The Farmer in CorDell

POSTED BY LINDSAY

Ok, I'll admit it. I am not always the sharpest knife in the drawer, or in the chopping block depending on your kitchen space. To me, the only person I know that truly defines perfection is my niece, Alexis, (See The Idiot Father). I may be a slightly critical person but I am also consistent, which is why my top pet peeves have rightfully remained the same over the years. Unfortunately for me, I recently found someone who encompasses every pet peeve I never thought to include on my list and thus defines my new list of pet peeves. Before I fill you in on my latest and most irritable, I would like to give you a rundown of my standard classics that now take a distant second place to my new list. I apologize in advance if I'm hitting too close to home for anyone but if it makes you feel any better, it's never too late to change your ways!

Old Pet Peeves:
-People with B.O.
-People who walk at a snails pace for no reason in the middle of the street/sidewalk and have no regard for the people behind them who are trying to get somewhere. ( I really have nowhere to go I just truly can't stand these assholes!)
-Close talkers
-People who change their personality depending on who they're with
-People who choose to use alternative swear words (curse words for the East Coasters) i.e.-frick, heck, dang, fudge-also anyone that uses the phrase "Dog gone it" applies to this peeve
-People that can't spell
-People over the age of eight who drink Mountain Dew--this rule could be stretched to an early ten, but if you're thirty, drink some coffee or turn to drugs. It's better to be a drug addict than to be caught drinking something neon yellow.

Sidebar-I should also mention that this doesn't necessarily only apply to humans-I'm fully against a terrier that has B.O.

So, while those listed above most definitely continue to annoy me, my new jackass boss has undoubtedly taken the cake and outstaged every one of my former pet peeves, as well as fit the description for some off the old list.

I'll begin with the basics. His name is CorDell. That's right, a big capital D in the middle of his name. Let's examine this. Upon receiving my first email from him I wondered to myself, do you think he created the big D in his name? And now that I know him, he most certainly did. It's like in that movie with Steve Martin and Sarah Jessica Parker when her name is Sandee and she spells it with alternating capital and lowercase letters. Please, who has the time for that bullshit?

Now, let's go over his appearance. He's 31 and he looks about 45. He wears his hair in a stylish comb over, yet he's not balding. His standard outfit usually consists of pants out of a Land's End catalog, some sort of paisley metro shirt from Banana Republic so he can look "liberal" and a pair of ankle boots that would only be appropriate if he were a jockey in Manchester, England.

Now that we've covered the basic reasoning for why CorDell defines the word douchebag, here is a list of the latest pet peeves.

1)He does the dry laugh: If you're not sure what I'm referring to, I'm talking about that annoying sound that resembles a cough that's most commonly exerted when a real laugh isn't really necessary but you want to appear humorous. News Flash: It's not funny, you just sound like you have asthma.

2)He thinks he's a genius and everyone else is beneath him: Now let me clarify this. Diane Sawyer is my hero, if she wants to prance around Times Square and act like she's better than everyone in New York, that's her right. She is brilliant. I don't find someone that spells graphically (graphycally) and doesn't know the difference between two, to and too (Hello, fourth grade!) to be smarter than me. He finds the need, however to constantly undermine everything I say by being inquistive, as well as talk to me like I'm incompetent.

Here are some examples:

Example 1:

Me: The print out that we want isn't coming out in the colors we need, we need to change the printer ribbon

Dell: (Smirking at me) The ribbon or the cartridge?

Me: Blank stare

Example 2:

(After my first presentation for the partners of the company)

Dell: You did a really good job, I think that went well.

Me: Me too, I'm surprised, it was better than I expected.

Dell: (In all seriousness) Yeah I expected you to choke and thought I was going to have to cover the entire thing.

Me: More blank stares

3) He answers the phone in a professional voice even though he has caller ID and knows exactly who is calling him: Last week, he answers his cell phone in his annoying voice, "Hello, this is CorDell." Because his desk is five inches from mine I can hear the entirety of his conversation and realize thirty seconds into it that he's talking to his wife. His wife! Does he really not know her number on the caller ID or does he just feel the need to maintain "professionalism" while discussing which Olive Garden he should meet her at for dinner? I'm dumbfounded.

This last one is part of my classic list, however I could not leave it out as it is one of the most pertinent to defining his character.

4) Every other word out of his mouth is frick: I work in an office where fuck is completely acceptable, if not preferable in conversation. CorDell opts for frick and why wouldn't he? I think you can rightfully agree that "Frickin-A" lost its luster the second you graduated from middle school.

I plan on frequently adding more annoyances to this list as I continue to contemplate poking both of my eyes out with a pencil so I can leave work and bypass talking to him. If you know CorDell (there's only one right?), I'd like to keep my job for a while, so I would appreciate you keeping this from him.

Dwoskin Picks a Peck of Pickled Peppers

POSTED BY BK

This friend of my parents, Marc Dwoskin, is very into pickling stuff. An excellent hobby in my book and earns him immediate credibility with me. So every year he pickles a new vintage of peppers (One might argue about using the term vintage for peppers. I think its fitting and appropriate. Clearly, they differ from year to year--same as wine. And I'd put a 2003 Dwoskin Hungarian Pepper up against a 1990 Chateau Margaux any day of the week). I'm not sure how many types of peppers he actually pickles, but the 3 types I'm familiar with are:

1) Hungarian--A larger, yellowish banana type pepper. Hot, but the mildest of the group. These are tremendous!

2) Jalapeno--You know what they are, but in pickled variety. Incredibly hot for my taste, but if cut into very small pieces and used in salads, turkey burgers, etc, they're very tasty.

3) Scotch Bonnet--Small little peppers, the hottest of the 3. I wish I was man enough to enjoy these, but the heat is pretty much unbearable to me (it's like the Equator in your mouth).

So basically Dwoskin goes down to the Eastern market in Detroit on the appropriate date every year and stocks up on that years inventory of peppers. He then goes through the pickling process (I'm foggy on these details) and stores the pickles in mason jars for what I believe is several months until they are at the appropriate condition for eating. He gave my Dad a couple jars a few years ago, when he expressed some interest, and my Dad has become the equivalent of a Crack addict (not that I'm criticizing this) with these peppers ever since. He introduced my brother and I to them and we both fell in love also (although, admittedly, I can only eat them in moderation, whereas my Dad literally could cut them up at 7 AM and put them on his breakfast cereal).

