Humor


Live it up, the dirt-nap is inevitable.

Forget sleeping-- LIVE IT UP! The dirt-nap's coming soon enough, people.

    Not to be an alarmist, but the four horsemen of the apocalypse are charging on the horizon–– riding evil angry pigs to deliver a death sentence to the entire human race! You included!!!!!

    Yes, this year’s model of doom and gloom is the Swine Flu, an oldie but goodie from the 70’s brought back to tickle your nostalgia bone and send you to the boneyard toot sweet. How can you tell if you have Swine Flu? Look for these telltale signs:

    1.  Your pig is achy and feels hot when you kiss its cheeks nightie-night-night

    2.  Piggie is not sleeping well and the bedroom floor is littered with spent Kleenex

    3.  Your pig is listless and its tail loses its natural bouncy curl

    4.  Poor porky requests chicken soup by the gallon

    5.  Your pig says it “feels like something the cat dragged home” and misses work wallowing in its own filth

    Once your pig is sick, you can get infected also.

    In order to protect oneself from Swine Flu, some people get all Lady MacBeth; washing their hands incessantly. Others play doctor and wear a mask over mouth and nose below their furrowed brows. And fear-filled fanatics hold their breaths in public and refuse to shake hands with anyone. Instead, they greet filthy, germ-ridden people with a cheery spray of gunfire, an action generally thought by etiquette experts to be not quite as cordial a greeting as a hearty handshake.

    Even though there have only been isolated cases of the Swine Flu reported worldwide, there is a full-on pandemic panic fueled by a flood of fear-mongering news reports. You’ve seen and heard the ‘bumpers’ on news shows before breaking for commercials:

    “Is your skin trying to kill you? We’ll tell you the surprising answer after the break…”

    “Is certain death the least of your worries after contracting Swine Flu? Stay tuned and find out how one expert says Swine Flu can affect you in the afterlife… and Chip will tell us in his three day forecast if it’s going to be good weather for cemetery plot shopping .”

    “We all know the dangers of Swine Flu, but you don’t know two common household items could kill you quicker and more painfully? We’ll tell you which one when we come back.”

    You wait on pins and needles to discover that washing down fistfuls of Drano with a half gallon of bleach makes Swine Flu look like a warm hug.

    It’s gotten so bad that The National Pork Producers Association is demanding Swine Flu be renamed “The Delicious, Nutritious And Surprisingly Versatile Other White Meat Sniffles”.

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She can sing, but can she change oil?

She can sing, but can she change oil?

    Susan Boyle, the 47-year old U.K. singing sensation who wowed the world with her recent performance on the TV sensation “Britain’s Got Talent” says she is “Gobsmacked, absolutely gobsmacked” by her instant brush with fame. Incredibly, the clip of her performance has attracted over 20 million views on gobsmacking website sensation YouTube.

    Ms. Boyle says the instant celebrity will not change her. “I plan to be my ownself, I do. I’m not about to let fame go to my head. If anyone gets in my way, I’ll crush them like a ripe grape. After all, I’m a big celebrity now, aren’t I? Don’t have to be dealing with lowly commoners. After all, I’m one of the beautiful people now!”

    Not so fast, Ms. Golden Throat. Although the Britain’s Got Talent” judges, beautiful Amanda Holden, handsome Piers Holden and heartthrob Simon Cowell, thought her singing was “extraordinary”, they are not quite ready to give Susan Boyle a membership key to Club Attractive Celebrities.

    “Look, I said she could sing,” said dyspeptic crank Simon Cowell, “and that’s all well and good, but I don’t want to be seen with her in public. She’s quite hideous looking, isn’t she? Like Zero Mostel in a wig. A gargoyle in a dress. Not the sort of person I want to be associated with.”

Beautiful people only like beautiful people

Beautiful people only like beautiful people

  Fellow glam-puss Amanda Holden agrees. “Susan was absolutely smashing, gave a wonderfully moving and beautiful performance, but let’s be honest–– she hasn’t got a chance to make it. She’s not pretty, and ‘not pretty’ is never pretty for an entertainer. I would hire her to clean for me, though. I imagine she’d sing as she scoured pots or scrubbed the tub, and that would be quite lovely to hear. I didn’t know ordinary looking people could have talent. It’s remarkable, really.”

    Judge Piers Morgan weighed-in with  his opinion on Ms. Boyle. “Quite the voice on her, I’ll say, but I’m afraid the package delivering it simply won’t do. I’d let her change the oil on my motor car or perhaps walk my dogs, if she sang while doing the tasks, but to see her on a stage while she sings? No thank you. She needs a lot more superficial beauty if she’s going to make it in show business. It’s not to say she couldn’t invest in some plastic surgery, body augmentations and enhancements. Perhaps she’ll invest in herself if she wins.”

