Letters to Less-Than-Important People 4

Dear Glenn Beck,

First and foremost, please don’t kill me. I’m trying my best not to spook you. I’m just here because I want to talk about how you are doing these days. Approaching you is sort of like approaching a spooked horse. With manic depression. And intense xenophobia.

Now, on to business. You’ve had quite a lot on your patriotic plate lately, what from your tea parties to your 9/12 Project. I like that last one, just so you know. The way you added one whole number to the date of the largest modern tragedy in order to promote your own righteous political agenda – genius, plain and simple. What with those ideas and your daily televised shock therapy sessions, you’ve been quite the busy little Africanized Killer Bee.

But Glenn, it seems that something is up. Every time I turn on your show, you’re sobbing. Mr. Beck, you cry more than a junior high girl after finding out she didn’t make the cheerleading squad because of that persistent case of polio. Is there something that we don’t know about? Believe me, Glenn, you can tell me what’s going on. There is nothing to be afraid of here. Is some racist, gay, black, Hollywood liberal, elitist, socialized death panel judge threatening you? Are Sean Hannity and Ann Coulter not returning your calls? We can work through this, trust me.

I just don’t understand what has you in such a tizzy. It’s not like you have any skeletons in your closet, my pundit friend. Who has a clearer conscience than ole’ Becky Boy? Honesty and modesty have been your trademarks, through and through. What have you got to look back on and regret?

Glenn, my boy, don’t let the naysayers get you down. If someone says your logic doesn’t add up, just pile on the truth. The more you say, the more likely you are of being correct. It’s simple probability. And that’s what America needs – a simple dose of numbers. So what if eight percent of the population is uninsured? Almost one hundred percent (one hundred, Glenn!) of your viewers agree with you. That statistics speak for themselves. Glenn, numbers do not lie. Pundits do.

Sincerely,

Andy Paul

Letters to Less-Than-Important People #3

Dear Jon and Kate Plus 8,

The media has been buzzing about you two (well, ten, if you want to count children as people) as of late. Personally, I can’t figure out how a woman who likes going through labor so much that she decides to do it seven more times and a husband who looks like he’s had a severe allergic reaction to being stung in the face repeatedly by wasps count as celebrities. But hey, who am I to judge? I’m just the lowly viewer at home, living vicariously through the just-beneath-the-surface rage of a couple who found out that, somehow, having a television crew tape their every move did not make raising eight children any easier.

But what’s this I hear? You two have divorced and gone your separate ways. Last I checked, your kids have to actually take the bus to school instead of the stretch limo/helicopter/water amusement park they’ve grown so fond of. In addition (and arguably a greater injustice) is the rumor I ran across which purported that the eight had to endure the humiliation of being called on in class for reasons other than to be vocally admired by their peers. Oh, the humanity.

Now that the honeymoon has both literally and figuratively ended, I have some suggestions for you two. These are ways I think you both can get back on the proverbial horse and ride back into cheap, undeserved, exploitative stardom. I’ll talk to Jon first. Kate, please leave the room and return when I call you back.

Jon, my friend. Where to begin? Since losing E-List fame, you’ve spiraled out of control. There are pictures of you doing every improper activity possible: traipsing with floosies on par with Girls Gone Wild rejects, drunkenly stumbling through parties you aren’t famous enough to attend (see: Carrot Top’s birthday bash), and even strangling parakeets just for the fun of it. Well, I can’t confirm that last one, but it certainly wouldn’t surprise me. You have got to get back your self-esteem, man. My suggestion is motivational speaking. Think about it. You could give a series of seminars across the U.S., staying at luxurious Comfort Inns and visiting such lovely cities as Newark, Toledo, Boise, and anywhere in the state of Wyoming. I even have a name for the tour: “I Managed to Achieve Undeserved Fame and Fortune, and So Can You!”

Now, Kate, please come back in and have a seat. From what I can tell, you are continuing on your path just the way you should be. Apparently, you have a new show in the works, “Kate Plus 8.” It’s a much better title, if you ask me – removes some of the excess weight. Still, I think there is still much to be done. What’s with slacking off after eight births? Get a new man, stat, and starting pumping out more progeny. You gotta work fast, though. “Kate Plus Nine” just doesn’t flow as well. Come to think of it, neither does ten, eleven, or twelve. Let me know when you hit twenty-eight.