During that first honeymoon year, Dwoskin was always good to our family, keeping our refrigerators stocked with his peppers (One might argue that he seemed to be a little stingy with the Hungarians, always claiming "that he didn't have any". But again, his hobby is PICKLING. So I'm certainly going to give him the benefit of the doubt on this one). So Dwoskin would hook us up with our pepper stash, the only caveat being that we return his mason jars upon completion (as solid a deal as one could ask for). As the new season was nearing, Dwoskin approached his best customer (my Dad) to make the pilgrimmage to the Eastern market to help shop for the upcoming vintage. To me this would be a terrific experience and also a great opportunity. You'd think it would be the equivalent of a wine connoisseur getting a trip to Bordeaux or a cigar aficionado going to Havana. My Dad (who certainly qualifies as a pepper guru), however, declined the invitation, not wanting to get up at the crack of dawn to take part in this activity. I questioned this decision back then and my same issues remain today. My issues with the decision, in no particular order:

-He was running the risk of putting our pepper supply in jeopardy. My Dad's thought process was, why should I help with the legwork and learn the nuances of the pickling process, when I can just continue to enjoy the spoils of Dwoskin's largesse? At that time, every time he returned a mason jar to Dwoskin, he was given a full one back in return (kind of like Netflix, but this service was free and he never got a movie/pepper that he didn't like). It was the perfect set up. Where my Dad was misguided is that he believed that this sweet deal would continue indefinitely with no strings attached. I advised him that even if he didn't want to go, it was worth sucking it up for one morning to ensure that you're grandfathered in for unlimited peppers for the entire year's vintage. Seemed like a small price to pay. I felt that by turning down Dwoskin's invitation, he was exposing us to the risk of potentially offending and alienating Dwoskin, and possibly cutting off our supply at the source. He wouldn't hear of it though, he thought these concerns were unfounded.

-IT WAS AN OPPORTUNITY TO GET A DAY OF ALONE TIME WITH DWOSKIN!!! Now I don't know Dwoskin that well, but from what I do know of him that doesn't seem like a bad thing. First of all, they are both decent looking, middle aged Jewish guys with good hair. They both have a little bit of paunch and girth to them. Plus they have at least one shared interest (Peppers). The only thing my Dad was giving up on this Saturday morning, was a walk down to the end of the driveway in his robe to get the Free Press, a cup of coffee, a crossword puzzle and a few phone calls to me. He could of probably politely done all these things throughout his morning with Dwoskin. Clearly it was a missed opportunity.

-It was a chance to get an inside look at how great pickling goes down. Dwoskin was offering the Keys to the Castle and my Dad wasn't willing to stop by and pick up the envelope. Now a few words about my Dad. He doesn't have a lot of hobbies per se. He enjoys talking on his cell phone, checking voicemail, reading the Buckeye Sports Bulletin (BSB), doing crossword puzzles, watching sports, going to Costco and doing airport runs. Thats about it. The only other hobbies involve food. He enjoys mustards and sauces as much as any Kaplan, he's tinkered in creating dry rubs, he likes barbequing and derives as much pleasure as is humanly possible by getting a good sear on a piece of fish or meat. So clearly, pickling would fit right into this category and would only enhance his repertoire. This is a craft that he could pass down to his children and grandchildren. If something (god forbid) ever happened to Dwoskin, he'd be next in line to take over the operation. I just don't see the downside.

So anyway, my Dad didn't go that day and as predicted the relationship soured. Sure, we get the occassional jar here and there, but it was never like that first magical year again. I don't know how to contact Dwoskin directly, but for anyone that may have his email that reads this ridiculous blog, if you could please forward this message to Dwoskin for me I'll be forever indebted to you. Thanks in advance.

Dwoskin--

I don't say it enough, but I'm very fond of your work and have been for several years. I know that my Dad didn't turn out to be the apprentice that you were looking for and I want to right that. I will be the Anakin Skywalker to your Obi Wan Kenobi (except that I won't turn against you and annihilate the entire Pepper Pickling population). You let me know the date for the next trip to the Eastern Market and I will make the necessary travel arrangements to be in Detroit on that date (I will pay for my own transportation and lodging). I promise to be up and ready to go at whatever hour you ask. I'd like to learn the entire process start to finish and can take a leave of absence from work to spend time in your basement watching the peppers pickle over time (The only thing I ask is that you have a good TV with cable and ample snacks and beverages available in the fridge). I eagerly await your response and look forward to building a long and mutually rewarding relationship pickling peppers, united as one.

I Remain,
Brad Kaplan
Soon to be Apprentice to Dwoskin, Pickling God




*I don't have a picture of Dwoskin to post and really wish I did. I put it out there that I thought he looked like Neil Lefton (particularly the same great curly hairdo). I was forcefully told by an unnamed source that, "He looks nothing like Neil Lefton!!!!" So even though I have no picture and can't really describe what Dwoskin looks like, we can safely say that the next time you see Neil Lefton, you'll know that's not what Dwoskin looks like. I'm just going to say that Dwoskin is easy on the eyes and we'll leave it at that.

I Don't Know What a Bubbie Is

POSTED BY LINDSAY, GUEST CONTRIBUTOR

Sunday afternoon for me usually means a lunch date with my roommate Lauren. Lauren has been one of my best friends since my first year of college and I must say she's given me some of the funniest stories to share with others. Last year, during our last semester of school, Lauren went to visit her boyfriend in New York. Unfortunately, after she arrived at the Indianapolis airport check-in, she realized she had left her luggage in the kitchen of our house in Bloomington. Maybe you had to be there, but to me, the funniest part of the story is that she didn't realize she didn't have a bag until she got to check-in. She parked her car, took the shuttle to the airport and walked to baggage claim without realizing she did not have a bag. Lauren's lifestyle also has a lot of parallelism to a person suffering from obesity. Her typical dinner consists of two sandwiches from Potbelly's, followed by another dinner of some sort an hour later, followed by a lot of laying on the couch and finally a night of sleep.

I love her like a sister but you must understand that going out to lunch with her involves recognizing her habits that you must accept in order to ensure a successful meal. Usually I wake up about 10:00 the latest. I call my friend Ashley because I know she's been up since at least 7 and we chat for about an hour. Lauren rolls out of bed anywhere between 11:30 and 2, even though she went to bed at least four hours before me. We discuss where we are going to go to eat. My general rule tends to be that I want lunch over breakfast, simply because I'm partial to lunch. Lauren just wants to go somewhere with dip. I can honestly say that if dip were a food group, Lauren would be its most avid user.

The next step involves getting ready to go to lunch. For me, this means, brushing my teeth, putting on sweat pants and sometimes some blush. For Lauren, it means, taking Franky the hot dog on the porch and yelling at him to pee on a pad, plucking her eyebrows, doing two loads of laundry and going back to bed for an hour. So three hours later, we're at California Pizza Kitchen. Lauren hides behind the parking garage wall while she smokes a cigarette, afraid that her nursery school students will see her. I remind her that it's 4:00, and most four-year-olds eat lunch at 11:30, but she argues that you can never be too cautious.

We order as soon as we sit down and sit more or less in silence the entire meal. We've reached a point in our relationship where there are no longer awkward pauses and we prefer not to talk to each other. Lauren also hates to wait for the check. As soon as she's done, she's ready to go. Dessert? Nope. Just the check, now. We drive home in silence and Lauren goes to her room to take a nap. Lazzzy Sundays.

Mission Impossible--Seacrest to Spielberg: The Ultimate Makeover

POSTED BY BK


My Brother In Law, Jon, recently began a search to find a new condo. He found a unit in his current building that he has some interest in. Due to reasons that would be way too exhausting to explain, he had to pose as me via email to initiate a conversation with the Seller. A dialogue has now been created via email between Fake Brad (Jon) and Seller. This is quickly moving towards a face to face meeting. Personally, I don't think that Jon can pull off a sufficient impersonation of yours truly. But as a loyal and faithful brother, I am here to help create a step by step handbook of how to successfully execute this tranformation. This is not a new reality show, but it will truly be, The Ultimate Makeover.

