“I’ve got a headache this big.”

*

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TGR: So, what’s been happening?

JB: Art.

TGR: That’s marvelous. But we mean, kind of, with the campaign.

JB: Etch-a-sketch.

TGR: Etch-a-sketch?

JB: For every child under 12, no child left behind, and their mothers. I’ve seen Russia.

TGR: Are you of your right mind right now?

JB: Friggin’ bitch! Friggin’ ice queen soccer mom from BFE stealing my show!

TGR: Let’s get back to Russia. If you were-

JB: I would penis-whip that phony little smile of hers right back to Wasilla. And the Religious Right can really masturbate to her then.

TGR: Do you have a stance on health care?

JB: Pro-choice: A-B-O-R-T her.

*

Classic Biden Mag Cover
Presidential Ass Kicking 101

“Oh, yeah! Ice cream and cake, kids!”

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“Budget? Who needs a budget? You think James Cameron has a budget? You think Ridley Scott has a budget? Welcome to Colliefornia.”

“In time for the playoffs, please?”

Pull them little strings and I’ll sing you a song, I’m your puppet. Make me do right or make me do wrong, I’m your puppet.

P.S. Keep an extra careful eye on her nose.

*

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EMERGENCY ALERT: a Fatwa has been issued for the following counties:

Basically, every county in the United States of America, and parts of Key West.

SUSPECT: Clay Aiken

WANTED FOR: Admitting gayuilt™ and causing irreparable damage, and betraying straight men everywhere.

PAST HISTORY: To die for in Idol (should have won). Not so much in his performance at the 2005 Rose Parade. Though we understand he had a head cold.

FANS: Legion of male fans* are breaking from the “Claymate” ranks and are now calling themselves the F.C.F.S.D. Former Claymates For Straight Dates.

They’d like “hetereosexuality” taught beginning in the first grade — or sooner if the child takes an early liking to tupperware and/or Barbra Streisand.

FATWA: In response to what we feel is a direct condemnation, and humiliation, of straight men the world over, we hereby issue this Fatwa! calling for the head of Mr. Aiken by the Winter Equinox of 2012.

———-

* Post n’ found:

“This is really SHOCKING news as I had no idea he was gay. And now I have to deal with this. I am not sure what to say to people who know I was a fan. … I didn’t go to work today and am not answering the telephone.” - a SHOCKED Claymate

———–

And now for something NOT completely different:

Why not look at some Lingerie Bowl babes while you’re here?

“BFF, Sarah!” - Vlade Putin

McCain and Obama aren’t the only ones who can brag about their bracelets.

*

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Recently I was out cruising the shallow end — Los Angeles — when I spotted a trio of MAWs (Model, Actress, Whatever) strutting down the street. I slowed my vehicle to a crawl, hoping for perhaps just one smile. Wrong. Not even a glimpse, at me, or the bumper sticker on my beat-up 1999 Mazda Protégé: “If you’re shallow and hot, I’m a director.”

These were the type of models who do stuff like jump on trampolines, or play tackle football in their lingerie. There are so many of these MAWs under the smoggy skies that I figured I could “hook-up” at least once in my fifteen years in the city. Then I came to my senses and had an epiphany:

Life in L.A. is like one big strip joint: you can look, but do not touch the merchandise — unless you have trampoline connections.

Seriously, L.A. without connections is like Winona Ryder without a charge card: the only way you’re sampling the merchandise is by stealing it.

That was it! In order to score with the MAWs (and sample the merchandise;) I’d have to steal someone else’s identity. Right then I knew it was time to transform myself from a 4-Cylinder Mazda Protégé to a Mercedes G-500 diesel. Vin Diesel.

*

For those of you who have been cryogenically frozen (Ted Williams, come on down!), Mr. Diesel was once one of the hottest tickets in Hollywood. In fact, one reviewer said he was so great that his “range of expression pushes Stallone up closer to the evolutionary scale of John Gielgud.”

Perhaps if I emulated the Great Diesel, I could push Seagal up closer to the evolutionary scale of Sir Laurence Olivier?

*

The Great Diesel was born Mark Vincent in 1967 and raised in an artists’ housing project in Greenwich Village by his mother and adoptive father. Mr. Diesel never knew his biological father. (Cue violins.)

At the age of 17, a buffed-out Dieselator began bouncing at NYC’s hippest clubs — where, like all bouncers, he was re-christened Lord Vin Diesel.

“Bouncing makes you the hot ticket with women,” the Lord once remarked. And, upon reading this fascinating quote, I recognized my first hurdle, one that would have to be conquered without the aide of performance enhancing drugs or the standard bouncer garble. (The Lord not only looks like he belongs on the cover of Cigar Aficionado, but sounds like he smoked the whole magazine.)

I applied for several bouncer positions around the Los Angeles area where interviews consisted of seeing how fast I could form the four words “get the f*ck out.” After a good deal of rejection, I was fortunate enough to find a volunteer security job at my local Starbucks, where I spent most of the time stopping the homeless peeps from bathing in the bathroom sink.

After a few short days, though, I felt like the Diesel-mystique was rubbing off on me: the soy- latte-chugging MAWs started to take notice of the mid-30’s stud wearing a Starbucks shirt manning the door like he was guarding the crown jewels — let’s hope the Lord has a bodyguard, or three, to look after his.

Soon, it would be time to start going out on auditions, but first I realized a few minor adjustments were in order after reading another comment from the Book of Diesel: “Even when I would go on auditions, I had to be as amiable as possible. But I still had this edge, this threatening presence.”

A makeover later, I showed up at Starbucks and was promptly dismissed by the manager. “Too much edge.” He feared patrons would be threatened by my new haircut (consisting of no hair), henna tattoo (“powered by Diesel” on my shoulder) and marbles in my mouth to capture the perfect Dieselian dialect.

*

After training at his stepfather’s theater, the Lord began getting parts in Off-Off Broadway plays.

I began getting parts in Off-Off North Hollywood productions — which basically put me smack dab at the Orange County Community Theater, where a 75-year-old granny told me I was brilliant as Simon Stimson the town drunkard and church choir organist in Our Town.

Lord Diesel then dropped out of Hunter College so he could move to Hollywood and pursue his dream full-time. Paraphrasing from the Book of Diesel: Even as a kid he was always certain he was going to be a movie star. When people ask him if he’s changed since becoming a celebrity, the Lord’s reply is that he always knew he was a celebrity; it was the rest of the world that needed to make the discovery.

You go boy!

It was a little late for me to drop out of college, but nothing was going to stop me from being a Diesel, scoring MAWs and moving to Hollywood into the dinkiest apartment I could find. Because, like the Lord, I found it my obligation to starve myself into being far hungrier than the brilliant and pampered Keanu’s of the world.

The Lord even went as far as making a list of acting peers he was behind, and exactly when he was going to surpass them. (Beware Keanu, you’re still on it!)

My peers were all still serving coffee at Starbucks, so I skipped that part.

I did manage to secure a space in a friend’s five-bedroom house in the Hollywood Hills. The tool shed was just a bit smaller than I expected, but it would help to build character and unlike the musical Cats, it would not last forever.

Also not lasting forever was the Lord’s tenure in Hollywood. When people didn’t seem to be as impressed by his NYC theater experience, as he himself was, he returned home.

Once back in NYC, the Lord’s mother gave him a book called Feature Films at Used Car Prices, in order to show him he could take control of his career and make his own movie. And, voila, just like that, the Lord was resurrected.

His 20-minute film Multi-Facial was shot in three days and cost $3000. The plot involved Lord Diesel playing an actor who tried on a different ethnicity at every audition, and still couldn’t get a part! — art imitating, well, art.

I read the same book and, after trading in my used Mazda Protégé for a moped, I was able to finance my first short film Multi-Faced, a story in which yours truly tried on a different pick-up line at every MAW meeting, and still couldn’t get laid! Life imitating, well, life.

Lord Diesel’s film was accepted to screen at Cannes in the short film competition.

Mine was accepted to screen at intermission of Transvestite BINGO Night at the West Hollywood International House of Pancakes.

Upon the success of his short film, Lord Diesel moved back to Hollywood. Which just thrilled me, because it meant I got to move from my Bel-Air adjacent apartment back to my friends tool shed for more “character” training.

The Lord then used his telemarketing skills and sold power tools for “more than they were worth,” raising $50,000 so he could finance his first feature film Strays.

The film’s tagline: “Sometimes strays find what is missing in other strays,” made me realize the only thing I was missing was the cojones to pick up the phone and raise a dime, so I opted for Plan B: I enrolled in a Sperm Donor program where I was politely informed that my kids didn’t make it out of the shallow end.

Strays didn’t do as well as the Lord expected, and just as he was about to cry “mommy!”, he had a Lana-Turner-Being-Discovered-at-Schwab’s moment:

He received a phone call from a man named Spielberg. “Steven” liked the Lord’s work in Multi-Faceted and cast him in Saving Private Ryan. And the rest, as the cliché goes, is history.

*

As for me, who was I kidding? I would never be the Diesel. The reality was/is/always will be: I would never be anyone. So I moved out of the tool shed and back to my apartment. Of course, when I got home, my cable was disconnected. A definite metaphor for my luck with MAWs.

Fact: Neither by land or sea or acting would I ever be in the position to lay cable with a MAW.

“Loser.”