March 5th, 2008
As the voters of Texas, Rhode Island, Vermont and Ohio filed to the polls yesterday to help decide the Democratic Party’s nomination for President, will.i.am., the capitalization averse mastermind of the Black Eyed Peas continued his steadfast efforts to help elect Senator Barack Obama of Illinois. Indeed, while most election-day volunteers focused on get-out-the-vote efforts, i.am. sat down in his studio to concoct his most powerful campaign song yet, one that reveals his inner-most feelings for the candidate, as well as offering tantalizing sexual favors that have been hard to come by on the campaign trail.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not gay,” i.am said giggling and adjusting the pink fedora that he wore on the set of the new Peas video, “Shake Yo’ Lumpy Love Bumps. “But if Obama needs a little stress relief, I want him to know that I’m there for him. That’s how dedicated i.am to the message of hope and change that Obama brings to the table. Rest assured, I won’t like doing it. At least not much.”
While i.am’s, first two videos featured cameos from the likes of intellectual powerhouses such as John Legend, Scarlet Johansson, Tyrese, Jessica Alba and George Lopez, the Los Angeles native decided that for video number three he needed to offer an honest revelation of the depths of his man-crush. While various beautiful starlets offered to help i.am. in giving Obama hand jobs, i.am. said that this time he needed to go solo.
“When I look into Barack’s baleful brown eyes, he touches the depths of my inner artist,” i.am. averred. “I’ve written many songs that have meant a great deal to many people. “My Humps,” has been proven to cure cancer, “Let’s Get Retarded,” has helped millions of Americans cope with mental retardation and “I Got It From My Mama,” artfully explained the complicated world of genetics. Yet the song-writing process was never more natural than for ‘Hands Holding Hope.’ One second I was wondering what more I could do for Barack, the next I knew the answer: hand jobs.”
Apparently, Oprah was Unavailable
While Obama was unavailable for comment as he gathered at his Chicago headquarters to watch the primary results, an Obama campaign spokesman, Ellis Frumerberg, denied reports that the candidate took i.am. up on his salacious offer.
“Those allegations are preposterous,” Frumerberg said. “Obama has been happily married to his wife Michelle for over 16 years and he would never think about accepting illegal campaign handtributions. And might I add, that if he were to accept one, it would most certainly be from Jessica Alba.”
Clinton campaign staffers were quick to spin this as another example of Obama’s lack of experience.
“When the President is woken up at 3:00 a.m with an emergency crisis., who do you trust to make the right decision?” Clinton said. “Do you want a president willing to go to third base with the man who introduced Fergie to the world? To say nothing of his solo record. He’s the only man on earth capable of making Wyclef Jean look like Bob Marley.”
Anonymous sources inside the Clinton campaign confirmed that Tina Fey had proposed to make out with Clinton on camera in an attempt to woo the MTV crowd. However, the offer was promptly rebuffed.
Download:
MP3: Skip Spence-”Little Hands”
MP3: The Smiths-”Hand in Glove”
Posted in The Fakest News in Town, Best Of, It Got Weird, Didn't It? | 8 Comments »
February 5th, 2008
Take That Chuck Norris.
- As you can see from his “Real American” video above, Hogan has the endorsement of the real JFK, not his younger, drunker brother and rest of the flotsam and jetsam that currently constitute the rest of the Kennedy clan. This displays Hogan’s ability to transcend the realm of the spirit and the flesh. Last time, I checked Barack Obama was only capable of communicating with the living. How is he supposed to bridge generation gaps and the partisan divide if he can’t even communicate with the dead? Pathetic.
- Hogan’s American flag guitar is at least six times more awesome and 14 times more patriotic than the pathetic ax that Mike Huckabee wields in D.C. cover band, Capital Offense. This leads me to believe that Huckabee is soft on terrorism, communism, nihilism, and rockism, and therefore not fit to be president. Who’s the pinko now, Suckabee?
