Positively Opposite Review - Mission Accomplished!
- Best yesterday ever! Mission accomplished!! I was reminded of those triumphant moments that litter human history like the Berlin Wall coming down, the liberation of the Auschwitz concentration camp, or Neil Armstrong walking on the moon! Iraq’s election was just like all of those… right?!
Let’s face the single most important fact about the war. George W. invaded Iraq so that Iraqis could vote. Period. After all, these are the first elections since the last ones! Iraq has been jonesin’ with an election erection to vote for almost 4 years. Can you imagine waiting that long?!
Yeah yeah, we need to quash the insurgency. Yeah yeah, we need to rebuild Iraq’s infrastructure. Yeah yeah, we need to stop eyeballin' their quadrillion dollar oil reserves and focus on domestic issues. We can do all of that later, Debbie Downer. What’s important now is that we outfit the senior citizens who volunteer to run their board of elections with flash grenades and assault rifles so that they can fire back on rogue assailants lobbying deadly mortar shells!
Time out--who ran in this election? Doesn’t matter! Who should I have voted for? Doesn’t matter! Will Democracy plunge Iraq into whatever is the opposite of anarchy? It’s possible! Voting is the paramount issue right now. Stop making sense. Iraq, America decrees that you must feel what it’s like to have a ruling party that half your citizens detest. And so it shall be!
The fixed results may not be known for weeks or even months. But we can all rest a little bit easier knowing that Puff Daddy got out the inner city Baghdad voters, MTV amassed the young suburban Tikrit voters, and Michael Moore’s inflammatory documentaries convinced everyone everywhere to stop stuffing so many falafels down their pieholes lest they wish to become big fat lard-faces.
On a scale of 1 to 10, the Iraqi election isn't a Scud missile that errantly crashes in the desert. It's a Tomahawk strapped to a 10!!!
Bizarro World What Ifs
- What if... instead of running a faucet to cover up the sound of pooping, you had to make pooping sounds to cover up the sound of a running faucet?
What if... instead of fast food workers asking how they can help us with their food, we ask fast food workers how we can help them with their lives?
What if... instead of "anti-lock brakes" being a great safety feature on a car, "brakes that can't stop locking up all the time" were great?
What if... you were really dying for a cigarette but instead of living on Earth where smoking a cig is okay, you lived on Saturn's moon Titan, where smoking a cig would blow up the whole world?
That's all I got.
I've obtained a spec script from the set of Boyfriends, the spinoff of Girlfriends
- Scene 1: In the boyfriends' apartment. Looks exactly like the set of Friends but with a large poster on center-stage wall of Marcus Garvey.
(Horse Faced) Boyfriend 1: Man, it's so hard being men of color and living in this urban area.
(Horse Faced) Boyfriend 2: It sure is, boyfriend.
Boyfriend 1: Just the other day I had a moment where someone was racist to me.
Boyfriend 2: No Way! Me too.
Boyfriend 1: I’m glad we’re boyfriends. We can relate to each other's class struggle. Know what I’m sayin'?
Boyfriend 1: Yeah. Hey, do you have smoke in your eye? Why are you looking at me like that?
Boyfriend 2: No, this is just how I look all the time. (Zooms in on smokey eyes)
Boyfriend 1: That's cool. I'm going to start doing it too. (Camera cuts from one boyfriend to the other as they practice smokey eyes)
Boyfriend 1: Have you heard that new rap album?
Boyfriend 2: No. That's the difference between you and me. You're into rap music and I'm into smooth jazz. It's weird how we can be such opposites, yet we're still boyfriends.
Enter (Horse Faced) Boyfriend 3
Boyfriend 3: Heeeeyyyy boyfriends!!!
Boyfriend 1 & 2: Boyfriend!
(They all hug and whinny)
Boyfriend 3: OMG, the most racist thing happened to me today!
Boyfriend 1: Tell us!
