I've made a soft mention in past posts about my primary occupation, which is being the cyber miscreant/gimp/slave for a TV news station. I think I mentioned it. It's either that or where I'm from. I swear, I shouldn't divulge much about the real identity of this blogger but what's the use. I've been writing these entries as if I'm Hemingway and I'm penning The Old Man and The Sea. Uh oh. Andy Rooney-tangent.
Anyways, I've come across some interesting co-workers whose primary job is to hock news into your living room/sex room/cauldron, what have you, on a daily basis. And the thing with disseminating news on a daily basis is the appearance of making everything serious enough that you might not know the person reading the news. HLN anchors actually speak to the audience as if they're having a conversation, which is a plus in basic TV anchoring. But then again, we return to square one when anchors bring you the news on your local station.
So I find this piece of video refreshing as two of WGN Chicago's main anchors take a moment to keep things playful...and awfully coordinated, during their post A-block commercial break. Watch out for the Thriller gestures in the choreograph. This kinda shows that not all anchors were born with a broomstick up their ass. Fox News anchors definitely need not apply.
Yes, I was aware of another "untimely" death that happened within a matter of 72 hours. Billy Mays was sorta like an enigma to me. He appeared during the most unexpected times of the television viewing day and his enthusiasm over the products he was hocking actually made those products good enough to get our attention. Yet it's because of that enthusiasm that I found him to be slightly insufferable and easily mockable. And then came along a prostitute kissing, prostitute beating douchebag who wanted to make his New York-accent believable to audiences who were sucked into the most usless rag on earth. And it's with this that Billy's profession was put into perspective. There was no one like Billy. In some respects, he could be viewed as the originator of the television pitch game when we know some of the legends before him. The Juiceman and Ron Popeil come to mind. But Billy was a real person who made us believe that we had real problems in our lives that could only be solved with whatever he was selling. Whether the bottom line of these pitches were ethical becomes irrelevent with his approach to the sale. And that is that you could see that he believed in the product that he was selling. If you have seen an episode of Pitch Men on A&E, you would have known that he doesn't necessarily invent these products but gives the chance to regular American people to sell their inventions.
Here's to you, Billy. I will make sure I buy three 2-gallon buckets of OxyClean while I wipe my ass with a ShamWow.
In this recent internet age, the Jay Leno-types of jokes and bashing of Michael Jackson only got more intense as blogging became popular. But you can't blame bloggers and comedians making fun of Jacko. What with his bizarre behavior, alleged pedophilia, and skin discolorization. But then again, Jackson was someone who was on top of the world. You would expect one album or two to raise the status of a singer and just let it peak until we woulld get tired of it. But with Michael, it was a string of Jackson 5 hits and then Off the Wall and Thriller. The man, indeed, made Thriller, and it was this that Michael grabbed your ear and made you take notice. Trash him for what he became after that time but the dude was a genius when it came to making music. Don't say that you didn't tap your feet when you first heard "Can't Stop Til You Get Enough."
His crazy behavior after the Dangerous album cannot be vouched for, though, at least by me. His life and demise are that of the typical E! True Hollywood Story but magnified to a greater degree. The man who died was a music icon and personally I adored the music rather than the path following the music. Here's to you Jacko. I will play Billie Jean on repeat tonight.
I think summer is where the geniuses at Showtime and HBO pull off their great strategy of getting the masses to watch the poo they fling at the public. You can't go wrong with True Blood, Weeds, and the unheralded Nurse Jackie filling the summer watching slate. And this particular summer makes me regret that I have to cut costs and not get premium cable, no less a DVR box. I swear, getting premium in the past and not having it is when a rich junky gets exposed to the "stuff," gets off it because of low funding, then regrets spending all that money on getting a "rush" just because he wants that rush now. I have no idea how the picture could have been painted but let's just say I want Showtime and HBO pushed through my veins now.
With that said, two prominent shows are making their return to the summer slate -- Californication and Entourage. Guess which show I badly need to watch more.
Here's the preview for Californication:
And here's the preview for Entourage, if you're into that kinda thing:
No, Uncle Buzz. These guys aren't here to end yo' life like sucka ass fool.