- Hulk Hogan once defeated Andre the Giant and Big John Studd. Granted, John McCain’s six and a half years of torture at the hands of the North Vietnamese must’ve been no picnic, but let’s face facts, McCain is 5′7. The Hulkster is 6′10 and weighs 300 lbs (according to Vince McMahon). Let’s just say for instance that Iran continues to take steps towards a nuclear weapon, and let’s just that say Mahmoud Admadinejad challenges the sitting American president to a Greco-Roman wrestling bout, my money’s on the guy who used to be nicknamed Thunder Lips and who can body-slam 520 lb. Gallic Giants.
Hogan’s Power Is So Great That Everyone He Comes Into Contact With Slowly Starts To Look Like Him
- Hulk Hogan is capable of mystically beaming himself from the Washington Memorial, to the Badlands, to the St. Louis Arch, to a cornfield in Iowa, to the Hollywood sign and Mt. Rushmore, all in a matter of seconds, while continuing to rock the fuck out. All granite-face Mitt Romney can do is look like he belongs on Mount Rushmore. [Or insert Your Own magic underwear joke here.]
- If a potential voter asked Hulk Hogan how he did his hair every morning, he wouldn’t break down on the stump and lapse into a teary schpiel. Instead, he would tousle his platinum-colored locks, flex his 24-inch pythons, tell her to say her prayers and to eat her vitamins. Then he would hop on his “Hulkster” chopper, swallow two dozen raw eggs for the protein and proceed to fight for the rights of every man (and woman.)
- While none of the remaining candidates love Khadafi (I imagine Kucinich may have had a small crush), not one can match the fervor of the Hulkster’s nationalistic fury. How many times have you seen Ron Paul rip up a picture of a jheri-curled Libyan dictator? Perhaps you might note that our problems with the tyrant of Tripoli seem like old news. A good point. But what if our diplomatic relations with the another country sour similarly? Maybe even France. Were that to ever happen, I know who I’d want in the white house: a leader with the necessary strength fortitude to to be willing to shred up a picture of Nicolas Sarkozy in his music video (and possibly shut down America’s lycees).
Not convinced? Watch the video below and try to convince yourself otherwise. If might not contain cameos from Will I Am and Scarlett Johansson but it’s damn effective. Some might even call it propaganda, but I for one call it testament.
Download:
MP3: Brian Eno & David Byrne-”America is Waiting”
MP3: Broadcast-”America’s Boy”
Posted in It Got Weird, Didn't It? | 4 Comments »
January 15th, 2008
“You may all go to Hell…I will go to Texas”-Davy Crockett
Davy Crockett’s tombstone reads: “Davy Crockett, Pioneer, Patriot, Soldier, Trapper, Explorer, State Legislator, Congressman, Martyred at The Alamo.” It fails to mention that he killed a bear when he was but a wee lad of three, but hey, there’s only so long you can go with an epitaph before you start to bore people. Crockett also wrote a book, the creatively titled, Narrative of the Life of Davy Crockett. Though it contains no mention of Silverlake, it does have an entire chapter on the proper way to wear buckskin. (”Snug, with just enough room to breath.”)
Over the years, the legend of Crockett has manifested itself in various forms. There was the Disneyfied, coonskin-cap wearing, King of the Wild Frontier, popularized by Fess Parker in such films as Davy Crockett Goes to Congress and Davy Crockett and the River Pirates. There was Davy Crockett as gay cowboy (presumably) in Davy Crockett: Rainbow in the Thunder. There was Davy Crockett as drunk existentialist, as played by Billy Bob Thornton in 2004’s maligned, The Alamo. And as 2008 dawns, with its nebulous promise of a shift of the winds, it is time to unveil the latest incarnation of Crockett folklore: the hipster Davey Crockett.
Granted, it was only Thursday night that the first intrepid, visionary coonskin-cap wearer stepped into Spaceland as though he was opening up Indian territory to Western expansion. And yes, it was just one hipster in one bar in one city. But rest assured this trend has the potential to spread like wildfire once the Harry and the Hendersons set realizes that not only can they project a new virile, musket-carrying image to their fair leggings, ladies. More importantly, they can completely alter the hipster space time continuum, sending the wookie-world hurtling back to 1955. No longer will your favorite Eastside denizens look like they stepped out of an cocaine orgy that may or may not have involved Pat Benatar. Yessir, 2008 holds the promise of a bold new paradigm. Coonskin caps. Greased hair. Cigarette packs rolled into tight white tees. Poodle skirts. Malt shop chic. As for me, I highly doubt I’ll adopt Crockett’s sartorial flair, though if enough hipsters end up ironically rocking dead raccoons for the rest of the winter, it’s highly probably that I’ll tell everyone to go hell and set out for the Lone Star state. I hear Austin is lovely this time of year.
First Hype Machine Sensation of the Year?
Download:
MP3: Clap Your Hands Say Yeah!-”Skin of My Yellow Country Teeth”
MP3: Fess Parker-”The Ballad of Davy Crockett”
Posted in It Got Weird, Didn't It? | 8 Comments »
January 8th, 2008
Not only is this a tremendous victory for wearers of handle-bar mustaches everywhere, but now, men named Goose can hold their heads high and no longer will be mistaken for sundry farm ganders. And yes, in case you were wondering, this post mainly exists because there are few names in the English language more fun to type than Goose Gossage. The only one that might top it is Catfish Hunter. Ah to be a 1970’s American League Closer. (No Sparky Lyle).
MP3: The Shins-”When I Goose Step”
MP3: Bob Dylan-”Catfish”
Posted in It Got Weird, Didn't It? | 8 Comments »
December 4th, 2007
After an intense scrutiny of the video for “Sensual Seduction” confirmed what a battery of MRI exams had already hinted at, neurologist Gerald Schwartz of The Mayo Clinic has decisively concluded that the rapper, Snoop Dogg, has smoked himself “retarded.”
“Retarded isn’t a term we even use anymore, but in this case it just seems to fit,” Schwartz said, furrowing his brow and waving his hands in air as though he actually does care. “Sometime around The Doggfather, Snoop’s chronic use of chronic began to take its toll. Subsequent forays in the world of pornography, youth football and whatever Doggy Fizzle Telefizzle was, are further evidence of his burn-out, “The unfortunate reality is that 98.3 percent of Snoop Dogg’s cerebral synapses are smothered in THC like birds dying on the beach after an oil spill.”
Schwartz displayed the results of the questionnaire that Mr. Dogg filled out upon being admitted to the Mayo clinic.
“Look at this!” Schwartz said, showing reporters a Mayo entrance questionnaire where Dogg had written his name: Calvin Broadizzle Deezle. “The subject is unable to properly spell his own name correctly, not to mention he’s exhibited classic schizophrenic behavior, by frequently requesting a voice box to sing into and asking the staff if they know whether or not he’s a freak. He also kept on repeating the word, “Bootsy over and over again.”
Let’s Just Cut to the Chase, There is Never a Bad Time To Post a Cover of a Zapp Album
Dogg’s former mentor, Dr. Dre declined to comment on his colleague’s medical condition, cl claiming to be too busy with his rigorous daily routine of snorting power shakes and bench-pressing baby elephants.
However, Dre’s half-brother, frequent Snoop collaborator, Warren G, opened up to reporters about his fallen friend.
“Snoop….man….Snoop likes his weed,” Warren G said, pausing, sighing and staring at the heavens. “I don’t know why people still give him so much attention. I mean, you people do you realize that he’s spit the same 16 bars in every verse since 1997? What about me? I’m Warren G. Don’t you guys remember “Regulate?” Or “This is the Shack” Those were awesome, right? ”
After initially turning down several interview requests, Snoop Dogg gathered reporters to his house out in the hills right next to Chino, to deny reports of Schwartz’s damning theories. Wearing nothing but a rhinestone studded lame jumpsuit and an electric guitar, the Long Beach bred rapper waggled his finger at the assembled media.
“You’ll reportizzle is off-fizzle…Snoop Dizzle is still number wizzle. Pizzle, bitches. Pizzle.”