Boyfriend 3: I was on the bus going to work, minding my own business. Suddenly, this gang of white people come up and tell me that I’m sitting in their seat!
Boyfriend 2: Oh, boyfriend. I’m so sorry. What'd you do?
Boyfriend 3: I shot each of them in the head.
Boyfriend 1 & 2: You go, boyfriend!
(Hugging and whinnying ensues. Cut to commercial.)
From the Webmaster: Click here for another script obtained by the winner.
Like Going to the County Fair
I told you they were horsefaced--I just can't make this stuff up. The most interesting thing about the cast is that neither the one in the middle nor the one on the right are actual girls.
Also, rumors are afloat at UPN that a Girlfriends spinoff is currently in production. It's about four urban African American men who share an apartment and struggle with shit. It's called Boyfriends.
The Heat Won't Fix Itself - The Finale
- “Wanna watch a DVD? I just got Garden State and the digitally remastered entire first season of Girlfriends. My buddies are gonna go nuts over how ironic I’ve become since yesterday,” exclaimed the 10 year old hipster as he romped through his DVD collection.
Without any spirit whatsoever, I clapped my mittens together twice and tacitly displayed my discontent with the situation by saying “Murder me” over and over in my head and occasionally out loud. I wish The Super would get back before this twerp continues this assault on my intelligence and good taste. Oh god. Too late.
And so he put Girlfriends in.
Actual dialogue from the show
A horse faced girl says to another horse face, “Oh no girlfriend. Oh no you din’t.”
“Oh yes I did, girlfriend. What you gonna do about it?”
“I’ll mop the floor with your long mane, girlfriend!”
Then a horse faced guy enters the scene, “Stop it you two!!! Just fucking stop it. We’re supposed to all be girlfriends.”
“He’s right. We’ll never again let shit come between us, girlfriend.”
They all hug and whinnie.
End of Episode 1
This continued for about 6 and a half more episodes. All of which ended the exact same way. If it wasn't enough to listen to the banal discourse on TV, I was getting Chinese finger cuffed with inanity from this ludicrous child--droning on and on about the deaths of emo, electroclash, and his pet iguana named Conor.
“Is he gone yet?” whispered a sneaky voice from within one of the nearby bedrooms.
"What was that?! Super! Are you in here?!" I was suddenly alert and fuming.
"Maybe. What's it to you?" the voice responded.
"Fix my heat, you bastard. This apartment is like a bathhouse without all the dudes! Inuits couldn't survive in mine. I can't believe this douche made me watch 7 episodes of Girlfriends for the sake of irony! I've had enough. I'm beating up both of you."
"All right all right. I'll turn the heat up." The Super slithered over to a thermostat that controlled the whole building and moved the lever on my apartment from 10 degrees to 60. "There! Are you happy?!"
We all began hugging and whinnying until I realized I hated the two of them.
What's that fetus doing in that snow globe?!
How'd that fetus get in there?
Whose fetus is it?!
See also: What's that dog doing in that egg?!
Trendspotting in Manhattan
- I can almost say for certain now that this:
is the new:
I'm referring to the earring in this man's right ear.
It's still unconfirmed what holding one of these means, but I'm sure it's related somehow:
Qualifications to Get on the Iraqi Ballot
There’s a pretty long list out there of qualifications necessary to be on the Iraqi election ballot. The following are some of the items that made my eyebrow curdle!
--You must pass physical exam in which you show ability to a) duck, b) cover, c) run 100m dash in under 11 flat.
--You can not be, like, totally crazy.
--Applicant must fit in size L or XL iron bodysuits.
--Native Iraqis preferred first, American puppet governors will be considered if and only if all qualified native Iraqis are dead.
--You can not look like any of those terrorists on 24. They all seem really suspicious—especially the Mom who almost won an Oscar. I don’t trust her.
--However, if you look like someone gentle and loving like Danny Tanner or Joey Gladstone on Full House, you’re in.
