Here at the lavish Fun with Chickens headquarters, I get thousands of emails every day asking the same question: “Does your wife read your blog?”
The answer, simply, is no.
Since I began this blog back in the early ‘70s, we both somehow knew immediately that it would not be a good idea if she read it.
This instinctive agreement is difficult to explain, but maybe this little anecdote will shed some light.
This morning at breakfast, Mrs. Jerry K mentioned that she really likes the song, “Billionaire.”
I explained how much I hated that song. “I even wrote about it in my blog. He says he wants to be a billionaire, and my reaction is, well, who wouldn’t?”
A contemptuous look was aimed at yours truly…so of course I wisely continued.
“Then he says he wants to meet Oprah. Right! What are they gonna talk about—dieting? Their love of Maya Angelou’s poetry?”
Contempt then turned to disgust, as she said, “THAT’S what you write about in your blog?”
…And THAT, dear friends, is why it's best if my wife doesn’t read my blog.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
THE DECEPTIVE LURE OF BEING HOMELESS
I know this makes little sense, but I often envy homeless people.
Many was the time I would see them sleeping peacefully under a freeway overpass, and admire how little they had to worry about.
No worries about paying the mortgage, or having the latest smart phone. No getting pissed off every time the cable TV bill arrives, and pondering for the billionth time whether you should be spending so much money on so many channels.
No frustration over the latest car repair bill or car insurance payment. No wondering how you will afford the latest clothes or electronic gadget your kid is coveting.
Some people even pay a monthly fee for a storage unit to house all the useless junk that they never use.
Of course, I could go on and on.
What a blissful life the homeless must have, I tell myself, freed from all these superficial burdens.
They can just go from place to place, no strings attached, and sleep under the stars. They aren’t tied down, working the same routine day after day and kissing the boss’ ass just to keep everyone happy and struggle to maintain a lifestyle.
The homeless must look at us and think we’re suckers.
But then I take a closer look, and realize that most of these homeless guys actually do have material possessions.
They are usually pushing around a rusty, rickety shopping cart that’s like their own personal storage unit. I’m not sure what exactly they have in those carts, but there must be some pretty useful items if they want to remain tied down to it.
Where is the freedom from material possessions that I was so romantically envying whenever I saw these people? Could it be that they are actually enslaved to this crap just like the rest of it, but on a more, shall we say modest, level?
I remember I once even saw two homeless ladies in a McDonald’s both pushing their shopping carts and greedily eyeing each other’s stuff while guarding their own carts.
So not only are they tied down to this junk just like we are, they also have to worry about it being stolen, just like we do.
So I guess even if we want a simple life free of monthly bills, a numbing routine, and all the crushing consumerism, there is some need within us, regardless of income, that makes us end up with obtaining, and being enslaved by, material possessions.
Sigh. Homelessness isn’t the answer after all. There really is no escape.
Many was the time I would see them sleeping peacefully under a freeway overpass, and admire how little they had to worry about.
No worries about paying the mortgage, or having the latest smart phone. No getting pissed off every time the cable TV bill arrives, and pondering for the billionth time whether you should be spending so much money on so many channels.
No frustration over the latest car repair bill or car insurance payment. No wondering how you will afford the latest clothes or electronic gadget your kid is coveting.
Some people even pay a monthly fee for a storage unit to house all the useless junk that they never use.
Of course, I could go on and on.
What a blissful life the homeless must have, I tell myself, freed from all these superficial burdens.
They can just go from place to place, no strings attached, and sleep under the stars. They aren’t tied down, working the same routine day after day and kissing the boss’ ass just to keep everyone happy and struggle to maintain a lifestyle.
The homeless must look at us and think we’re suckers.
But then I take a closer look, and realize that most of these homeless guys actually do have material possessions.
They are usually pushing around a rusty, rickety shopping cart that’s like their own personal storage unit. I’m not sure what exactly they have in those carts, but there must be some pretty useful items if they want to remain tied down to it.
Where is the freedom from material possessions that I was so romantically envying whenever I saw these people? Could it be that they are actually enslaved to this crap just like the rest of it, but on a more, shall we say modest, level?
I remember I once even saw two homeless ladies in a McDonald’s both pushing their shopping carts and greedily eyeing each other’s stuff while guarding their own carts.
So not only are they tied down to this junk just like we are, they also have to worry about it being stolen, just like we do.
So I guess even if we want a simple life free of monthly bills, a numbing routine, and all the crushing consumerism, there is some need within us, regardless of income, that makes us end up with obtaining, and being enslaved by, material possessions.
Sigh. Homelessness isn’t the answer after all. There really is no escape.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
A JET SKI? I DON’T GET IT
Every summer, my family spends a week at a lake that is filled with boaters, swimmers, water-skiers, and jet skiers.
(The water itself is a greenish brew of fish crap, duck poop, swimmers’ pee, and oil from the aforementioned boats, but that’s another story.)
On the first morning, I awake at 8 a.m. At that time, civilized people should be doing one of three things:
1. Sleeping
2. Having coffee and reading the morning newspaper
3. Exercising (walking or running)
But as I look out from the deck of our lakefront rental, I actually see people riding their jet skis at 8 a.m.!
I find this utterly confusing.
What exactly is this compulsion to get up so early and feel the need to jet ski? Is it really so fascinating that you just can’t wait to get up on that thing and zip around the lake?
Actually, I don’t understand the whole jet ski thing at all.
It’s not like your jet ski is taking you on some sort of adventure. You are not going to unexpectedly encounter some beautiful waterfalls or wildlife.
It’s a lake. You are basically riding in a circle. A lake is pretty enough, but one end of it looks just like the other.
Then again, all these kinds of activities hit me the same way. I will usually try anything once. I’ve rented a jet ski and I’ve rented a boat. But after you experience jet skiing or boating one time, what is the point of doing it again?
Sure, going on a jet ski is fun, but once I’ve tried it, what will I gain from doing it again? Is the second or third time on a jet ski going to be that much different from the first? Will it be more fun? No, it will be exactly the same experience.
What I find completely baffling is that some people will actually buy their own jet ski and drag it up to a lake every chance they get. Of course, that also involves getting a trailer for the jet ski, along with a vehicle capable of towing everything.
And then when you are home, you have to store all this stuff somewhere. Is it some sort of status thing to proudly display this bitchen jet ski in your driveway?
All I know is that sure is a lot of expense and effort for doing something that is really the same thing every time you do it.
Here’s a thought: Instead of spending money on the exact same activity, why not do something different each vacation? Maybe a little hiking at a national park, or exploring a new city?
But a jet ski? Come on!
(The water itself is a greenish brew of fish crap, duck poop, swimmers’ pee, and oil from the aforementioned boats, but that’s another story.)
On the first morning, I awake at 8 a.m. At that time, civilized people should be doing one of three things:
1. Sleeping
2. Having coffee and reading the morning newspaper
3. Exercising (walking or running)
But as I look out from the deck of our lakefront rental, I actually see people riding their jet skis at 8 a.m.!
I find this utterly confusing.
What exactly is this compulsion to get up so early and feel the need to jet ski? Is it really so fascinating that you just can’t wait to get up on that thing and zip around the lake?
Actually, I don’t understand the whole jet ski thing at all.
It’s not like your jet ski is taking you on some sort of adventure. You are not going to unexpectedly encounter some beautiful waterfalls or wildlife.
It’s a lake. You are basically riding in a circle. A lake is pretty enough, but one end of it looks just like the other.
Then again, all these kinds of activities hit me the same way. I will usually try anything once. I’ve rented a jet ski and I’ve rented a boat. But after you experience jet skiing or boating one time, what is the point of doing it again?
Sure, going on a jet ski is fun, but once I’ve tried it, what will I gain from doing it again? Is the second or third time on a jet ski going to be that much different from the first? Will it be more fun? No, it will be exactly the same experience.
What I find completely baffling is that some people will actually buy their own jet ski and drag it up to a lake every chance they get. Of course, that also involves getting a trailer for the jet ski, along with a vehicle capable of towing everything.
And then when you are home, you have to store all this stuff somewhere. Is it some sort of status thing to proudly display this bitchen jet ski in your driveway?
All I know is that sure is a lot of expense and effort for doing something that is really the same thing every time you do it.
Here’s a thought: Instead of spending money on the exact same activity, why not do something different each vacation? Maybe a little hiking at a national park, or exploring a new city?
But a jet ski? Come on!