Alright you two, I’m going to be honest. The chances of the both of you getting back together are slim. The fact of the matter is that even if you do reconcile, your kids already have enough ingrained resentment and neuroses to last them well into their own dysfunctional families. No need to fret, however. Keep your chins up (especially you, Jon - you have to keep the swelling from those wasp stings down), and walk towards that brilliant sunrise called “Destiny.” Or is called “Unrestrained Self-Loathing and Remorse?” I can’t tell, it’s kind of too bright to see.

Sincerely,

Andy Paul

2016 Olympics – Rio de Janeirohhhh Yeah!

Another blow has been struck against the encroaching Socialist Agenda! Chicago’s 2016 Olympic bid was shot down today in favor of Rio de Janeiro! Repeat after me: U.S.A! U.S.A! U.S.A!…Wait, something isn’t adding up. Whatever. U.S.A!

Take that, you Commie bastards in the White House! Just goes to show how we pulled together and showed those on Capitol Hill that the power still lies within the people. Unlike socialism. That system is so against the rights of the people! It’s amazing how un-American it is! I don’t want the government funding the needs of the public. I want to pave my own damn roads and deliver my own damn mail! Hell, I want to eat whatever unrestricted food corporations dump into my Hungry Man TV Dinner (my favorite meal is “Big Piece of Bull Meat with a Side of Bacon Fat”).

See, if we got the Olympic Games to come to Chicago, it would have just helped fuel the Socialist fire. All those lefties would have been like, “We need to make sure there are safety regulations and health codes for the event in case of emergencies. We can’t just leave it to big business and investors.” Biggest bunch of whiners I have ever seen.

No health insurance is good insurance, people! If there is no coverage for 47 million Americans, then that means that there are 47 million different ways for the health industry to thrive on hospital and doctor’s bills. It’s free market economics, plain and simple! Let those who can afford it do so, the others can get a job (or second, or third – I suggest Will Smith’s “The Pursuit of Happyness” for inspiration). The health industry isn’t there to help – it’s an industry, people. Since when is “profit” such a dirty word? America was built on profit. It’s how we got so great. We’ll only lose our greatness if we start federally running things.

And while we’re at it, the whole “federal government” thing is sounding mighty Red to me. Damn global Jewish Commie Banking Conspiracy.

M. Night Shyamalalalalaman and the Nuke-Nukes

Michael Jackson is dead, folks. Dead dead. “Dead” as in the “He ain’t coming back” kind of dead. Unless this is all promotion for Thriller 2, in which case he is, in fact, the UN-dead, I think it is safe to say that the King of Pop has passed away. This is very sad, and my thoughts are with his family and close relations. The rest of us – who have probably never even seen the man/werewolf/zombie/shape-shifting panther in person – should probably turn off the “E! True Hollywood Story” about Michael’s pet chimp, Bubbles, and concern ourselves with bigger things. Like whether or not President Obama really glanced at that hot girl’s glorious ass.

While many around us have been toting the whole “We’re all going to die tomorrow” thing, and the economy is currently in a state equivalent to that of a bus full of orphans veering off a cliff, I see no reason to panic. Sure, celebrities are dying at a rate of a Shyamalan-esque The Happening speed, and last I checked, North Korea has threatened to unleash a barrage of what is technically referred to as nuke-nukes (it’s like a nuclear missile wrapped around a nuclear missile – sort of a filet mignon of the atomic world). But are we really bound for disaster right around the corner? Really?

The fact that the human race has not already reduced itself to Mad Max-like awesomeness catastrophe is something to bear in mind. See, about twenty years ago, the world saw the end of this thing called The Cold War. That was a period of time of about fifty or so years where America and the U.S.S.R. liked to ring each other’s doorbell and run away giggling…if “ringing the doorbell” was like pressing the “Ready Nuclear Missile Silos” button, and “running away giggling” was cowering under their desks whilst whimpering.

I think that if the world was going to blast itself to a charred cinder, it probably would have done so already. That is not to say we should not make sure things are safe for those around us and be wary and all that jazz. But we have had our shiny new atomic toys for awhile, got them stolen by the mean next-door neighbors, and they have yet throw them back at our heads as we watch Fox News to find out what really killed MJ. My money is on “death.”