Dogg then dismissed the crowd with a wave, an air pimp-slap and a villainous laugh. As for Schwartz, he contends that Dogg is slated to report back to the Mayo clinic in two weeks for some highly experimental brain therapy.
“We’re determined to try to recover as much of his brain matter as possible,” Schwartz said. We’re going to get him on a manageable five blunt a day diet with no more than two glasses a day of Gin and Juice. We’re also playing him an endless loop of The Chronic and Doggystyle and we’re also considering showing Snoop re-runs of The L Word, specifically his guest appearances as ‘Slim Daddy.”
Download:
MP3: Dr. Dre & Snoop Dogg-”Nuthin’ But a G Thing”
MP3: Snoop Dogg-”Gin And Juice”
If you need more drug info for specific reasons, such as to find out if marijuana will have any sorts of drug side effects during pregnancy, then while you should consult a doctor about the drugs you are taking you can also use the Internet to find out a lot about drugs and their effects.
Posted in The Fakest News in Town, Best Of, It Got Weird, Didn't It? | 10 Comments »
November 27th, 2007
If home is where you hang your hat then Silverlake is rapidly turning into the world’s largest hat rack. Over the past 12 months, it has become de rigueur in hipster courting rituals for male hipsters (homo habilus hipstericus) to trot out increasingly ridiculous pieces of vintage head-ware in an effort to woo the female species of hipster (homo habilus hipstripesicus). A trend once confined to the deepest recesses of the Cha Cha Lounge has spread like wildfire, consuming most of Hollywood and threatening as far west as the Fairfax district. As a native Angeleno dedicated to the preservation of a sane, safe city, I have decided to compile a guide designed to help ameliorate this obvious hipster identity crisis. If you or anyone you know has this problem, please take them to the nearest Lids as rapidly as possible.
The Fedora:
Unless you’re a chain-smoking, hard-as-nails 1940s gumshoe who can say the phrase “private dick” with a straight face, you probably shouldn’t be wearing a fedora. I know half of you guys went to private school with people named Humphrey and/or Dashiell, but unless you’ve actually solved at least one mystery in your life then you are forbidden from fedora-ing. And, no figuring out to the plot to Mullholland Drive doesn’t count as a mystery. Of course, there is also the fact that Will I Am wears fedoras. And nothing Will I Am does can ever be cool. Nothing.
The Derby
If I wanted to see a walking, talking, ball of hair in a derby hat, I’d just go watch an episode of The Addams Family.
The Che
Fight the revolution! One $3.00 organic fair trade cup of coffee at a time.
The Newsboy Cap
Repeat after me: just because I know every word to every song in Newsies does not give me the right to wear a newsboy cap. Sorry to be the bearer of ill tidings, you don’t look like Dave Chappelle, you look more like the guy on the couch.
The Top Hat
Okay fine, so I’ve never actually seen anyone on the streets of Silverlake wearing a top hat. But I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately and have concluded that the Mad Hatter from Alice in Wonderland very well might be the proto-hipster. Think about it. Garish color schemes, check. Shaggy unkempt mane, check. Penchant for spewing pretentious gibberish, check. Indie-rock style snug trousers, you betcha. And most importantly, the Mad Hatter had no real job and spent all day every day having tea parties with his friends. Give that man a laptop, stick him at the Intelligentsia Cafe, and he’d be in hog fucking heaven.
The Trilby Hat
Pros: You have a 0.01 percent chance of getting Kate Moss.
Cons: You have to tell people you’re wearing something called a trilby hat. Also, may bring back vivid childhood flashbacks of the Scatman.
The Beret
You know what would be the coolest thing ever? If an indie rock band started writing protest songs and had like eight people on-stage, two of whom were playing the violin and one of one of which was playing the glockenschpiel. And they could be influenced by Modest Mouse and The Talking Heads and Joy Division, with a touch of the Arcade Fire and they could all dress up in military fatigues and they could call themselves The Green Berets. It all starts with the beret. It all starts with the beret.
The Trucker Hat
Sorry brah, last time I checked this wasn’t 1999. Don’t you have a taped episode of That 70’s Show to go home and watch?