ONLINE SHORTHAND FOR THOSE OF THE JEWISH PERSUASION
OMG=Oh My Goy
LOL=Lox on Latkes
WTF=Who’s The Faigeleh?
WTK=Where’s The Kasha?
IMHO=In My Hebrew Opinion
ROTFL=Rye On Toast Filled with Lox
LMAO=Lox on Matzo And Onions
IDK=I’m Davening over your Kugel
SAZ=Such A Zetz
IGSN=I’ve Got Such Naches
MT=Mazel Tov
MTPPP=Mazel Tov Poi Poi Poi
And of course…
TKCFTHG=The Kindala Can’t Find The Hanukah Gelt
LOL=Lox on Latkes
WTF=Who’s The Faigeleh?
WTK=Where’s The Kasha?
IMHO=In My Hebrew Opinion
ROTFL=Rye On Toast Filled with Lox
LMAO=Lox on Matzo And Onions
IDK=I’m Davening over your Kugel
SAZ=Such A Zetz
IGSN=I’ve Got Such Naches
MT=Mazel Tov
MTPPP=Mazel Tov Poi Poi Poi
And of course…
TKCFTHG=The Kindala Can’t Find The Hanukah Gelt
Sunday, November 21, 2010
BUSH & OPRAH: THE UNAIRED TRANSCRIPT
Oprah: Some of you may be familiar with our guest today. He was the President of the United States who will be fondly remembered for dismantling the previous eight years of American prosperity. Please welcome former President George W. Bush!
(A smattering of polite applause from robotic housewives.)
Bush: Thank you, Okra.
Oprah: Now, I understand you have a new book out, Mr. President, entitled, “Decision Points,” but that was not the original title.
Bush: That’s correct. I wanted to call the book, “I’m The Decider Because I’m The One Who Decided,” and the publisher said he loved it, but that it just wouldn’t fit on the cover. I looked into his eyes and saw his heart, along with a couple of other organs, and concluded that he was being honest with me, so we went with “Decision Points.”
Oprah: I pretended to read your book for the purposes of this interview. Could you discuss one of your earliest childhood memories that helped forge your warped view of the world?
Bush: Well, I’ll never forget the day when my mother—
Oprah: That’s the scary one who looks like a man, right, Mr. President?
Bush: Yes, that’s right. She is one feisty lady. I’ll never forget the time she showed me a jar containing her miscarried fetus. I believe I named it "Fetus."
Oprah: And was that an “aha moment” for you?
Bush: Absolutely. It was then that I decided—because I am the Decider, after all—that I would do everything in my power to prevent all women from having abortions so that I would never again accidentally see a fetus in a jar.
Oprah: Mr. President, while my make-up crew was shellacking my face for five hours before we went on the air, I overheard one of them say that you never foresaw the impeding financial meltdown.
Bush: That is true, Oatmeal. But on the other hand, I am proud to say that during my presidency, I had some extraordinary vacations and became an authority on the Craftsman 42cc 18" Gas Chain Saw. Let me tell you, that’s a fine American product.
Oprah: Last night I was laying on the bed in my pajamas and eating some cashews, which I still feel guilty about, and I overheard one of my Filipino concubines mention that you flew over Louisiana in Air Force One instead of landing to see first-hand the devastation left by Hurricane Katrina.
Bush: Yes, that did not look good, I admit. But you must understand, Upchuck, there were a lot of really angry black people down there, and they were especially pissed off at me. But on the other hand, one of my staff members recently told me that our current President is black, and I think that’s fantastic.
Oprah: I hear you, girlfriend! Woooo! Now, I was speaking to Maya Angelou and Deepak Chopra earlier today, and Deepak mentioned that you said one of the lowest points of your presidency was when Kanye West said that you don’t like black people.
Bush: Well, your friend Deepdish is correct, because, unlike most people in Texas, I am not a racist. In fact, I have been shit-faced drunk with the blacks many times.
Oprah: But Mr. President, wouldn’t you agree that a lower point would be the fact that many American soldiers lost their lives in a war that we had no business starting? A war that was justified based on faulty, cherry-picked intelligence, and which has cost America billions of dollars?
Bush: All I can say is that racist remark really hurt my feelings, and since I am the Decider, that was the low point.
Oprah: Thank you for joining us, Mr. President, and I think I speak for everybody when I say thank God you can’t run for a third term and completely fuck us over.
Bush: Thank you for those kind words, Opie.
(A smattering of polite applause from robotic housewives.)
Bush: Thank you, Okra.
Oprah: Now, I understand you have a new book out, Mr. President, entitled, “Decision Points,” but that was not the original title.
Bush: That’s correct. I wanted to call the book, “I’m The Decider Because I’m The One Who Decided,” and the publisher said he loved it, but that it just wouldn’t fit on the cover. I looked into his eyes and saw his heart, along with a couple of other organs, and concluded that he was being honest with me, so we went with “Decision Points.”
Oprah: I pretended to read your book for the purposes of this interview. Could you discuss one of your earliest childhood memories that helped forge your warped view of the world?
Bush: Well, I’ll never forget the day when my mother—
Oprah: That’s the scary one who looks like a man, right, Mr. President?
Bush: Yes, that’s right. She is one feisty lady. I’ll never forget the time she showed me a jar containing her miscarried fetus. I believe I named it "Fetus."
Oprah: And was that an “aha moment” for you?
Bush: Absolutely. It was then that I decided—because I am the Decider, after all—that I would do everything in my power to prevent all women from having abortions so that I would never again accidentally see a fetus in a jar.
Oprah: Mr. President, while my make-up crew was shellacking my face for five hours before we went on the air, I overheard one of them say that you never foresaw the impeding financial meltdown.
Bush: That is true, Oatmeal. But on the other hand, I am proud to say that during my presidency, I had some extraordinary vacations and became an authority on the Craftsman 42cc 18" Gas Chain Saw. Let me tell you, that’s a fine American product.
Oprah: Last night I was laying on the bed in my pajamas and eating some cashews, which I still feel guilty about, and I overheard one of my Filipino concubines mention that you flew over Louisiana in Air Force One instead of landing to see first-hand the devastation left by Hurricane Katrina.
Bush: Yes, that did not look good, I admit. But you must understand, Upchuck, there were a lot of really angry black people down there, and they were especially pissed off at me. But on the other hand, one of my staff members recently told me that our current President is black, and I think that’s fantastic.
Oprah: I hear you, girlfriend! Woooo! Now, I was speaking to Maya Angelou and Deepak Chopra earlier today, and Deepak mentioned that you said one of the lowest points of your presidency was when Kanye West said that you don’t like black people.
Bush: Well, your friend Deepdish is correct, because, unlike most people in Texas, I am not a racist. In fact, I have been shit-faced drunk with the blacks many times.
Oprah: But Mr. President, wouldn’t you agree that a lower point would be the fact that many American soldiers lost their lives in a war that we had no business starting? A war that was justified based on faulty, cherry-picked intelligence, and which has cost America billions of dollars?
Bush: All I can say is that racist remark really hurt my feelings, and since I am the Decider, that was the low point.
Oprah: Thank you for joining us, Mr. President, and I think I speak for everybody when I say thank God you can’t run for a third term and completely fuck us over.
Bush: Thank you for those kind words, Opie.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
DON'T EAT THIS OR THAT!
Here is the definitive list of foods with names featuring two words that should never go together, and that you should therefore never eat.
They also make great pet names for your spouse, lover, or otherwise significant other-person.
Eggplant
(I’m not technically a botanist, but I still don’t think eggs come from plants.)
Carrot Cake
(Why would I want something healthy ruining a perfectly good piece of cake?)
Cheese Cake
(Cheese on a sandwich? Sounds delicious. On my pizza? Bring it! In a cake? I don’t think so.)
Steak Tartar
(Isn’t tartar that stuff the dentist scrapes off your teeth? Hey, let’s put some on our ribeye!)
Butt Roast
(Just think of your butt, and all that entails, and then eat it.)
Butt Roast, Bone In
(No comment.)
Chicken Nuggets
(Nugget-anything is never a good sign.)
Chicken Tenders
(How did they get that tender? I don’t want to know. Good stripper name, though.)
Meat Loaf
(Sounds too casual.)
Meat Balls
(Yeah, let’s grind up this dead flesh and form it into balls!)
Melon Balls
(If I were a melon, I’d object to being forced into this unnatural shape.)
Baby Back Ribs
(Jeffrey Dahmer’s favorite meal.)
Tater Tots
(See above.)