Re-Re-Re-Remake

I mentioned this a few months ago with specific relation to horror movies, but the trend has seemed to spread like SARS. Too soon? Anyways, the big-wigs up in Hollywood (Population: Nicholas Cage’s Toupees) seem to be struggling for original ideas. One need look no further than this year’s Academy Awards which, while featuring mostly original screenplays, served us a wide selection of films that had roughly the same aftertaste as cardboard with a mayonaise spread. They are well aware of this fact, and therefore have also been churning out remake after artistic-licensed remake to make up for it. And when they aren’t remaking, they are rehashing old franchises. It’s basically like taking a wonderful, perfectly cooked Christmas goose, throwing it back in the oven to make it seem like you made it, realizing it was better the first time around, and therefore attaching Vin Diesel on said goose (see: A Fast and Furious Christmas Special). Because I’m such a generous guy, I have decided to give a list of movies that might as well be remade. Who needs tact these days, anyway?

Jaws: Sure, the first was great, but now we can have a CGI shark leap over  Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson while he rides a sweet wave runner set to My Chemical Romance.

Apocalypse Now 2: Sequels to decades prior movies are nothing new. So why not take Charlie Sheen from his riveting Two and Half Men performance,and ship him over to Vietnam to follow in his father’s footsteps. It practically writes itself. Are we sure Kurtz really died, anyway?

 To Kill a Mockingbird: Sure, Gregory Peck gave one of the best performances of all time, but there is always room for improvement. I vote Nicholas Cage (with toupee) as Atticus and Johnny Knoxville as Boo Radley. You know both of them would do it.

Citizen Kane: Set it in modern times, put it on Wall Street, throw in some government bailout references, and you got yourself a self-righteous justification for filming it. Make sure Baz Luhrman directs it, too. Name me one thing he’s ruined. Alright, two things. Okay, three things. Nevermind.

The Godfather: Because why the fuck not?

And the Award Show Goes to…

In conjuction with the imminent arrival of this year’s Academy Awards, I have prepared my very own outline for the ceremony. Hopefully with the changes presented, the Academy will begin to see a renewed interest for Hollywood’s annual mutual masturbation of one another.

OPENING CREDITS: 81ST ANNUAL ACADEMY AWARDS

• open with parody sketches as done in years past – each vignette must end in surprise cameo by Will Ferrell/Jack Black
• example for parody: scene from Doubt in which distraught black mother cries – black mother played by LeBron James in drag

OPENING MONOLOGUE BY HOSTS (PLURAL) - KANYE WEST/THAT CHEERLEADER FROM HEROES

• close with song by Kanye on auto-tune – guest appearance by Lil’ Wayne playing the guitar – cameo by Will Ferrell/Jack Black

AWARDS PRESENTATION

• Oscar statue is to be remodeled – will now resemble President Obama
• NBC will run reality show that occurs during Oscars – combination of Fear Factor/The Apprentice/Rock of Love 2 – hosted during commerical breaks by Robert Downey Jr. playing Flava Flav
• speeches that run too long will be cued to end by amusing anecdote by Will Ferrell/Jack Black

SONG PRESENTATION

• all songs will be performed by cast of the NBC Knight Rider reboot
• Bruce Springsteen’s nominated song, “The Wrestler,” will be played not by himself, but by a mock Optimus Prime in conjuction with a recently launched Transformers 2 ad campaign
• Jack Black’s band, Tenacious D,  makes a surprise appearance – cameo by Will Ferrell

BEST PICTURE ANNOUNCEMENT

• award presented by Oscar winners, Three 6 Mafia
• Three 6 Mafia reads the envelope aloud, which states that the winner shall be announced on next week’s episode of “My Name is Earl”
• cameo by Roman Polanski

“A Thankful Thanksgiving History,” or “Demon ‘Taters”

In case you were not aware, Turkey Day awaits us all this week. That’s right, it is that glorious time of the year. That time when one begins to feel that deep, subconscious consumerist beast growling within them, urging them to buy useless goods in an effort to appease Jesus/Santa/The Obtuse Dreidle Fairy (or whatever else you believe in).  However, before we sit down to copious amounts of tryptophan and give thanks for being better than poor people, let us pause for a moment and remember the true meaning of the Thanksgiving celebration.

Thanksgiving, of course, marks the historic settling of the wild and untamed America by the Puritans. Some have argued that America was already quite settled and bustling on its own, yet most of this settling and bustling was done by brown people, and therefore it didn’t count. It is interesting to note that the Puritans did not actually call themselves “Puritans,” but rather, “Saints.” Evidence of this can be seen today in the NFL, where the New Orleans Saints are still the only team that has “Puritanical Religious Zealotry” as a prerequisite for joining.