    When told of the judges caustic comments Ms. Boyle reported she would grab a cricket bat and “give them a good gobsmacking upside their pretty little heads!”

    Britain’s got talent indeed!

 

   Actors Need Some Backstory To Grab Onto

Actors Need Some Backstory To Grab Onto

    Being an Adman, I’ve been involved with something we in the trade call commercials or spots (let me know if this is getting too ‘insider’).

    One of the keys to creating a successful spot is casting, the hiring of actors to pretend they are speaking the words you’ve put in their mouths. To help actors, I write extensive casting specs so the person knows the backstory of the character and can deliver a believable performance that won’t suck.        

    Here are the casting specs for a spot we did recently. Feel the characters leap to glorious life!     

    OVERVIEW:  This spot is about people and their seemingly never-ending need to eat food (preferably good food that has not been poisoned and will pass through the bowels gently). As such, we should cast real people, with a strong bias toward people with mouths so they can appear to eat food. The ability to act like you’re eating food is a must!     

    OUR CAST:     

    Marcie––African American girl, age 8 or so. She has an innate sense of style and a passion for dusting furniture. Many of her friends feel she may be a little too attached to Swiffer cloths, but Beth Ann assures them she only “likes them” for light dusting duty.     

    Beth Ann–– Caucasian girl, age 8 or so. She is precocious, has an exceptional vocabulary and loves her family even though certain members are plotting against her. She’s something else!     

    Gammy–– African American woman, age 65-70. She is a passionate cook and a compassionate soul who sees the good in all people (except Ben Stiller, who she thinks is “pretty stuck on himself”). Gammy is all about the love of food, her family and the semi-annual sales at Linen & Things (where she has acquired a very impressive collection of “things” and some cheap towels and threadbare dishrags).     

    Susan–– An African American woman, age 35 or so. She is Marcie’s mother and Gammy’s daughter. She is a kind woman, warm, caring and not as tall as she looks. She is proud of her daughter and somewhat fearful of her mother ever since ‘the potato salad incident.’ She wishes she were better with numbers, but what can you do– you’ve either got the ‘number gene’ or you don’t. What are the odds she’d be born with it? Susan will never know, she’s horrible with numbers.     

    Robert–– African American man, age 35 or so. He is Marcie’s father. He loves action films, is a huge fan of James Patterson’s fiction and is quite adept at managing his minor bladder infection he’d rather not talk about.     

    Tracy–– Beth Ann’s mother, age 35 or so, who harbors some resentment that Beth Ann’s name is “Beth Ann” (she was named after her husband’s departed mother). Tracy wanted to call her daughter “Cinderella Sue Bethany” because she had never met anyone with that name. But, as Tracy is often fond of saying when she nips a cool cocktail, “Life is one miserable compromise and disappointment followed by another… and bitterness, rejection, agonizing pain and sorrow is your just  reward.”  She’s a ‘glass half full’ kind of gal!

    Ken–– Beth Ann’s father, age 40. He’s a gregarious sort, fond of quietly counting to 10,000 by prime numbers. He had a dog named Barney when he was a child. The dog was hit and killed by a garbage truck. Ken has hated garbage ever since and so refuses to throw anything out, including table scraps he’s saved for Barney.    

    Michael–– Caucasian boy, age 9. He is the brother of Beth Ann and coincidently, the son of Tracy and Ken. Michael is a quiet child making him the perfect companion on a trip to the library. He loves his parents but harbors some resentment toward his sister, ‘Miss Perfect Pants’, who he feels his parents show favoritism toward. Like on her birthday when she got a pony, a ride on a hot air balloon and a crisp $10,000 bill. On his birthday, he got the lid to a Heinz Ketchup bottle, a small length of mangled yarn and a pinky poke to the left eyeball.  

    That should about do it, actors. Enjoy your roles, become the character, live in the moment from moment to moment!   

   Finis.

The horrific act!

The Horrific Act That Shook The Royal World!

First Lady Michelle Obama has England all a-titter as a result of her brazen breach of protocol in greeting her highness, Queen Elizabeth II yesterday. The U.S. First Lady had the audacity to actually touch the Royal Mother’s royal backside– with her glove-less hand!

This flagrant assault to civility has Anglophiles worldwide “quite upset, actually. Not at all pleased.” The formal greeting of Her Highness is to curtsey, grovel at her feet pleading one’s unworthiness to be in her company, self-flagellation with a cat o’ nine tails and signing over ownership of all worldly possessions to the Queen.

Sir Nigel Rathbunn Tittleshower-Glipp, a noted British historian reports that Ms. Obama’s egregious act was “one of the most horrific things to ever happen in the history of civilisation.”

