Whimpy, whompy, wombly, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers

Scientists discovered a 200-year-old sunken ship off of Texas. It was on this same ship Larry King first honeymooned.

The Royal baby’s name is George Alexander Louis. So the Bay area news station, KTVU, got the names wrong again. They said it would be one of three English names: Hugh Cantcook, Ian Gotnoteeth, and Mike Godyourpale.

There is a new brand of cereal designed to increase sexual endurance; you know Nut & Honey cereal? This is Hold Your Nut & Honey Cereal.

NBC News was allowed inside the CIA’s secret museum that features Osama bin Laden’s AK47 machine gun. It is in great shape, it was never fired and only dropped once.

A British survey claims 62% of women and 48% of men answer the phone during sex; and if the answer was “Oh, nothing much, what are you doing?” the sex stopped 100% of the time.

Florida sophomore linebacker, Antonio Morrison, was arrested after a dispute that started with him barking at a police dog. You got to hand it to that Florida Gator football program, those kids come ready for the NFL.

Lex’s Random Thoughts:

Even I am smart enough to know if you never take a picture of your junk, a picture of your junk can’t get you in trouble. 

We signed up for weekly fresh vegetables from our Farmer’s market? Holy crap, you can eat the cherry tomatoes like grapes. The zucchini on the grill? Amazing.

Glowing red oak wood is now a staple recipe in my cooking. 

Observational comedy is about to run out of observationals.

San Diego mayor, Bob Filner is a carp-faced sicko perv, but even he doesn’t deserve to be a victim of that pit bull sexist media-whore, Gloria Allred.

Everything I grill has been marinated. Meat in either olive oil or Jim Beam marinade. Chicken and pork in apple juice and sea salt. Fish and shrimp in vegetable oil with Old Bay.

Lord help me, but I loves me my World War II documentaries. 

Cincinnati Reds second baseman, Brandon Phillips, called his $72.5 million dollar contract offer, “A slap in the face.” So that means my salary as a comedy writer is a Turkish Prison Gang Rape. 

Ah, bafangool to them, capice, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers?

*It turns out Anthony Weiner, the Peter-Tweeter, after his scandal, had another online affair with a young girl where he texted more pictures of his junk. That officially makes Weiner The Peter-Tweeter-Repeater.

*The band, One Direction, has released a single titled “Best Song Ever.” It is on their latest album “Man, Are We Full of Ourselves.”

*Actress Amanda Bynes was hospitalized for mental health concerns; you know it is serious when they take you away in a town that lets Gary Busey run free.

*It turns out Anthony Weiner, the Peter-Tweeter, after his scandal, had another online affair with a young girl where he sent more pictures of his junk under the pseudonym Carlos Danger. So clearly Weiner has a gifted comedy writer on his staff. (Yes, this joke featured the words Weiner, member and staff)

*A New York bar hosted the first-ever World’s Smallest Penis Contest; the Peter Tweeter, Anthony Weiner, sent a member of his staff to check it out. As a result, a Weiner, a member and a staff are all in contention.

*The British Prime Minister announced they are going to ban extreme porn that depicts rape. Who is going to present the opposing argument? Chris Brown?

Since you asked:

Loved the Lake Bell on the “Conan” decrying the pandemic of, what she calls, Sexy Baby Vocal Virus. Me? I call it aging-Valley-girl syndrome. Same thing. Annoying –high-pitched with affected lisp. The word serious alone can take an afflicted woman a minute to pronounce.

Especially when they are yammering trash loudly on a cell phone to captivated and un-wanting audiences while eviscerating a friend who isn’t there;

“Sssssssssssserrrrrrrrioussssssslyyyyyyyyyy? Oh . . . my . . . gaaaaaawwwwd, I mean like, what is wrong with Katherine-Anna-Belle? Saw her today at Yogaaaaaaaaaa, and I’m all, like, I thought she was ssssssssupooossssed to be on a diiiiiieeeeeet? Now, I know she hasssssss sssssssssseerrrrrrriousssssssss food issssssssssssssues and all, but, like . . .”

Vile, evil shrew-witches all . . . Burn em, Ike, burn em’ all down.”

You got to roll with it, baby, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers

Very exciting news: the Duchess Kate has gone into labor; this marks the first time anyone in the Royal family has been connected to the word labor.

West Virginia University lineman, Korey Harris, was arrested for armed robbery after his victim identified him because Korey wore his football number on his team sweatpants. Wow, you talk about a kid who is ready for the NFL.

The Cleveland Browns signed their #1 draft pick, Barkevious Mingo. Many experts feel Barkevious Mingo is the best player in NFL history named either Barkevious or Mingo.

Between the countless vampire, zombie and now “R.I.P.D.” it has never been a better time in Hollywood to come back from the dead. It is such a good time to come back from the dead, Gary Busey and Amanda Bynes could get movie roles. 

Congratulations to Phil Mickelson for winning the British Open at Muirfield; did you see the golf course? It reminded me of Dennis Rodman. So ugly looking it was cool.

Did you see the Muirfield golf course? They generously called where they putted Greens. They were more like Less-Browns. Not to say the course was ugly, but Kim Kardashian wouldn’t have dated it if it was rich.

Since you asked:

One of the longest love affairs of my life has been with the backyard barbeque. Nothing told the senses summer was upon suburban Chicago, Illinois more than the smell of Coppertone suntan lotion and Kingsford lighter fluid exploding in a fire ball in a Weber grill.