Chocolate Mousse
(Don’t people put mousse in their hair?)
They also make great pet names for your spouse, lover, or otherwise significant other-person.
Eggplant
(I’m not technically a botanist, but I still don’t think eggs come from plants.)
Carrot Cake
(Why would I want something healthy ruining a perfectly good piece of cake?)
Cheese Cake
(Cheese on a sandwich? Sounds delicious. On my pizza? Bring it! In a cake? I don’t think so.)
Steak Tartar
(Isn’t tartar that stuff the dentist scrapes off your teeth? Hey, let’s put some on our ribeye!)
Butt Roast
(Just think of your butt, and all that entails, and then eat it.)
Butt Roast, Bone In
(No comment.)
Chicken Nuggets
(Nugget-anything is never a good sign.)
Chicken Tenders
(How did they get that tender? I don’t want to know. Good stripper name, though.)
Meat Loaf
(Sounds too casual.)
Meat Balls
(Yeah, let’s grind up this dead flesh and form it into balls!)
Melon Balls
(If I were a melon, I’d object to being forced into this unnatural shape.)
Baby Back Ribs
(Jeffrey Dahmer’s favorite meal.)
Tater Tots
(See above.)
Chocolate Mousse
(Don’t people put mousse in their hair?)
Sunday, October 24, 2010
NEVER LET MY MOTHER MAKE YOU A SANDWICH
Are you hungry, tatela? I can make you a sandwich.
OK, sure.
What would you like? I have salami, ham, and turkey.
Turkey would be fine.
Or if you want, you can have all three together.
No, just turkey is OK.
Or I can put two together. You can have just salami and turkey, or salami and ham, or ham and turkey if you like.
Nah, turkey alone is fine.
Are you sure?
Yeah.
OK. Let’s see. I have oven roasted turkey and low sodium turkey. Which would you like?
Just regular oven roasted turkey is fine.
What kind of bread would you like?
What do you have?
I think I only have wheat bread.
Well, then I guess I’ll have wheat.
I did have some rye bread, but I think your brother ate it all.
It’s all right, we can go with the wheat.
I might have a bagel in the freezer. Do you want me to look?
No, wheat bread is fine.
It’s really no trouble.
No, wheat will be fine.
OK, suit yourself. Do you want anything on it? I have mustard and mayonnaise.
I’ll take some mustard.
I have Grey Poupon and French’s.
French’s is good.
Are you sure? The Grey Poupon is very good.
No thanks, I just like boring old yellow mustard.
Suit yourself, tateleh. But it would be nice if you tried something different once in a while. That was the problem I had with all you kids growing up. That’s why it was impossible to feed you.
Yeah, I know.
Do you want a lot of mustard, or just a little?
Just a little, spread evenly, would be great.
You got it. You said you wanted turkey, right?
Right.
Would you like some cheese?
Sure.
What kind of cheese would you like?
Well, what do you have?
I have Swiss, American, and Cheddar.
I’ll have American.
You want American cheese on a turkey sandwich? Feh! Are you sure?
Yeah, I’m sure.
OK, it’s your sandwich. American it is. How many slices would you like?
Two is good.
OK, two. Do you want the cheese first, or the turkey first?
Surprise me.
Well, you need to tell me, because I prefer the turkey first but you may not like it that way.
Turkey first is fine.
OK, how many slices of turkey did you want?
I dunno. Three, I guess.
OK. Wheat bread, three slices of turkey, two slices of American—you’re sure you want American cheese?
Yes.
All right. Would you like some lettuce?
That would be great.
I also have some feckockteh alfalfa sprouts that your crazy sister left here.
No thanks. Lettuce is good.
OK, there we are. Would you like the crusts cut off? You always liked the crusts cut off when you were a little boy.
Mom, I’m 54.
Oy, don’t remind me. So, leave the crusts on?
Yes, please.
All right. Would you like me to cut it?
Yeah.
Would you like it cut in diagonally, or just in half?
Cut in half is fine.
OK, here you go, tateleh. Would you like something to drink, or some chips with that?
(Since the headline of this post mentioned only the sandwich, I will spare you the complexities of getting chips and a drink, but I think you can guess what happened.)
OK, sure.
What would you like? I have salami, ham, and turkey.
Turkey would be fine.
Or if you want, you can have all three together.
No, just turkey is OK.
Or I can put two together. You can have just salami and turkey, or salami and ham, or ham and turkey if you like.
Nah, turkey alone is fine.
Are you sure?
Yeah.
OK. Let’s see. I have oven roasted turkey and low sodium turkey. Which would you like?
Just regular oven roasted turkey is fine.
What kind of bread would you like?
What do you have?
I think I only have wheat bread.
Well, then I guess I’ll have wheat.
I did have some rye bread, but I think your brother ate it all.
It’s all right, we can go with the wheat.
I might have a bagel in the freezer. Do you want me to look?
No, wheat bread is fine.
It’s really no trouble.
No, wheat will be fine.
OK, suit yourself. Do you want anything on it? I have mustard and mayonnaise.
I’ll take some mustard.
I have Grey Poupon and French’s.
French’s is good.
Are you sure? The Grey Poupon is very good.
No thanks, I just like boring old yellow mustard.
Suit yourself, tateleh. But it would be nice if you tried something different once in a while. That was the problem I had with all you kids growing up. That’s why it was impossible to feed you.
Yeah, I know.
Do you want a lot of mustard, or just a little?
Just a little, spread evenly, would be great.
You got it. You said you wanted turkey, right?
Right.
Would you like some cheese?
Sure.
What kind of cheese would you like?
Well, what do you have?
I have Swiss, American, and Cheddar.
I’ll have American.
You want American cheese on a turkey sandwich? Feh! Are you sure?
Yeah, I’m sure.
OK, it’s your sandwich. American it is. How many slices would you like?
Two is good.
OK, two. Do you want the cheese first, or the turkey first?
Surprise me.
Well, you need to tell me, because I prefer the turkey first but you may not like it that way.
Turkey first is fine.
OK, how many slices of turkey did you want?
I dunno. Three, I guess.
OK. Wheat bread, three slices of turkey, two slices of American—you’re sure you want American cheese?
Yes.
All right. Would you like some lettuce?
That would be great.
I also have some feckockteh alfalfa sprouts that your crazy sister left here.
No thanks. Lettuce is good.
OK, there we are. Would you like the crusts cut off? You always liked the crusts cut off when you were a little boy.
Mom, I’m 54.
Oy, don’t remind me. So, leave the crusts on?
Yes, please.
All right. Would you like me to cut it?
Yeah.
Would you like it cut in diagonally, or just in half?
Cut in half is fine.
OK, here you go, tateleh. Would you like something to drink, or some chips with that?
(Since the headline of this post mentioned only the sandwich, I will spare you the complexities of getting chips and a drink, but I think you can guess what happened.)
Sunday, October 17, 2010
"GUESS THAT SMELL!"
Yes, folks, it’s time once again to play America’s favorite game show, “GUESS THAT SMELL!”
We come to you this week from the bedroom of Jerry K. Junior, a typical 12-year-old boy. There has been a rather troubling odor suffocating visitors and permeating his room for about two days. The cause of this odor remains a mystery. However, our panel of experts has narrowed the source down to two possibilities.
And that brings us to our two contestants. Let’s meet CONTESTANT #1:
Name: Skittles
Species: Hamster
Country of Origin: Hamsterville, USA
Turn-ons: Running pointlessly on a wheel, jamming food in his cheeks, burrowing.
Evidence: Skittles is three years old, which for a hamster means the great guinea pig in the sky has a HabitTrail reserved just for him. Lately, he has been listless, constipated, and distant. But…does he smell?
Or perhaps the pungent perfume is coming from CONTESTANT #2:
Name: Molly
Alias: Princess Paws
Species: Golden Retriever
Turn-ons: Eating, pooping, eating poop.
Evidence: Being a teenager in dog years, lately Molly has been almost as annoying as “The View." She is also pissed off at Jerry K. Junior, who relentlessly taunts her and photographs her in humiliating poses. But…does she smell?
Log in your answers now. We will return after a word from our only sponsor, Febreeze.
Welcome back. And this week’s smell was coming from:
MOLLY!
That’s right. To get back at her owner’s ridicule, Molly left a poop pretzel on the bedroom floor. Once Jerry K. Junior realized that dog doody is actually quite larger than hamster doody, the answer was obvious.
Tune in next week when we ask you to GUESS THAT SMELL!—dirty gym clothes, or last week’s uneaten turkey sandwich still sitting in a school backpack?
