In the half-decade from about 1986-1991, you probably wouldn’t have found a bigger professional wrestling fan on the planet than me, as my love of wrestling led me to to beg my grandfather to order nearly every Wrestlemania, Survival Series, Summer Slam and Royal Rumble that came on the air. This wrestling hysteria wasn’t just relegated to quarterly pay-per-view events, indeed every monday night was spent watching Prime Time Wrestling on the USA network, featuring a spate of wrestling matches and incisive commentary from wrestling luminaries, Gorrilla Monsoon and Bobby “The Brain” Heenan.
But there was more to my wrestling obsession than mere viewing habits. I was an active subscriber to WWF magazine, attended several wrestling matches and proudly owned not just every collectible wrestling action figure, but owned the WWF wrestling ring as well. Wrestling was not just a passing interest in my life. Rather I almost felt as though my self-worth were somehow tied up in the exploits of my favorite wrestler, Hulk Hogan. An avowed Hulkamaniac, I said my prayers, ate my vitamins and asked my parents regularly if we could go to Venice Beach so that I could meet the Hulk (he claimed it was his hometown). When Hulk Hogan was injured in a match against Earthquake, I even wrote him a get-well letter.
Of course, my obsession with wrestling not so coincidentally dove-tailed with my early grade school years. There wasn’t much I knew about life at that time. I wasn’t aware that Arnold and Willis’ biological father wasn’t and couldn’t be Mr. Drummond on the show Diff’rent Strokes. I believed Super Mario Bros. 3 would always be the pinnacle of human creativity on the planet earth. I even believed that Steve Urkel was funny. Yet out of everything, one of the most glaringly obvious things that I never picked up on when I was a kid was that a good many of the professional wrestlers myself and thousands of American kids idolized might’ve been homosexuals (not that there’s anything wrong with that). While it can’t exactly be verified, I’m willing to wager that more than a few of these wrestlers happened to empathize with Will Ferrell’s character in “The Ladies Man,” in that their wives would never be able to understand their “passion for Greco-Roman wrestling.”
And in the spirit of the revisionist history so popular these days in academia, I think that the characters of the WWF need a bit of revisionist history of their own. After all, this was the sport whose first big superstar was named “Gorgeous George.” With that in mind, I present the 10 Wrestlers You Watched When You Were A Kid That are Probably Gay.
10. Razor Ramon
Why is Razor Ramon probably gay? Look at this picture and you tell me. Was it his reluctance to talk all the time about “chicos?” I’m not quite sure, but something tells me that there are only two ways to get the nickname “Razor Ramon,” and I’m pretty sure that Razor Ramon wasn’t a master at cutting coke.
Whether it’s his jheri curl or the fact that he was voted “Most Likely to Be Seen in a Speedo on a Beach in Puerto Rico” with Ricky Martin, but something always seemed to be a little queer about the artist formerly known as Razor Ramon.
Oh yeah, and then there’s the fact that it has been reported that Razor Ramon has been arrested 16 times in a 13 month span for everything from drunk and disorderly conduct to assault. His span of arrests has ranged from taking a swing at a nightclub patron who insulted him) to kicking in the door of a cab while intoxicated.
Someone needs to please inform Razor Ramon that it is 2006 and we live in an infinitely more tolerant society than the one in which he grew up in. If someone like Tom Cruise can come out of the closet than so can he. There’s no need for him to be so self-loathing and angry. There is no shame in being yourself. Oh wait, what’s that…Tom Cruise never came out of the closet. Damn it. There goes my whole point. Next.
9. Randy “The Macho Man” Savage
Sure, one might point out the Macho Man’s dalliances with Miss Elizabeth, his “supposed” wife with whom he claimed to have two boys. Admittedly, Miss Elizabeth was a babe . However, every list of closeted professional wrestlers would inevitably involve one of them using a Beard. I believe the Macho Man is that man.
Don’t believe me? Well, then ask yourself why he ditched Miss Elizabeth for the obviously less attractive Sensational Sherri. Click on those two links and you ask yourself which one you’d rather be with. Besides this obvious clue, there’s that strange beard that no man would dare grow to attract women, there’s his clearly flamboyant wrestling attire, and there’s his name itself: “Macho Man.” Hint: naming yourself after a Village People song does nothing to burnish your heterosexual credentials. In fact, it’s clearly shedding light on an obvious reality.
And don’t even get me started on his predilection and constant need for a “slim jim.”
8. Big John Studd
If this picture doesn’t convince you (hint Big John Studd is the one that isn’t Andre the Giant) then his name should: Big John Studd. The word studd has been used exactly 173 times since 1989. All 173 references somehow involve gay pornography. While this is a rather unscientfic assertion, ask yourself who would willingly opt for the name Big John Studd.
Then there was his constant aspiration to have a theater career, as good ol’ BJ had roles in such cinematic classics as “Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man,” “The Marrying Man,” and the dead give-a-way “Beauty and the Beast.”
Last of all, his patented finishing move was the “reverse bear hug.” Do I really need to say more?
7. Ravishing Rick Rude
Never before has anyone loved to blow kisses as much as Ravishing Rick Rude. No one.
Then there was the fact that he regularly delivered quotes like this “What I’d like to have right now is for all you fat, out of shape, inner-city sweathogs to keep the noise down while I take my robe off and show you what a real sexy man is supposed to look like.”
I’m not exactly sure what that meant, but I’m pretty sure that anyone who refers to himself as “a real sexy man,” is having an identity crisis. Of course, in the case of Rude, such an identity crisis is much easier to spot when one makes gyrations and thrusts at a crowd.
When you throw in all these things, with his penchant for wearing airbrushed spandex tights of all the colors of the rainbow, people start to wonder. And fast.
6. Jake “The Snake” Roberts
Speaking of asking questions, what sorts of questions does one really have about a guy who handles his snake more than a Catholic Priest around a seven year-old boy (joke to be followed by a Ed McMahon-esque “heah-yo” or the phrase “knuck, knuck, knuck.”
One could argue that having Alice Cooper in his corner at Wrestlemania III certainly would do a lot to improve Robert’s odds of getting off this list. Then again, there was his difficulty in keeping his wife, Cheryl satisfied, as she was continually tempted by other men, including none other than Ravishing Rick Rude. Either Jake was seriously using that snake to overcompensate OR he was having difficulties grappling with some serious questions aboutwhy he had decided to make rolling around on a mat with other men a profession. Either way, Jake the Snake was probably gay. 5. The Fabulous Rougeau Brothers
First, there’s the fact that the Fabulous Rougeau brothers were French Canadian and while I think very highly of Canadians, I immediately question the manliness of the average French male, considering that I could probably round up four guys off of your average Junior High School playground, arm them with rifles and we could probably have captured the Bastille in about 16 minutes.
Second, there’s the fact that these two actually took the picture above, which I’d be actually willing to analyze if I could get over the damage that the retina-searing image of the Rougeaus in sequin jackets and blue underwear has done to my poor eyes.
Third, there’s the fact that they actually include the word “fabulous,” in their name. Apparently, the name the “flaming Rougeau Brothers,” was taken by a caberet act in Paris.
4. The Rockers
Sometimes, a picture really is worth a thousand words.
3. The Bushwhackers Yeah, Luke and Butch might’ve wanted you to believe that they were some down-home rough and rugged New Zealand retards, but the truth is anything but. Google them and you’ll quickly be hard-pressed to find any photo of the two of them without their hands all over each other. These two are brothers all right, but not in the way that they present themselves to the world.