“I would put Ms. Obama’s terrible faux pas right up there with other noted American breaches of proper etiquette when in the company of a Royal subject. While I do not believe The First Lady’s barbaric incident surpasses Grover Cleveland’s outrageous behavior toward Queen Victoria in 1895, it still ranks in the top three of all time U.S. insults to the Crown.”

The disgrace of The Nation

The Disgrace of The Nation

The infamous Grover Cleveland incident took place on March 11, 1895 when President Cleveland patted Queen Victoria smartly on her rump, then jumped up onto her back and requested a “piggyback ride ’round the Palace. Bystanders were shocked and not terribly amused by the portly president’s juvenile behavior. Cleveland weighed over 250 pounds, or as the Brits say, “18 stones– a bloody ton.”

The Royal Mother was also decidely not amused. “The President certainly enjoys his mutton and ale,” she famously quipped, “for his lard-ass was a chore to haul about. Twenty-eight minutes was all I could bear with that porker on my back.”

The Queen Was Not Amused

The Queen Was Not Amused

Cleveland took little offense at her comments and tried to make amends by kissing Queen Victoria. However, it appeared that “slipping The Lady a little tongue” is also a flagrant breach of Royal protocol. Cleveland was asked to never again set his heavy foot on British soil.

The other famously brazen American act of disrespect to a Royal happened on July 20, 1976 when President Gerald Ford met Queen Elizabeth II at Buckingham Palace and proceeded to attempt dancing “The Bump” with her to a Bee Gees disco song playing on a nearby radio.

President Ford was immediately banished from the Palace. Her Highness told reporters, “Disco sucks. Zeppelin rules.” She then flipped open a malt liquor and chugged.

Being bad has its rewards

Losing gobs of money has its rewards

    Americans own 80% of some company called AIG, which I believe stands for Assets Instantly Gone. We’ve taken almost $200 billion of our taxpayer money and shoveled it into this black hole that has lost trillions.

    Now these same inconsiderate American taxpayers are bellyaching because the brainiacs running AIG were paid a paltry $165 million in bonuses. We’re mad as hell and we want our money back!

    What a nation of ingrates we are!

    It takes brains, skill and dogged determination to mismanage funds the way these devoted AIG fatcats did. They did this all without much government oversight or regulation.

    Now many of the same politicians who accepted financial industry lobbyist funds in election support, then passed laws to deregulate the industry so that companies like AIG could engage in risky speculation, are griping and finger pointing saying that AIG gambled foolishly and came up snake eyes. They say AIG is so enormous, we have to bail them out. Then these politicians get angry because AIG bigwigs are giving themselves a bonus bump for losing at the craps table.

    Hey, if we want them to continue their excellent work, we’ve got to pay the piper. This kind of money-flushing costs money! 

You've got to pay the piper, babes!

You've got to pay the piper, babes!

     If we don’t reward these people, if we tried to once again place government regulations in place that would restrict risky speculative gambling schemes, this company could actually make money! 

    And if that happened,  politicians wouldn’t have a boogie man to blame after they approved the bailout, our tax money would be spent on things that benefit society at large and our children and future generations would not have to live under the burden of gigundo debts to pay back. How’s that supposed to teach them character and grit? 

    $165 million is a drop in the bucket for all the benefits we receive from our AIG. This is our company, let’s do the right thing. 

    Maybe we should consider giving them raises, too.

 

 

Madoff Found His Cell Lacking Character, Style and Gold

Madoff Found His Cell Lacking Character, Style and Comfort

    Now that 70-year old Bernie Madoff has been tucked away in prison for up to 150 years (which is not a life sentence given that Madoff sold his soul to live forever), the notorious swindler is in a new legal battle with John Thain, ex-Chairman and CEO of Merrill Lynch.

    Madoff found his closet-sized jail cell “pretty confining” so he hired Thain to decorate his new crossbar home. “John has an excellent eye,” Madoff said at the time he secured Thain’s services, “I know he’ll give me something that doesn’t feel so ‘prison-y’.”

    Thain, who was lambasted with bad P.R. earlier this year for spending $1.22 million in corporate funds to renovate two conference rooms, a reception area and his office (the tab included a  $35,000 commode and $1,400 wastebasket), recently opened an interior decorating firm called Johnny T’s Fab Designateria. He was excited to have Madoff as a client.

Thain is know for 'Style on a budget'

Thain is know for 'Style on a budget'

    Two men met in Madoff’s luxurious New York apartment over three weeks in February discussing the project. “I told John I was on a strict budget, my legal fees are outrageous. I said to him, I said, ‘Johnny, you’ve only got $100 million to play with. I know that’s less than $2 million a square foot but I need something really nice on a tight budget. Please give me something cozy. Maybe a gold-plated commode with emerald-encrusted T.P. holder, a Craftmatic Adjustable Bed that vibrates and dispenses Chteau Latour Pauillac 1990 or some other fine wine, maybe some dangling beads to separate the cell and make rooms look bigger and a rec area with a sequoia pool table or platinum ping pong table. Johnny nodded his head and said ‘No prob, Maddy, I gotcha covered, babe.”

