Monday, July 31, 2006

Open Letter to Xavier Nady


Who knew a car accident you weren't involved in could fuck up your life so much? I mean, one minute you're a contributing outfielder on the likely N.L. World Series representative, the next you're relegated to fucking Pittsburgh, all because some poor man's K-Rod picked the wrong cab and got sideswiped in the dead of night. Sometimes life is about as funny as a hurricane in New Orleans.

I feel your pain, man,

P.S. Since Fox took Arrested Development off the air, Yankee haters and Mets fans are my new source of high comedy. Do you agree?

Fire Island Reprise

Some of you may remember the fairly epic "Come In Our Hole" post from last August. If not, you're a filthy whore and a likely Communist. Read that shit, post-haste.

But following another sun-drenched weekend in Ocean Beach, this reporter is proud to document the latest evolution of my friends' Female Magnetic Strategies: 11 feet of inflatable watersport.

The all-out attraction this thing is incredible. Girls are drawn to the FunStation like the asshole tough guys that treat them like shit. The Hole from last year definitely bagged more curious ladies, but the private island was far more interactive. I could certainly use Nick Bakay to come 'round and provide us with a boring Tale of the Tape that makes no sense to anyone.

I'm one-and-done with Fire Isle this summer...but I already can't wait to see what lies in store for next season. I hope GHB is involved.

*FunStation can also be called Nipple Island, Nipple Village or Penipsula (and it may answer to Steve or Doug), as the likelihood of the keeping on your bikini top on is slimmer than your coke fiend sister.

Abreu Deal, a Total Schiavo

What a no-brainer of a trade. Brian Cashman deserves a parade.

The move likely squeezes Melky out of the starting lineup when Matsui returns, but I can't say that'll be the worst thing in the world. He'll still get his time in when Damon needs a rest and Joe wants to keep Hideki's mileage the idea of having someone of Melky's caliber as a fourth outfielder is a ridiculously comforting thought.

Having no guarantees that either Sheff or Matsui will return healthy, or at all, we just went from a right-field platoon of Guiel and Bernie and Bubba to Bobby Fucking Abreu. How could you go wrong there?

The real question is: Did Sheff beat someone senseless upon hearing the trade news? I wouldn't be surprised if he smacked around his wife, not so much from this trade, but more because he never quite got over the fact she had a filmed threesome with R Kelly.

Slack Link of the Day: Many of you already know Mel Gibson was arrested early Friday morning for driving under the influence. You may not know that he was driving under the influence of Jew blood.

And while that may or may not be factual, the Jewish God's honest truth is that he really did launch into the rantings of a crazy person, became enraged and somehow blamed the hook-nosed population for everything. All for a DUI. Normal stuff. Say it ain't so, Riggs.

Slack Song and Video of the Day: Musicians are cool. But albino musicians that play the keytar are even cooler. See for yourself in this video of the Edgar Winter Group playing Frankenstein on a 1973 British television show.

Try to not hum that tune for the rest of the day.

Friday, July 28, 2006

Is Liverpool With the Terrorists?

The Reds today drew Maccabi Haifa in a two-leg, third-round Champions League match that kicks off in a few weeks.

"Skipper Stevie Gerrard will have no problems firing his Katyusha rockets all over the Haifa pitch," says Reds boss Rafa Benitez.

As a Liverpool supporter and a Jew, I'm pretty torn.

Plagiarized Links

I call this one the ScottyB and Coach Edition, since much of this shit is right off their imaginary desks:

Is there anything Michael McDonald can't do?
Ten paragraphs into this spectacularly well-done interview with one of my favorite musicians, Mr. Bruce Hornsby, you'll find this pretty surprising quotation: "Michael McDonald is a great person—I call him my discoverer and founder."

Heyzeus Chreesto, what is there in this godforsaken world that Mikey McDee can't do? He can sing like the dewdrops glistening on a freshly sodded lawn and he can stare a hole through your sternum with those big, soulful eyes. Now it turns out, the man discovered Bruce Fucking Hornsby. What a guy, what a guy.

In addition to that great anecdote (read the article), also check out this cool quote from Hornsby about one of his sons: "He’s on the AAU state champion Boo Williams select team, the only white kid in the gym. He’s going to the nationals in Orlando in August. He can really shoot it, and he’s a quick little white boy."

Boiling game shows down to the basics
I like the way this guy puts it, so I'll re-print unabridged: "Seriously, I think it is time to start packing my bags. I have tried it here in the US, with all the crappy MTV-era reality shows like America's Got Talent, My Super Sweet 16, and Survivor that have infected our television networks. All these shows ever do is make me angry that the contestants never face any sort of real world retribution for their wildly inappropriate and/or annoying behavior. Japan on the other hand seems to have stuck to the basics. Here is a tongue twister, say it correctly or get hit in the nuts. Like peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches and Snakes On A Plane, you know exactly what you're getting and if you don't like it then that is your problem."

Fake band names meet some sort of science
Sometimes I get so caught up in this game that I think I might have to start taking music lessons. Then I realize I''m lazy and have no real talent for anything in this world other than lounging and being able to perfectly skip the commercials on my TiVoed programs. So, there that goes. (Ir)Regardless, here's a solid list of Ten Thousand Statistically Grammar-Average Fake Band Names with which youse can use to get famous, including Mandible Unthinkable. That sounds fun.

Slack Google Search Update: As wildly expected last week, the "Dakota Fanning + rape" searches have started rolling in...ain't that a fine thing with which to be associated. Similarly, the "Mike Tirico sexual harassment" searches are also registering big time in the wake of Harold Reynoldsgate.

Other recent searches that struck me as funny: cats that look like Huey Lewis, I love black people, Shawn Hannity punches Alan Combs, mother daughter fuck, pullin' tubes, Hal McRae 1997 White Sox Bush league, sexy voicemails, party of five salisbury hill, Stevie Knicks, sleeping pills and a bottle of absynthe, cats sudden death, Fuck Frenzy, and my favorite, Tommy Lee Jones happy face.

Slack Video of the Day: One year from yesterday marks the theatrical debut of The Simpsons Movie, of which Groening & Co. debuted sketches at the recent Comic Con. They're still ultra-rough, but it's nice to get an early glimpse of something every once in a while. Hopefully they figure out how to recapture the glory days of the show, otherwise this is going to be a nightmare: First clip & Second clip.

Slack Song of the Day: The Gnotorious Gnarls Biggie is exactly what it sounds like...someone mashed up some Biggie and some Barkley, with sexy results. Here are two tracks, including "that Crazy song": Can I Get With Ya Crazy Butt and Smiley Faces Hypnotize. Thanks to Phish & Chips for the heads up on this.

Thursday, July 27, 2006

You Trow-a 'da Ballio

I want a Sal Fasano jersey T-shirt. It's really a must-get for me.

Sure, he's never played in more than 74 games in a season, he's never scored more than 25 runs, never cracked more than 50 hits and never topped a .254 batting average. He was, however, second in the American League in being hit by pitches in 1998.

But what Sally Fasanowitz lacks in talent and ability he more than makes up for in moustache girth and sheer hustle. The Yank'ums traded for the backup catcher yesterday, and they've yet to lose a game with him on the squad. That's no coincidence, haters.

This guy is just awesome to watch play: a moustachioed, pudgy backstop that kinda twitches and hustles his ass off. But to make his character even better, his official "coming to the plate" music must be Funiculi Funicula, and he should totally play up those famous Italian hand gestures when arguing with the umpire. Plus, every time he's interviewed he should say things like "Da Unit is-a trowing 'dem a-high and in-a-side tonight-a! Allrighty!"

I love him already. Fasano is the key to the AL East title.

Last night was the game of the year, an unbelievable back-and-forth fiasco that had the roommates and I cheering and yelling and cursing and punching the air. But in more important Yanks news, is it really necessary to give Aaron Guiel Andy Pettitte's #46 and Judgepuncher Sidney Ponson Tino Martinez's #24?

I'm not saying they need to retire those jerseys, but how about a five-year waiting period from the last time Buttchin and Connie Gore wore 'em? I know the Yanks don't exactly have a plethora of numbers to choose from with so many retired, but how about some respect for two guys that helped bring four World Series titles to the city?

The jersey is having one effect already -- Aaron Guiel is quickly becoming an Ace fave. It's gotta be the #46.

(Photo courtesy of, with a ScottyB heads up)

Slack Link of the Day: "Britney Spears has sacked the hired help who used to clean the pool at her Malibu, Calif., mansion -- because he became too friendly with her husband, according to reports. Jon LaLanne, the son of fitness guru Jack LaLanne, claims chatting to Kevin Federline got him fired because Spears feared he was only out to get information about her family."

Wait, what? Fuck the Spears angle here, I'm just loving the fact that Jack LaLanne's 45-year-old son is a Hollywood poolboy. Unless there's an "extra anchovies" angle to this, I'm floored by this development.

Slack Video of the Day: I think I've definitely posted this one before, but I just saw it again and thought it had to make its way back up -- Tenacious D's Fuck Her Gently.

Slack Song of the Day: I'm feeling the hip hop this morning, which might be the first time since grade five (maybe Heavy D and the Boyz?) that I've said that. Outkast it is, then -- Roses, The Rooster and Happy Valentine's Day for you.

Colbert Kicks Some Shit

"On the Colbert Report last week, Boca Raton representative Robert Wexler, who's running unopposed for reelection, played along with Colbert's 'say anything, you can't lose' game and jokingly expressed his fondness for cocaine. It was genuinely hilarious, thus you can't expect the Today show and Good Morning America to understand. It's a long clip, but Colbert responds appropriately -- if it doesn't involve baking tips, pet tricks, or summer shoe styles, the morning shows simply cannot compute." --Gawker

(Coach has a late addition for the Great News Videos post -- "this comes from a ny fox 5 broadcast where they're showing how easy it is to steal a bike/cut through a bike chain (as an aside, yeah it's easy with a power saw like they have). one of the guys nearby pretends like he's been cut by the power saw and starts rolling on the ground in 'pain' and screaming. the reporter freaks out and starts screaming at him about how not cool his actions are. pretty damn funny.")

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

This Movie's Gonna Hit a Water Buffalo

The latest sign that Hollywood is completely out of ideas comes in the form of a wholly unnecessary prequel:

"The creator of Scrubs is writing and directing a prequel to the '80s feature franchise Fletch, and if he has his way, the show's star Zach Braff will take over Chevy Chase's title role."

Let me start by openly declaring that Scrubs is one of my favorite sitcoms currently on television, and I think Braff is a great actor. I enjoyed his performance in Garden State and he's a Northwestern alum. I bet he's sad about Randy Walker, too. So I like him.

But this is an atrocious casting decision and an even worse idea for a green light. Can you for one second see Braff pulling off the "I'm Frida's boss" repartee, the "Dr. Rosenpenis" dropping papers fiasco, the "Beatles' White album" line in the Records Room or any of the relationship dialogue with Mrs. Stanwyck? Terrible, terrible stuff. I'd even be okay with someone like Jason Lee or Ryan Reynolds, but Zach Braff? As philosopher GOB Bluth says, "C'mon!"

I can come up with three good movie ideas by lunch that would be better than a fucking Fletch prequel with an actor that shares very few personality traits with the original. Fuck, I'd rather see a movie about a farmhand who lives in the easternmost part of Illinois but commutes to work in western Indiana every day, as a result making him lose an hour every morning and gain one every evening, eventually causing him to go absolutely batshit and beat his wife and son and shoot up his office in a time-induced rage a la Jessie Spano. In the end, it's a feel-good movie about the dangers and joys of interracial marriages. Shit, write that down...that could work.

