If This Isn't the Damndest Sketch I've Ever Seen

I've already articulated my sentiments about the SNL season finale with Will Ferrell. One word: Eh. But one sketch stood out and racked my mind like a Jimmy Stewart movie. The writers were definitely dropping the brown acid on this one but whatever. It has everybody in it. Artie Lange, too. (?)

What a Weak End

The Rockets lose. SNL with Will Ferrell was underwhelming. And John Mayer scores with 12 chicks in night. How?

Induce vomiting...now. This weekend just proved to cap off the chocolate starfish week that it was. Aside from being stood up for a playdate, twice, I was offered a grand tour of what the inside of my apartment looked like for the unteenth time. And worst of all, I was nowhere near drunk in this whole process. The positives I can see, though, is that I'm in line to get a bigger place soon so I guess I can passout in a nicer environment after a night of Slippery Nipples and Fuzzy Navels. Yes, let's get drunk off wine coolers.

As far as what people apart from myself did this weekend, the Lakers got their way finally throwing away my Rockets like a Mexican made condom. The Lake Show, like a good porn starlet who likes to take it in the bum, reamed and blew out Houston's anal cavity, 89-70, to advance to the Western Conference Finals. As a parting shot to the Lakers, I hope Kobe Bryant and Phil Jackson give each other crabs.

Saturday Night Live became intriguing to me when I found out the last two episodes of the season were going to be hosted by Justin Timberlake and Will Ferrell. I knew JT would turn in a great perfromance in his stint. So I expected the same from the SNL alum. But aside from the expected Jeopardy parody, which included the usual ream out from Sean Connery and surprise appearances by Tom Hanks and Turd Ferguson aka Burt Reynolds aka Norm MacDonald, I was underwhelmed by this ep. It was kinda like SNL blowing a wasted load with guest appearance after guest appearance. Amy Poehler and Maya Rudolph returned, and guests like Anne Hathaway and Paul Rudd made appearances. I guess expected more from this show but, then again, the show is much like the father that ran out on you when you were 11. He said he was going to play catch with me but he decided to play catch with his "other son." I hate you, DAD! I hate you!

Here's the Jeopardy clip:

Finally, John Mayer worked his magic in Beverly Hills this weekend. He came out of a club with his shirt covered in lipstick stains. He also began to go dance fever on all of our asses. Jackassery and douchebaggery all at work. [TMZ has the video.] How does this guy with all this doucheyness stay likable? Maybe it's because he's famous and he can. That's not a good answer. John Mayer, I will never get you. You wore this short sailors shorts and you have no problem with that. You date Jennifer Aniston and you drop her like Britney dropped her child. I don't know where you end and begin. Gah! The frustrating mysteries of life!

Justin Timberlake is a Motherf--ker

Color me badd.

There are plenty of guilty pleasures we hide underneath the surface and if those "pleasures" were to rise above the surface, you sho' have lots of 'splainin' to do. It was fitting to combine three guilty pleasures all in one evening: Justin Timberlake, watching Saturday Night Live, and f--king mothers (other mothers, not your own).

Timberlake and nerdcore rap extraordinaire Andy Samburg got rid of their gift-wrapped dick boxes and went with this raunchy yet understandable ode to doing each other's mother. And it totally worked, dammit.

SNL works for entertainers like Timberlake. He has charisma and acting and comedic chops. And he goes up there with the recurring hosts that you know can make an instant impact on the show (i.e. Steve Martin, Alec Baldwin).

Timberlake also linked up with Jimmy Fallon (douche) to collaborate on The Barry Gibb Talk Show, which is still a favorite [guilty pleasure] of mine.

Trouser Snake Timberlake's SNL appearance vids:

He's Barry F'n Gibb!

Chest hair and crazy cool medallions. Douchiness at its finest.

