Tuesday, January 29, 2008

No, there is no proof that anyone has ever died from playing video games-- not even in Asia, despite what people keep saying.

In spite of what's asserted in this otherwise fairly interesting article at yahoo (scroll down to the last entry). Note that the author offers no actual proof that it's true, offers no links, nothing at all. Not even a real name! Just repeats the same stuff that I covered here. I'm inclined to think that maybe the author is playing a joke, but I don't know him well enough to say for sure.

Anyway, unless he wants to give us some proof, I think he is totally wrong on this.

Monday, January 28, 2008


Republican Presidential hopeful Mike "F*ckabee" Huckabee and the Rev. Fred Phelps stepped out on the town last night as part of a special "out and proud" event sponsored by the Broadway hit "Spamalot"! From what I've heard, their cute matching outfits were no accident-- they planned to dress alike, because, as my source said, "They think so much alike!" My sources also tell me that not long after this incredibly dubious photo was snapped, the two hillbilly satyrs retired to F*ckabee's hotel room where they "parted that delicate flower" (i.e., made love with each other)! One can only assume that these two lovebirds have a long future together, and for that reason I've gone to the trouble to give them a cute celebrity hook-up nickname: HuckaPhelps!

Sunday, January 27, 2008

Ricky Sprague's Tales of Regret

Many years ago, when I was but a small child of seven, innocent of the wicked ways of the world, free of all guile and cynicism, I collected dolls. Actually, they were more properly known as "action figures," featuring favorite characters from science fictional adventure films ("Star Wars"), television series ("The Muppet Show"), rock and roll ("Kiss"), and of course comic books ("Spiderman"). I had a collection that was the envy of all my neighborhood chums-- a collection which, if they hadn't all suffered mildew and water damage from a leaky basement would be worth thousands, perhaps millions of dollars today. I suppose I regret not taking care of those toys, but that's not what this particular story of regret is about.

I had many friends with whom I would play, and we would use our action figures to craft involved stories in which Batman could fight against the Hulk (in spite of the fact that they were published by rival comic book publishers), or Darth Vader (in spite of the fact that Darth Vader would have no chance against Batman). Anyway, it wasn't uncommon for one of us to inadvertently leave one of our toys behind at another's home. Usually, this toy could be picked up the next day, and no harm was done.

One day I was playing with a friend named David, who lived with his parents and grandmother in a home three doors down from my house. I had brought along my precious and difficult to find 8 inch Mego Thor action figure. If you click on the link in the previous sentence you'll get a look at him. As you can see, he had long blond hair. Beautiful and lustrous, but extremely manly. Thor was, after all, the God of Thunder; an ass-kicker character from Norse mythology made into even more of an ass-kicker by the great Jack Kirby as a part of Marvel comics mythology.

Yes, I was playing with a doll that had long lustrous blond hair. But he was an action figure. An action figure with a Mjolnir that would bash your head in, when he wasn't using it to propel himself through the air or summon up a tsunami, depending on his mood.

When I was called home to dinner by my mother, who had prepared something from a box, I gathered up my toys and hurried home. I left behind poor Mego Thor. I didn't discover this important fact until well after the dinner had made me sick to my stomach. Upon finding the toy gone, I begged my mother to let me go retrieve it, but she would not allow me to leave the house. As she explained, "You were too sick to finish your Hamburger Helper, you are too sick to leave the house to go get your little doll!"

I lay awake all night, unable to sleep, sick with worry over leaving behind Mego Thor. I grew up in a small town in the middle of a small midwestern state. The internet did not exist. Amazon.com did not exist. Trips to the big city (Indianapolis) with its almost impressive toy stores, were rare. Finding the Thor action figure had been a real coup for me. Arguably the most impressive accomplishment of my young life. Now, I was having to spend a night away from it! I couldn't take it. My soul was rocked by storms, much like the storms that the Mighty Thor himself would raise with the help of his powerful Mjolnir.

To this day, I don't know how I made it through that tempestuous night.

The next day, after school, I did not go straight home as I'd been told to do, but instead went straight to David's house. While he was not yet home from school, his grandmother was home. I knocked on the door and asked her if she'd seen my Thor action figure.

"You mean the doll." The old woman, her skin like crumpled paper, said. The miniature poodle dog she held in her hand growled at me.

"No. Well, okay, he's a doll. Just have you seen him?"

"I've seen him. But how do I know that it's not David's doll?" The poodle, almost like an extension of the horrible woman, a physical manifestation of her tortured psyche, now barked at me.

"It's MY doll!" I would have screamed at her, and she'd have deserved it (that and much, much more dear reader I assure you), but for the fact that someone had once mistakenly told me to respect my elders.

"I'll ask David about it when he gets home," she said. "Now you go home, too." Through an almost blinding haze I could just barely make out the poodle dog, elegantly groomed, a ridiculous tuft of hair on its head.

I went home and brooded. This was absurd, bordering on tragic. That horrid old woman was keeping my Mego Thor doll from me. I had a Mego Captain America, a Mego Hulk, a Mego Iron Man, and Mego Falcon action figure ready to go, ready for some exciting Avengers action. I sat on the porch and devised scenarios in which the assembled heroes fretted with worry over their comrade Thor, who'd been kidnapped by some unknown malevolence.

My heart leapt when I saw David walking toward my house, carrying my Mego Thor action figure. Then it sank when he handed it to me.

Those long, thick, glorious, lustrous blond locks had been clipped!

"Here's your Thor doll," David told me. "Gran'ma said you came over asking for it."

"What-- what did-- you-- do--" I sputtered. Filled with panicked rage.

"Gran'ma cut his hair off. She said that little boys shouldn't play with dolls that have long hair like that."

"It's Thor!" I objected. "He's the God of Thunder!" I didn't yet have the vulgar vocabulary I'm blessed with today, otherwise I'd spewed obscenities.

David shrugged. "Gran'ma says only girls and gays play with dolls with long hair. Sorry." He ran off to his homophobic and clearly deranged grandmother.

I stared at that doll in utter fascinated disbelief. First of all, it was my property. It was my doll excuse me action figure, not hers. Not even her grandson's. It was MINE. She had no right. Second of all, what the hell kind of world did she live in where playing with a doll with long hair made you gay? What if it had been a Jesus doll? Or perhaps more appropriately, a Samson doll? I mean action figure. Would she have thought it was gay to play with a doll like that?

Mego Thor was humiliated. The worthless old hag had shorn his locks so that they barely reached the top of his neck. He was a mockery of his former self. He was no longer Thor. He was useless to me.

I stole her dog and shaved the hair off its head. Only a gay old woman would have her dog groomed that way, I reasoned.

I regret that I never told her that I was the one who shaved her dog.

Friday, January 25, 2008

Hollywood in a Minuet

All the Hollywood gossip and news you can read in one minuet!:

My sources tell me that sales of Heath candy bars have increased more than 30% since the tragic death of actor Heath Ledger. While there’s no direct connection between the candy company and the actor, his grieving fans are looking for some way, any way, to honor his memory… Speaking of Mr Ledger’s untimely demise, I’m told that the AP, which had been working on an obituary for troubled starlet Britney Spears (so as to be prepared in case of her untimely demise), was caught off guard by the death and spent nearly SEVEN MINUTES putting together an obituary and getting it out on the wires. Even with the long lag time, the obit was still riddled with errors, including claiming that the 28 year old actor had been a “Mousketeer” in his youth, and had two sons with Kevin Federline… By the way, regarding reports that Mr Ledger was dating Mary Kate Olsen, my sources tell me that the troubled actor was so out of sorts at the end that he actually thought he was dating MK’s sister Ashley… Speaking of Britney, the troubled starlet finally made an appearance at the Los Angeles County Courthouse this week, for a custody hearing. The only trouble was, the hearing had taken place almost a full week before she arrived! Sources in the courthouse say that when she heard the news she exclaimed that she would just go back in time to make the appointment, and officials spent an hour explaining that time, at least as we understand it now, is immutable, and traveling backward in time is theoretically impossible. Britney apparently took the news in stride, hitting Starbucks and then a tanning salon…I’m hearing that Jessica Simpson and her boyfriend, a professional athlete of some sort, did something this week but, frankly, I couldn’t give less of a shit… I’m told that now that troubled singer Amy Winehouse has entered rehab, she’ll be changing the lyrics to her famous hit song to “I’m gonna go to rehab I said, Yes eventually”. That way they’ll be as fully accurate as Ms Winehouse’s 12 step program requires… Women across America are reportedly angry with talk show queen Oprah Winfrey for campaigning for Barack Obama instead of Hillary Clinton. I don’t mean to generalize, but this just confirms what I’ve said all along: Women are racist… “American Idol” debuted this week to record numbers once again, and controversy, as several contestants turned out to be professionals with pre-existing record deals. Since past winners and finalists are losing their deals left and right, it seems like a good idea to have a deal in place before auditioning… Academy Award nominations were released this week, and I was surprised to learn that I’d actually seen one of the nominated films (“Ratattouie”)… Speaking of the Academy Awards, Angelina Jolie got over the sting of being snubbed by announcing that she was pregnant with twins. If only she’d been nominated, we wouldn’t have ever heard anything about it… Look for Sylvester Stallone’s latest, “Ram Beau” to hit number one at the box office this weekend. My gurus are telling me that this film, which features hardcore man-on-man action, is looking to “double penetrate” both the action and gay porn markets. Number two should be “Cloverfield,” while number three is anyone’s guess (“27 Dresses”)…

Thursday, January 24, 2008

Go Dodd, Go!

Seriously, this guy should consider running for President or something.


I am disgusted. Absolutely disgusted and repulsed by the repugnance of the video game industry, which is little more than an industry of death, to give it a slightly more alarmist name (and more appropriate name).

For years our children have been subjected to the video games in which they simulate shooting up their own schools (from their point of view), or in which they beat up “hos” with baseball bats, and drive over pizza delivery boys. Now they even have video games in which you mimic the movements of fighting, increasing kids’ natural aggression and increasing the likelihood that they will get into more fights, or shoot up their own schools, a tragedy that happens almost every day in this country.

But now they have gone too far.

Now there is a video game that tells the story of a violent operation of some kind, where you play an intergalactic fighter who goes around killing things (the things you kill are aliens, so I guess in the perverted eyes of the members of the industry of death (as I appropriately call it) that makes it “okay”!). But then, in the midst of killing aliens, the player plays a character who actually has sexual relations with an alien woman!

And this woman, although alien, is a voluptuous beauty, with large, taut breasts. Her buttocks is round and firm. Thighs creamy with sensual delight. Oh, but her skin is blue, so I guess in the perverted eyes of the members of this industry of death (see above), that makes it “okay”!

Let me state for the record that I do not waste my time playing these video games. My young daughter has a game console, and she plays a video game about an innocent princess who goes around doing endearingly innocuous things, and another game about teenage girls who try on clothes, but that is about it.

I prefer to read books, look at paintings, and watch films. These are activities that provide uplift. Even occasionally I watch television; shows like The Sopranos are amazingly complicated and well-structured.

This video game I just mentioned, which is full of sex and violence, is rated “M” by the video game rating board, but come on! That only means that children can’t BUY it! That doesn’t mean that they can’t PLAY it, and we all know that as parents, as much as we’d like to be able to monitor our children “24/7,” that just isn’t possible yet. And besides that, you might be appropriately shocked to learn, the video game ratings board is made up of members of the very industry of death that needs close monitoring!

I’m not saying that there is no place for violent video games. Some of the military-themed games provides young boys with a good understanding of our armed forces, and I understand that our military uses video game style simulations to train for difficult military operations. And, although I can’t speak authoritatively on this, I believe that S.W.A.T. teams around the country also rely on such technology as training to help them stay safe during dangerous no-knock raids where they put their lives on the line!

It’s time to bring the government into this debate. The industry of death has shown that it is only interested in giving people what they want in order to make money. But what people want is not always what they need. One need look at how fat everyone is now to see that!

Wake up, America! Say “no” to fatty foods!

Wednesday, January 23, 2008

THE ROAD TRAMPS by Kevin North, Playtime Books, October 1962, 158 pages, 60¢

“Her pointers were poking their saucy rosettes at him.”

During a party at which is being played “a game of charades that was fast growing naughty,” the curvaceous and narrow-waisted Marianne Lowe receives a certified check for $1,000, bequeathed her by a recently-deceased uncle. When Marianne wonders what to do with the windfall, the slightly drunk group of revelers suggest she “find another gal and tour the country.” At this point Meg Davis, a tall woman with “the figure of a dancer, lines like a greyhound, no excess poundage,” volunteers to tag along. Bill Lyons, editor of the magazine “Creed” (for which both women work, and with whom Marianne has been intimate, “not because he was her boss, but on those few occasions she felt her need of him, and he of her”) offers the aspiring writer the chance to chronicle her experiences in an article for the magazine, and in a PoMo touch even suggests a possible title for the inevitable book: The Road Tramps.

A contract is scribbled, in which the rules of the trip are laid out: Marianne and Meg must visit each of the lower 48 states, acquiring signatures from some official within the state; they can only use money they earn en route; and they must complete the journey within six months. If they make it, they’ll receive the regular salary they would have earned if they’d stayed at their jobs, and a $1,000 bonus.

Marianne and Meg sign the contract. After the party, Bill takes Marianne home, and she feels that need for him. It’s sort of a goodbye, after all: “She hated hands. But not his hands. Somehow they were gentle in each touch. She felt his hands now, unbuttoning her blouse. And finally they reached back, for the snap of her bra, and she heard his sudden gasp- of admiration, or surprise- when he bra slipped off, and her breasts were released from their silken prisons. Always it was this way. He seemed to be amazed and incredulous at the firm, youthful protusion of her breasts. She knew the nipples were taut and erect now, swelling even larger as his finger tips caressed them, ever so gently.” I don’t know much about Kevin North, the author, and there seems to be very little information about him online, but one thing is certain: He (or, possibly she) is a breast man. Specifically, a nipple man, as we’ll see.

The next day Marianne’s mind drifts from the sweet distraction of her night with Bill to the more practical concern of starting her “safari.” In the classified section of the newspaper she finds an ad requesting a car driver for a trip from LA to Salt Lake City, which seems perfect for their purposes. The man who placed the ad, Norman Beel, has a “roving eye,” and “a smile that was half sneer.” He’s also got a broken leg, so Marianne doesn’t find him too threatening, and isn’t too worried about his making passes at them. She says, “We’ll handle him easy, honey!” but Meg isn’t totally persuaded.

And when the trip starts, we learn that poor Meg was right to be skeptical of Norman. Marianne takes the first driving shift, and for some reason that makes sense only in a sleaze novel, Meg sits in the back seat with Norman. He doesn’t waste a lot of time in starting to maul her: “The hands started to wander now. Marianne saw Meg’s face. It was stern, possibly even a bit frightened. She wasn’t crazy about the guy for one thing- just tolerant. Finally, Beel got a finger hooked in her blouse, the top buttons loosened. Meg was showing him some mighty interesting scenery. He got bolder. Suddenly she saw Meg pull back, still tolerant, but firm.”