So the latest public figure to get slingshot back into our consciousness is 2nd man on the moon, Buzz Aldrin. And, whaddya know, he's droppin' a fat moon rock on the hip-hop game. Funny or Die has Aldrin teaming up with Snoop Dogg and the very underrated (in a good way) Talib Kweli to drop his single "Rocket Experience." Of course, there's no way they can make this real. I mean, all those FoD guys are just faking it, right? Oh. Here's the 'making of' vid:
I love boobies. There's no question and no qualms about it. I just do. I even would go to great lengths to build a time machine to keep Punky Brewster from killing her cans. So with that said, I endorse this "Kush Support" product in the name of the chesty women out there who ache from the front (as opposed to aching from the "back" *ZING!* and by back, I mean anus). Sleep well, my mammarically enhanced women. May you no longer feel pain. By the way, this product totally looks like some hardcore titty f**kin'. I'm just sayin'.
That headline was to shock people. Of course, childhood labor is very un-American, unless one of those children were to be part of a set of twins or sextuplets or octuplets and that automatically churns out a meal ticket for the brave woman that pushed them out and the lazy man that just happened to hit it on all cylinders during the conception.
As you may have no doubt heard, Jon and Kate Gosselin, the parents of the said sets of twins and sextuplets, are divorcing, as it was unsurprisingly announced on their Jon and Kate Plus 912 program. You really hate to see the dissolution of a relationship. But, of course, you mix in one volatile attitude with an unrelenting slob and eight quarter-Asian children and TV cameras, you get a big mess on your hand. At this point, I think the misery of it all is enough for Kate to wish she bought that diaphragm or got that morning after pill...or for Jon to just hit on that other chick that totally wasn't Kate. That way, neither of these people would have such infamy blasted in their faces. Then again, though, Kate would not have gotten that tight mommy body she got and Jon would not have gotten that full head of hair he acquired from the Hair Club for Men.
It's a shame. Who knows? Maybe when the little Gosselin boys grow up, Dad will probably show them the proper way to holler at bitches on the side and to negotiate with a hooker. And maybe the Gosselin girls will learn from their mom how to create an insufferable atmosphere to choke a roomful of puppies.
UPDATE: So Kate says in divorce papers that she and Jon were already separated, for at least the past two years, thus, creating the biggest televised sham ever!
So apparently the "Queen of All Media" Perez Hilton got "assaulted" in Toronto over the weekend. The kicker of the assault apparently was who he accused of the hit -- Will.i.am of the Black Eyed Peas [TMZ has the story].
Here's an obvious double-edged sword about this. First, it's Perez Hilton. He seems like an alright guy from a relevant sense of notoriety. Despite his poorly constructed MS Paints of penii on certain celebrity faces, he just seems to keep his lispy mouth into things that shouldn't necessitate him to be.
And then you have the Black Eyed Peas, who I loved back in 1998 when they started that conscious hip-hop movement, incorporating the talents from different racial backgrounds into the fold. You know, something like a modern day rap equivalent to Prince's crew. Then, 2002 hit and they wanted relevancy badly. And you could tell when they decided to add the pop chick to the group. And suddenly, an L.A. hip-hop group that no one knew is suddenly on the mainstream, with pop records playing at every prom, graduation party, and marriage reception. Boo on that!
So, in summation, I could care less about this incident. I just want to make the point that if I started pandering and just starting shit out of thin air, I would put a little more class and little less slut to the occasion. Speaking of, I'm calling out the yellow Wiggle. That muthaf*cka is totally queer.
So. I went out for the third straight alcohol-fueled night in the dirtbag desert. Night 1 was a drama-filled birthday outing. Night 2 was almost about the same. Night 3 was interesting. After serving a carne and pollo asado barbecue to these four L.A. chicks who were visiting my roommate, my crew stepped it out to a rather raucous yet L.A.-like nightclub.
There, more alcohol was added but a hella lot more sweat was in the occasion. I mean, what with all my Dance Fever aspirations. Anyways, in the middle of the club was this boyish all-American guy no taller than 5'9" sticking out like a sore thumb. Sure enough, to my friend's confirmation, it was that dude who played the gay guy on Dawson's Creek. For those who are as smart as I am and can identify whom's whom in Hollywood, the guy was Kerr Smith. The guy was just chilling out at the club and trying to run game with his own entourage of guys who totally looked older than he was. I slapped hands with him and asked him about his next project, a TV project for midseason on the CW. Recently, he starred in My Bloody Valentine and was on Eli Stone.