--Muslims preferred. Non-demoninational a plus.
--Applicant must be detail oriented, have good people skills, and work well with shrapnel.
--You may not usher in a sweeping hostile right-wing government takeover using the Midwestern Foot-soldiers of Jesus.
--You must be willing to give George W. hot crude oil massages with full release whenever asked.
--You must promise to build weapons of mass destruction only out of cardboard and papier mache. It'd be sweet if you told us where all the other ones were, not that it matters anymore.
--Applicant should have plan to return American servicemen home using method that does not require casket industry.
--Applicant must cover any remaining Saddam Hussein wheat pastings with Star Wars Episode III posters.
--If you have participated in suicide bombings, you are ineligible.
The Heat Won't Fix Itself - Part 1
- I was on the phone having a pleasant one sided conversation with my Super.
“No, you shut up! Don’t tell me to shut up. The thermostat says 10 degrees.”
“Look, either you get the heat working again now, or I’m going to get the police involved. And believe me, I WILL suggest that they shoot you.”
“Are we clear?”
“No, You’re a dick.”
I pitched the phone against the living room wall and pulled up my puffy ski mittens to cover the exposed flesh of my wrists. I redressed my wool scarf using the doubled up muffler a.k.a the European/homosexual knot and drummed my marshmallow parka belly to pass the time as I waited for the pipes to start rattling.
I crossed my eyes and concentrated on blowing perfect smoke rings with my chilled breath. I did this for about an hour, hope increasingly fading that the heat would kick on.
It’s time to take matters into my own finger muffs.
I stormed downstairs the brownstone and pounded on the door of one of the first floor apartments.
“Open up, Super. I know you’re in there.”
Inside, some really loud and obstreperous indie rock was blasting. A rush of heat wafts out the opening door.
A white boy of no more than ten years of age is standing there with a mop full of greasy hipster hair and a vanity scarf tied into a knotted muffler--a trendy innovation on the knot I was using spotted only in the grittier parts of the Lower East Side.
“Dude, what’s your deal? I’m just trying to listen to the new Fiery Furnaces EP in peace man. Pitchfork gave it a 8.9. What do you want, dude?” He tossed his mane back like a pompous pussy.
“Uh…I wanted to get my heat turned back on and your dad, the Super, is pivotal to this process.”
“He had to jet. He’d be back in a few, bro. You can wait for him. Lemme readjust the settings on my iPod Mini stationed in my BOSE deck so we can listen to some more tunes. Who do you like more: Animal Collective? Joanna Newsom? or The Dears? Man, you're bringin' all the cold in.”
He then zipped up his black hoodie, revealing the words CARPET and MUNCHER in an arc across the front.
“Isn’t it ironic? I got it at Beacon’s Closet in Williamsburg for only 10 bucks. Who would sell this?”
To be continued!
Plans for MLK Day?
- I usually try to spend this 3 day memorial weekend taking in one of the many Martin Luther King Jr. assassination reenactments going on around town. What are all of you doing to preserve his legacy?
If we’re going to the same one, maybe we can grab milkshakes or pizza beforehand.
Whoop-Dee-Doo Lee Kennedy-Schaefer! - Finale
- Oooh… My blood just boils when I think of all the attention Lee is getting. I yearn for just one more day of that glory. Alas…why have you forsaken me, Time? That was my moment. And now it is gone. Forever.
Everything seemed so clear immediately after I won the SAT—I was adored by all, the Ivies were in a bidding war to lure me, and Jay Leno added me to his speed dial.
I returned to the States following the Japan incident—the 2nd Japan incident, rather. The second one was the kicker. News hadn’t spread to Hokkaido yet that I was “unwaveringly flippant” and “boldly disrespectful” in my "hate speech" at the shrine—as reported in the Asahi Shinbun a few days later. Maybe if they refrained from throwing broken glass bottles at me, I wouldn’t have resorted to doing “Suck It” signs to the entire crowd.