Then Meg takes the wheel, and for some reason Marianne climbs in back with Norman, who sneers, “I suppose you’ll be just as frigid.” But Marianne surprises him by promising that when they stop at a hotel for the night they can get adjoining rooms with a connecting door. The promise of meeting Marianne alone, at midnight, to explore her “interesting topography” stops his wandering hands for the rest of the day. However, that night, she uses a 2x4 and a length of wire to bar the door connecting their rooms closed, and Norman is unable to get to Marianne. The next morning, Norman has a pathetic look on his face as Marianne teases him: “What happened? I waited for you to open the door... I was triggered, pal- triggered!”

After Norman drops them off in Salt Lake City they hitch a ride to Wyoming, then back down to Arizona where they encounter Norman’s brother, Steve Beel, driving Norman’s Cad. He’s apparently a successful businessman with several restaurants and clubs, and they stop at one of his restaurants on the way to Phoenix, and he buys them sizzling steaks which they avidly eat while he tries to convince them to ditch their silly safari and come work for him, as call girls. They refuse. When they get to a hotel just outside of Phoenix, the girls try to ditch him, but he tells Marianne to check her purse. He’s put $311 in there, and if they try to leave he’ll call the police and claim that Marianne stole it from him. Of course they can’t leave now, so they all go up to the hotel room.

They order drinks and Meg and Marianne start laying it on: As they remove their blouses, Steve explains that they could each make $100 a night, of which they would keep half, and could get “a swank apartment, a sports car, a mink coat, little things like that.” Steve takes off his clothes. “Marianne reached back, and suddenly the bra snapped loose. Her heavy breasts literally popped from their silken prisons... Meg stood back, wolf whistled. ‘Isn’t she the mostest, Steve?’ Then her own bra was off. Her pointers were poking their saucy rosettes at him.” At this point, Steve’s got his guard down, thinking he’s about to hit the holy grail and make it with two hot chicks with nice boobs, but they attack him with some judo chops, and tie him up with his own clothes.

They take the money Steve planted in Marianne’s wallet and head over to a used car lot where they manage to get a jalopy for $125. They get a break because they’re not wearing bras, and the salesman keeps his eyes low, on their jiggling blouses. They drive it for awhile, eventually hitting a gale storm, and pull into a $3-a-night-hotel.

Next morning, they’re awakened by two men in their room, one around 19, the other around 17: “Juveniles. But not exactly beatniks.” Their intention is to rape them, steal their money, and then take their car. But they’re just too damned distracted by their jiggling cleavage: “Marianne pulled herself up to a sitting position in the bed, unmindful of the fact that her full breasts tugged at the gaping negligee, revealing quite a bit of cleavage. She saw the tall boy jerk up, stare. Meg pulled herself up alongside Marianne. And again the cleavage was a bit amazing. Dewey pulled in a lungful of air, in an audible gasp. ‘Mel, we got babes with the mostest-“

A few quick judo chops is all it takes (Meg learned some sweet self-defense moves from her “Oriental friend”), and in a few minutes Mel and Dewey, the semi-retarded would-be thieves are tied and gagged in the middle of the room. And the girls are back on the road, looking for more adventure. Unfortunately, in the fight, one of the toughs threw a purse at Meg, bruising the side of her breasts, making it too painful for her to wear a bra for awhile.

The car conks out in the middle of Nowheresville, Texas, and while it’s being serviced, Marianne calls Bill back in LA. Bill tells her he loves her, and he wants to get spliced. He also wants her to come home, immediately, but Marianne is having none of that. She wants to turn her adventures into a weekly serial, about 2,000 words per week (I guess “Creed” is a weekly magazine). But Bill still wants her to come home to him, so she goes into the old “since I was a girl” routine: “Bill, since I was a little girl, I’ve wanted to write. But I’ve never felt I had anything personal to write about. But now I have. This is the first big opportunity. We’ll take care of ourselves, never fear. You’ve got to let me do it!” He says okay, and she tells him that she’ll “come home to you, a virgin... Or almost a virgin.”

Later, back on the road, the girls make a philosophical statement about the nature of celebrity: “Meg was deep in study. ‘...This might not be such a crazy safari, after all-‘
“’It promises to get us in the headlines- and that isn’t crazy in my book.’
“Meg, suddenly, was laughing.
“’The crazy part is the fact that we’ve got a tramp label tacked on us. We look, act, and talk like tramps.’”

Finally, the car conks out for good and they manage to sugar talk a gas station attendant into giving them $17.50 for it. They head out, on foot, toward the next town, about 17 miles away, when a trailer pulls up and out of it climbs an old man at least seventy years old, with “kindly eyes,” “a strong, friendly face,” who must be “too old to be dangerous sexually.” So the two women agree to ride with him to Miami.

During the drive they learn that John Blair is a sweet widower, recently retired. But Marianne has a nagging doubt about him. “Perhaps it was pure woman’s intuition. Perhaps it stemmed from the fact that not once, but several times, when she had turned quickly to face him, she had found his eyes on their bosoms.”

They stop for the night at a campground, and John heads out to the lake to do some fishing. Marianne types up the first chapter of their serial, to be airmailed to Bill the next day. Then, feeling “adventuresome,” Marianne and Meg head down to the “mighty nice swimming hole,” the perfect spot for two curvaceous beauties to take off their clothes and wash each other’s hair. Which is what they do.

When Marianne removes her bra, Meg again tells her that she is “the mostest,” and Marianne tells her “You’re definitely no midget, you know!” In the water, they get very close, comparing their breasts: “’You’re taller than I am, but look at our boobs-‘
“Marianne leaned slightly forward, and their breasts touched.
“’I’m taller than you are, but your breasts are higher on your ribcage than mine.’
“... She reached forth, ran her hand over Marianne’s breasts, lathered them with soap.
“’You feel anything, honey?’
“’You mean a tingle?’
“...’No, of course not.’
“’Aren’t you glad of that fact?’ Marianne asked.
“... ‘If we responded to each other’s touch or kiss- sexually, I mean- we’d be Lesbians, wouldn’t we?’”

Their fascinating conversation in which both assert they are not Lesbians and thank gosh for that is interrupted by what Marianne thinks might have been the sound of someone stepping on dry limb. Or, maybe not.

Anyway, they travel with John for another couple of days, on to Florida. Marianne tells Meg that if she were a tramp, she’d cuddle up to John, to see if the lonely, seventy-seven year old man could “make the grade.” But she’s not a tramp, so she doesn’t. But then on their last night together, Marianne is awakened by the nude John Blair, hovering over their bed, watching them. Apparently, the poor guy saw Meg and Marianne down at the swimming hole, lathering each other up, and mistook them for Lesbians, and was hoping he could watch some sweet girl-on-girl action, right there in his trailer. “’Daddy, we can’t help you,’ Marianne said, not unkindly.” They take off, leaving the humiliated old man standing nude in his trailer, visions of Lesbians dancing in his head.

They get a ride with a truck driving up to Virginia, where Bill Lyons meets them at a hotel. While they’re waiting, they have a talk about bosoms. “’Falsies!’ Meg said. ‘If I was a young man, and found falsies on a gal I was dating, I’d blister her rump-‘
“’You’re talking big, honey, because you know you’re in a safe corner. But what if you were actually flat-chested, and you knew you held no appeal whatever to a man? Wouldn’t you do the next best thing?’” I knew it! Men are only interested in those orbs of flesh that hang just so on a woman’s ribcage!

Okay anyway, Bill brings a guy named Jerry Hunt along with him. Jerry is a “cultured intellectual” with eyes that seem to be “two pools of liquid obsidian.” The dreamy man takes Meg out while Bill and Marianne get reacquainted.

