An Oscar Campaign Promise™!

If Oscar is elected president, he promises to take pretzels off the enemy combatant list, where they have been ever since January 14, 2002, when a brave pretzel (coincidentally named Dennis Kucinich) tried to, um, "serve articles of impeachment" on the President, as an actor said to a bishop.

You have to be very careful with your wording when mentioning what Dennis Kucinich, the Pretzel was really trying to do.

Note to the government: these are all jokes. I just wanted to spell that out, because I know how easy it would be to, um, "be misread and sent to Guantanamo," as an actor said to a bishop.

Anyway, that's an Oscar Promise™!

And because this isn't getting nearly enough media coverage, here's Oscar's campaign poster again:

The Oscar '08 Endgame

Heaveno, people. Oscar '08 update comin' atcha.

It's crunch time at the Oscar '08 campaign headquarters, and you know what that means. It's time to name our vice president, and map out our final strategy for defeating both Barack Obama and George W. Bush. Oops, I mean John W. McBush.

First off, a little managing expectations.

Yes, I believe that Oscar is a better candidate than either of these men, if for no other reason than he's a Jim Henson puppet, so people already know whose hand is up his ass. But Oscar has a significant electoral problem that neither Obama nor McBain has, and that problem is this: no one reads this fucking blog. How in the hell I managed to scare up 3,152 votes for Kenny Crandle in 2004 remains a mystery. If Oscar manages to get TWO votes, I would consider that a victory. And if he manages to actually carry a state, then I will buy everyone in that state pizza. (I'm talking to you, Texas and California!)

Now, on to the main events.

1. Oscar's vice presidential pick.

Seems like a lot of the emphasis with the VP picks centers on experience - specifically, foreign policy experience. One little crisis with the Russians in Georgia, and there's, like, a stampede of contenders to get to the nearest airport: Joe Lieberman, Lindsay Graham (who is a dude, by the way, despite the name), Joe Biden, Cindy McCain, Lou Diamond Phillips, and Sherman Helmsley, each one jockeying to prove that he is the man who can pull the world back from the brink of collapse.

But Georgia is a lot like the actress who played Kimmy Gibler on Full House, in that they are both overrun by undersized Slavic men with poor personal hygiene. Also, because no one in America really has any idea where they are. (Republican VP hopeful Tim Pawlenty would have been on his way to Georgia too, but having been educated in the American public school system, he bought a plane ticket to Atlanta. Zing.) And while it's easy to crack jokes about how dumb Americans are and how remote and useless and stinky Georgia is, the point is that there are other countries in the world with more John-Stamos-esque global statures, where a candidate for Vice President could reasonably hope to glean some meaningful foreign policy experience. Countries like Pakistan, for example.

Therefore, it is with great pride that we announce that Oscar the Grouch's running mate for Vice President of the United States shall be...

Pervez Musharraf.

Think about it. You can't beat him for foreign policy experience. He's been the president of an entirely separate country for most of this millennium! And his credentials keep looking stronger and stronger since the government of Pakistan took about four days to collapse after he left office - a fact which also provides a fantastic contrast with George W. Bush, whose government collapse occurred not only while he was on the job, but also because he was on the job.

I know that given my longstanding friendship with Pervez, not to mention our mutual affection for all things Ben and/or Jerry, people will scream patronage. Also, they will scream for ice cream. And you know what, those people will be right. They'll be absolutely right.

2. How to beat Obama.

This one is simple. So simple that it's a wonder the Republican party hasn't figured it out already. Then again, the Republican party is pretty dumb. I mean, we're talking about an "organization" (I use the term loosely) of "people" (I use the term even more loosely) that has actually fielded Dan Quayle and George W. Bush - two men whose combined IQ would be easily outdistanced by a mentally retarded stick of chewing gum - as candidates for high public office. Translation: Republicans are very dumb.

So here's some help. This is the new slogan of the campaign to elect John McCain:

John McCain already got beaten by a bunch of Asians. Let's not let him get beaten by a black guy too.

It's that simple. No one will vote for teh Obama now.

3. How to beat John McCain.

I really don't know how to beat John McCain. Maybe we can ask his Viet Cong captors for some tips. Zing.

No, seriously, let's ask them. My bet is that they're working at Guantanamo right now - as janitors, though, because their torture résumés aren't nearly extreme enough to qualify them as interrogators. It's true! And it's also today's fun fact for the day: the "torture" practiced by John McCain's captors in Vietnam is actually significantly less severe than the "interrogation techniques" sanctioned by the Bush Administration for use in prisoner questioning in Guantanamo!