Anyways, me being the "Turtle" of any small group of guys, I tried hooking him up with a nice bachelorette party with my stupid ass dance moves, of which I was tagged the "Bad Dancing Guy" with another stupid ass bachelorette party. If I wasn't too drunk and sweaty with the dancing, I coulda sworn one of those tall, nice figured bridesmaids was wearing no underwear at all.
I spoke to Kerr once more after and he said he came all the way out from L.A. for bachelorette party hunting season. Yes, me too, I said. He's a cool guy and awfully handsome. I can't get over the fact that he's 37. And to think about 11 years ago, he was on TV making out with dudes on the Creek.
I should write a book about making friends with celebrities because my phonebook contacts list is rather shabby. No offense to you readers who are already there.
Nike's MVPuppets campaign featuring "Kobe" and "LeBron" as roommates may have fallen by the wayside because of the shoe company's overeagerness for an LA-Cleveland Finals. But you have to admit those commercials caught your attention. Here's what seems to be the final MVPuppets campaign, until the LeBron puppet comes back complaining about New York City traffic heading to the Garden.
That's what's making news today. Really. At least in my crazy drug-addled, alcoholic, revved-up hormonal mind o' mine.
Seriously, though, it's stuff like his Sanford & Son therapy session with Tracy Morgan on 30 Rock that shows his real genius and range. It kinda also makes you forget that he called his daughter with Kim Basinger a "thoughtless little pig." (Remember that? Refresher here.)
Anyways, he has an interview with Playboy set to hit newstands this week, and, in it, he talks about his aspirations to retire from the acting game in 2012. It's a bummer for me because it kinda tells me when the perceived demise of 30 Rock will happen. So ZOMG, if they don't write in that Jack-Liz love storyline, then I don't know what...
There's absolutely nothing sexy about the "rear naked choke."
Let's preface here. I know as much about MMA as I do about the furry fetish, which is very little. (See, I almost led you to believe I know all about furry/mascot sex. Well, I don't. So, rasberries, bitch!) But I do know a little to get me by, just like how the hell I know what's going on when I first followed Lost this past season. Plus, there's a little thing called Wikipedia. That, like my affliction for staring at asses, male or female (WTF?), I DO do alot. Heh. Do do.
Anyways, MMA has a super female fight fest coming up between the sextacularly tough Gina Carano and the fugtacularly rough Cris "Cyborg" Santos. The Brazilian Santos talked to some MMA reporter douche for a website, which that alone says "reputible journalism," and got to brass tasks demonstrating what she would do to Carano...on the reporter douche.
Here's the vid. You can fast forward to the 4:13 mark for nitty gritty:
For someone nicknamed "Cyborg," she really puts on that Ivan Drago impression. I think she will "break" my beautiful Gina-bear. I mean, the reporter douche looked virtually dead.
On the plus side, I think I just stained my pants. Was I turned on by this near snuff film? Maybe.
Ok. Ok. Bashing Spencer and Heidi has become so out of style and so overrated that it has become the Tamagachi of this decade. You know, those stupid ass digital pets you feed and play with and it dies when you over feed it. You know, just like the media overfeeding the Pratts' superbloated ego. But, my God, have you even sat down one moment to hear them speak?
Here's their appearance on Jimmy Fallon:
I had to quit after about a minute in the interview because I was totally feeling this morning's breakfast burrito coming up. Too late.
(**Pause from bloated vomitice)
And if that weren't enough, Spencer might be on a warpath with "weatherman" Al Roker, after Monday's Today Show in which Roker pressed Heidi about being "proud" of what they did on I'm a Celebrity...
And here's Spencer's mega douchey response. I think I could die from all of this. Could anyone die from over douchieness?
And believe me, I have a whole lotta spare time. What with all the crazy O-faces I can make alone without the assistance of a spotter or a ravenous pet.
Anyways, these people in the video are participating in what I can only describe as a typical weeknight for them. It's an "air sex" competition. You know, sorta like air guitar competitions except more imagination and less shame. Simple enough, these people are showing how they get their rocks off without stripping off their clothes. From the initial view, you can say they are having one "sexy time." But on a second view, it's just a bunch of white dudes and gals, many of whom are fugly as fug, flopping around on a stage like fish on a boat.