Anyways… I was having dinner at Chen Kenichi’s posh restaurant in Hokkaido called Super Happy Funhole. The entire kitchen staff strides with Chen as he comes out and presents me with a platter of pickled plums, natoo beans, and blowfish.
“This,” I struggled with the words, “is not what I ordered, right?”
“Try it. These are Japanese delicacies,” Chen’s translator said. “Kenichi-san made it just for you. He demands you partake in his labor in front of him so he can see your satisfaction”
“You know I’m just gonna puke. But whatever.” I grabbed a pickled plum, popped it in and began chewing. “Mmmm…Oishii…(This is delicious)…ku nai! (Psych!)” I spit the rest into my sake cup. Gasps from everyone. “Oh, get over it. This food sucks.”
But I was still in the running for America’s Next Top Model, right?
Wrong. I was deported that night. On the long and quiet flight home, I casually flipped through the Times and stumbled upon this article.
SAT GETS RECENTERED FOR SPRING OF 1995For the first time since it’s inception, the SAT will be recentered on a score of 500 being the average score. What this means is that new test takers will have higher scores and wins will be much more common.
I dropped the paper at my feet and a tear welled up in my eye. I didn't know what to expect when the plane landed.
And when the plane did come back to Earth, my worst assumptions were true. There wasn't a single fan waiting for me. In the weeks ahead, the buzz disappeared. No one adored me, the Ivies hurriedly put their pants back on, and the last time I tried calling Jay Leno, I got a message that said "This number has been disconnected."
First, Japan turned on me. Then, the SAT turned on me. Finally, the whole wide world had turned and left me.
Whoop-Dee-Doo Lee Kennedy-Schaefer!
- So you got a perfect score on the SAT, Lee. Way to go. Yeah, I read the breaking headlines. I’d be more impressed if you could get through all of Aint-It-Cool-News without soiling your pleated pants.
I remember when I was the SAT It-boy…
Back in the Winter of 1995, I was coming off what became the final leg of my publicity tour following my stunning SAT victory. The Germans loved me, Scandinavia couldn’t get enough—I had one week of photo ops in Japan before I could return to America and receive the homecoming accolade shower I yearned to stand in.
When my plane landed, a swarm of frantic Japanese, holding posters and effigies of me, rushed onto the tarmac. I was so surprised and caught off guard! “This must be what Pearl Harbor felt like,” I thought to myself. I was ushered into a limo and driven to the steps of Tokyo’s famous Senso-ji shrine where I was to give an inspirational speech to the screaming youth of the nation.
I stood up and the roar of the crowd got so loud. I spent all day preparing the right thing to say to really connect with these SAT losing people. I tapped on the mic and announced:
“Kyoo wa, watashi mo anata no youna baka na Nihon-zin desu!”
(Today, I am a stupid Japanese person like you!)
The roar muffled a little bit.
I repeated myself, but this time I used an emphatic fist pump to the sky.
The people all stopped clapping. Someone yelled out, “Are ga, baka na gaizin desu!”
(That, over there--is a stupid foreigner!)
I felt I was starting to lose them.
To Be Continued!
Take Time to Volunteer: Homeless Outreach
- Because I am so magnanimous, I like to spend a few hours every month volunteering with the various relief agencies in New York. I spent last Saturday with the homeless outreach group called Shape Up, Homeless!
The mission of Shape Up, Homeless! is to get displaced and itinerant humans to shape up their bodies. We don’t just slap them with job applications like other tough love non-profits here such as, Get a Job, Vagrants! or The Stop Laying There Fund. We don’t care if they get jobs! We just want the homeless to be as excited and passionate about physical fitness as we are.
We get dressed up in tights and off-the-shoulder sweatshirts and drive around in an unmarked van until we spot a homeless person who isn’t moving. We then leap out and expound on the benefits of free weights and a 20 minute cardio routine.