At this point, I can't wait for the Amazing Grace and Chuck prequel.

Slack Link of the Day: Ken Jennings does some Jeopardy! blasting, which is a lot more likely than KJ doing any finger-blasting.

Slack Recommendation of the Day: Donnie and I went to see the New York Cosmos movie yesterday. Quickly I'll say -- great story, stellar soundtrack, top-notch editing, soccer stars and good sense of humor. What more do you need? Go see it, Once in a Lifetime.

Slack Video of the Day: From the geniuses that brought you Super Troopers, check out this trailer for Beerfest. Can't say it looks hilarious, but I'm definitely seeing this flick opening day. I think I'm the one guy that actually laughed during Club Dread.

Slack Song of the Day: Today marks the 16th anniversary of the passing of a virtually unknown legend (how's that for oxymoronic?). Brent Mydland, the Grateful Dead's keyboardist for 11 fantastic years, died 16 years ago today of a speedball overdose in his home. He was an absolutely mind-blowing musician, though, and I've been a great admirer of his work for years.

So here's our tribute to one of the true greats, one of the true wooks, one of the true candidates to die in his 30s from a speedball overdose. If you really want the best, try 12/26/79's Shakedown Street, which I can't seem to locate online. In lieu of that, have some Alabama Getaway, Good Lovin' and Dancin' in the Streets.

Quickie Update: Donnie's Right

Not like it's breaking news, but here's the latest report on former Baseball Tonight analyst Harold Reynolds, who appears to really have been fired for sexual harassment. I think it's a cover-up and that Donnie was dead on about Harold's nailing Ms. Gammons right in the Diamond Notes while her hubby slept in the hospital.

Tuesday, July 25, 2006

Quotation Test

I'm short on time and long on actual work, so let's all take a little quiz together this morning. Which personality delivered this quote to a big impressionable audience of schoolchildren yesterday: "Right now, I would love to kill George Bush."

a. Billionaire investor George Soros
b. Angry comedian Lewis Black
c. Iran's President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad
d. Rising rapper Chamillionaire
e. Nobel Peace Prize winner Betty Williams

If you guessed (e.), Nobel peace laureate Betty Williams, you'd be absolutely correct. Not that I condone violence on world leaders -- because, like making fun of fatties and cripples, I hate that -- but this chick just rose a few thousand spots on my All-Time Cool Beans List. I mean, first she wins the Nobel Peace Prize, then she threatens our president with an arse-kicking 30 years later. Brilliant.

So that begs the question...who would you like to kill right now (scot-free with no consequences of course)? Taylor Hicks for that stupid Ford mersh? Wolf Blitzer for boring us to tears? The fictional George Hearst for fucking with Al Swearengen? Tim McCarver for years of aural abuse? Isiah Thomas? Your neighbor's dog? Let's hear it.

Slack Link of the Day: ESPN fired Baseball Tonight analyst Harold Reynolds yesterday, refusing to explain its reasons for doing so. I guess he had sex with someone's momma, or perhaps with his own wife. With Gammons on the DL and now Reynolds in the can, this doesn't bode well for the future of the program, because Jeff Brantley and Steve Phillips are just about the two biggest idiots that have ever been on television. I don't know what happened, but I suspect BBTN will suffer from 2005 Philadelphia Eagles Syndrome. I'm picturing Harold doing sit-ups in his driveway right now.

Slack Videos of the Day: I just can't seem to get this song out of my head. The fucking cops are trying to catch this poor guy riding dirty, and he feels the need to complain about that in a public forum. It's basically like he's blogging. We really have a lot in common. So here's my buddy Chamillionaire explaining how he's being unfairly targeted whilst trying to ride dirty. Sweet video blog, dude.

Next, grant me one more musical indulgence and then I'm done forever. GRAB + Billie Jean + Cleveland Rocks + Cool Venue = Niceness. I love the guy laughing maniacally.

Slack Song of the Day: Lukas and I made an uncharacteristic, impromptu decision to hit up the Karl Denson Trio at the Blue Note last night (many thanks to John for the friendly text reminder). I'm a big Denson fan, and I've seen the Greyboy Allstars on both coasts over the last few months, but this particular show was the very definition of mediocrity. He played nothing worse than average, yet nothing came even remotely close to approaching great.

Two (blue) notes: Denson broke out the flute for an early number, an instrument that has been completely stripped of all legitimacy since Anchorman. My brain just kept saying "yazz flute, yazz flute, yazz flute, yazz flute." Also, I couldn't help but notice that while Denson is a supremely amazing flautist, he's still just playing the fucking flute. The flute!

So in honor of Mr. D's better days, here are Front Money and What So... from this year's JamCruise, and from the Greyboy catalogue, Jack Rabbit and Cramp Your Style from JazzFest 2004. I also like Denson's early work when he was known as Chamillionaire, namely Ridin' Dirty. Okay, maybe that's not Karl. But it's awesome. Or not.

Monday, July 24, 2006

Two Things I Learned This Weekend

Aside from the fact that Motorboatable Titties is the greatest band name ever, here's what I took home from our weekend of nonstop laughter up in the country:

First, if you order the bacon, egg and cheese sandwich in a rural establishment, make sure you're ready to consume a serious and potentially lethal amount of bacon...

And, secondly, the terrorists may have already won. Or at least they may have already defeated your shower.

Hilariously enough, a few people in the house eschewed this particular shampoo bottle, thinking it may or may not contain anthrax. Fear not, friends, Annie Thrax failed to rear her ugly and powdery head.

American shampoo, fuck yeah.