Nothing but the best for our enemy combatants!

But unfortunately, this still doesn't answer the question of how to win against John McCain. Maybe it's like that old riddle about the minister, the rabbi, and John McCain being on an airplane together, and the airplane starts to crash, but with only two parachutes available, and bearing in mind that this is after John McCain was tortured but before he met Cindy, the minister says he has a wife who loves him and he just wants to see her again, and the rabbi says he has a wife who loves him and he just wants to see her again, and John McCain says, "I'm married to a former model who's now five-foot-four and big as a house; you guys take the parachutes." Maybe that's how you beat John McCain. I'm not sure.

Mao's Successor Hua Dies; Number to Be Retired

Hua Guofeng, former Chairman of the Communist Party of China, Premier of the People's Republic of China, and NHL left winger, died today at the age of 87. Hua is most remembered for being Mao's handpicked successor, and for his two-year stint as a left wing on the Stanley-Cup winning New York Islander teams in 1982 and '83. In tribute to his memory, the Islanders announced today that they will retire his number 43 sweater at a ceremony in the Nassau Colliseum this October.

Hua joined the Communist Party in 1938 and rose through the ranks, becoming minister of public security in 1975, and ascending to the premiership of China following the death of the super-sexy Chou En-Lai in early 1976. He assumed the chairmanship of the Communist Party in China after Mao died later in the year. But the Triple Crown (Premier of China, Chairman of the Communist Party, World's Greatest Grandpa) eluded him, the third title having been granted, via coffee mug, to 88,000 men across the United States, but never to Hua despite being really, really, really nice to his daughter's brats in Guangzhou.

After being ousted from power by the sinister wiles of Deng Xiao Ping, Hua went west all the way to Long Island to live out his childhood fantasy of playing in the NHL. He joined the New York Islanders in the midst of their run of four straight Stanley Cups, playing along such notables as Denis Potvin, Mike Bossy, and Jesus Christ. Although Hua was mostly known as a bruising, checking-line forward and penalty killer, he occasionally managed to dazzle with his skating and his stickwork. His 28-goal campaign in 1981-82 included nearly a dozen goals that would have been included in highlight reels, if anyone in America watched hockey highlight reels in the first place, which they didn't.

His most spectacular moment on the ice, however, came in the second period of game 3 of the 1982 Stanley Cup finals, when Hua leapt eight feet into the air and pirouetted over Vancouver Canucks defenseman Lars Lindgren near his own blue line, landing immediately behind him. Hua then stole the puck from the confused Lindgren, skated into the Canucks' zone unmolested, and floated a wrist shot past a gaping Richard Brodeur for an easy goal.

For his career, he amassed 52 goals and 159 points in two NHL seasons with New York, winning the Stanley Cup both years, all while retaining his title as junior Vice Chairman of the Communist Party until the position was eliminated in the middle of the 1982-83 season. He spent the end of 1983 and most of 1984 backpacking across Europe, returning to China in December after having discovered the joy that is Michael Jackson's Thriller.

In addition to being remembered and celebrated in his own country, the Islanders have announced that Hua's number, 43, will be retired by the team on Monday, October 27th before a game against the New York Rangers. Hua will also be posthumously given the World's Greatest Grandpa award that he coveted for so much of his adult life.

When Metaphorical Hurdles Become Actual Hurdles, or Vice Versa

Chances are you've never heard of Lolo Jones. No, it's not the name of a Chris Tucker character in a wacky, multi-racial cop movie. No, it's not the gimmicky, redneck mascot for a chain of midwestern discount stores ("Lolo Jones says low, low prices!"). No, it's not my pornstar name either. Lolo Jones is an American hurdler at a small local sporting event called "the Olympics," which I believe is taking place right now somewhere in the world. It's kind of hard to tell, though, from the almost total lack of attention they're getting.

Lolo overcame a constant stream of hurdles in her quest to reach the Olympics this year - most notably, homelessness, living in Iowa, and being a girl.

But there was one hurdle Lolo couldn't overcome.

A hurdle.


FYI, My pornstar name is either James Cooper or Sadie Melrose, depending on your particular methodology for determining pornstar names. Lolo Jones is pretty good though. I might start using that instead. I wonder if anyone else is named that?

