

This was going to be the focus of this post. After all that brain damage angle is some funny shit.

I changed the topic not because came to my senses, but because I have a headache. Actually, I just don’t have a headache, I have a migraine. If you are now saying, “A migraine is a headache” then I’d invite you to take a moment to inject Windex into your neck with a shovel.

I have two major migraine symptoms; pain and hate. The pain is obvious. As a result in the fluctuations of vascular pressure, there is a defined line of white hot pain that runs from behind my left eye, back through my head and into the top of my left shoulder. Light hurts, movement hurts– well, every damn thing hurts. Typing this post is excruciating, but between you and me, I’m guessing that it’s worse for you.

When I am in this level of discomfort, I hate nearly everyone and everything. The obvious exceptions are my children (I simply find them to be clouds of pure, deafening chaos) and my wife (it is only her good graces that permit my ongoing crapulence).

But the rest of you are in pretty deep pudding. Seriously, Jim, watch it.

I don’t hate you all personally of course, but I do hate you. Each of you, probably without knowing, are causing the vibration of air molecules through your bodily motion and generally being alive. These molecules chain react and strike the pain wire in my head. The fact that you don’t know about this only makes it worse.

And you’re ugly.

The cat purred at me, so I punched it. Moving my arm hurts, so then I punched myself in the face. I really hate the Quakers right now.

Since I’m an idiot, I’m watching TV and writing at the same time while I have a migraine. The eye-to-shoulder pain wire is now humming along with alarming efficiency and I think that I’m about thirty minutes away from a stroke.

As I’ve been typing, I’ve flipped through the channels to find five normally innocuous subjects that I must presently, because of my deplorable condition, despise.

1. Barack Obama; Normally, I would be glad that Senator Obama gave a speech that has, according to most pundits, solved all racial problems in the world forever. Well, there’s one problem he hasn’t solved: my migraine. I hate all races, all speeches about race, and all speeches by Senators. I even hate all of the world’s nations that either have Senators or do not. Yes, this enmity and rage includes sports teams called ‘Senators’, in case you were wondering.

2. Jamaica; I just saw a commercial encouraging all of us to travel to Jamaica and spend our money on their stuff. I kind of liked this commercial, because if true, it seems that really attractive, bikini-clad women shower together on Jamaican beaches. However, the bikinis are brightly colored, and now I hate them too. Also, the pit of mind-bending fury that I hold for Jamaica only deepens as I imagine myself there, sweltering in the Caribbean sun. So stimulated, my pain wire causes my head to explode. Thanks, but no thanks, Jamaica; you can go to hell.

3. John McCain; I’m not trying to be political when I say this, but I want to tear his jowls off and scream at him to shut up. I’ve got a really bad migraine and I don’t need to hear his stupid, old ass keep confusing Iran and Iraq. Do what Ronald Reagan did when his stupid, old ass needed to speak; read a terrible speech about a shining city and call it a day.

4. The Indiana Jones sequel; I shouldn’t need to explain this.

5. Gordon Ramsay; I already hated him, but the migraine is not the best advocate for moderation. How has this man not gotten most of his face cooked off on a gas burner already? While I’m sure he’s a great chef (or not) he is only famous for yelling at people. Without the migraine, I’d toss him into the salamander by the time he got halfway through his second exceptionally accented and falsely amplified f-bomb. With the migraine, I’d make him give Jamie Oliver an open-mouthed kiss, and then burn his face off.

Too much?

Who cares? I’m going to bed.

Pain Relief? You Need Humor-Blogs.com !!

When Writers Attack

Listed on humor-blogs.com…

Unlike most of you, I am not a TV writer. As such, I was appalled and surprised to find that many of the fine people who write the scripts for shows that I do not watch are no longer working.

Why are they not working? Because of The Man, that’s why.

The Man, in short but fair terms, is stealing from the writers because The Man is also The Greedy Bastard. The writers agreed to a progressive increase in monies paid for their products being shown in other venues, and The Greedy Bastard Man did not live up to this agreement.

Why? Well, just look at his name.