Slack Link of the Day: Even I would never put up a sign outside my apartment that says "Caution: Retards in Area." But, still, I wouldn't be opposed to laughing at such a poster. You may also take note that this piece reads like it was written by a retard in the area.

Slack Video of the Day: I personally couldn't watch this whole thing, though perhaps you're a bigger man than I. Courtesy of Matty Mac, here's an exciting video for all the budding girls out there.

Slack Song of the Day: Since Chamillionaire's Ridin' Dirty (aka the greatest song ever recorded by mere mortals) isn't freely available on the Interweb, I'll instead post some Assembly of Dust from this year's Wakarusa Fest: Man Plan, Bootleggers and Speculator.

Sunday, July 23, 2006

Motorboatable Titties

That might quite possibly be the greatest band name of all time. I really need to learn how to play an instrument, if only for the comedy.

Friday, July 21, 2006


This dude in front of me at SummerStage in Central Park last night wore a shirt that really stoked my insensitive jerkstore side. I'm not sure if it's still a current campaign, but apparently Aruba's slogan either is or was "Where Happiness Lives."

I've taken the liberty of designing a new T-Shirt for the Aruban travel campaign, though I doubt it'll have positive effects on the local tourism industry. Without any further (Freddy) ado, I give you my sample cotton creation. I love it, you should as well.

Where Happiness Lives
Where Blonde Youth Dies ™

I'm off to the Pennsylvanian countryside, so youse are on your own today. Enjoy your weekends -- we'll see you right back here Monday.

Slack Google Searches of the Day: There's been a request for more of these, but there haven't been many crazy ones lately. Here's the best of the last few hours: Is magic mushrooms a sin, "mom says hi" just one of the guys, Grace Potter's boob, "West Wing, The Two Cathedrals, Barlett, Talking in Latin," pig mask stand up electric bass green hair sitar, "ehh, i'd go about a deuce, deuce and a half maybe," barefoot children, and "unit core god country."

Slack Video of the Day: I didn't catch this live, but there's a chubby suburban 12-year-old white kid playing the harmonica like a bad-fucking-ass on America's Got Talent. Seriously, of all the glorified pageants out there, I think quite possibly that this kid has the most talent of anyone I've seen. As an added bonus, listen to him play with blues legend Buddy Guy at just seven. Look out for LD Miller, world.

Slack Song of the Day: I made the last-minute executive decision to hit up the Grace Potter/Galactic/Umphrey's McGee show in Central Park last night. I missed Ms. Potter and caught the last 45 minutes of Galactic, but UM really tore the imaginary roof off that place.

Every time I see Umphrey's I'm more and more blown away by how hard fucking rock they are for a so-called jamband. They really like to melt faces, as the kidzzz like to say. Plus, they have one of the greatest senses of humor out there, which is as valuable as talent sometimes. So here's Galactic on Root Down > Shibuya ('Roo '03) and Umphrey's playing the supremely funny rocker Got Your Milk (Right Here) and the straight-up mindbender Der Bluten Kat.

Thursday, July 20, 2006

Who Wants to Rape Dakota Fanning?

I mean, I can see someone wanting to put a good face-fucking on her to shut up that little precocious yap, but this is just so horribly wrong:

"The screenplay for Hounddog...calls for Fanning's character to be raped in one explicit scene and to appear naked or clad only in 'underpants' in several other horrifying moments."

Seriously, how'd you like to be the actor that has to sexually assault the most well-known 12-year-old girl in the country? I think, whoever it is, he should turn the wheel into the skid, typecast himself as a sexual predator and only accept roles that allow him to act with kids in an "eccentric uncle" kind of way.

Good parenting, Fannings. As long as she takes home the Academy Award, you've done well here. Oscar is raping your daughter, too.

Eight Year Olds, Dude

Some people just know how to boil things down to what's really important...and one of those folks nailed this Lebowski clip.

Nobody edits like da Jesus. Enjoy that shiite, as well as this short Teenage Mutant Ninja Lebowski mash-up...

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

With Gawker Comes Change

Like any good blogger with an ego as large as Jack Bauer's balls, I'm obligated to report I'm no longer the Rod Tidwell to Gawker's Reebok. The sudden surge in referral traffic inspired a friend to design a new banner for the site, which now rests neatly at the top of the page.

On the pro side, it's so over-the-top hilarious that I can't envision the blog without it. On the con side, I have to see LaLanne doing the V-Sit Reach every time I click on the site. Ah fuck it, that's hilarious, too.

So what say you, Slackers: Do we revert to the boring old template or wholeheartedly welcome the new banner into permanence?

Slack Link of the Day: I had some convoluted nonsense here for a few hours, but I decided it was subpar and trashed it. Instead I'll just say I'm glad the Sports Guy is promoting soccer instead of bashing it, as most idiot sportswriters tend to do. I don't think any mainstream writer could have written such a great piece, but chances are this'll eventually spell Bill Simmons ruining something else for everyone.

Slack Heads-Up of the Day: False Idolatry Month continues...for the Chicago folk out there, everyone's favorite redheaded guitarist will throw out the first pitch at tomorrow's Cubs-Astros afternoon game at Wrigley Field. So head on down to the Friendly Confines and report back as to whether or not Trey throws like a back-up singer.

Slack Video of the Day: Perhaps this is a bit morbid, but a Texas death row inmate set for execution tonight performed an original rap during his final interview. Does it really get any better that that?

Slack Song of the Day: Let's try something new today -- here's the same tune by different artists: first up, Heaven by Talking Heads and Heaven by Simply Red. And from the bluegrass department, have a little Uncle Pen from Bill Monroe and Uncle Pen from The Phish.

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Snappy Answers to Questions of Douchebaggery

I'm generally much nicer to random strangers than I am to even my closest friends. Maybe that seems like a character flaw to you, but I'm sure it's one of my strongest traits.