Let us first take a look at the subjects:

APPEARANCE:

BK--Looks like a younger version of Steven Spielberg (minus the facial hair) with Mario Batali's body and Howard Stern's nose.

JP--Looks like a cross between Ryan Seacrest and one of those Aryan Kids from "The Boys from Brazil".

ATHLETIC ABILITY:

BK--Has low post moves like an out of shape, white, jewish, 6 foot tall Charles Oakley. Slow. If I started running the 40 now, I'd still be running by the time you finished this post.

JP--Received a full scholarship to play Division I tennis. Scrawny, yet wiry, waifish, yet spry, flimsy, yet scrappy. If he were a basketball player, he'd be Jeff Hornacek, but with better hair and a worse shooting touch.

ALCOHOL CONSUMPTION:

BK--Sometimes enjoys a Ketel One rocks when out or a Glass of Red Wine with dinner.

JP--On an off night, makes Barney Gumble look like a social drinker.

EATING HABITS:

BK--This has been well documented. Not a lot of self control. Adventurous. Likes all cuisines, but for an indifference to Mexican and a dislike for Indian. The only specific food I truly dislike off the top of my head is polenta. Weaknesses include Italian and Jewish Delis, Good Japanese, Old School Italian Restaurants, Greek, Shellfish (particularly East Coast Oysters and in season Stone Crabs (obviously)), Barbeque (but not from North Carolina, that was gross) and anything in the Thai/Chinese/Vietnamese genres.

JP--Plays it close to the vest. Doesn't venture past the 10-15 JP seal of approval local establishments. Favors American Grill style fare. Likes big plates of protein (ie. steak and/or chicken) and lots of it. Consumes Diet Coke with the same frenetic abandon that he downs Miller Lite on a Friday night (hey, that rhymes!). Atkins diet could be interchanged with Perlman diet if it weren't for those sticky copyright and patent laws. The next dessert I see him eat will be the first dessert I see him eat. Enjoys a Big Salad as much as Elaine Benes.

FASHION SENSE:

BK--Wardrobe is a cross between my Papa Howard, Al Gore and Larry David. I wear a lot of Polo, not because I want to, but because I don't know what else to wear.

JP--Either ultra casual college kid gear (favoring backwards hat, comfortable sweat pants and lots of hoodie type sweatshirts) or Urban Hipster (fancy, trendy dress shirts matched with expensive, designer jeans).

Clearly, my work is going to be cut out for me.....

I've decided the best way to pull off this makeover is with an 8 step plan that I've created. This may not be quick, but damnit, we're going to do it right.

THE 8 STEP TRANSFORMATION PLAN

1) A 4 week drying out period at the Betty Ford clinic. This is only necessary after a weekend getaway to Vegas or Toronto. Also would be applicable after a Friday night where he leaves over 1 and a half credit cards at local watering holes.

2) An anger management course and possibly a small prescription for Xanax in an attempt to adopt my more even keel, passive, non confrontational personality. This will also be beneficial to tackle road rage issues, which leads me to....

3) An 8 week enrollment in the Phil Perlman Drivers Education course. This will help to keep his average speed in the 40-50 MPH neighborhood, eliminate tactics such as gunning it through red lights, reckless U turns and speeding up when approaching idiot pedestrians that have no clue that JP, in fact, has the right of way. Also, he'll have to learn how to drive less skillfully and swerve more when talking on his cell phone in the car, in an attempt to better mirror my technique.

4) A long weekend in Madison, Wisconsin during football season. This must include a Thursday night at Bucks for cheap pitchers of Vodka Lemonade, at least 1 Marlin lunch and 1 Marlin dinner, an afternoon drinking beers on the Terrace, a game of catch in library mall (type of ball is optional), a sandwich from Fraboni's, a Football Saturday that includes a morning stop at Brat's for Bloodys, a great seat in Section P, a Badger win, a rousing 5th quarter, either a Turkey BLT at Rad Rye or a Burger from Dottie's (or both), a Pint at the Irish Pub, a Cocktail of his choosing out of Stein 228 at Paul's Club (Kaplan's Whisky), a night at Still's with Rosalita on the jukebox at bartime and a couple Good Afterbars. Only then will he know the true power of UW and be able to put his allegiance to the not as great Mid American Conference in the rear view mirror.

5) Operation Weight Gain. He's got about 80 lbs to put on if he's going to match my robust physique. Carb it up, baby!!!! Lots of Bread--French, Rye, Pumpernickel, Focaccia, Bagels, and Bialies. Also, lots of Pudding--Chocolate, Vanilla, Banana, Rice and Tapioca. Or to simplify things we could just do an all Bread Pudding diet (has this ever been attempted before?). Mix in lots of fatty cheeses and cured meats to go along with it. Plates and plates of Lasagna. Substitute Diet Coke with Chocolate Malts. Deep Fry everything (including the lasagna and the chocolate malts). You'll be there in no time.

6) Correct your eyesight (or really incorrect it). I have to assume JP has perfect vision based on his prowess on the tennis court coupled with his aggressive driving skills (without ever having an accident). This will have to change. I can't see anything. He's going to need more of a Kurt Rambis, Chuck Muncie or Clark Kent kind of look. Just getting some frames with faux lenses isn't going to cut it. If JP read, I'd tell him to spend a couple months reading some books with small print in the dark. We'll come up with something though--maybe we'll just throw some Bread Pudding in his eyes.

7) Now that he's put on the weight, he's going to need the Biggggg Pants. 38's should be snug, yet roomy. A half day at Brooks Brothers, the Polo store and the Camper store, should get him the look he's seeking. Lots of V-Neck Sweaters with button downs underneath are the in vogue look. Stan Smith's for his feet if he's feeling whimsical. Polo golf shirts in every color will be the staple to complete this wardrobe alteration.

8) A weeklong trip to either Bourgogne or Napa Valley. No more Boone's Farm for you, my friend ("I thought this was a fine wine store? What do you mean you don't sell Boone's Farm?). If you want to roll in my shoes, you'll need to know the difference between a Cabernet Sauvignon and a Sauvignon Blanc and how to pronounce Gewurztraminer.

So remember, young Jon Perlman, you must complete my 8 step plan. Only then, Brad Kaplan will you be!

WHY DIDN'T YOU JUST SAY THAT? (a tribute to the most obscure song lyrics of the 70s & 80s)

POSTED BY EL SHAZZARINO, GUEST CONTRIBUTOR

American's love lists, American's love countdowns, and American's especially love rankings. Lebanese-American Casey Kasem (born Kemal Amin Kasem) is the founder and Godfather of the countdown. He changed his name, to avoid being profiled and strip searched at the airport. From 1970 until 2004 he hosted the "American Top 40" radio program, which laid the foundation for every list and countdown program in American history (That's right "10 best commercials of 1999", you're just a Kasem doppelganger).

