Tuesday, July 30, 2013

I'll eat anything you want me to eat, I'll swaller anything you want me to swaller, so come on down, I'll chew on a dog, arrrrrreeewwww, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers

OJ Simpson is so fat, he's going on a slow police chase in the Oscar Meyer Weiner Mobile.

OJ Simpson is so fat, he's wanted for the double murder of Ben and Jerry.

OJ Simpson is so fat, when the news announcer says he's merging on to the 405, they mean his weight. 

OJ Simpson is so fat, he is changing his name to P.B. & J. Simpson.

Since you asked:

Madonna has been around over 30 years. Madonna is worth close to a billion dollars. Madonna has sold over 300 million records. Madonna is a national icon.
Does anyone know anyone who owns a Madonna album? Does anyone know anyone who will admit to owning a Madonna album?
Do not get me wrong. The only things I don’t like about Madonna are her personality and her voice. Not sure which is more annoying. But I give Madonna all the credit she deserves. Gutsy, tough, brave, she does it her way. A self-promoting genius. 
Here is how I consider myself on the cutting edge of disliking Madonna’s music: When Madonna broke hits with the incredibly sappy “Holiday” “Borderline” and “Like a Virgin”, people all over the country were astonished at how original her style seemed. She was so cool she was cast in a movie, “Desperately Seeking Susan” to play herself. (Madonna might be the first movie actress whose acting is so bad she did a lousy job of playing herself)
The truth is, in 1983 on Manhattan’s lower East side, you couldn’t throw a dead rat without hitting a Madonna-look-alike. All of those “Debra Harry-wanna-be’s and CBGB goth/punk/slutty coke-inhaling groupies were everywhere. Madonna just made sure she hunkered-down and skarked in the lap of the right record producer. (Just made up the word Skarked, but we all know what it means)
Speaking of style, I just loves me some pictures of TV/Movie stars at Comic-Con and The Sundance Film Festival in “People” and “Entertainment Weekly.” Their publicists must send out a memo to both male and female actors: dress in wool hat with a scarf and a v-neck t-shirt with an open flannel shirt with a crumply leather jacket, skinny jeans and funky-ass boots.
Wear too much makeup and try and look whimsical to hide the incredible hangover and shame of your last night's one-night-stand.

As I am wildly anticipating my upcoming trip to my beloved Santa Barbara with my wonderful multi-event/track friend's party/reunion, I am filled with memories that is the wonder of Santa Barbara. Gorgeous coast, golden sunsets over coast mountatins looking out at the nearby islands past the beautiful beaches. Laughter, grilled seafood, margaritas, surfing and music abound.

This is why I was so struck by a Discovery special on the rotting Soviet nuclear navy in the industrial port city of Murmansk. If human despair and depression could build a city, it would be Murmansk. Only city above the artic circle, its spirit-crushing frozen weather is the least depressing thing about the place. It is a civic monument to the heartlessness at the core of Communist industry. At least the smokey orange lit steel mills, ghetto and train yards of Gary, Indiana merge into farmland to the South and the wonderful city of Chicago to the North.

Murmansk has no end to the rusty cement, wires and smokestacks of wretched public housing and endless factories decaying as if they had a ghetto-version of cancer. 

If there are two more opposite places on the planet than Santa Barbara and Murmansk, I don't know about them. 

Beautiful downtown Murmansk.