Until then, stay stinky!
We come to you this week from the bedroom of Jerry K. Junior, a typical 12-year-old boy. There has been a rather troubling odor suffocating visitors and permeating his room for about two days. The cause of this odor remains a mystery. However, our panel of experts has narrowed the source down to two possibilities.
And that brings us to our two contestants. Let’s meet CONTESTANT #1:
Name: Skittles
Species: Hamster
Country of Origin: Hamsterville, USA
Turn-ons: Running pointlessly on a wheel, jamming food in his cheeks, burrowing.
Evidence: Skittles is three years old, which for a hamster means the great guinea pig in the sky has a HabitTrail reserved just for him. Lately, he has been listless, constipated, and distant. But…does he smell?
Or perhaps the pungent perfume is coming from CONTESTANT #2:
Name: Molly
Alias: Princess Paws
Species: Golden Retriever
Turn-ons: Eating, pooping, eating poop.
Evidence: Being a teenager in dog years, lately Molly has been almost as annoying as “The View." She is also pissed off at Jerry K. Junior, who relentlessly taunts her and photographs her in humiliating poses. But…does she smell?
Log in your answers now. We will return after a word from our only sponsor, Febreeze.
Welcome back. And this week’s smell was coming from:
MOLLY!
That’s right. To get back at her owner’s ridicule, Molly left a poop pretzel on the bedroom floor. Once Jerry K. Junior realized that dog doody is actually quite larger than hamster doody, the answer was obvious.
Tune in next week when we ask you to GUESS THAT SMELL!—dirty gym clothes, or last week’s uneaten turkey sandwich still sitting in a school backpack?
Until then, stay stinky!
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
MUSIC IS DEAD ON SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE
Here’s just a partial list of rock musicians who appeared during the golden age of Saturday Night Live: Eric Clapton, David Bowie, Elvis Costello, Tom Petty, Jerry Garcia.
That's a pretty impressive list.
But that was then and this is now, so let’s take a look at which musicians have performed on the first three SNL shows of 2010: Katy Perry, Kanye West, and Bruno Mars.
Now that’s some cutting-edge stuff, wouldn’t you say?
Let’s begin with Katy Perry. Now this is not rock music by any stretch of the imagination, but that’s OK, because there’s always room for a little pop music.
But here’s the weird thing that is just bugging the crap out of me: She appears on SNL, which is such a quintessentially New York show. Everything about the show just oozes New York—the opening credits, the house band, the attitude. Even the musicians’ stage on SNL is a mini-version of Grand Central Station.
So, what does Katy sing? Her massive annoying hit, “California Gurls.” It’s tolerable as a piece of studio-produced pop confection on the radio, but performed live it’s just shallow and embarrassing, and the song was exposed for the piece of innocuous fluff that it is. What’s more, if she had any integrity, she should send half the profits from this song to Brian Wilson for ripping off his title.
But if it’s not bad enough that she’s singing such an mediocre song on SNL, at the end of the song, while she’s repeating, “California/California Gurls,” she finishes by yelling out “West Coast!” and triumphantly holding her fingers like a “W.”
Now why would she do that in front of a New York audience? Is she really so clueless that she expects that audience to enthusiastically cheer a shout-out to California? I don’t get it.
The next episode of SNL featured Kanye West. For his number, the stage was transformed into an all-white background with a bunch of attractive ladies vacantly swirling around him.
I would comment on his lyrics, except for the fact that I DON’T KNOW WHAT THE HELL HE WAS SAYING. That’s right, “saying,” because Kanye doesn’t really sing, he just kind of talks.
Just last week, SNL featured Bruno Mars. He performed his (pop) hit, “Grenade.” Now take a look at these lyrics:
I’d take a grenade for ya,
Put my head on a blade for ya,
Jump in front of a train for ya,
I would die for ya,
But you won’t do the same.
So here’s my question: DO YOU KNOW ANY GUY WHO THINKS LIKE THAT? Am I missing something here, or should Bruno call a suicide hotline pronto? And I love the fact that the girl won’t do the same for him. She’s no idiot.
The funny part is that he seems so disappointed and hurt that the girl won’t take a grenade for him. By the way, where is Bruno getting these grenades? Oh, I guess it rhymes with blade and train, so that makes sense.
He was also sporting a bright blue suit and a skinny black tie. That’s the same thing I wore to my sixth grade graduation in 1967. As I watched this performance, I thought, “Hey, that’s my suit! I thought they burned all of those!”
…Not to digress or anything, but while we’re on the subject, here’s another song that drives me crazy: “Billionaire” by Travie McCoy. Here are some (annotated) lyrics for your enjoyment:
I want to be a billionaire,
So freakin’ bad…
(Um, who doesn’t?)
Every time I close my eyes,
I see my name in flashing lights,
A different city every night.
(Every night? That sounds like a real pain in the ass.)
I want to be on the cover of
Forbes magazine,
Hanging out with Oprah and the Queen.
(And what are you and Oprah going to talk about, exactly? Dieting? Her love of Maya Angelou?)
Well, this is what happens when you become an old fart and are forced to listen to Top 40 radio with your 12-year-old son.
Back to SNL: They have aired only three shows so far this year, so all hope is not lost. But once they book Justin Bieber, I’m outta here.
That's a pretty impressive list.
But that was then and this is now, so let’s take a look at which musicians have performed on the first three SNL shows of 2010: Katy Perry, Kanye West, and Bruno Mars.
Now that’s some cutting-edge stuff, wouldn’t you say?
Let’s begin with Katy Perry. Now this is not rock music by any stretch of the imagination, but that’s OK, because there’s always room for a little pop music.
But here’s the weird thing that is just bugging the crap out of me: She appears on SNL, which is such a quintessentially New York show. Everything about the show just oozes New York—the opening credits, the house band, the attitude. Even the musicians’ stage on SNL is a mini-version of Grand Central Station.
So, what does Katy sing? Her massive annoying hit, “California Gurls.” It’s tolerable as a piece of studio-produced pop confection on the radio, but performed live it’s just shallow and embarrassing, and the song was exposed for the piece of innocuous fluff that it is. What’s more, if she had any integrity, she should send half the profits from this song to Brian Wilson for ripping off his title.
But if it’s not bad enough that she’s singing such an mediocre song on SNL, at the end of the song, while she’s repeating, “California/California Gurls,” she finishes by yelling out “West Coast!” and triumphantly holding her fingers like a “W.”
Now why would she do that in front of a New York audience? Is she really so clueless that she expects that audience to enthusiastically cheer a shout-out to California? I don’t get it.
The next episode of SNL featured Kanye West. For his number, the stage was transformed into an all-white background with a bunch of attractive ladies vacantly swirling around him.
I would comment on his lyrics, except for the fact that I DON’T KNOW WHAT THE HELL HE WAS SAYING. That’s right, “saying,” because Kanye doesn’t really sing, he just kind of talks.
Just last week, SNL featured Bruno Mars. He performed his (pop) hit, “Grenade.” Now take a look at these lyrics:
I’d take a grenade for ya,
Put my head on a blade for ya,
Jump in front of a train for ya,
I would die for ya,
But you won’t do the same.
So here’s my question: DO YOU KNOW ANY GUY WHO THINKS LIKE THAT? Am I missing something here, or should Bruno call a suicide hotline pronto? And I love the fact that the girl won’t do the same for him. She’s no idiot.
The funny part is that he seems so disappointed and hurt that the girl won’t take a grenade for him. By the way, where is Bruno getting these grenades? Oh, I guess it rhymes with blade and train, so that makes sense.
He was also sporting a bright blue suit and a skinny black tie. That’s the same thing I wore to my sixth grade graduation in 1967. As I watched this performance, I thought, “Hey, that’s my suit! I thought they burned all of those!”
…Not to digress or anything, but while we’re on the subject, here’s another song that drives me crazy: “Billionaire” by Travie McCoy. Here are some (annotated) lyrics for your enjoyment:
I want to be a billionaire,
So freakin’ bad…
(Um, who doesn’t?)
Every time I close my eyes,
I see my name in flashing lights,
A different city every night.
(Every night? That sounds like a real pain in the ass.)
I want to be on the cover of
Forbes magazine,
Hanging out with Oprah and the Queen.
(And what are you and Oprah going to talk about, exactly? Dieting? Her love of Maya Angelou?)
Well, this is what happens when you become an old fart and are forced to listen to Top 40 radio with your 12-year-old son.