Regardless of their name, the Puritans left Britain because they found the Church of England to be too flamboyant and sexy. After much praying, grimacing, and religious wife-beating, they decided to raise money by selling copious amounts of shoe buckles. Once sufficient funds were had, they bought a ship that is commonly known today as the Mayflower. Yet, were you aware that the ship’s name is a widespread misconception? The actual name of the sailing vessel was the Gay Flower, of course meaning a happy, sweet smelling plant. As time went on the word “gay” took on newer, sinful-ier meanings, and the Puritans’ still quite religious descendents perpetuated the myth of the renamed Mayflower ship, not wanting the public to think their ancestors were “a bunch of queers,” as they so eloquently phrased it.

Once they landed on the North American continent, they soon encountered a tribe of Native Americans. Initially, there were many miscommunications and quite some animosity between the two groups, prompted by a now hilarious incident in which a Puritan settler attempted to “washeth the brown muck from this savage’s skin.” It took countless scrubbings before the man realized that the color in question was actually the native’s skin pigment. The Puritans apologized profusely and gave the tribe blankets from England as a gesture of regret. However, these blankets would actually turn into a bigger regret, as I will soon address.

Upon their initial arrival, the Pilgrims refused to learn any of the native “Devil Gardening,” as they called it. Having never seen actual farming before, the settlers believed that demons were in fact pushing potatoes and carrots from the bowels of Hell. After their first winter of disease and starvation on the new continent, they collectively agreed that a few Demon ‘Taters might not hurt anyone. Thankfully for the Pilgrims, the natives were of the docile and obedient savage variety, and not the cannibalistic, heathen kind, and therefore taught them how to farm successfully. Such examples of agrarian innovation included planting corn seeds and fish together, which produced the delicious trout-corn strain we now have today. Both the Indians and Pilgrims celebrated the first Thanksgiving soon thereafter, and it was picturesque and heartwarming.

Speaking of heartwarming, let’s get back to those blankets. After a bit of time the natives put two and diseased two together to figure out that those cozy blankets also had a tad bit of smallpox in the thread count. Upon attempting to communicate a wish to return the gifts to the Puritans, the settlers responded with, “What do you take us as? Indian givers?” A good laugh was had all around, although it was noted by a few Puritans that the savages had an odd way of showing amusement. It appeared to them that when something was funny to the natives, they began to sharpen their knives and arrows in conjunction. The Puritans’ own two and two revelation would soon follow thereafter, but that’s another story in itself.

Patriotism is the New Black (…President)

Hey, America, what is this warm, fuzzy feeling within my chest? I don’t recall ever feeling this way. It’s as though this Grinch’s heart has grown twice its normal size. Could it, no, surely it couldn’t be…patriotism?

What? Pride in one’s country? Kids, I am just not quite sure what to do about all of this. Us hip cats that like to listen music unknown and quote books unread are so used to supporting the underdog, subsequently losing fashionably, and then griping about it on blogs such as this that we have no idea where to go from here. Do we make Obama Mixtapes? Maybe I can wear an “I Knew About Obama Before He Was President” t-shirt. Fuck. Those ideas are as misdirected and nauseating as Palin for ‘12. Is it about to become cool to like American government? God forbid we alienated youth actually have people in office to look up to. What are we gonna bitch about on our digital download b-side album outtake remixes now? Okay, enough with the hip, it’s time to assess damages.

Obama is now the President-Elect, so what does this mean for the zealots God-fearing citizens of the U.S. of A.? Well, there seem to be two options that are gaining popularity.

1. Move to either Europe or Canada. I’ve been hearing alot about that lately, and it makes total sense to me. What better way to escape high gas prices, recession, socialized healthcare, and troop pullouts? Wait a minute. Goddamnit. Hey, speaking of cursing deities…
2. Huddle in makeshift Salvation-Bunkers and await the Rapture in isolated, pious silence. Enough said. Sounds the best to me, personally. I’ll even help gather Bibleman dvds for the kids

So it’s for real…Barack <Government Censored> Obama is Prez. Say what? It’s like this hipster-ass Jewish kid awoke early one frosty morn’ to find that he, too, had a glorious X-mas tree in his living room with all the trimmings. And in each wonderfully wrapped box under the tree was a brand new Thomas Pynchon book and Decemberists album! Now anything is possible.

(Christian) God Bless Us. Each and Every One.

Method ReinActing

I wish to draw my readers’ attentions to the following bit of news I found today: In Richmond, Virginia, a 73 year old man involved in a Civil War reinactment was shot in the shoulder and subsequently hospitalized. It appears that someone (or something…it’s almost Halloween, anyway) used a loaded rifle. Yes, you read that correctly. He was shot while playing war. For realsies.

