I just saw a commercial for cat litter with an odor blocker so powerful you can’t smell the cat poop at all.
The lady in the commercial has her lady friends over, and they’re sitting around a coffee table or whatever, and she stuns them all by PULLING THE LITTER BOX OUT FROM UNDERNEATH THE TABLE.
“I didn’t smell anything!” they coo. “Amazing!”
And that’s how you can tell it’s a commercial, because in real life, if someone did that, her friends would say: “You are the worst person ever.”
For Christmas a couple of years ago, I asked for a bottle of Drambuie. There were several reasons for this request, the four most pertinent being: 1) I like whiskey; 2) I like honey; 3) Drambuie is basically just whiskey and honey; 4) I couldn’t afford to buy a bottle myself.
After opening my Christmas present and pouring myself a celebratory libation, I discovered several things about Drambuie, the most pertinent being: 1) It tastes the way Old Spice smells.
Saddened and dismayed, I found recipes for drinks including Drambuie, hoping the Old Spice flavor could be drowned out if you add enough other liquors.
But after two years of misery, last night, my bottle of Drambuie was low enough that I realized I could finally finish it off.
… Anyway, now I feel just terrible.
So it’s been kind of busy at work, but mostly I just don’t feel very funny because it’s cold and grey and yucky outside, so I thought I’d share this quote from Bette Davis upon learning of the death of her hated nemesis, Joan Crawford:
You should never say bad things about the dead, you should only say good . . . Joan Crawford is dead. Good.
Well, I finally watched the first episode of Ash vs. Evil Dead, which for some reason I thought was called Ash vs. the Evil Dead, so now don’t I feel stupid.
We learn that it’s thirty years after the events of the original Evil Dead (and possibly Evil Dead 2, because the flashbacks kind of combine the two), and also that Army of Darkness never happened, which is all right because it’s the second best one anyway.
Ash lives in a trailer court, wears a girdle and works for Valu-Mart, or something like that (again, because Army of Darkness never happened, so there’s no such thing as shopping smart at S-Mart), and also he’s gotten into the habit of picking up strange women in bars and spanking them with his wooden hand.
Anyway, he accidentally unleashes the Candarian demons, whom we’re calling Deadites now, apparently, so maybe Army of Darkness did happen?, and this beautiful lady cop and her red-shirt partner get called to the crime scene and fight Candarian Deadites, and the partner gets all possessed and killed and the lady cop gets to meet Lucy Lawless, so, all things considered, she really comes out ahead.
Then Ash decides he needs to flee the ancient evil that’s pursuing him, like that ever works, but it’s mostly so he can have a brief hero’s journey from coward to badass Ash. Also, he gets attacked by a tiny doll, and he pratfalls like a damn pro, and instead of fleeing, he has to kill his possessed neighbor, and then he goes for THE CHAINSAW HAND…
…but he has to kill another possessed neighbor to get it, which is too bad, because she was totally cleaning his trailer house for him, and then at the end, his two coworkers are all like, “How do you feel?” And he’s all like: “Groovy.”
This summer, I said to my mother: “I want to write a story about a woman who marries a giraffe.”
“All right,” said my mother, who is used to me saying strange things about marriage and giraffes all the time.
So I wrote a story about a woman who marries a giraffe, and the lovely Gravel Magazine published it, and now they’ve nominated it for a Pushcart Prize, which I keep trying to spell Puschart. Anyway, I had to learn a whole bunch of things about giraffes, and you can see the fruits of my labor here, when you read “Your Stepfather, the Giraffe.”
Like, who even knew the fourth Daniel Craig Bond film was coming out this weekend? I mean, other than “everybody except me,” of course.
So, new James Bond film, and somebody actually says: “I am the author of all your pain.” Which, let me just tell you, even if you are the author of all of someone’s pain, try not to gloat, especially like that, because you sound like a real dingus.
Also, Dame Judi Dench is dead, or at least M is, and Bond is on the run again, like usual, and Smug Hipster Q (TM) is less cute than last time, and a helicopter flies upside down, and … I’m sorry, I know that I love British things, but I just don’t care about James Bond.
So, anyway, go see Spectre or don’t, I don’t care.
I was looking forward to Pan coming out, mostly so I could say how awful it looked and how unfaithful it was to the source material, and to hell with whoever created it, but then it turns out that it was released back in early October and nobody even noticed.
This is probably because of how awful it looks and how unfaithful it is to the source material.
Issue number 1: Rooney Mara as Tiger Lily.
Rooney Mara could be a wonderful actress, I don’t know. She could be the Meryl Streep of her generation. She could be Mary Pickford reincarnated. She could be many things, but none of those things are “American Indian.” That’s not her fault or anything, but maybe people could cast American Indians to play American Indians? I mean, I thought racism was over now. Anyway, yeah, Tiger Lily is a racist caricature, because J.M. Barrie was an Englishman from the 1900s, but she’s still one of the most famous fictional American Indians out there, so … whatever.
Issue number 2: Peter Pan as a boy of fate.
Here is Peter Pan’s back story: He is a little boy who doesn’t want to grow up. He fights pirates for fun and plays with fairies. None of this makes him a fated hero of lore. In fact, J.M. Barrie (that damn racist) named him Pan after the god of the forests, originator of the word “Panic,” and thought him to be an agent of chaos, probably because what else could a preadolescent child whose idea of fun is murdering pirates possibly be considered?
Issue number 3: What the HELL is wrong with Hugh Jackman’s character design?
I know it’s a day early, everyone, but I’m sure you’re all just as excited about this special day as I am, so…
HAPPY ASH VS. THE EVIL DEAD DAY!
“Mom, what’s sextortion?” wondered my grade school-aged daughter when she noticed the headline.
“Well, honey, sextortion is a made-up word. It’s basically a portmanteau — do you know what a portmanteau is? It’s when people take two words that are tangentially related and smash them into one word. It’s popularly done with celebrity couples, like Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie are called Brangelina, and … actually, that’s the only example I can think of, because I don’t really follow celebrity couples, like who cares who’s dating who, right? Anyway, sextortion is a portmanteau, which, again, is two words combined to make one, and in this case, the words are ‘sex’ and ‘extortion,’ and … why are you face down in your cereal bowl, honey? I thought you wanted to know what ‘sextortion’ means!”
At the funeral home here, we’re printing a memorial program for a man whose family selected a poem with the best stanza ever:
The intelligent and the brave
Open every closet in the future and evict
All the mind’s ghosts who have the bad habit
Of barfing everywhere.
That’s … that’s so beautiful, man.