I'm doing my part to make the world go 'round, which is a tougher role than always playing the Mr. Nice Guy pseudo-shrink confidant to a select group of people whose tiresome problems always seem to overrun your life. You're bogged down in a tapestry of personal histories, but I'm living out some Smile Begets a Smile/Pay It Forward faux hippie shit that will no doubt save the city from ruin. No doubt.

I like random interaction; interconnectivity. I collect new friends on the city's subways and buses. Should you need directions, I'll Mapquestingly guide you from the spot you're standing to the door of your destination (provided I know the way, which is altogether unlikely, and provided that place has a door, which I guess is likely). Homeless people love my loose change and charming demeanor, and street musicians and performers benefit from my ability to be easily impressed and lack of anywhere else to be.

Basically, if you're a random person on the street, and you want someone with whom to converse, I'll play your leading man (or leading lady, though that requires a cash donation of at least 75 cents). Lately, however, I've been extremely annoyed by two separate groups of people that hang out on Bleecker Street near my apartment, and I've started lashing out against both groups this week.

The first are Random Cigarette Bummers. Unless I'm down to my last couple, I'm usually fine parting with a cigarette for your temporal enjoyment. I understand there are some legit people out there who simply run out and want just one before buying a new pack, but at $7.50 a pack, you've got some balls to be mooching on a full-time basis. And now I'm getting a little ornery.

Listen, fuckfaces, just because I'm the schmuck that's still buying cigarettes doesn't give you the right to ask for my things. So twice this week I've had this exchange in front of my apartment:

"Hey, do you have an extra cigarette I can bum?"
"Nah, sorry. Oh, you know what, I heard you can actually buy them right in this store here. This one right here."
"Um, okay, thanks anyway."
"Ask if you can bum from them first..."

Reactions? Both times it was as if I told that person to fuck themselves with a dildo the size of Anderson Cooper. Folks, a word of advice: If you're going to quit smoking, then quit smoking. Next time you ask me for a cigarette I'm countering with, "Oh shit, I quit carrying around money last week, can you spare me a dollar?" They got a name for that...It's called a bum, Jules.

The second group consists of those dudes on Bleecker and MacDougal that insist on handing me fliers for the seemingly endless parade of amateur comedy shows. Allright, I get it, you look like Dave Chapelle, you must be funny. But, no, I'm not coming to your show just so I can buy two drinks, pay a cover and beg someone to repeatedly jab my testicles with a sewing needle. So the other day I decided to fight back against these humor guerillas:

"Hey hey, check out our comedy show tonight, right down the street, 10 funny comedians and strong drinks, check it out, check it out."
"Is the show based on looks?"
"What's that mean?"
"I'm asking if it's a looks-based show. If so, I bet it'd be real funny."
"Why you gotta be such a dick, man?"
"Oh, c'mon, you're a fucking comedian, you can't take that shit?"
"That's fucking rude."
"Have a good show tonight. I'd change my shirt before going on stage, that one looks ridiculous on you."
"Fuck you!"

I've lost all respect for the flier comedians. I mean, you can't take a little innocent rogering in jest from a dipshit like me? Now instead, I'm gonna pepper you and your friends with jabs every time I pass until either I get tired of it or one of you takes a swing at me.

Now I'm just waiting for the day one of those fucks tries to bum a smoke off of me. I better start thinking of witty retorts now.

Slack Link of the Day: Good fucking lord, talk about validating the age-old Jewish we see The Perils of Using JDate.

Slack Video of the Day: I went out to Lawn Gisland last night for a dinner with the family, where we discussed the old days of boxing. We couldn't come up with which pugilist challenged Rocky Marciano's 49-0 record as a heavyweight, and it turned out to be Larry Holmes. Most people 40 and older remember Holmes as a long-time heavyweight champion, mostly beating up losers, but a champion nonetheless. I remember Holmes like this, one of my favorite videos of all-time.

Slack Song of the Day: Another eclectic and questionable mix from StreamStash -- Award Tour (Tribe), The Sheik of Araby (Django Reinhardt), Sussudio & Against All Odds (Phil Collins), Key To The Highway (Derek & The Dominos), The W.S. Wolcott Medicine Show (The Band), and everyone's favorite MTV video, November Rain (GnR).

Monday, July 17, 2006

Shit...It's Light Out

Is it possible to be hungover for two days? Now I can tell you, it is when you're a 27-year-old pussy with the tolerance of an underweight schoolgirl on an empty stomach. I might still actually be drunk.

Ordinarily weddings are enough to get me good and toasty, and this one was no exception. But throw in the 10 games of post-marital Beirut we found necessary to play until 6 am, and you've got an Ace that nearly vomited on the 22nd Street pavement.

And as good as the cocktail hour forschbice* and filet mignon were at the Battery Park Ritz-Carlton, the three grilled cheese halves, onion rings, freedom fries and much-needed grease I consumed at the diner down the street before passing out were that much better.

As such, being slightly brain dead from Friday's cracker-related activities and Saturday night's near reversal of Peristalsis Trail, and being inundated with work that I have no interest in completing, I must take the day off from this here rag. We'll see youse tomorrow.

Slack Video of the Day: I'd get on this before the Google folks find out and yank it for copyright infringement...but someone alerted me to this Dark Side of the Moon/Wizard of Oz synch up on Google Video, and it looks to be much better than that time you did it in your dorm room and couldn't figure out exactly when to start the album.

Slack Submitted Link of the Day: Frequent commenter MDS sent this one over yesterday, the top 10 unintentionally worst company URLs, like Therapist Finder's website, -- "I'll take The Rapists for $600, Trebek."

Slack Non-Submitted Link of the Day: Any story with a lede this awesome has to be worth reading...and it is: "THE secret slaughter of at least 10,000 racing greyhounds by one man has been exposed by an undercover investigation." Read on, doglovers, if only for the always exciting phrase "canine killing fields."

