Amaze friends and guests with this lifesize and incredibly lifelike robotic animatronic chimpanzee!
We live in strange and miraculous times.
In Case You Didn’t Get the Point, I’ll Repeat it 3 Times
This has been an unbelievable year for the White Sox, who now head into the World Series. One of my favorite elements has been the resurrection of the old fight song from 1959, “Let’s Go Go Go White Sox” by Captain Stubby and the Buccanneers. Rousing, if redundant.
Now, I didn’t grow up here, and I wouldn’t have been alive in 1959 anyway, but I love these old kinds of fight songs. They alternate between football chants and beer hall polkas, and aren’t so aggressively in your face that you want to hit someone.
I remember when the Tigers won the World Series in 1968, the radio used to play “Go Get ‘Em Tigers” which had exactly the same feel as Captain Stubby. I remember every word of it, but haven’t bothered to hunt for it on the web. When the Tigers cease sucking, maybe I’ll look then.
Anyway, for Jim S., and anyone else who wants to annoy their kids with some schmaltz, I found the Go Go Go song here.
Thank God for the Internet
Here’s a link just for Branden and his pals at Grand Valley State, a compilation of Celebrity Butt Cracks.
Enjoy, guys.
Questions about playing the Angels of Anaheim in Anaheim -heim -heim -mmm
1. What’s with that goofy looking outfield? Is it a penguin sanctuary? A skate park? Some kind of flood control structure?
2. Why are all the fans banging salamis together?
3. How many volts of electricity are they pumping into that Rally Monkey’s rectum to get him to jump up and down like that?
4. What is all that crap on the Angels’ batting helmets? It makes Vladimir Guerrero look like some kind of life-size novelty candle.
5. Speaking of Guerrero, when is he going to show up?
SOX WIN!
Okay, the Sox won last night. It wasn’t pretty, and it might not have been the correct call, but a win is a win. I for one am glad that the umpires’ call was the final say in the matter. If this were a football game, all the replay cameras would be out, the diagrams on the screen would be flashing like heat lightning, and the commentators would be spitting and screaming enough to require squeegees and tarps in the broadcast booth. This is just one reason why baseball is superior to football: the human element has not been sacrificed to the machine (and by machine, I don’t mean just the camera, but also the entire lurching, faceless, bone-crunching apparatus that is the NFL).
Angels manager Mike Scioscia had the most class I think I have ever seen under such pressure. When he said that regardless of the dispute his team didn’t play well enough to win, he could’ve been speaking for the Sox as well.
Here’s something to be EXTRA thankful for: Had this happened in a Yankees—Red Sox series, we’d be hearing about the damn play for the rest of our natural lives. The East Coast hacks would have elevated it’s importance to something around the level of the firing on Fort Sumter or the Kennedy assassination. Epic poems would be written about it, lives would be sacrificed defending the ump’s decision, whole generations of East Coast children would be raised in hate and fear as their parents taught them that it is a cruel and random universe.
So, thank you, Angels, for safeguarding the sanity of the rest of the nation. You guys took one for the rest of us.
Just in time for Halloween….
Find out what your name means in the monster kingdom at the Monster Name Decoder.
FuzzyBe Thankful You Don’t Have One
Nickname, that is. I’ve noticed, and other people have commented, on the complete flaccidization (!) of nicknames among modern baseball players. Gone are the days of Double-Duty Radcliffe and The Iron Horse and Big Train and Dizzy Dean. Now, if the players give anyone a nickname at all, it’s more than likely just a syllable plucked out of his last name (Gar, Rad, Gooch) or, even worse, a Y added to the surname (Jonesy).
(The one exception in recent years with the White Sox was pitcher Takatsu Shingo, known affectionately as Mr. Zero. I don’t remember if anyone ever made the connection between Mr. Zero and Monster Zero, but…)
In such a world, one might say that The President’s habit of giving people nicknames might actually be an endearing quality. One might say that, until one reads the list of nicknames he has actually bestowed on people. Set down as a list, one can see the jackass frat boy coming through after all these decades. The funniest one, IMO, is his nickname for Ted Kennedy: Senator. The nickname that’s not a nickname.
“My name’s Forrest Gump. People call me…Forrest Gump.”
Thanks to Superfrankenstein.
It’s a Way of Life
Okay, you’ve heard of the Flying Spaghetti Monster.
And you know that the FSM is now a high-energy computer game.
Did you know that soon you’ll be able to proclaim your Pastafarian faith soon with a handy plaque for your car?
It is truly an age of miracles.
(Thanks to Kung Fu Monkey)
Once Again, Real Life Outstrips Satire
I’m really tired of this kind of thing. Politicians are already spinning the media to the point where they think they’re Walter Winchell, but now they want to muscle in on the satirists’ turf, too?
Laura Bush will travel to storm-damaged Biloxi, Miss., to film a spot on the feel-good, wish-granting hit “Extreme Makeover: Home Edition.” Mrs. Bush sought to be on the program because she shares the “same principles” that the producers hold, her press secretary said.
So Mrs. Bush shares the same principles as a bunch of H’wood producers? That’s enough to turn your stomach, no matter how you choose to read it.
You’ve been looking for historic space monkey pants?
Then look no further than eBay, where a pair of authentic pants worn by cosmomonkeys in the Soviet space program. Buy them. You know you want them.
Rabid fans vs. slack-jawed fawners
Went to the disappointing Sox game last night. Can’t believe they couldn’t knock in the winning run for THREE INNINGS IN A ROW. But what knocked me out was how intense the fans were. Intense, and almost prescient, because a huge number of them left after the ninth inning with the score tied. And it was barely 9:15 at the time. Hey, we had a first grader with us, and he sat through the whole painful thing.
There’s a lot of talk about the diff between Sox fans and Cubs fans. The former are supposed to be the true baseball aficioadoes, while the latter are disinterested drunks on the company plastic, old ladies and children.
But I couldn’t believe the booing going on last night, at a team that while choking, is still in a pennant race. Isn’t there some middle ground between the heated, pointed heckling of Sox fans (a tough love thing) and the mushy adoration that Cub fans slather over their “boys”, win or lose? (Didn’t Saul Bellow mention some affection like that, “amorphous potato love” or something?)
It was just embarrassing that only about one-quarter or less of the Sox fans stuck around til the end.
WHAT WOULD SATAN DO?
My buddy Pat Byrnes has a new book of his cartoons out, entitled What Would Satan Do? You’ve seen him in the New Yawker, and guffawed, I’m sure. His book won’t be available until October 1, but it already has been placed on this week’s Must List in Entertainment Weekly. Yahoo!!!
Go buy it and indulge your inner demon.
SLOPPY SPIDERS
Don’t you find that you have less respect for spiders that make these messy, sprawling, patternless webs than the ones who make those perfectly symmetrical ones that get covered with dew and photographed for contemplative calendars? What’s the matter with them? Do they just not care?
PIX FROM FUNNY HA-HA
For anyone curious to see what all the pundits look like, check out photos from Fuzzy Gerdes, someone I’ve never met. I’m the one with the big bald head, like some villain from The Incredible Hulk.
I’M BACK….
….And I’m sure you didn’t miss me.