Back to SNL: They have aired only three shows so far this year, so all hope is not lost. But once they book Justin Bieber, I’m outta here.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
AN EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW WITH YOKO ONO
The world’s most famous widow, Yoko Ono, recently met with us in our Fun With Chickens penthouse offices, and sat down for a rare, and shockingly honest, interview
.
The failed artist appeared in concert the night before with the latest edition of her Plastic Bozo Band.
This time around, the band’s headliners included the attention-starved Lady GagMe, along with Perry Farrell, who once led a band that never had a hit and that no one remembers.
Rounding out the group were Sean Lennon and Harper Simon, two talentless musicians who are only allowed to stand on stage because they have famous songwriter fathers.
Fun With Chickens: Yoko, thank you for taking the time to speak with us.
Yoko: Well, John was a big fan of your blog, so he would have wanted this.
FWC: I see. I first wanted to ask what your name means in your native language.
Yoko: My name translates as “Screeching Harpy” in Japanese, but in Tagalong it means “Gold digger.”
FWC: Yoko, is it true that you did not know who John Lennon was when you first met him?
Yoko: That is true, I had never heard of the Beatles at that time.
FWC: I find that very difficult to believe, considering they were world famous. Tell me, do you recognize any of these people? (We held up photos of Abraham Lincoln, John F. Kennedy, and Adolph Hitler.)
Yoko: No. They are not the Three Stooges that John loved so much, are they?
FWC: Wow. I really find your inability to identify people who had such a worldwide impact quite perplexing. Let me show you just one more picture. (We held up a portrait of Jesus Christ.)
Yoko: No, I am sorry. Would he happen to be a rich, famous musician who travels without security, and can be easily approached by a deranged stalker who has three names? Because if he is, I would love to meet him. I am down to my last $50 million of John’s money, and I know Sean won’t make jackshit with his crappy albums.
FWC: Well, I certainly am surprised by your honesty.
Yoko: But you see, Fun With Chickens, art is all about truth.
FWC: So Yoko, what are your plans for the future? Do you hope to break up any other famous bands and further deprive the world of some amazing music?
Yoko: Once you have broken up The Beatles, there is really nowhere else to go. You see, John would have been 70 years old this year if he had lived, and so to celebrate the spirit of John’s life, and to honor his contribution to society, I hope to profit off the reissues of every solo album he recorded. They are currently available at your local Wal-Mart and Best Buy stores.
FWC: Unfortunately, Yoko, we do not allow any plugs on Fun With Chickens. But we do appreciate your stopping by and chatting with us.
Yoko: Thank you. By the way, Paul died many years before John, and—for the record--I would just like people to know that I had barely anything to do with his death. Or George’s. Or Ringo’s.
FWC: Thank you for clearing that up. Yoko, because you are so artistic and mystical and wise, is there any message you would like to leave with us?
Yoko: I just want to spread love and peace to chickens all over the world, because if chickens can come together as one, there is nothing we humanoids cannot accomplish. And if you call our toll-free number, 1-800-YOKO-BLOWS, you can order a boxed set of all of John’s solo records and I will personally stamp my autograph on each box with special ink from the blood of angels. The cost is only $599, and I know John would have wanted it that way.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
CHRISTINE O’DONNELL: DID SHE OR DIDN’T SHE SAY IT?
After she surprisingly won the Republican senate primary in Delaware, several quotes from Christine O’Donnell have surfaced. They have amused some and outraged others, but most people agree that she definitely reflects the intelligence of Tea Party members.
Here are some real quotes from O’Donnell, along with some that we have programmed through our Fun With Chickens joke processor.
Can you tell: Did she or didn’t she say this?
A. "We took the Bible and prayer out of public schools. Now we're having weekly shootings. We had the 60s sexual revolution, and now people are dying of AIDS."
B. “The economy is like a baby’s tummy. If you rub it long enough and burp it, it will release gas and feel better.”
C. “It’s time we take America back, get the government off our backs, and end the wholesale massacre of chickens not just on Earth, but worldwide.”
D. "I dabbled into witchcraft. I never joined a coven." / "One of my first dates with a witch was on a satanic altar."
E. “It is true that many religious leaders believe that God created Hurricane Katrina because He was upset that Sanjaya didn’t win “American Idol.”
F. "American scientific companies are cross-breeding humans and animals and coming up with mice with fully functioning human brains."
G. “In some cultures, women are still allowed to look men directly in the eye when they speak to them. As your senator, I will work hard to change that.”
H. "You know what, evolution is a myth." / "Why aren't monkeys still evolving into humans?"
I. “I once had a Shiatsu that looked just like my Uncle Fleebus. But that doesn’t mean evolution is a factual thing.”
J. “I believe the death penalty should only be applied to people who are really gnarly.”
K. “I and many others do not believe in the myth of global warming. How can this be possible when just yesterday my nana said the house was chilly?”
L. "During the primary, I heard the audible voice of God. He said, 'Credibility.'"
M. “If we allow gay people the freedom to marry each other, it won’t be long before we grant the same rights to unhappy people as well.”
ANSWERS
True statements: A, D, F, H, L
Almost true statements: All the rest.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
DID YOU KNOW…?
• In a new study released by the Phew Research Group, a majority of scientists have determined that, as a result of consuming genetically altered food and being submitted to X-ray airport security scanners, by the year 2050 seventy percent of the population will have doody that glows in the dark.
• You can tell when a three-day weekend is coming: All the gentiles are hosing off their RVs.
• Approximately one-half of all radio commercials begin with the phrase, “Did you know…” (Example: “Did you know that you can pay as little as ten dollars a month for your chicken insurance?”)
• If you are ever in a meeting and placed in a small group, given a giant Post-It notepad and a marker, and asked to brainstorm and then either "share out" or do a "gallery walk," you should immediately excuse yourself to the restroom, leave the country, and never return. You will be better off in the long run.
• The general population is just now realizing that most plastic surgeons suffer from an abnormal sexual attraction to ducks. When asked to comment on this, comedian Joan Rivers replied, "Quack?"
"Real Housewives of New Jersey" faux celebrity and fellow duck lookalike Danielle Staub was so startled by this news that her eyebrows became permanently, and disturbingly, arched. Observe:
Now there's an attractive, natural look. It looks like she's gonna swoop down and peck you to death any minute.
But on an optimistic side note, while the plastic surgeons charged thousands of dollars to distort the faces of these and many other male and female celebrities, their ill-gotten incomes trickle down to the poor people in society, enabling them to purchase iPods, Auto Sucks, and other entertaining electronic devices while blissfully forgetting that they are still economically screwed. And then everybody was happy again.
So let's give a big Fun With Chickens thank-you cluck to all those plastic surgeons who prey on the insecurity of people and have no aesthetic sensibilities at all. All together now: "Paycock!"
• You can tell when a three-day weekend is coming: All the gentiles are hosing off their RVs.
• Approximately one-half of all radio commercials begin with the phrase, “Did you know…” (Example: “Did you know that you can pay as little as ten dollars a month for your chicken insurance?”)
• If you are ever in a meeting and placed in a small group, given a giant Post-It notepad and a marker, and asked to brainstorm and then either "share out" or do a "gallery walk," you should immediately excuse yourself to the restroom, leave the country, and never return. You will be better off in the long run.
• The general population is just now realizing that most plastic surgeons suffer from an abnormal sexual attraction to ducks. When asked to comment on this, comedian Joan Rivers replied, "Quack?"
"Real Housewives of New Jersey" faux celebrity and fellow duck lookalike Danielle Staub was so startled by this news that her eyebrows became permanently, and disturbingly, arched. Observe:
Now there's an attractive, natural look. It looks like she's gonna swoop down and peck you to death any minute.
But on an optimistic side note, while the plastic surgeons charged thousands of dollars to distort the faces of these and many other male and female celebrities, their ill-gotten incomes trickle down to the poor people in society, enabling them to purchase iPods, Auto Sucks, and other entertaining electronic devices while blissfully forgetting that they are still economically screwed. And then everybody was happy again.
So let's give a big Fun With Chickens thank-you cluck to all those plastic surgeons who prey on the insecurity of people and have no aesthetic sensibilities at all. All together now: "Paycock!"
Friday, September 24, 2010
THE GIRL AT SILVER SPOON
I’ve come to the conclusion that, at 54, I can no longer compliment a young girl on her good looks without looking like a complete creep.
Here’s how I came to this epiphany.