Since I’m a newbie, I was in charge of the jump rope session on Saturday. We found Tracy “the Transient” over a storm grate in Alphabet City. We rushed out of the still moving vehicle.
“Come on Tracy! Let’s go. You can do it! Move your body!”
I offered her the jump rope. “It’s easy! Watch!” I skipped for a minute doing all sorts of intricate rope crossing tricks. “Your turn, Tracy!”
“Jesus…?” she muttered barely coherently. She lifelessly took the jump rope from my giving hands.
“Push it to the limit, Tracy!! Disregard your degenerative mental and physical illnesses and push it!”
“Commit to be fit!” the Shape Up, Homeless! team began chanting. “Commit to be fit!” Some were doing crunches around her, others showcased some synchronized Tae Bo moves, and one girl was doing kegels.
Tracy conquered gravity and stood up. “Commit to be fit,” we encouraged. She whipped the rope behind her feet. Against all odds, Tracy jumped the rope. “Commit to *gurgle* be *cough cough* fit….ugh…” she repeated. She bounded over the rope again and collapsed.
What a rousing success story! I did it! I made a difference.
First Day at the New Job - Part 4
- Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
Bobo Bridges and Sebastian Tolliver step out of the elevator. The smell of stinky crotch remains. Amidst their thick cloud of immutable man-scent, I can’t help but wonder if Bobo knows something about Sebastian’s schemes or if he’s just oblivious to the situation.
The situation, by the way, is that Sebastian is following me around plotting to kill me. He’s done a poor job so far. His skills as a deranged murderer are somewhat flawed, as it’s apparent he’s only been good at making idle threats, being annoying, and putting people other than me in the hospital.
I stand up and take the lift two floors higher. I’m 4 or 5 hours late to my first day of work so I think that I should just sneak in via one of the emergency stairwells.
I get out at 32 and as the doors open up, I notice something peculiar.
At the front desk of the reception area is a pleasantly posturing woman who may or may not be a pretty girl. She may be young or it could be that she's quite old. I can't even determine if she's fat or if she's simply big boned.
You see, it's impossible to tell because covering the whole of her body is a black burqa. Behind her is a flashing neon sign that says "The Council of--." The rest of the script is obscured by her head.
To be continued!
Hold on Hopes Ashlee Simpson, We Can Fix this
It’s so easy to pick on Ashlee Simpson. I once stood guilty of this, but then I had a change of heart and decided I should be saying nice things to her because no one else was. I have a new plan to salvage this music icon’s singing career.
In professional wrestling, two key terms are often thrown around: faces and heels. Faces are the good guys. A heel is bad guy. The classic heel will punch you in the penis, or steal your girlfriend, and he often is named Triple H. Both the face and heel are crucial elements to building momentum for a match. In the world of wrestling, if you can draw jeers from the crowd, you’re just as valuable as someone who gets cheers. Sometimes wrestlers will go from good to bad in what’s called a heel-turn. When Shawn Michaels tossed his tag team partner, Marty Jannety, through a glass window, his actions as a bad guy ignited the launch of a brilliant career.
Ashlee Simpson did the ultimate heel-turn on SNL by bludgeoning the nation in the head with a steel chair. And believe it or not, she’s done a spectacular job as a heel ever since!
When 72,000 people erupt into violent boos after a halftime performance, it means you’re pulling your weight as a bad guy. Good work! But she needs to keep this momentum going in order to remain a top heel in the industry.
Here’s a short list of things she can do the next time she's performing:
--Poop on stage
--Throw her feces at the crowd
--Follow promptly with her signature finishing move.
The only thing that could stop Ashlee Simpson short of the glory she deserves in this biz is a bigger, badder heel or a crippling spine injury.
A One Sided Conversation with My Subway Sandwiches Representative
“Hi Enrique. Nice to see you again too. *Exchange of angry glares* Could you put on another pair of plastic gloves please? Thanks.”
