All of this talk regarding Super Bowl commercials, namely for cars and lumber and whatnot… And yet not a lot of buzz for SPAM.
It was the commercials for this wonder meat (I have already Trademarked “WonderMeat” for an adult cartoon series, so don’t get any ideas) that got my brain working yesterday. It’s such an underrated cut, you’d become clinically depressed just considering that the following exchange would never take place in some Michelin star restaurant:
“Why, yes... I’d like the Spamderloin. In fact, how about the Filet Spamignon?”
“Would you like that bacon-wrapped?”
“Seems rather redundant, but certainly.”
You’d have to wonder, though, what sort of a meat genius you’d have to be in order to discern the individual cuts of SPAM.
“Dis ‘ere, uh, particular cut is dee, uh, leg of SPAM. Which is, as you know, is remarkably similar to da arm of SPAM, as well as da chuck, loin and flank. Da majestic SPAM, when raised free-range, develops a little more devoisity in its physical appearance, as noted ovah ‘ere, wit dese little caps of gelatin-like substance.”
This month marks twenty-five years of the web.
Enjoy the FIRST-EVER cat video, from nearly one hundred years before the web. A film recorded in Edison’s office of boxing cats, which neatly ties together the history of a place that has become a bastion for thieves, Copyright infringement and other debauchery, via a motion picture, which Edison stole the patent for by murdering Louis Le Prince.
Hooray progress. Thanks, Al Gore.
Speaking of the Olympics, it would seem as though things are worse than the media would lead you to believe in Brazil. Take the Olympic Village for example. Granted, one doesn’t come to expect five-star accommodations in a third-world country, but the lack of reliable Wi-Fi (and en-suite plumbing… and a roof), but you really begin to see how bringing in Venezuelan decorators may have been a mistake.
On the bright side, however, it’s nice to see Motel 6 upping their game on the international stage, and hiring what appears to be at least one part-time maid for the duration of the event.
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?
The Ted Kennedy Collection promises to be a huge draw at next January’s Barrett-Jackson Scottsdale auction…
Transcendental Tuesday: Sleep Deprivation-Inspired Spiritual Hallucination Edition:
Anyone else find it statistically improbable that not one vegan who goes on some psychoactive-fueled journey EVER returns with news of their spirit animal being a Tiger Shark? I mean, as a carnivore, I once had a vision (following a pretty violent blow to the melon by an open cabinet door) that my spirit animal was broccoli, and it awakened a feeling of solidarity with the majestic green beast, and I began to wonder if tiny little birds built tiny little (well, slightly-bigger-but-tiny-in-proportion) nests within the broccoli branches, and that kinda freaked me the fuck out because accidentally chewing an itty-bitty beak would be like when you eat a clam and get some sand, and the grit is all like “CRUNCHACHRUNCHA-GRIND-GRIND-GRIND” and you have to spit it out. Only beaks would be worse, so I decided to never again eat broccoli. Also, I started a foundation (read as “tax exempt venture” or “Al Gore”) to keep zoos from displaying broccoli. To this day, not ONE municipal zoo has captive broccoli in their collection, thanks to the billions of supporters who read our propaganda, and failed biology in grammar school. But I digress.
I mean, consider that over the millennia, there had to be at least ONE vegan who craved a burger, or perhaps one Tiger Shark who, while munching on a hapless swimmer thought “you know, I need to stop this, because humans have feelings and lawn chairs that somehow wind up in the reef have a lot of fiber.” And, according to new age mumbo-jumbo, their souls must have crossed in the ether…
Food for thought the next time a bunch of you pile into Braiden’s Prius to head out to the festival: Your underarm scent may trigger an awakening in them, and then they’ll eat you. And probably your shoulder bag. And the floor mats. I mean those fuckers will eat anything, regardless of what color its aura may be. And if you have a friend named Aura, she’ll probably incite this shark-hippie hybrid much faster, because that’s how names work, so you’re best to just bike there anyway.