Every Wednesday, I pick up frozen yogurt at a place I will call Silver Spoon (that way you won’t know that it’s really Golden Spoon). Wednesday is the key day to go, you see, because that is—ta da!—Double-Stamp Wednesday. Customers actually get two stamps on their Silver Spoon card for every frozen yogurt they purchase, and then a free frozen yogurt for every 10 stamps they acquire. So, it only makes sense to visit Silver Spoon on Wednesday.
This, folks, is what my life has become.
Anyway, strapping young boys and petite bouncy girls work at the place, alongside the requisite Top 40 blasting away and the college fund tip jar. The girls are usually fairly cute and perky, and the boys—well, who gives a shit about them.
But the new girl scooping up the delicious dessert is like a young Meg Ryan, long before Meg’s face starting melting and morphing into something unfilmable.
This young girl’s face is just so perfect that as I stand in line I can’t seem to stop staring at her, hoping to God that she doesn’t notice. She doesn’t. Then I wonder why it’s just me; doesn’t everyone in this store realize how obviously beautiful she is? I guess they don’t.
Now please understand that this isn’t even a purely sexual thing I am talking about. I’m not trying to hide a boner or anything. It’s more like admiring a work of art, or being hypnotized by some ethereal unearthly being, minus the anal probe.
So, as I stand in line waiting for my turn, I begin to vary my ogling and decide that I need to look for some sort of flaw on her, because no one could have such perfect looks. And sure enough, there it was: a little red mark on the back of her neck. (That’s right, her blond hair was in a cute little bun, allowing for full back-of-neck viewing.) Yet, even this imperfect little dot was part of her perfection, sort of like a mistake you can see in your favorite movie or hear in your favorite song that makes it even more endearing.
My turn at the counter is coming up, and it looks like she, not the other average-looking girl, will be waiting on me. Then I begin wondering if there is something I can say to her just to compliment her on her beauty.
I know what you’re thinking, so let me make this perfectly clear. I’m not trying to come up with a pick-up line. I’m not trying to “get” anything out of it. Rather, it’s similar to running into one of your favorite writers, actors, musicians, etc., and telling him that you really enjoy his work. The problem in this situation, though, is that I’m a 50-something guy and she’s this young girl and I will just come off as some sort of creep or pervert or Republican.
Which brings me back to my original point. You see, if a young guy around her age asked her, “Have you ever thought about being a model?” it would be OK because they are both in the same age bracket, and that’s how the young-uns meet each other, or so I’m told. At the other extreme, if some old coot said that to the young chippy, he would be an adorable harmless old man. But a guy in his fifties? That’s a no-win situation that could end up with either a smack in the face or a spot on the Megan’s Law website.
Still, with that damned hope springing eternally, I ask myself if I could actually pull this off. But at that point, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirrored wall, and that’s when reality rings my metaphorical doorbell. It’s all there: the glasses, the paunch, the kinky Jewish hair, the Lee jeans, the bloodshot eyes, the $10 Target sweatshirt. Nah, I don’t think so.
So I finally make it to the counter and mumble my orders for Mrs. Jerry K and Jerry K Jr., and then my own. Except that she gets my order wrong. Of course, I don’t correct her, and just take it as it is.
But the next day I think, wait a minute, that’s just the thing. This beautiful creature will always get what she wants in life, she’ll always end up on top, even if she screws up a frozen yogurt order, or a college essay, or a major business deal, or the first mission to Mars. Because of her impeccable looks, she will never have to struggle or prove herself.
And then I begin to reflect on my own life. The countless hours working in various offices—did they really matter? The receding hairline, liver spots, and other signs of aging. My little baby boy is suddenly 12 years old. People I know are looking incredibly old, or dying in car crashes or from a fatal illness. A website tells me at what age I will die. The years seem to be flying by at supersonic speed, and I see people half my age already accomplishing more than I ever have, and there is nothing I can do to control any of this.
And then I think back to that girl at Silver Spoon, and I realize: You know what? On second thought, to hell with that bitch.
Here’s how I came to this epiphany.
Every Wednesday, I pick up frozen yogurt at a place I will call Silver Spoon (that way you won’t know that it’s really Golden Spoon). Wednesday is the key day to go, you see, because that is—ta da!—Double-Stamp Wednesday. Customers actually get two stamps on their Silver Spoon card for every frozen yogurt they purchase, and then a free frozen yogurt for every 10 stamps they acquire. So, it only makes sense to visit Silver Spoon on Wednesday.
This, folks, is what my life has become.
Anyway, strapping young boys and petite bouncy girls work at the place, alongside the requisite Top 40 blasting away and the college fund tip jar. The girls are usually fairly cute and perky, and the boys—well, who gives a shit about them.
But the new girl scooping up the delicious dessert is like a young Meg Ryan, long before Meg’s face starting melting and morphing into something unfilmable.
This young girl’s face is just so perfect that as I stand in line I can’t seem to stop staring at her, hoping to God that she doesn’t notice. She doesn’t. Then I wonder why it’s just me; doesn’t everyone in this store realize how obviously beautiful she is? I guess they don’t.
Now please understand that this isn’t even a purely sexual thing I am talking about. I’m not trying to hide a boner or anything. It’s more like admiring a work of art, or being hypnotized by some ethereal unearthly being, minus the anal probe.
So, as I stand in line waiting for my turn, I begin to vary my ogling and decide that I need to look for some sort of flaw on her, because no one could have such perfect looks. And sure enough, there it was: a little red mark on the back of her neck. (That’s right, her blond hair was in a cute little bun, allowing for full back-of-neck viewing.) Yet, even this imperfect little dot was part of her perfection, sort of like a mistake you can see in your favorite movie or hear in your favorite song that makes it even more endearing.
My turn at the counter is coming up, and it looks like she, not the other average-looking girl, will be waiting on me. Then I begin wondering if there is something I can say to her just to compliment her on her beauty.
I know what you’re thinking, so let me make this perfectly clear. I’m not trying to come up with a pick-up line. I’m not trying to “get” anything out of it. Rather, it’s similar to running into one of your favorite writers, actors, musicians, etc., and telling him that you really enjoy his work. The problem in this situation, though, is that I’m a 50-something guy and she’s this young girl and I will just come off as some sort of creep or pervert or Republican.
Which brings me back to my original point. You see, if a young guy around her age asked her, “Have you ever thought about being a model?” it would be OK because they are both in the same age bracket, and that’s how the young-uns meet each other, or so I’m told. At the other extreme, if some old coot said that to the young chippy, he would be an adorable harmless old man. But a guy in his fifties? That’s a no-win situation that could end up with either a smack in the face or a spot on the Megan’s Law website.
Still, with that damned hope springing eternally, I ask myself if I could actually pull this off. But at that point, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirrored wall, and that’s when reality rings my metaphorical doorbell. It’s all there: the glasses, the paunch, the kinky Jewish hair, the Lee jeans, the bloodshot eyes, the $10 Target sweatshirt. Nah, I don’t think so.
So I finally make it to the counter and mumble my orders for Mrs. Jerry K and Jerry K Jr., and then my own. Except that she gets my order wrong. Of course, I don’t correct her, and just take it as it is.
But the next day I think, wait a minute, that’s just the thing. This beautiful creature will always get what she wants in life, she’ll always end up on top, even if she screws up a frozen yogurt order, or a college essay, or a major business deal, or the first mission to Mars. Because of her impeccable looks, she will never have to struggle or prove herself.
And then I begin to reflect on my own life. The countless hours working in various offices—did they really matter? The receding hairline, liver spots, and other signs of aging. My little baby boy is suddenly 12 years old. People I know are looking incredibly old, or dying in car crashes or from a fatal illness. A website tells me at what age I will die. The years seem to be flying by at supersonic speed, and I see people half my age already accomplishing more than I ever have, and there is nothing I can do to control any of this.
And then I think back to that girl at Silver Spoon, and I realize: You know what? On second thought, to hell with that bitch.
Monday, February 8, 2010
THE WHO’S SET LIST FOR SUPER BOWL 2020
Based on their triumphant performance at this year's Super Bowl, rock ‘n’ roll band The Who are already booked to perform during half-time at the Super Bowl in 2020.
Roger Daltrey and Pete Townshend, who will be well into their ‘70s at that time, have announced their set list for the event:
“(Talkin’ About) My Medication”
“Tommy, I Can’t Hear You”
“Shuffleboard Wizard”
“Feed Me, Wheel Me”
“The Acid Reflux Queen”
“Magic Truss”
“Who Am I?”
