Reality Check 1

©Adam Greene 02/16/2004

It’s time for our weekly look at an episode of Reality Television. This column will only cover what I watch (and, trust me, that’s a lot), so if you’re looking for an in depth look at America’s Next Top Model or Real World/Road Rules Hellfire (or whatever they call it), this isn’t the place. I’m not judging those shows. I might love them if I watch them. There just aren’t enough hours in the day.

Unlike most smug bastards you’ll come across, I actually admit to liking reality shows. In fact, at this point I’m close to becoming a reality evangelist. I am constantly telling my friends what they’re missing by not watching girls in bikinis eating pig intestines or a woman picking from 25 men who want to tit-fuck her on camera. One of the criticisms that Reality TV gets is that it’s killing scripted television. This just isn’t true. It’s killing SHITTY scripted television. The occasional good show may catch a stray bullet, but for the most part, we could all do without a "Roz" spin off from Frazier. If Fear Factor has saved even one person from an episode of Yes, Dear, then it has justified its existence.



This week: The Surreal Life

Broadcast: Sunday Feb. 8, 2004



This episode revolves around two plotlines; Tammy Faye’s book signing and Ron Jeremy’s porn barbeque. I was shocked to learn that Tammy Faye Baker has a huge gay drag queen following. And I’m not kidding. SHE REALLY DOES. As Tammy, Trishelle (one of the 54 whores from Real World Las Vegas), Traci Bingham (Baywatch whore), Erik Estrada (C.H.I.P.S. whore) and Vanilla Ice (Pathetic whore) all make their way to the crowded bookstore, Ron Jeremy and his giant man-wand stay back at the ranch and invite fellow porn “actors” to a cook out. See, porn people are just like regular people. Only with huge, unmanageable genitalia.

Aside: What else could Ron Jeremy have done with his life? Seriously. How do you hold down a regular job with a penis that big? Ron has a Masters degree in special education. Did you know that? That means his career goal before someone noticed the boa constrictor in his dungarees was teaching retarded kids how to properly wear a helmet.



Back to the show: Tammy and the gang arrive at the bookstore and see gay people lined up around the block. And I’m not talking “normal” gay people, here. None of these guys were your waiter last Thursday at The Olive Garden. These were THE gay people. The official collector’s set. Each represented their own stereotype. You had drag Cher, Marilynn, and Liza. There was the lesbian motorcycle mechanic, glitter man, female Elvis Costello, skinny sick-looking guy, overly-pierced Mohawk girl with 10,000 bracelets, and the weirdly bearded man-girl. There were so many more, all looking like they just stepped out of John Ashcroft’s bad liverloaf fever dreams.

And they were all madly in love with Tammy Faye.



At the old homestead, the porn people begin arriving at Ron’s barbeque. He’s worked his sizeable ass off the entire day preparing food for people he probably ejaculated onto a week and a half ago. The first to arrive is the owner of The Bunny Ranch, a legal whorehouse in Las Vegas, with what had to be the fattest whore in the business. Is she like the discount whore? The one they offer with a coupon for a free blow job and ass thumbing? And why would the owner advertise his whorehouse with a fatty? And, for that matter, why was she so chubby? You’d think semen would be low carb. These questions are never answered and, needless to say, she’s the first one naked.



As the kids arrive home from Tammy’s book signing, Traci and Trishelle join the rest of the drunken sluts while Vanilla and Paunch sit back and watch as Tammy runs to her room and hides under the bed. With booze, whores and illegal drugs readily available, you know an appearance from Andy Dick can’t be far behind. Sure enough, he shows up and, shocker, has a history with drunken Trishelle. They knew each other and kind of almost half way dated.



Traci has her own plans. For the entire run of the show, she’s basically come on to Ron Jeremy constantly, even telling him at one point that if she wasn’t engaged to another guy, she’d screw him. She pretty much daily tries to pull his pants down in order to see what is probably the most seen penis in the world. Michelangelo’s David’ s dong hasn’t been photographed and studied as much or as often. Still, she has to have the live show. Ron would be happy to oblige, if only Traci will show him her tits. Which, like Ron’s schlong, have been thoroughly photographed and documented previously. Any half assed web search could come up with pictures of Ron’s penis and Traci’s tits. You don’t even have to type anything specific in. Just blindly stab at the keyboard, then press "enter". Viola, tits and wiener.



Aside: Why does Traci want to see Ron’s cheese stick so bad? If I’ve got to guess on the number of penises Traci’s seen up close and in person, it’d be somewhere around 10,732, and that’s probably low. And Ron’s even more puzzling. The guy lives in a universe of tits and ass. He’s practically a licensed gynecologist, for shit’s sake. Wouldn’t giant, fake breasts be downright "yawn-worthy" at this point?

Back to the show: Traci’s pathetically rich fiancé shows up and her tits remain covered. Ron pretends to care and the barbeque winds down, with Trishelle in her normal, daily drunken stupor. Trishelle’s entire existence is a cry for help. No one has gotten more pathetically drunk and whore-ish in television history than her. She deserves her own classification by now. She’s the ultimate Girl Gone Wild. It’s like she was a regular Girl Gone Wild, then with just a little bit of effort, she took it the next step further. How much further, you ask? “Passing out while tongue-kissing Andy Dick” further. How has Trishelle’s dad survived all this time?



Traci’s stupid fiancé leaves so she has time to accost Erik and Vanilla because they’re cooking some chicken. Traci’s a militant vegetarian. A militant vegetarian wearing, at that exact moment, leather shoes, a leather belt and a leather COWBOY HAT. And this is not someone who normally wears a lot of clothes. By my calculations, 60% of her wardrobe at that moment previously had a face. Of course, Erik and Vanilla are too dumb to think of these things while Traci attacks their buffalo wings.



The episode ends with an appearance by Ron’s special friend, Rick James, as a surprise for star struck Vanilla. Man, he loves Rick James. LOOOOOVES HIM. In fact, he loves him so much that he doesn’t self destruct when Rick says he looks just like he used to in the Ice, Ice Baby days. Something that usually makes Vanilla’s head implode. Instead, they all sit and talk a while and Rick, shockingly, smacks absolutely no one in the face.

Raised in a Tube

©Adam Greene

If you think that an inordinate amount of material on this site seems dedicated to talking about TV shows, you’re absolutely right. I’m very pro TV. TV raised me. My dad left when I was just a small kid, leaving TV and me to fend for ourselves. It was rough going for a while. TV had to hold down two jobs; that of a video game monitor and broadcast programming terminal for most of my life. It was tough, sure, but there were good times too.

This familiarity with television has enabled me to solve the great mystery of our time. The question that has plagued my generation and those before and after it for nearly the last half century. You probably already know what I’m talking about.

“Who’s hotter? Mary Anne or Ginger?”

I know what you’re thinking. “Adam, how can you possibly have deciphered this universal conundrum? Did you come up with some new theorem or mathematical process to discover the answer?” No, my friends, I did not. I simply looked at the screen. Looked at the women, both attractive, and after intense study I found the answer.

Ginger is hotter.

Mary Anne…she’s a little hip-py.



So there you have it.

Moving on.

Why the Hell couldn’t David Banner go anywhere without getting screwed with on The Incredible Hulk? Did I miss the episode where Dave was hired as a janitor and was left to calmly mop the floor in peace? There was absolutely no place he could go or action he could take that didn’t result in his tiny ass being kicked by be-butterfly-collared 70’s TV goons. He could be the pool guy for a couple of elderly Mormons and, sure enough, one day while skimming the pool the bad guys would show up, demanding the pool skimmer. And Dave won’t just hand the damn thing over. God knows what evil scheme these guys have in mind for the skimmer he’d think, so he’d balk. Stepping back, he’d ask them to leave. This is usually the point where the thugs beat the living shit out of Dave and toss him into a pool shed or somewhere else where they can’t see him. They walk away, marveling at the fine Taiwanese craftsmanship on their new pool skimmer when here HE comes. The Hulk, crashing through the pool shed, big as life and twice as hard. The Hulk only had one move, the crook toss. As a kid you’re ready to see him grind someone’s skull into powder and serve it on a cracker but are constantly denied that pleasure. All the Hulk wants to do is throw people in that slow motion-arm flailing-maybe-my-butterfly collar will save me kind of way. Sad, really.