“I’ll take a footlong Meat Patty on Parmesan Oregano, no wait… I’ll try the Taco Flavoring & Colby today. Switch things up a bit.”
“Hmmm…how about lettuce…uh tomato. Lots of pickles. More than that. Okay, that’s good. Take some of those off. Do you guys have endive? Oh, I love endive. What about cardoon? It’s like an artichoke, sort of. No? Hmm. Well, what about plump aubergines cut into julienne shoestrings? Excuse me, you probably know them as eggplants. Do you carry those? The Subway by my apartment has them. No? Maybe I’m thinking of Blimpie’s. Why’d you ask me what veggies I want if you’re just gonna tell me you don’t have them. Oh… I’m supposed to choose from the ones in the buckets. How would anyone know that? Is there a sign?”
“I see the sign. Yeah, I see it. Christ. PLEASE CHOOSE FROM VEGETABLES IN THE BUCKETS. I can read. Shut up and make my sandwich.”
“Okay… some of those spicy peppers… um… what was that? Excuse me?? I know what that word means, hombre. Hablo espanol. I love butterflies too. Are you gonna make my sandwich or do I have to make your manager make my sandwich? All right. Jeez. Vinegar and oil… salt and pepper…mustard, mayo, hot sauce, some A1, red wine vinagrette, a splash of thai sesame… do you have Ranch Dressing? Great. Awwwwww yeah. Keep it coming. More. More. More. Almost there. More. More. A bit more. Mucho mas. Not quite. Keep it on the sandwich. Does no good for me if it’s on your cutting board. Put a drizzle on the top of the bread. Okay. Just a little bit more."
"Perfect. Can you cut that into eighths? I like eating them as finger sandwiches."
"5.89? I don't think so, slick. I'll in fact be using my club card today. Please ring up the appropriate price.”
Do I really look like this guy??
- As I was walking down Broadway yesterday, I heard a young teeny bopping floozy gasp and go, ‘Oh my God! That’s Napoleon!” To which her equally skanked out and startled friend said, “You’re right! Holy crap! I can’t believe he just stepped out of a Pottery Barn!”
So these broads come stomping up to me in their Ugg boots and they’re screaming, “Napoleon! Please, will you sign this piece of paper!” and “Oh, I’m like your biggest fan.”
“I think you’ve got the wrong man, sluts.”
“No we don’t. You’re Napoleon.”
“No! Quit toying with us.”
“Napoleon… the 18th century French Emperor?”
“Yes!!!” the girls shrieked simultaneously.
“No no no. I get a young David Byrne sometimes. Ben Affleck on occasion. And every once in a while that giggling gotard from Arrested Development. Surely you don’t mean…”
“Yes! You are Napoleon. Put your hand like this.” The slags positioned my hand so it was inside my parka. “Now pose.” Then they took a Dave Attell style picture in which they each pretended to lick my face and cup my groin while I stood there like a buffoon.
I started chasing after them but they took off running too fast.
In 2005, I resolve to...
- --Refrain from making thick clouds of chlorine gas while cleaning.
--Demand that any guests who come over bring their own chamberpot with them.
--Quit smoking blunts.
--Take up smoking spliffs.
--Try and work “glamourous” into my attributes and phase “filthy slut” out.
--Finish bag of Cheetos.
--Join a new club or group--e.g. Sam’s Club or Costco.
--Remove/rinse away biohazardous threats from bathroom.
--Increase awareness of diversity.
--Perform community outreach via new street theatre group I’m forming called P.O.U.T.Y. - - People Overriding Urban-decay for Thespianic Youth
--Freshen lies on resume with new 2005 buzz phrases like “eye for hexadecimals,” “I’m the dynamic paratransit provider you’ve been waiting for,” and “I have a rack you’ve just gotta see to believe.”
--Teach interns to coordinate themselves.
--Do less sitting, more spinning.
--Switch to 1024x768.
Feel free to share your resolutions.