Then there’s the fact that they include the root word “whacker,” in their name. This is the most blatant veiled hinting at sexuality since the Whacking Day holiday on the Simpsons. Plus, you factor in that Luke and Butch loved nothing more than biting and licking themselves and others and you come to the conclusion that the Bushwhackers were probably gay. And then you think that his name was Butch and the word probably seems increasingly unneccesary.
2. Hillbilly Jim
Have Zed from Pulp Fiction and Hillbilly Jim ever been spotted at the same time? Probably not. Because in all likelihood, they’re the same person. Is it too much of a stretch of the imagination to picture Hillbilly Jim having retired from wrestling and opening up a pawn shop where he keeps a leather gimp in the basement. I don’t think so.
Having learned from The People Vs. Larry Flynt that all people from Appalachia are sexual deviants, I have little doubt that Hillbilly Jim is not only gay, but harbors a variety of sick and twisted sexual festishes, making him probably Tarantino’s inspiration for the Zed character.
You might be wondering why Hillbilly Jim appears so low on this list, behind such flamboyant characters like The Rockers and Ravishing Rick Rude, especially in light of the fact that at first glance, a set of overalls would seem to be quite a conservative wrestling outfit. A good point, but one must take into account Hillbilly Jim’s southern upbringing. Such garish displays of one’s sexuality are simply not tolerated in less progressive regions. Which again would explain why Hillbilly Jim felt the burning compulsion to move to Los Angeles and open up a pawn shop/sex dungeon.
1. Brutus “The Barber” Beefcake
Rule #1: Unless your name is Warren Beatty and we’re talking about the movie, “Shampoo,” I’m hard-pressed to believe in a male hair stylist’s heterosexuality. And don’t try telling me about Jonathan Antin from “Blow Out,” and how he claims he’s straight. I’m not buying it.
But at least Antin was smart about it, he didn’t give himself a nickname as flamboyantly homosexual as BRUTUS “THE BARBER” BEEFCAKE. Think about it. Every single component of this man’s nickname is clearly laced with innuedo.
I mean, this man had such a jones to cut hair that he snipped locks of it from every single one of his defeated opponents. And god knows what he did with that hair. I’d hate to see his apartment. And then there’s his stunning resemblence to Lance Bass, which while not actually not doing anything concrete to prove his homosexuality, doesn’t exactly help to disprove it either.
You throw in the clippers, the frayed clothing, the zebra patterns and you know that Brutus likes beef cake. A lot.
And for a bonus round, I will also present to you the 5 WWF Wrestlers that probably weren’t gay.
5. Kamala the Ugandan Giant
You try calling this man gay. C’mon. Just try it.
4. Jimmy “Superfly” Snuka
A lot of people questioned Jimmy “Superfly” Snuka’s sexuality. And by a lot of people I mean Nate Jones On the NBA, but I’m quite certain that Jimmy Snuka loved the ho’s. Sure, he was a bit strange, but the man was from Tonga, you better believe he was going to be a little bit different. And then there’s the fact that his nickname was “superfly.” And at this point in your life, I think it should be abundantly clear that no one with the nickname superfly could possibly be gay.
3. Hulk Hogan
Anyone who has seen the show “Hogan Knows Best,” knows that not only is Hogan not-gay, but Hogan is in fact the coolest man to ever live. Clearly, they have nothing to do with one another, rather I just wanted to state point blank that Hulk Hogan is one of the coolest men to ever live. Not to mention the fact that somehow, someway, he managed to produce a pretty cute daughter.
2. Junk Yard Dog The Junk Yard Dog was definitely not gay. Far from it. The man was a thug, plain and simple. The Marcellus Wallace of the wrestling world. Or perhaps he was its Ben Wallace.
Sure he originally had Queen’s “Another One Bites the Dust,” as his theme music , but he quickly wised up and switched it so that they would blare George Clinton’s “Atomic Dog,” every time he entered the ring. The man was funky.
1. George “The Animal” Steele If somehow George “The Animal” Steele is revealed as being gay, I will be forced to re-examine every thought I have ever had, every word that I have ever written, every time that I was certain that the color of the sky was indeed blue. Even the concept of gravity will have to be re-evaluated and given a second look.
Be it his vast forrest of body hair, his incredible lack of concern for aesthetic appearence or the fact that he used to bite the posts in the corner of the ring, George “The Animal” Steele, screams “not gay.” However, if you were going to make a list of the “10 Wrestlers You Watched when you were a kid that are probably insane, this is where another list would begin.
P.S. This list is not meant to offend gay people or professional wrestlers. I have no idea if any of these men are in fact gay. However, I do have the idea that they are all very large. Much more so than me. Therefore, I am only joking. Except for the part about Brutus “The Barber,” Beefcake.
Sorry for the lack of posting, I’ve been busy with various flotsam AND various jetsam. And no, I’m not talking about the Little Mermaid. However, I will have a monstrous post up later tonight which I promise will be worth the wait. And if you’re bored check out Sandro’s Naughty Baseball blog. It’s only a few weeks old but he’s killing it. Carry on.
4/20 passed by last week and you guys heard nary a peep from me. Nary. Was I kidnapped by a gang of ninjas eager for the blood of a young scribe? No. Was I passed out in a drug-induced stupor in a dirty corner of Silverlake, screaming, “Die Hipsters Die.” Unfortunately, that guess is also wrong. Instead on that glorious day of days, I was partaking in a little 4/20 celebration held at the Skirball Center.
Now, Jeff, you’re inevitably wondering. Why in God’s name would the Skirball Center host a 4/20 celebration featuring a screening of “Fast Times at Ridgemont High,” and a discussion with Fast Times/Clueless director Amy Heckerling and Judd Apatow, the writer/director of the “40 Year Old Virgin?” Well, obviously, you guys aren’t familiar with the Skirball Center, because in addition to being dedicated to exploring the connection between 4,000 years of Jewish heritage and the vitality of American Democratic ideals, the Skirball Center loves the ganj. Loves it. This may or may not be true, but someone had to notice that they were showing a stoner classic “Fast Times at Ridgemont High,” on 4/20. Coincidence. I think not.
So after talking to Samson, I hightailed it over to the Skirball, nestled high up in the Santa Monica mountains to try to catch the pre-screening discussion between Heckerling and Apatow. Alas, food was not allowed inside the theater so I had to miss a the first ten minutes of the program while devouring a delicious Poquito Mas chicken burrito. Anyone who has had Poquito Mas will inevitably concur that this was a righteous and obvious decision.
The talk itself, centered around Apatow asking a variety of questions to Heckerling, about the film, her life and the film industry in general. In addition, Apatow managed to speak a bit about his experiences in Hollywood, from the Ben Stiller Show (he co-created it, and if you haven’t seen the DVD it’s highly recommended) to the 40 Year Old Virgin, last year’s best pure comedy film. All in all, I was wildly impressed by the intelligence and quick wit of both participants and the breadth of knowledge that they had on the film industry. But since, Fast Times at Ridgemont High was the centerpiece of the discussion, I will present a “did you know” list of facts that I gleaned from the discussion, so you will never again have the need to watch the Fast Times director’s commentary (if indeed that’s the sort of thing you do… while you’re at it check out the Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas commentary supplied by Hunter S. Thompson…it is most excellent).