Roger Daltrey and Pete Townshend, who will be well into their ‘70s at that time, have announced their set list for the event:
“(Talkin’ About) My Medication”
“Tommy, I Can’t Hear You”
“Shuffleboard Wizard”
“Feed Me, Wheel Me”
“The Acid Reflux Queen”
“Magic Truss”
“Who Am I?”
Sunday, January 24, 2010
THE HAIR FLUFFER
Television is such a tightly controlled medium, it’s become more and more difficult for viewers to actually encounter anything real.
Even so-called “reality television” is edited for maximum entertainment value, and it’s often difficult to watch these shows, whether it was “Survivor” or “Jersey Shore” or whatever, without half your brain wondering what was edited out and what the reality of each situation really was.
I think many people are really starving for something REAL to show up on television, something that’s not scripted and edited to death.
That’s why Conan O’Brien’s final “Tonight Show” ratings went through the roof; viewers thought they may actually see something real and honest and unpredictable.
That’s also why my favorite TV moment of last year occurred during the 2009 “New Year’s Rockin’ Eve” live special.
As the countdown was being eagerly anticipated, uber-host Ryan Seacrest was on stage in Times Square along with Jennifer Lopez and some other entertainers whose names escape me. Could have been John Mayer or Lady Gaga or Ke$hsa or someone of equally awesome talent.
Anyway, my favorite moment came when these folks were on camera one minute, and then another camera cut away to the Times Square crowd. When they abruptly cut back to Seacrest, J-Lo, et al, an unidentified man was busily fluffing J-Lo’s hair. J-Lo suddenly noticed she was back on camera, and shooed away her hair fluffer, while giving an embarrassed look that said, “Oh, why is that silly guy fluffing my hair again? Well, what are you gonna do?” And the fluffer scurried off the screen.
Obviously, the hair fluffer was supposed to do this while she was off camera, and got caught because it was live TV and the camera can sometimes cut back and forth unpredictably.
Why was this my favorite moment? Several reasons:
• We actually saw something on TV that we weren’t supposed to see. How often does that happen?
• I loved J-Lo’s fake exasperated look, as if she is just a regular gal (you know, “Jenny from the Block”) and hasn’t had her hair fluffed a billion times before, whenever a spare second allows. How can you not love when hypocrisy is exposed? And God forbid she doesn’t look absolutely perfect at all times.
• Her hair looked great, and didn’t need fluffing, but the guy fluffed it anyway. Why?
But the main reason I loved this moment was because it made me think: This must be the most pathetic job in the world—stepping in at every spare moment to fluff up someone’s hair.
OK, maybe “pathetic” is the wrong word. Maybe it’s the most meaningless, vacuous, lame, superficial, sycophantic job in the world. It contributes nothing to society, doesn’t make the world a better place, or make any kind of difference in anyone’s life.
Is it possible that being a hair fluffer is the worst job in the world?
I know there are plenty of terrible jobs out there. All you have to do is watch “Dirty Jobs” for two seconds to realize that. But in reality, plenty of low-paid and blue-collar jobs provide valuable services that improve people’s lives or at least make someone’s day a little more enjoyable.
But as far as white-collar jobs go, stepping in to fluff someone’s hair must be one of the worst.
So next time you are dissatisfied with your occupation, and feel it’s insignificant and ineffectual, just say to yourself: “Well, at least I’m not a hair fluffer.”
Monday, January 18, 2010
IF GANDHI HAD BEEN JEWISH
One of Mohandas Gandhi’s followers has interrupted his 30-day fast with a telephone call.
“Peace be with you. This is Mohandas Gandhi speaking.”
--“Moishe, this is your mother.”
“Yes, my dear mother. Please just call me Gandhi, as my many followers do.”
--“Oh, mister big shot with the followers already? Listen, Gandala, what is this I hear, you’re not eating?”
“That is correct, mother. I am fasting so that I may spread the message of peace throughout the world.”
--“What happened to the kasha I sent you?”
“As I said, I am fasting so that others will hear my message.”
--“Listen, Aunt Sadie said she saw you in some sort of diaper. Is there a problem with your petzel?”
“No, mother.”
--“Then what exactly is that shmatteh you are wearing?”
“It is called a dhoti, mother. I made it myself with a spinning wheel.”
--“Oh, a spinning wheel. I see. And for this your father and I sent you to law school? Do you at least remember that you are Jewish?”
“Yes I am aware of that, mother. However, I am also a Christian, a Muslim, and a Buddhist."
--“Oy, Gandala, it’s a shanda for the goyim! Listen, your brother Yussell will come around with the car. I’m fixing a nice brisket tonight and your Aunt Sadie has some of your cousin’s old clothes that I’m sure will fit you fine.”
“Peace be with you. This is Mohandas Gandhi speaking.”
--“Moishe, this is your mother.”
“Yes, my dear mother. Please just call me Gandhi, as my many followers do.”
--“Oh, mister big shot with the followers already? Listen, Gandala, what is this I hear, you’re not eating?”
“That is correct, mother. I am fasting so that I may spread the message of peace throughout the world.”
--“What happened to the kasha I sent you?”
“As I said, I am fasting so that others will hear my message.”
--“Listen, Aunt Sadie said she saw you in some sort of diaper. Is there a problem with your petzel?”
“No, mother.”
--“Then what exactly is that shmatteh you are wearing?”
“It is called a dhoti, mother. I made it myself with a spinning wheel.”
--“Oh, a spinning wheel. I see. And for this your father and I sent you to law school? Do you at least remember that you are Jewish?”
“Yes I am aware of that, mother. However, I am also a Christian, a Muslim, and a Buddhist."
--“Oy, Gandala, it’s a shanda for the goyim! Listen, your brother Yussell will come around with the car. I’m fixing a nice brisket tonight and your Aunt Sadie has some of your cousin’s old clothes that I’m sure will fit you fine.”
AN INTERVIEW WITH “AMERICA’S IDLE” HOST SIMON FOWL
Fun With Chickens recently sat down for tea and cynicism with Simon Fowl, host of the hit amateur reality unscripted karaoke show, “America’s Idle.”
Fowl stopped by the Fun With Chickens mega-studio/mini-mall/dumpster to discuss the upcoming debut of his identical new show, “The Egg Factor,” and to make us feel inadequate about our own income.
Fun With Chickens: The current season of “America’s Idle” began, as always, with a series of auditions. Don’t you feel that you are just humiliating illiterate inbred Southerners and clueless others who have no talent?
Simon Fowl: Absolutely not. We are simply exploiting crackers with bad teeth and terrible voices. It’s win-win-win: They get to ruin their lives on TV, the audience gets to feel superior, and I make $45 million a season. Thank you, America!
FWC: Do you feel the show will suffer now that resident drug addict and synapse impaired Paula Eggdul has left?
Fowl: I feel that viewers only suffered when they had to look at Posh Spice for two hours. She looked like a dehydrated stalk of celery with pubic hair. By the way, it’s witty insults like that that earned me $45 million a season. What a great country! Beats Australia, or wherever the hell I’m from.
FWC: Some critics contend that the winners and finalists of “America’s Idle” really haven’t made a significant impact on popular music.
Fowl: I have to disagree. Clay Aiken is second only to the Banana Splits in changing pop music forever, and Adam Lambert is the most exciting breakthrough since I last checked my bank statement. Do you have any idea how much interest one can make each month on $45 million? Excuse me while I light my vaporizer with a twenty.
FWC: I understand your next show, “The Egg Factor,” is almost exactly like “America’s Idle.”
Fowl: “The Egg Factor” will be a completely new format. This time, the contestants will be humiliated in different categories. Plus, I will make much more than $45 million a season. Ka-ching!
FWC: Yet, some of your other shows have been failures: “Cupid,” “American Inventor,” “Celebrity Duets”…
Fowl: It depends on your definition of “failure.” I prefer to think of them as visionary experiments that still earned me a shitload of money. Believe me, those V-neck tee shirts are not cheap. But it’s a good look, don’t you think?
FWC: Finally, on a serious note, what are your feelings about the tragic situation in Haiti right now?
Fowl: I recommend that the people of Haiti do two things. First, change the name of your country, and please try to leave the word “hate” out of it this time. It’s not doing you any favors.
Secondly, the Haitians may be fine people, but they shouldn’t be pursuing singing as a career. I spotted one young woman on the telly last night wailing among the rocks and debris that used to be her home, and I must be honest, she was a little pitchy. Fortunately, I will never be in that situation, because I make $45 million a season. Good night, America!