Life is so unfair. I have to pay taxes to support some choice lazy sunzabitches. GD impoverished. Plus, I live in possibly the worst state in the union (go ahead, guess which one). And now that I find out that my dream blow up doll model, Olivia Munn, will do Playboy, she won't show beave, boob, or bush? WTF? This is GD Playboy, not Maxim, darlin'. You're simply teasing us, Ms. Munn, with this. And believe me, from what I'm seeing, Olivia is doing nothing too earth shattering or new in this pictorial. Shame on you, Olivia. Shame, shame on you.
With that said, though, I don't think it would deter me from sticking the pages together. Tee-hee!
I like to believe that movies can imitate real life (see World Trade Center, United 93) and/or suspend reality (Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, Hot Rod). But to say this Tollywood movie from India can make me believe that a man who looks to be 5'5" and 205 pounds can actually dribble and shoot and outrun a train, then you got me trapped man. I don't know. Don't look at me for the answers to the complexities of life and logic. Just watch the thing and pretend you can do anything. God, I feel like puking right now.
Oh, yeah, and if you like to compare this to my all time favorite import from Indian aside from tandoori chicken, go right ahead, sir.
I am exactly one whole day older than Ashley Tisdale.
I actually have nothing of point to say to that except that it makes me feel like I'm close to her already.
Anyways, Tisdale is one of those chicks I knew would be important enough to get my (balls') attention. And if being on The Suite Life with Zack and Cody weren't enough to grab my attention (because, apparently, that's all I watched during college), she shook her lil' ass around with the High School Musical folk.
Speaking of hot lil' pieces of girly mess shaking their asses, Ashley danced circles around an Obama-impersonator on some Spanish show or something. Don't ask me. I wish Ashley danced on my pelvis. Seriously, like stomping on my nuts and shit.
(You can tell how horny I've been in today's posts. Good Lord, I shouldn't be blogging right now.)
This "thing" will show off her boobs, butt, and bush. Yay?
In news that shouldn't surprise you, Heidi Montag-Pratt-Belzebub will pose nekkid for Playboy, so says People Magazine. (I swear, it has to irk magazine publications to do stories on other magazine publications. Hell, it's funny too because I learned this story from Entertainment Weekly.)
[The Reality TV star] will pose for the September issue of Playboy...Montag has yet to shoot her photos for the magazine. [EW.com]
I first read about this earlier this morning at 2 a.m. and I started to wonder "how would hate sex be with this chick?" I mean, I would hate sex this chick into warp speed. I mean, imagine parts of the bed falling off, headboard and all. I can also see myself holding her head down with my foot while in the chicken-winged position. OK, too graphic. But my God, do I wanna beat this chick down with my penis.
Anyways, I have not been one to watch The Hills. In fact, I hope in a quick instance that MTV cease exist from all history, public record, and memory. It's just the whore parade that Heidi and Spencer represent that irks me. Same goes with Lindsay Lohan. And the Jon and Kate people. And with Jennifer Aniston. And former Secretary of State Madeline Albright. And Sarah Palin or her daughter (the 14-year-old one that Letterman almost implied about raping or the 18-year-old one who got knocked up and is now a living, breathing testament to abstinence).
Plus, there's rumors over how much Heidi would get paid for the spread. I read somewhere that it would be six-figures. Shit, I would show my balls on live television for a sandwich and a fluffing.
Congratulations, Heidi. Here's hoping that we cross paths and that I may bury your head in a pillow while I make you bleed from friction burn.
Peter North says "Don't look at me. Maybe it was one of these broads."
Just like any junky to a thin needle, an unnamed porn actress, who more than likely takes the "flesh" needle, tested positive for HIV, a San Fernando Valley clinic reported. This, for sure, is putting the Southern California pornography industry, which produces those mainstream pictures you and I see, such as "The Cockfather" and "Black Dicks in White Chicks," in high alert. This is the first such positive testing in the business since 2004. Of course, between then and now, everything's been peachy, what with the safe gay sex and safe ass-to-mouth pictures that Brandon Iron and the guys at Bang Brothers pop out, not to cynically put those movies down.
The 2004 case involving a male porn actor crippled the industry shtting down productions for four weeks. With this latest infection, I'm sure we won't be jerkin' it for a while to in-production projects such as "Dirty Dick Downers 3" or "Daddy Spank Me There 11."
There's also word that at least 16 HIV cases went unpublicized.
