The PopCast returns on a sad note, with a final tribute to George Carlin. Today I tell the story of seeing Carlin, and how it led to a really uncomfortable question from my mom. Good times.
Oh, and also why I hate it when morning TV people drink from coffee cups. Drink your beverages on your own time.
More discussion and sarcasm available on the PopCast, as always.
That's the only way I can describe this sale, featuring blank CDs for a jaw-dropping fraction of the cost. I mean, anytime I can buy something and save one-one-thousand, three-hundred and forty-eighth of the cost, I jump all over that deal.
How else could you make ends meet during this recession? With the money I saved by buying these at Wal-Mart, I was able to start a retirement account, founded a my own charity, and treated myself to dinner at a fine Mexican restaurant (it rhymes with "Taco Schmueno").
Seriously, why would you even bother to put this display up? Was it worth the time to stack all of these up and put up the signs that say you can save a whole penny on these CDs?
I'm sure somewhere there's a poor Wal-Mart employee who spent all day restocking the shelves, toiling in other people's filth, just looking forward to the moment his shift ended and he could walk out the front door, past the idiot greeter to freedom. Then, just as his time is about to end, the manager comes over and tells him to grab a couple pallets of CDs, because they're going on sale.
This poorly-worded advertisement was on the counter of my local Taco Bell/KFC the other night. My local taco emporium is looking for "Customer Maniacs."
I know they're trying to make the lucrative field of taco preparation seem exciting, but I think they've gone too far. I don't want a "maniac" preparing my food.
Yeah, that's all I need. Some crazed maniac, loose in the Taco Bell with that giant sour cream/caulk gun. I'm not sure I'm going in if there's the slightest chance that someone with some form of dementia working behind the counter, talking to aliens and taking a dump on my chalupa.
I can appreciate them wanting people who are energetic about their jobs, but I think there must be a better word for it. Perhaps "Go-Getter." "Go-Getters" work extra hard to keep the tables wiped down and clean. "Maniacs" kill people, and keep their ears.
And another thing, why do they think I want to buy bad tacos and chicken at the same counter? It unnerves me to see people who don't have the fine art of taco assembly down being entrusted with my chicken preparation. Bad tacos will make you sick, bad chicken can kill you.
I was eleven when I first heard a George Carlin album. A friend of mine had "A Place For My Stuff" and "Class Clown," and I taped off copies of both. I remember listening to those tapes every day for months, listening to the way Carlin did things.
In America, anyone can become president. That's the problem.
Outside of my dad, I don't think any man has had the influence on me that Carlin had. His unique viewpoints and unrelenting questioning of authority was a big eye-opener. The way he used language and carved holes in things we had just taken for granted for years just amazed me.
There are 400,000 words in the English language, and there are 7 you can't say on television. What a ratio that is! 399,993...to 7. They must really be bad. They must be outrageous to be separated from a group that large.
Some words are bad words. Why? He asked that question over thirty years ago, and no one's been able to give me a satisfactory explanation since then.
Don't you find it funny that all these tough-guy boxers are fighting over a purse? And how come none of these boxers seem to have a losing record?
The first time I ever saw him perform was in 1982 on his HBO special, Carlin at Carnegie. I remember sitting there with my mom and dad and all of us just laughing until we cried, al the while my mom trying to keep her compusure because when the special was over, we were going to have a long talk about which words she didn't find appropriate, even when used in a humorous fashion. My folks took me to see Carlin about fifteen years ago as a birthday present, and I remember sitting and laughing with them just like when I was a kid.
Honesty may be the best policy, but it's important to remember that apparently, by elimination, dishonesty is the second-best policy.
His previous HBO special in 2006 was kind of sad. He was old and slow, and it seemed like things had passed him by. Later on he'd find out he had twelve pounds of fluid in his lungs during the special, and get that taken care of. His final special aired March 2, 2008, and he was in his old form again. It was good to see him in one last moment of glory, back closer to his prime.
A house is just a place to keep your stuff while you go out and get more stuff.
Looking back at his last HBO show, he actually spent the first fifteen minutes doing a routine about death. Watching it now, it was strangely fitting.
The very existence of flamethrowers proves that some time, somewhere, someone said to themselves, "You know, I want to set those people over there on fire, but I'm just not close enough to get the job done."
In his honor today, I will thoroughly examine what I am told to be true. I will distrust authority figures who are obviously dishonest.
And of course, I will use all seven words you can't say on television.
No blog for today or probably the rest of the week. Instead of writing here or working at ye olde television station, I've got a more important assignment I'm working on.
