Friday, April 15, 2005

These just in:
Wendy’s has doubled their reward for information on the original owner of the tip-of-the-finger-in-the-chili to $100,000. That’s a lot of cash at tax time. You have to think there are some people out there seriously eyeing their hedge clippers right about now.

$100, 000 is a lot of money. It’s tax time, so just think of cutting off your finger to collect Wendy’s reward as a type of deduction.

Roll wit it, roll wit it, roll wit it, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers

We kid the commander in chief
A world wide survey asking women how sexy President Bush is, on a scale of one to ten, did not go well for the president. The average was 1.7 out of 10. Asked to reply about his 1.7 rating with women, President Bush said; “That one isn’t too good but that seven ain’t bad."

Again, we kid George W.
There is speculation that, in honor of John Paul II, the Pope’s successor will take the name John Paul III. Upon hearing this, President Bush said; “I didn’t know the Pope had a son?”

Not at Wrigley Field
At the Boston Red Sox, New York Yankees game, a drunken fan took a glancing swing at Yankee outfielder Gary Sheffield. We know that wasn’t Chicago Cub foul ball flubber, Steve Bartman, he would have swung, missed and punched himself out.

Let’s make it official (Assist Janice Hough)
This weekend, with the Los Angeles Lakers and Clippers out of town, the Staples center is hosting the California Democratic convention. Why not host a Star Trek convention, the French Army, the cast of “Joey” and we can declare the Staples center the loser’s capitol of the world?

You deserved a break fifty years ago , now we really don't care . . .
McDonalds is 50 years old. To mark the big occasion, McDonald’s all over the United States are officially changing their French fry oil for the very first time.

Today McDonalds is 50 years old. And tomorrow morning, frivolous lawsuits against McDonalds will also be 50 years old.

McDonalds is 50 years old. McDonalds serves 50 million people a day. In fact, McDonalds is such a big part of our culture that McDonald invented expressions are part of the vocabulary like Big Mac, Supersize, Golden Arches and “Move over, lard-ass.”

McDonalds is 50 years old. McDonalds serves 50 million people a day. In fact, McDonalds is such a big part of our culture that McDonald expressions are part of the vocabulary like Big Mac, Supersize, Golden Arches and cardiac arrest.

They better be careful
Have you seen the Internet pictures of Michael Jackson’s white-haired attorney, Tom Mesereau? He’s at a party with his pants off, on his knees wearing a dog collar with a dominatrix holding his leash. If they’re not careful, this Michael Jackson trial could get a little weird.

Not clear on the “good thing” concept
I’m not sure Martha Stewart really understands being under house arrest. Today she screamed to her parole officer that he was fired.

That explains it, but, again, we kid the big guy
They tackled and arrested a suspicious man in Washington D.C. carrying two big suitcases. It turns out it was just the guy delivering President Bush’s Comic Books on Tape.

Since you asked:
As I mentioned, I had a great time in Mammoth with one exception. (Sorry, O’Snake, You’ve heard this)

At the fancy new “Village” in Mammoth, I called the Mountain Center to book a snowboard lesson for that same day. The rather snarky-sounding girl that answered the phone told me;

“Sorry. We can only take reservations over the phone for lessons at least two days in advance. Otherwise you have to come down to the Mountain Center and book them in person.”

OK, I hung up the phone, a wee bit annoyed, and immediately trotted all the way over there as we were running late to get going that glorious morning. Once there at the Mountain Center, I immediately recognized the girl at the desk as the snarky girl from the phone when, dripping insincerity, she snarked:

“Can I help you?” Trying my best to sound friendly, I chirped;

“Yeah, hello. Hi. How’s it goin? Say, I’m the guy who just called you a few minutes ago and asked to book a snowboard lesson for today. You told me to come down here, so, well, I’m here.”

Without batting an eyelash, she replied;

“Sorry, we’re booked today.”

With a frozen smile through gritted teeth I said; “You’re kidding me, right?” She assured me she was not. They were totally booked. Doing a little bit of my Jack “Hold the chicken between your knees” Nicholson, I said;

“Heh, heh. OK, now whyyyy . . . didn’t you tell me THAT . . . on the phone . . . and save me a trip . . . down heeeeere?”

Slats and Nugs, we all know I am not smart enough to make up what happened next; when I asked snark-woman why she couldn’t have told me that they were booked for that day on the phone, she, honest-to-god, icily said:

“Like I told you, we only take reservations over the phone for lessons at least two days in advance.”

I was really glad I didn’t have my board with me at the time or I would now be wanted by the Mammoth Lakes police for a brutal, brutal attack.

And they say good personal service is dying?

Fever has been replaced by fury:
This is starting to become insulting.

Maybe this wasn’t my year for the “People” magazine’s top 50 most beautiful people. And, granted, I’ll admit, there might be a few candidates more “qualified” than me to be nominated Pope my not being Catholic to pick nits.

But it is nothing less than shameless how I was snubbed in “Time” magazines 100 most influential people. That British dame that sailed around the world? The top 100 people with too much money and time on their hands, maybe.

Martha Stewart? Everybody without a prison record raise your hand. Se Moi.

Quentin Tarantino? Please. That Ichabod Crane looking motherfizzy is one appearance in a movie gem like “Little Nicky” away from trying to get back his job at Blockbuster Video.

Come on. Yours truly has had jokes in “The Buloxi Sun Herald” Paducah’s “Sun Paintsville” as well as Saskatoon’s “StarPhoenix.” And not just any jokes, but top drawer “Michael Jackson is creepy” and “Rueben Stoddard is fat” jokes.

Dammit, I want somebody’s buttocks in my briefcase come sunup, sabes?

(Que: Clint Eastwood’s flute and whistle music)