Slack Song of the Day: It's been a little while since I've taken advantage of the ol' StreamStash website, so here goes: Werewolves of London & Excitable Boy (Warren Zevon), Rich Girl (Hall & Oates live), This Must Be the Place (Talking Heads), Cracklin' Rosie (Neil Diamond), and an ol' standby, Sinnerman (Nina Simone).

*Yiddish for appetizer. Yiddish is hilarious. Use that word, it's good.

Friday, July 14, 2006

ESPN & Make-A-Wish

I've been thinking about this for a few days, and I feel like now's the time to unleash this schmaltzy thought: Anyone else think it'd fucking suck to be a famous athlete and be forced to hang out with retards and dying kids? Really makes me glad I'm not a big-time sports star.

Caption Contest: Bushbabies

Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States...

The skinny from the Daily Mail: "Despite being closely vetted by both the U.S. secret service and German intelligence agents, the startled infant voiced a noisy protest as it was handed to George Bush. Unable to placate the wailing child - despite all his skills of diplomacy - President Bush was forced to hand it back to its waiting mother."

I'm having a little trouble with this one and could really use some help from the Slack Contingent of Jerkstores. I can't decide if I should deride the German baby ("Get this tiny Goebbels off-a me, Condi!") or the president himself ("Hehe, one of us just pooped the pantaloons").

Maybe I'll just go extremely vulgar and pretend the baby said, "Mutter, I think President Bush just unilaterally invaded my anus without a proper coalition of the willing!"

But neither of those are particularly funny, and considering I'm a bit hungover and a lot exhausted, I leave it to youse to sort this out. Whatchu got, sports fans, what say you?

Thursday, July 13, 2006

I Got So Bombed Last Night

Something to ponder: Are Israeli citizens instructed by Talmudic law to call it Beer Pong, and only Beer Pong?

Following the week's ridiculous events, I think Israelis have every right to say "I dominated Beirut last night." War? Drink!

I Think "Asian Slacker" is a Good Band Name

What does that have to do with this breathtaking picture of lightning and a rainbow sharing the same sky? Nothing. But I didn't like the idea of calling this post "Possible Giants Backfield: Richard Simmons & Tiki Barber," so I'm going with that title.

Feel free to click here for two more shots of this rare but awesome natural phenomenon. Shit like this always re-affirms my faith in the Almighty God of Rainbows & Lightning.

Slack Quote of the Day: I'll just let this one stand on its own, without commentary, because it's just that damn good: "Americans have a severe disease — worse than AIDS. It's called the winner's complex. You want an American style-democracy here. That will not work." --Mikhail Gorbachev (Worse than AIDS? C'mon, Gorby, that's way out of've got AIDS on your fuckin' head for chrissakes.)

Slack Link of the Day: Arrested Development fans, we've got some semi-positive news here. There are strong rumors floating around that we'll see everyone's favorite "It was too clever for television" show making a full-length cinematic appearance soon. I'll believe it when I see it, but this news clearly gave me a boner at work.

Slack Videos of the Day: Speaking of movies born from television, Hoobs and I saw the Strangers With Candy movie two weeks ago, and I can't recommend it any more highly. Seriously, if you have any semblence of a sense of humor, this is a great way to spend $10.75. Amy Sedaris is hilarious and incredible and [fill in positive adjective], while the relationship between Steven Colbert and Paul Dinello is fully off the charts. That brings me to this clip, which features the aforementioned three tumbling on the Colbert Report.

Up next, a CNBC controversy -- so Joe Kernan the other day made mention of Pirates of the Caribbean II posting the biggest movie opening in history...right ahead of Aquaman. Now, the question is, was this the case of a deadpan joke gone awry, or did someone botch this and forget Aquaman was merely a fictional flick? Or did we witness a real-deal "I'm Ron Burgundy?" moment?

*UPDATE* Kernan responds! I guess he just botched the joke.

Slack Song of the Day: It's Oooh Child. It's Bell Bottom Blues. It's Gotta Jibboo. It's good. It's all good. (5/15/99)

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

Six HumpLinks

You lickbags are all so quiet lately, and since nobody feels compelled to interact with me, I'm taking my ball and going home. So instead of pouring my dope-infused blood, summertime sweat and all-too-frequent tears into this here rag, all youse are getting are some links (albeit six dyn-o-mite links). Enjoy:

1. There are no words for this real-deal news report from what sounds like a 1010 WINS type of personality. Correspondent En Regalia billed it as "one of the funniest things you might ever hear," and while I won't quite go that far, it's definitely one of the funniest things you'll hear between now and two Tuesdays from now.

2. Watch what happens when some folks decide to spice up their poker game by playing at a rodeo. I always wanted to say, "Ah fuck it, I fold, and I just made a huge pile of doody in my pants."

3. Wanna see a fattyfat fat kid get down to Gnarls Barkley's hit song Crazy? I mean, how can you say no to that question? Make sure you watch 'til the very end, when this kid breaks it down like your own Ace Cowboy at any and all weddings.

4. Is "Lindsay Lohan Gives Head" a catchy enough header? I bet this blog gets 50 million hits by 6 pm. Maybe by 7.

5. Did you know the Emmy nominations were announced last week? Neither did I. Well, that's a lie, I saw those telefuckers unveiling the nominations because CNN carried the ceremony in toto. That's right, America's Most Trusted Name in News broadcasted the fucking Emmy show live. But I guess that makes sense considering the most popular story on right now is "Joey Buttafuoco Gets Year in Jail."