10 Fast Facts From Fast Times
1. Originally, in the scene where Mike Damone sleeps with Stacey (Jennifer Jason Leigh), Heckerling tried to only show Damone naked, while the camera would only pan to Stacey’s feet when it was her turn to undress. Heckerling intended to do this to demonstrate a double standard in movies that only show naked women and never a naked man. Thankfully, the ratings board intervened, threatening Fast Times with an “X” rating if it showed male nudity. I think all of us can agree that for once a ratings board actually came through. Male nudity is never a good thing in a movie. Ever. And if you don’t believe me, then please rent Wild Things and/or Ridicule.
2. The scene where stereo salesman Ron Johnson takes Stacey to “the point,” to have sex is based off of real life scenes that happened in Cameron Crowe’s book that the movie is based off of. For those that don’t know, before Crowe started making bad movies, he was incredibly cool and spent several months at a high school in San Diego and wrote a book about what high school life was like in the late 70s/early 80s.
3. Michelle Pfeiffer auditioned for a role in “Fast Times,” but didn’t get cast.
4. The woman who plays the science teacher Mr. Vargas’ wife in the final big dance scene was Lana Clarkson, the same woman who Phil Spector allegedly killed. She wasn’t actually originally cast in the film, but they decided at the last second that Vargas should have a wife, so Heckerling told Vincent Schiavelli (the actor who played Vargas) to go pick a wife from the extras. Clarkson was who he picked.
5. Ray “Mr. Hand” Walston actually scared Heckerling and had constant beef with Sean Penn on the set of the film. Apparently, Penn was almost always in his Jeff Spiccoli character, lifting up girls’ skirts and constantly making life hell for Walston.
6. Heckerling and one of the film’s producers Irving Azoff, constantly fought throughout the making of the film. A major fan of punk and New Wave, Heckerling wanted the soundtrack to be all Cars, Oingo Boingo, Go-Go’s and other new young bands. The manager of the Eagles, Azoff wanted the soundtrack to be all Eagles songs. Like the Dude and myself, Heckerling “hates the Eagles, man,” and they ultimately worked out a compromise where some songs would be by the Eagles and others’ wouldn’t. Unfortunately, the Eagles broke up right before the film was made and that’s why there’s a bunch of solo Eagles crap on the soundtrack. Proving once again that other than “Dirty Laundry,” Don Henley truly sucks.
7. At one point in the movie, Damone tells Ratner “whenever possible when you’re making out with a chick, put on Side I of Led Zeppelin IV. Yet in the car, when he’s on his date with Stacey, he plays “Kashmir,” off of Led Zep’s Physical Graffiti album. The reason for this is that Heckerling wanted teenagers to know that Side I of IV was in fact, a great album to make out to, yet felt that “Kashmir,” better exemplified the awkwardness of Ratner’s date.
8. Before the film came out, the producer’s ran test screenings among teenagers in Orange County. The test screenings did not go well, as the teens claimed that they weren’t like that and they didn’t only think about sex and drugs. Luckily, the producers didn’t listen and kept in all the sex and drugs and nudity. Proving once again, that is not a wise bit of advice to listen to anyone from Orange County.
9. Heckerling got hired to direct “Fast Times,” after impressing producers with a student film she had premiered at the American Film Institutute. However, she almost got fired mid-way through because they felt she botched the football scene where Jefferson destroys Lincoln.
10. Despite its overwhelming popularity as a cult classic, “Fast Times,” was not considered a major box office success at the time. A poor release strategy from Universal is often blamed for its lack of success, as the film debuted in only a few hundred theaters on the west coast and was put out into the rest of the country without advertising.
The film itself was the perfect way to spend my 4/20, as it ranks as one of the best high school movies (and of the best comedies in general) ever made. Yet after listening to Heckerling and Apatow’s discussion, certain things stood out about the film. Namely, how unbelievably radical a film like “Fast Times,” would seem in today’s world.
If you look at any teen comedy from the 1980’s, they are chockful of sex, nudity, drug use and fun in general. It doesn’t take a brain surgeon to note the reactionary state of American film and culture today . Prior to watching Heckerling and Apatow speak, I’d always assumed that the faults inherent in such bad movies lay solely with the filmmakers themselves. Now I’m not sure if that’s the case, having heard Apatow detail his struggles to get a “boner scene” placed into “Anchorman.” Apparently, just to get the scene in the movie, Apatow had to wear a suit and lecture the ratings board on why boners are historically funny and not obscene. I can’t imagine anything more ridiculous.
Heckerling pointed out that a greal deal of what is allowed to slide depends on who is president at the time and what sort of culture shift is going in America. Fast Times illuminates a time before the culture and PC wars of the 1980s and 1990s led to the growing conservatism in American society. It harkens back to a time when fun was actually allowed and reality was actually allowed to be depicted on screen.
Take for instance, a movie like “American Pie.” One can argue that it was filled with obscene jokes and nudity, but look at the underlying message of the movie, it was completely sappy. Jason Biggs doesn’t go for the really hot exchange student, rather he picks the band camp dork. I felt like my intelligence was being insulted. Never in any sort of reality will a man pick a girl from band camp over Shannon Elizabeth. I don’t care how cool band camp was, and the truth of the matter, is that the band dork girl wasn’t even cool.
Or take for instance Chris Klein’s character, who becomes a complete tool shortly after dating Mena Suvari. Or how about Thomas Ian Nicholas and that incredibly overwrought scene where he loses his virginity to Tara Reid’s character. I felt like I was watching a soap opera, not a raunchy teen comedy. The general theme of the film was indeed quite conservative, a stark contrast to the kids in Fast Times who didn’t live in some sort of illusory fantasy land. Stacy gets pregnant. Spiccoli drives drunk and high and crashes a car. If someone were to put that in a movie today, they’d have to teach him some sort of lesson and Spiccoli would have to come to some sort of corny revelation that drunk driving is bad. And don’t even get me started how unbelievably cheesy and not funny, “The Wedding Crashers,” was.
The bottom line is that for every “Thank You For Smoking,” for every “Election,” that we get today, we get about a dozen sappy and preachy movies that sugercoat reality. Or we get hokey satires like Scary Movie that are designed to only be enjoyed by kids younger than 15 years old. People are continually pandered to by executives who continue to make films that they think people will like, rather than films that they deep-down know are good. The end result is that I see maybe half a dozen new movies a year and the executives wonder why there is a box office slump. The answer is obvious: the movies suck. A lot. The remedy isn’t hard. Take chances. I truly believe that it’s better to get fired for making a good movie that doesn’t do well at the box office, than being a complete sell-out and just churning out crap that you know you can sell to Billy Bob in Grand Rapids.
However, I refuse to believe that this situation won’t reverse itself. History works in cycles and we’re in a very dark period right now. But keep in mind that the free-mindedness of the 60s followed the conservative and repression-filled 1950s. Out of all of this crap, out of this reactionary Myspace-laced parade of ignorance known as George Bush’s America, some light has to eventually emerge. And if not, I’ll be fine. I’ll always know that there’s movies like “Fast Times,” and there will always be an epic bit advice that a wiser and a bit less passionate Jeff once said: “All I need are some tasty waves, a cool buzz, and I’m fine.”
About 60 some odd years ago, the famed Los Angeles historian Carey McWilliams dropped this bit of knowledge about my home city: “this lovely place, cuckoo land, is corrupted with an odd community giddiness. Nowhere else do eccentrics flourish in such close abundance.”