Sunday, January 10, 2010
WHY THERE WILL NEVER BE A JEWISH ASTRONAUT
“Hi, Mom? I have some big news for you. I’ve finally decided what I want to do with my life. I want to be an astronaut.”
--“An astronaut, tahkeh? What, there’s not enough room on this planet? It’s not good enough for my little pisher?”
“Mom, I’ve really given a lot of thought to this.”
--“Oh, so you’ve given a lot of thought to this, have you? You have to go galavanting around on some other planet like some meshugeneh?”
“You don’t understand, Mom, the universe is so vast…”
--“Listen, tatteleh. I’ve seen space and let me tell you, it’s no big megillah. It’s gornisht!”
“But who knows what’s waiting for us out there?”
--“Whoever they are, they’re probably a bunch of anti-semites.”
“I really feel that this is my destiny, Mom.”
--“So let me get this straight. You can’t make time to call your Aunt Louise, but you can find the time to go in space and make in your pants? Feh!”
“Hmm. I never thought about the defecation part…”
--“You know what, abi gezunt! That’s why you have a mother, to remind you about what’s important. Now go call your aunt. I have to go now; the ‘Wheel’ is on and a nice Jewish boy has won three times in a row.”
--“An astronaut, tahkeh? What, there’s not enough room on this planet? It’s not good enough for my little pisher?”
“Mom, I’ve really given a lot of thought to this.”
--“Oh, so you’ve given a lot of thought to this, have you? You have to go galavanting around on some other planet like some meshugeneh?”
“You don’t understand, Mom, the universe is so vast…”
--“Listen, tatteleh. I’ve seen space and let me tell you, it’s no big megillah. It’s gornisht!”
“But who knows what’s waiting for us out there?”
--“Whoever they are, they’re probably a bunch of anti-semites.”
“I really feel that this is my destiny, Mom.”
--“So let me get this straight. You can’t make time to call your Aunt Louise, but you can find the time to go in space and make in your pants? Feh!”
“Hmm. I never thought about the defecation part…”
--“You know what, abi gezunt! That’s why you have a mother, to remind you about what’s important. Now go call your aunt. I have to go now; the ‘Wheel’ is on and a nice Jewish boy has won three times in a row.”
WHAT TO YELL IN A CROWDED RESTAURANT IF SOMEONE IS TRYING TO BREAK UP WITH YOU
Note: These work best if you yell while standing up at the table and then storming out the door.
• Breaking up with a woman:
“I told you: I don’t date hermaphrodites!”
“I’m sorry, I just can’t be with someone who has a crush on Sean Hannity!”
•Breaking up with a goth girl:
“No, I will not go to the Taylor Swift concert with you!”
"You're on Team Edward? How about Team Eat Me?!"
•Breaking up with a dog:
“Yeah, well I least I don’t sniff my own feces!”
“Guess what: That bone I gave you last Christmas? Rubber!”
“Good luck on someday actually catching a squirrel!”
•Breaking up with a chicken:
“Just because you can only lay brown eggs, don’t get pissed at me!”
“Cluck off!”
• Breaking up with a woman:
“I told you: I don’t date hermaphrodites!”
“I’m sorry, I just can’t be with someone who has a crush on Sean Hannity!”
•Breaking up with a goth girl:
“No, I will not go to the Taylor Swift concert with you!”
"You're on Team Edward? How about Team Eat Me?!"
•Breaking up with a dog:
“Yeah, well I least I don’t sniff my own feces!”
“Guess what: That bone I gave you last Christmas? Rubber!”
“Good luck on someday actually catching a squirrel!”
•Breaking up with a chicken:
“Just because you can only lay brown eggs, don’t get pissed at me!”
“Cluck off!”
Friday, January 1, 2010
CONGRESS DECLARES DEATH OF ENGLISH LANGUAGE AFTER BLACK-EYED PEAS NEW YEAR’S EVE PERFORMANCE
WASHINGTON, January 1, 2010--As its first act of the new year, Congress has declared the English language officially dead.
The action was taken after viewing a performance by the Black-Eyed Peas during last night’s televised New Year’s Eve celebration.
Performing their schmega-hit, “Boom Boom Pow,” during ABC’s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve telecast, the Peas’ performance capped an entire year of songs by various performers who systematically killed the English language throughout 2009.
“We don’t want to single out the Black-Eyed Peas, who seem like a wonderful group of illiterate capitalists,” said Congressman Morty Cluckinbeak (R-Zacky Farms). “This was simply the last straw after monitoring recordings by several top-selling artists of 2009.”
Cluckinbeak, who closely listened to several songs on his “magical phonograph machine,” was able to convince his fellow congressmen after reciting the lyrics to “Boom Boom Pow.”
“Please note that these were grown men singing, and they actually looked a little bored and embarrassed,” Cluckinbeak noted. “There is also a female singer named Fergie, and I believe the royal family should be quite ashamed.”
Cluckinbeak went on to recite the words of the chorus:
“Boom boom pow, got to get
Boom boom pow, got to get
Boom boom pow, got to get
Boom boom pow, got to get
Boom boom pow, now
Boom boom pow, now
Boom boom pow
Boom boom”
“My fellow congressmen, need I go further?” Clucksberg intoned. “Keep in mind that this moronic chorus is repeated exactly fifty times. If you do, however, require further proof that the English language is indeed dead, let me now address the verses of this aural abomination.”
The congressman then recited two verses of “Boom Boom Pow, thusly:
“I’m a beast when you turn me on
Into the future Cybertron
Harder, faster, better, stronger
Sexy ladies extra longer
Cause we got the beat that bounce
We got the beat that pound
We got the beat that 808
That the boom, boom in your town”
Realizing that this song, and many others that sound identical, sold millions of copies in 2009, the entire Congress went on record to state that the English language was officially dead, and further decreed that today’s music lacks imagination, depth, emotion, melody, decent lyrics, and is indeed “fucking awful.”
The action was taken after viewing a performance by the Black-Eyed Peas during last night’s televised New Year’s Eve celebration.
Performing their schmega-hit, “Boom Boom Pow,” during ABC’s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve telecast, the Peas’ performance capped an entire year of songs by various performers who systematically killed the English language throughout 2009.
“We don’t want to single out the Black-Eyed Peas, who seem like a wonderful group of illiterate capitalists,” said Congressman Morty Cluckinbeak (R-Zacky Farms). “This was simply the last straw after monitoring recordings by several top-selling artists of 2009.”
Cluckinbeak, who closely listened to several songs on his “magical phonograph machine,” was able to convince his fellow congressmen after reciting the lyrics to “Boom Boom Pow.”
“Please note that these were grown men singing, and they actually looked a little bored and embarrassed,” Cluckinbeak noted. “There is also a female singer named Fergie, and I believe the royal family should be quite ashamed.”
Cluckinbeak went on to recite the words of the chorus:
“Boom boom pow, got to get
Boom boom pow, got to get
Boom boom pow, got to get
Boom boom pow, got to get
Boom boom pow, now
Boom boom pow, now
Boom boom pow
Boom boom”
“My fellow congressmen, need I go further?” Clucksberg intoned. “Keep in mind that this moronic chorus is repeated exactly fifty times. If you do, however, require further proof that the English language is indeed dead, let me now address the verses of this aural abomination.”
The congressman then recited two verses of “Boom Boom Pow, thusly:
“I’m a beast when you turn me on
Into the future Cybertron
Harder, faster, better, stronger
Sexy ladies extra longer
Cause we got the beat that bounce
We got the beat that pound
We got the beat that 808
That the boom, boom in your town”
Realizing that this song, and many others that sound identical, sold millions of copies in 2009, the entire Congress went on record to state that the English language was officially dead, and further decreed that today’s music lacks imagination, depth, emotion, melody, decent lyrics, and is indeed “fucking awful.”
DICK CLARK’S 2010 ROCKIN’ NEW YEARS EVE COUNTDOWN
10. Eennng
9. Eiiiign
8. Aayyyght
7. Hevvvvnn
6. Ixxxxgnx
5. Twelve
4. Orrrgn
3. Mpplxxtyneeh
2. Rama lama ding dong
1. Uuggghhhh
9. Eiiiign
8. Aayyyght
7. Hevvvvnn
6. Ixxxxgnx
5. Twelve
4. Orrrgn
3. Mpplxxtyneeh
2. Rama lama ding dong
1. Uuggghhhh
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