I mostly watch news, cooking shows, NFL football and Eskimo porn. These are largely unaffected by the writer’s strike. I also watch too many documentaries, but these are in a dark netherworld since most of them only air 13 years after they are produced. As such, I’ve just programmed my TiVo to capture the Discovery Channel premiere of The Magic of Netscape 1.0.

This might also serve as a good indicator as to why writers are so important. I once heard someone say that “If it ain’t on the page, it ain’t on the stage”. The more I think about it, I think it was an actor reading lines given to him on a DVD commentary.

So yeah, writers matter and they matter a lot. Without writers, we are faced the with spittle and mumbling on Fox News, or worse, reality television. People say that reality TV is written, but I don’t think so. It might be planned, rigged and outright false, but it is not written.

Written things cannot hold the premise that a British cook screaming at stranger for 47 minutes of network prime-time is a good thing. Without writers you get things like a dancing Osmond, most instances of the Emmy Awards, and (I’m pretty sure) cholera.

Additionally, putting a writer near or in your stereo speakers will result in an erection lasting longer than four hours, but you will not need to consult a physician.

Speaking of which, without writers, you get the Viva Viagra commercial. If you watch this, you will see a group of happy, middle aged suburban dudes who traveled to a deserted roadhouse so they could jam out a bastardized ode to the pill that re-galvanized their Love Gun.

I find this all very suspicious. If you’re snorking it up that well, you may sing a song, but you’ll be naked, at home and playing a decidedly different instrument. Also, since I know that you were wondering, I do know what song they were singing back when the lightsaber needed new batteries;

Limp thing
It’s like a wet string.
My gear is all noo-oo-oodly
Limp thing

You get the idea.
So, for the third time, writers matter a lot. They matter so much that unlike pretty much everyone else in TV and movies, if you don’t have them, you don’t have a product. Now before anyone jumps on my head, I’m sure you are right that ‘Designing Women‘ was a complex tapestry woven from the collegial activities of dozens of professionals all of whom are indispensable.

Except for the day when Annie Potts stabbed Jean Smart on the leg for calling her short.

One of the few shows that I do watch whenever I’m able is The Late Show. I’ve been a Letterman fan since he was merely an abrasive transplanted Midwesterner with funny teeth and inexplicable hair. Now he’s a late night legend, the progenitor of the likes of Jon Stewart and an old, abrasive transplanted Midwesterner with funny teeth and virtually no hair.

That’s an awfully long time. Back when I first started watching Dave he was actually slightly less obscure then Oprah, who was then working on the A-Team as the body double for George Peppard. Jay Leno, the snooze-inducing king of midnight hour talk shows was plying his trade as a really good stand-up instead of…never mind.

The Late Show writers have started a blog in order to write about not writing. It’s worth the read just for the funny, but it also gives you a pretty interesting (albeit reluctant) look at what this is about. Read that blog, find other ones and read them too. Make up a show, pretend to be a writer for it and blog about that (the ‘Whimsy and Passion of Maggie Thatcher’ is taken).

TV and movie writers are not rich, they do not generally have secure employment and they do the best part of what brings the crap you like to the screen so that you have a noise to distract you between handfuls of Cheez-Its and the speeches you regularly give to your kitty.

That was more auto-biographical then I had wanted.

 

 

 

 

Give In to My Power and Visit Humor-Blogs.com !!

Everybody Sucks.

Listed on humor-blogs.com…

This is not a very funny week. For a news and politics humorist, the last few days have been hideous and awful like a bout of intestinal worms; big ones, too. I’m talking about big intestinal worms that have sharp, biting teeth and the face of Don Rickles. I feel like Michael Vick trying to pick up girls at a PETA rally where everyone knows that Ron Mexico is just an alias.

This week has brought the Iraq War testimony of General Petraeus and the sixth commemoration of 911. Nothing funny there, and you’d be kind of cheap, vile jerk if you tried to make it so.

Speaking of cheap, vile jerks I would now like to remind you of Bill ‘The Bloat Furnace’ Donohue. Donohue spends his time steering the cranky old ship of the Catholic League for Religious and Civil Rights and belching out astonishingly offensive cries of Catholic-bashing faster than a…um…damn. It strikes me that there aren’t that many things that belch repeatedly and at speed on purpose…my bad.

To refresh you, I’ve written about Billy the Hutt before.

Kathy Griffin is the increasingly famous star of the reality-ish show My Life on the D-List. Griffin does things that I’m sure are just spiffy but since I have never watched, she could be mangling cats with a hammer for all I know. I remember Griffin on other things and that she was funny. Or maybe I don’t and she wasn’t – I really don’t care. Either way she strikes me as neither a particularly compelling entertainer or so attractive that I hope to ‘accidentally’ see her naked.

As such Griffin has never consumed any bandwidth on the Sinister Satellite, but again I’m sure she’s just swell. There is some empirical evidence for this as Griffin was just awarded a Creative Arts Emmy for her work on the show that I have never seen. In her acceptance, Griffin added:

… a lot of people come up here and thank Jesus for this award. I want you to know that no one had less to do with this award than Jesus. So, all I can say is, ’suck it, Jesus.’ This award is my god now.”

This line isn’t exactly so funny that it forced the evacuation of my bowels, in fact I barely snickered. It also, pretty clearly, is a joke.

This, of course, was not the interpretation of the mountainous sack of noise that is Bill “Stay-Puft” Donohue, who condemned Griffin’s comments as “hate speech”.

Hate speech is normally defined as when someone states that an entire race, culture or religion is foul or awful just because they are what they are. When I released my first book: All Presbyterians are Damn Dirty Apes, that qualified as hate speech. Conversely, when my wife penned the best-selling My Husband is Dung-Covered Baboon, in addition to not being classified as hate speech, that work also won an award from my mother.

And Dad bought her a new mini-van. But let’s move on.

So while The Jeebus is a very important fella, he cannot technically be the subject of hate speech as an individual. It occurs to me that I have inadvertently compared myself to The Jeebus. If the bible is right, I’m relatively sure that I’m taller than he was.

Is that hate speech?

Bill “Bubblicious” Donohue gets into a bit of trouble with his wording. What I mean by this is that because he uses words, things go quickly go down the crapper. What might otherwise have been a cute little statement of obnoxious indignation turns quickly into, well…

“It is sure bet that if Griffin had said, ‘Suck it, Muhammad,’ there would have been a very different reaction from the crowd and from the media who covered this event. To say nothing of the Muslim reaction.”

You would almost think that he’s doing this on purpose, wouldn’t you?

While Bill “Vesuvius Mouth” Donohue cannot tolerate a person making a statement about a singular ‘The Jeebus’, he is willing to pull out the specter of ‘the Muslim reaction’.

Bill Donohue and the Muslim Reaction would be a great name for a band (another 1$ for Dave Barry…).

But as we all know, Islam is a dangerous religion that promotes really bad behavior in its adherents and so Bill is well advised to warn us of ‘the Reaction’. Fortunately, he in no way looks like a hypocritical goon since nothing bad has ever happened in the name of the Catholic Church.

Seriously, Bill wouldn’t to come off like an ass.

Earlier in his press excretions, Bill also highlights that this kind of hate speech is predictable because Griffin is a self-described “complete militant atheist”. Since (like Muslims) atheists cannot be trusted to do the right thing, Bill is entirely justified in condemning that group based on the beliefs about god.

As for the anti-Jeebus media, they have shown their usual stick-to-itiveness and folded like a bad paper plate. The network airing the Emmys will proudly exercise their right to free speech by eliminating some of it. The AP will not even cite the phrase in question, instead referring to it as an ‘off-color remark’.

Way to go, Bill. You are the light of the world – the light from the snout of an oncoming train.

 

 

 

Don’t Be Stupid Like the Unicorn!! Go to Humor-Blogs.com !!

Lights, Camera, Genuine Rage!

Listed on humor-blogs.com…

Sometimes fake is just as good as real. Splenda works pretty well. Turkey bacon isn’t *that* bad. Women faking orgasms is an unmitigated act of kindness – thanks to all of you. Even tubes of wax that pose as headache remedies can’t actually hurt you, unless you tried to swallow it whole like a dose of Advil.

In 1982, Ricardo Montalban made a dent in the zeitgeist by uttering the fictitious Klingon proverb that ‘…revenge is a dish that is best served cold…” He did this while wearing a fake chest, presumably because his own pecs were not the sweater meat of an evil man.