Download:
MP3: Fresh Cherries From Yakima-”Sailor Hats & Cigarettes”
MP3: Cold War Kids-”Passing the Hat”
The Tell ‘Em Why You Mad Bonus Track
MP3: The Notorious BIG-”Kick in the Door”
Top Photo via 2 Live Looks
Posted in Best Of, It Got Weird, Didn't It? | 17 Comments »
October 24th, 2007
Hipsters do the darndest things. First, it was the Hamburgler stripes and the Madonnoteven close “leggings and then it was the fedoras and the American apparel “lame headbands.” Incidentally, they’re actually called “lame headbands,” you aren’t being ironic, you’re just being retarded. But I digress, you see a new trend has arisen out of thin air, one that threatens to pull the hipster nation out of their collective sartorial sorrows. Indeed, as of last weekend, the Silverlake/Echo Park/Somebody Get Me Out of Here nexus seems to have adopted a new look: Hipster Willie Stargell.
It all started last Friday. I was minding my business at the Sunset Rubdown show, impressed by the incredible diversity of the crowd (Otis, Art Center and FIDM graduates!), when suddenly, a rail-thin hirsute hipster wearing a 1979 “We Are Family” Pittsburgh Pirates hat came into my eye sight. The next night at the Black Lips show, I saw two more wearing identical haberdashery, bringing the total of hipsters rocking 1979 Pirates hats in one weekend to three (And yes, I just wanted to use the word haberdashery in a sentence).
I for one I see this as good news, a ray of light pressing through that great fedora-colored cloud layer. After all, who can really argue with a cool throwback fitted? Not I. But be forewarned, to borrow from Colbert, you guys are on notice. The next time I see a hipster in a Pillbox Pirates hat he better be prepared to answer arcane trivia about not just Stargell, but about Dave Parker, Bill Madlock, John “Candy Man” Candaleria,” and even Sister Sledge. So brush up on your baseball encyclopedia hipsters. I’m taking no prisoners. And for the record, even though I’m feeling the look, you guys are way more Kent Tekulve than you are Willie Stargell.
Kent Tekulve: A Huge Fiery Furnaces Fan
Download:
MP3: Sister Sledge-”We Are Family”
Posted in Best Of, It Got Weird, Didn't It? | 5 Comments »
July 6th, 2007
This week marked the release of one of this year’s most anticipated rap albums, T.I. Vs. Tip., the follow-up to 2006’s T.I.’s hit King, a record that was best summarized by Ian Cohen in just four words: colossal waste of beats.
So far, the buzz on T.I. Vs. Tip has been mostly negative, with its Metacritic score sitting at a tepid 60. But I don’t trust Metacritic and its so-called “algorithms.” So I consulted with a machine that I’ve never known to be wrong, the oracle known as The T.I. 85. Indeed, only the calculator of Kings could analyze the real T.I., an artist so diverse he’s capable of doing both kinds of rap: gangster rap and Southern rap.
Yes, the TI-85 is so powerful it can solve both convoluted Calculus problems and the problem of how to keep occupied during worthless Calculus classes. (I.E. Snake, Drug War, & Tetris, games so addictive I’m surprised the other T.I. hasn’t bragged about selling them). There is only one problem. Namely that of late my ancient calculator is showing the harmful effects of laying dormant for a decade. For some reason, it will only produce out a series of random numbers. Therefore, I have no choice but to interpret the prophecy of the machine
Revelations from the T.I. (85)
Answer: 73
Q: What are the number of minutes on this bloated album.
A: 68
Q: The number of minutes that I’ll never listen to again for rest of my life: (The five minutes of “Watch What You Say to Me” are pretty awesome though. )
A: 2
Q: What are the number of past their prime rappers who somehow manage to out-shine T.I. (Busta Rhymes & Jay-Z)
A: 0.001 percent%
Q: What percentage is T.I. Vs. Tip, guest, Eminem of his former self?
A: 9,832
Q: How many times does T.I. call himself the “King.”
