Friday, January 31, 2020

Where Are They Now?


Good evening and welcome to Where Are They Now? The show that brings you up-to-date information on the whereabouts of news-makers from the past. I’m your host, Dr. Gooch, here to bring you the what’s-what about the who’s-who that you totally forgot about, because nobody really cares about these social leeches.

Tonight, we begin with the perpetrator of the biggest earworm of 2012. Psy.

PSY: We all remember that little South Korean dough boy and his always handsomely coiffed hair. And the reason for that is because his chart-topping song Gangnam Style was parodied and “memed” in our culture so much that the amount of people who were admitted to hospitals with aural injuries due to them violently shoving sharp implements into their ear holes quadrupled in four short months.
Psy followed up that massive hit with a couple of other songs, but by then it was too late. 

Everybody’s minds had been shattered by his song, and we no longer remembered what the light and the warmth of the sun felt like. So he quietly slunk away back to South Korea, where he could plunder as many Korean thrift shops as he wanted for new clothes. But where is he now?

The researchers here at Where Are They Now? Were able to track down Psy, and where they found him may surprise you. It seems that Psy (real name Alfred E. Neuman) became a deep-sea fisherman of mermaids. It’s not a luxurious job, and the hours and commitment can be quite demanding, but every time Psy and his crew return to shore with even one or two mermaids, it’s all worth it. 

Mermaid’s are valued for their delicious and tender upper body meat. Their lower halves are used for extremely expensive sushi, usually reserved for the very rich and heads of state. The iridescent shine of the scales makes for beautiful dresses and other haute-couture clothing. The rugged sea life has benefited Psy. Gone is his poppin’ fresh belly and love handles. He now proudly wears the squinted-eyes and sun-tanned leathery face of a true fisherman with majestic pride.
All we can do is watch with a tear in our eye as he horsey dances into the sunset.

                                                                   ***

Up next we have a person who captured the nation’s attention and tugged at our heartstrings for a full five minutes before we all got distracted by the oddly weightless karate people in Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon, (yo, remember that shit? Back before Ang Lee did movies about gay cowboys and neon green gamma monsters).

Elian Gonzalez: The year: 2000. The place: Southern Florida. The event: Trapped in a closet.

Elian made the news at the turn of the century when he and his mother and mother’s boyfriend attempted to leave Cuba to get to America and make it to Epcot Center before the Body Wars Exhibit was shut down for good. The five-year-old’s mother drowned in the attempt and without a steady stream of “getting some” the boyfriend ghosted the scene. Elian was subsequently placed with relatives in Miami. But his father wanted him back in Cuba, where the cigars and rum are plentiful and the cars are all from 1954.

And thus began an international tug-of-war for Elian’s very soul. So much pathos and drama! Let’s skip all that nonsense.

Eventually, after a whirlwind tour and press junket across these fruited plains, Elian was forced to end his engagement to Rosario Dawson and return to Cuba, where he became best friends with Castro. Although, Castro was on so much medication at this point that he just assumed that Elian was a imaginary munchkin friend that only he could see.
After a few years of living in Cuba, Elian managed to leave again for the glorious shores of America, on a makeshift boat he created out of banana leaves and pelican spit. He made it to shore, but by the time INS reached where he had landed, Elian, otherwise known as the “Cubano Dynamo” had disappeared into the bushes, never to be seen again.

Until today!

Our team was able to hire world-renowned tracker/hunter Robert Muldoon, who led them to an amateurishly built one-room shack in the middle of the Florida swamps. There, we discovered an extremely fast cigarette boat and a table with about five keys of white power in brick form, a money counting machine and a Glock pistol. Clearly, some illicit things were going down in the bayou.
On their way out of the shack, the team actually ran into a bearded hulking man with a machete and a burner cell phone. It turned out that this man was Elian himself, now an autonomous businessman. As it so happened, Elian was in the Swamp Thing hunting trade. He would travel the marsh, seeking the elusive Swamp Things that inhabit the bogs and burn their repugnant bodies into a powder form that he would sell to idiotic tourists as authentic Cajun Seminole Seasoning. He lived on a healthy two million dollars a month and actually had a gorgeous mansion outside of Miami proper. He just kept the shack because it added a touch of realism that the brainless tourists expected. 

                                                               ***

That’s all the time we have today on Where Are They Now? Again, I’m your host Dr. Gooch. Join us next time when we discover, where the hell in the world is Carmen Sandiego?!

Monday, January 27, 2020

Josh’s Notes: Johnny Tremain, a.k.a. “Johnny Deformed-Hand” as Bart Simpson calls him


We all remember growing up right? If not, you might have Memento disease and you should seek medical attention. There were a lot of shared experiences we all had growing up: school, homework, wearing high heels and lipstick in the privacy of our own rooms, daily beatings with extension cords. You know, regular stuff.

And one of the most annoying things about childhood was school and the homework. Especially when we were assigned to read the stodgiest books the school board could afford to purchase in bulk*. That’s why we had such gems as One Flew Under the Cuckoo’s Nest, A Farewell to Legs and Hamlet 2: Ophelia’s Revenge.

But today I’m going to talk about that Revolutionary War classic (so called because the damn thing feels like it was actually written 300 years ago) Johnny Tremain. Written in 1943 by Esther “No Relation” Forbes. Johnny Tremain tells the pointless story of some kid with a really shitty life that just so happens to take place during milestone events in American history. It’s basically the literary equivalent of Life of Brian, by Monty Python’s Flying Circus. The story of some chump in the wrong place at the right time.

Johnny Tremain, the original JT, was a 14-year-old silversmith’s apprentice in Boston. He made sure that there were always plenty of silver bullets available for the usual werewolf attacks. You see, not much is mentioned these days, but early settlers and Americans were constantly hassled by lycanthropes. It was really annoying. Babies snatched up left and right. Big old piles of werewolf scat all in the streets and on people’s porches. Those guys were jerks. But I digress.

One day, an older apprentice named Dove (make of that name what you will) was jealous of Johnny. Probably because of his elegant, patriotic pony tail. So he sabotaged a thing Johnny was working on, I think he was patching up a crack in the Holy Grail or something, and Johnny ended up burning the shit out of his hand. Remember that scene in The Fly, where Brundlefly uses his acid puke to melt that dude’s hand into a gross, mushy stump? That’s basically what happened to Johnny. Unsavory.
Now, horribly crippled, unable to marry his boss’s daughter and a complete load on society, Johnny takes up doing opium and laudanum and is found two weeks later, his body rotting in an alley. Forgotten by all.

JK! That would have been a more realistic outcome, but this is fiction damn it! And he’s the protagonist, for some reason, so we gotta keep this story moving!

Since this is America, what really happens is that Johnny decides to call upon the aide of the 1%. Sigh, when will the rabble, the Great Unwashed, learn to be self-reliant? Lift themselves up by their own boot straps and make something of themselves? The goddam American Dream! If I had my druthers, all poor and ugly people would be locked up behind high walls, so I wouldn’t have to see them during my daily constitutional to the Gentlemen’s Club for brandy and a game of Operation. **
Johnny convinces this rich cat that they’re related, which helps him get a job delivering the Boston Observer, a pro-Whig newspaper. Warning: this is where the book gets crazy political and historical and it talks about the growing tensions between Whigs and Tories and everybody who attempts to read the book is suddenly struck with super-glazed eyes, a slack jaw with rivulets of drool falling into their lap and a brain that escaped through the ears and is currently withering to death on the floor. But not today loyal readers! That’s why you’ve got Josh’s Notes!

Johnny and his boy Rab engage in various historical events that lead up to the Revolutionary War. They partake in the Boston Tea Party, the Massachusetts Ice Cream Party and the Philly Beer Party, (most people’s memories were a bit hazy the next morning about exactly what happened the previous night and why they were waking up on top of the Liberty Bell and why there was now a crack in it.)

Johnny ends up being a spy for the Sons of Liberty, the secret Impossible Mission Force arm of the Boston Whigs. And he gets to work with such famous patriots as Samuel “God I need a Drink” Adams, John “Stop Making Fun of Me” Hancock and Paul “Sybil Ludington Actually Rode Further Than I Did” Revere.

Eventually, during the early parts of the war Rab (short for “Rabtastic maybe?) gets a lead ball to the dome and dies. Due to Johnny’s Play-Doh hand, he can’t pick up a gun and avenge his comrade’s death. But that won’t stop Johnny. He has the true grit of a die-hard American patriot! He bleeds red, white and blue! With the help of Dr. Joseph Warren, Johnny is given a robotic Vibranium hand that can crush a man’s skull as easily as a toothpick. And a musket that shoots precision laser blasts like the Predator.

Johnny then enlists in the Army and decides to LIVE FREE OR DIE! YO JOE! The end.