In all, 16 men and 5 women who worked as adult film industry performers contracted HIV between 2004 and 2008, according to Los Angeles County Department of Public Health data requested by The Times. [LA Times]
So let this be a reminder to you barely legal teen starlets who want to break in to porno with dreams of becoming a legitimate actress. When you have sex with dudes like Rocco Sifredi, Nacho Vidal, or Seymour Butts, just imagine the HIV, chlymidia, or whatever bacteria just eating the inside of your snatch. Then, see who really wins.
The rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated. I actually hate this week. What with all the reports of David Carradine's autoerotica asphyxiation and all this talk about Heidi and Spencer getting tortured. I'm at the point where I'm not giving two fecal nuggets about anything. And in all honesty, I'm waiting on that $50 million lottery ticket to wind up in my hands. Damn you ball-breaking government and your restrictions on online gambling. That shit was my meal ticket.
Anyways, for someone like me who has to actually work for a living rather than bat my eyelashes at air conditioning repairmen who inexplicably work in the family business, I shall stay humble, roll up my pant legs, and be the good writing monkey that I am. (Damn, am I rambling or am I putting my personal shit out there.)
Here's a summary of thoughts I've had for the past two days:
-I'm incredibly broke (not a good thing to admit)
-I'm incredibly lethargic (another thing to omit)
-I'm incredibly attracted to girly-girls (while, admittedly, turning into one myself. Whoops.)
-And I'm at the point where I want the next NBA season to begin.
Where the fuck am I going at with all this?
I guess I was hoping for another Network-style kinda verbal outbreak. I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it! At least I'm getting paid rather ridiculously for an incredibly lazy job. (Now I'm just towing the line on things I shouldn't say.)
If there was any part of The Hangover that you might have missed but you knew that you laughed so hard about, it was Ed Helms' Stu singing "Stu's Song (What Do Tigers Dream Of)". Not only did it underscore the goal of the whole movie, it also displayed the insanity of the story. And this could possibly be the best musical movie highlight of the year, well at least says Entertainment Weekly.
Fat Jesus, the bully from those movies, and Andy from The Office.
Don't get me wrong. The first impressions I had of The Hangover were generally the after-viewing impressions of What Happens in Vegas, which, like any Ashton Kutcher-Cameron Diaz movie, I found to be insufferable. Of course, if the beaten-to-death statement "what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas" holds true, then that concept is embodied to an extreme degree with this Todd Phillips-directed comedy.
I actually was expecting some kind of dark comedy, what with the serious concept of losing your best friend for whom he has a bachelor party made in his honor in Vegas for. But it was a fun movie, in the same vein that Steven Soderberg's Ocean's 11 was fun. The fun part in this movie was the sleuthing Bradley Cooper, Zach Galafinakis, and Ed Helms do in trying to find their lost groom after a serious night of drinking the town under the table. Note: Jaeger laced with roofies may not be a good idea two days before a wedding, but do what you will. It's not my life you're fucking up.
Anyways, the boys encounter some improbable twists and turns in this "retracing your steps" gone wild flick. From discovering you just stole a police car to discovering you just married a hooker/stripper who has a baby, the guys seem genuinely surprised to discover their drunken misdeeds. And all three main characters proudly got to shine in this feature. It's great to see Ed Helms step outside his Andy character from The Office and be the fish out of water character. Zach Galafianakis continues his quest to be the weirdest, funniest man that should be more widely known. I expected nothing more or less from the dude. And it's refreshing to see Bradley Cooper be the dependable, concerned friend who still has a mission in mind to find his best friend.
After watching 89 minutes of twisty turny types of humor, you will defintely get a payoff in what I considered the best closing credits in cinematic history.
Random notes: Ken Jeong never ceases to amaze me. No matter how caricaturized a character he plays, he knows how to deliver comically. Watch for him as the Asian man trapped in the trunk. Heather Graham never ceases to disappoint me. She, like her other roles, was good in this movie only for decoration. You know, more in the line of a desk lamp. Mike Tyson's appearance was underwhelming in this movie but he did provide a selling point in the movie's trailers. So kudos to that, I guess. And, I bet you didn't know this but remember the Jew-fro guy who was "here for the gangbang" in Old School. Well, that's Todd Phillips and he makes another Jew-fro appearance in this movie. Just thought you should know.
Here's the Restricted Trailer, which essentially ruins the movie for you. Have a nice day!
Eb-Bon-Knee and Eye-Verrr-Reee...Come together in perfect har-mo-knee.
The Lakers are clutch when they need to be.It's a foregone conclusion to see Kobe take over a game especially in big showcase matchups. Kobe erupted for an NBA Finals Career High (how many people can claim that?) of 40 in Game 1 against Orlando on Thursday. But despite his team high 29 points, it was a true team effort that kept L.A. from falling behind against the Magic in Game 2. The Lakers take a 2-0 lead with a 101-96 overtime win. In other Laker-related foregone conclusions, Kobe is more than likely to get away with sleeping with your girlfriend. He can just say I'm Kobe Bryant. Then, panties drop. I'm just sayin'.
That's the look of someone breaking their French virginity.
When Rafael Nadal got bounced from the French Open, it was Roger Federer's tournament to win and nobody else's. It's been a foregone conclusion in the past to see 22-year-old Spaniard Nadal dominate the field on clay at the French Open. They should have just renamed the whole tournament after him. And time after time, Mr. Swiss Miss himself RoFed has fallen victim to Nadal. He's good on grass. He's good on the hard court. He just can't seem to get a handle of the red clay. But Sunday was his time to capture that elusive French Open title, against the guy who beat Nadal, of all people. RoFed won in straight sets to capture his career grand slam (U.S., Australian, Wimbledon, the others) and his record tying 14th Grand Slam title. Good job, ace! Now, we can stop paying attention to tennis for a while. That's if Maria Sharapova and Anna Kournikova release a hot lesbian sex tape tomorrow. Reel me in for that one!
I knew you doubted him. Now, he will make you his bitch.
Tiger Woods is a sick, sick man. There is no golfer in the world that can match what Tiger is doing. He shot a shitty 75 on Saturday at the Memorial in Ohio. Then, he turned it around from 4 strokes behind the lead and took the outright win. I believe I was in awe during his four stroke comeback in April at the Arnold Palmer Invitational. Believe this: this is Tiger's fifth win after coming back from four or more strokes behind the lead. Do not sleep on Tiger. Do not ever sleep on this dude. If Tiger can do the impossible, then I believe I will be able to sleep with a hot blonde, big boobed 20-year-old who likes it in the poop shooter. ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE!!!!
I've found the micro-blogging phenomenon known as Twitter as a passing fad that should lose steam soon, or something that could use as much needed publicity as televised Chinese executions. And the part of telling your whole day to a network of people you don't know kinda throws the privacy card out the window. Then again, you're crazy enough to put that stuff out there. Count me in for a stalking!
You can't deny, though, the small gems you can get from Tweeting...Twerking?...Twatting? Not so sure of the lingo.
Hey, speaking of Twatting, a whole slew of hot chicks, some you may know, some you may not know, are getting showcased on a website. Hot Chicks That Tweet (should it be Hot Chicks WHO Tweet. English, people!) is that site. Get a rundown of actress, models, and porn actresses who tell you whether they are playing with their electric bunny or electrocuting a bunny.
I've posted my disapproval of John Mayer previously on The Cooter. (Hm, John Mayer associates with "cooters" all to well. He is one and yet he can still attract it.) But something funny happened during my drug induced vieweing of Thursday's Tonight Show with Conan O'Brien. Mayer got his own band and several choir kids to cover The Mamas and The Papas' "California Dreamin'."
And it was awesome. Ok, dude. You get back one man card. But don't let me catch you wear those man shorts again acting like you can get away singing queer songs and dating and dumping hot courgar messes. So what it's a cover. It was a cover done well.
Funny thing happened to the new Tonight Show set...
We're three Tonight Shows in, and I think Conan is eradicating the suck that used to fill up the 11:30 p.m. time slot. In three quick shows, we've learned the impact of Choco Tacos, Conan's new nickname (Coco) which he has since not wanted, striking glimpse into the year 3000, and Max Weinberg's alledged perversions.
All in all, this is the type of nerd humor I've wanted to share with everybody, and thanks to an equally nerdy man in Conan, I'm glad that type of humor is getting a forefront stance on popular culture.
By the way, that same nerdy humor has been applied to the new Conan monologue backdrop, which indeed does remind me of the Arsenio Hall Show backdrop. Anyways, Serious Lunch contends that the background is essentially levels in the Mario Bros. games. As a self-depricating geek, I say niiiiiice.
David Carradine hung himself today. Well, that's what initial reports say about his death inside his "luxury hotel suite" in Thailand. Can't really bother with semantics with something like this, but, yeah, the man is dead.