Anyway, I bring this up because Dan over at The Daily Dump reviewed the nominees and previewed the upcoming awards show yesterday, and it's a must-read post. I kinda hate to blow smoke up another blogger's ass (or suck M&Ms out of another blogger's ass), but if you're not reading his shit daily you're really missing out on some comedy. Plus, he talks up Arrested Development more than anyone but me, which is about as endearing to me as quoting Corky St. Clair or Louie.

6. Saving the best for last, it's high time we check in with everyone's favorite sportswriter extraordinaire. For the baseball crowd, and even for the casual baseball observers that enjoy a good road trip, this folksy and friendly piece may spice up your summer. And even if you're booked solid for this season, it's always pleasant to experience some anti-Schadenfreude and read the travels and travails of others: I give you's Baseball Road Trip.

Now go fuck yourselves, San Diego.

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

Thanking You for Not Bombing

The United States had 9/11. Spain had 3/11. I really hate to be this callous this early in a horrible developing story, but was there any doubt that when India got hit it'd be on 7/11?

I mean, c'mon...India and 7/11? That joke is too easy, terrorists. But we all appreciate the easy set-up on this one.

Goin' Up the Country

(Also could be titled "If You Ever Wondered Where Every Hasidic Jew in the New York-New Jersey-Connecticut Tri-State Area Goes on a Summer Sunday, Take the New York State Thruway to Route 17 and Get Off at Exit 105B.")

My buddy Snacks and I left Manhattan at 11:30 on Sunday morning, en route to my third Half of Phish + The Duo = GRAB and Phil & Friends show in the past eight days. I enjoy such variety in my spiceless life.

This concert also doubled as the third ever event at the East Coast's newest and already best outdoor shed, the Bethel Woods Center for the Arts, erected and opened last week on the site of the original Woodstock. Incidentally, if you want to see a show at a great venue with unparalleled acoustics, high-definition side screens, friendly support staff, gorgeous grounds and scenic views of lush greenery, keep this place on your radar.

But first, there was the matter of a big-time soccer match, and our choices for where to watch this can't-miss event were extremely limited. We first stopped at a Monticello tavern that looked straight out of Deliverance. The bar had it's four tiny screens turned to the pre-game coverage, but Snacks didn't like the looks of the six patrons that may or may not have asked us to squeal like pigs. We bolted.

Eventually we drove the other way on Route 42 and pulled up to Kiamesha Lanes. Hey, the bowling alley's gotta be showing this game. A row of minivans greeted us outside, and when we walked in to the establishment, we found every yarmulke in New York. I liken our experience to the scene in Animal House when Otter and the guys take Fawn and the girls to that bar where Otis Day was playing, only instead of blacks, the Hebrews greeted us with calculating stares.

So as it turns out, this is what The Jews do on Sundays in the summer (and when I say Jews, I don't mean the Lawn Gisland family playing golf at the club and planning the $100,000 Bat Mitzvah, I'm talking about the ones with the funny sideburns and the pieces of string hanging off their pants). Whole families come here to bowl and play arcade games from the many run-down bungalow camps in the area, packing Dovie and Avi and Shmuel and Shira and Aron and Yitzi into the unadorned 1994 Dodge Caravan for an afternoon of athletic hijinx. It's touching.

And we couldn't have picked a better spot. Aside from the obvious unintentional comedy presented to us, the remainder of the televisions in the place turned to the Mets and Yankees games while ours stayed with the World Cup final. We played some pool, we played some air hockey, I sank a few quarters into Cruisin' USA whilst Snacks controlled Ms. Pacman and we accomplished the first half of our day's master plan in perfect form.

We watched the Zidanian Cranium Catastrophe and I-tals win on penalties, then headed up the block for some whiteboy hippie dancing. Worked out perfectly...We must have been blessed.

Slack Anniversary of the Day: One year ago today I woke up and couldn't see what time the alarm clock flashed. One year ago tomorrow I had 20/20 vision. LASIK, a gift from the Gods (albeit the most expensive gift I've ever received). As a member of the anti-Thomas Dolby club -- they unblinded us with science -- I celebrate this occasion not with pompousity but as a public service to anyone with glasses or contacts. Get the fucking procedure. It rocks.

Slack Obit of the Day: Seems like a lot of famous musicians have been dying lately. Today, we bid farewell to one of the most badass men on the planet, former Pink Floyd lead singer Syd Barrett. He's often referred to as acid's first high-profile casualty, suffering a psychedlic breakdown in the 1960s, but if you ever listen to his stuff right before falling completely off the edge, you'll know what it means to lose a man of Syd's genius.

Slack Song of the Day: We'll go two-pronged today, in honor of Barrett's passing -- the first is a shitty recording of a 9/13/67 Pink Floyd show in Denmark, while the second pair is a bluegrass duo, one called Same Old River and one called Spanish Point, that have absolutely nothing to do with today's news. Just thought y'all could use some 'grass in your breakfast this morning.

Monday, July 10, 2006

Welcome to Fuckin' Deadwood

Instead of idly ingesting the usual Sunday night television fare secured safely on my couch, we went watchin' them there hippies throw around the ol' Frisbee on the fresh-to-the-public grass of the Bethel Woods Center for the Arts, site of that 1969 stabbing-free music festival of import.

I had the opportunity to catch up on my stories after work today, and it's one of these programs I would like to discuss with youse now. Is anyone watching Deadwood this season? Is this not the best full season of television you've ever seen? From the reversal of trust between Hearst and Swearengen in the season premiere to the all-out war we're witnessing now, has there been any show in recent history with a slate of episodes this consistently stellar? Is E.B. Farnum not the best-written ensemble character in recent history?

That isn't rhetorical. I'd really like to know. Let's chat, cocksuckers.

I'm On Board, Zizou

So I was just walking toward the water cooler for a tasty cup of agua fria this morning when a co-worker of mine came shooting down the hall the other way. And even though she's a chick, and pregnant at that, I really thought about head-butting her right in that milky chest. Head butts are the new cock punches.