Madoff says he feels like he's "in prison."

Madoff says he feels like he's "in prison."

    Thain proceeded to bill Madoff $50 million for partial payment and got down to work. Madoff felt confident he was in great hands for the next 150 years of confinement.

    When Madoff showed up to his new home recently, he was shocked to discover no gold commode, cool dangling beads, rec center or fancy wine-dispensing bed. His cell was standard issue bland with a couple boxes from IKEA stacked on the bed. Taped on the boxes was an envelope with a note from Thain and an invoice for an additional $50 million. The note read, “Dear Bernie: Since the budget was pretty tight, I got you a GLUR, RHEA, KRIG and FIIR decorating systems from an exclusive little Swedish company I’ve recently discovered. When you put these together, I think you’ll see your cell will take on a more palatial feel. You’re gonna love it babe! Please see about expediting my final payment. I’m a little strapped for cashola and the Swedes are leaning hard on me for their money. Thanks, dude, rock on rockstar! Johnny T.”

    Madoff feels like he’s been cheated and has contacted his lawyers to sue  Thain. Mr. Madoff is most upset that he cannot correctly assemble his fine Swedish furnishings. “There’s always like three parts left over,” a frustrated Madoff said throwing a small allen wrench against the wall.

    Thain could not be reached for comment.

    Pacific Coast Highway, somewhere in Malibu. I wake up, hydraulic pistons inside my head doing a number on my skull– like Keith Moon on an angry expresso bender. My eyes are crusted. Two vultures in a tree look down on me with beady hungry eyes. Seeing me move, they slowly flap their wings and take flight, disgusted.

    It’s a couple days after the Academy Awards after-parties, and this intrepid reporter will do his best to hunt and peck the stories I have seen. The ones I remember, at least. 

After the after-parties, all you have are the memories you can remember.

After the after-parties, all you have are the memories you can remember.

    After the Awards Ceremony, I get a ride with Hugh Jackman and Beyonce and we hit Elton John’s party and I’m doing the Mashed Potato with Jennifer Aniston when who walks in but Angelina with Brad, and I’m like, Jen– ohmygod, I cannot even believe they came here” and she was like “I don’t care, I am so totally over him” and I’m like “well, yeah, but I mean can you even believe she brought him here– maybe he’s still into you after all” and Jen flips her hair and says whatever” and then Angelina comes by and drops a B-bomb under her breath and Jen just goes ballistic and she’s all over Angie gouging her face and yanking her hair and I see Brad and he’s up at the bar checking out Reese Witherspoon and making moose-shaped hand shadows on the wall for Uma Thurman’s amusement and so I try and break-up the fight and I get clocked by Mickey Rourke who climbs up on the stair railing like’s he’s going to rain a ‘Ram’ down on me and I quickly get to my feet, grab Ron Howard and shove him into Mickey who topples down the stairs and knocks Halle Berry off her feet and then I see Kate Winslet and she’s using her Oscar as a martini stir stick so I grab it and begin brandishing it at Rourke saying “You want some of this, come ‘n get it, loser!” and then out of nowhere Sean Penn steps up with his Oscar in hand and says “Hey, man, Mickey’s my bro, you can’t dis him like that!” and Meryl Streep take a champagne bottle, smashes it on a table, turns the newfound weapon with sharp shards of green glass to Sean and says “Leave Scooter alone, or I will cut you but good!” and Daniel Craig confidently steps in to calm her down and he gets a face full of Meryl’s glassy rage and he’s gushing blood and yelling that she “can’t do that to James Bond!” and she’s dancing around like Ali in his prime, ready to attack any other takers when John Mayer comes by innocently with his guitar and Meryl jabs him hard in the shoulder and down he goes and Danny Boyle decides he’s seen enough of Meryl’s rampage and he begins tossing Oscar after Oscar at the great actress as she dodges them expertly (Rourke’s picking up the Oscars like a greedy fool, giggling) and finally some bouncers come in and break it up and Hugh Jackman picks up Meryl’s broken champagne bottle and duct tapes it to the back of his hand and says “Lookit, everyone, I’m Wolverine, baby!” and he starts doing some crazy soft shoe dance and I’ve had enough and as I’m leaving the party I see Marty Scorsese talking with Steve Spielberg and I tell them, I say,”You know, if there’s one thing I hate it’s a name dropper,” and I leave and the next thing I know I wake up with some vultures are eyeing me for breakfast and up on the hill there’s the ashes of a luxurious estate.

     This here Hollywood’s one rough place.

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