Oh, right! The hurdler! Sorry, it's just that it's the Olympics, so I just abruptly stopped caring. Wake me up when they get to the hot-dog eating contest.

My poor former dictator buddy...

Just saw this on facebook:



Poor Old Perv. That's what me and A-Rod call him. And the best part is that old Perv doesn't even know it's a goof! Of course, A-Rod doesn't know it's a goof either. Or should I say, "Even Though I Like Madonna, I Swear I'm Not Gay-Rod" doesn't know it's a goof either.

Speaking of Madonna and Mr. Rod, I couldn't help noticing that he was conspicuously absent from her 50th birthday party on Saturday. I know there was a Yankee game scheduled that day, and that the team is clinging to its delusions of making the playoffs by a gossamer thread, but couldn't you call out sick and take her to Chuck E. Cheese for a couple hours?

That's what a real friend would do. That's what Old Perv did for your birthday last month, even though his authoritarian grip on power was crumbling and he was being threatened with impeachment. That trip probably cost him his job. But he came anyway, and he did the whole Chuck E. Cheese bit even though he really didn't want to, and then he gave you all his Skee-Ball tickets so you could get that stupid fucking kazoo that I bet you threw out already. Remember? Don't you want Madonna to have memories like that too?

Some people can be so selfish.

Some Advice on Being an Out-Of-Work Quasi-Dictator

If you live in Pakistan and you don't live under a rock, chances are pretty good that you've already heard the news about my good buddy Pervez Musharraf. That's right, he bought a dog.

Unfortunately, that news was eclipsed today with the announcement of his resignation as the President of Pakistan. Needless to say, he's pretty distraught, not only because it means he has to file for unemployment - and those Pakistani unemployment forms are about three miles long and read like they're written in a foreign language - but also because Mr. Fluffles (that's the dog's name) wasn't even properly housebroken yet. And now he needs to start the whole breaking process over again in a new house.

Still, at least he'll have a house in which to break Mr. Fluffles, unlike the millions of Pakistanis who live under rocks.

Pervez can be a pretty emotional guy when things aren't going his way. Last year, for instance, during Game 2 of the American League Divisional Series between New York and Cleveland, Pervez was literally tearing his hair out when Joba Chamberlain pitched through a storm cloud of Lake Erie midges in the 8th inning instead of calling a timeout. "What the hell is he doing?" Pervez kept screaming. "Why does he persevere? Why doesn't Torre pull him off the mound and refuse to continue? He is fucking blind from these gnats!"

"They're midges," I said.

"Fuck you! I'm calling A-Rod!" Pervez screamed back at me, the veins in his forehead and neck pressing to escape the surface of his creamy brown skin. "What the hell is he doing?"

"A-Rod's on the field right now, dude," I said. "You need to relax."

"Shit! I got his fucking voicemail!"

"Alex is on the field right now," I said plaintively, in my best voicemail system voice. "He can't take your call."

"Alex! It's Pervez! Call me right away, it's very important!" He hung up and waited, staring alternately at the television screen and the phone, absently fingering a merit medal near the lapel of his jacket. "Fuck this, I'll send him a text message."

"Dude, you need to chill out. Maybe you should get a dog or something," I sagely, and somewhat contrivedly advised him.

"Fuck you!" he crowed. "Don't fucking tell me what to do, you buzzard!"

In the spirit of that comment, and out of my desire not to be called a buzzard again, I am not going to offer Pervez any advice on what to do with his life now that the whole President of Pakistan thing didn't pan out. I know he's always entertained the fanciful notion of taking eight months to backpack through Europe till he got to Amsterdam, where he would load up on weed and have sex with as many hookers as his considerable personal wealth would allow. But I also know he's something of an ice cream connosieur, and that he has a longstanding wish to tour the Ben & Jerry's factory in Waterbury, Vermont.

They give you free samples on that factory tour, which, in my opinion, makes it totally worthwhile. I couldn't care less what temperature the milk is reduced to, or how they add a ripple of fudge to their fudge ripple. The movie they show about the personal history of Ben and Jerry might as well be called "nap time." But bring on the free scoop of Chubby Hubby, you know what I'm saying?

They also give you free samples at the Guinness factory in Dublin, Ireland. Anyone else smell a theme trip idea? Not for Pervez Musharraf necessarily - it's an idea that anyone could use, whether he happens to be a recently deposed leader of a semi-authoritarian regime in southwest Asia, or, say, a 22-year-old with a freshly minted diploma from Brown.