Bill wants to get married right away, but Marianne wants to wait until the safari is over, if he’ll still have her. He puts his hands on her again, and she wants his hands. “Now she felt his lips anew, and the fire kindled into flame. She knew her nipples were hard and distended now. And his mouth was a vacuum, spreading the fire through her body.”

Then it takes an almost Sunday-school turn: “It was more than mere physical gratification this time. A deeper longing obsessed her, filled her with a strange abandon. In the few other instances when she had allowed him to be intimate, it was solely gratification of physical desire. It was all of that now, with a new additive- love. It made all the difference in the world... It made the ecstasy all the sweeter, the more fulfilling.” Truly, this is the sleaze novel that, if your mother found your stash, you would give to her to read. See? It’s not so bad. It’s about how great and important love is! It’s got a powerful message.

Luckily, just a few pages on, the women meet a painter named Felipe Broussard, who wears the “usual beret and enough chin fuzz to make him look continental.” He agrees to drive them up the east coast if they’ll pose for him. In the nude, of course. As they leave with him, in his car, they pass the Cad which carries the infamous Beel brothers. They seem to be following the girls, but how?

Finally they make it to Maine, and Felipe has Meg and Marianne pose on some rocks by the shoreline. As Meg notes: “He was drooling, Marianne- actually drooling as I pulled off my bra. You’d think my boobs were endued with some hypnotic power-“ She’s not far off, because a few days later, while she’s posing, Felipe attacks her. As she explains to Marianne after the fact, “First, he made some pretext that I wasn’t posing the way he desired. So I let him touch me... Then he started telling me how much he loved me, that he would die if he didn’t get to love my boobs, and the rassle started.” She delivers a few quick judo chops that send Broussard somersaulting, and knocks him unconscious. The women are on their own again.

Next they get jobs as cooks on an ore boat in Michigan, and they’re attacked by the randy captain. They escape and make their way to Ohio, where they start working at a diner. One day, in walks Steve Beel, who seems to know everything about where they’ve been for the past few weeks. Steve’s brother, Norman, has been dating one of Bill’s secretaries, and the little jerk has been feeding the women’s itinerary to the Beels. Marianne’s got little time to think about that, as she rips her blouse and throws herself into him, to simulate an attack. The young police officer who had been sitting at the counter (who has a smile like Bill Lyons’) arrests Steve and hauls him in. It turns out, the police officer’s brother is going into the service in two days, and has a jalopy to sell. Also, his mother has an extra bedroom where the women can stay and hide out, because Steve calls in some favors and gets out of jail early.

That night Marianne goes out with the police officer, and both admit to and struggle with their attraction toward each other. The ensuing conversation is a fine explanation of the dichotomy between physical desire and emotional loyalty.
“’It would be satisfying- very satisfying physically- to be intimate with you right now. But would it be right?’
“’Would it be wrong?’ he asked. ‘We are two adults... We are not in love, we both know that. But you do have an attraction for me, a deep physical attraction, a warm sexual stimulation. Perhaps we both feel this same compulsion... We are young, healthy, in our sexual prime. So why shouldn’t there be this desire?’”

Finally the boobs come out. “’I hope my hands are gentle,’ he said. ‘One should never crush a beautiful flower-‘ She pushed her breasts up to him. ‘Bite me!’ she whispered. ‘Please-‘”

Later Marianne meets up with Meg back in the mother’s house. Meg has spent the evening with the police officer’s brother. Marianne believes that Meg might have made it with the young man about to go into the service, and Meg doesn’t answer her. “But when they stripped down, Marianne noticed Meg’s pointed breasts. The nipples were taut, swollen. She never questioned Meg as to what kind of evening she had enjoyed. But if Meg’s rosettes were honest, Marianne was quite sure that she had told the young soldier goodbye in her own womanly way.”

The next chapter is a bit of New Journalism in which the women become migrant workers, picking berries alongside mostly Mexican laborers. Bending over those berries, with their cleavage the way it is, gets a lot of the migrant workers hot, but they mostly leave the women alone, except for one, Alvarez, who gets drunk and attempts to rape Marianne, who gives him some judo chops. Later they spend the night in a ghost town (in Idaho? Wyoming?), where they stop two teenage boys from raping a teenage girl. They use some judo chops on them.

Finally they make it back to California. Out of funds, they have to get off the bus in Maricopa, in the middle of the desert, where they begin walking down the highway. They’re met by the Beel brothers one last time.

SPOILER ALERT: If you don’t want to know the fascinating wind-up to this scintillating road trip, please stop reading now.

The Beel brothers force Meg and Marianne into their Cad, with the intention of kidnapping them back to Las Vegas where they will force the women into a life of prostitution. Marianne has a vial of salt tablets in her purse, and she takes them and immediately becomes nauseated. Not wanting to get puke in his Cad, Steve pulls the car over, and Marianne gets out and retches. Then the women start using judo chops on the Beels. As everyone’s struggling, they hear the sounds of sirens, and then Bill and Jerry and a couple of police officers race up to the scene. Bill explains that the last information leak from his secretary to the Beels was an attempt to trap the Beels, so that they could be caught in the act of kidnapping, for the purpose of prostitution. So the women win their bet, complete their zany safari, and get a couple of lousy cads arrested. A pretty nice six months’ work.

“The Road Tramps” is a story about a road trip that reads like a road trip. It meanders, it’s exciting, it’s dull, full of unexpected twists and blind curves. Voluptuous, womanly curves. The sex is hot, the rosettes are plump and honest, and it ends happily for everyone who deserves a happy ending. It’s actually kind of sweet.

Three stars.

The Pro-Choicers!

A comic about a family that is pro-choice.

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

The NRA has a wine club.

It's about time. You can find information on them here.

If you join in the next 10 days, you get this elegant tote that I assume is intended for hunting/wine tasting events:

The logo is missing something, however. Shouldn't there be a bullet hole in the glass?

A Poem About Cryonics.

Do you suppose
You'd remove your clothes
So you could be froze

Can't scratch your nose
In that unmoving pose
When your body goes

Ewes, lambs, and does
Have never arose
When their heartrate slows

Your hair never grows
From head to your toes
When your body stows

At the mercy of foes
Your brain will dispose
So please don't be froze

Sunday, January 20, 2008

Ricky Sprague's Tales of Regret

At various points in my life I have been in problematic financial situations. As I’ve previously stated, when I first moved out to Los Angeles I had a rent-free apartment for about six months. When that changed I was forced to take a long, hard look at the possibility of actually getting a regular job. Suffice it to say, I didn’t like looking at that.

My friend Michael was working as part of the graphic design team that worked on a group of magazines, mostly gay-themed. Among those was a gay themed food erotica publication called “Bone Appetite.” It was filled with recipes, and photo spreads showing mostly clean shaven, neat young men in various states of undress, posing with food. Michael wasn’t gay, but he was let’s say “sympathetic” to the gay point of view, and had a cold, discerning eye when it came to the physical qualities of others.

“God, Ricky, you’ve got amazing lips,” he told me often.

“Thanks, Michael,” I said, uncomfortably.

“I mean it. They’re like big fluffy pillows. Sometimes I just sit and daydream about being as tiny as an insect, and bouncing off them.” He made bouncing sound effects that, owing to a charming speech impediment, sounded like churchbells.

“Okay,” I said, more uncomfortable.

“The editors of the magazines I work for are always looking for guys who look like you. With full, pouty lips.” Because of the aforementioned speech impediment, it sounded like “aural ways looking for,” and “fullp outy lips.”

When I said nothing in response, he suggested I should contact one of the editors of “Bone Appetite,” and see about getting a meeting so that said editor could look at me and see if they could use me in any photo shoots.