Casey's charismatic style, extensive knowledge, and hypnotic voice spawned a Marxistlike following. I myself, recall tuning in every Sunday morning on the way to Sunday School. The carpool would invariably catch songs 37-35 on the way there, and be treated to the top 3 on the way home. This being long before the internet existed, week in and week out I was never able to find out what songs filled slots 40-38 and 34-4.

Kasem reigned supreme in the countdown world until the beginning of the 21st century. It was around this time that cable television was facing a harsh truth. They had so many channels and so little to air. What followed was an endless barrage of B-movies, re-runs of old television series, and my nemesis reality television (See http://notinbookershouse.blogspot.com/2006/02/why-steve-urkel-is-famous-and-i-never.html ). While this shitstorm of second rate programming rained down upon the unsuspecting viewer, one revolutionary network was retooling. VH1 had already begun to steer away from it's dull beginnings of just airing music videos. "Behind The Music" was giving VH1 all kinds of street cred, with it's dramatic theme music and roller coaster ride through the lives of our favorite musicians. One could argue that the show was somewhat elitist because only musicians who had battled through drug and alcohol abuse were worthy candidates to be featured. Yet, despite the exclusionary nature of the show, VH1 had earned loads of programming currency, the only question was what to spend it on.

Enter the countdown show! 100 Greatest Teen Stars, 40 Most Awesomely Bad #1 Songs,40 Most Awesomely Bad Breakup Songs, 40 Most Awesomely Bad Dirrty Songs...Ever, 40 Most Awesomely Bad Love Songs, 40 Most Awesomely Bad Metal Songs...Ever, 10 Most Excellent Things, 100 Sexiest Artists, 25 Greatest Protest Songs, and the list goes on and on and on.

I have no particular grievance with countdown shows. In fact I find myself watching and trying to predict what their top 10 will be. Then I determine what my personal top 10 would be. Frankly(yet embarrassingly), I get excited when they agree with me.

Casey Kasem pioneered it, VH1 revitalized it, and so many other cable networks (ESPN, E!, The History Channel, TV Land, TCM, etc.) copied it. Now, I will join the ranks and create my own countdown. Out of respect to Casey Kasem it will be music based. Since VH1 has covered just about every music countdown topic imaginable, it will have to be obscure. Most importantly it will need a kick ass title. So without further ado I give you......

WHY THE HELL DIDN'T YOU JUST SAY THAT?
(a countdown of the most obscure song lyrics of the 70s & 80s)

THE 70s

I'm no poet laureate but I love music. I really listen to the lyrics and appreciate the depth of great songwriters. I like to think that although I don't understand poetry at all, I do generally understand the deeper meaning of songs. Here are 5 that I don't understand.

5. JOY TO THE WORLD-Three Dog Night (Naturally-1970)

Lyrics:
Jeremiah was a bullfrog
Was a good friend of mine
I never understood a single word he said
But I helped him a-drink his wine
And he always had some mighty fine wine

My Interpretation:
The artist is singing about a friend of his from France. He's a frog, has mighty fine wine, and is difficult to understand. Sounds like a Frenchman to me. It was nice of him not to call his friend smelly too.

4. PARKER'S BAND-Steely Dan (Pretzel Logic-1974)

Lyrics:
You'll be riding by, bareback on your armadillo
You'll be grooving high or relaxing at Camarillo
Suddenly the music hits you
It's a bird in flight that just can't quit you

My Interpretation:
First, Steely Dan gets honorable mention for most obscure lyrics by any band all time. Despite the obscurity, I have managed to figure out most of their songs through excessive listening. That said I have no idea what they're talking about here. I know what an armadillo is and Camarillo is a city in California I believe. What a tangled web that Donald Fagan weaves.

3. LOOKIN OUT MY BACK DOOR-Creedence Clearwater Revival (Cosmo's Factory-1970)

Lyrics:
There's a giant doing cartwheels, a statue wearin' high heels.
Look at all the happy creatures dancing on the lawn.
A dinosaur victrola list'ning to buck owens.
Doo, doo, doo, lookin' out my back door.
Tambourines and elephants are playing in the band.
Won't you take a ride on the flyin' spoon?
Doo, doo doo.
Wond'rous apparition provided by magician.
Doo, doo, doo, lookin' out my back door.

My Interpretation:
Let me preface by saying that I believe it's a cop out to look at song lyrics and simply state "they must have been on drugs when they wrote this". However, they must have been on drugs when they wrote this. He's looking out his back door while tripping on mescaline?

2. BARRACUDA-Heart (Little Queen-1977)

Lyrics:
You met the porpoise and me
No right no wrong, selling a song-
A name, whisper game.
If the real thing don't do the trick
You better make up something quick
You gonna burn burn burn burn it to the wick
Ooooooh, barracuda?

My Interpretation:
I think that Heart was comprised of some fairly empowered women. So I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that Barracuda is a metaphor for men who prey on women. These lyrics represent the line of bullshit that men use to get women in bed. As for the porpoise, I'll go ahead and assume it's a colloquialism for vagina.

PAUSE FOR A COMMERCIAL BREAK TO PEAK THE VIEWER'S INTEREST AND ANTICIPATION....

1. BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY-Queen (A Night at the Opera-1975)

Lyrics:
I see a little silhouetto of a man,
Scaramouche,scaramouche will you do the fandango-
Thunderbolt and lightning-very very frightening me-
Galileo,galileo,
Galileo galileo
Galileo figaro-magnifico

My Interpretation:
A small skinny man named Scaramouche is trying to buy movie tickets online. He marvels at his lightning fast internet connection and screams "Galileo" (for some odd reason) as his credit card is accepted. This song was very forward thinking.


THE 80S

The music of the 80s didn't have the depth of the 70s. It was a bubble gum era and the music was shallow and meaningless. There were some catchy tunes, but the lyrics left little to the imagination. Here's the most complex of the simple.

5. 99 LUFTBALLON(Nena-1984) & ROCK ME AMADEUS(Falco-1986)

Lyrics:
Sprechen Ze Deutch?

My Interpretation:
I feel that these two songs deserve honorable mention. Despite being entirely in German both of these songs reached the peak of popularity in the U.S. Since I don't speak German the meaning of these lyrics completely elude me. Ill go out on a limb though and say Falco is singing about Mozart and Nena is singing about balloons.

4. SLEDGEHAMMER-Peter Gabriel (So-1986)

Lyrics:
You could have a steam train, If you'd just lay down your tracks
You could have an aeroplane flying, If you bring your blue sky back
All you do is call me
I'll be anything you need
You could have a big dipper, Going up and down, all around the bends
You could have a bumper car, bumping, This amusement never ends
I want to be your sledgehammer

My Interpretation:
The fact that he inexplicably switches to Spanish and says aeroplane vexes me. Is it just because he wants that extra syllable? I'm equally puzzled by his bizarre transition from constellations to bumper cars. Perhaps this song is just a gross abuse of popularity. I never thought of Peter Gabriel as arrogant, but the truth is I don't know the man. Maybe he just figured his fans would swallow nonsense because he is so beloved. That or he just wants to fix all our problems. Does the sledgehammer have any meaning? Would the overall message of the song change if he was our allen wrench, our phillips head screwdriver, or our ball peen hammer?


3. ILL TUMBLE 4 YA-Culture Club (Kissing To Be Clever-1982)

Lyrics:
Downtown we'll drown
We're in our never splender
Flowers, Showers
Who's got the new boy gender

I'll be your baby
I'll be your score
I'll run the gun for you
And so much more

I'll tumble 4 ya, I'll tumble 4 ya, I'll tumble 4 ya, I'll tumble 4 you

My Interpretation:
Nothing moves me more than a love story. And no love is more pure than the love of a gymnast for his coach. Boy George's metaphors are so subtle and sneaky you can barely see the balance beam and pummel horse behind the lyrics. Keep tumbling for me George.

2. ELECTRIC AVENUE-Eddy Grant (Killer on the Rampage-1982)

Lyrics:
Who is to blame in one country
Never can get to the one
Dealin' in multiplication
And they still can't feed everyone, oh no
We gonna rock down to Electric Avenue
And then we'll take it higher
Oh we gonna rock down to Electric Avenue
And then we'll take it higher

My Interpretation:
Eddy Grant was just sticking it to the Church. This song may well have been written as an ad for Trojan condoms. The only message I can find here is "use birth control". Who knew that behind his smooth beats and intoxicating rhythm, Eddy Grant was so politically charged. Take it higher Eddy, Take it higher!

DRUMROLL PLEASE......THE MOST OBSCURE LYRICS OF THE 1980s COME FROM THE SONG....

1. THE REFLEX-Duran Duran (Seven & The Ragged Tiger-1983)

Lyrics:
So why don't you use it
Try not to bruse it
Buy time don't lose it

The reflex is an only child, he's waiting in the park
The reflex is in charge of finding treasure in the dark
And watching over lucky clover isn't that bizarre

My Interpretation:
I'm guessing that in the first three lines he's talking about his erect penis. The second section leads me to believe he's some sort of perverted pederast hiding in the park, waiting for an unsuspecting child to molest. I never realized Duran Duran were so edgy and obscene. What really disturbs me is that I sang along with this song as a boy. You violated me Duran Duran, you sick European bastards.

A History of Inedible Cookies

POSTED BY LINDSAY, GUEST CONTRIBUTOR

To me, there's nothing better than a good cookie. Some may look forward to going to Joe's when the stone crab is in season and not cryogenically frozen, I look forward to going to Mrs. Fields at the Merchandise Mart when the Manager's Specials are 2 for 1. There's only one person that appreciates cookies as much as me and her name is Kristyn "Bad Ass" Kaplan. Granted, she judges the quality of a restaurant based on whether or not they serve cotton candy, nevertheless, she'll do as a witness for this intricate study. I have tried many cookies in my life, some good, some bad and some that looked like Dudley. The following are my top five favorites:
1) Smiley Face Cookie-Diamond Bakery, West Bloomfield, MI USA
2) Double Doozy-Great American Cookie Company, Bloomington, IN USA
3)M&M-Frances' Deli, Chicago, IL USA
4)Nutella Cookie-Some bakery in Florence, Italy, Europe
5)Chocolate Chunk-Eatzi's, Anywhere USA

My love for cookies has admittedly caused a major problem for me. The problem is not that I am so addicted that I would snort cookie powder if given to me, the problem, is something much more serious. Every time I have encountered someone with the name Cookie in my 23 years, my heart skips a beat. Undeserving? No question. Unappreciative? Without a doubt. In my opinion, the only people that deserve to have the name Cookie are myself, Bad Ass and that guy from Sugar Rush with the dreadlocks. Obviously it's not as common of a name as Kip or Ned, but I've found a few of them and have created a small analysis of the great inedible Cookies throughout history.

Cookie Monster
You all know him. He's furry, he's blue and he's been around the block a few times. I've never actually heard him say anything other than "Me Want Cookie", unless you count the violent chewing sounds he makes as he's shoving them in his puppet mouth. I mean, any character whose sole responsibility is to eat cookies, I have to respect. He seems to do alright for himself. I don't know what rent is like on Sesame Street these days but he must not spend much money on clothes, and his blue outfit doesn't look too shabby after what, 40 years?

Cookie Jarvis
Well, I'm not sure if Cookie is his real name, or if it's a nickname based on his athletic eating capabilities. At a curvy 419 pounds, Jarvis holds the most food contestant titles of anyone in the world.
Here are some examples:

Cannoli: 21 cannoli / 6 minutes
Chicken Fingers: 2 pounds, 2.5 ounces Hooter's chicken wings / 5 minutes
Chicken-Fried Steak: 6 11-ounce chicken fried steaks with country gravy/ Lone Star Cafe / 12 minutes/ Nov. 2, 2003
Corned Beef & Cabbage: Five Pounds Freirich Corned Beef & Cabbage / 10 Minutes/ Mar. 16, 2004
Dumplings: 91 Chinese dumplings / 8 minutes
French Fries: 4.46 pounds Nathan's Famous Crinkle Cut Fries / Six Minutes/ March 31, 2005
Grapes: 8 Pounds, 15 Ounces Grapes/ Smirnoff Twisted V Wild Grape / 10 Minutes/ Nov. 1, 2005
Ham & Potatoes: 6 pounds of Easter Feaster meal / 12 minutes
Ice Cream: 1 gallon, 9 ounces of vanilla ice cream / 12 minutes
Pasta: 6 2/3 pounds linguini (no. 115) / 10 minutes
Pomme Frites: 2 pounds 9 ounces of Pomme Frites / 8 minutes
Sweet Corn: 33 1/2 ears sweet corn/ Sweet Corn Fiesta / 12 minutes/ Apr. 24, 2004

What do you think was harder to down, the pommes frites or the french fries? I'm going to go with the pommes frites as they tend to have a rougher texture than french fries. Again, you have to respect someone who is admitting proudly that he weighs 419 pounds, but with all these stats, I'm thinking he would've chosen a name like Beef Stew Jarvis or Rack of Lamb Jarvis.

Cookie from City Slickers
Cookie, played by Tracey Walter, was the drunken ranch guy who died mid-way through the cattle drive. I guess the director of the movie didn't feel he needed a last name but he appeared to be a nice guy and seemed fine with being second or third banana to Billy Crystal. I see no direct correlation to Chips Ahoy, but maybe it was in the underlying message of the film.
(I have just been informed that Cookie did not in fact die in City Slickers, I confused him with Curly the trail boss. He did, however, break both of his legs.)

Cookie from Road Trip
The only reason I know this character existed is strictly because of the line, "Earl, Cookie, we have a situation." Cookie plays Kyle's mother and truthfully I don't even think she has any lines. She's purely there for decoration.

Cookie is not a name to be toyed with. I take it very seriously. These unworthy Cookie's have no business strutting around town as if they know what they're doing. And so friends, I remind you to consider the worthiness of the next Cookie you meet and decide if they're worthier than me (or Bad Ass).

The Super Bowl--Not a Game for Farmers

POSTED BY BK


So it's Super Bowl Week. Big matchup between Seattle and the Curtain. Big Deal. It's been so long since there has been a game that you hardly care about it at this point. Nevertheless, my mantra has always been, "It's Football and It's on TV." So with that being said, I started to put some plans in motion for the game on Sunday. Since, I have limited friends in Chicago (or anywhere for that matter), this consisted of an email to my friend Evan (EG). This was forwarded to my friend, Scott (Boob) (for more on The Boob see http://notinbookershouse.blogspot.com/2006/01/my-date-with-boob.html). Lo and behold, a Super Bowl Party was in place (with this group it's more like a minion, but whatever). EG and I manipulated the plan so we could go to Boob's place for 2 reasons. First, he has a great TV and second (and about 100x more importantly), his wife Maxine's cooking would make Daniel Boulud envious. (I've said this many times, but the Boob's weight will be well north of 300 lbs before his 35th birthday. He will wear it well though). So we've got a location, good TV, fine eats, good company (myself, being the exception), the only thing I needed to find out is what time do these festivities begin??? Here is what I found out when I checked ESPN.com.......

5 PM Kickoff!!!! Who do these Super Bowl people think we are?? Gravediggers?? Rock Stars?? Do I work at NORAD?? By 7 PM, I'm ready for a warm glass of Bosco and to slip under the covers (Thank you, Frank Drebin, for the excellent suggestion). Mind you the Super Bowl has always started at this time and since I can tell you where I watched every Super Bowl since Super Bowl XV** (Philadelphia vs. The Raiders, I was 5 years old and watched in my parent's bedroom with my Dad and Jac Roth(Hail to the Chief)), I am, of course, intimately familiar with this fact. However, this is my first Super Bowl with a child. So again, I ask the question, 5 PM Kickoff??? Are we all bouncers at the Excalibur????

Now I know there has been a longstanding issue in the media about the World Series and the NBA Finals (to a lesser extent) starting at late hours. These games are the equivalent to the late night Pac 10 Games on Fox Sports or Great Alaska Shootout games to me. There is a better chance they'll still be going on when I get up in the morning, than there is that I'll be awake when they start. The Super Bowl starts at 5 PM, so most would suggest that this rant is unjustified. I disagree. First of all, the game lasts about 6 hours. Second (and next time you see me, i'm begging you, please slug me in the mouth for saying these words), I have a daughter that adheres to a 7 PM bedtime. On a good night, I'm out cold by 8ish. My friend, EG, shares the same dilemma with his daughter. Boob, although childless at this point, is ready to move down to Del Boca Vista on a moment's notice, so clearly he'll be struggling to keep his eyes open during the second half. So the question was, what are we to do??? Since I don't have either Paul Tagliabue or the President of ABC on my speed dial, I needed to get creative. I called EG to consult with him. Here is what we came up with:

THE PARTY IS OVER AT HALFTIME!!!! I want to take it one step further though. For our purposes, the game should be over at halftime!!! Instead of betting on the outcome of the game, I'll bet on the outcome of the first half. I'll bet the first half total. My prop bets--first half only. Squares will run through 2 quarters only.Considering the Super Bowl runs twice as long as a normal game, I will still be getting my money's worth. So with that being said, my pick for the Super Bowl (drumroll, please).................

SEATTLE BEATS THE CURTAIN 10-6 (This is my halftime prediction, but in my brain this is the final). The Seahawks will be crowned champions. In my mind, Matt Hasselbeck will be anointed the MVP. If I ever pass Mike Holmgren on the street over the next couple years, I will douse him in Gatorade for this crowning achievement (of course, I'd probably do this regardless). It will be irrelevant to me that the Curtain come back and win 23-13. The Seahawks are champions of the National Football League! Congratulations to the City of Seattle!

**Footnote: Under no circumstances should you read this next part (unless you suffer from severe insomnia). I reiterate, DO NOT READ THIS PART! This is a list of where I watched all of the Super Bowls since I was old enough to remember and some notes on my memories. I'm going to put it in smaller print, because this couldn't possibly be interesting to anyone but me. Seriously, I'm not trying to be sarcastic or humorous right now, if you're planning on reading this post to its conclusion, I can not give you the 3 minutes of your life you are about to waste back.....

Super Bowl XV: Philadelphia vs. Raiders--as mentioned earlier, my parent's bedroom with Alan Kaplan and Jac Roth. Jac Roth is about 40 years my senior, but was my closest friend until I was about 15 (no disrespect to Jon Stillman). My brother, Benji worshipped Ron Jaworski as a 3 year old for some bizarre reason, so this was a pretty tough pill for him to swallow.

Super Bowl XVI: San Fran vs. Gallies--my parent's house (family room). This game was actually in Detroit and my Dad had 8 tickets which he sold (see my post on why I'm not a fan of a professional sports team for additional insight http://notinbookershouse.blogspot.com/2006/01/why-im-gruff-fan-and-not-lions-fan.html, but lets just say that this was very disappointing to me at the time, but upon reflection, a very logical and admirable move by my Dad, AK). This was the follow up to the NFC Championship Game where Joe Montana threw the catch to Dwight Clark (which I witnessed at my parents' former friends, the Sallen's, house).

Super Bowl XVII: Hail to the Redskins vs. Fish--Scott Schneiderman's house. I remember sitting on their fireplace and being surprised by Washington's dominance. One thing about going to Peter Schneiderman's house--there are going to be M and M's and there are going to be lots of them. As a 7 year old, you can't ask for much more than that.

Super Bowl XVIII: Raiders vs. Hail to the Redskins--my parent's family room. Big game by Marcus Allen.

Super Bowl XIX: Fish vs. San Fran--my cousins', the Shefmans, house on Commons Road (before Dudley was even conceived). I was a big Mark Duper, Mark Clayton, Marino fan and disappointed that Miami crapped out in this one. My 4th grade bookie tried to have my legs broke in the aftermath.

Super Bowl XX: Bears still Suck vs. Pats--my parent's family room. I think Craig James was NE's RB. Is it any wonder this result was so lopsided?

Super Bowl XXI: Gints vs. Denver--Shefman's house off of Pontiac Trail. Judi Shefman made great appetizers, highlighted by that salami that she glazes with grape jelly. Judi, if you're reading this, please email the recipe to brad@chicagosunset.com. Much appreciated.

Super Bowl XXII: Washington vs. Denver--my parent's family room. Doug Williams exploded all over our television.

Super Bowl XXIII: San Francisco vs. Cincy--my parent's family room. How did Boomer Esiason get to the Super Bowl? One of the few good Super Bowl games from my childhood.

Super Bowl XXIV: San Fran vs. Denver--Robbie Krut's house. Montana was just toying with teams at this point. The Krut's had several grandfather clocks in their home that always seemed to be going off. This was also when the Bud Bowl was at its peak (probably Bud Bowl 2 or 3). My Dad was in the liquor business at the time and was able to get the results a few days before the game. I was able to fleece my friends wagering on it, but felt guilty, came clean and never collected my winnings.

Super Bowl XXV: NY Giants vs. Gruff--Adam and Dan Beltzman's den. This was the first of 4 straight Gruff losses. A dark time in my life. Plus, it was tough to watch 4 hours of TV in a 6 x 8 room with Murray the Dog (his actual name was Mickey--God Bless You, Herms).

Super Bowl XXVI: Gruff vs. Skins--my parent's family room. Beyond that I have no recollection of this game. I think this is because the Lions somehow got to the NFC Championship game that year (where they were quickly disposed of). This was the pinnacle of my Lions fandom and probably why I've blocked out the memory of this game.

Super Bowl XXVII: Gruff vs. Cowboys--Scott Gould's house. The only time I was ever invited to Scott Gould's house. I wonder if I did something to offend him???

Super Bowl XXVIII: Gruff vs. Cowboys--Freshman year of college. I want to say either mine and Beltzman's suite in the Towers or Forman's room in the Towers. Possibly the AEPi house. I was drinking too much Molson Ice in those days to remember too clearly.

Super Bowl XXIX: Niners vs. Chargers--Dave Garfin's room in the AEPi house. We ordered enough BW-3 to feed a 3rd world country. San Fran was favored by around 24 points and they still easily covered. Fun betting night. This was also the same year of the "BET THE KNICKS" debacle where our whole fraternity house parlayed the Knicks -2 against the Hornets (thanks to Jack Price's Betting Service) with the entire NBA board. Needless to say the Knicks lost by 20. Good memories.

Super Bowl XXX: Cowboys vs. Curtain--Mine and Adam Shane's flat in London. This game came on live around 2 in the morning. Can't remember if I won or lost quid that year.
Our friend, Tunis, was sound asleep hours before kickoff (You Woman!!!).

Super Bowl XXXI: Pack vs. Pats--619 Langdon apartment. One of those gambling nights you remember forever. The house went down when Andre Rison scored the opening TD at 10:1 odds. Also hit the 3rd quarter over on Desmond Howard's kickoff return for a TD the last play of the quarter. This ended with a riotous party on State Street in the freezing cold. "When you say Wisssssconsin, You said it All!" Seriously.

Super Bowl XXXII: Denver vs. Pack--Scott Miller and Jeremy Jacobs apartment on the El on Armitage and Bissell. Shapiro was in town from NYC. We were so confident in GB that we took the whole party's action on Denver. Got crushed. Polar opposite of the previous year. Welcome to the Real World, Gents.

Super Bowl XXXIII: Denver vs. Falcons--Dave Alpern and some guy named, Philly's???, apartment in Lincoln Park. I remember they brought in folding chairs for extra seating (a nice touch). This was probably the greatest winning night in history for me from a gambling standpoint. I had a list of bets as long as the Declaration of Independence. Seriously, 90% of them hit. 2 that I remember were having Elway to score the first TD of the second half via run (this paid like 25-1) and Denver to win by 13-18 points (Final Score Denver 34-19). It's been all downhill ever since. I even won the squares like 3 times that night.

Super Bowl XXXIV: Rams vs. Oilers--my apartment with Frish and EG on Kenmore. Dave Garfin and I split a square for an obnoxious amount of $$$ and had that Oilers guy scored on the last play, it would have been interesting. Clearly, I've gotten over it.

Super Bowl XXXV: Giants vs. Ravens--My first and only Forman Super Bowl Party. Yes, it really is as good as advertised. They stuff you with shrimp cocktail, Nana's tuna and chicken nuggets. You sit in a food coma thinking you're not going to eat until Tuesday or Wednesday and out of nowhere, mid 2nd quarter, Fern comes out with enough Ribs and Fried Chicken to feed Terry Denton Burton's entire family at their annual summer reunion. Good stuff. Todd's friend, Jon Cohen (Jonco), is a key player in creating the aura to this party. I pride myself on having a lot of interesting action on the Super Bowl, but he had bets that had me shaking my head in disbelief. Also, the fix is clearly in for Grandma Bea, who made enough money on squares and miscellaneous side bets to get herself a new Cadillac. It's universally understood that the fix is in, but the Forman's put on such a great event, you don't even care.... As far as the game, we were with a bunch of Giants fans and Garfin and I were the only one's objective enough to realize that Baltimore was the second coming of the 85' Bears. A good gambling night.

Super Bowl XXXVI: Rams vs. Pats--Benji and Goldie's townhouse in Chicago. Loaded on the Rams -14 and they lose straight up. Prior to this game, I thought Tom Brady was the second coming of Todd Collins or Elvis Grbac. Who knew?

Super Bowl XXXVII: Tonka Bay vs. Raiders--Kristyn and I moved into our condo that weekend and had no furniture. I remember unpacking boxes all night and watching the game standing up. If that's not sad enough, I hit the Raiders and T Bay had their way with them. A forgettable evening.

Super Bowl XXXVIII: Car vs. Pats--EG invited Boob and I over to watch this. He failed to mention that he was also having every person that he and Jenny ever met from High School, Undergrad, Law School, B School, Price Waterhouse, William Blair, Winston Strawn or just passing by on the street. This is because EG is a smart guy and knows that I loathe interaction with people I don't know (I barely tolerate interaction with family and friends) and knew I wouldn't have shown up in a million years. I think I had the Pats that night to compound matters and Car made that ridiculous push at the end to cover. Crappy night, but thanks again for having me.

Super Bowl XXXIX: Eagles vs. Pats--EG and Jenny's again. The only reason I went back was because Jenny was like 11 months pregnant and I was reasonably confident they wouldn't have an encore from last year. I had the Eagles (who covered), but I think I had the Under (unduraggggga) and the Over hit (which they can't take away from you). God, I'm a dope.

It's Fun to say Shul

POSTED BY LINDSAY, GUEST CONTRIBUTOR
Let's face it. The high holidays (may have a different meaning if you're Benny Nuggs or Benny Kaplan two years ago) are nothing but a time to see your family and other Jews that you have no desire to see. If you belong to a Temple like Temple Israel, you'll relate to the scene of the high holiday services. 900 Jews fighting over parking their Lexus SUV's and BMW sedans, the fraudulent super Jews that opt to read a line of English in front of the congregation and consider themselves religious, and a cantor that plays guitar on the bimah and used to star on Broadway as Leopold Bloom (true story). The Kaplan family however, avoided these obstacles when I was growing up. Instead of fighting the hour long line to turn on to Walnut Lake Rd, we parked in the condominium complex next door and climbed over a mountain of grass as if we were sneaking into a Rolling Stones concert. Somehow, without fail, my dad always got us into the late service, crucial when you're fasting on Yom Kippur. Even more ironic was that we got the same section of seats every year. Brad and I have had an ongoing joke that I first noticed about five years ago. We all know the ritual of blowing the shofar; typically performed by another FSJ that wants to be Ray Charles for five minutes. The last calling of the shofar is Tekiah Gedolah, a single unbroken blast, essentially held until the dude is out of breath, followed by one short blast. Without fail, every year, directly after the short blast is blown, a gust of laughter fills the sanctuary. I don't get it. It's funny that this jackass on the bimah just combusted a long note through a rams horn and ended it with a short note? This is what you find humorous? I mean, my parents think Ali G is stupid but give them a shofar with opposing notes and they're slapping their knees like abusive husbands. And what kills me, is these stupid congregates hear it every year. It isn't new to you! Get over it! You know what's coming! Judaism where are you?