Unrelated: I'm looking for some assistance with the Oscar '08 campaign, just in case there's any former Asian heads of state who suddenly have a lot of free time on their hands. No dogs allowed, though. Sorry, Mr. F.

Will We Still Dress All Retro in the Future? Yes.

These people, who look like ordinary, run-of-the-mill white people, are more than just your ordinary, run-of-the-mill white people. Why, you ask? Take a gander at the name of the building, which is emblazoned in futuristic-looking letters. It says, in case I didn't just give it away blatantly enough, "The Future."



These people are from The Future.


Weird how they dress the same as people from like, eight years ago, right? I mean, that's the first thing I thought, was that wow, they are really nailing the 2000 summer fashions. Then again, I was coming down pretty hard from some primo anesthetic after an early-morning medical procedure. On a Thursday.

Speaking of which,

Dear [redacted] Center,

Many, many thanks for your fine quality drugs. I'm sure their street value must have far exceeded what my insurance company is going to pay you, so thank you for holding onto them and forfeiting the vast sums of cash you could have gotten in a local high school cafeteria.

Anyway, awesome stuff. You could have molested me in my sleep, and I would still have woken up smiling and laughing.

Yours in Christ,
Smokey Robinson.

But back to the future. (Zing!)



This is what the future looks like. I know, it's bright, right? So bright that you gotta wear shades. (Zing! 2)

Also, I'm pretty sure Michael J. Fox and/or Christopher Lloyd lives in this building, because from just down the street, I overheard the following conversation, in New York:

Marty McFly: Oh, shit, I forgot my wallet.
Girl with Marty (Jennifer?): You forgot your wallet?
Marty: Yeah, we have to go back to The Future to get it.
Jennifer (the Elisabeth Shue version, not the other one): Back to the Future? That's catchy!
Doc Brown: Great Scott!

(Zing!, 3)

Three zing!s. That's a pretty good day at the plate for old Smokey here. I'm going to go shop local high school cafeterias for more of that mind-numbingly good anesthesia. (Zing!, 4)

Zings:

Robinson, S .... 4

Quick thought: they should totally make a tv show about The Future. A reality show, maybe. On Bravo, this fall, after My Life on the D-List.

WELCOME TO THE FUTURE:

Why I'm Boycotting the Beijing Olympics

I read this morning that Joey Cheek, the former Olympic speedskater, had his visa revoked by the Chinese government, meaning that he won't be able to go through with his planned demonstration to urge China to help establish peace in Darfur.

News flash for any activists out there: next time you have a chance to protest in China, DON'T TELL THEM IN ADVANCE. Just show up like you're any other world famous speedskater, disappear into a phone booth, and pop out with a big sign that says

Dear China,

I want you to make peace in Darfur.

With affection,
Joey Cheek.

It also helps if you're not as high-profile as former Olympic speedskater Joey Cheek, the man who once held entire nations in thrall with his former Olympic speedskating prowess. (Though he's less well known for it, Joey Cheek is also famous for his barbecue sauce, which he claims is his grandmother's recipe. Tastes a lot like KC Masterpiece to me though...)

Joey Cheek is not a guy who can sneak around, not even in a country as big as China. Someone is going to spot him on a street corner somewhere, and there's going to be a full-scale Joey Cheek riot once that happens, and that could seriously fuck with your Darfur peace protest mojo if you're even a little bit unlucky.

Still, I'm just saying. If you want to "get your protest on" during the 2008 Olympics in Beijing, you should think long and hard* about what you write in the "Reason for Visit" box on your visa applications.

Personally, I think you're much better off saying you're coming to China just to see the sights, then springing a surprise protest on them after you get there. From everything I've read, the Chinese authorities just LOVE surprises. Especially protest-flavored ones!

But the Sino-Cheek conflict is not the reason I'm boycotting the Olympics this year. I'm boycotting the Olympics for the following two reasons:

1. There's no hot dog eating contest.
2. THERE'S NO FREAKING HOT DOG EATING CONTEST!!!!!!!

It's a total outrage! It's a travesty! Give me one good reason why that dude who wins the Nathan's contest every July 4th doesn't deserve to be an Olympian.

See? You can't. Because he totally deserves it. He deserves it at least as much as Joey Cheek deserves the medals of some color that he won back when he was a current Olympic speedskater, if not more.

I think this calls for a protest. First stop: the nearest Pearl art supply store for oak tag and magic markers. Second stop: China.

*that is so totally what she said...