“Do they use straight people in those magazines? Because I’m straight, you know,” I added, unnecessarily.

“Oh, I know, you’re as straight as I am,” he said. (“straightas Iyam”) “But you need the money. You don’t want to stay in this poverty rut all your life, do you?” (“stain this poverty rut”)

Dubious, but having nothing better to do, I agreed to meet with the editor of the magazine. He was about what I expected; thin, good-looking, clean-cut. He eyed me hungrily. “You look like a dessert,” he told me.

“How do you mean?” I played dumb, because I was dumb.

“We’re putting together a spread on desserts. I want you for one of the shoots.” He turned away from me and shouted out the door of his office, “We’ve got our chocolate ice cream!”

I was ushered down the hall to the studio, where I was given a large cone of chocolate ice cream.

“Eat it like you mean it!” the photographer exclaimed.

I began eating.

“No, no, eat it like you’re making loooove to it!” he said, slightly annoyed.

“Okay,” I said, eating it like I was making love to it.

“Is that how you make love?” he said, incredulously.

“Um, sorta,” I admitted. I'd actually never made love to an ice cream cone before, but I didn't want to admit that; I worried it might end the deal.

“Well, I just lost all interest in you.” He took the cone from my hand and showed me what he wanted. I have to admit, the way he nibbled the cone, the way he licked and sucked at the ice cream, the way it dribbled down his chin, the way it stained his shirt, the way he removed said shirt; it was all surprisingly erotic.

Needless to say, I could not duplicate his actions, and my career as a gay-themed food fetish model was over before it began. But the editor was gracious enough to allow me to keep what I was assured were my best erotic ice cream cone shots, six total, one of which I share with you here in this post.

In this case, the regret isn’t mine—looking at this photo it’s obvious that the editor must regret not using my photos for that “erotice cream cone” spread!

KISS 4K issue #4 was released at some point in the past!

It probably came out in October or November. As the writer, I wasn't let in on the secret, which is a huge surprise to me. Anyway, the issue is pretty cool, Kev Crossley did his usual bang-up job, and legendary Bob Hall handled the Marvel versions of Kiss with aplomb. I wrote the Marvel Kiss versions in the style of bronze age Marvel comics, really purple and overwrought, and effect is decent. It was the best issue of 4K, and if I had to get shitcanned I guess this was a good issue to go out on. Look for it in the quarter back issue bins!

Saturday, January 19, 2008


Republican presidential hopeful Mike "F*ckabee" Huckabee looks to be trying to take more from John McCain than just the Republican presidential nomination! The hillbilly satyr is said to be putting the romantic moves on McCain's lovely, pill-popping wife, Cindy! My sources, who provided me with this shall we say dubious photo, tell me that the two are united in their love of Jimi Hendrix music, and OxyContin! Oh, and beer! A lot of people have been whispering about a possible McCain/Huckabee presidential ticket-- will this secret affair bring an end to such talk? Only time will tell!

Friday, January 18, 2008


I am a Hollywood insider, and my gurus are predicting big things for this weekend, as we'll see from the below predictions! With plenty of action, comedy, adventure, and family fun for people to choose from, Hollywood has once again said, "Please watch our product" to the consumers, that is to say the hoi polloi who are expected to hit the theaters! And hit it they will as evidenced by what our audience tracking shows. Here's what to expect for this weekend:

1. ZANY DICK!: An eccentric, bald surgeon grafts a sexual deviant's penis onto the pianist husband of a woman he loves. This film has a number of factors working against it. For one thing, the subject matter is both obscure and challenging, meaning that turnout will likely consist primarily of intellectuals, which are let's admit this few in number. Furthermore, films with exclamation points in their titles tend to do only so-so box office (the notable exception to this ordinarily hard-and-fast rule, "Airplane!", was released in the early 1980s. Also, this film isn't actually opening in theaters, but is available online. Nevertheless, I expect some full theaters for this one-- look for $45 million Friday, a slight bump to $67 million on Saturday thanks to matinees, and a drop to about $15 million on Sunday, as much of this film's target audience will be attending church services. Still, a surprising cume.

2. CLOVERFIELD: Ah, to run and play in a field of clovers! That's just what this film offers, maybe. Actually, no one knows what this film is about, as the studio has cannily not allowed any information about this film to get out at all, including the names of any of the actors, writers, directors, producers, etc associated with it. The studio will likely be rewarded with a surprising amount of money, but in keeping with the secretive nature of this film, the totals will not be released.

3. THE BUCKET LIST: In last week's surprise number one film, audiences cheered as they watched two wizened old geezers, played by two elderly Academy Award winners, slowly, painfully, and bodily fluidly deal with the pain of erectile disfunction. Not to give away the ending, but they overcome this problem together, each using their hands to help the other. It is literally touching. It's a testament to the charm of the film's charismatic actors, who are so old I've forgotten their names, that this film will earn another $621 million this weekend, for a cume that would probably give the characters a heart attack if they heard it, so I won't mention it here.

4. FIRST SUNDAY: A black con man? No way; how'd they think of that? A movie featuring multi-talented Grammy and Oscar winning actor Ice Cube that has a day of the week in the title? No way; how'd they think of that? And how can audiences resist this charming film about a man who cons a church group of elderly parishoners into taking on the Dallas Cowboys in a pickup game, in which the winners drink from the cup of glory, and the losers drink from the loving cup. Spoiler alert: The Cowboys win, when a weepy T.O. steps on and snaps the neck of the parishoners' top defensive end, the lovably old Tracey Morgan. $754 million for a film with surprisingly broad appeal.

5. MAD MONEY: Want to make a dollar mad? Lower its value against other world currencies. At the moment, only Zimbabwe's currency is worth less than the United States', which is why this amazingly entertaining comedy about fiscal policy is so important for Americans. Films about economics always do well, as most Americans find the subject fascinating and make great judgments based on a thorough understanding of it, and when you add in the star wattage of Katie Holmes, Diane Keaton, and Queen Latifah, this film will have absolutely no chance of failure at the box office. My gurus are telling me that awareness of this film is so high that people are actually offending when you ask them if they've heard of it! Perhaps "found money" would be a more appropriate title for this film, which is sure to make at least $623 million this weekend!

6. JUNO: People are telling me good things about this film, about a little girl who uses a cell phone camera to snap photos of herself in what are later termed "provocative" poses. She is later sentenced to live under a bridge, because it's the only part of town that's not within 1,000 feet of a public school. Expect another $432 million for this delightful charmer, that's charming everyone from the old to the young, and everyone in between!

7. 27 DRESSES: The woman from "Grey's Anatomy," who was in "Knocked Up," plays a woman whose fiancee cheats on her with her own sister, at her wedding, during the wedding ceremony, in front of her and all the guests! Needless to say, she joins in the fun, and there's a huge orgy in which everyone has sex with everyone else. At the end of it all, 27 dresses are left on the floor, with no one willing to claim them. A tough sell, but expect it to earn about $455 million, because people just love that "Grey's Anatomy."

8. NATIONAL TREASURE: ETC: This film has already earned a staggering amount of money, and anything I say about it will only sully it, so I won't, except to mention that this film has a four-tiered appeal, a term I just made up. Look for it to increase it's cume to an even more staggering amount by the end of this weekend.

9. ALVIN AND THE LEGEND: Three chipmunks are the last humans on earth. They sit down at a desk. There is a knock at the door. More than just a chilling story swiped from Fredric Brown, this is actually a cautionary tale about what happens when humans give up their moral responsibility for taking care of the earth, and instead leave the job to lovable chipmunks. Anyway, people eat this stuff with a spoon-- $567 million this weekend.

