In My Brain While Sleeping… Hollywood Stars To The Rescue!

There was a group of us… sixteen or so.  We were on vacation in Europe.  The group was comprised of mostly friends, some family… and Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie.

As I was trying to organize who would ride in what vehicles (we had four four-seaters… green Volvos, they seemed to be), I noticed Brad and Angie were nowhere to be seen.

“They’re still inside unpacking,” someone informed me.  I still hadn’t met them, and though I was excited to, I knew we’d be introduced at our final destination.

So the group divvied up.  My cousin Liz’s car got Brangelina.  And we each took off on our own accord (in green Volvos, not Accords).

Upon reaching our final destination, the bulk of the group was antsy to go in.  There was no sign of Liz’s car, so I offered to be polite and wait, while the rest of the group entered the underwater horse racing track.

When the last car arrived, I introduced myself to the superstar pair.  I played it sooo cool.  My cousin and her fiance Sam were itching to place some bets and they hurried in.  That’s when Mr. and Mrs. Smith let me in on a little secret:

“We’re here to save a horse.”

I knew the security was going to be tight around the animals, so I cautioned them.

“We already have some people inside.”

Were they talking about “my people?”  My people couldn’t even figure out driving arrangements without me.

“That’s why we need you.”

Somehow, we fashion some alternate method to get into the underwater dome (see SIDENOTE below), and we finally make our way to the carriage house.  A horse with a broken leg awaits its execution.

“With all the technology we have, why can’t we fix this travesty?”

Suddenly, Brangelina’s brood appears, and it dawns on me.  They’re the “people inside.”  The children work together to pickup the horse – their combined strength amazes me.

As the family makes it to their escape vessel to escape, one question remains: how did the kids get down there?  And how are they so strong?  (Okay, so it’s two questions.)

Angelina smiles.  She let’s Brad answer, “Why do you think they’re named the way they are?”

As they disappear up to the surface, I contemplate Maddox, Zahara, Pax, Shiloh, Vivienne, and Knox.  It finally hits me: they’re robots!

(SIDENOTE: The equipment we built to get underwater was out of giant Legos.  Blame it on “Lego Batman: The Videogame” again.)

INGREDIENTS: Half a bag of Chips Ahoy!, some Betty Crocker Rich & Creamy Vanilla frosting, a couple glasses of organic milk, a chunk of Velveeta cheese, and a 24 oz. Mt. Dew

(Really, is that all I ate yesterday!?)

JusWondering… Red Vs. Blue (Phillies Vs. Rays)

UPDATE: Now with working video.

Last night, as I watched the end of Game 3 of the World Series between the Tampa Bay Rays and Philadelphia Phillies, I found myself further rooting for Tampa Bay, and I might have realized why.

At first, it was easy to root for them – they were playing against the dreaded Boston Red Sox for the Pennant.  Now grant it, there’s always going to be a special place at the top of my shit list for the New York Yankees, but Boston sure ain’t far behind.  That’s because of all Boston teams (well, the Bruins are kind of like their Lions).  They came close to winning three titles in the same year (the Sox and the Celtics did it), but the New York Giants stopped Brady’s Butt Pats in their tracks.  (Thanks, Eli!)

I want Detroit to be the sports capital – I want at least two of the three great teams here to win in the same year at least once (I’ve written you off Lions, ‘natch).  So as I watched the game, I thought I may have found a kindred spirit in Tampa Bay.  It’s a do-over for the Detroit Tigers, with the Philadelphia Phillies standing in for the St. Louis Cardinals.  They both made it to the World Series the after having recent last place seasons and they each beat the Big Bad Wolf in their way there (we knocked out the Yankees in the ALDS and swept the A’s in the ALCS!)

Then the next realization hit me like a foul ball (while eating a cheese pretzel) – the color scheme’s the same!  Red vs. Blue.  If the MLB brass had their druthers, their dream series of Boston vs. LA carried the same palette.

This got me wondering how often this happened in baseball… this Red vs. Blue pattern.  Then I digressed and remembered this gem:

…Then, I digressed beyond that and thought of two films I recently watched within a 24-hour period that followed the same pattern.  Enjoy!