King Louis XIV: A Much Better King Than T.I. (And Probably Capable of Making a Better Album)
A: 4 percent
Q: What is the percentage of the time that the differences between and T.I. and TIP are readily apparent?
A: Infinite
Q: What is the number of tired gangster tropes and 2-dimensional drug-dealer stereotypes that T.I. recycles on this album.
A: 25
Q: How many rap albums have been made in 2007 that are better than T.I. Vs. Tip.
A: 16
Q: The number of bars it takes for T.I. to wear out his presence on any track.
A: Zero
Q: What is the sense of humor that T.I.possesses.
A: 3.3
Q: The score websites would give T.I. Vs. Tip if an indie rock band released a record this derivative, uninspired and straight-up boring.
Download the only thing on this record worth listening to.
MP3: T.I. (feat. Jay-Z)-”Watch What You Say to Me”
Posted in Are You From the Lester Bangs School of Thought?, Best Of, It Got Weird, Didn't It? | 9 Comments »
May 21st, 2007
In the days when the Native Americans ruled the Americas, they were known for the unique ceremonies they concocted to coax rain from the gods. Several hundred years later, a different type of rain dance has swept the continent. In an effort to illustrate the necessity of clean water supplies in Third World Countries, the brain trust of R. Kelly and L’il Wayne, (along with Wayne’s husband/father Birdman, T.I., Rick Ross and Fat Joe, have created the “Make it Rain (Remix,”) a song with an undeniably altruistic intent. Like Al Gore’s for the rap world, this kind-hearted collective understand the implications of global warming. Let me be the first to start the Nobel Nomination Process. These men need to go to Stockholm. If nothing else but to hear the first acceptance speech using the phrase “skeet skeet skeet.”
R. Kelly:
“I Be Drillin’ These Chicks Like Major Payne/When I Make it Rain, they be like ‘yo, do it again.’
What It Means: The plot of the 1995 Damon Wayans vehicle Major Payne (winner of four Oscars!) involved a man named Major Payne drilling a collection of under-aged students in the ways of the military. No one knows more about drilling underage children than R. Kelly. He’s so good, that when he makes it rain, “the chicks” ask him to keep drilling. He is very much like Exxon Mobil and equally worthy of Congressional scrutiny.
“From the club to my coupe, inside my gates, up in the bedroom screaming each other’s names.”
What it Means: A master of subtlety, Kelly is referring to the copy of Munch’s The Scream that hangs in his boudoir, not a threesome as commonly believed.
“They was purty purty and I was flirty flirty/l’il dro/l’il bub/now they gettin’ dirty dirty/Don’t ax me what my name is, stupid bitch, I’m famous/You Gon’ make me aim this/I’ll leave your ass brainless.”
What it Means: The girls that Kells had met at the club were purty purty. Spectacular! Even better is his “suave” flirty flirty demeanor. The only question: Can Kells ply the “purty purty girls” with enough illicit substances to allow for an orgy that may or may not involve Golden Showers.
However, there is trouble in Paradise. These sheisty females have enraged Kelly. How can they not know what his name is? Indeed, the “stupid bitches” need to understand who he is. He is famous! How can they not have heard “I Believe I can Fly,” and what about the “Ignition (Remix).” Sheer madness. Justifiably, Kelly threatens homicide. He will shoot this woman’s brains out. Sadly, without brains, the woman will inevitably look like this.
“I’m trying to stay R&B, but these streets is a part of me/so don’t get it twisted.”
What it Means: The streets and R&B are mutually exclusive. Just ask Sisqo.
“You see I order one bottle/than I fuck with one model/then I order more bottles/now I’ve got more models.
What it Means: Here, Kelly illustrates his take on the fabled children’s book, If You Give a Mouse a Cookie. Beneath Kelly’s smooth croon lies a complex, yet oh-so-simple equation. If you give a model a bottle, she’s probably going to want another bottle. But if you order another bottle, it’s going to attract more models, so you’re just going to have to order more bottles. This line might also be a reference to the long-canceled 1994 Fox nighttime soap, Models Inc.
“I’m from that city where the n—-z don’t play man/I take a chick to my room like Caveman.”
What it Means: Kelly is either referring to the Flintstone Kids or he might be referring to the new ABC sitcom, Caveman. Either way, it involves him using a club.
“So ask your girlfriend my name, I bet she go skeet, skeet, skeet, weatherman, ’bout to make it rain.”
What it Means: The line is an homage to two things. The first is noted pop culture guru, Skeet on Mischa. The second is to weatherman, Brick Tamland, a man with an equal amount of weather acumen.
Lil Wayne:
“Blat, Blat, Blat, Hey Joey, let me get him.”
What it Means: Wayne is requesting to get let out from the S&M dungeon where Fat Joe and Birdman normally keep him.
“It’s Young Money and we on like the television/The Weather Channel/But I do not Broadcast/I throw up more cash/and change the forecast.
What it Means: Actual evidence that George Bush’s trickle-down economic theory is working. For strippers. 
“Your boyfriend is lame, I make it rain on you”
What it Means: Guess whose boyfriend isn’t lame.
“He Never Make it Rain Like Southern California/Where’s your umbrella/now get your raincoat/baby, I make it flood/now you gon’ need a boat”
What it Means: An allusion to his favorite film, Titanic. Proving once and for all, the rumors that late at night during the peak of the Cash Money years, Wayne and the rest of the Hot Boys would have slumber parties once a week, where they would eat popcorn, sell crack and watch that “dreamy DiCaprio fellow.”
Download:
MP3: Fat Joe, L’il Wayne, R. Kelly, T.I. Birdman, T. Mac, Rick Ross-”Make it Rain (remix)
Posted in Are You From the Lester Bangs School of Thought?, Best Of, It Got Weird, Didn't It? | 12 Comments »
May 15th, 2007
By Chuck Fitzpatrick
When I woke up up this morning, I was struck by the horrible realization that this is the first morning of the rest of my life without the King of Queens. Sure, I knew the day would eventually come, but I guess in the back of my mind I never believed that the network suits would actually go through with it. And yet, today I woke up and lo and behold, the jelly doughnuts weren’t as sweet, the sun wasn’t as as bright, the mail wasn’t delivered as promptly.
They say that bad things come in threes and as if last night’s disaster wasn’t harsh enough, this morning I read an article that hinted that According to Jim and The George Lopez Show might get the ax too. Et tu, ABC? Et Tu? Where in God’s name will I be able to go to tune into the lovable follies of an overweight man and his encounters with his very hot sitcom wife and their eccentric but kind-hearted neighbors and children. Thanks, network executives, for killing all my role models.
Every so often, a figure emerges that claims to be the spokesman for a generation. Indeed, The King of Queens provided a thirty minute safe haven each week, for a generation of heavy-set males to dream of snagging the chick that played Stacey Carosi on Saved by the Bell despite our clogged arteries, four chins, and low-paying bureaucratic jobs. And hell, after being forced to watch Roseanne all through the 90s, it felt good to dream big (though not literally).
Farewell Sweet King , You Shall Never Be Forgotten
Today a new world rears its ugly head and life seems to have no direction. 205 episodes, nine years, and one Emmy nomination later, it’s been a wild ride. I remember those early days like it was yesterday, those periods when I foolishly that I might get tired of watching Honeymooners episodes poorly updated for the present. Yet I’ll be damned if bowling jokes never get old. The critics can have their Arrested Developments or their Freeks and Geeks, I’ll take a bored housewife calling her husband fat every single time.
The King might be Dead, but believe me, I’ll be looking elsewhere for a new hero, for a new role model, one with a similarly unrestrained waistline and a knack for making killer fart jokes. Hell, I already have some ideas in mind. As Hendrix once said, somewhere a king has no wife, but somewhere else, the wind cries I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry.
Download:
MP3: Run DMC-”Down with the King”
MP3: Pharoahe Monch-”Queens”
Posted in The Fakest News in Town, It Got Weird, Didn't It? | 3 Comments »