I'm writing my wedding vows. I've got a date to recite them tonight, and I figure this one deserves my full attention, don't you?
More blogs from married-land coming up next week. Take care until then.
In local news, the principal at a small high school near where I live was fired. It's a simple matter, really, he wasn't in the least bit qualified to be a principal.
That's the kind of place I live, where you can be hired as a principal just because. You don't have to hold the correct qualifications, or have a degree, or even to have gone to college. You can be hired simply because your name is "Leroy."
Everyone in town knew he wasn't certified, it seems, and Principal Leroy certainly appears to be proud of that fact. He was trying to get certified, then stopped getting his education because he already had the job.
So they fired this guy, and replaced him with the strongest authority figure a Texas High School has to offer.
Since this is Friday the 13th, as a public service I'm bringing back up the link for last year's column where I watched all of the Friday the 13th movies, so you guys would never have to. That column is here, if you'd still like to spare yourselves.
The PopCast returns, this week with my favorite sports cliches, why washing your hands in Wal-Mart is pointless, and the not-so-subtle irony of the hold music used by the IRS.
Oh, and why I think the Hulk movie will suck, but not nearly as bad as the last one.
More discussion and sarcasm available on the PopCast, as always.
William Shatner? Inimitable? Are you kidding me? Shatner is probably the most imitable person alive. Every office comedian and bad lounge act does a passable Shatner. Kevin Pollak has earned a respectable living for years just doing Shatner. People who haven't seen him since the original run of "Star Trek" can do him. Hell, there's probably natives in the Outback who've never crossed paths with civilization who think they can do a spot-on Shatner.
What's so inimitable? You talk, you stop, you emphasize the wrong words and you squint. Even mimes can do Shatner, all you need is a tight shirt, a lurch, and a faraway look.
The PopCast finally returns, after weeks of unloading equipment and rebuilding the Radio Shack Studios that is my home office. This week I start off with a story of online purchase and shipping gone horribly, horribly wrong. I've bought something through the mail, only to see it have a much better week than I did. It's a tale Travis, or anyone else from West Texas, will truly appreciate. Plus as a bonus, I've got Lost, Indiana Jones, Sex & The City, and sewage in my yard. It's the best of times, and the worst as well.
More discussion and sarcasm available on the PopCast, as always.
I was at the grocery store, and I saw a man walking towards me pushing his buggy. He was short, paunchy, dirty, wearing a soiled tank top. His arms were covered with poorly-drawn tattoos, the faded greys making him look even filthier. He appeared to be in his late twenties and already balding, with a bad haircut that drew attention to it.
His wife was with him, a startlingly unattractive woman who could have been slightly Hispanic, or possibly just very dirty. Trailing behind them was their ten-year-old child, a hyperactive, rickets-infested noise machine. He was picking up foodstuffs, looking at the pictures, and then dropping them to the floor below and laughing. He paused at a display of sodas, climbed up on them and pretended to take a poop on them to impress his parents.
As I walked past them, I noticed that among his tattoos was something written in blurry block letters on the back of his neck. He passed me, and I focused on the faded ink to see what he could possibly have believed in strongly enough to mark in such a prominent location.
While out at an office supply place this week (one that rhymes with "Office Schmeepo"), I noticed they were running a contest. Here's the sign-up box. According to this, five winners will win more than $1400 worth of Crayola products.
I hate to seem ungrateful, but if Fate's hand were to reach down and grant me the luck of the draw, what the Hell am I going to do with $1400 worth of Crayola stuff?
It's not like Crayola makes crayons and big screen televisions. You'd pretty much have to choose from the crappy products available, just like on the old days of Wheel Of Fortune.
It would be just my luck to finally cash in my golden ticket, only to win a grand prize that amounts to fifteen thousand crayons. What a rich man would I be, if only I could fulfill my lifelong dreams to bathe in a tub filled with burnt umber.
I'm involved with a new charity I'd like to plug here. I've done work with local "Coats For Kids" programs, and there's another segment of the population who also needs our help. When we help them, we all benefit.
I'm sure you’ve been in line at the Kwik-E-Mart before and noticed them in front of you, the unfortunate souls buying a pack of smokes, roll of Copenhagen, and a wad of lotto tickets, all while clad only in worn shorts and flip-flops.
Now, you can help. With our new Shirts For Schmucks program, you don't have to fear anymore.
We will take your donations, and by force if necessary, clothe these people. Gone will be the man-breasts, the open wounds and the misspelled tattoos. No longer will you have to avert your gaze from misshapen moles, pock marks, and meth bruises.
With your help, we will cover the masses.
Remember, giving back is good. Showing your back is not.