I say fuck the haters, man. You've already won a World Cup, you've already won a Euro Cup, you've already been named three-time World Football Player of the Year and Best European Footballer of the last 50 years. You've played in three World Cups, scored in two World Cup final games, put home one goal already and almost found the net on another had it not been for that William Fichtner-lookin' greaseball with the goalkeeper gloves.

So why go out with another pedestrian World Cup title? Why retire from international play like a boring Pete Sampras when you can opt to drive the craziest head butt the world hath ever seen into the chest of some dumb guinea with incredible precision and mastery and still win the Golden Ball award for the tournament's best player. Just doesn't get much cooler than that.

I'm a fan of the move. Mike Lupica and The Sports Reporters (and their foreign counterparts) will be up in arms about this shit for decades, but I wholeheratedly endorse it. I mean, how many times do you see someone lock in and butt their baguette into an opponent's chest like that? Seriously, think about that. You floored a 6'4 tough-as-nails I-talian defender with one shot with your crown. No cheap shot punches, no pussy slaps, no jujitsu shit, just a hooligan-tough noggin knock to the sternum. Not bad for a Frenchy.

Someone just showed me these little thingies, several pieces of new evidence as to why the Internets are awesome, so I pass on to you:

Any thoughts on what Materazzi could have said to inspire the Zidanian ire? ANy other lingering issues from the WC you want to bring up before it's too late? Since we tied Italy, does this mean we're, like, tied for the best team in the world? No?

Thursday, July 06, 2006


I'm off for the rest of the day, and thankfully, for the remainder of the half-fortnight. Now that's a short work-week, one day and a couple hours in the office, almost four full days off. Kiss my grits.

I promise to return refreshed and at the ready on Monday after a couple of "epic face-melting" GRAB shows in Jones Beach and Bethel (site of the original Woodstock, where the stench of patchouli and joblessness still remains), the long-awaited World Cup Final between a bunch of whiny divers and snooty whiteflagwavers, and some quality time with the family.

Just remember, there's only one Thierry Henry, but Italy takes it 1-0 while scooting by on a Vespa. Just to scare the children before I go, I'll leave you with this picture of future French talisman Franck Ribery:

Slack Video of the Day: Lost in the Ashlee (sp?) Simpson lip synching fiasco is the fact that a handful of groups and artists used to turn out some fantastic improvised music on the Saturday Night Live stage. I recently came across an old SNL featuring Blind Melon (with a splash of Jason Patric and Farley in a the bee girl costume) playing No Rain, and let me tell youse, it's quite wonderful.

Slack Song of the Day: Sorry to inundate you with the Music of the Spunions, but I think you'll really dig this tune. The best GRAB song of the tour thus far has clearly been Suskind Hotel, a new Cactus song that they're nailing every night.

The Hartford version from 7/3 has a stretch from 4:30 to 7:30 that is simply outstanding, and the PNC version from 7/1 is as mesmerizing as any Phish we heard after the hiatus. Even if you're not a fan of this stuff, even if you like to bathe regularly and abstain from nitrous, I strongly you to listen to the Hartford Suskind.

Slack Helping a Brotha Out of the Day: My roommate and his novia need some help on a very quick survey. So if you've got three minutes to kill, click here to be transported to the magical land of jukeboxes and bars and questions about jukeboxes and bars. Do it.

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

Nothing Brings People Together Like Gunpowder

An up-and-down weekend by all accounts, my four-day respite from work took the form of the explanatory conversation between Homer Simpson and the "Free Frogurt" shopkeeper.

"You can go see that six-hour GRAB/Phil & Friends show at PNC!"
"That's good."
"But it's gonna be real hot, and you're definitely gonna sweat like a black guy trying to swim."
"That's bad."
"You can rest and recover all day tomorrow."
"That's good."
"But the air conditioner in your living room just broke."
"That's bad."
"Remember the Bohemian Hall Beer Garden? You can get together with the guys and have another day like that for the Germany/Italy semi."
"That's good."
"But this place will be real fancypants and the French Ronaldo lookalike in front of you will be drinking pink fucking wine."
"Oh no, that's real bad."

Knowing my penchant for faux hippiedom and concerts featuring songs with 10 words or less, the highlight of my weekend was clearly the GRAB/Phil show at PNC Bank Arts Center on Saturday.

I'll spare youse any significant review of the day, because to me, there's only one way to look at this show: If you can't have fun with half of Phish, The Duo, some old Dead tunes, three sets and five-plus hours of music, then you're in need of a serious attitude adjustment. (And watch out with that other crowd you're running with, don't think I haven't noticed.) Fuck over-thinking these guys, just go and have fun. Jones Beach on Friday, do it.

An interesting side-note from the concert that warrants mentioning -- a company called Instant Live travels from show to show and records the very performance you're attending. Then it sells that show in a booth inside the venue shortly after the band ends its set. In other words, you can purchase the show right then and there and ride back to your place of residence listening to the last three hours of your life.

Here's what I think is one of my most apt analogies ever: What is the difference between this process and having sex with someone, only to jerk off to the memory of it 20 minutes later when you kick them out of bed? Same thing.

Slack Video of the Day: Here's a piece of one of GRAB's best vehicles, Goodbye Head, which gets cut off just as it was getting good. But it's definitely four solid minutes of music:

A few additional GRAB vids: Stuck in the Middle with You > Dragonfly from Hartford, a minute and a half of Who Are You from SPAC, part of the Plasma jam from PNC and a two-minute clip of Get Back from PNC (both from the lawn).

Slack Song of the Day: Big Red has been kind enough to release a soundboard of Mr. Completely from the PNC show we attended. It gets a little spacey in the middle, but overall this tune is largely indicative of the Northeastern Arse they kicked all over this weekend.