SlapClap

I am so crushed by politics. These word wizards seducing our vote, using the cotton candy in their mouth to hide a forked tongue. Take this guy, Alvin Greene. He’s like the smoke monster on Lost. Let him speak to you once and you’ve already lost.

The interview makes it clear. He won the South Carolina senate primary with displays like this, unleashing the fevered tempo of his charisma. As if he’d blown each carefully chosen word through the right end of God’s golden trumpet.

I brought naan to work with me today. It’s a kind of bread, idiot. Native Americans eat it, and people in Queens who know too much about food because it’s a safer fetish than sex.

You eat naan with curry, but I had mine sans Hindu influence in the handicap stall of the bathroom at work.

I take a fifteen minute lunch break: eat my naan, win two games of cell phone Solitaire, pretend to flush, then go back to my desk. I know it sounds like I have an ex-wife, but I don’t.

Ed in south Florida met Cookie Rockefeller on Craigslist, and treated her to a 2-for-1 meal at a fondue restaurant. A date rife with … MISUNDERSTANDMES.

Cookie Rockefeller: Me too!

Ed: Do you? What’s your favorite album?

Cookie Rockefeller: Probably “Ghost in the Machine.”

Ed: Isn’t that by The Police?

Cookie Rockefeller: The police are here?

Ed: No. The Police. Sting?

Cookie Rockefeller: Geez Louise, it’s a sting. I saw this on Cocaine Cowboys– EVERYBODY ON THE FLOOR. IT’S DRUGS!

Ed: No, it’s –

Cookie Rockefeller: IT’S DRUGS, Y’ALL. DON’T PAY FOR THE FOOD!

Ed: No, lis– sit down. Police the band.

Cookie Rockefeller: Police the band? Then who’ll watch the lawyers? I kid.

Ed: I –

Cookie Rockefeller: It’s a joke, plum. “Wordplay.” My sister’s a lawyer.

Ed: Really? That’s interesting.

Cookie Rockefeller: My lawyer. She’s my lawyer. I slashed a john in the face.

Ed: You slashed – his name was John?

Cookie Rockefeller: Shhhhhuuuure? There was a car accident.

Ed: He hit your car.

Cookie Rockefeller: No, we were in the car together. Parked. I was on the passenger side? “Seat belt off,” if you know what I mean. Let’s change the subj. What’s your favorite Clash song, “Message in a Bottle?”

Ed: That’s not a –

Cookie Rockefeller: Song you can relate to? Who could! A song about a guy in North Carolina who keeps throwing bottles in the ocean.

Ed: I think it’s fair, at this point, to bring up that that sounds an awful lot like a Kevin Costner movie.

Cookie Rockefeller: And then this lady finds one of his bottles in the water, in Chicago.

Ed: From North Carolina? That’s physically impossi–

Cookie Rockefeller: And she opens the bottle, and there’s a message in it saying “Go to Persia, and fight the King,” because he banned punk music.

Ed: You just described “Rock the Casbah” by The Clash.

Cookie Rockefeller: And then the woman shows the bottle to these big greased up 300 men, and they fly to Persia and fight the evil King, and all the habib’s.

Ed: (Racist.)

Cookie Rockefeller: The King, though, is too unprepared to fight, distracted as he was by a very classy French prostitute.

Ed: Let me guess, named Roxanne? Kept the red light on?

Cookie Rockefeller: No, that’s a Police song.

Ed: Of course it – what?

Cookie Rockefeller: What??

Ed: Are we – is this still a bit?

Cookie Rockefeller: What bit?

Ed: Don’t ask me. I didn’t write it.

Cookie Rockefeller: Who did?

Ed: David Foster Wallace.

Cookie Rockefeller: No! REALLY?

Ed: Of course not. Some loser with a blog.

(l-r: Howard Zinn; JD Salinger)

In 5th grade they asked us “What would you like to be when you grow up?” One kid said a doctor, another said an astronaut. The kid next to me wanted to be “a CPA” if you can believe it.

I was next. “CPA” threw me. I had to say something interesting, doubly hard because I grew up idolizing the fire department. So instead I said I wanted to write obituaries. “Pardon?” asked Ms. Chismar. I repeated. “Young man,” she recoiled. “Do you even know what that means?“

I didn’t but, similar to my stated desire to become one, I pretended. Ms. Chismar, fearing the worst, informed my parents. They rejoiced: Writing obituaries? That’s steady work. I haven’t wanted to disappoint my parents since, which is why, even know, they think it my life’s passion. “Living the dream…” I imagine they say to each other when someone famous dies.