This lead me to my horrific conclusion: the Civil War is still raging. That’s right, folks, it’s fighting time. Redraw those lines, pick those sides, divide those families. Brother against brother, father against father. (We must take civil unions into account. It’s a “Civil” War, after all.) Regardless, we got ourselves a war outside our very doors. And unlike our other battles, God help us all, the enemy isn’t brown. Who the hell are we gonna know to shoot? Unless one side agrees to start wearing turbans or another minority group’s stereotypical headgear, I forsee a quite bloody and unending conflict.

Look, we have gone over this one for generations. The South wishes to keep their traditional way of life, while the North wishes to convince them that, even at three-fifths of a person, the average African American is still about five-fifths as likely to beat their collective cracker-asses for putting up with their shit for so long. I hate to pick sides, but I like my cracker-self just the way it is: mercifully intact.

Now, the other option that might be worth noting is that Method Acting has truly gotten out of hand. We all have heard of the eccentricities some Hollywood stars go through to accurately prepare for their character. After all, who could forget that time Keanu Reeves got so into the ”un-awakened” origin of his character, Neo, in “The Matrix” that he appeared to sleepwalk through the entire film. Unfortunately, no one has seemed to take the time to wake him up yet. Let the artist do his work, I always say. It appears that some involved in this reinactment have gone Daniel-Day Lewis on us all, which is reason enough to worry. I fear that much machismo on one battlefield could potentially cause more damage than all of our first Civil War put together. Tell those actors to stay the hell away from Atlanta, they already got the short end of the fiery stick once.

Still, let’s not all get in a collective tizzy just yet. I suggest we nominate Mr. Civil War Trigger-Finger Magoo (real name) for an Oscar to quell his bloodlust. Maybe then and only then can we finally put to rest the South’s seemingly endless necessity to bitch.

I’ll just leave a makeshift cross and a tank of gas in the front lawn to save you boys some time.

Election Erection

Election Day is fast approaching, and while the candidates are either A) covering all reflective surfaces at every town hall meeting to hide his true, vampire nature (McCain) or B) healing leper colonies (Obama), Americans must finally make their choice. Who will they choose? The mummified war-vet with a VP nominee who hopes global warming is, despite all scientific studies conducted by the GOP, true so that Satan may find above ground pleasant, thus hastening the Rapture? Or the closet Islamofascist bent on turning Caucasians into slaves insured with socialized healthcare, and the Cheshirecat as VP? Decisions, decisions. I must say, after watching the three Presidential debates (insert Main Street/Joe the Plumber topical joke) and the Vice-Presidential debate (a.k.a. The Friar’s Club Roast of Sarah Palin), I have come to the following conclusions:

• John McCain is the most rectangular man in America – Quite true. Say what you want about his outdated foreign policy, the man is a great quadrilateral. Someone should let him know that if he does not gain presidency, he will serve as a useful teaching tool for a pre-school class. Keep in mind, the teachers must make sure McCain is well-fed before implementing him as a teaching tool, lest he devour a child.
• Sarah Palin does the worst Tina Fey impression – I didn’t even know they had cable in Alaska. Even if they did, I’m pretty sure they are too busy boiling elk tendons for thread to mend their endangered fox coats to watch Saturday Night Live. Actually, now that I think about it, SNL is surpassed in Juno (EDIT: Pregnancy Pun Intended), Alaska, by pirated episodes of the similar Gulagistavot Krygenistivopol Borschtikarena, which roughly translates from Russian into “The Glorious Red Party’s Amusing Evening Entertainment Metric Hour (You Laugh Now!)”
• Barack Obama is now the official spokesman of Crest Whitening Strips – Seriously. His teeth are blinding. I hear Tom Brokaw is using a seeing-eye Brian Williams now. Still, his smile does make this Grinch’s heart grow to twice the normal size…
• Joe Biden is the only man that scares Chuck Norris – No, that’s not a Norris joke, it’s the plain truth. I heard Chuck was supposed to attend one of the debates, but cancelled at the last minute upon hearing of Biden’s arrival. In 1993 Biden apparently met Chuck Norris, was not impressed, and expressed his disdain by growing a beard on the spot. Chuck Norris’s beard.

Now that I have educated you on the finer points of this watershed election, I hope that you all will make the correct, informed decision at the polls. Vote Ron Paul!

Just Josh(Brolin)ing with you.