Sometimes, I'd like to think I'm not a douchebag. But there's little time to explain the reasons why I may be so. While you're conjuring up some ideas, here's ace douche Jimmy Fallon at his best (and I say that very loosely) doing his SNL skit as Barry Gibb of the Bee Gees hosting a political talk show. (Again, someone decided to throw darts at a wall of ideas.) I actually find this f'n hilarious but I tend to forget that Fallon is a high-pitched, bearded sissy boy with Tourette's. Barry Gibb is not half bad either. Oh, yeah. There's Justin Timberlake as Barry's running partner Robin Gibb. (Who would have played Maurice Gibb? Joey F'n Fatone? Lance F'n Bass?)

UPDATE: The douchebag Fallon is on Rachael Ray right now. HTF is this day happening?

Cooter Scooter: HIMYM, Kelly Clarkson, and being "Tracy Morgan" Crazy

The Cooter Scooter is basically a roundup of things going on that I've seen, saw, or screwed (*rolling eyes*)and my take on them. Actually, I just regurgitate whatever is on my mind before I forget it and apparently it's always about entertainment. My deficit on attention is in much disorder.

One of these people forgot to wear pants. Hint: It's the dude who showed his dangle in that Sarah Marshall movie.

Last night's How I Met Your Mother could be described in two words: night shirts. You know, those old timey pajama onesies with a open, skirted bottom and not the full body suit onesies you were when you wet the bed at 4...or 16 years old.

In Monday's episode titled The Front Porch, the gang stays up late to catch Robin anchoring the early, early, early morning news at 3:30 a.m. (Shit like that takes me back in the day when I was producing early morning news for the early rising geriatrics of INSERT GOD FORSAKEN CITY NAME HERE.) During the airing of Robin's newscast, which they ignorantly muted, Ted, the man who will one day be Bob Saget's voice in 2025, finds out that his friend of dozens of years Lily, played by a very pregnant Alyson Hannigan, has been sabotaging his past relationships for breakup, including his with Robin, who is played by the also very pregnant Cobie Smulders. (I told Alyson and Cobie that I'm bare riding it that night. They knew the risk. I "Dr. Manhattan" it with mine, homey. Best believe, I Superman dem hoes, ya dig?) All in this process, the gang misses the follies of Robin extinguishing a chef on fire, performing CPR on a dying weatherman, and delivering a pregnant morning show guest. All of this was an after thought to the true non-important important thing of the ep: you guessed it, night shirts. You know, like Peter Pan status shits.

Bottom line, I haven't really liked this season of HIMYM. The show has genuinely shied away from the mood of Ted's search of the entitled "mother" in the first season and parts of the third season. Of course, you can't but love how Neil Patrick Harris has performed throughout the run of this show. Not bad for a gay guy playing machismo-ly straight. Other than that, I gotta stop impregnating actresses from shows I like. (Sarah Chalke, I'm looking at you.)

Yes, we can agree that Kelly Clarkson let herself go as of late. You can't deny that when she wears brown pants, it makes her legs look like those on a large race horse. But the bitch can sing. I mean, like, sang, son! Clarkson showed why she is a star today rather than reality show winner of yesteryear on this past weekend's Saturday Night Live hosted by Tracy Morgan. Clarkson came out there and said, "Sure, my diet currently consists of two full grown babies placed in between a sesame-seed bun twice a day. But hear me hit this high note with ferocity and unabashed ruthlessness." OK, maybe she didn't say that. But the bitch can sang, ya dig?

And speaking of Tracy Morgan, it was refreshing to see the black Will Ferrell flopping (the good kind) on his return to SNL. Yes, we were treated to Morgan classics like Brian Fellow's Safari Planet and Astronaut Jones. I mention him, though, because I made a remark to my friend at lunch the other day about my level of craziness.

"Look, I'm a crazy muthafucka," I said. "I am a crazy muthafucka. Not Mike Tyson crazy. More like Tracy Morgan crazy."

If you don't know what that kind of crazy is, watch this: