For the Very First Time

So, on Thursday night Drummer Boy and I saw Eric Idle and John Cleeese's two-man show. I intended to write about the experience on Friday, except that my mom was admitted to the hospital with arrythmia, and that kind of became my focus for the last 24 hours.

As it does.

Twenty-four hours and lots of anxiety later, Mom remains in the hospital but apparently is going to be fine. Don't let anyone tell you differently, it sucks when your parents get old. It's awesome when your parents live long enough to be old, but it still sucks when your parents get old.

Yeah. Anyway.

On Thursday, Drummer Boy and I had pretty great tickets to see "John Cleese & Eric Idle: Together Again at Last...for the Very First Time" at the beautiful Majestic Theater in downtown Dallas. Because I decided there was no way we were going to miss our absolutely probably last time to ever see two members of Monty Python performing live ever.

It cost a crap-ton of money, you guys.

And was totally worth it.

Totally. Although it still sucks when
your parents get old.

I love Monty Python. Together, as individuals, I adore them. You know that.

I don't know if I've ever stated here that ever since high school, I've had a huge crush on Eric Idle. I have. And at age 48, I finally had a chance to see my crush live, in person, on stage, in all his elderly English comic glory.

Dream come true. Fucking totally.

As I write this, Cleese & Idle are finishing up the final show of their tour in New Orleans. So if you didn't catch it, screw you forever, it's over.

Quote unquote.

It was a phenomenal show. It was...I don't know, epic, amazing, iconic? It was.

Let me attempt to sum it up in one moment.

In 1984, Monty Python's final film The Meaning of Life screened in Dallas. It was at either the Granada or the Inwood, I don't quite recall (Bestest Friend, who saw it with me, might remember the exact venue).

In any event, we were both in the first blush of Python fanaticism, having been introduced to MP within the last 1-2 years. The chance to see a Python film in its final art-theatre run was a pretty damn Big Deal.

It was genius, you guys.

I have to say that teenage me blushed at "Every Sperm Is Sacred," not to mention the sex education scene. I was young and Catholic, and I couldn't quite believe John Cleese was fucking Connie Booth in the middle of a boys' lesson onscreen.

Reagan was President, and sex was EVIL. Just saying.

This was AMERICA, however.

But then...Eric sang "The Universe Song." I adored it. I adored him. I committed every complex numerical lyric of that song to memory and can sing it to this day. And I adore Eric Idle: for Sir Robin in Monty Python and the Holy Grail, for mastermding "The Rutles," and above all for "The Universe Song."

Above all, you guys.

You have to understand that on Thursday night, Eric Idle sang "The Universe Song" to me.

TO ME.

I don't give a shit that there were 1,700 other people in attendance at the Majestic that night.

Eric Idle sang "The Universe Song" to ME.

I will never forget that. He stood onstage, and without even realizing I was there in Row N. Seat 6, he sang his most wondrous composition to me.

Thank you, Eric, thank you.

I'm sure that you'll go back to England and your life of comfort and leisure, and for the rest of your life you'll bask in the knowledge that your fans love and appreciate you.

And that's perfectly OK.

But this fan, here in Dallas - the one with her pathetic little blog who bought tickets for herself and her soulmate - well, we want to thank you and Mr. Cleese for visiting us and making us laugh.

All four of us might die happy that we shared those few hours together.

Life is quite absurd.

And I'm good with that.

THANK YOU, Mssers. Idle and Cleese.

Thanks.

Bits N Pieces

Some short takes for a long weekend:

• My guest post for The Booklynite is up. Check it out, and then check out the whole blog, because she's a pretty kick-ass person and my newest Friend I've Never Met.

• With college football season kicking off, I feel the need to watch (for the 80,000th time) my all-time favorite Key and Peele bit:

• Drummer Boy and I will be watching Gene Wilder movies this weekend. We will laugh, and possibly cry. I wonder if he's ever seen The Producers?

• Here's a big one: Precocious Daughter and I will be spending Thanksgiving week in my hometown. My parents have moved into their new house in suburban Milwaukee, and we're going to visit. I'm excited to see it again, and even more excited to show PDaughter her mom's old haunts. I hope that's not weird. Is that weird? I hope not.

• I just found out that Netflix is re-booting one of my all-time favorite shows, "One Day at a Time." It will feature a Cuban-American family, with Rita Moreno(!) as the grandma. All the characters will be new, except Schneider. Exactly as it should be. Oh, and I tweeted about it, and the show's producer responded. Sweet.

• Finally, this: It's September, even though New Year's Day was, like, three weeks ago. Damn, 2016, though. I feel as if we will have to face at least one more major celebrity death in the next four months. Give me strength, Drunkards. We're all going to need it.

More tomorrow. If I haven't told you lately...I love you guys.

Ticket to Laugh

I'm terribly sad about the death of Gene Wilder.

Look at those kind, gentle eyes.

I love him. His brilliant work in The Producers, Young Frankenstein, Blazing Saddles, Silver Streak, Stir Crazy...He epitomized the truth that the best comedy is based in melancholy. While I must admit I'm not the world's greatest fan of Blazing Saddles, I have to say that the Waco Kid is perhaps the most beautifully damaged, hilarious character in the history of film. It takes a special person to create a character like that.

Gene Wilder was a special person.

He was from Milwaukee, just like me. That makes me happy.

He played characters who were neurotic, sensitive, emotional, a bit crazed.

If you can't relate to that, I honestly don't really want to know you.

Silver Streak is one of my all-time favorites.

So I'm sad. Really, genuinely sad over the passing of this comic genius.

But then, the universe is all about balance.

Today, I checked my mail and found this.

IRL name redacted, of course.

Drummer Boy and I are going to see Eric Idle and John Cleese in person. WHAT.

This is a dream come true for me. To breathe the same air as Eric Idle is absolutely a dream come true for me, one that I've held since 1983 or so.

Is it a coincidence that he somewhat resembles Gene Wilder?
No, it sodding well is not.

Drummer Boy and I will be attending Mr. Idle and Mr. Cleese's show in Dallas on December 1 at the beautiful Majestic Theatre. This is the same venue where BekS and I saw William Shatner's one-man show a few years ago. Also a one-of-a-kind event. I blogged about it.

(Please click on that link if you're unfamiliar with the story of me seeing William Shatner live. It's pretty damn good, and I think it says a lot about me. In case you're into that sort of thing.)

I'm kind of terrified lest Messer. Idle or Cleese not make it, sort of, alive, until December. That's a terrible thought that is also quite valid, yeah?

That's life when you worship aging gods, yeah.

Anyway, I hope Gene Wilder finds naught but peace and joy in the afterlife, and I hope Eric Idle ad John Cleese continue to suffer all the crap this world has to offer until after December 1.

Yep, just like that.

And Now for Something...

This is the first Monty Python sketch I ever saw.





I had no idea what I was seeing.

But I was head over heels in love with whatever it was.

And I still am.

Not long ago, Drummer Boy and I watched Life of Brian together, and it got me thinking about dear Graham Chapman.

Track down his autobiography.
You won't regret it.

And thinking about Graham got me thinking about this, my first exposure to Monty Python, and still one of my favorite sketches.

And that got me thinking about whether it's strange that I actually remember that very first sketch, which I watched on Channel 10, Milwaukee's main PBS station, sometime around 1981.

Do any of you remember your first encounter with this most necessary of comedy troupes?

Or is it possible that - gasp - there is among you someone who is not a fan of Monty Python?

Seems unlikely, but I'm open to that unlikely possibility.
WATCH THE VIDEO UP THERE. SRSLY.

Share your first Python experience with me (even if it's this post). Find a video, or simply quote the script verbatim (which I know damn well you can do).

We'll all have a good laugh.

Very woody sentence, that.

Humor Is Ageless. This Humor Is Old. But Still, Ageless.

OK, nostalgia time.

I'll be very interested to see if anyone recognizes/remembers this. Those of you under 40 are definitely excused.

I have very specific memories of watching this when it originally aired, and thinking it was about the funniest thing I had ever seen. OK, I was, like, seven or something, but still. I never forgot it.

Thank the gods for YouTube.

Tonight I showed this clip to Precocious Daughter, and she thought it was amazing. Which I knew she would, because she's inherited much of my sense of humor. She's prettier than me, in better shape than me, more sociable than me, but we share a sense of humor, and that's more than good enough for me.

Anyway, I got a big kick out of telling her that the guys in tuxedos are Kate Hudson's dad and her uncles. And they had a variety show in the '70s. I stopped short of telling her about the Krofft Super Show and Electra Woman and Dyna Girl. Because culture should be absorbed in reasonable doses for maximum effect, I feel.

So. I want to know if any of you mature Drunkards remember the Hudson Brothers, their variety show, and Rod Hull and Emu.

If you don't, you will in just a few minutes.

I dare you not to laugh.




It's been a good Friday evening here. I hope yours has been, as well.

Jon Stewart and the Beginning of the End of the Smirk

Today Jon Stewart announced that he's leaving "The Daily Show" later this year.

So as long as we're making announcements, I have one, too.

I really don't like Jon Stewart.

It might be that fucking smirk, or it might be...
no, it's pretty much that fucking smirk.

Don't get me wrong. I actually think he's brilliant. He's extremely smart, he's very funny, and he may be among the best television interviewers ever.

But watching him for more than five or 10 minutes sets my goddamn teeth on edge.

That fucking smirk.

Because I'm way old, I remember when Jon Stewart was just starting out as the co-host of "Short Attention Span Theater" on the Comedy Channel in 1989.

Proto-smirk. But that floppy hair, though.

Then he had his own talk show on MTV in the 90s.

Believe it or not, having Howard Stern as one of his
first guests was considered a coup. LOL.

In 1999, he took over Comedy Central's (motto: "We've come a long way since we were the shitty Comedy Channel, mostly because we dumped Nick Bakay") "The Daily Show" from original host Craig Kilborn.

Remember Craig Kilborn? No?
It doesn't matter.

Back then, we still watched television on small, bulbous analog screens. But the Stewart smirk was there from the beginning.

Maybe it was the suit that put it there.

Jon took "The Daily Show" from a fizzy pop-culture roundup to an ever more politically-focused show, presumably because he was frightened by a Nixon watch as a child.

I legit wanted one of these when I was five.

Eventually he realized something that I also accept as gospel: As long as you're smart and reasonably funny, you can get away with saying some outrageous shit.

(Which reminds me of another post I need to write about my adventures on Twitter. DON'T LET ME FORGET, GUYS.)

Over time, audiences realized that Jon Stewart's outrageous shit actually was at least as honest and factual as the "serious" news outlets, if not more so. And by 2009, he was the most trusted newsperson in America (ironically beating out Brian Williams, who, uh, made his own news today).

#1 smug face in American TV journalism.

Again, I think Jon Stewart is a great comedian (or at least has a great comedy writing team). I think he's passionate about current events and intelligent enough to meld the two in a way that is consistently entertaining and compelling to a large audience.

But here's the thing. I think that Jon Stewart, along with Hillary Clinton, represents everything that is wrong with liberalism today.

And that's coming from someone who really crowds the left-hand side of the moderate line.

Holding on to Canada, reaching for Sweden, that's me.

The problem so many moderates and liberals have with the far right is that its most prominent proponents freeze-day complex issues into hard little nuggets of ideology, then slap their own faces onto them like a brand label and call it truth.

Even without the hand gesture, you know
you're hearing from an asshole.

Well, the left is totally not immune from the same tactics. It's just that, instead of anger and righteous indignation about 'Murican values, the paragons of liberalism smile with a blend of pity and patronization while they effectively marginalize anyone who doesn't fall under the spell of their shining light of progressivism.

The official motto of the left is "Bless your heart."

Don't get me wrong: I think that wrapping yourself in the flag while shaming the poor and treating women like chattel is far, far worse than tattooing "Jesus was a socialist" on your ass and then shooting rainbows out of it. 

Not as easy as it looks.

But just as I believe that credible conservatives shouldn't have to be so goddamn angry all the time, I believe that credible liberals shouldn't have to resort to epic smugness as their default setting.

Don't make me take that bet.

That's why I only ever watched the "must-see" clips from "The Daily Show" as they appeared on social media, and why I backed Barack Obama over Hillary Clinton back in 2008 (and hell, why I refused to vote for Bill Clinton in 1996 or Al Gore in 2000). There's no room for bullying, or condescension, or stridency, if you own your convictions. Sincerity is a pretty bright light. All the rest is theater and the cult of personality.

I wish Jon Stewart the very best, no matter where he goes after "The Daily Show." But man, I hope wherever he lands, I like him more.

Best Picture Blitz 2015: The Grand Budapest Hotel

You know how sometimes you see a trailer for a movie you've been waiting for, and you get all excited?

And sometimes you see a trailer and you think, "Eww yeah, not going to waste my money on that one"?

And every once in a while, out of the blue, you see a trailer for a movie you know nothing about, and it hits you between the eyes and makes you think, "I have got to see THAT."

That was my introduction to The Grand Budapest Hotel.

The trailer itself was quirky, with scenes of a huge hotel swathed in pink and Ralph Fiennes fleeing across a snowy mountainside and Tilda Swinton made up as an ancient dowager from another era.

And Willem Dafoe at his Willem Dafoiest.

There's only the barest suggestion of the plot: A young bellboy becomes caught up in a tale of romance, intrigue, murder, and art smuggling. As it turns out, that pretty much is the entire plot. But because this is a Wes Anderson movie, it unfolds in the most arabesque and delightful way possible. And also there are a ton of cameos (and of course one of them is Owen Wilson).

Precocious Daughter and I loved this movie. We laughed a lot. The Grand Budapest Hotel is by turns sweet, raunchy, improbable, and really, really fun. But as good as it is, I never thought for a moment that it would be a Best Picture contender. First of all, it's a comedy, and comedies don't win Best Picture (the last one that did, and it's only a comedy if you have a pretty dark definition of the word, was 1999's American Beauty. If you're talking comedies that were actually marketed as comedies, you have to go back to 1977 and Annie Hall.). Second, Wes Anderson makes movies that tend to be cult favorites rather than "major motion pictures," like Rushmore and The Darjeeling Limited. Third, there is absolutely nothing socially redeeming or historically significant about The Grand Budapest Hotel. It's just a hell of an enjoyable movie.

I was very surprised and extremely happy when this lovely little film won Best Comedy/Musical at the Golden Globes earlier this month. When it scooped up nine Academy Award nominations - including Best Picture, Best Director, and Best Original Screenplay - I was floored. Whether it wins anything or not, I'll be happy if the cast simply shows up on the red carpet together.

Go see this movie, Drunkards. I plan to see it again before Oscar night. Two thumbs way up.

The Movies and Me

So the final tally of Best Picture Blitz 2014 was:

Precocious Daughter and I saw six of the nine films nominated for the Best Picture Oscar. Actually, PDaughter watched Gravity on her Kindle on the day of the Academy Awards, so she saw seven.

It was a great experience. The movies, the time spent with PDaughter, discovering new theatres in the area that we'd never visited. Actually recognizing a bunch of the films mentioned on the Oscars! That was cool.

So today we saw The Lego Movie.

It was awesome.



I really, really loved and appreciated 12 Years a Slave and Nebraska and Philomena and American Hustle and Dallas Buyers Club and Captain Phillips.

But I laughed so hard at The Lego Movie, swear to God.

Hollywood gives us all these movies, because it knows we can enjoy both thoughtful, well-crafted dramas and movies based on plastic toys.  It doesn't expect that just because I can be brought to tears of compassion by Chiwetel Ejiofor, I can't be reduced to tears of laughter by Will Ferrell.

Hollywood gets me.

Also, the next movies I want to see are an Indian rom-com called The Lunchbox and the documentary Tim's Vermeer.

Because movies, like Legos, come in all shapes and sizes and are awesome.

What's your most recent favorite, Drunkards?

You Ruined My Record, Man

Happy Birthday to Mr. Tommy Chong, who turns - oh, sweet Jesus - 74 years old today. In lieu of smoking a bunch of weed in his honor - because drugs are bad and wrong and I don't have any weed - I present my favorite Cheech and Chong skit, "Earache My Eye." This made me laugh my face off when I was 10, and I was amazed, but not really surprised, to discover that I still know it word for word after all these years. Glad to know it did permanent damage.

So if you're so inclined, raise a bong for Chong. Or just enjoy the track. Happy Birthday, man.

Why Yesterday Was Amazing

Two days ago I said I wasn't going to see William Shatner's one-man show in Dallas. I believe my exact words were "I'm just a lowlife blogger and I don't do awesome things like that."

Today I'm pretty sure I'm still a lowlife blogger. But I'm a lowlife blogger who totally got to see Bill Shatner last night, bitches!

OMFG, and unicorns!

I think I still owe my friends ChrisAndBek about 6,000 more lame, inadequate expressions of gratitude for making it possible. It was soooo much fun. Bill (who is now my boyfriend, because I don't think a 37-year age difference is an insurmountable obstacle, nor the fact that we've never met) was great. If he comes to your town with his one-man show, go see it. GO! I'M NOT MESSING AROUND HERE!

Now you've gone and made the unicorn angry.

Ahem.

But it wasn't just the performance that caused yesterday to be amazing. Here's what else made March 22, 2012 a day full of win.

1. Jonathan Coulton - Bek introduced me to his music yesterday while we were driving downtown. Now I lurve him. The only thing better than a day when I discover a new singer-songwriter to dig on is a day when I discover I actually left myself a couple of shots of vodka at the bottom of the bottle for once. Wholly unexpected and tremendously exciting. Listen:




2. The world's most unhelpful "You Are Here" sign - We parked in this really cool parking garage across the street from the Majestic Theater. It's six stories tall and about 12 feet wide. Seriously. Ascending the levels of this garage in a car is like being a ladybug trundling up a corkscrew.

As helpfully illustrated here.

Thankfully there was an elevator to take us from the fifth level to the ground floor. And posted next to the elevator was this sign:

You are here...in the vicinity of this tiny X in the upper left corner of a
completely featureless rectangle that represents this parking garage or perhaps
a broom closet in the Guggenheim.

The sign did a somewhat better job of pointing out the nearby fire escape/exit. We didn't get a picture of it, but it was marked "DO NOT USE THESE STAIRS." I guess because they belong exclusively to Mark.

3. It was Bill Shatner's birthday - We got to sing "Happy Birthday" to a living legend, in person, while he tried to blow out trick candles on a birthday cake. Did you do that yesterday? Well, if you were at the show you did, or if you're a close personal friend of Sir Lord Baron Duke Earl King Andrew Lloyd Webber, whose birthday was also yesterday. But he's not William Fucking Shatner. I win.

4. Dolly Madison Zingers - This has nothing to do with Bill Shatner's one-man show. Even I can't forge a connection that tenuous, and my mind is wired by stoned elves with 10 lb. test fishing line.

I actually Googled "stoned elves with 10 lb. test fishing line"
to see what would happen, and I got this picture of a bag of baby carrots.
Thanks for making me look like a slacker, Google.

However, a while back in this space I lamented the appearance of Hostess-branded Zingers following the merger of Hostess and Dolly Madison into a single snack-cake entity. It made me sad, in the way that only completely insignificant changes to a large corporation's marketing strategy can make one sad.

But yesterday, feeling peckish and down to the last four quarters of my vast personal fortune before payday, I took a chance on the coin-devouring vending machine in my building and scored some chocolate Zingers. I could have gotten pretzels or a granola bar or some healthy shit like that, but I didn't. Because I'm edgy that way. And before I ripped away the wrapper and shoved those little artery-cloggers down my gullet, I noticed this:

Cue heavenly strains of "Linus and Lucy."

It was when I saw the Dolly Madison label returned to its rightful place on a package of Zingers that I realized this might turn out to be a pretty good day. And for once I was right.

5. "'Yes' is risky" - Mr. Shatner said those words during his show, and they made it all worthwhile for me. "Yes" is risky. "No" is safe and easy and is what I very nearly said when Bek asked me if I wanted to go with her to the Majestic. Because my mind tends to make a beeline for "no." It winds through all the doubts and questions that try - and with me, generally succeed - to disrail me.

Accept a free ticket? Does she feel sorry for me? How am I going to repay that? Spontaneously give up an evening at home to go downtown? On a weeknight? What if Beloved Spouse is mad that he can't go? What if Precocious Daughter is sad that I'm bailing on "American Idol" results night? What will they have for dinner while I'm gone? Is it worth it? Can I do it? Can I risk it?

I came so very close to making a lame excuse for turning down Bek's generous offer. It was a knee-jerk reaction, an automatic assumption that I couldn't, shouldn't, upset my normal routine. But at the last moment, a smart little voice in my head - one that almost always gets drowned out by my big dumb doubts - managed to ask, "Do you think you'll regret going more than you'll regret not going?"

So I took a chance and said "Yes." Despite my deeply ingrained resistance to not paying my own way, despite my natural inclination to never put my own needs in front of my family's, despite the fact that I don't do anything spontaneous unless I've carefully planned it out beforehand (yes, I know)... I risked a "Yes." And it was a great time.

Yeah, yesterday turned out to be amazing. And it had a lot to do with a free ticket to a really fun show. But it also had to do with a bunch of little unrelated joys that I actually allowed myself to find and grab on to. They added up to one damn fine day. I've got to do that more often.

Hmmm...I wonder if George Takei has a one-man show?

Today's Excellent Headlines

Gonna do a news roundup today, because I love not having to make stuff up.

"Suitcase Escape Bid Foiled at Mexican Prison." A woman tried to smuggle her common-law husband out of prison in a wheeled suitcase. She was caught because she "looked nervous" as she was leaving. Also because she was rolling a man-sized suitcase out of jail. I love the picture accompanying this story:


Ay, caramba, how embarrassing.

I wonder how many times the poor guy begged the guards to just let him get out of the suitcase already, while they said, "No, come on, just one more picture. This is totally going on Failblog."

"Human Belly Button Is Home to Hundreds of Never-Before-Seen Species." Two science writers provided swabs of their navel crud (don't pretend you don't have any, you innies) to North Carolina State University for its Belly Button Biodiversity Project. This is science, people; stop giggling. Apparently the belly button is like the Jersey Shore for rare and strange bacterial life-forms, and probably as hygienic. The best part is that one of the writers had zero lint-critters in his tummyhole, while the other - whom we will refer to as "Pigpen" - produced a plethora of fascinating and no doubt disgusting species. One of them previously was found only in Japanese soil, which Pigpen has never actually set foot on (or rubbed his belly button in). 

Kind of makes you want to treat me
with more respect, doesn't it? No?

"Man with Tracking Bracelet Nabbed for Robbery." That's right: a dude wearing an ankle monitor because of a drug conviction tried to hold up a convenience store while wearing the monitor. Police say he'll be released again, but wherever he goes he'll have to be accompanied by a guy wearing an "I'm With Stupid" t-shirt.

"German City to Tax Prostitutes in Order to Close Budget Deficit." I want to commend the New York Daily News for its restraint in not using the term "close the gap" in its headline for this story. That would have been tacky. On the other hand, under the circumstances I wholeheartedly support the paper's description of Dortmund's financial situation as "$100 million in the hole." Bada-bing!

"Comedy Central to Roast Charlie Sheen." But not on a spit. So I don't care.


"Austin Hotel Closing After Glass Keeps Falling." Management expects to have its anti-gravity machine repaired shortly.

"10 Brands That Will Disappear in 2012." A website has predicted that Kellogg's Corn Pops are not long for this world because of rising corn prices and unhealthy ingredients, among other things. I don't believe it. Sure, Kellogg's may drop the brand and stop manufacturing the product. But I know for a fact there are Corn Pops in my sofa cushions that are older than my child and will outlive cockroaches and reality shows as a viable species. Anyone who thinks you can destroy a Corn Pop has never tried to digest one.

"Rows of Snow Globes Sit at State Surplus Store." See, snow globes have liquid in them. And you can't bring liquid on airplanes, because...well, the TSA had a good reason at the time, just as they had good reasons for making us take off our shoes and submit to impromptu gynecological exams by hourly-wage security guards. Anyway, everybody's confiscated snow globes are for sale cheap at the surplus store in Austin, waiting to be driven home.


Frankly, if you bought this,
the terrorists have already won.

If they want to ban something dangerous from airplanes, they should maybe start with Corn Pops. Or maybe they should consider arming the air marshals with them instead. Or the passengers. No terrorist stands a chance against an angry shoeless tourist with a handful of breakfast cereal and no milk.

Thanks, I Needed That

I am in sore need of cheering up today.

Beloved Spouse is feeling down about his continuing recovery from surgery. He's in glass-half-empty mode; instead of seeing that he was promptly diagnosed, had an excellent surgeon who performed a flawless operation, and has received caring support from a wife and daughter who love him very much, he sees a cruel world that afflicted him with a medical condition that has left him with lingering (albeit temporary) discomfort and disability. And what possible use is stupid love against intermittent mild pain?


The turkey's a little dry! Whyyyyyyy?

Also, I keep bumping up against reminders that the Web is full of writers who are far more talented and creative than I. Like Allie Brosh. And Jenny Lawson. And Robert Brockway. Just to name three whose brilliant work has slapped me in the face yet again this week. Go click on those links and check out their stuff, as millions of other people do. Go ahead, I'll wait. I always wait.



See? They're wonderfully, depressingly entertaining. And so I'm having a bit of a wallow in the self-pity pool right now.

Who am I kidding? I'll never be able to
wallow like a black rhino. That bastard's good.

To combat these feelings of inadequacy, I've turned to my usual therapy: Eating and drinking too much. Which is not actually as therapeutic as you might think. Oh sure, chugging Bacardi Silver Sangria and chasing it with cookie dough blots out the pain of inadequacy. But under the law of Conservation of Negativity, it seems that self-destructive emotions cannot be created or destroyed but only transformed from one state to another. So instead of feeling hopelessly untalented, after a night of malt beverages and raw eggs I wake up feeling pathetically weak-spirited. Also a couple of pounds heavier, which really bolsters that old self-esteem.

Bacchus may have been a god, but he was still fat,
immature, and had baste in headgear.

Don't worry: I have decades of experience dealing with feeling f'd up. And a standing prescription for Prozac. So I know this will sort itself out and all those negative emotions will go back into the small windowless cells they call home and I'll be back to my normal blissful state of denial in no time.

But still, right now, today, I'm feeling a little mopey.

Or I was, until I found something that cheered me right the crap up. Had me laughing out loud, in fact. And it felt so good I had to share it.

Oh, Fox News. I should have known I could count on you to make me spit coffee out my nose.

Now, I know that as you're looking at that headline, you're having one of two thoughts: "That's not funny, it's incredibly depressing" or "Yeeeeeeee-haw! Dayum straight!" followed by several celebratory gunshots being fired randomly into the air as is our God-given right. Either way, where is the humor in that?

To which I say: Are you kidding? It's oozing out of every line of this story by Kevin McCullough, who is some kind of conservative pundit. I never heard of him; the only conservative pundit I follow is Stephen Colbert, but this guy is just as funny. For example, the title of his article is "Five Reasons Why I Believe Texas Governor Rick Perry Will Be Our President in 2013" (hilarious enough by itself), but the actual topic is...Kevin McCullough.  Specifically, his "new best selling book, No He Can't: How Barack Obama is Dismantling Hope and Change," which he mentions way before he ever gets around to talking about, uh, that dude in Texas and oh by the way did you hear my appearance on the nationally syndicated Mancow Radio Experience?

But when he does get around to discussing the guy the headline writer named as the actual star of the piece (who I'm sure will be fired for his error), McCullough just lays on the comedy gold. Like when he says that Gov. Dick Perry (as I call him because we's tight) has created a ton of jobs in Texas. And if you don't live in Texas or have access to U.S. Department of Labor Bureau of Labor Statistics data, that sounds pretty good and not at all chucke-worthy. If you didn't know that in the last three years Texas's labor force has grown by 660,000 people, while the number of employed people has grown by only 240,000, you wouldn't get the humor in McCullough's assertion that the man who oversaw that "growth" should become our next President.


He could do this for America!

Also hilarious: McCullough says Gov. Perry "understands...state sovereignty." The understatement alone made me laugh. See, the joke is that Gov. Perry hates the federal government. Now, he never, as has been attributed to him at length, actually said he wanted Texas to secede from America. But he's made it clear that he thinks Texas law should supercede federal law in the matter of airport security, and karmic law in the matter of just about everything else.

I actually had a chance to hear Gov. Perry speak in person a few months ago. His allotted topic was green energy technology, but the substance of his remarks was "The government is so retarded, hey?" According to Dick, Texas is too bitchin' to have to meet clean air standards, achieve educational targets, contribute to federal transportation programs, or pledge allegiance to the flag it grudgingly displays alongside the flag of the Once and Future Republic of Texas. So when McCullough says Gov. Perry should run for President of the United States, and thereby head a federal government for which he expresses nothing but contempt on a regular basis, it's a laff riot.

That's the same thing as a laff riot, right?

McCullough also cracks me up by touting Gov. Perry's conservative values. These include, as far as I was able to make out through the tears of mirth, shooting things, trampling women's rights, gutting the judicial process, and solving problems that don't exist. On a completely unrelated topic, did you know that the Governor didn't actually oppose the conservative hot-button topic of immigration law "sanctuary cities" until a few months ago? Or that he supported Al Gore in the 1988 Presidential election because he thought Gore was a conservative? That right there is the funniest freaking thing I've heard this week, so I'll say it again: Rick Perry thought Al Gore was a conservative and was disappointed to learn otherwise. That's awesome.

Anyway, when McCullough says that Gov. Perry will "bring together the conservatives," it's very ironic. The irony is that Gov. Perry will spout a bewidlering array of random and poorly-thought-out positions, and that theoretically will convince the diverse and fractured conservative constituency of the United States that he stands on a solid conservative platform. If that platform was strewn with banana peels and whoopee cushions it couldn't be any funnier.

All in all, I'm grateful to Kevin "Hey, I Wrote a Book" McCullough for penning this piece for Fox News. I so needed a good laugh. I also needed to feel better about myself as a writer, and it certainly has done that. I wonder if McCullough ever writes about whiny husbands or booze? Man, that would make my day.

"I Find It Hilarious" Friday

No politics today - it's Friday! Someone should write a song about that!


Someone else.

Actually, someone else did. Who doesn't count The Cure's "Friday I'm in Love" among their favorite songs? Bad people, that's who. C'mon, sing along!


I love this chart very much.

I had a pretty happy week, so I'm going to list some things I find hilarious. Feel free to add your own in the comments.

I find it hilarious that Barry Manilow and Newt Gingrich were both born on this day in 1943.


One of these guys is singing "Copacabana."

I find it hilarious that two-headed turtles come in two varieties.



Remember, next year is an election year!

I find it hilarious that I'm attracted to the "Coach Kaz" character in the Gil Thorp comic strip.

Don't read Gil Thorp?
Check out the awesome blog "This Week in Milford."

I find it hilarious that NBA Finals MVP Dirk Nowitzki enthusiastically belted out "We Are the Champions" in front of 10,000 people despite having no discernible singing talent.


Lebron would have told the crowd to go back to their little lives
and sing their own damn song.

I find this absolutely freaking hilarious.

I find it hilarious that Henry Kissinger, who was brilliantly interviewed by Stephen Colbert this week, actually sounds exactly like every Henry Kissinger impersonation you've ever heard.

The Colbert Report
Tags: Colbert Report Full Episodes,Political Humor & Satire Blog,Video Archive

Like this one.



Say, isn't that Sen. Al Franken (D-Minnesota) before he became a bloated, humorless left-wing politician? Jawhol, I think it is.

And finally, I find this hilarious.

I think Cookie Monster is cuter than Bruno Mars, anyway.

That's it for now. Tomorrow I might be surely will be back to being cranky as hell, but today it's Friday, and this has been "I Find It Hilarious."

OK, just one more.