In a cruel twist of fate (really, it’s neither) it turns out that the presumption that both these things were fake, was itself, fake.

The fictitious Klingon proverb was actually a fictitious French proverb from the novel Dangerous Liaisons. It makes more sense coming from the French, since all dishes are best served cold when you are on the move from constant surrendering. Also, far better to serve someone a tepid Coq au Vin than to engage them on the field of eventual-withdrawal-after-some-moderate-shooting.

Apparently, Montalban’s chest was Montalban’s chest. The prominent and malevolent man-bosom was, according to director Nicholas Meyer, the result of regular exercise. This is in strict contrast to the amazing technology designed to keep William Shatner from overacting, becoming ungirdled and having his hairpiece fly off at the same time. This scientific wizardry would later be modified into high-impact airbags to protect the Mars Rovers from the brutal collision of landing.

Trivia; In 1983 while filming an episode of TJ Hooker, Heather Locklear had the last of her talent knocked to the floor and shattered thanks to Shatner’s hairpiece.

Trivia #2; No one noticed.

This, of course, leads me to the topic of the Arab Street, and the generally widening crisis in the Middle East.

Really, it does.

First of all, I hate the term ‘Arab Street’. It’s insulting to Arabs and typically what most people mean when they write or say it is the ‘Muslim Street’. How ‘Muslim Street’ is more offensive than Arab Street eludes me; certainly, I think if we started calling American opinion polls the ‘Christian Herd’ there would be some blow back.

Also, in this case, the Arab Street is in India.

Since the world-shift that happened after 9/11, we have been treated to various and numerous analyses of the Arab Street, and how this amalgam represents the mood of the Muslim world. Usually, and repeatedly, ‘The Street’ is made up of angry Arab persons cheering when something has exploded or when burning people in effigy. Apparently the ‘Arab Living Room’, where reasonable people sit around and worry about their world doesn’t make for very good copy.

Maybe I’m being naïve again, let’s not forget that I used to think that Skittles came from actual rainbows, but it honestly never occurred to me that portions of the Arab Street were about as real as the production of Sesame Street.

Allow me to introduce you to Rage Boy.

Chronicled at SnappedShot.com and by perennial grump Christopher Hitchens at Slate.com, Rage Boy is an actor. Not unlike Montalban playing the madman Khan Noonien Singh, Rage Boy will drop into a mask of twisted and vile hatred at the drop of a hat. He’s pretty good too – he looks more upset than a goat on the seventh day of having his scrotum bound up in elastics. According to my count, Rage Boy has also done this at least 14 times. (Be a grump, I mean…I’m not speculating about his scrotum.)

I’ll now quote Hitchens without permission and hopefully get sued (the right lawsuit can make you famous…);

“I have actually seen some of these demonstrations/…/and all I would do if I were a news editor is ask my camera team to take several steps back from the shot. We could then see a few dozen gesticulating men/…/Around them, a two-deep encirclement of camera crews. When the lights are turned off, the little gang disperses/…/you may have noticed that the camera is always steady and in close-up on the flames, which it wouldn’t be if there was a big, surging mob involved.”

Personally, I’m unimpressed with a choreographed riot. It makes about as much sense as wild and uncontrolled revision of the federal tax code. Although I’m told that Alan Greenspan, in a fit of wild animal passion, once sprained his wrist because of demand-pull inflation.

I don’t even know what that means…

To my knowledge I agree with nothing espoused by Islamic extremists, but I always gave them credit for having a certain, spontaneous joie de vivre when it came to showing us the face of unmitigated fury.

Being a veteran of the interweb tubes, I’ve seen some pornography (note to my wife: always by accident) and we all know that these people are putting us on. No one would enjoy doing *that* for so many people on a hay bale. Further, despite wearing the proper hat, none of those women are really nurses.

Is Rage Boy faking it? Is his beard a cheap implant from the San Fernando Valley?

When directing Montalban, Nicholas Meyer advised him to have his character speak quietly for most of his lines. This way, when he erupted into a rage, the effect would be exponentially greater.

Good advice.

Suffering from Yersinia Pestis? Go To Humor-Blogs.com!