I mean, at least bend something for God’s sake. You’re the fucking Hulk.

How could this repeatedly happen? Why couldn’t Dave just skim a damn pool in peace? Personally, I feel that he was a little to blame. That catchphrase, “Don’t make me angry. You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry” is just a punk ass thing to say. Any self respecting TV thug would have to give you a beat down and shed-locking just on principle after hearing that shit. I think a better catchphrase for Dave might have been, “Don’t hit me daddy!” as he weeps and shits himself. Job didn’t have it this bad.

The real issue here is simple. The guy’s the Hulk. Why take any shit at any time? If I were the Hulk I’d go around looking for trouble. I’d go to Hell’s Angels rallies and start accusing everyone of being gay. I’d wear confederate flag t-shirts to rap concerts. I’d go on Oprah and tell her and Dr. Phil both they’re a couple of whiny pussy-assed bitches, push her friend Gayle down to the ground and rub my naked ass all over her antique white couch and the book of the month.

Man. I would be a total bad ass.

Why is Hulking out wasted on the David Banners of the world?



Like every other child born in the early to mid 70’s, my favorite show for years was The Dukes of Hazzard. For those of you too young to remember (or who went though the 1980’s in a cocaine induced paranoid nude delirium), the Dukes were a southern clan from Hazzard county Kentucky who fought an unending battle against the evil J.D. “Boss” Hogg. Hogg had at his disposal a small fortune and a group of painfully retarded cronies in local law enforcement led by Sheriff Roscoe P. Coltrain. Coltrain was the disturbingly inept sheriff who quite possibly had an inappropriate relationship with his pet basset hound, Flash. Commanding the equally bumbling and obviously inbred duo of deputies, Enos and Cleetus, Coltrain was a loyal, but utterly useless pawn in Hogg’s intricate chess game with The Dukes.



The Duke clan was led by the affable Uncle Jesse. Jesse was a stern but playful man. A bootlegger in his younger days, he had passed along his driving skills and blatant disregard for society’s laws to his two young, unemployed nephews, Bo and Luke. Bo and Luke were the primary characters. The Robin Hood and Will Scarlet to Coltrain’s Nottingham, if you will. Bo was the uncommonly handsome, blonde, well built, southern good old boy with perfect teeth. Luke was the other one.



With them lived their cousin Daisy. A comely young southern gal, Daisy worked at the local titty bar, wore shorts so tiny that you could tell when she was ovulating, and had a kick ass Jeep Wrangler that made her tits flop around like water balloons on a trampoline when she drove it.



I still have no idea why she was on the show.

But I digress.

The real star of the show was a car. Not just any car, mind you, but THE car. Yes, the single most politically incorrect soulless object ever presented on modern network television. The car that not only road across covered bridges, but burned racial ones that may have never been rebuilt. The confederate flag painted across the top. The horn, blaring “Dixie”. You know what I’m talking about.

The General Lee.



Bo, the proud owner of a single yellow shirt, drove the fabled Dodge Charger while Luke road shotgun and tried to change the radio station when Bo wasn’t looking. Together they spent their young adult lives thwarting “Boss” Hogg’s evil schemes. I’m not sure what Hogg’s ultimate goal was with his schemes, but they were evil nonetheless and I’m sure warranted thwarting.



The Dukes mainly did this by jumping things in their car, screaming “YEEHAW” and fighting big- panted-be-denimed bad guys. The Dukes had their own method of fighting. Duke Fu, if you will. Each battle required meticulous planning, as Luke’s fighting style began and ended with watching Bo get his ass kicked by three or four men, then jumping from the top of a building, truck or tree onto one of the bad guys. The thing was, Luke never actually landed on anybody. His entire fighting repertoire consisted of jumping from a high place, landing next to his opponent and shoving him forward. If you’re just going to push someone, why do all the climbing? Was there no way Luke could have shoved the guy from sea level? I think it was all part of Luke’s intricate plan to kill off Bo so he could drive the car and secretly screw his cousin Daisy.



All good things must end, as they say, and the Dukes were no different. Bo and Luke, weary from their constant battle with Hogg’s unimaginable evil left Hazzard for the easier, more laid back life of Nascar race car drivers. This would be known as the “Dark Ages” of Dukes’ history, as Bo and Luke passed the Hogg fighting gauntlet to their shitwater dumbass cousins, Coy and Vance. Where Bo and Luke had a southern heroic charm about them, Coy and Vance had the reek of cheap liquor, cigarettes, and soiled Ozzy Osborne t-shirts. They personified the white trash can-you-give-me-a-ride-to-the-courthouse, that-dawg-just-come-here-to-live, why-does-your-wife-have-that-black-eye lifestyle that, really, no one wanted to see outside of their local Eyewitness News cast. I didn’t watch the Coy and Vance episodes. I knew they never stood a chance against Hogg’s unstoppable force of will. Luckily for Hazzard, and the world, really, Bo and Luke returned later that same year.



And childhood was saved for all.

Gilligan’s Island is shown virtually every hour of every day on every single station in the world. Along with Daphne from Scooby Doo, Mary Anne seems to be the first crush any young pre-sexual male seems to get. It’s when you’re older that you begin to notice Ginger. If you’ve never seen an episode, you probably don’t own a TV and are not reading this.

The Incredible Hulk is still occasionally shown on the Sci Fi Channel. It actually prompted me to come up with an official slogan of bad TV, “The Incredible Hulk Crappiness Syndrome”. It’s based entirely on what you read here. Why couldn’t Dave just show up, work and be left the hell alone? Sure, you had The Fugitive aspect with the reporter chasing him down, but he never showed up in an episode until a Hulking out and crook toss had already been perpetrated and witnessed. Sliders worked like this and was why it was unwatchable. I could probably think of 10 other genre programs that work from that same mold and they all eat ass.

The Dukes of Hazzard proudly yells various "yeehaws" and "yahoos" on CMT every single cotton-pickin' day.

Average Joe 2: Hawaii

© Adam Greene 2004

(Originally posted 3-11-2004)


I have, with much joy, watched each and every reality dating show there is. I watched Aaron Beurge ruin three beautiful women for life on the second Bachelor. I’ve seen Erin Brodie dump the all time goofiest bachelor in history, Rob Campos, in exchange for a million dollars. I witnessed Haley Arp dry humping guys dressed as Mexican wrestlers on Mr. Personality. I have even observed the incredibly uncomfortable, robotic, and hilariously stereotypical gay dates of Boy Meets Boy’s James Getzlaff. Still, nothing could have prepared me for the pure, unmitigated joy I was given by NBC’s Average Joe.

First off, it must be noted that Average Joe has brought us the two all time hottest Reality TV bachelorettes in history. BY FAR. Average Joe 1 starred Melana Scantlin, 2002’s Miss Missouri.

This is her:



Yeah. That’s right. God help us all. Now, sure, your Haleys, Helenes and Tristas are lovely women. Granted, you can keep your giant-faced Merediths, skeletal Estellas and uber-perky Kelly Jos, but there have been a handful of truly attractive ladies on these dating shows.

Then Melana shows up and sets them all on fire. In addition to being a former Miss Missouri and Miss USA contestant, she was also a Kansas City Chiefs cheerleader. She pretty much meets every single unreasonable and unrealistic standard you selected for your future girlfriend when you were twelve.

I know you’re thinking, “Well done, NBC,” but you know absolutely nothing.

I give you Average Joe 2’s Larissa Meeks:



Where Melana’s hotness could certainly cause skin irritation, some blistering, and the need for various ointments and creams, Larissa burned the very eyes from your sockets, cooked your internal organs and left you a dried, mummified corpse. Larissa was 2001’s Miss Missouri and 4th runner-up in that year’s Miss USA pageant. If Melana was the girlfriend you specifically requested from God at twelve, Larissa’s the one you would have left her for.

Why is all this worth mentioning? Because on Average Joe, this is the sort of guy NBC found for Melana and Larissa to date:



Meet David Daskal. He’s a mail sorter and lifetime wedgie recipient from Maryland Heights, MO. David says he doesn’t date many women because he’s “picky”. Uh-huh.



And here’s Tony with his design-o-beard. He’s a bald mutant with no sweat glands. Seriously. He cannot sweat. It was okay, because his lack of perspiration was more than made up for by the copious amounts of sweat pooling under:



Sean! The human hydration machine! In one episode, Sean flooded an entire kitchen from overly exerting himself while slicing a tomato.

So you see the beauty of this show. Where NBC pretended they were trying to discover whether an “average” guy could hook up with an all-world hot chick, in reality they had scoured the country for a circus-worthy group of freaks, jackoffs, fat bastards, geeks and nerds. Awesome.

Let’s take a look, shall we. Let’s start with…

THE FREAKS

Playing for the freaks in AJ2, we have the aforementioned Tony:



In addition to being bald, sweat gland-less, and the author of a self-induced beard mangling, Tony’s also an artist who can’t do art. On his and Larissa’s first date, he suggested they each paint a picture of one another. We never really get to see much of Larissa’s, but if she’d managed so much as a very dry-looking stickman with magic marker on his face, she captured Tony perfectly. Tony’s painting, on the other hand, became a recurring plot point. He worked on it for episodes at a time before finally presenting it to her. And when he unveiled the painting at last, it looked just like Larissa. If she’d been exhumed from her grave thirty or so years after her death and had died from sucking a poisoned lemon.

This is CJ:



CJ is a Civil Engineer from Denver, CO. and the proud father of a HUGE puss-filled herpes sore growing on the right side of his mouth. On the Average Joe website, CJ laments that Larissa never really got to know him. I can’t imagine why she might avoid a guy with an oozing, Lovecraftian boil undulating on his face. Girls usually love that.

CJ and Tony are joined on the Freak Team by Chris:



Chris is a musician (supposedly) who dresses like an extra in a Wisconsin public school version of Grease. All the time. Every day of his life. When asked what kind of women he usually dates, Chris said “artists, Rockabilly girls and vintage-inspired girls,” Yeah… So fat chicks, then.

Let’s now move to…

THE JACKOFFS:

This is Tim:



Tim took time off planning his next serial killing to join the cast of a reality show. In one episode, Tim was supposed to “box” Tony, but instead decided to add him to the human skin-coat he’s been crafting the last two and a half years by attacking him like a wild be-freckled animal.

Tim can get stalking advice from fellow Jackoff Brian G.:



Brian G. spends his spare time at the local gym secretly following around a girl who looks like Kristen Davis from Sex and the City and pretending to fish quarters out of his pocket to buy protein bars when he’s caught mid rub-off behind the lat machine.

Batting next for the Jackoffs is Justin:



Justin is an environmental scientist and recipient of more than twenty bee stings while on the show. Justin left early due to a “personal” issue and didn’t get the chance to be rejected by Larissa face to face. Dammit.

And now, the very king of the Jackoffs, Fredo:



Fredo is a 31 year-old construction worker with a ponytail. What sets him apart is that he actually believed he stood a chance with Larissa throughout the show until he witnessed her on the beach giving “good looking” guy Jim a tonsil exam with her tongue from the comfort of… wait for it… HIS SUBMARINE! YES! A fucking submarine! In a move so inspired, as if taken from some ethereal “idea” realm where cherubs give forth quadratic nuclear equations and works of great art and literature, the producers actually provided Fredo with his own submarine in order to spy on Jim and Larissa’s Cinemax workout. Fredo was shocked at Larissa’s actions and turned his mini-sub around to delve into the dark depths of the Pacific Ocean, never to be seen or heard from again.

Now we come to the…

FAT BASTARDS.

We’ve already mentioned Sean:



Sean is, not surprisingly, a chef. He also moonlights as a garden sprinkler. Sean produces roughly seventeen and a half quarts of sweat per minute. He dripped, dribbled and spurted non stop until he was finally given a very slippery heave-ho from the show. Sean produced so much water that he actually looked kind of refreshing. Like a condensation-beaded bottle of Sprite in a commercial. I’m thirsty just thinking about him.

We should add Bill:



We didn’t see much of Bill, as Larissa kicked the fatties to the curb pretty quick. He made the first cut and that was it. His downfall was probably the group scuba date with Larissa where a Japanese whaling ship pulled along side him in the water, harpooned him and then harvested his sex organs and precious oils. As a guy, you really can’t recover from something like that.

Squeezed next to Bill at the buffet table is Donato:



I think Donato’s problems began when he attempted to give Larissa a piece of sugar cane (because she was “so sweet”), but then brutally mauled her in order to get it back. He was distraught at his elimination, saying that he would one day “make someone a really good man” which isn’t true. By my estimation, Donato could make someone at least four really good men.

Rounding out the round ones was Samuel:



Sam could never get close enough to Larissa to have a private conversation because his giant trampoline-like belly always propelled her like a rag-doll across the patio. He was, unsurprisingly, eliminated in the same episode as Donato and Bill. But shockingly, Sean the sweaty chef hung around for one more episode humidifying and frizzing the hair of all who stood near him.


THE GEEKS:

What’s the difference between a “geek” and a “nerd” you ask? It’s simple. A nerd knows he’s a giant spaz, has come to terms with it, accepted it, and is able to gain some enjoyment out of his sad sack little life. A geek is completely oblivious to the fact that he’s a foaming tool.

Our first geek is Robert:



Robert looks like the product of a failed experiment to genetically combine Adam Sandler and that vulture with the giant goozle from the Bugs Bunny cartoons. This experiment, while giving Robert life, stripped him of the ability to speak coherently. He manages a few words, but within seconds his language becomes a babbling mouthful of pool balls, punctuated by his tongue jutting from his mouth and his eyes crossing. On the Average Joe website, Robert says that after speaking with Larissa, “I just felt like this great big goober”. An insult to goobers everywhere, I assure you.

Standing unpicked for the gym class baseball game along with Robert is Thomas:



Thomas is a rapper and break dancer. Oh yeah. Let that sink in for a minute. I said, THOMAS IS A RAPPER AND BREAK DANCER. Thomas is also 5-4 and on the website said that if he could change one thing about himself, he would be 5-9. Yes. He dreams of the lofty heights of 5 feet 9 inches tall. Cheer up, Thomas. If you were taller, there would just be more of you to make fun of.

And in the corner oblivious to the dry booger dangling from his nostril is Phuc.



Phuc, pronounced “FOOK”, not “Fucking Tubby Shit-brick”, came to the show as a young overweight Asian man pretending to be a young overweight white man trying to act black. Phuc, an accountant from Brockton, MA, must have had some bad luncheon meat on the flight to Kona, because by the time he checked into the “Average Joe” house, he was under the impression that he was a full on Crip gangsta from the hood. And if you know Brockton, Massachusetts, you know the Crips absolutely own the place. I know what you’re thinking, “Hey Adam, shouldn’t Phuc be a Fat Bastard?” Just cosmetically, because Phuc was not only under the impression that he was of African ancestry, but that he was cool as well. Unforgivable. One of Phuc’s last moments on the show pretty much sums him up. As Larissa tried to speak to him privately, Phuc found himself unable to actually look her in the bikini for fear of popping a stubby little boner (and come to think of it, Phuc actually looked like an anthropomorphic stubby little boner). Yeah. I know. What a Phuc-ing geek.

And now, a special word about Brain Worth:



Brain is a 31 year-old Auditor for the Department of Homeland Security. Yes. One of the people protecting our country from terrorists was one of the Average Joe dip-rods. Brian warrants special mention for many reasons, not the least of which is that he made it to the end of the show. (Larissa was contractually obligated to keep a goof-ball on the show until the final episode.) Brian broke the ice with Larissa in his first alone time by asking her, “If you had a wish in one hand, and a lump of crap in the other, what do you think would come true?” Larissa chose the wish, in the vain hope that she could wish herself away from Brian and his feces related fantasies. You know, that’s the first thing I think of when I see a mythically beautiful woman. I wonder how she’d like a genie and a fistload of shit. It’s also worth noting that Brian added the word “wicked” to other words like “bad”, “cool” and “awesome” unironically. Which, as you know, is wicked dorky.

THE NERDS:

Ladies, prepare yourselves for Matthew Botti:



Matthew is a 5-4, 24 year-old virgin with braces covering his giant, squash-colored horse-teeth. Those of you that watched the show may remember Matthew describing himself as “pretty cool”, warranting his inclusion with the geeks. I disagree. The guy admitted he was a virgin on national television. Not that it would have done him any good to deny it, but still, it takes real balls to admit that no one but you has ever touched your real balls.

Now we reintroduce ourselves to David Daskal:



David was, for a while, the star of the show and the very symbol of how badly Larissa was being hosed. In one competition, the “Joes” had to swim around a buoy and then ride a bicycle. David, after finishing his achingly slow swim in his giant lifejacket, had to bow out of the contest because he had never ridden a bike before. He didn’t know how. David did manage an alone date with Larissa before he was flushed, during which he not only serenaded her with a rock song he’d written especially for her, he , unbelievably, kissed her. Watching Larissa pull away from David and then realize she was on TV and would look like a bitch if she didn’t let him touch his spastic lips to her perfect ones was positively surreal. A lifetime of horror in one split second. It was like watching Fear Factor. You could tell she would have rather have been eating a donkey’s anus at that moment. Instead, she had to endure David pressing his tragically ugly face against hers, filling her nostrils with the smell of spam and cheese whiz. It was great.

It bears mentioning that David, wank that he is, is completely and totally settled in his identity. When the “hunks” showed up, the rest of the wads shit themselves, while David was completely unfazed. It wasn’t that he thought he was better looking than the “studs”. He just didn’t give a shit. He was, dare I even say it, cool about it. Good for him.

Finally, we have to mention the last “Average Joe”, Mike, because he was the only that could possibly qualify as an “average” guy on the whole island.



Mike was of average height, build and looks. He was perfectly average in every way… if you discount his past history of vicious alcohol and heroine addiction and that the entire left side of his body was completely tattooed. On Average Joe, even the average guy wasn’t very average.

For two episodes, these were the “men” Larissa had to choose from, until the producers tossed a boatload of vapid pretty boys into the mix. Needless to say, the “Joes” began exiting the show pretty quick.

The final two came down to Brian Worth, the shithand man, and Gil:



Gil was a very life-like Asimov-ian automaton, masquerading as a carpenter from Fort Lauderdale, Fl. Gil and Brian each had a final date with Larissa, one chance to show her exactly what she meant to each of them. Brian brought her into his life. She met his friends. She met his favorite baseball player. And in an emotional moment, Brian told Larissa that for the first time in his life, “my walls are coming down. I have lots of feelings. One of them is love.” Yes. Brian told Larissa that he loved her and made her cry. Brian had, throughout the show, spoken of how he’d never loved any of his past girlfriends and had a wall around his heart. Never mind that his past “girlfriends” probably consisted of a couple of huge fat asses and a woman in his office who tripped over a vacuum cord and, in breaking her fall, accidentally brushed against his penis.

The courage it took for Brian Worth to tear down those walls around his heart and fall in love with a girl like Larissa, was truly soul affirming. Because we know that guys like Brian find it very difficult to give into feelings like that while dating a woman who looks like this:



Gil and Larissa’s final date went a little differently. He basically brought her to a construction site where he was hanging some sheetrock and then took her to Applebees. Once there, Larissa asked Gil what he hoped to get out of their meeting. Expecting an answer like, “I want to meet my soulmate” or “I want to see if you and I can really make this work” or, at the very least, “I’d like to screw you until my dick falls off.” Gil, instead, said without missing a beat, “I’d like to be an actor.” That’s what he wanted to get out of his experience on the show with Larissa. He wants to be “waiter #2” on Judging Amy.

It all came down to the final elimination. Larissa stood between a private jet that would whisk her and whichever bachelor she chose to a fantasy vacation destination and a bus with the engine running, ready to haul off whatever pathetic loser she dumped. Gil, the “actor” shows up first. If ever there was a time when an “Average Joe” stood a chance it was this one. This wasn’t like Average Joe 1 where Melana picked good-looking Jason after they truly hit it off. Gil had basically told Larissa he was using her to get on TV. In contrast, Brian had confessed his undying worship and love for her. What was she going to do?

Pick Gil, of course. As he and Larissa flew off to their resort destination, Brian sat alone and unloved in the bus after being dumped, ironically, like a handful of turds. Larissa had once again picked the “wish”.

Only, be careful what you wish for. In a startling turn of events, Larissa had been keeping a shocking secret from the guys until the very end. A secret that could shatter lives and tear apart relationships forever. All week we’d waited to hear the secret. Was she once married? Had she posed for Playboy? Was she once a man?

A couple of days into her excursion with Gil, she dropped the bomb.

Her ex-boyfriend was Fabio.

Yes.

That’s right.

That was the secret.

Fabio.



Gil freaks out. He kicks rocks. Runs into the ocean and attacks the waves. He can’t deal with it. Fabio, as usual, had ruined everything. Gil, while packing up his things to leave Larissa says, “It’s Fabio. All I can think about is those cheesy romance novels. Think how you’d feel about it. That’s how I feel. Any guy in the United States of America can feel with me on this one.”

No, Gil, you fuckstick, I guarantee most guys can’t. Because Larissa looks like this:



And you’re an idiot. Gil leaves the hotel, turning to Larissa just before departing to give a “hmph” of complete disgust. Larissa, in tears, realizes the irony of her situation. Over the last few weeks she had been rejecting guys like it was going out of style. Now she sat alone and rejected herself. The irony that was lost on her, but not me, as she talked about understanding how “Poop-fingered” Brian felt, was that, as hard as she had tried not to, she still managed to pick a fucking dork.

What Price Protest?

WHAT PRICE PROTEST? ©Adam Greene 2003


With the nation at war and the threat of a terrorist attack its highest since 9-11, anti-war protesters have decided to flood the streets. The Police, Emergency Responders and Firefighters will be happy to know that while they could be stopping bombs from blowing up school buses, airplanes and shopping malls, they’ll instead be standing in front of a police barricade as Tim, a theater major from NYU, shows his dad how much he hates him by screaming “NO WAR FOR OIL” into the back of a policeman’s head. Tim has been joined by his fellow NYU classmate Terri. Terri’s lifelong search for some sort of identity has led her here. Two years ago she got the butterfly tattoo. Last year she got her tongue pierced. This year she’s protesting.

People like Tim and Terri can find out about upcoming protests on many of the websites their college professor told them about through his giant, bushy, protest beard.

Sites like www.protest.net . Protest.net tells me that on May 20th I could protest the war if I wish. The location, according to the site, is “EVERWHERE”. I’ve never been to “Everwhere” and have no idea how to find it. It sounds like the name of some sort of inspirational fantasy epic. This only piques my curiosity. Is there a map to “Everwhere”? Can I drive my SUV there? Checking back with Protest.net a few days later, I see that “Everwhere” has been removed as a protest location. Possibly because of local Elf or Hobbit indifference and the sure lack of media coverage. Instead, Protest.net gives us the location of upcoming protests that will take place throughout the rest of the year. A year? We don’t even know who we’ll be at war with a year from now. How can I plan a protest if I have no idea what bizarre, convoluted conspiracy theory I’ll be using to defend my opposition? Way to drop the ball, Protest.net .

Disappointed, I go to Not in Our Name’s website (www.notinourname.net). I’m delighted to find this a key protesting resource. Now, while you’re covering yourself in red paint and burning a U.S. Flag, you can dress in one of Not In Our Name’s stylish “Protest Tees”. Baby doll and XX sizes available, and, thankfully for peace, all major credit cards are accepted. Get special discounts when you buy more than one! After you’ve purchased your T-shirt, sit back and enjoy Not In Our Name’s TV commercial, which they can get no major cable network to run. See a young girl in a turtleneck the size South Dakota telling you that “There is no positive outcome to this war”, a be-dreadlocked man speaking gibberish that sounds suspiciously like “yousha killja booboo bee”, a girl so upset and scared that she’s lost the ability to properly wear a hat, and more. There’s the greasy girl with herpes sores and a pierced bottom lip lamenting, “They don’t listen to us”. There’s the pot head in the fur Gilligan hat, taking just enough of a break from Grand Theft Auto Vice City to tell us that there are millions of people just like him.

You might say, “What can I do?” Funny you should ask, because there’s a click-able link on Not In Our Name’s home page that asks the same question. You can take up the “Million Globes Campaign” where “The Not in Our Name Project calls on everyone to display the image of the earth across the USA to show unity with people around the world who are suffering from the injustices done by our government in our name.” But where to get the image of the globe? Where could you find something like that? Hmm. Why, yes, at the online Not in Our Name store where you bought your “Protest Tee”, of course. I thank you. Peace thanks you and your Capital One Visa card thanks you. Allow at least three weeks for delivery.

If you’re a little low on cash at the moment, hate America and are completely insane, you can visit International A.N.S.W.E.R.’s website (http://www.internationalanswer.org/) and become a communist, terrorist sympathizer and learn to love convicted criminals between your lunch-time pornography downloads. Regime change? Sure, says International A.N.S.W.E.R., but not in Iraq. No, Saddam is okay with these guys, it’s George Bush who needs to be removed from office and replaced by, if the site’s member list is any indication, a Stalinist dictatorship run by Fidel Castro. In all fairness, a move like that would end the Iraqi war. Kudos to them for thinking it all out for us.

Poor and Sane? www.unitedforpeace.org might be for you. United For Peace has a dropdown interface where you can pick your state and see how you can get involved. By choosing my own state, Tennessee, I find that I can protest the war for a full hour and half this Saturday outside of West Town Mall in Knoxville. 11to 12:30. And that’s AM, people, so you know these protesters are serious. An hour and half is no kidding around. Now, an hour, sure, you could dismiss that. But an hour and a half? I dare you to ignore that. Unless, you know, you stop somewhere and eat lunch or get your car quick-lubed or something. But, still, an hour and a half on a Saturday. That, sir, is a commitment to peace.

If your objection to the war comes from no moral place, but solely from your intense hatred of Republicans, you and Michael Moore are not alone. That’s because Moveon.org (www.moveon.org) has indeed moved on. Where it once existed to combat Bill Clinton’s impeachment and removal from office, it has now found a new purpose. Moveon.org is against any and all military action ordered and supported by Republicans. Why worry about the hypocrisy of supporting or ignoring a Bill Clinton ordered strike on Iraq in 1998? He was a democrat and Moveon.org makes it clear that that’s okay. Moveon.org also lists and supports financially political candidates it feels agree with their principles. And, can you believe it? Each and every one is a democrat. On their Political Action Committee page, Moveon.org states that they are “committed to supporting candidates for Congress who are committed to acting in the broad interest of the American public.” Unless, of course, the public is interested in removing Saddam Hussein from power and disarming Iraq by a 3-1 margin. Then the broad interests of the American public are something to be completely ignored. Keep up the good fight, Moveon.org.

Whether you hate America, Republicans or just your dad, it’s nice to know as you’re being honked at, yelled at and flipped off by someone your “die in” is making late for work, that there will still be somewhere you can go where everyone knows your name and accepts and agrees with your beliefs. Of course, the name they know you by is “HOTDUDE69”, but still, that should count for something.

The XFL, Because Adam Greene Said So.

(This article originally appeared on the now-dead NFLScoop.com Feb. 2001.)

©Adam Greene 2001

When the XFL was first announced, owner Vince McMahon claimed the “X” stood for “eXciting”, “eXhilarating” and “eXtreme”. When McMahon was told that none of those words started with the letter “X”, he punched the reporter in the face and poured a warm beer over his prone, unconscious body.

Thus, the match made in heaven, if by heaven you mean the hose-down room in a Malibu strip club, between the WWF and NBC began. This was supposed to be real football. Football with no rules. Gladiatorial contests where men fought for honor and honor alone... with six or seven ex Hooters waitresses grinding on the sidelines. It was to be everything the NFL was not.

Well, after watching the first game, all I can say is, “Vince, mission accomplished.”

Because I can actually be entertained by the NFL.

The XFL, on the other hand, was an endurance contest that, without the help of my “picture in picture” TV, I honestly don’t think I could have completed. McMahon should have warned us ahead of time that the “X” actually stood for “eXcruciating”, “eXcrement-like”, and “eXceptionally horrid”. It was indeed a spectacle... much in the same way a dog licking its anus is a spectacle. You can’t look away, but you’re glad you have no personal stake in it.

The contest starred the Las Vegas Outlaws, the New York/New Jersey Hitmen and the 40 or so players on each team that you’ve more than likely never heard of. These guys were supposedly playing “for the love of the game” only. I’m sure the hopes that an NFL scout might accidentally hit the TV remote as he reaches for the phone to call in a Little Caesars Stuffed Crust pizza had nothing to do with it at all. I couldn’t help but wonder if the only real thought on their minds was “So this is what my $50,000 college education got me.” The game, as all XFL games will be, was played on a natural surface, proving that there’s more grass in Las Vegas than what the staff smokes in the Sands’ restrooms.

There are some different rules in this new league. The first you’ll notice is the mad dash to the football that takes the place of the coin toss. The philosophy behind this, according to “Director or President of Something or Other” Dick Butkis (Hey, I can’t be bothered to learn everyone’s title here), was that “if you want the ball, you need to get the ball.” Well, great, but it looked to me like he should have said, “if you want to replace your lower intestines with a football, you need to run as fast as you can and jump on the football.” How anyone retained a working diaphragm, I’ll never know.

The pay scale is vastly different from the NFL’s as well. Quarterbacks make $5,000 a game, all other players make $4,500, except for kickers who get a wedgie and a free rental from Blockbuster.

Another big change from regular, entertaining football is that in the XFL, there's no "fair catch". Basically, instead of a fair catch, the XFL coverage team must give the receiving player a five-yard halo, and then try to tackle him. This is a move that should really be applauded. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve said while watching an NFL telecast, “He’s calling for a ‘fair catch’. It’s this kind of crap that’s ruining the game!”

The game was moderated by Jessie “the belly” Ventura and Matt “the weenie” Vasgersian. You might recognize Vasgersian from those 989 Sports video game commercials that mocked ESPN’s wisecracking Sportscenter. You might recognize Jessie Ventura from your gubernatorial ballot. Good job, Minnesota.

The players in the XFL don’t have to put their names on the back of their jerseys...because that’s “old thinking”, “restrictive to creativity”, and “would make too much sense”. Instead, they can pick a nickname like “Hurricane” or “Tornado” or “Prisoner #857B”. My favorite nickname was picked by Las Vegas running back Rod Smart who had the phrase “He Hate Me” on the back of his jersey. And you know what? He was right. I did hate him.

The game began with a surreal round of self-humiliation as the home team players actually introduced themselves to the cameras. Most said their name and what college they attended, which was fine. It was those few fine fellows who decided to expound on themselves, their family and their talent that had me diving for the remote. At one point, a player gave “shout outs” to everyone in his particular branch of his family tree, admonishing the camera man who attempted to pull away that “I’m not done!”. He finally finished with a “peace” to his wife, informing her that she did indeed, “complete him”. He then screamed to Vince McMahon to “show him the money!” and finally entered the huddle informing the quarterback that he “had him at hello.”

Of course, this wouldn’t be a Vince McMahon venture without scantily clad women gyrating about, and the XFL cheerleaders were attractive... in that, “You can look at my breasts if you show me a folded $5 bill” kind of way. At one point when the game returned from a commercial break, we learned that one of the XFL cheerleaders, we’ll call her Amber because that’s as likely to be her name as anything, was a law student by day. We know this is true because we see her sitting at a desk typing and wearing glasses with her hair up. She then tells us, “But by night, I’m an XFL cheerleader” while taking off her glasses and letting her hair down. See? With the glasses on, she’s a law student and with them off, she’s a cheerleader. She’s just like Superman only more likely to kiss a girl.

The game was secondary to all this and the Outlaws won it 19-0. The ratings were pretty big though, and I’m sure Vince McMahon and NBC are all patting themselves on their hunched, steroid-filled backs right now. They’re proud, because this is a new era, a new tradition and a new league...named the XFL.

But, as I always say, “It doesn’t matter what your name is.”

Originally posted 08/27/2004

-In a story we missed last week, New Jersey Governor James McGreevey announced his resignation and fondness for hairy man ass to a room of crowded reporters. McGreevey’s real problem stems not from his taste for testes, but that that he improperly hired his butt buddy, Golan Cipel, to be his homeland security adviser. Something Golan was not qualified for as his background lay mainly in unicorn poetry and the somewhat relevant fact that he wasn’t an American citizen and couldn’t legally attend any homeland security meetings. Since he couldn’t actually show up for work, Cipel instead decided to sue McGreevey for sexual harassment. McGreevey, caught with his hand on the cookie squirter, had little choice of what to do next. Trapped in a web of government corruption, he did what any man would do in his place; hold a press conference and claim he’s resigning the governorship because he loves cock.

With his wife at his side, McGreevey said, “At a point in every person's life, one has to look deeply into the mirror of one's soul and decide one's unique truth in the world, not as we may want to see it or hope to see it, but as it is." McGreevey continued, “That I am just one more in a long line of corrupt politicians that should be in prison. Wait! Scratch that. Instead let’s go with… uh.. ah, I got it. …And so, my truth is that I am a gay American."

-Democratic Presidential nominee John Kerry appeared in public red-eyed, flush-faced with a diaper full of poopy last Friday as he called on President George W. Bush to put a stop to the Swift Boat Vets for Truth ads that he has no control over or responsibility for.

"The president keeps telling people he would never question my service to our country. Instead, he watches as a Republican-funded attack group does just that," Kerry told a firefighter’s union through large gasping snot-filled sobs.

"They're a front for the Bush campaign. And the fact that the president won't denounce them tells you everything you need to know -- he wants them to do his dirty work," Kerry whined to the slack-jawed crowd. When asked why he has not condemned the many independent organizations such as Moveon.org and ACT who have made anti-Bush attack ads and share lawyers with his campaign, he replied, “Because they are trying to help ME do MY dirty work. Hello?? Duh. I only want to talk about these republican ads. Get with it, people.”

The Swift Boat Vets’ claims have been widely discredited based on the historical record of medal citations awarded to Kerry and one of their members, Larry Thurlow. Thurlow disputes Kerry’s and the medal citation’s account of a March 1969 event in the Mekong Delta. A fact that has received derision on any and all news networks that aren’t Fox News. Truly, medal citations cannot be questioned for their accuracy. As we learned when Bob Kerrey, who many of John Kerry’s staff confuse with their boss, received a bronze star and citation for “heroic achievement in killing 21 Viet Cong, burning two peasant huts, and capturing two enemy weapons.” For an event that he admitted in 1998, after being outed by one of the men in his unit, was an unwarranted massacre of unarmed civilians, women and children. Truly, Vietnam era medals and citations are above reproach.

(Note- Link to the Bob Kerrey story is here.)

Orginally posted 08/20/2004

For those of you who, like me, thought that it would be a cold day in Hell when you see Pearl Jam and the Dixie Chicks play on the same stage, are pretty sure Hitler’s wearing a parka right now as they join Bruce Springsteen, John Mellencamp, Bonnie Rait and a plethora of artists you don’t hear on the radio anymore on the Vote For Change tour. Sponsored by stupidity-powered MoveOn.org and America Coming Together, Vote For Change was formed to convince you that voting lockstep with a party that controlled both houses of Congress and the Presidency for the majority of the last century is somehow making a move against the establishment.

R.E.M. basist Mike Mills took a break from yellowing his teeth to explain his band’s participation by saying, "The purpose of this tour is to make John Kerry the next president. And in doing so, we will unseat the guy who's got to go down as the worst president in the history of this country." Proud of the loss of credibility he’d just suffered, he turned to share a high five with Dave Matthews and missed, falling to the floor and cracking a bicuspid he had been working on turning orange for the last 15 years.

“It’s the first time Bruce and the E Street Band ever stood up and made a clear political statement,” Dave Matthews told The Associated Press, adding, “Usually he just mumbles a lot and makes that ‘I’ve got to shit’ face. This time, though, he’s articulating and enunciating actual words. He really is the boss!”

Actually being on the stage with people possessing actual musical and lyrical talent is new to Dixie Chick Natalie Maines, but she knows they all stand for the same thing. Maines said. “There’s never been a political climate like this, which is so the polar opposite of me as a person and what I believe in.” She was then asked what she believed in and replied, “Me having an actual career and making money. Something that doesn’t seem to be happening anymore.” Maines was then told there were Chips Ahoy in the green room and was no longer available for comment.

"The upcoming election provides everyone an opportunity to change the direction our country is headed and to elect a government that is just, rational and respectful of the views and rights of the people it serves," Pearl Jam's Stone Gossard said beneath a cloud of hashish smoke. "This coalition of artists wants to be a part of that change." He continued, “Unless that’s any real change, like, for instance, freeing three full populations of the world and killing or capturing thousands of terrorists, making the world a better and safer place for everyone who lives on it. We, as a group, are firmly against that.”

"At some point, you can't sit still," adds Pearl Jam lead singer Eddie Vedder. "You can't spend your life, when people are getting killed, without asking serious questions about why." Veddar added, “Like why we were all fine about Clinton’s bombing of Iraq? Was I too busy promoting No Code or doing DVD commentary for Singles? Why was it okay for Clinton to act unilaterally without the U.N.’s backing in Eastern Europe? What makes the mass graves in Bosnia more of a tragedy than those in Iraq? Would it help if the Iraqis were whiter? You know, important questions like that.”

Originally posted 02/20/2004

-It took him 53 years, but former Vermont Governor Howard Dean finally discovered something that the rest of us already knew: He is a big loser. Yes, after being ass-raped by his fellow democratic nominees, Howard Dean has officially suspended his campaign for president. "I am no longer actively pursuing the presidency," Dean screamed as he was tasered by a group of Montpelier, VT police during a nude rampage through Shaws supermarket. "We will, however, continue to build a new organization using our enormous grass-roots network to continue the effort to transform the Democratic Party and to change our country,” he wailed through a rain of billy clubs striking his head and shoulders. As he was dragged from the supermarket, covered only by an officer’s spare coat and the thick mane of curly gray ape-hair that God gave him, Dean cried out to the gawking crowd of hippies and hacky sack players saying, "The bottom line is that we must beat George W. Bush in November, whatever it takes! HAAAAAROOOOOOOOOO!" Later, as he flung his fresh feces at his fellow cellmates at the Montpelier detention center, he yelled, “There is enormous institutional pressure in Washington against change, in the Democratic Party against change. Yet, you have already started to change the party and together we have transformed this race! The fight that we began can and must continue!" Goodbye, Howard Dean. You will be missed.

-For all intents and purposes the democratic race is down to the two Johns; Kerry and Edwards. Because of that, and the fact that he’s been crushed like Ted Kennedy’s last fifteen senate chairs, Edwards has challenged Kerry to a policy debate on This Week with George Stephanopoulis before the upcoming primary in Georgia. He wants to focus on their differences, stating, “He supported NAFTA. I voted against NAFTA and other trade agreements that he supported, and I think it's been devastating to our economy. But I think more importantly the voters of Georgia need to hear what our differences are across the whole broad range of issues.” He continued, “Like, for instance, I’m a handsome man and he’s a freakish flesh-eating soulless corpse. I want to meet you and talk about your problems. He wants to consume your brain. You know, just your basic stuff.”

-Ralph Nader is back! Al Gore’s favorite Green Party candidate and the first person to taste the bitter sting of a Michael Moore endorsement, has tossed his feathered elf hat into the ring with another laughable run at the White House. Unlike last time, when he had all four members of the Green Party and their yellow and white VW van behind him, he’ll be running as an independent.

Originally posted 02/13/2004

-The democratic presidential primary was kneed in the groin Wednesday by allegations that someone in the world might have willingly had sex with John Kerry that wasn’t contractually obligated to. And, yes, gag. As broken on The Drudge Report, John’s been giving an intern his own “cigar as speculum” treatment. In a panic Kerry gave the (evidently blind) intern an all expenses paid trip to Africa, thinking that, perhaps, Antarctica might have seemed a tad too suspicious. In an interview on Imus in the Morning, the pathetically small audience heard Kerry’s denial, saying, “there is nothing to report.” He then added, “Because if I’d slid in and out of that sweet, sweet, young ass I would have reported it. You know what I’m saying? I think you do. Oh yeah.” Kerry then attempted to wink, but the botox needle jutting over his eye socket prevented it.

Aside: You know, if I can plant the haunting visual of John Kerry having sex into just one person’s brain, my job here is done.


(Note from the future...or at least today[04/04/2005]. When I wrote this next section I wasn't aware that Bill O'Reilly had had this book out for a while. I saw and ad and thought it was new. In my defense, I have a life and no desire to read any of O'Reilly's books and feel no shame in not knowing his bibliography. The irony is, I actually found this out by reading Al Franken's book Lies and the Lying Liars Who Tell Them.)

-In an attempt to assault and destroy all literature, TV commentator and professional screaming head Bill O’Reilly has written a novel. In Those Who Trespass, the main character, Tommy O’Malley (not kidding, that’s the name. He should have gone with Phil O’Schreilly. It would have been less obvious that way) attempts to solve a string of very “Clue: The Board Game” style murders at Global News Network (aka GNN). For instance, one white house correspondent is killed with a silver spoon at Martha’s Vineyard. And, again, I promise I’m NOT KIDDING. During the mystery, the main character tries to hook up with super hot reporter Ashley Van Buren who, most likely, is not based in any way on super hot CNN reporter Ashleigh Banfield. I mean, the “Ashley” is spelled totally different and the last name, starting with a “B,” is obviously much different when you stick a “Van” in there. Come on, people. Bill isn’t confessing a pathetic, secret crush here at all. I’m guessing, but I’d also bet that “Tommy” at one point fights Hollywood actor Jeorge Flooney to the death, tosses comedian Sal Frankmen off a roof, kills each and every illegal immigrant crossing the U.S./Mexico border with a kitchen knife and angrily tells a terrorist attack victim’s son to “Shut up! Just shut your stinkin’ mouth!”

-Maurice Clarett won’t have to wait until 2005 to buy his gold-plated Escalade, as U.S. District Court Judge Shira Scheindlin ruled that he could enter the NFL draft this year. Clarett had been denied eligibility by the NFL because of a rule stating that a player has to have been out of high school for three years before they can be drafted. Clarett responded to that, saying that he had never been to class in high school anyway and all his work was done by “some nerd named Toby something-or-other”. He then tried in vain to read aloud an employee’s name tag at McDonald’s, saying, “Yeah, Keel el lee. I’ll have the Big Mac extra value meal. And sup-per sieyeezeee it.”

-The U.S. Men’s Soccer team gave us, as a country, one more reason to hate them as they were eliminated from competing in the Olympic Games by losing to Team Mexico 4-0 while their fans chanted “Osama! Osama!” and threw bags of urine on the field. What a bunch of pussies. And I’m not talking about the Mexican fans. Yes, anyone that would do that is human shaped shit, but if our players can’t pull it together and win the game while fans pelt them with piss and praises to their worst enemy, they suck an ass the size of Texas. This was a movie moment. This was a “Do you believe in miracles?” kind of thing. This was the time you could have really put your sport on the American map and given us, as a country, a reason to even learn your names. Yes, fuck you Mexican soccer fans. You should all rot in hell. But fuck you too, U.S. Soccer team. You should all be cleated in the nuts.

-On UPN’s Game Over, a computer generated comedy about a family of video game characters debuting March 10th, the Smashenburn family (Rip, the dad-Raquel, the mom- Alice, the daughter- Billy, the son) can look forward to a visit from the Tomb Raider herself, Lara Croft in an upcoming episode. In the show, Lara will visit the family and let Rip and Billy stare at her large digitized breasts. In a related episode, the guy from GTA: Vice City smashes his car into their house, has sex with Raquel, then shoots her in the face with a rocket launcher.

-Conan O’Brien hasn’t been in Canada for even a week and he’s already pissed off the entire country. And, one more time, unbelievably, I AM NOT KIDDING. In an appearance by Triumph: The insult comic dog, Triumph insulted the Canadian national pride by saying, “You’re French.. I can smell your crotch from here.” Conan’s show has also been replacing street signs with ones saying “Quebequeer Street” and “Rues Des Pussies”. All funny and wonderful things, but Canadians, ironically, seem to be lacking a sense of humor. A country whose main export seems to be comedians can’t get the joke? Alex McDonough, from the New Democratic party (even nuttier than our clown car of a democratic party, it seems) said, “There may be those who would say, 'Isn't this interfering with freedom of expression?' It's not interfering to say we will not publicly fund this kind of vile, vicious hatemongering.” He then added, “I live on Quebequeer street! And I will not stand being called a queer by an inanimate street sign!” Late Night with Conan O’Brien is broadcast in Canada by CHUM television (CHUM? For God’s sake, Canada. What the hell?). Chum was contrite, issuing a statement, “We offer our apology and assurance that it is never our intention to air programming that offends any of our viewers.” In another statement released just today, Triumph also expressed regret, stating, “Yes. Yes. Canada is a beautiful country. A wonderful, fantastic country. A terrific, spectacular country… … … … … for me to poop on.”