10. THE PIRATES WHO DON'T DO ANYTHING: A VEGGIE TALES MOVIE: Imagine vegetables dressed as pirates. Can you imagine anything more fun than that? I can't! I hear the vegetables in this film are genetically modified, which is causing big problem for the film overseas, particularly in parts of Europe, which are refusing to screen it. But who cares about Europe! It's full of Europeans! This film will earn $459 million this weekend; take that, Pierre!

Thursday, January 17, 2008

Zany Dick! at Funny or Die

Here it is at Funny or Die. If you watch it, and you think it is funny, then please vote funny:

A New Video- ZANY DICK!- at YouTube:

Here is my latest, most accomplished animation video. It is as ever not safe for work:

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

Please Help Me To Fight Internet Censorship!

A one ton rat? Sounds like it could be a politician, running for president of the United States!

The above is the kind of political commentary that readers of my blog have come to expect-- nay, demand-- from their humble commentator (me). But now there are forces aligning against me and my blog. These forces are nefarious. They are cruel. They are the forces of internet censorship.

A little background: When I first started this blog many years ago, it was much more humble, little more than me, a computer, and a garage. Today it is me, a computer, a garage, and some software.

I'll explain: A few weekends ago we had some trouble with version 2.0 of our software. When we attempted to upgrade to 2.5, the latest version, I was told it would cost over $300! Naturally, I balked at this transparent attempt to extort money from me for political reasons. However, the system started crashing. Interestingly, it started crashing right around the time I made these comments:

"Mike Huckabee is a hillbilly despot. Mitt Romney is a despicable, pretty rich boy. Fred Thompson is a sleepy nightmare. Rudy Giuliani is an asshole. John McCain is insanely thuggish. Ron Paul is a jerk. Hillary Clinton is a douchebag. Barack Obama is a lame saint. John Edwards is a dictatorial wimp."

Clearly, someone out there fears the truth. That is why our version 2.0 software is crashing. That is why our servers are down. That is why our message is not getting out to the very people who need it most.

Those people is you, the person reading this blog right now. That is why I am asking you, humbly, in this time of great strange (typo, but I'm keeping it), when our country, our very world, needs my commentary more than ever, to give generously so that I can continue in my cause. I'm not asking for much. I just need $300, so that I can upgrade to version 2.5. Actually, in the time it's taken me to write this blog entry another upgrade has come out, version 2.6, which costs $356! You see how they do it? You see how nefarious they are??? Anyway, please consider donating a few pennies, or dollars, or hundreds of dollars. If you don't want to give money, gift certificates are nice. I like amazon.com. I buy a lot of stuff from there.

The choice is yours. Will you let THEM win? Or will you not let them win, by sending me money. The choice, as I've already said, is yours.

Sunday, January 13, 2008

Ricky Sprague's Tales of Regret

This one goes back a couple of years, around October 2004, to a time when I worked as an accountant, a job slightly less glamorous than my current position. As always, many names are changed to protect whomever needs protecting.

This was one of the stupidest arguments/disagreements I think I’ve ever been involved with, and I’ll completely blow any suspense by telling the reader that in fact she apologized about it (three months later), but nevertheless it was funny and annoying at the time, and during the aforementioned three months I refused to associate with her except as regards work-related topics. Sad three months, since I was (sometimes) physically attracted to her, depending on my mood.

Anyway, we were in the breakroom, and she was making some exotic tea in which she would place some kind of plant directly in the hot water she’d poured into her cup. I was glancing through the worthless LA Times (don’t get me started on that rag), when she asked me,

“Did you see ‘Lost’ last night?”

“No,” I said. “I watched about twenty minutes worth of the first episode, and that was enough for me.”

“You should watch it, it’s good.”

“Maybe I will,” I lied. I proceeded, sheepishly: “Actually, last night I watched a show called ‘Smallville’ with a friend of mine.”

She laughed. “I didn’t even know that that show was about Superman when I first saw it! Isn’t that funny?”

“Yeah. And last night’s episode had Barry Allen, who will become ‘The Flash.’”

“Who is ‘The Flash’?”

“’Who is ‘The Flash’?’ He’s the superhero who can run really fast!” I exclaimed, almost in total disbelief. “You’ve never heard of ‘The Flash’?”

“No, I’m sorry-- I don’t know anything about superheroes,” she said with unnecessary derision.

“So you didn’t know that ‘Smallville’ was about Superman as a teenager, and you don’t know who The Flash is – that’s really ignorant –“

I was going to say “that’s really ignorant of superheros,” but she didn’t let me finish, and exploded, “What did you just say to me???”

“I said you’re really ignorant –“

“Shut up! I can’t believe you would say that to me!!!”

“What? You yourself just said you don’t know anything about superheroes –“

“SO??? What does that got to do with anything?”

“Sew buttons, you’re ignorant of superheroes!”


“Yes, it is,” I was speaking calmly, let the record show, while her eyes had turned an ominous shade of red, not unlike the color of The Flash’s uniform.

“Ignorant means you don’t care about something and you’re bad!”

“No, it doesn’t,” I tried to explain. “’Ignorant’ means you just don’t know about something, which you yourself already admitted.”

“SHUT UP!! IT DOESN’T MEAN THAT!!! It means you don’t know about something, it means you don’t care about something!”

“So even by your own flawed definition, I’m still correct, because you neither know nor care about superheroes –“

She addressed me by name, then told me to shut up again.

As I left the breakroom, I said, “The irony is that you’re ignorant of the correct definition of ‘ignorant.’”

The above is pretty much how it happened, although I’m probably making myself look a little better than I actually was, which is my prerogative. Anyway, I decided to stay the hell away from her from that point on, for fear of being yelled at. The policy worked well for about three months, then she apologized to me, and even made a joke about “The Flash,” which I thought was very charming; the joke she made was about me running the marathon, or preparing to run the marathon. She said I was "just like The Flash," a serious ego boost that helped me forgive her for yelling at me.

I regret that I never watched "Lost." I've heard really good things about it, and I'd like to give it a try, but it's been on for so long now it would take me forever to catch up, and I just don't have the time.

Friday, January 11, 2008


The gloves are off, metaphorically speaking, as this particular weekend in January, in which Friday falls on the 11th, has traditionally been a time in which Hollywood releases its lesser films (“Troll 2” and “Panty Creamers” both opened on Friday January 11ths), the studios have chosen to open some big films, and to expand (“go wide”) with a couple of “indie” hits. So let’s dive in and take a scintillating look at this weekend’s big list, shall we?

1. THE NAME OF THE KING IS THIS WEEKEND’S TOP FILM: Paper plate Award winning director Uwe Boll drags Burt Reynolds, Jason Statham, and Ray Liotta into this exciting tale of swords, dragons and, I’m told, royal intrigue. Previous Uwe Boll films (“House of Dentistry,” “The Gerunding”) have opened in the low to mid $600 million range, but never before has the recently-knighted director had some high wattage star power to work with, so I’m expecting this film to earn in the high $900 millions, for a sizable per-screen average, as the young boys and the older Burt Reynolds fans seek this film out.

2. UNO: This little film, about a pregnant teenager (girl) who dreams of winning an Uno tournament, has already shattered industry records, becoming one of the biggest grossing independent coming of age comedies of the last couple of years. The studio is further expanding its screen count, so look for its per-screen average to come down, but, rather ironically, its total will actually increase from last weekend (it made about $456 million last weekend, give or take). This four-quadrant film is tracking very high with people of all ages, and a $724 million weekend should result.