He was right then and he’s right now, as any glance through this asphalt jungle reveals an assortment of wack-jobs, buffoons, poseurs and its fair share of wack-job buffoon poseurs. To be blunt, people in LA are fucking nuts. What other city on earth could serve as the headquarters of such avarice-minded cults as Scientology, Kaballah, Dr. Gene Scott, and Ryan Seacrest? Nowhere.
But in the annals of LA history, no eccentric figure looms as large as Crazy Robertson, perhaps the funkiest white man since Marc Bolan . Now my Los Angeles readers know exactly who I’m talking about, but when my non-Angeleno reading contigent hears the name “Crazy Robertson,” they inevitably think of Crazy Pat Robertson, the evangelical firebrand, veteran rabble-rouser, and latest Sony BMG signed rapper.
Who is this Crazy Robertson, you’re inevitably thinking and why should I care? Well, Crazy Robertson is the man pictured above, a man thought to be homeless who rollerblades through Los Angeles in a variety of insane outfits that could best be described by using the rarely used adjective: kooky. Sometimes, he goes shirtless, sometimes he does not. The central constant in Crazy Robertson’s sartorial style is his burning desire to wear black spandex pants at all times and to be on a pair of roller blades.
The legend of Crazy Robertson is shrouded in mystery and all most people know about Crazy Robertson is that he loves Robertson Blvd. in West Los Angeles and he loves to dance. Yes, that’s right: the man has moves.
My friend Jeff Cowan best described the euphoric state that Crazy Robertson is in every day as he zips past the trendy boutiques on Robertson Blvd..
“You know how sometimes you’ll see someone dancing and you’ll be like, wow, that person has ‘the funk’. Well, Crazy Robertson has the funk all the time. Every single day of the year.”
Its really a sight to be seen, watching this homeless (?) man, bust out all sorts of maniacal hand-jives, twists, stretches, and gyrations while wearing a big set of headphones and roller-blading down the most “sceney” street in all of Los Angeles, while boutique women stare at him aghast and nearly drop their bags filled with $800 shoes. It’s amazing.
But who is Crazy Robertson, what are his motivations, his passions, why does he have the “funk” so badly and why of all places must he haunt the boutiques on Robertson Blvd. That my friends is the subject of deep mystery and conjecture.
It is well-documented anecdotally that Crazy Robertson has been busting moves on Robertson Blvd., since at least the 1970s. A variety of rumors have been have floated around the man. The first and most popular was that he was a minor league baseball player who received a major signing bonus and was headed for the bigs until he developed a mind-shattering case of schizophrenia which led him to dance and roller skate each day down Robertson (keep in mind, he has never been known to beg for money).
Another rumor theorizes that he is professional wrestler Randy “Macho Man” Savage’s brother and for all of these years the Macho Man has been funnelling money to his mentally deranged sibling. Don’t be so quick to dismiss such rumors. Take a look at this photo of the Macho Man and you tell me he doesn’t look like Crazy Robertson. In fact, Crazy Robertson also resembles the Macho Man’s brother, another professional wrestler, “The Genius” Leaping Lanny Poffo. (side-note: why in God’s name did the Genius try to burnish his heterosexual and manly credentials by bringing frisbees with poetry written on them. Flinging frisbees with poetry to a crowd? C’mon, Leaping Lanny Poffo. We all know the truth.)
Indeed, a great many mysteries are raised by the question of Crazy Robertson. Ones that probably never will be answered. I hadn’t seen him in at least a year until I drove past him this morning, still in that same spot on Robertson Blvd., still permanently in possession of “the funk,” still bat-shit insane.
But I think there is something more to the Crazy Robertson saga. After all why have the cops never brought him to the looney bin? How is he allowed to just dance and roller blade all day long on Robertson Blvd., without any store owners kicking him off their property? How does he have money if he doesn’t pan-handle? Sadly, these puzzles may never be solved. But what doesn’t remain unanswered is that Los Angeles is filled with psychopaths, freaks, and charlatans. Yet Crazy Robertson is only two out of the three. He is no charlatan. In fact, seeing him today made me a little comforted. No matter, how much my life changes or how old I get, I know that like clockwork, I can drive by Robertson Blvd. at about 11:00 a.m. and see the same bearded hobo doing his best imitation of John Travolta in Saturday Night fever, right in front of a woman wearing a Rolex Watch and a Pearl necklace. And that my friends is why Los Angeles is the most amazing city on this planet. And that my friends is my friends is reason 1,432 why I need to move.
1991 was a much simpler year. We had just taken care of Sadamn and the Iraqis with the world celebrating our succesful multi-lateral invasion, a little movie called the Addams Family dominated the box office fueled by a much-loved MC Hammer song creatively titled “Addams Family Groove,” and on television, a show called Home Improvement debuted and people soon discovered that there indeed was an audience for people who thought that Bob Villa needed a sitcom. And somewhere out in Los Angeles, a man called the Dude struggled with Jesus, white russians and a pair of nihilists who kept on mistaking him for “the other Lebowski.” Simply put, it was a much simpler time in those pre-Internet days.
But more importantly, another landmark event happened in 1991, one infinitely more culturally relevant than a man who perhaps correctly entitled his show “Tool Time.” 1991 marked the debut of the watershed rap song, “Baby Got Back,” by then little known rapper, Sir Mix-A-Lot.
I don’t need to do a history lesson for you guys. Provided one had a pulse it was was impossible not to be titillated by Mix-A-Lot’s risque video that had MTV up in arms and pledging not to show it before 10:00 p.m. each night (these being the halcyon days when MTV actually showed music videos). The song snared a Grammy award for Best Rap Solo Performance, insane amounts of media attention and millions of album sales as Mix-A-Lot’s album shot to the top of the charts despite the inescapable fact that its content could be explained by the two-word title: “Mack Daddy.”
The video shown above, speaks for itself. It has a lot of “babies” who have a lot of “back” and not much else, other than shots of Sir Mix-A-Lot trying to pretend that he hadn’t stolen Run from Run DMC’s outfit and entire look. In many ways, the non-astute observer would instantly dismiss it as merely another crude music video focusing on the female posterior. Such critics are wrong. In fact, “Baby Got Back,” was a milestone in the aesthetic tastes of the white man. What am I babbling about, you ask? Simply stated, prior to the video for “Baby Got Back,” the white man had no concept of what most 20-somethings reared on hip-hop would refer to as, “ass.”
Black culture had certainly had an appreciation for an ample female backside well prior to 1991. In fact, the tradition of black men celebrating “ass,” began with the blues, at least as far back as Howlin Wolf’s 1960 rendition of the song, “Backdoor Man,” in which the inimitable Wolf declared his love for being a back door man, in which the men didn’t know, but the little girls sure understood. Being merely an amateur fan of the blues, I’m sure there are dozens more of blues songs solely dedicated to girls’ asses.
Yet while a curvy woman was a much-desired asset (pun intended) in the black community, this was not the case in white America, a fact evidenced by Mix-A-Lot’s mention that when catching glimpse of a girl stacked like the one in his video, “even white boys had to shout.” Indeed white boys didn’t have to shout prior to 1991, as to that point the concept of prioritizing a girl’s backside barely came into mind for white people. Sure, Al Bundy might’ve made a stray comment or two about a women having “nice buns,” but this was qualitatively different from what Mix-A-Lot was talking about. Prior to 1991, men in white America seemed to be consumed by one thing: how skinny a woman could be while still maintaining large breasts (often facilitated by the help of silicone implants).