(If you can’t watch this entire clip below, skip to 6:20 mark.)

Gary Busey R.O.C.K.S.

Dr. Drew used to be somewhat of a hero of mine. Along with Adam Carolla and the beautiful Diane Farr, he hosted one of the rare shows I used to watch on MTV called “Loveline.” The two nuggets of knowledge dropped on me that have stuck are:

1) If you’re prone to lockjaw ladies (presumably from stepping on rusty nails?), then there’s always the side slide. (Thanks to Julie Benz for that one, and her unforgetable pantomimed presentation! You know Julie currently from Showtime’s “Dexter” and “Rambo,” formerly from “Jawbreaker,” and always from my memories.)

2) If a girl talks with a squeaky voice as an adult, she was molested as a kid. Hilarious!

(SIDENOTE: Whatever happened to “BuzzKill,” MTV? Just because Dave, Frank, and Travis disrupted the beach house, it doesn’t mean they never existed!)

Dr. Drew’s latest endeavor is the second season of Celebrity Rehab on VH1. Gary Busey’s in it, and he R.O.C.K.S. (Really Opens Cans of Kickass Seriously)

Here’s a sneak peek at the wisdom he’s there to share (a Busey-ism, if you will… cuz he does):

The word S.O.B.E.R… that stands for Son Of a Bitch, Everything’s Real

Click here for video. (From VH1)

If that’s not working, this is an equal treat:

Elisabeth’s Bringing Hassel… Er, Beck?

It’s been happening for awhile now, quitely in the background of my mind (you know, that part that reminds you, “Hey, you need to cut the grass… tomorrow” or “Hey, I should start going back to the gym… tomorrow”).

I think I may be in love with Elisabeth Hasselbeck.  Or at least as much in love with her as I was with Princess Leia back in the day (I resisted typing A long time ago…) or Mrs. Fields.  How else can I explain the feeling I get at any glimpse of her image or mention of her name as I scour the TripleDoubleU?

I’ll admit it – I was a fan of Elisabeth’s back in her “Survivor” days. 

If cloning worked - meet the cast of The View

If cloning worked - meet the cast of The View

But I believed the feelings were fleeting, as it was with Colleen Haskell before her.

Awwww...

Awwww...

All Colleen got after “Survivor” was a role in a shitty Rob Schneider movie, then poof!  Out of sight – out of mind.  (I miss you, please come back!)

That’s why I think it’s different with Elisabeth.  She was gone, but not for long.  Though I am not a regular viewer of, um, “The View,” I will also admit to the fact that if I were home when it was on, I probably would watch.  I consider it a guilty pleasure.  Or would embarrassing pleasure be more like it?

Anywho, the political climate we’re in is causing headaches behind the scenes of the show.  I mean, we’re talking major headaches, one’s that even HeadOn couldn’t fix.

According to an article from Defamer:

Joy also told Elisabeth: “You sit there and make a fool out of yourself out there everyday and it’s pathetic. There are people we can’t book on this show because of you! And then you put out stories about you going to Fox News?! Please, even they know better!”

 Message to Whoopi (and Barb, I guess): Please make this fighting stop!  If Elisabeth departs your show, who knows where she’ll end up…  How will I see her?  How will I not forget her?  I don’t watch Fox News.  She doesn’t show up to Seattle Seahawk games like Jessica Simpson does for the Tony Romo of the Dallas Cowboys.  (NOTE: Elisabeth got Hasselbeck from the Seahawk’s quarterback, ‘natch!)

Well, maybe she does show up to the games – but I DON’T WATCH THEM!

AND I DON’T WATCH FOX NEWS.

AND I DON’T WATCH ROB SCHNEIDER FILMS.

Thanks in advance,

Sean

Drunken Recollection… Chicken Lizards

The last Drunken Recollection I partook(or is it partaked… partaken?) in occurred the next morn.  Tonight, I humbly attempt apropos of nothing to write this despite my greater interest in hitting the sack or floor or bathroom tile… (You have no idea how many typos I’ve corrected on the fly right now – seriously, I’m serious.)

Discussion tonight swam around the usual philosophic waxings of two grown adults that have known each other since the age of five.  The fact that we still find new things to discuss is in of itself an item of wonder.  (It’s one of life’s magic tricks, I presume.)

Tonight, it was the discussion of chicken lizards.  Allegedly, some scientist has found a way to manipulate chicken DNA so that it turns into a lizard, ‘natch.  Make that a “terrible lizard.”  (Common science nerds – I’m talkin’ dinosaurs here.)

In my investigations (Google is my Watson), I’ve found not a bit of evidence to support the tall tale.  But i have found this:

Kentucky Fried Dinosaurs

Kentucky Fried Dinosaurs

According to GetAngry, in New York and Massachusetts, this Taconic Chicken Lizard existed.  It’s only natural enemy was the Berkshire Mountain Monkey:

I think it had skin and muscles... maybe.

I think it had skin and muscles... maybe.

Still without scientific evidence, I searched further to find an artist’s representation of this hybrid (from Elfwood):

I think a kid from my third grade class drew the same thing.

I think a kid from my third grade class drew the same thing.

Unfortunately, with my buzz winding down, eureka!  (And if not eureka, at least “Eek the Cat”…)
From Miss Moneypenny CPU(?):

Australian scientists are trying to crack another evolution (adaptation?) mystery of a chicken evolving backwards into a lizard!

They believe the harsh Australian outback may be responsible to the survival of Speedy Speedcat’s cousin, Sheila Chickencat and her offspring!

Er, wait no… that doesn’t even make any sense… (And I thought I could speak Australian…)

I found that story twice, and not a lick of a chick with scales (I may be able to find that description).  I’ve looked as long as I can in my condition, and found nothing.  Is it bedtime yet?

“My Best Friend’s Front Door Is My Pants Zipper” Beat Around The Bush Too Much, New Title More To The Point

Test markets always like things simplified, so Comedy Central’s comedy website, Atom, has premiered “My Best Friend is My Penis.”

Test markets are also simple, so the tale of a man and his friendly penis fits the bill nicely.  (What also fits nicely: hands in pants pockets.  What fits even more nicely: I’ll be nice and not say.)

Costars (or should I say co-people-you-might-recognize) Jonathan Togo (of David Caruso’s, I mean, CBS’s “CSI:Miami”) and Will Carlough (of my realized dreams of what rapping is, can, will, and should be all about) stated in a news release:

We aimed to pick up where movies such as “Waiting to Exhale” and “Steel Magnolias” left off… Somehow we ended up with a guy with a talking penis… This special buddy comedy takes a look at the crazy things that happen when your best friend is really your penis — including major dating issues.

Your journey into all that is “My Best Friend is My Penis” begins here

WARNING: Graphic content, as they do show his “penis.”

The TV show premiers on Comedy Central’s Atom TV December 8.

(From IMDb.)

Happy Find… Amy’s Diary

This is an oldie but a goodie.  If you’ve never heard of it, consider your ears filled.  Click hear to here, or I mean here to hear.  Whatevs…

Now On Sean's Blog...

Now On My Blog

From Angry Alien.

Buildings That Look Like Legos

The other day, while I was driving around town, I happened to notice that a lot of auto shops in my area remind me of Lego playsets.  For instance:

It looked better with the doors closed.

It looked better with the doors closed.

Then that reminded me of a building I saw in Amsterdam:

Get yer ciggies here!

Get yer ciggies here!

And that prompted me to look into some old Lego sets and other buildings that look comprised of colored blocks.  Here’s some of what I found:

SIDENOTE: My sister, Becky, is obsessed with the above car.  Is it due to the Lego Factor?

(Check out Lugnut for more awesome Lego flashbacks.  That’s where I got the playset pix set.  Another cool site for random fandom Lego-ness – The Brothers Brick.)

InASense, Lost… Luke Elsewhere For Hero

The always awesome nerdfest that is Topless Robot  has produced the top 5 reasons why Luke Skywalker is an idiot.  One major highlight from the list – Luke explaining his Rube Goldberg-esque plan on how to free Han Solo from Jabba the Hutt:

Luke: “Okay so, first we get Lando Calrissian posing as a guard inside Jabba’s Palace.”

You: “How do we do that?”

Luke: “We just get him a costume and he—just walks in.”

You: “Um, okay, say it’s that easy. So then Lando gets Han out of the carbonite and we pick them up and get away?”

Luke: “No. What happens next is that I put my lightsaber in a hidden compartment in R2-D2 and send R2-D2 and C3PO to Jabba the Hutt as gifts.”

You: “Wait, why-“

Luke: “Just listen. Next we have Leia pose as a bounty hunter arriving at Jabba’s palace with Chewbacca captured. She’s going to hand over Chewbacca to Jabba.”

You: “Wait, why? Wouldn’t that mean we would now have to rescue Han Solo, Chewbacca, R2-D2 and C3PO? That just makes it more difficult, right?”

Luke: “Just go with me here. Next, Leia is going to sneak around at night and get Han Solo out of the carbonite, but get captured.”

You: “What? Why would we get everyone captured like that?”

Luke: “Now I’ll show up, use my Force powers to get in to Jabba’s fortress, get past the guards to an audience before Jabba and then use my Jedi mind trick to get Jabba to release everyone. If that doesn’t work, then I’ll get captured.”

You: “Okay, if you can just use your Force powers to get in to the palace and all the way to Jabba, then let’s just have you go in right now and get Han out.”

Luke: “No, that’s stupid. I’m going to get myself captured. Because then you see, we’ll be taken to the sarlacc pit and then, when we’re on the skiff, I’ll get sent out first and then R2-D2 will manage to get to the top of Jabba’s sail barge and shoot out my lightsaber, and then with Lando’s help, we’ll just—rescue everyone and then everything will be fine!”

You: “That is the stupidest plan I’ve ever heard of.”

Luke:“I’ve thought of everything.”

You: “Clearly you didn’t.”

Full list here.

JusWondering… Size Matters Was Buried Beyond Pet Sematary

I just finished watching the latest episode of “South Park” entitled “Pandemic” (watch the full episode here).

To quickly sum up: Peruvian Flute Bands have become a pandemic, and in the traditional “South Park” fashion, things get overblown and out of control, and a new evil is unleashed on the world.  It’s in the ending of the episode that I lost it.

A few days ago, I posted this about the insufficiently examined concept of size of the “evil one” in horror films affecting the level of fear it produces.  Without giving the episode’s ending away, I referred to something similar to the reveal in the final act.

Seeing that reminded me I didn’t delve into the other end of the spectrum: too big is not scary.  Sure Godzilla can crush our house beneath his feet, and King Kong can pick his teeth with our ribs, but we see them as ominous by default.  There’s a sense of hopelessness, not panic – a main ingrediant in fear.

Take Peter Jackson’s “King Kong”: the ape himself was not terrifying (in fact, he was the prima(te)ry love interest).  Nor were the T-rex’s outrightly so.  But those giant insects… and the face-hugger things in the pit… although they were CGI-done-right, they wer able to get the skin crawling.

Now imagine King Kong as 48 inches tall.  He waits in the corner of your basement.  You flick on the lights, and see his scarred face.  He launches at you, roaring.  You scramble up the staircase with him only a stair or two behind you.  His long arms missing you by inches.  He’s big enough to be a manageable threat (as opposed to a two-foot tall King Kong you can keep away with a chair… or a Swiffer or something), and that’s what causes that special kind of anxiety.

Now why not six-foot tall… or eight or ten, you ask?  I believe it’s because my brain considers the possibility that it’s a man in costume.  That’s why four-foot tall works, because at best, that giant Gremlin or tiny Godzilla is an adolescent or preteen in costume.  I can see an adult going loco, but a middle-schooler?

In closing: babies and little kids aren’t scary (depending on who you ask I guess) because of their size, adults are lame, and awkward ten, eleven, and twelve year olds are the root source of our nightmares.  (Perchance we remember too well…)

(EXCLUSION TO THE SIZE MATTERS: the homicidal kid in “Pet Sematary” is kinda creepy, but nowhere near as revolting as the adult sister in bed.)