3. AMERICAN GLADIATORS: Nicolas Cage stars as a man who must solve the secrets of Diebold voting machines, which apparently only count certain votes in elections (it turns out Lyndon LaRouche should have won the presidency in 2000). The American public has already voted with their pocketbooks on this one, making it the biggest grossing political conspiracy film of all time, and awareness and word of mouth are high on this, especially with presidential elections allegedly currently in full swing. Let’s say we expect about $546 million from this strong holdover.

4. FIRST NEXT FRIDAY: Ice Cube stars as a lovable thief who becomes a preacher and learns the true meaning of preaching, thanks to a group of spunky mentally challenged children. Typically, films with powerful lessons about being a good preacher open particularly well in early January, which bodes well for this film. However, Ice Cube’s last two films, “Is My Career Dead Yet?,” and “XXX: International Pornography Agent” opened to mediocre business, which is why I’m only predicting a $529 million weekend for this heartwarmer.

5. KICKIN’ THE BUCKET: Two weeks ago this film opened in two screens at a retirement community in Florida, and this weekend it expands to over 10,000 screens in the United States. Academy Award winners Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman play very old men who die slowly and painfully of cancer. Their bodies shrivel, their skin turns sallow, they lose control of their bowels and bladders. Painful bed sores and welts cover their bodies. They lose muscle mass. At the end of the film, they die. It’s an uplifting charmer. This film skews a little older, and those people tend to be influenced by reviews, which in this case were mediocre, and director Rob Reiner hasn’t had a hit film since he started trying to tell other people how to live, so I’m predicting only about $487 million for this challenging film.

6. WILL SMITH IS THE LAST HOPE: Will Smith plays the last man on earth, our only hope against the forces of Xenu. He triumphs, and his engrams are perfect, he achieves clear, and even quits smoking. Audiences love Smith, and they love science fiction, so look for this one to be a strong holdover with an excellent per-screen average. In fact, look for this film to stay in the top 10 for about 10,000 years, and be dropped into a volcano in which are trapped the spirits of alien beings from all across the universe.

7. ALIVE AND THE CHIPMUNKS: The chipmunks, lovable animal singers, are in an airplane crash in the Andes. They are forced to eat each other, as no one thought to pack any food on their trip. Jason Lee, a Scientologist, plays their manager, who is the first one eaten. A bold choice, but audiences have made this the biggest family film of the year, or maybe the month, I can’t remember, but the film is doing well and will continue to do so, earning about $367 million this weekend.

8. THE EIGHTH FILM: This is the film that will come in eighth place this weekend. $279 million, raising its cume to $340 million.

9. CHARLIE!: Remember that perfume that had the commercials that had the song sung by the lounge-lizard sounding guy who went “kinda free kinda wow! Charlie! Kinda fragrance that’s gonna stay and it’s here now! Charlie! Do-do-do-do-do-do-do yeah!”? This film is the feature-length adaptation of those commercials, with Tom Hanks as the guy who sings the song, and Julia Roberts as the woman who wears the perfume. Awareness of this film, especially among perfumists, is through the roof, and another $234 million weekend wouldn’t stink at all. Get it? “Stink”?

10. GOLDEN SHOWER: SECRET OF THE WATER HORSE: A children’s film. About golden showers. And it still makes about $231 million this weekend, because awareness is so high, and it appeals to a broad range of tastes. Furthermore, movies about golden showers do very well in winter, when most showers are not above body temperature.

So much for this weekend. Now that you know how the films will do, the relief must be fantastic!

Wednesday, January 9, 2008

More damaging quotes from Ron Paul newsletters:

By now we’re all aware of the devastating New Republic Article detailing the more appalling opinions expressed in Ron Paul’s newsletters published in the 1980s-90s. But perhaps you didn’t know that the author of that article left out some even more, some might argue worse quotes, from a fifth publication entitled THE APAULING NEWSLETTER? And did you know that I got my hands on some copies that were in the Provincialtown, Iowa Public Library? Well I did, and here are some quotes pulled from therein:

Summer 1992: The Bridges of Madison County is a great book, I just hope that when Hollywood gets there [sic] hands on it, they don’t cast a black person as Kincaid.

Winter 1992: Bird poop is a natural aphrodisiac.

Spring 1991: Ringo is the best Beatle.

Winter 1990: [W]hy do you think that VHS won over Beta? It was the Jews.

April 1990: The only poet who ever really moved me, emotionally, was Rod McKuen.

Summer 1989: …The real lesson of “Different [sic] Strokes” is that if we can just get a rich white man to adopt black kids, the world will be a better place.

Autumn 1989: Did you catch “Garfield” the other day? That cat is hilarious!

Summer 1990: Two words: Vanilla Ice. Finally, a rapper I can listen to!

Winter 1990: I propose putting Bible quotes on the sides of cigarette packs, to replace Surgeon General’s warnings. That way the children who smoke will get a little Bible education.

Clearly there is more to this story than meets the eye and, while I have no doubt that Dr Paul didn’t actually write these despicable things himself, or maybe he did how the hell would I know, he did lend his name to the newsletters, which shows at the very least spectacularly bad judgment, and I now believe that his chances of being elected president have gone from 0% to a tiny, microscopic dot.

Tuesday, January 8, 2008

Jeff Porterfield does it again:

Here is the mighty JP singing, dancing, performance arting, and balancing his way through one of his songs during an infamous show put on in the otherwise unremarkable town of Brooklyn NY in mid December 2007. Please watch it and don't be stupid:


Here's some big news! Mike "F*ckabee" Huckabee, "Baptist satyr" winner of last week's all-important Iowa "caucus," and John McCain, "maverick" winner of tonight's all-important New Hampshire "primary," have been carrying on a secretive physical relationship for several years! As this highly dubious photo depicts, the two love to get cuddly with a loving embrace just before "doing the deed" (having physical relations)! My sources tell me that while neither man considers the other to be gay, they do consider themselves to be the closest "butt buddies," and tingle at the slightest touch (I'm told they've been known to play footsie with each other during some of the "forums" they've participated in with other candidates-- Mitt Romney, in particular, lodged a formal complaint with Republican operatives at Fox News over their allegedly amorous behavior during the forum that was held last Sunday night-- but then again, perhaps Mitt's jealous that he wasn't asked to "catch" for them, as I'm told Rudy G was!)!

Each has vowed to the other that, should one get their party's nomination, the other will be selected as his "running mate," which should make for some interesting campaign trips! (And by the way: Where is Chuck Norris in all this??? Just asking!)

So let's raise a toast to the future co-presidents: McCainabee!

Monday, January 7, 2008

Ricky Sprague's Tales of Regret

For 2008 I'm starting a brand new regular feature entitled "Ricky Sprague's Tales of Regret," of which this is the first installment. Each will detail an event in my life which I regret; hence the title. I expect this to be extremely painful for me, but edifying and inspiring for you, as I prove that if I can overcome these regrets, then you can overcome whatever is bothering you, as well. Here is the first entry:

When I first moved out to LA, in 1999, I was staying at the apartment of a friend. She was rich (actually, her father was rich; she had a trust fund) and spent most of her time out of the country, usually in Mexico, where she had a job working as an assistant to a bigshot in city government (I forget the city, it was somewhere in Baja California). This was seasonal, basically she went down there whenever the mood struck her; otherwise she was off to Europe, or Asia, or wherever she felt like, whenever she felt like. She had this apartment here, in Hollywood, that she used maybe one month a year, and she told me to stay there as long as I wanted or needed to.

I stayed there for several months rent-free. I had a hell of a time living irresponsibly, almost decadently. I didn’t bother to get a job, and made a little money writing. It was a sweet deal for me, and I took advantage.

One day, my girlfriend dropped me off at the apartment and drove off, I can’t remember but she had an appointment somewhere, something about her job, it was pretty serious. When I got into the apartment, I was surprised to find Pilar, who paid the rent, laying on the bed, wearing only a very silk shorty robe that barely covered her ass (she was on her stomach).

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” I said. I started to leave the room and close the door behind me, but she stopped me.

“No, it’s okay,” she said sleepily. “I’m sorry to just surprise you like this.” She sat up in the bed and her robe fell open enough that I could clearly see her left breast. “I just sort of decided to come home for awhile. I hope I’m not putting you out too much.”

I was going to tell her I could just stay with my girlfriend, but I was distracted by her body. “No, not at all,” I said. “It’s your apartment, after all.”

“Yes, but you’re using it,” she was making no effort to cover herself, and I wasn’t telling her she was flashing me. “I should be more considerate.” She smiled at me.

“You’re being very considerate,” I said. I almost laughed.

She extended her legs before her. “You know the difference between men and women?” She tilted her head and looked at me with a crooked smile. “I mean, besides the obvious.” She spread her legs slightly and pointed to her left knee. “Women have a vein that runs from here,” she then moved her finger up her left thigh, stopped about midway up, “to here.” Her legs were spread enough that I could see she wasn’t wearing any panties. She had the hairiest muff I’ve ever seen. Usually, I like a woman to be clean-shaven, but I was pretty clearly aroused.

“Is that so?” I asked.

She laughed. “No, not really, I just wanted you to see my pussy.”

I climbed onto the bed.

Later, I was in the bathroom, standing at the sink, washing away her menstrual fluid and the condom’s spermicidal lube. I looked out the window and saw my girlfriend’s car pull into the parking lot. A surprise visit! Boy, was she going to be surprised.

It took a lot of talking to get out of that one, and later the three of us engaged in a three-way. The three of us spent the next six months living together in the pursuit of pure, hedonistic pleasure, without guilt or remorse, engaging in orgy after orgy. Boy, do I regret that.

Sunday, January 6, 2008

Weekend Box Office Predictions for the Weekend of January 4-6, 2008

I'm a little late with my predictions this weekend, but that should only make them more accurate than usual, since the studios have already released their "estimates." With that in mind, I press on ahead, owing to my Hollywood insider status. Thank you for reading; here are my predictions:

1: NICOLAS CAGE CASH MACHINE: Star Nicolas Cage appears in his latest, greatest, and most accessible film in ages, and Hollywood, along with the general public, is taking notice. That is the good news. The better news is that this film is topping all charts, including this one, and the public is highly aware of its existence, which my gurus tell me is the first step toward making it to the top of the weekend box office. Which is what I'm predicting this film will do this weekend. I look for it to earn a solid $748 million this weekend, bringing its cume to an impressive per-screen average.

2: WILL SMITH IN I AM AWESOME: America is finally catching on to what the Hollywood executives I've been talking to have long suspected: Will Smith, the actor, is a "Fresh Prince" of the box office, and he will prove it yet again this weekend, with this, his latest four-tier epic science fictional adventure. In spite of the public's built-in prejudice against science fiction (only 67 of the top 100 grossing films of all time are science fiction), this film should continue its hot streak, bringing in an impressive $658 million this weekend.

3: TEEN-O PREG-O: This heartwarmer is warming the hearts of everyone, even those in red states, with its portrayal of a 16 year old girl, who is the star of a popular Nickelodeon television show, who is impregnated by an older producer of the show. Her family tries to hide that fact by claiming her "18 year old boyfriend, whom she met in church," is the actual father. But when the truth comes out, sparks fly, and hilarity ensues. Even Republican presidential heartthrob Mike "F*ckabee" Huckabee approves of this one, and my sources tell me that he took his rival for the nomination, Arizona asshole John McCain, to a private screening during which they played "babymaking" games. Oh, to have been a fly on that wall! Anyway, this film is playing very well with Republicans and gays, and gay Republicans, so a solid $692 million weekend isn't out of the question.

4. ALVIN IN THE CHIPMUNKS: Another favorite of Huckabee and McCain (see above), this film plays very well with adults, mostly slow-witted ones, and children (again, mostly slow-witted ones). In other words, the general public loves this picture, and it's tracking through the roof (my sources tell me it's a marketers dream, because it doesn't feature child rape). A huge $821 million weekend should keep these 'munks in "the pink!"

5. DING-DONG! YOU'RE DEAD!: This is a film with a weird premise, that is frankly a tough sell, according to my sources in the studio. When your doorbell rings and you answer it, you die within 72 hours, violently and painfully (explosive diarrhea). However, if you don't answer the door when the doorbell rings, you will still die, but three days later. So you have to answer the door, but you have to do it within a certain time frame (i.e., before the doorbell rings). I don't want to spoil the ending, but at the end of the movie the heroes win by removing their doorbells. Expect this challenging film, for which awareness could be higher, frankly, to earn about $582 million this weekend.

6. SORRY CHARLIE! Tom Hanks plays a tuna who dreams of being killed and processed into a can of Starkist. Julia Roberts is generating Oscar talk thanks to her role as the net that catches him. And as the bitter, alcoholic fisherman who throws Charlie the Tuna back into the water because he's too gamey to be eaten, Philip Seymour Hoffman is earning critic's awards. This film is skewing older, obviously, thanks to its tuna-centric theme, but it should still pull in about $458 million.

7. P.S: SEND MONEY!: Hilary Swank plays a two-time Academy Award winning actress who finds herself trapped in a crummy "romantic comedy" that no one wants to see. Awareness for this film is very low, as is morale at the studio that released it, whose name escapes me at the moment. Look for it to pull in a paltry $378 million this weekend.

8. WATER WHORES: GOING DEEP: Savannah Sampson and Isabella Soprano portray aquatic prostitutes who like to "go down", several hundred feet below the ocean surface (if you know what I mean!). Trouble starts when the townspeople catch wind of the prostitute's existence, and it's up to one feisty little boy to save them. I'm told that some parents are troubled by the fact that this film is being marketed to children, but are still taking their little ones because they wouldn't stop whining about it. Anyway, expect another $219 million this weekend.

9. SWEENEY WEINER: Johnny Depp portrays a giant penis in this Tim Burton musical extravaganza. Have you ever wondered what a song would sound like if it were sung by a giant penis, with lyrics by Stephen Soundheim? My gurus tell me it's something like this:

"Urination is my temptation,
Gonna take a leak across the nation!
You won't believe when you see this,
The whole wide world covered in piss!"

With lyrics like that, it can't fail, which is why I'm expecting it to pull in about $345 million this weekend.

10. ALONEMENT: Keira Knightley plays a young, painfully thin British woman with exceptional teeth who spends all her time alone. I think she feels guilty about something, as apparently the audiences across the country would feel guilty if they missed this exciting, provocative movie (my gurus tell me there is a nude scene). $216 million is definitely what this film will make this weekend.

11. ENCHANTED: I can't bear the thought of not writing about this enchanting film. Although I don't think it will literally make the top 10, it will be in the top 10 in spirit, pulling in about $349 million this weekend, for an "enchanting" per-screen average.

Another solid weekend at the box office, with receipts on track to make 2008 another record year!

Wednesday, January 2, 2008

"The Painful End of the Office Romance" celebrates 400 views on YouTube!

My first solo animated "masterpiece" (in the Renaissance sense of the word), "The... Painful End of the Office Romance," has hit an astonishing 400 views on YouTube. This is by far one of the most successful videos in YouTube history. I'm extremely humbled by hitting this milestone, seriously, you have no idea how humbled I am by this. It's embedded below:

Can you believe I ever made stuff like this? For historical reference only.

Anyway, it's obvious that 2008 will be a great year, if this milestone is any indicator.