Tuesday Random Crap

Hey there, ‘Redheads… We’ve made it to Tuesday. I’ve been pretty quiet about the world falling to pieces around us over the last couple of weeks, mostly because I’m not terribly well informed and I’ve been too preoccupied to make stuff up. But the Tsunami Roll I got from Harris Teeter tonight got me thinking about the disaster in Japan and the pineapple I ate got me thinking about the situation in Libya. Gadhafi’s going to be really pissed when he finds out the bombs he bought are made out of pinball machine parts. To be fair, if I were him, I’d be ticked off too. Have you seen pictures of him? His face looks like a paper mache art project I made in 5th grade art class…Jimmy “Superfly” Snuka and Edward James Olmos look at him and say, “There but for the grace of God go I.” All I’m saying is, I can understand why he might be on a short fuse. Now, the US is leading the charge into yet another middle eastern country to take down another evil doer. Don’t we employ a team of ninjas or SEALs or the A-Team or G.I. Joe or the goddamn Wonder Twins for stuff like this? There’s gotta be an app for that. It’ll probably cost millions of dollars to uproot this guy with a standard military operation. Put one million on the table and offer it up to the first assassin who can do a halfway decent Chuck Norris impression and it’ll save time, lives, and money. No disintegrations. Better yet, why not send a robot? Like Blinky…

The moral of the story: Do not taunt Happy Fun Ball.

See you Wednesday.

Winning, Duh

Hey there, ‘Redheads… Welcome to the first day of March. Once again, my calendar is a flip book and the first two months of the year are gone. They’re not even giving me enough time to procrastinate anymore. Well, I guess time flies when you’re winning. So, for Charlie Sheen, tomorrow it’ll be 2014. He’s absolutely everywhere you look these last two days, giving interviews to anyone within earshot. It’s Charlie’s world and the rest of us are just along for the tour of the chocolate factory. He’s starring in The Sheening, and his two goddesses are those creepy kids in the hallway beckoning him to, “Come play with us, Charlie. For ever and ever and ever.” How many other obscure movie references can I make about this? Charlie has spent the last few years developing a immunity to cocaine powder. My question is, why is everyone shocked by him anymore? The man does not care, he’s not hurting anyone, his kids seem well cared for, and the only reason why his show got cancelled is because CBS got their panties in a bunch. He wanted to work, and he obviously was doing well enough in his condition to hit his marks up until now. Now he’s talking about warlocks and tiger blood, calling Sinatra and Jagger, “droopy-eyed, armless children,” and telling AA to take twelve steps off a cliff, so everyone gets all indignant and wonders how he can sleep at night. Well, my friends, if he decides to sleep, it’s on a giant pile of money with many beautiful women. He’s living the life we all wish we could. If you want to become more of a warlock rock star from Mars in your everyday life, might I recommend Charlie Sheen for the Soul. Charlie Sheen is a hell of a drug.

I have a feeling Gaddafi buried his head into a giant mound of Sheen like Pacino in Scarface. That’s the only guy making less sense than Charlie these days. What also makes no sense is there’s no consensus on how to spell his name. Maybe because if we get it right, he’ll be banished back to the 5th dimension. I’ve seen “Gaddafi,” “Qudhafi,” and my personal favorite, “Khadaffi,” mostly because it makes me think of Daffy Duck. Hard hitting political insight can be found elsewhere.

I should mention the Oscars before I sign off. They stunk. I’ll admit, I didn’t see all of the broadcast. I was over a friend’s house watching as my Terps toyed with my emotions while losing to UNC, while my girlfriend was hosting an Oscar party for her gal pals. Like I had mentioned on Friday, the only thing I was looking forward to was the In Memoriam segment, and they somehow managed to screw that up. Hollywood legends like Tony Curtis and Dennis Hopper got the same amount of screen time as a key grip from Howard the Duck. How do you not have Leslie Neilsen saying his classic, “Don’t call me Shirley,” line from Airplane? And they completely left out Corey Haim and Peter Graves. The hosts were awful. I’ve haven’t seen worse chemistry since the time I tried to make a battery out of a potato in my 4th grade science fair. James Franco was so wooden, he made Al Gore look like Dane Cook. By the end of the show, I thought Anne Hathaway was going to try to cut off her arm to get out from under him. There was such a sigh of relief when Billy Crystal was introduced, I thought the producers has brought him out of cryogenic freeze to take over. This just further proves that you never send an actor to do a comedian’s job.

See you Wednesday.