Still don’t believe me. Then watch the famous video to the 1989 Robert Palmer hit, “Simply Irresistable,” in which dozens of model-type women cavort in various seductive poses, showing off ample amounts of cleavage, yet very little “ass.” These are the woman that Mix-A-Lot disdains, the ones that he sees when he’s looking at a rock video watching “knock-kneed bimbos bimbos walking like hos.” While Mix-A-Lot might want to keep his women looking like Flo-Jo, Palmer did not and neither did the rest of white people. After all, the video has about 12,000 cleavage shots and maybe two shots of the models’ rears, shots that would not impress Mix-A-Lot or the average black man who wants his girl to “pack much back.” Keep in mind, this video was widely celebrated in its time for the number of hot girls packed into each frame.
One can view Palmer’s video as the epitome of white people’s pre-Mix-A-Lot attitude towards “ass”as a cursory glance clearly reveals the minimized emphasis placed on the concept. Similar to Jackie Robinson opening the doors of baseball to people of all different races, so Sir Mix-A-Lot opened the doors of “back” to the white man. As millions of impressionable rap-loving white youths watched this video in their suburban homes, a revolution was in its incipient stages. The prior stick-figured ideal of beauty that had been venerated in white American culture for years was shattered by the impassioned declarations of a Seattle rapper who would follow up “Mack Daddy,” with two even more poorly-titled albums called “Chief Boot Knocka,” and “The Return of the Bump-A-Saurus,” (which I imagine was not about a penchant for cocaine use).You might be thinking, well just because Sir Mix-A-Lot had a song about “back” how can you be sure that all of White America was been converted to the merits of a fine posterior. After all, what about white America’s seeming love of Paris Hilton? A fine point certainly, but one easily answered. On paper, Paris Hilton would seem to epitomize of white culture’s celebration of rail-thin blondes with few curves but the truth is anything but. No self-respecting white person with taste finds Hilton attractive, her fame being generally the by-product of clueless journalists pandering to what they think the public finds interesting, vapid sorority girls who don’t know any better and gay men who find her “fabulous.” And I don’t even need to mention what the average black man thinks of Hilton. As I have found from many an informal survey, most black men think that “Paris Hilton? She ain’t fine. She’s got no ass.” And they’re right too.
One needs to look to other iconic female figures of American culture to see the change that Sir-Mix-A-Lot wrought. Such curvy sex symbols as Beyonce, J-Lo and Jessica Alba seem to prove that both white and black America have converged in their admiration of “ass.” Or take Britney Spears. Before she devoted her life to a diet of Cheetos and Red Bull, Spears was undeniably hot to all men on earth and seemingly embodied the new preferred body image ushered in during the Mix-A-Lot revolution. Or perhaps as a commenter of mine suggested, take a look at Vida Guerra (nsfw), perhaps the latest modern sex symbol to benefit from Mix-A-Lot’s prophecy. It is these women that the modern caucasian male typically lusts after, certainly not Paris Hilton.
The media constantly tries to portray black and white relations in this nation as an ever-widening divide, but its nice to know that at least in some ways our two cultures are converging. And for that, we only have Sir-Mix-A-Lot to thank. That and red beans and rice. Right now, I can only imagine that Sir Mix-A-Lot is wearing a big smile while lounging in a palatial estate on Lake Washington, for he knows that while he may have become a punchline to some people, he won the war after all. Because in the America of 2006, we live in Sir-Mix-A-Lot’s world. No longer are the bean-pole babe’s in the magazines, “it,” miss thing.
One of the most irritating things about most music criticism is its insistence on slapping a label on every new band that comes out. Perhaps this a neccessary evil in order to better direct readers towards what type of music they’re describing. But more often than not, I find genre labels worthless and think that more often than not they end up alienating potential listeners rather than drawing them in.
Take for example, The Boy Least Likely To, the English band that I caught at Spaceland last Saturday night. Every single review of their album or their live show has at some point used the phrase “twee pop”. Yet I’m pretty sure that no one actually knows what twee pop actually means and has ever used it in a real conversation. Basically, its a meaningless label used only by music critics and only in the context of an album review. Don’t believe me? Then picture how absurd a conversation about “twee,” would sound.
Guy 1: So what does the band sound like? Guy 2: They’re pretty fucking twee. Guy 1: Yeah, but like HOW twee? Guy 2: I mean, twee as fuck! They take your normal twee pop band, turn it inside and out and give you a handful of twee that will knock your argyle socks off. Both of them.
Still not convinced? Check the Wikipedia entry for Twee Pop. Among the bands listed as “twee,” include My Bloody Valentine and Belle and Sebastian. I’m not sure how many of you have listened to MBV’s “Loveless” and compared it to B&S’s “If You’re Feeling Sinister,” but if you have you’ve probably noticed that that the two records sound about as much alike as Slayer and Perry Como (the first Perry Como reference of the day is always the best). And don’t even get me started on “Shoegazer” music, that’s a different blog for a different time.
So coming into the Boy Least Likely To show, I didn’t have much of an idea of what to expect. I’d heard their single “Be Gentle With Me,” and liked it enough. It sounds how you’d expect: gentle, non-threatening pleasant enough.
Yet the single and their frequent comparisons to Belle and Sebastian did little to prepare me for the BLLT’s live show. Starting out slowly, the songs were affable, filled with jangly Byrds-esque pop music, numbers slipping inside your head “gently” (there’s that operative word again). After about three songs, I had a raging debate inside my head whether or not I was actually going to go through and drop the $15 on their album. This lasted for a few more songs until I heard their song “Monsters,” which convinced me of the band’s legitimacy, with its wild catchiness and dark lyrics that manage to evoke a nostalgia for childhood clashing with the sad inevitablities of adult life.
A five-piece band featuring lead singer Jof Owen, a guitarist, a bassist, a drummer and a woman with the greatest name ever, Amanda Applewood, on the recorder, the band manages to incorporate a wide variety of sounds into their act, including recorders, a banjo, a tamborine and most importantly a glockenspiel. You don’t hear a good glockenspiel very often on an album and quite frankly I respect anyone who uses a glockenspiel, primarily because its so fun to type and say the word out loud: “glockenspiel.”
With each song, the band seemed to grow stronger and more confident on stage, Jof Owen clapping his hands with each lyric, raising his fist and smiling the entire time. It felt like a celebration of sorts and even for this often-cold-hearted cynic, you couldn’t help but enjoy being there, listening to the sound of their rollicking 60s sound. It felt like pop music the way that pop music was originally intended to be. In an ideal word, people wouldn’t be listening to bands like Maroon 5 and Green Charlotte, instead if they wanted their fill, they’d turn to a bands like BLLT or Franz Ferdinand. (and don’t give me a lecture about how “big-time” Franz is when their second album only sold 300,000 copies…Maroon 5 unplugged went platinum)
Another adjective often thrown out about the band is dream-like, as they seemingly make music that seems to come out of a dim corner of mind that has gone gray over the years, but somewhere reminds you of what it was like to be a child and the world seemed immense and you were dancing around in the living room to the first record you ever heard. If they ever made a Calvin and Hobbes movie (which of course they never will, because Bill Watterson has way too much integrity), the Boy Least Likely To, would make the perfect music to play as Calvin and Hobbes go on one of their walks in the woods.