Originally posted 02/04/2004

-John Kerry, Massachusetts senator and professional brain-eating zombie, swept up five of the seven democratic primaries held Tuesday, prompting rival Howard Dean to shout out, “Man! Have we got this thing sewn up or what? Oooga Boooga! Kreegah!”

Kerry, of course, was elated at the wins, saying, “It's a huge night. I'm stunned by it. It shows strength across the country and across demographics. It's a statement by Democrats across the country that I am the candidate who can take on George Bush and beat him." He then added, “And, yes, I’m pretty high from sniffing glue right now.”

His chief rivals, John Edwards and Wesley Clark also each won a primary to stay statistically alive for the nomination. In a related story, Vermont Governor Howard Dean had a free thickburger coupon turned down at Washington Hardees because it had expired three days before. Speaking to three homeless people and a foreign exchange student from Croatia, Dean said, “We're going to have a tough night tonight, but here's why we're going to keep going and going and going and going and going just like the Energizer bunny. We're going to pick up some delegates tonight, and this is all about who gets the most delegates in Boston in July, and it's going to be us." Dean then looked down at the growing urine stain in his pants, clapped his hands loudly together and said, “I made a pee pee! I made a pee pee!”

John Edwards was more subdued after winning his home state of North Carolina, telling the crowd, “You said that the politics of lifting people up beats the politics of bringing people down.” He then continued, “And because of that, you proved that you know absolutely nothing about American politics. Thanks for the vote, you fucking dumbasses!”

For his own win, unemployed General Wesley Clark stated the obvious after winning Oklahoma. “The message [Democrats] sent couldn’t be clearer, “Clark said. “America wants a higher standard of leadership in Washington.” He then added, “And that’s pretty much why I’ve lost every single contest up to this point but one.”

Tuesday was not without its casualties, however, as Senator Joe Lieberman finally managed to read the writing on the wall and dropped out of the race. "It is time to make a difficult but realistic decision,” Lieberman said in his concession speech, “to end my quest for the presidency of the United States of America. “ Why Lieberman picked now to make his “realistic decision” is anyone’s guess. He could have easily made the same “realistic decision” before he even declared himself as a nominee. Still, Lieberman was proud of the way he ran his campaign, saying, “I may not have shouted the loudest, but I'm proud I took the tough position in support of what I believe was right for our great country -- even when it wasn't popular. Which, evidently, doesn’t work when you’re trying to get elected president. Who the hell knew?"

Originally posted 02/02/2004

-Groundhog Day is a time of celebration for the good folks in Punxsutawney, PA. And today was no different as famous weather forecaster, Phil the groundhog, popped out of his hole this morning, saw Janet Jackson's boob, and predicted six more weeks of sexy. Immortalized by the movie starring Bill Murray, Phil also managed to see his shadow Monday morning, and while far less interesting than Jackson's nipple ring, that is the one job the lazy bastard actually has. In a statement Phil labored on for weeks, he got political, saying, "I'm glad I live in this luxurious burrow on the knob, and not in a dirty, smelly, spider hole like a slob. When I come out, I don't want to negotiate; but to just do my job and prognosticate." Surely truer words have never spoken by a giant, 80 pound buck-toothed rat.

-"He misrepresented himself, grossly misrepresented himself, as a candidate who would take on special interests in Washington, instead he's spent the last twelve years filming himself having sex with goats" blithering madman Howard Dean said of democratic frontrunner John Kerry on the eve of Tuesday's seven state primary. The harsh rhetoric has been emblematic of a tough primary race between Kerry, who's won every single one held, and Dean, who has spent the last three weeks huddled in a bathroom floor in a puddle of his own piss.

Undaunted, Kerry snapped back at Dean's charges. "My record responds to that," he said. "I have fought powerful special interests every step of the way." He then added, 'And I have never, even once, filmed any of the sex I've had with goats."

"I don't know what happened to Dean's positive campaign, but it is the shortest-lived positive campaign I have ever seen," Kerry said Monday in Tucson while wiping goat's milk from above his lip.

Since becoming the frontrunner, Kerry's new fresh "Son of Frankenstein-ian" face has brought about charges that he's recently injected a horrible poison called Botox into his face in order to kill his facial muscles. A charge Kerry has denied, stating publicly that he just always looks this cadaver-y. "When you have no soul," Kerry said through his zombie-like monotone, "the eyebrow movement is the first thing to go."

For his part in the fray, John Edwards has kept away from any goat-fucking and botox allegations, focusing instead on where Kerry's campaign contributions have come from, saying, "I don't take contributions from lobbyists, and he obviously does."

To which Kerry responded, "Well, duh, Gomer. Why the hell do you think I'm winning?"

Originally posted 02/01/2004

-This is the first installment of Yesterday's News and it would be foolish to start anywhere other than the most important, hyped and watched event in the world yesterday. Yes, I'm talking about when Janet Jackson whipped out her tit on the Super Bowl halftime show.

To be fair, Justin Timberlake did the whipping out, during a lip synced performance of his song, well, shit, I couldn't tell you the name of it to save my life. Anyway, there's this line about "being nekkid", and, sensing that there may be one breast on the planet he had yet to see in person, Justin disrobed Janet's bejeweled bosom to the delight of a world audience, including the three hundred or so countries where seeing a woman's naked breast gets you arrested, stoned and your eyes ripped out and fed to hyenas.

CBS's Leslianne Wade released a statement saying, "CBS deeply regrets the incident" Adding, "But damn, that was hot! I saw areola! I fucking swear I did!"

For his part in the event, Justin Timberlake blamed the people in charge of dressing Jackson. He said, "I am sorry that anyone was offended by the wardrobe malfunction during the halftime performance of the Super Bowl. It was not intentional and is regrettable." He then continued, "Because if I could have gotten it off sooner, I could have really sucked the shit out of that nipple! Damn. What the hell did the costumers put it together with? Teflon cord? I haven't had to work that hard releasing a nipple since Britney accidentally zipped hers up in that red leather jumpsuit."

NFL executive vice president Joe Brown was equally perturbed, saying, "We were extremely disappointed by elements of the MTV-produced halftime show. They were totally inconsistent with assurances our office was given about the content of the show." Brown then added, "I was told that both breasts would be exposed, would be bouncing and that the camera would fixate on them for at least the 23 and half seconds it would take me to ejaculate. It's unlikely that MTV will produce another Super Bowl halftime."

For its part in the event, MTV was also remorseful. In their statement, they apologized by saying the moment was "unrehearsed, unplanned, completely unintentional and was inconsistent with assurances we had about the content of the performance. Janet was supposed to actually remove her pants, bend over and let Timberlake penetrate her anally. Again, we're sorry. We really dropped the ball on this one."

-In a related story, Super Bowl 38 was actually played and it was a pretty good one. The final score was New England Satan's Nut Sacks (a.k.a. Patriots) 32, Carolina Panthers 29.

-In Holland, Michigan, a nerd proved it was possible, much to the scientific communities' disbelief to actually pass on his genetic code as John Blake Cusack and his wife Jamie welcomed son, John Blake Cusack 2.0 into the world last Tuesday. "I wanted to find something different to name him besides Jon Blake," Cusack said, adding, "I never made it through a day of public school without having my underwear pulled over my head and neither should he." A self-described "geek", John said convincing his wife Jamie was difficult, but won out when his other suggestions of "Worf Tiberius" and "Obi Wan Kosh" were taken off the table. In the electronic birth announcement, John stated that 2.0 has "...a lot of features from version 1.0 with additional features from Jamie," He continued, "We're leaving him uncircumcised too, just to make sure the poor little guy doesn't stand a chance."