Frisbees flew, croquet balls clacked and ice clinked in tall glasses. The stereo played Frank Sinatra and Simon and Garfunkle and Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass and Judy Collins

My parents loved to entertain and were very good at it. By good at it I mean the guests had a great time. Truth-be-told, my Dad was one sorry-assed grill chef. Not because he didn’t have skill, he could tear it up on a Wok, he just did not care.

The lighting of the grill meant the end of Martini time and neither my Dad nor his friends were in a hurry to end Martini time. This usually coincided with sunset. My Mom would repeatedly ask my Dad if the grill was lit, he would smile at his Martini buddies and say, “Yes, honey.”

The pre-grilling question of “Can I freshen that drink?” Meant a nod, a chug of the entire contents in the glass and a total refill.

Freshen my ass.

Not until my mom brought out the meats to be cooked – t-bone steaks, hamburgers, chicken, hot dogs – would my Dad douse the briquettes with lighter fluid, a mini-A-bomb would erupt and the food was cooked on the flames of pure lighter fluid. It was a miracle my Dad retained his eyebrows. Looking back, he never really needed to buy the briquettes, they never had a chance to light. Dad cooked off of pure chemical flames.

Of the meats, only the chicken came out pink-medium rare. Everything had a black char and tasted like kerosene.

By that time we, the kids, were all sweaty,  sunburnt and covered with mosquito bites and hungry enough to eat Dad's incinerations. Our faces were sticky with watermelon juice and about to get stickier with ice cream. When guests were over on hot nights it was really a treat because then, and almost only then, would the central air conditioner go on.

After dinner it was either Sealtest Neapolitan triple-flavor ice cream, vanilla, chocolate and strawberry, or ice cream sandwiches. 

Or if we really went crazy, a stroll into town to get a double-cone, Sundae or milk shake at the Sweet Shoppe.

Lord only knows what my Dad would have thought of my oak wood lump charcoal and charcoal chimney. My eight-burner-gas grill. My brine-marinated, slow smoked chicken thighs. My sea salt and first cold press olive oil. Beer can chicken, shrimp skewers, he would have probably loved that, and my – get ready to roll your eyes, Dad – pizza on the grill.

Who knows what Dad would have thought about all that? Mom would have raved. But I do know I think about Mom and Dad every time I light up a grill. And all the times between.  

Look out everbody, it's a surfin' daaawwwwwwg

Sunday

Glide to the ride, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers

It is so hot, Paula Deen is sweating clarified butter mixed with racism.

Detroit is so broke, Newark makes jokes about them.

Have you heard about the new ScyFy movie? It’s about Amanda Byne, Paris Hilton, Keisha and Kim Kardashian. It’s called; “Skanknado.”

Comic-Con is in full swing. It gives skinny, weak, un-athletic people a chance to wear a uniform and pretend to be a stud. So it’s a lot like a game between the New York Mets and the Florida Marlins.

Chevy has a smart phone app that helps you find where you parked your car. It’s called the “Baby-Boomers are getting up there” app. It also helps get the punks off your lawn.

People are still upset about the Boston Marathon bomber, Dzhokar Tzarnaev’s picture on the cover of the “Rolling Stone.” “Rolling Stone” wanna see my picture on the cover, gonna buy five copes for my brother, oh, wait, I drove over him.” 

 “42” is available on DVR. “42” is about the incredible Jackie Robinson. “42” is also the number of people who have seen “The Lone Ranger.”

You can bet on the name of William and Kate’s royal baby. The short odds are on Charles, Diana or Elizabeth. The much longer odds are on North, South, East or West.

Lex’s Random Thoughts:

To a monkey, a banana is a private jet to Paris.

To have never had a technology is vastly superior to having had it and then have it go down.

There are two types of tech helpers: those who know what they’re doing and those who don’t.

In another life, I wear nothing but Hawaiian shirts, khaki pants, aviator glasses and a Cubs hat, my name is Tanner and I fly a charter helicopter in Kauai when I am not surfing or drinking rum.

After surfing, when I drink a Margie and eat chips and salsa, the words dude, stoked, gnarly, bitchin’, killer, wahine, mack, shakka, geevum, howsit, bra and da kine come flowing out of my mouth.

To have caught a wave and fallen is better than never to have surfed at all. But I should have turned left sooner and gotten my weight back and I wouldn’t have pearled the nose and biffed so bad.

To a monkey, a private jet to Paris is, well, they have no idea what a jet is. Paris either for that matter.

It makes me feel better to make other people laugh than it does to laugh.

Don’t need me to tell you there is nothing wrong with being gay. But, thanks to my departed gay brother, I have amazing Gadar for a straight dude. Love of uniforms? Funky little mustache and bangs? Silly salute gestures? Love of opera? Love of architecture? Love of black leather boots? Vegan? Hitler was gay, gay, gay. (Been watching a lot of WWII documentaries)

The movie “Ted” was surprisingly funny.

Cuddling a dog is good for the soul. Both yours and the dog’s.

It should be illegal to own a pit bull or a automatic rifle or hand gun. If you don’t agree, I don’t care.

When you cuddle a dog and they make that happy snoring sound? Each one of those earns you a chip for a free drink in heaven.

Jimmy crack corn and I don’t care. No, seriously, I don’t give a rat’s ass.

Once you have learned some chimps like to bite penises, fingers and noses off people, they are just never as cute again.

There are two types of people. People who want their spies handsome and cool in a tuxedo sipping a shaken martini in a Bahaman casino, and those who like their spies scary, unshaven and sweating in a dive bar in Istanbul.

Grilling the perfect steak or frying the perfect over-medium egg is an art that is good for the soul. 

 

This right here is Wally "P" his own rambunctious self. You just cain't hardly keep from smilin' when you say Wally.