If anything, the set was all too short, 45 minutes tops without an encore, but it was all right, because the band had seemingly won over the entire crowd, as nearly everyone was tapping their feet along to the infectious music. And they’re coming to the Roxy in West Hollywood on June 3rd, so Angelenos will have one more chance to check them out this Spring. I highly recommend checking out the show and picking up their quite excellent debut album, “The Best Party Ever.” Also check out the Floating Away blog, for more pics and another review of the show.
Passion of the Weiss Rating: 8.6 crucifixes out of 10
One of the most irritating things about most music criticism is its insistence on slapping a label on every new band that comes out. Perhaps this a neccessary evil in order to better direct readers towards what type of music they’re describing. But more often than not, I find genre labels worthless and think that more often than not they end up alienating potential listeners rather than drawing them in.
Take for example, The Boy Least Likely To, the English band that I caught at Spaceland last Saturday night. Every single review of their album or their live show has at some point used the phrase “twee pop”. Yet I’m pretty sure that no one actually knows what twee pop actually means and has ever used it in a real conversation. Basically, its a meaningless label used only by music critics and only in the context of an album review. Don’t believe me? Then picture how absurd a conversation about “twee,” would sound.
Guy 1: So what does the band sound like?
Guy 2: They’re pretty fucking twee.
Guy 1: Yeah, but like HOW twee?
Guy 2: I mean, twee as fuck! They take your normal twee pop band, turn it inside and out and give you a handful of twee that will knock your argyle socks off. Both of them.
Still not convinced? Check the Wikipedia entry for Twee Pop. Among the bands listed as “twee,” include My Bloody Valentine and Belle and Sebastian. I’m not sure how many of you have listened to MBV’s “Loveless” and compared it to B&S’s “If You’re Feeling Sinister,” but if you have you’ve probably noticed that that the two records sound about as much alike as Slayer and Perry Como (the first Perry Como reference of the day is always the best). And don’t even get me started on “Shoegazer” music, that’s a different blog for a different time.
So coming into the Boy Least Likely To show, I didn’t have much of an idea of what to expect. I’d heard their single “Be Gentle With Me,” and liked it enough. It sounds how you’d expect: gentle, non-threatening pleasant enough.
Yet the single and their frequent comparisons to Belle and Sebastian did little to prepare me for the BLLT’s live show. Starting out slowly, the songs were affable, filled with jangly Byrds-esque pop music, numbers slipping inside your head “gently” (there’s that operative word again). After about three songs, I had a raging debate inside my head whether or not I was actually going to go through and drop the $15 on their album. This lasted for a few more songs until I heard their song “Monsters,” which convinced me of the band’s legitimacy, with its wild catchiness and dark lyrics that manage to evoke a nostalgia for childhood clashing with the sad inevitablities of adult life.
A five-piece band featuring lead singer Jof Owen, a guitarist, a bassist, a drummer and a woman with the greatest name ever, Amanda Applewood, on the recorder, the band manages to incorporate a wide variety of sounds into their act, including recorders, a banjo, a tamborine and most importantly a glockenspiel. You don’t hear a good glockenspiel very often on an album and quite frankly I respect anyone who uses a glockenspiel, primarily because its so fun to type and say the word out loud: “glockenspiel.”
With each song, the band seemed to grow stronger and more confident on stage, Jof Owen clapping his hands with each lyric, raising his fist and smiling the entire time. It felt like a celebration of sorts and even for this often-cold-hearted cynic, you couldn’t help but enjoy being there, listening to the sound of their rollicking 60s sound. It felt like pop music the way that pop music was originally intended to be. In an ideal word, people wouldn’t be listening to bands like Maroon 5 and Green Charlotte, instead if they wanted their fill, they’d turn to a bands like BLLT or Franz Ferdinand. (and don’t give me a lecture about how “big-time” Franz is when their second album only sold 300,000 copies…Maroon 5 unplugged went platinum)
Another adjective often thrown out about the band is dream-like, as they seemingly make music that seems to come out of a dim corner of mind that has gone gray over the years, but somewhere reminds you of what it was like to be a child and the world seemed immense and you were dancing around in the living room to the first record you ever heard. If they ever made a Calvin and Hobbes movie (which of course they never will, because Bill Watterson has way too much integrity), the Boy Least Likely To, would make the perfect music to play as Calvin and Hobbes go on one of their walks in the woods.
If anything, the set was all too short, 45 minutes tops without an encore, but it was all right, because the band had seemingly won over the entire crowd, as nearly everyone was tapping their feet along to the infectious music. And they’re coming to the Roxy in West Hollywood on June 3rd, so Angelenos will have one more chance to check them out this Spring. I highly recommend checking out the show and picking up their quite excellent debut album, “The Best Party Ever.” Also check out the Floating Away blog, for more pics and another review of the show.
Passion of the Weiss Rating: 8.6 crucifixes out of 10
Sometimes my addiction to watching YouTube videos that I was obsessed with in Junior High School leads to negative thoughts and I become perilously certain that I might be a hipster. Because when you’re 24 and watching something that you loved when you were 10 or 11, you can’t be quite certain if you’re appreciating it ironically or not. Yet unlike PBR or mustaches or plastic glasses, a video like Wreckx N-Effect’s “Rumpshaker,” was never uncool. In fact, knowing every word to every verse guaranteed you street cred, if there were such a thing at Beverly Vista Elementary School at the dawn of the Clinton era. But then again, I do have the aching suspiction that if a song of the caliber of “Rumpshaker” came out today, I’d probably instantly dismiss it as just another R&B song talking about girls with nice asses. That being said, I could care less. “Rumpshaker,” is an awesome song, with a video that can only take one to garguantuan heights of awesomeness. And besides, it got in on the songs talking about girls asses’ bandwagon early, and in the words of Hansel, “I respect that.”
After a mere five seconds of watching the video for “Rumpshaker,” one is besieged by one-all-too-important question: Why is this unbelievably hot girl playing the saxophone alone at the beach? This is quite mysterious. Is she unaware of the greatest party ever, being hosted directly adjacent by Markell and Teddy Riley and Aquil Davidson, the masterminds behind Wreckx-N-Effect? Or is she just bored by the ever-present debauchery engrained in the 1992 Virginia party scene and just wants to blow the sax, alone on the beach, while wearing a two-piece bikini? And if so, what has led to this soul-crushing boredom?
Yet one must also ask themselves, what exactly is wrong with the men of Wreckx-N-Effect and every other male at the party? Here, they have a beautiful and obviously musically capable woman, wailing on her saxophone, mere yards from your party and yet they don’t ask her to come over, nor do they offer her a drink. In fact, all they do is video tape her on an old-school camcorder while ranting and raving about its “zoom” function. This is bad form. I would’ve thought that they would’ve known better. Of course, in all likelihood, they must’ve tried to spit game at her prior to the shooting of the video. This must be a fact, because no man can ever resist a hot woman playing the sax on a beach. It is not something you see every day. Therefore, the subtext looming beneath this seemingly innocuous scene must be one of rejection. The woman must’ve forsaken Wreckx-N-Effect’s advances to hone her craft on the beach. Spurned, the New Jack Swingers, created a song capturing their wanton lust for the unknown sax girl.
With that in mind, we must analyze the recondite and sheer greatness of the video. First off, it goes without saying that the early 90s are the most awful yet amazing period in the history of fashion. The garish and gaudy styles of the 80s were still in vogue, yet they somehow got all mixed up with the era of Cross Colours and of the pro-black African nationalism of X-Clan and Public Enemy, leading to fashion ensembles that resemble a cross between a Falco and an Andre 3000 video Perhaps I don’t know what I’m talking about, but I don’t have any other theory as to why in the course of the video, Teddy Riley, the man with the camcorder (I think), is seen wearing a neon pink and and green bathing suit, a dangling gold chain, a leather motorcycle jacket, a black cut-off muscle shirt with matching short black shirts and my personal favorite look, NASCAR veteran, complete with a red bandanna and a checkered red and yellow NASCAR shirt.
On top of it all, the video manages to slip in every rap video cliche you can think of: girls shaking their asses shot, the guys chilling on the motorboat shot, the black and white shot, the male dancers doing all sorts of crazy moves in the background shot, the beach scene shot. Other than the beat-down shot, I can’t think of one cliche they didn’t hit.
And how can I write about the brilliance of “Rumpshaker,” without mentioning the lyrics of the song, written by Pharrell Williams, who took his $10-15,000 “Rumpshaker,”
song-writing fee and blew it all on Polo and Ralph Lauren clothing, starting a chain of bad Pharrell Williams decisions that ultimately culminated in the writing of the lyric, “your ass is like a space ship and I want to ride it.”
Luckily, the video manages to answer the questions that were seemingly enigmatic to someone who’d only heard the single. “All I want to do is a zoom, zoom, zoom, and a boom, boom.” By merely hearing the song, one can assume the “boom boom” of the equation, but zoom, zoom, zoom? Is the rapper riding an airplane? A motorcycle? A segway scooter? You can’t be sure. But when you see Teddy Riley, literally zooming with his video camera everything becomes abundantly clear.
Then there is a conumdrum raised in the last verse of the song, when one of the rappers claims about a gyrating video ho, “she can spend every berfday butt naked.” Was this common behavior in the Newport News party scene? Were video ho’s just willing to spend every birth day butt naked. And if so, did they not go out to dinner in celebration of their day of birth? Indeed it would be pretty absurd to walk to walk into your local Cheesecake Factory butt naked, even if it was your birthday.
And then there was the line, “I don’t mind sticking it to her every single night.” While the rapper doesn’t mind having sex with said video ho, this is hardly a ringing endorsement. In fact, it must’ve been a huge blow to her self-esteem. While he wasn’t averse to the prospect of sticking it to her every single night, he wasn’t exactly chomping at the bit. Poor form, Wreckx and poor form Effect, this woman must’ve been inevitably scarred by their lack of desire for her and in all likelihood, this callous line may have started an eating disorder. For shame.
All in all though, I can’t complain about this video. It surely gets two crucifixes up. It has everything one could ask for from a music video: gyrating hos in bikinis, camcorders, boats, gold, saxophones and most importantly, people dancing the robot. So what if it may have knocked down a video ho’s self esteem a few notches? So what if it may have raised some important questions associated with spending one’s birthday stark naked? The point is, Wreckx-N-Effect like girls who shake their rump and girls who like to shake their rump like Wreckx-N-Effect. And that is all one can really ask for. That and a woman who enjoys playing the saxophone in a bikini on the beach.
Remember Eminem? I don’t. But apparently, he was this rapper guy who starting in 1999 was supposedly considered really really relevant to music and he released some album called The Slim Shady LP which allegedly changed the landscape of rap music forever. And I guess now that I mention it, I seem to recall really really really liking it and I was sure that this new rapper had the artistic bona fides that the genre seemed to be sorely lacking.
Oh, but then I guess he released this Marshall Mathers LP which was solid but not amazing but it had a couple of really good songs too and one of them was offensive to gay people, which stirred up some sort of huge international outcry. But then, he proved that he didn’t hate gay people because he sang a song with Elton John at the Grammy’s. Obviously he wasn’t homophobic because nobody who hated gay people could stand to be around them for three minutes. So that proved it and everyone was happy and the media was very happy about it too. Because now they had a rapper to love who was socially conscious and the girls even liked him too. He was on TRL a lot OMG(Lol).
And then a few years later, he released a CD called the Eminem Show which every critic really said was brilliant and told you had to love it or else you weren’t aware of the complexity and nuance of Eminem’s personality. Because its really hard to be rich, famous and beloved, dammnit! Why weren’t you being sympathetic? Luckily, everyone WAS sympathetic and they really loved the Eminem Show….
Actually they kind of sort of didn’t because no one has actually listened to it since it came out and most people will bludgeon you if you play “Without Me,” at a party. But it was okay and then this whole 8 mile movie came out and Eminem became a movie star and he didn’t exactly say goodbye to Hollywood. And then he was A List.
But now comes the sad part for this Eminem fellow, because by this point he had nothing left to say anymore. He’d already written about what it was like growing up white and poor and how much he hated his wife but how much he loved his daughter. But it was okay because by now Eminem had a new friend and his name was 50 Cent and the two of them were ever so close and 50 Cent helped teach Eminem how to rap “gangsta,” and Eminem taught 50 Cent…well what did Eminem teach 50 Cent? And at this time, Eminem and his wife Kim broke up and everyone was very sad because what would Eminem have to rap about? I’m not sure. I don’t think I listened to his album more than once. What was it called Standing Ovation? One More Time? Who cares? It had a song called Big Weenie on it, a song called Ass Like That and a song called Puke. And I guess it turns out that this Eminem chap didn’t really change hip hop very much. In fact, it probably got worse after 1999 when that Slim Shady deal came out.
But about 82 days ago, Eminem got married again to Kim. Oh boy! Now maybe he’d have something to say now, some people said. Maybe. This could be great. But alas, not so great. 82 days later, they got a divorce. OMG
But luckily, here at the Passion of the Weiss, we have a world-breaking exclusive of the drama that developed behind the scenes of the troubled Mathers marriage. I now present to you the last days of Kim and Marshall:
Eminem: Yo bitch, don’t come around up in my house shooting heroin around my daughter. I thought you’d gone to rehab. I’m gonna stab you and throw you in a lake. No wait, even better yet, I’m gonna’ stomp you with my Air Force Ones.
Kim: Oh Marshall, it’s so cute when you talk like that, but not even I believe you anymore. You’ve been saying this for years. You aren’t gonna’ chop my body and drive it into the lake. Maybe like in 1999 this would’ve scared me…a little. But this is 2006. Get with the times.
Eminem: Whatever bitch. You make me wanna puke. If you think I can be your superman, I can’t. Where’s Mariah?
Kim: No, Marshall. I didn’t want you to be my superman. I just wanted to marry you without a pre-nup again and take all of your money. Didn’t you see that one coming. Everyone else did!!”
Eminem: No!!! I’m gonna’ just lose it. AH Ah AH!!
Kim: Speaking of which Marshall, when we first got back together, I thought that you’d be the old Eminem, the one everyone used to love. The one who said things that surprised me or made me laugh. Now you’re so predictable. Watch, you’re probably gonna’ say something about how you can’t stand having all these fans or about all the AK-47s or Desert Eagles you have. Who do you think you are? No one believes that you’re a gangster. Why do you insist on talking like Snoop Dogg?
Eminem: Look bitch, I got AK’s stack…whatever, bitch. You don’t understand. 50 Cent and D-Twizie taught me how to get bizzee.
Kim: Look Marshall, I didn’t want to bring it up but I don’t believe that you and 50 are just rapping inside that studio.
Eminem: Don’t you ever talk about what we do up there on that mountain…I mean that recording studio. Goddamn it, bitch!!! We fish!!! I mean we rap!!
Kim: I know you’re lying Marshall. I can see it in your eyes. C’mon Marshall, it’s me Kim. I always know when you’re lying. Like that time when you knew that bitch in gym class that was too fat to swim laps and you told me that she clearly needed slim fast. I knew you were lying the whole time. I saw it in your eyes.
Eminem: (breaks down and begins crying): Damnit Kim, it’s just, it’s this thing with me and Curtis…I mean me and 50…it’s just if this thing takes a hold of us at the wrong time it could ruin our careers. It’s just that us boys sure found a way to make the time pass up there. We weren’t gettin’ paid to leave the dogs babysittin’ the sheep while you stem the rose. I don’t know what that means. I just felt like saying it.
Kim: Uh…Marshall, I was just joking. But now that you’re actually serious, I think I want a divorce. This marriage is over. Again.
Eminem: I’ll tell you what, we coulda had a good life together! Fuckin’ real good life! Had us a place of our own. But I didn’t want it, Kim! So what me and 50 got now is Brokeback Mountain! I mean 8 Mile. I mean, I don’t know any more! Everything’s built on that! That’s all we got, that’s fuckin’ all and if you can’t understand then so be it. I need to be with him all the time. This marriage isn’t working for me either. I can’t make it on a coupla high-altitude fucks once or twice a year! It’s too much for me, Kim. I wish I knew how to quit him.
Kim: Seek help Marshall. Seek help. Now are you going to give me access to the joint bank account or am I gonna’ to have to get permission from your lawyer Paul Rosenberg to take half of what’s mine?
As my time-wasting skills have been honed to razor-sharp ability, I have no time to do a “real “blog this afternoon. I apologize to all seven people who have been breathlessly anticipating an update. And by breathlessly anticipating an update, I mean bored as all hell at work and clicking on my blog to see what sort of invective I’d spew today….there will be an update late tonight so check for it if insomnia is your bag.
In the meantime, entertain yourself with Ghostface Killah’s classic video for “Daytona 500,” off of his first album “Ironman,” one of the best hip-hop albums ever recorded. And if you haven’t picked up his latest album “Fischscale,” you really should. It’s the best major label rap album I’ve heard since Jay-Z’s “The Blueprint.” It even reinvigorated the normally rap-averse Nate Jones’ love of hip-hop, which says a lot.
And if you’re still bored, I’ve just updated by blog roll, please check out some of the new links that I’ve put up there. Blogging sort of reminds me of that zen koan about a tree falling in the woods. If a blog isn’t linked to, in a way it sort of doesn’t exist, so I feel its rather important to give a shout out to the other like-minded souls out there. In particular, check out the new blog of one of my closest friends Davy Crockett, (yes that is his real name). I assume that most of my readers are of the the liberal persuasion. Crockett is definitely not. But if you’d like hear the viewpoints of a very smart conservative minded individual, check it out. Even if you don’t agree I think its always important to expose yourself to the other side. Unless the other side’s name is Ann Coulter.
Also if you’re into music, especially if you live in the LA area, check out the Floating Away blog, for some informed music criticism, mp3s, concert reviews and general thoughts on life. And you know that anyone who lists Band of Horses, Jose Gonzalez and Destroyer among his favorite bands of the moment has good taste (I highly recommend those albums too).
Also for LAites and others who like good music and such check out You Set The Scene. This blog is one of the best out there for music criticism and Duke, the writer of the site is generous enough to provide tons of MP3s. And again, if someone references a song from the band Love in their blog title, it’s safe to say that they know what’s up. If you don’t have Love’s “Forever Changes” CD, please do yourself a favor and go out and buy it. It’s easily one of my top 10 of all-time and I’m not the only one, Jim Morrison once claimed that the Kinks and Love were his two favorite bands of the 60s.
Or you could just say it in the words of Chef Raekwon in the song “Daytona 500″ that I’ve posted up above.
In the half-decade from about 1986-1991, you probably wouldn’t have found a bigger professional wrestling fan on the planet than me, as my love of wrestling led me to to beg my grandfather to order nearly every Wrestlemania, Survival Series, Summer Slam and Royal Rumble that came on the air. This wrestling hysteria wasn’t just relegated to quarterly pay-per-view events, indeed every monday night was spent watching Prime Time Wrestling on the USA network, featuring a spate of wrestling matches and incisive commentary from wrestling luminaries, Gorrilla Monsoon and Bobby “The Brain” Heenan.
Why is Razor Ramon probably gay? Look at this picture and you tell me. Was it his reluctance to talk all the time about “chicos?” I’m not quite sure, but something tells me that there are only two ways to get the nickname “Razor Ramon,” and I’m pretty sure that Razor Ramon wasn’t a master at cutting coke.
Never before has anyone loved to blow kisses as much as Ravishing Rick Rude. No one.
Speaking of asking questions, what sorts of questions does one really have about a guy who handles his snake more than a Catholic Priest around a seven year-old boy (joke to be followed by a Ed McMahon-esque “heah-yo” or the phrase “knuck, knuck, knuck.”
First, there’s the fact that the Fabulous Rougeau brothers were French Canadian and while I think very highly of Canadians, I immediately question the manliness of the average French male, considering that I could probably round up four guys off of your average Junior High School playground, arm them with rifles and we could probably have captured the Bastille in about 16 minutes.
Sometimes, a picture really is worth a thousand words.
Yeah, Luke and Butch might’ve wanted you to believe that they were some down-home rough and rugged New Zealand retards, but the truth is anything but. Google them and you’ll quickly be hard-pressed to find any photo of the two of them without their hands all over each other. These two are brothers all right, but not in the way that they present themselves to the world.
Have Zed from Pulp Fiction and Hillbilly Jim ever been spotted at the same time? Probably not. Because in all likelihood, they’re the same person. Is it too much of a stretch of the imagination to picture Hillbilly Jim having retired from wrestling and opening up a pawn shop where he keeps a leather gimp in the basement. I don’t think so.
Rule #1: Unless your name is Warren Beatty and we’re talking about the movie, “Shampoo,” I’m hard-pressed to believe in a male hair stylist’s heterosexuality. And don’t try telling me about Jonathan Antin from “Blow Out,” and how he claims he’s straight. I’m not buying it.
You try calling this man gay. C’mon. Just try it.
Anyone who has seen the show “Hogan Knows Best,” knows that not only is Hogan not-gay, but Hogan is in fact the coolest man to ever live. Clearly, they have nothing to do with one another, rather I just wanted to state point blank that Hulk Hogan is one of the coolest men to ever live. Not to mention the fact that somehow, someway, he managed to produce a pretty cute daughter.
The Junk Yard Dog was definitely not gay. Far from it. The man was a thug, plain and simple. The Marcellus Wallace of the wrestling world. Or perhaps he was its Ben Wallace.
If somehow George “The Animal” Steele is revealed as being gay, I will be forced to re-examine every thought I have ever had, every word that I have ever written, every time that I was certain that the color of the sky was indeed blue. Even the concept of gravity will have to be re-evaluated and given a second look.
