Archive | July 2016

The Inner-Spring Workings of a Killer

Conversation Gone Awry: Dinner With the Youngest/Vocabulary Skills Edition:

“So how was school today?
“OK. We talked about a lot of stuff in Technology.”
“Like what?”
“Do you know what ‘patricide’ is?”
“I’m not certain that I like where this is headed.”
“It’s when you kill your Dad.”
“You want dessert? Maybe a car?”
“…and there’s matricide.”
“Or mattress-cide. But that takes a lot of planning and upper body strength. I mean you can’t be too covert carrying around a California King… or better, a QUEEN-SIZE, and then snuffing someone with it, and running away. That would really confuse the cops, though. ‘Detective, we’re stumped. All of these victims appear to have been suffocated by something heavy, but soft.'”
“OOH! ‘But they look comfortable. No pressure points.'”
“Yes! We need an ’80’s cop one-liner… ‘I guess his sleep-number came up.'”
“‘The best AND worst night’s sleep EVER.'”
“BETTER: There’s a copy-cat murderer who is dragging around an old Craftmatic Adjustable bed. He gets caught quickly, though. Those are heavy, I’d imagine.”
“Why not just use a pillow?”
“This guy is too crafty for that. He tailors the mattress to the victim. ‘This bastard here… He’s getting futon-ed.’ Maybe his grand finale is dropping a sleeper sofa from a roof…”
“You’re weird, Dad.”

The New Wave of Chick Flicks

Oh, Hollywood, when will you learn?

NO ONE wants to see a classic movie like Ghostbusters ruined by changing it all up to become some all-woman buddy movie, as evidenced by the deafening silence in theaters. You re-make, re-launch and re-define everything until the life is sucked from it time and again, and we the viewing public take the brunt of the abuse.

I’d suggest pulling out of these cluster-fucks once and for all, and not subjecting us to any more “creative” torture. Please don’t even consider casting Tina Fey, Kristen Wiig, Melissa McCarthy and Jennifer Lawrence in Band of Sisters. Or thinking along that line,  Rosie O’Donnell as Henrietta Hill in Goodsisters, or skipping ahead into The Godmother: Part II starring Angelina Jolie. Dirty Harriet starring Sandra Locke, or Kate Beckinsale in the relaunch of Lethal (But Stylish!) Weapon. Jennifer Garner and Janeane Garofalo in a comic team-up relaunch of the Charles Bronson Death Wish series (could even go all wicked witch/fairy princess-like and make it about a fantasy wish of death OR an empowering film about a female extreme sports junkie in true Hollywood bullshit fashion), or a Smokey and the Bandit relaunch with Sandra Bullock and Catherine Zeta-Jones and Queen Latifah (with Lena Dunham and Gabourey Sidibe as a mixed-race, plus-size, same-sex cop duo)… Or dare you cross the line into sacred territory and completely ruin Caddyshack by making it a feel-good, all-female Summer romp starring Jodie Foster, Jane Lynch, Meredith Baxter and Sara Gilbert, in which the main plot centers around liberal talking points and female empowerment, set against the backdrop of the Bush Presidency. The Diva Dozen could be an ensemble musical which is anchored by the return to the big screen of Lindsay Lohan, while the more eco-sensitive classic chase scene from Bullitt could have a bio diesel-powered Volvo pitted against a Prius, but filmed somewhere relatively flat, like Kate Hudson.

Again, Hollywood, these are not pitches. It’s time to go home and rethink some things. What do you say?

Laying it Out There

Far be it for me to dump on a dream, but no matter how good the food or service or atmosphere, I’d imagine that the hardest part of opening your own artisanal grilled cheese sandwich restaurant would be realizing that you’d never really have any “regular” customers.

A Forgotten Pioneer

I am appalled at Google’s lack of a doodle celebrating the birth of one of history’s finest inventors on this, the fourteenth of July. Not even a simple tip of the Silly Boobs Trucker Hat could be posted to honor Richard “Kewpie Dick” Delahanty, inventor of the aforementioned head wear, the “Junk Drawer Thing-a-Matron 1000” (shown here), and the ubiquitous Banana Seat.

Little is known about his early years, excepting for a rumor that he was the orphaned, unplanned child produced as the result of a tryst between Bella Lugosi and Frida Kahlo. Raised in the basement of a radio repair shop by Romanian immigrants, he learned to speak English by listening to Abbott and Costello, and taught himself to read by using discarded telephone directories, which granted him an encyclopedic knowledge of the city’s inhabitants.

A love for technology and puns drove him to create such wonders as the Alligator, Suede, Leather and Snake Turtleneck Shirt (better known as the “Four-Skin Longsleeve”), a super-absorbent raft/submarine combo called the “Tampoon River Rider,” and a harness for people who enjoy having their legs humped by small dogs, the “Shin-Too,” in addition to the marvels mentioned in the opening. An eccentric in his later years, he collected and arranged Bazooka Joe bubblegum comics into epic tales of adventure, but sadly his life’s work was burned to the ground following an unfortunate incident involving a sparkler and flatulence display, attributed to his heavy drinking and strict diet of bean-based foods. He died of a priapism when he mistook a bag of small pills found behind a pharmaceutical test lab for ice cream sundae sprinkles.

My Hatred Has Spared Dozens, Perhaps More

Say what you will about “hate never solving anything,” but my hatred for Brussels sprouts has spared me many an unpleasant meal, and those around me many an unpleasant digestive aftermath. I’m a giver, after all.

The floor is yours, hippie.

Contemplating the GREATEST FURNITURE SALE

Sit back and enjoy another “Conversation Borne of Extreme Misunderstanding of Terms and Conditions” or “Brian’s Wishful Thinking, A Ride Through Old Town on a Holiday Weekend” Edition:

“Look at that, will you? ‘Greatest Furniture Sale!’ That’s some lofty expectation.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The sign stretched across the street with the huge red letters proclaiming GREATEST FURNITURE SALE! and then repeated on every pane of glass on their facade. That’s some self-assurance, sale-wise. Good on them.”
“Maybe it’s in some proportion to the other stores right here in the neighborhood.”
“They’re the only furniture store in the neighborhood. That’s almost defeatist if you see it like that. We went from sixty to zero with that kind of local thinking.”
“What if it IS the greatest furniture sale then? What if you went in there and were amazed by it? Like the sort of a sale that becomes etched into the history of the town, eclipsing even the importance of the holiday weekend it was held.”
“Maybe they give you a blowjob.”
“WHAT??!”
“That would be great. I’ll take the sofa!”
“Ummm…”
“Sir, this purchase includes fellatio. Would you like that now or…? And the sales guy is holding the intercom all ready to page someone over for ‘assistance’ and some customer is all deep in thought like ‘Oh! I could do this now OR maybe at delivery, but this stuff looks heavy, and what if they outsource delivery and some burly dudes show up all like ‘No overtime this week, so I’ll be providing the perk included with your purchase’ and that would be bad, so he’s all like ‘Honey, wait here,’ and then gives a thumbs-up to the sales guy and he pages ‘Destiny to End Tables. Destiny, End Tables for Greatest Sale promotional assistance, please!’ ”
“You’re implying that only men buy furniture.”
“This store IS in the ‘Heritage District.’ Also, you can’t really give a woman a blowjob. The fine print probably states this clearly. OK, in this new world order bullshit, maybe. Like Bruce Jenner buys a nice armoire and settee and…”
“…and we’re done with this conversation.”

%d bloggers like this: