Lost in Translation:

Here's a picture of Michelle Obama, if that's her real name. She's volunteering to serve food at a soup kitchen. It's a photo-op. And she is being photographed by a 'homeless' person who collects welfare or SSI benefits; free healthcare for his whole tribe of kids from various encounters; receives coupons to help feed them, all on your dime remember, and, he's taking her picture with a $400 Blackberry that he probably stole from your glove compartment.

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"Everyone Loves You When You're Dead"

Last month Michael Jackson died of what will likely turn out to be a heart attack caused by an accidental drug overdose. RIP & gl, Michael, it's hot in hell (and maybe I'll be seeing you there). A day before he died - or was it two days, I forgot already - Farrah Fawcett died after a long battle with cancer. She did survive long enough to make a TV special chronicling her fight against the disease and she shared poetry and flower petals, all in soft focus of course, with contemplative gazing towards the sky, the gosh darn whole breakfast at the Beverly Hills Hotel thing, like a mid-evening, Normal Rockwell meets Rod Serling docudrama.
Ok, so she finally dies, finally!, goodbye and good riddance, your 15 minutes were up a way, way, long time ago; good & dead, her death is glorified all over the media, when oops, suddenly Michael Jackson shows up dead, unexpected-like, and now the media is all over that story. Michael Jackson is dead! Forget about Farrah! Farrah Who? Michael Jackson, the King of Pop, dead, and now the world is mourning the loss. It's Peter Pan with porcelain-coloured skin, the moon-walking wacko-jacko. and now we've all forgotten about poor ol' Farrah. That's just not right. So Farrah gets all up in her knickers over this series of events, and screams, "That goddamn twisted little child fucker!, he stole my thunder!"

A dear friend of mine, after learning of Farrah Fawcett & Michael Jackson's death, said, "Everything comes in 3's,", suggesting someone else - someone famous - would die very soon. The next day Billy Mays died. He was the pitchman for Orange Glo and Oxyclean, and hundreds of other useless products. My friend pointed to this and said, "See what I mean? Everything comes in 3's! Just like I said! "
Whoa there, Nelly. Isn't that a little like the Q of diamonds meets the King of Spades, meets the useless, extra advertising card that comes with a brand new deck of cards?
The next day Karl Malden died. We'll call him the Jack of hearts. He deserves that, at least.

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Before I forget, the right-wing ditz from last month, Ms. California, whatever her name was, has been fired by the Miss America Pageant people, led by Mr. "You're Fired" Donald Trump. Hellalula.

The two American female journalists, however, are still planting pansies beside the highway to Pyongyang, their punishment for entering North Korea without permission and spreading propaganda about that country.

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Just a thought, but why is it that the common ant - the kind that you find crawling on your kitchen floor, is a lot like the Taliban? I swear, you kill one - 'blink' - and three more show up...

What's another name for the DaisyCutter bomb? The TaliWhacker.

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I watch Jeopardy, it reminds me of how stupid I am. The show always opens by Alex Trebek's mysterious sidekick, a guy named Johnny, introducing the players, and it usually goes something like this:

"This... is.... JEOPARDY! Introducing the challengers... From Greensboro, a nuclear physicist, Hong Wong. From Denver, a brain surgeon, Deborah Doolittle. And our returning Champion, from Hershey, a Bacterial Engineer, Hunter Flu.

Just once, I wish they could be honest, and it might sound something like this:

"This... is.... JEOPARDY! Introducing the challengers.... From Brooklyn, a hijacker of trucks loaded with cigarettes, Perry Flushing. From Wichita, an unemployed person with an addiction to Oxycontin, Timmy Bellman. And our returning Champion, from Plattsburgh, a serial rapist who collects his victims underwear, Sammy Sneakapeak.

Why is it that the contestants on 'Deal or No Deal' never take the deal? Because they're stupid, stupid.

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A lot of people were turned off by my goofing over the Air France plane that crashed into the ocean, where I theorized that the occupants of the plane were sent into a cosmic time orbit, something, to somewhere, to some time... that we couldn't understand, like the plot of LOST, and that they were actually alive and well and sipping out of coconut shells and banging exotic natives. Of course, that's not true. They all died and that's a tragedy.
Well, the cause of the crash is still unknown but it probably had something to do with the pilots trying to fly through a thunderstorm when they should've been 'weaving' through the thunderstorm, not trying to take it head on. And why would they do that? Why would the pilots try to fly through the storm if they knew it wasn't safe? This video, taken of crew members aboard an actual Air France jet, might lead to some answers. (I kid you not, this is for real. It's unedited, and I had nothing to do with it.)

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I live in Northern California. That's far, far away. It's practically a desert over here, but we still manage to maintain our golf courses, and I'm a member at a private country club in the hills of El Cerrito, CA. Now, imagine this (a true story): I'm on the first tee, by my lonesome - because that's one of the privileges of private courses, you can play by yourself, drink a beer, smoke a doob if you want, but sometimes you get company, and it's sometimes unexpected company, like mayors of SF, hookers, deer with antlers, and weird shit like that, but on this day something unusual happened. Along comes this guy to join me. Regular American guy. Probably named Bob, and probably fishes and drinks beer and enjoys a good hamburger. Turns out, his name is Bob, he fishes, drinks beer and enjoys a good hamburger. Honest. Halfway thru the round of golf, he asks me where I'm from. And this is how it went,

Bob: "So Mike (if that's your real name), where you from?"
Me: "Well, I live by the 5th tee box, just over there," I say, gesturing over yonder.
Bob: "No, I mean, 'where are you from, originally'-"
Me: "Oh, I'm from Canada, a big nation to the north- "
Bob: "Yeah, I know about Canada. Where in Canada?"
Me: "Quebec, it's a big province, right next to Ontario, another big province, where the Blue Jays play, but a completely different place-"
Bob: "Yeah, I know Quebec (and Ontario) - where in Quebec?"
Me: "Montreal-"
Bob: "Where in Montreal?"
Me: "Near Dorval -"
Bob: "Where 'near' Dorval?"
Me: "Beaconsfield-"
Bob: "Where in Beaconsfield?"
Me: "Sherbrooke St., in the Heights neighbourhood."
Bob: "Cool. I grew up in Beacon Hill!"

For those of you who don't know, Beaconhill is less than a mile from Heights. Turns out we went to the same high school, ate at the same McDonalds, and he felt up my big sister's best friend at a party in my house. And so now we meet again, 30 years later, on the 1st tee of a private golf course 3,000 miles away from where we began.

"It's a small world... but I wouldn't want to paint it." Steven Wright

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Movie of the Month - a movie you'd never think to rent but should- Savages

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Sports trying to get into the Olympics include: baseball, karate, roller derby and squash. I say Yes to roller derby. No to everything else, especially squash, because that would open the door to watermelons & pumpkins, and then the next thing you know we'll be watching athletes speed-weed the polo field.

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Let it Load

The files that appear below are usually in the 60-70mb range in size. If you want to view the file, I'd recommend clicking the link, then wait a couple minutes to let the video load into your browser before hitting the play button. These are progressive downloads, and if your connection is at all slow, or if the server is slow on my side, the video will begin to play and then halt. So you may need to be patient. Enjoy!

Kogal in a Seifuku - A summer time video for the summer time season. Enjoy! (it sure is hot in here)

"Mig Rogers, you've really crossed the fucking line this time." (my mother)