I told them I write an obit column for New York Newsday (I don’t). They don’t live in the area, and Newsday only has 35 online subscribers, so my secret is safe. Every once in a while I mail them fake obits, I write in my spare time, to keep up the charade. Ps, I’m no good at it:

****

Acclaimed novelist Howard Zen died today. The notorious recluse, and anti-war protester, died from injuries sustained in a fight involving switchblades. Customarily, in these fights one arm is tied behind the back, explaining why Mr. Zen’s left arm was found wrapped in a Mohegan Sun monogrammed washcloth. Mr. Zen wrote the book “Catch Her in the Wry” about communism and being a teenager.

Mr. Zen also wrote several long books, and a few short ones, and was an adamant protester of the Vietnam War Memorial, constructed in 1982. “I will not rest until we put a stop to this war memorial, and ALL war memorials,” he famously said, into a megaphone, outside a federal building with people watching.

Mr. Zen leaves behind a big, red axe and twin dalmatians. Asked to name one regret in life, Zen answered “It would have been cool stopping fires.”

At McDonald’s we understand the importance of family. We also understand, in today’s America, not all families are equal, some are missing a mommy or a daddy. That’s why here at McDonald’s we’re taking steps to improve our family friendly dining establishments, because we put family values even ahead of our value meals. (nudge, nudge)

So beginning this summer every Saturday is “Divorced Dads Deals” day. Dads in divorces, you never ate this good.

No matter if you’re treating your son and his soccer team to a round of McFlurrys or waiting for your ex-wife to arrive with papers that establish new payment minimums on your child support, we have the deal for you: Dollar menu meals half off, full-price 8-piece McNuggets served with free medium Sprite refills, and all you can eat Filet-O-Fish sandwiches. We’re giving those away.

But wait… there’s more.

Divorced dads can luxuriate in our new barstools section where we will not be serving **alcohol. Then enjoy your free medium Sprite at one of our many listening booths that feature the latest songs from our music partners at the K-Rock radio family, stations nationwide. Take advantage of McDonald’s bathroom reading area, or pick up a rake and find bliss in our *Cactus Zen Garden, and as always plenty of parking.

*Cactus Zen Gardens not available at South Carolina locations

**Alcohol available at South Carolina locations

(via synecdoche)

The old man tossed in bed and then expelled a frightful whooping cough. His pillow damp from the wetness of his brow. He turned over all the way in bed to face his grandson. The quiet one he never liked. “It…“

“What Grandpa?” asked the boy rushing to his side.

“…warn them. Must. Coming…” he said between shivers. The moon glowed a full silver through his attic window.

“Grandpa? Grandpa?” repeated the boy.

“It’s coming… SOON.” Grandpa slumped over. His heart had stopped. His eyes still full of warning.

As much as I liked Willie Wonka’s Chocolate Factory Sweepstakes I imagine that before he became a rich yet generous business maverick he went through a phase of being a complete dick animal. Like Philip Seymour Hoffman in Scent of a Woman meets Philip Seymour Hoffman in Mission Impossible 3, but gay-confused like Boogie Night’s Philip Seymour Hoffman.

In those days the diminutive Wonka would park his champagne colored four-seat Vespa in the dean’s faculty spot, and pull off his white leather riding gloves by their tassels with his teeth, in front of the poorest three students at the prep school. All of them thinking the same thing: “I hope you die on that Vespa Wonka. You chocolate smearing piece of sh*t.“

(via)

If David Morse was a club DJ who spins at hotels in Honolulu, and never worked out, it might look. a little. like. this…

“The Calvin Klein letter design came about in the early 70′s Mrs. Mendes. What you’re admiring there is the Futura™ Book font designed by Paul Renner in 1932. You’ll notice it’s, um, a Sans Linear Geometric font which means it’s, um, basically good for logos but not quite as effective as text.”

“What else? What else?”

“Attributes! The attributes are credited to the late-20′s German Bauhaus school of design, implying bold and symmetrical shapes. Not to be confused with the Peter Murphy fronted English goth band of the same name. We get that a lot.”

“Aaaaaaaand… let’s see.”

“It’s a very masculine font. Not like- like, uh”

“…she’s looking at her own ass isn’t she?”

ABC canceled Hank this week, and according to Entertainment Weekly there are no plans to air the remaining five episodes of the show.

So where does that leave us, the audience? With just memories I guess, like sand between curled toes. We will move on of course, but before we do we’ll remember. We will remember Hank.

Related: Kelsey Grammer falls down.

People tell me it’s weird I carry a 2″ x 3″ inch picture of Jon Gosselin in my wallet, but I happen to like Jon Gosselin. His forceful, preternaturally tan face; the magnetism of ever probing eyes. So much wisdom there. Much to learn. Then people say “Well Jon Gosselin can’t show emotion without his eyebrows.” Well ain’t that a great point!

Mind you, these SAME people had no idea who Jon Gosselin was a minute ago, before I opened up my fat wallet to pay for dinner and it accidentally fell out. Now they want to know EVERYTHING.

“‘Why do you have a picture of Jon Gosselin in your wallet?’ and ‘You told me your new friend’s name was Jon?’ and ‘Is this why your wallet has a combination lock?’ and ‘Are you gay?’ and ‘Why do you cry in bed so much?’ and ‘This is why we’re not ready for a kid- let alone EIGHT!’”

Date. Over.

“Remember Jason?”

“Jason?”

“Blind guy. White hair? He used to drive around on that special scooter?”

“Yeah. Whatever happened with that guy?

“I think he’s on a Soap now.”

“Get out. Which one?”

“I’m kidding. He drove off a cliff Senior year. You don’t remember that?”

In 1995 during a sketch called “Rita & Her Son” Cheri Oteri accidentally says “look at this shit” after a hockey net gets caught on her house dress. Later during the goodnights, Cheri puts a $1 dollar bill into a swear jar behind host David Schwimmer.

From Wikipedia: “Samuel Johnson had a tall and robust figure, but his odd gestures and tics were confusing to some on their first encounter with him.”

From Dickipedia: “Samuel Johnson could barely write, but everything he wrote he read, making him America’s foremost expert on kink only Samuel Johnson could stomach.”

It’s obvious Miley had something important to say here, but Twitter with its blasted government mandate of 140 characters or less wouldn’t allow it. Some guesses:

Opinions are like… the oriental ginger lotion bottles they put in your gift bag when you check out of the Dubai Seven Star hotel …Everybody has one.

Opinions are like… well, let me just put it this way. We must always think about things, and we must think about things as they are, not as they are said to be. George Bernard Shaw said that. By the way, I hate the way re-interpretations have romanticized the ending to Pygmalion. You do own a first print copy of Pygmalion don’t you?…Everybody has one.

Opinions are like… roaches, which are like rumors. Remember that song? Or was that two songs? It was two songs! One was by The Timex Social Club, and then Bobby Jimmy & the Critters did a parody of it where they replaced the word “rumors” with “roaches.” Hilarious. That must have been… ’84? It’s hard to remember because I was two. Anywho, I think you get the f*cking point …Everybody has one.

Related: Miley Cyrus works the pole

Related: And she’s not a dude

Excerpt from the graphic novel I Kill Giants, by Joe Kelly & J.M. Ken Niimura

If it seems, sometimes, that all the unclever people move to L.A. and get rewarded then don’t read the L.A. Weekly piece about Travis Keller, founder of late 90′s rock gossip site Buddyhead.

Three important things to know about Keller:

1. Fred Durst can suck it.
2. When he’s not way out on that limb, he likes to brag that he was on the internet when he was just 14-years old, which is nice but not really impressive if you happen to be 14-years old and reading this.
3. In 2004 he turned down $12M dollars from a company that wanted to buy his website, that he admits reads like a Perez Hilton blog:
   

File this one simultaneously under “dorkus” and “malorkus”. “probably” gay soft-rock cracker shithead John Mayer is in a twitter-fight with that tubby Hispanic dude with gelled-up parrot hair and whiney bitch voice, Perez Hilton, that does some gossip site, that might remind you of this one (we did it first fat-ass)

Also in that article, the L.A. Weekly calls Keller “a rapier wit.” You getting this Dick Cavett? Here you thought you already landed your white whale.