Anyways, the 72-year-old actor and bald badass from the Kung Fu television series is a cult icon. Yeah, he died so I have to use "was" instead of "is." But you can't deny the badassery seen in his TV and movie stints. And to think it ironic that the titular Bill from the Kill Bill movies actually died kinda points to one thing. Let's look for Uma Thurman and get to the bottom of this, now! I don't care if she has to get through an army of masked dudes in suits controlled by Lucy Liu. We must avenge Bill's death!
I guess it's fitting to post this God-awful parody video of Kobe Bryant's supposed "Colorado date rape victim" freestyling about that night "her bowels" were changed. Kobe's quest for a fourth ring begins tomorrow.
Aside from that, though, the white chick in this video does her worst to replicate the "Kobe, tell me how my ass taste" freestyle that Shaq did. I have no other words except this was maybe in bad taste, no pun intended at all.
My golden ticket to a ginger pale tree's historical show.
There was so much to say about Conan O'Brien's first ever foray in the 11:30 p.m. time slot on NBC. Watching it in the comfort of your living room is one thing. But when you get the opportunity to see it up close and live before your very eyes, even to the point that you can probably hock a loogi and spit on Conan's face, you know it's something especially special.
With that said, seeing the first ever Tonight Show with Conan O'Brien live will be a highlight to me. To be sappy and queer and whatnot, Conan my comedic inspiration. And I couldn't have devoted enough time to staying up at 12:30 a.m. on a school night to catch him or his patented characters like the Masturbating Bear. The gravity of O'Brien hosting an illustrious talk show franchise such as The Tonight Show is pretty big.
So with that said, I will bulletpoint my observances from an audience members point of view:
The line outside apparently started as early 7 a.m. My crew arrived just about 10:30 a.m. We were about 40 people in. By showtime at 5 p.m., the line grew to 380 people. Conan's debut was a big deal.
It was cute to see this 40 year old woman get all so giddy to see Conan. She couldn't stop repeating herself. She had a creepy Pearl Jam tattoo on her ankle, though.
You knew how special this was when the periodical lines to the bathroom reached 50 people deep.
The studio is freakin' huge! And the background of LA behind Conan's desk is like a hologram.
The average age of the studio audience had to be 30. This is definitely not Jay Leno's show anymore. I'm glad the 20-something hipster generation made it out.
I got a free hat! Yay!
The Tonight Show Band (previously known as the Max Weinberg 7) comes out. La Bamba, the black bass player, and the bald fat trumpeter are there. And the bald trumpeter hypes up the crowd with a nice number.
Andy Richter! That dude is a pretty big dude. And considering he had two sitcoms of his own, him hooking up with Conan again just feels so right.
It was fitting to open with Conan trekking across America. He did go from a cult late night show to a TV institution. He just had the travel that long to make it.
CONAN! Dude is a tree. Like a tree with red leaves. Standing ovation goes on for at least 1 minute.
Through the monologue and the desk segment, you could tell the material felt like a typical Tonight Show. It just has Conan's brand of humor in it. Again, this will definitely not be your father's Tonight Show.
Will Ferrell. Carried by slave dudes with ripped abs. Eh. I was hoping for him to do the speedo leprachaun he used to do on Late Night.
Robert Smigel meandered around the studio. It's weird to see him not insult a bunch of nerds with his Triumph puppet.
You can tell the crew was anxious to put on a good show. It was the first one after all but it went swimmingly well.
Pearl Jam. I know only two or three songs of theirs but the band rocked. And to think I was only 7 years old when "Jeremy" came out.
Sarah Silverman is in the building. She tries to rush through the aisle to get a good glimpse of Pearl Jam. I guess that's a way to not attract attention I guess.
Show ends but Conan pulls a trick play with a second Pearl Jam performance. "Rockin' in the Free World" was the encore song. Excellent job by the band.
Overall, the show was a "Tonight Show" type of program with the usual safe-for-the-family humor. But expect Conan and crew to get more comfortable in the 11:30 slot. Who knows, we might get the Masturbating Bear on Episode 2.
Who knew if this "errant" fly in by Bruno (Sasha Baron Cohen) at last night's MTV Movie Awars was fixed. But I found it rather suspicious that they landed Bruno perfectly in position for Eminem to get a face full of bleached butthole. You be the judge.