Maybe I made up that part about the cybernetic hand. Maybe I didn’t. You’ll never know because nobody has ever made it to the end of the book. I believe it holds the Guinness World Record for “Most Unfinished Book”. Coming up a distant second is Human Centipede: The Novelization For Kids!  Join me next time, when I give notes on To Kill a Mockingbird. Or maybe Everybody Poops. Who knows?


*Typically, because they wasted the annual school budget on houses, hookers and hotels. The Triple-Hs as we called them.

**The goofy game for dopey docs.

Friday, January 24, 2020

You Have the Right to Bear…Hugs (or, all you need is GUNS)


Recently, I learned that America is having a collective argument about some trifle. I was nonplussed! What rigmarole was this? America is and always has been a unified body. We’re just a big old tasty stew in a melting pot of love. We’ve never been divided by anything before! Surely this means the End of Days!

And then I did a little research and it turns out that we’ve been divided on a conservative ONE TRILLION things before. Here’s a short list.

  • David Lee Roth vs Sammy Hagar
  • Great Taste vs Less Filling
  • Kirk vs Picard
  • DC vs Marvel
  • Standard vs Manual
  • Thin Crust vs Deep Dish
  • Coo Coo Ca Cho vs Goo Goo G’Joob
  • Die Hard vs All Other Movies
  • Yanny vs Laurel
  • Chevy vs Ford
  • Cowboys vs Indians
  • Star Wars vs Star Trek
  • Buttnaked vs Bucknaked
  • East Coast vs West Coast
  • Sunny D vs Purple Stuff
  • Connery vs Moore
  • Pat’s vs Gino’s
  • Rap vs Hip Hop
  • The Light Side vs The Dark Side
  • Mac vs PC
  • The vs Thee
  • Michael Jackson vs Prince
  • You Can Get With This vs You Can Get With That
  • iPhone vs Android
  • Coffee vs Tea
  • VHS vs Betamax
  • Stars and Bars vs Don’t Tread On Me
  • Bruce Lee vs Jackie Chan
  • Pornhub vs YouPorn
  • Rolling Stones vs Beatles
  • Nintendo vs Sega
  • Disney vs WB
  • William Shakespeare vs E. L. James
  • Leno vs Letterman
  • Britney vs Christina
  • In ‘n Out vs Five Guys
  • Jack Nicholson vs Heath Ledger
  • City Mouse vs Country Mouse
  • Mario vs Sonic
  • Left-Handed vs Right-Handed
  • Ali vs Foreman
  • Cat vs Dog (when they live together, it’s mass hysteria)
  • Cake vs Death

See what I mean? It’s a madhouse out there. Surely there’s at least one thing we can all agree on? My vote is on how expensive Disney World is. That’s shit’s crazy, don’t you think?

So, did I miss any? Let me know in the comments.*


*Comments! Hahahaha!

Tuesday, January 21, 2020

Newspapers Are Weird


Lost

Lost: One tabby cat, 200 lbs., brown hair, probably wearing blue jeans. Goes by the name Lung Butter. He’ll probably say that isn’t his name, but don’t listen, he’s a liar. If found, please return to George. Also, tell him to bring some kitty litter on his way home. This place smells like wheeeeeeeew!

Lost: Please help me. My dog is lost. He’s red and about 25 feet tall. Honestly, I don’t know how the cops haven’t been called already, he’s pretty hard to miss. To track him, just follow the paw prints the length of a mini-cooper. Thank you!

Lost: My friend Snuggle Puff is missing. He’s a Goliath Birdeater tarantula. Don’t worry, he’s harmless. He’ll probably make his presence known if you feel a tingling crawling up your pantleg. That’s just his way of saying hello!

Lost: Howdy. I’ve lost my old girl Bessie. She’s a 1989 F-150. If you see her, approach her slowly. She’s a bit skittish. Also, you might want to wear a gas mask, those exhaust fumes are toxic!

Lost: My mind. Why did I get married?! Please, somebody help me find my sanity. $1000 reward!

Lost: This is a little embarrassing, but my Frankenstein got loose…again. He never wanders too far, but you never know. If you spot him, play some violin or something soothing. BUT NOT DRAKE! DRAKE AND FIRE BAD!

Lost: Me. Where am I? Is this Hell? I see a light; I think I may go toward it…

Lost: My boy Waldo got lost years ago. Fool owes me $20. He’s wearing a red and white stripped sweater. He was last seen with his girlfriend Carmen Sandiego. Find them both and get the prize!

Lost: One shoe. Don’t ask me how it happened. It happened, okay? Get off my back. Just help me look for this damn thing. It’s probably on the side of I-95 in Jersey.

Lost: In Translation. That’s not a good movie, right? I mean, we’re all supposed to like it for some reason, but it’s really just some pretentious garbage. If you agree, tweet me @SophiaCoppola.

Monday, January 20, 2020

Ferguson Darling (or, get killed now and avoid the rush!)



(I wrote this out of anger in 2014 after the murder of Michael Brown and the riots in Ferguson. I didn't post it because it wasn't really funny and it was really just an exercise to get shit off my chest. But today being the holiday it is, I revisited what I wrote and I wonder, has anything changed? Are we better or worse?)

There. Feel better now? Get it all out of your system? Your rioting. Your protests (both violent and peaceful.*) Your sharing the links to a dozen different, (yet all equally ineffectual) online articles, some written by actual writers with an idea of how language works and how words fit together, some written by people with a keyboard and at least two working fingers, but little else.

All pointless.

Your anger. Your righteous indignation. Your raging against…something. The system? Racism? Cops? Is it all out there? Have you divested yourself of that negativity?

I certainly hope so. I mean sure, people are dead, still dead, even more dead and dying. And sure, the police officers who killed these people are free, with no sense of accountability, ready to kill again (with extreme prejudice) or sign that lucrative book deal. Whichever they prefer. Oh yeah, and the system hasn’t changed either. So the same stuff is going to happen again and again until we run out of innocents to kill or become too desensitized to care.  But on the bright side, I know I can sleep at night, because I shared a bunch of hashtags, I “liked” some scathing articles aimed at people who will never read them and basically showed the world that I’m totally on the side of people who think randomly and senselessly killing minorities is a no-no.

Of course, the actual murders were just the appetizer. I too was a part of the throngs who demanded action and accountability. I too wanted to see the perpetrators of these crimes, the police officers we entrust with our lives and safety, explain their actions and get what’s coming to them. I too was dumbfounded by the fact that other, regular Americans, people who probably eat the same foods I do, shop at the same stores and watch the same shows as me, could EVEN THINK of events in ways that didn’t match my own opinions or views of the world. I too confused justice and revenge.

But then it was the next morning. The dead people were still dead, the live ones still alive and it dawned on me that simply having a viewpoint wasn’t enough to change the world. Breaking into creepy third-world electronics stores** didn’t change the world. Being really mad and telling everybody that I was mad and confused didn’t change the world either. I realized that there was probably very little I could do about it. I’m certainly not going to don a cape and a mask to dispense justice myself. That sounds far too involved. And for once it didn’t seem like dumping water on my head for “awareness” purposes, or bullying people for not voting was going to accomplish much either.

The way I see it, the world is an unfair place and unfair shit happens all the time. Including racist shit. And pointless death. If you want, you can believe in God or karma as cosmic entities who right wrongs all over the universe and maintain the balance of the force. You can say to yourself that they’re on the case and in the end things will work out just fine. More power to you. Delusion is bliss. I’d jump on that train in a moment if I thought it was productive.

When you ground your kids, they say it’s unfair and you tell them to deal with it. Why not take your own advice? Think the world operates differently for you because you’ve got a few extra years, pounds and crotch hairs than your children? Conceited much? The unfairly killed dead people didn’t have happy endings and I’m pretty sure that you can do whatever you want in their names and they won’t care in the slightest.

Oh, and before I go, I just want to give an extra shout-out to the people who keep going on about this Conversation About Racism, they want to have. That’s adorable and totally feasible. It’s not a patronizing argument to hide behind in the slightest. Hey Americans, stop being racist and treating people of different races poorly! I’m sure that if we just sit down and talk things out, we’ll have this sorted in no time. Talking has worked so well for so many other countries and ethnicities throughout history. Because deep down people are intelligent, rational and willing to admit that their viewpoints should be changed. That’s a reasonable thing to assume about people, right?

Anyway, that’s all I have to say about things. Don’t look for words of wisdom, (from me, or anybody else, to be honest). Don’t look for solace or peace. Not when it comes to cops who kill 12-year-old boys, or who choke to death grown men who use their remaining air and the last words on their lips to explain how that whole breathing thing needs to continue if they want to live. Not when it comes to racism. Not when it comes to our penal system or our fellow Americans (both of which are just simply terrible). There can’t be peace. And the anger will grow and grow with no legit outlet for it.

Then it consumes and spreads out. And that’s how we get super villains and clock tower snipers.

Nobody can tuck you in bed at night and send you to sleep with the satisfying notion that everything will be alright. No news article and be the balm that soothes your burning heart. The world is unfair. The end.

*Seriously though, I managed to “acquire” a BETAMAX player. How random is that?!

**Ray-Ray’s Discount Electronics Boutique on Spencer Road. The Walkmen are on the shelf next to the BETAMAXs.

Saturday, January 18, 2020

I filmed a Commercial, It Went Exactly as Expected


My olfactory alarm clock went off right on time. I awoke, at five am, to the smell of coffee brewing six feet away from my sleepy head. If you’re wondering what an olfactory alarm clock is, it’s exactly what it smells like: an alarm clock that wakes you up with various scents. Yes, they are real and yes, I am better than you.

I arose and showered. I had already set my clothes out the previous night; I knew it was going to be a cold day and that I was going to be outside for most of it, so I coordinated my attire to suit the anticipated environment. I like setting my clothes and stuff out ahead of time. I dunno, it makes me feel like a spy, or an action hero, gearing up before going out on a mission. Makes me feel like I got my shit together and I’m ready for whatever comes next (unless it’s the Blob. I got no idea how to fight blobs, is it with sodium or something?).

I hopped in my car. His name is BOB. Bob the car. I had accidentally left my windows down during a major thunderstorm two nights prior*. I was still dealing with the liquid aftermath the morning of my expected two-hour drive. The mixture of a cold and wet seat kept me alert for the entire trip out to the heart of “I ride a horse to school when the tractor is out of gas” county, Virginia. On this day, I was going to be in a commercial.
Now Josh, you’re thinking to yourself through the haze of the everyday monotony that has consumed your life, how the hell did you get involved in a commercial, what is it for and can I have your autograph?

To which I say, “please, hold all questions till the end of the presentation.”

The content of the commercial was not the usual fare. It was neither for a good, or a service. That kinda cuts out a lot of things. Which makes the guessing what it was for that much harder. I mean, when you picture me**, in a commercial, you figure it must be for some kind of “after” photo for 6-minute abs workout program. Or perhaps I’m offering elocution lessons. Maybe I’m finally doing that cook book everybody’s been dying for. Or, (if you’re nasty) I’m offering my talents as a world-class, lothario, gigolo and rapscallion.

Bu nay, says I! T’was a commercial of a Political Nature!

What’s this, you say? Josh, mired in the quagmire of political intrigue, debauchery and behind-the scenes-wheeling-and-dealing and palm-greasing that is the American system of governing? How can this be? Although you live within the Beltway, you are not a creature of the political world! You don’t have a bureaucratic bone in your body! You’re not even registered to vote! What makes you qualified to be in a commercial that could change the political landscape and form the very basis of bill and lawmaking in this country for generations to come?
To which I say, “see footnote #2.”

What’s even more interesting is the nature of this ad. The ad has to do with the amount of assault weapons in the United States. Are there too many? Not enough? Are they being used properly, or improperly? Where can one buy such a weapon at two on a Saturday morning? (I’m totally asking for a friend.)

My involvement being featured in the commercial was also what makes it a little impetuous in its execution. See, I’m a vet. As in, a veteran of WAR!!!, not somebody who injects themselves with horse tranquilizers on a regular basis, (although I do that as well) while cutting off dog balls, (wait a minute, I do that too! I just don’t get paid for it. But that’s another story.) And therefore, as a vet, (and certified fucking American Hero, which will be on my tombstone) my appearance in a political ad about the second amendment could be deemed controversial or biased. While shooting (the commercial, not guns) that day, everybody from the camera people, to the director, to craft services, to the cute chick with the deep eyes, asked me if I felt comfortable if I were to become the face of the statement this ad was making. Did it fit into my personal views and philosophies?

To which I replied, “the paycheck fits into my bank account!”
The day of shooting was indeed long and cold and I had to repeat the same lines multiple times until those were the only words I was able to remember at the end of the day, and I had to read Hop on Pop to regain my vocabulary. I don’t know if this ad will ever see the light of day. I don’t know where it’ll be shown, or whose campaign it would be for, or even who the client is, (which can only mean one thing: the Free Masons have teamed up with the Illuminati and the Bronies to control us!). But all in all, it was fun, I’m not the worst in front of a camera. And I managed to stuff my pockets full of snacks from craft services.

What more can you ask for? I’ll see you at the unveiling of my star on the Walk of Fame.

*I save money on car washes, both inside and out, with the natural water-power of rain. I’m a genius.

**I’m Josh.