Why Steve Urkel Is Famous And I Never Will Be

POSTED BY EL SHAZZARINO, GUEST CONTRIBUTOR

I'm done with Hollywood. Flat out done. I can't take it anymore. I don't know if the problem is, that all of the creative juices have been squeezed out of the proverbial orange of the the entertainment industry, or if they just stopped trying. But at some point in the last 10 years, the powers that be decided that wherever the biggest profits were, that's what would be made. Every shred of integrity, taste, and allegiance to their artform has been washed away in a sea of crap!

"Skating With Celebrities"? Doesn't that say it all? I'm going to try to avoid getting overly vulgar in this post, but this whole issue gets my blood boiling hotter than a habanero pepper. Skating with Fucking Celebrities! It has to be a joke I thought to myself. It's some sort of weird psychological experiment that the government is orchestrating to see if there's even a microfraction of intelligence left on this planet. I can just picture the board meeting of the secret world government. They sat around smoking cigars, snorting lines of cocaine, sniffing glue, and chuckling haughtily. "If 'Skating With Celebrities' survives a season on the air, we will have confirmation that the vast majority of people populating our planet, have the IQ of a vacuum cleaner bag." I know if I secretly ran the world, this would be useful information to me. I'd figure, if I can sell the masses "Skating with celebrities", I can pretty much sell them anything. Then I'd truly have the world by the short and curlies.

Well I have a message to those who wish to continue cramming these shit burgers down my throat. "I'm on to your little game!" The rest of the world may have bought into your creationism, your fictitious deities, and your goddamn reality television, but I'm not. I'm too smart for you. My intelligence will forever shield me from your insanity (which you've convinced the world is sane). My intelligence will protect me until the day your so called rapture comes. When you're being beamed up to heaven to skate with celebrities, I'll be laughing with the devil in our fiery hell, watching re-runs of Cheers, knowing I got the better of you bastards. My intelligence will be my impenetrable forcefield. Unfortunately my intelligence will forever keep me from being famous, and It's all Steve Urkel's fault!

If I hiked my pants up past my bellybutton, put on some big goofy glasses, snorted when I laughed, and acted generally annoying, would it be funny? The answer is a resounding NO! It wouldn't be funny if I did it, and it wasn't funny when Jaleel White did it. But this idiot Urkelnation, thought it was funny, and that's why we're all going to hell on a handcart. This country and planet isn't screwed because we have a bafoonish, alcoholic, coke addict President who believes he talks to God on the telephone. We aren't screwed because of terrorism. We aren't screwed because of global warming, greenhouse gases, or violent video games. Alcohol, drugs, pornography, those are just harmless vices. It's not hurricanes, Halliburton, or Hussein, that will be our downfall. None of these things matter in the least, because our ultimate demise began and will end with Steve Urkel.

Once Urkel got big it was all over. Urkel made Hollywood realize that the public would swallow whatever they were fed. Why waste money being creative and clever? It opened the floodgates and what poured in was a disaster. Now we are subjected to overweight B celebrities being yelled at by drill sergeants. Whorish women pretending to be in love with washed up rap stars, just to get 15 minutes of fame. Talentless oafs humiliating themselves, singing off key, and having their dignity stomped on by an even less talented oaf. Ditzy debutantes and their purse puppies working the window at a Tasty Freeze. The list goes on forever but when celebrities started lacing up those ice skates I just snapped.

Movies are no better. In fact they may even be worse. Through my connections at the CIA I managed to intercept a memo that was secretly passed to the head of every major movie production house in Hollywood. What you are about to see has never been made public before. I put my life in jeopardy right now by sharing it with you but it must be seen. I'm sure those who wrote it will deny having anything to do with it.

May 17, 1998
Memorandum to all Production House Execs
From:
Subject: Stupid Sells

Gentlemen,
In the interest of our continuing plan to make money first, and entertain last the following will be the only types of movies made from here forward
1. Movies based on bad 1970's television shows
2. Sequels
3. Prequels
4. Movies based on Comic Books
5. Movies with Adam Sandler
6. Movies with wizards
7. Movies about The End of the World**

**The World must end (or face the threat of ending) as a result of
a)alien invasion b)A natural disaster(i.e. asteroid, earthquake, flood etc.)

Big Momma's House 2 was tops at the box office last weekend.....Coincidence?

Since this memo was written the top grossing movies in Hollywood were....
Star Wars Episodes I, II, and III (prequels and sequels)
Spiderman 1&2 (Comic Book and sequel)
LOTR I, II, III (Wizards and sequels)
Harry Potter 1-4 (Wizards and sequels)
War of the Worlds, Armageddon, The Day After tomorrow (End of the World)

They may have been wrong about Adam Sandler and 70's TV but that hasn't stopped them.

Here are 5 movies I can guarantee will be made before 2010.
1. The A-Team--Starring Ian McKellan as Hannibal
Heath Ledger as Murdock
Scott Bakula as Face
and Ving Rhames as B. A. Baracus

2. Lethal Weapon 5--After discovering Jesus and going completely off the deep end, Riggs(Mel Gibson) decides that he can no longer be Murtaugh's (Danny Glover) partner because he's black. Riggs then spends the next hour of the movie berating Leo Getz(Joe Pesci) for his peoples involvement in the death of Christ. Tormented by the delay of the rapture and his ongoing battle with cigarettes, Riggs finally accomplishes what he couldn't in the original Lethal Weapon and kills himself.

3.The Hobbit--The Lord of the Rings Trilogy made over a billion dollars and that was just in the theaters. If you think that New Line Cinema isn't going to make the prequel you probably spend your time watching skating with celebrities.

4.Sanford and Son--Starring Morgan Freeman as Sanford
and Chris Rock as Son

5.Urkel and Adam--Adam Sandler and Steve Urkel are roommates and hilarity ensues. What the hell.....Sandler is on the memo and you can't go wrong with Urkel.

My final grievance is with celebrities crossing genres. Humphrey Bogart is arguably the best actor of all time. Humphrey Bogart was famous and talented because he could act. However he didn't abuse his fame and talent by attempting to put out a hit record or dance the Nutcracker Suite. So why does every celebrity today feel that they can abuse their fame by subjecting you to things they have no talent at. Jessica Simpson should stick to singing. Hulk Hogan is a fine wrestler but I don't need to see him playing dad on VH1. Paris Hilton's only talent seems to be being born rich and attractive and yet she has movies, TV shows, a CD, a line of clothing, and a chain of night clubs. She should have stuck to being rich and attractive, that's what she's good at. Know your limits and stick to your specialty. Can you imagine an OBGYN popping in on a brain surgery. "Hey, Dr. Goldberg(neurosurgeon), I totally rocked a cesarean this morning and I thought I'd test my medical skills elsewhere. Pass me the scalpel and bone saw so I can cut this dude's head open." Stick to what you're good at please. There's a reason Urkel's jazz quintet only sold 17 copies.