A Thanksgiving message from the one you should be giving thanks for.

To the American Indian land ownership was nearly incomprehensible. To the Indian you could no more own the earth than you could the sky, or the ocean. 

 - Quote from some site that I Googled in between Googling “Bea Arthur emerges from ocean, doesn’t realise her swimsuit has somehow fallen off.” 

I’m what you would call a sensitive guy.   Years ago I saw Dances With Wolves at the awesome Wampatuck Cineplex and walked away with a deep understanding of Native Americans.

I learned that they killed buffalo for fun and that although caring white guys like Kevin Costner tried to help them, they still insisted on being driven off the continent….there’s just no pleasing some people.

An entire tribe would die if you so much as sneezed in their direction.  I imagine that’s whycome you don’t see a lot of Native Americans lined up for the flu shot.  It could kill ‘em as easy as the flu itself.

So every year around Thanksgiving instead of hearing Native Americans giving thanks for turning their crappy teepees into convenient  Wal-Marts, I gotta turn on the news and watch them dress up as Native Americans and bury Plymouth Rock.

They cover it with sand like my 4-year-old nephew might do if he hadn’t outgrown his sandbox 2 years ago and then they mumble some stuff about “stealing the country etc…”  while conveniently leaving out the $24.50 worth of beads that we gave them for Manhattan. 

Then they go home to their casinos and get drunk on fire water while a mild ocean breeze gently blows the sand from off the rock.

All this when their philosophy is “The earth is our mother.”

Oh! Did the earth squeeze you out of her body part that we never mention by name you ingrate?  That’s what my mother would say…..then I’d tell her to leave me to be alone with my action figures and the whole thing would end with us spitting at each other and me running back into my room and defiantly blasting Gilbert O’Sullivan music.

So to you reader,  I say Happy Thanksgiving.

And if you happen to be Native American, I say make up your fucking mind….and don’t forget to check out Old Navy….its over where your ancestors are buried and they’re open on Thanksgiving!…..You’re welcome.

    

                  

     Suck it up, Dresses Like Half-Pint!….

 

            

        ….. and  I’ll have a rum and coke, Hon.

 

Oh my God! (OMG!) Liz Taylor has dropped dead!

It’s a Thanksgiving miracle!

Not really.

Even as her friends and contemporaries die around her, Too Good for Dirt Liz can’t seem to take the subtle hint.

Thus I am putting together an online petition and will be gathering signatures urging Ms. Taylor to do the right thing and die of natural causes immediately.

When I have gathered 3 or 4 signatures I will present the petition to her in the guise of some shitty award because thats all that actors and actresses care about.

Jennifer Aniston wouldn’t piss on her mother if she was on fire but she’d use babies for shoes and run down to the food court at the mall to collect the Best Actress….(Oh Sorry We Meant The Dog)…In A Dog Movie award.

Anyway, I’m sick of posting Liz Taylor pics so here’s this.

Amy Sedaris’s homemade cheese balls can be purchased at The Gourmet Garage in Greenwich Village.

I tried a Lil’ Smokey a few years back and it was yummy…..exactly the kind of yummy that Liz Taylor could choke to death on while her assistants silently look on while forming an unspoken pact.

                 

I might suggest leaving a few along the baseboards of Liz’s mansion.

Sorry (frat)boys Sarah Palin does not want to fuck you.

Conservative women like Sarah Palin.  My guess is that by comparison, she makes them feel intelligent.

Conservative men love Sarah Palin because she hates women as much as they do.

Plus they can finally masturbate to a Republican without being labelled gay.

Sarah Palin has a new book called Going Rogue and its in stores now!

I’m not going to read it………readings for pussies.

Everyone knows that if a book is any good then they’ll make it into a kick-ass movie.  

As a matter of fact, I’m already working on the script for Going Rogue, The Sarah Palin Story Film Story.

I don’t need to read the book because us Hollywood writers like to take liberties for the sake of format…..I imagine this one will need some spicin’ up.

Here’s what I’ve got so far:

A KNOCK is HEARD.

An annoyed looking SARAH PALIN answers the door.  She is wearing a low-cut blouse and a tight black skirt.

STEVE stands at the door wearing overalls with no shirt.  He holds a tool box.

                                Steve

Ummm. Hello Mrs. Palin. I’m here to fix your pipes.

                                Sarah

I know why you’re here!  You’re late!  I haven’t been able to shower.  So you must be Joe.

                                Steve

No.  I’m Steve.  Ummm….I’m very sorry Mrs. Palin ….I got held up by Ms. Coulter.  She had a problem with her drain and….

                                 Sarah

I’ve seen Coulter’s stopped up drain…. You’re late Joe and I’m all alone.  My husband and the children are away for the weekend.

                                 Steve 

Even the retard?

                                 Sarah

Are you referring to my son Trig?

                                 Steve

Yes Ma’am.

                                 Sarah

Okay.  Because I think a couple of ‘em may be tahds.  We’re not so sure.

Steve steps into the foyer and Sarah stops him closing the door behind him.

                                  Sarah (Cont’d)

Where do you think you’re going?

                                 Steve

To fix your pipes?

                                 Sarah

You’re not tracking up my moose carpet with those boots!  Remove them.

Steve obliges.  Sarah makes a face and points to his socks.

                                 Sarah (Cont’d)

And those!

Steve removes his socks and picks his tool box up.

                                 Sarah (Cont’d)

Not so fast!  Your overalls are filthy!  Take them off!

                                 Steve

I can’t do that Mrs Palin.  I…ummm….didn’t have any clean underwear today.  This is all I’m wearing Ma’am.

                                  Sarah

I don’t care about your laundry problems!  Remove those filthy overalls THIS INSTANT!

Steve removes his overalls as Sarah puts her hand to her glasses frame to get a clearer view.  Steve is now nude and covering himself with both of his really large hands.  

                                  Sarah

Hmmm……not bad.   Now let’s show you those pipes.

 

INT. BEDROOM – NIGHT

Sarah lies in bed.  Steve has made a mess of her.   She now resembles Hillary Clinton. 

                                 Sarah

Oh Joe!  You were fantastic!  I love you.

                                 Steve

You’re welcome.

Steve looks at the camera and winks.

Of course in the final draft she’ll have a maid and a twin sister, maybe a midget or two, there’ll be karate and a car chase…..I don’t know, I haven’t read the fucking book.

                    

                             I see Pam Grier as the maid.  Please.

R.I.P. Buzzy

“Buzzy’s?”

This was all it took….anywhere between 1am and 4am if this word was uttered, we would be off to make the 15 minute ride downtown.

Whycome the nostalgia you ax?

Sadly, Alan Kaufman aka “Buzzy” passed away a few weeks ago in Florida at the age of 72.

Anyone that’s ever lived in Boston remembers Buzzy’s Fabulous Roast Beef. 

It was behind Mass General hospital and the back wall of the Charles Street Prison on the corner of Cambridge Street and Storrow Drive… and it never closed. 

That may sound meaningless in New York or Las Vegas, but this was sleepy Boston where if you were out past 11pm it was usually to strangle someone or to try and outrun someone who wanted to strangle you.

Buzzy’s was the light in the window that never went out.  Like if your parents liked you or something.

Many was a time that my friends and I would head to Buzzy’s at 3am for a quick feed.  We’d order Number Ones and eat them on the ride back, arriving safely at home in time for the fabled Buzzy’s Blowout.

           I have a hard on……maybe it’s just a clogged artery.

Buzzy’s didn’t sell T-shirts or merchandise….this was in the days before people wanted to wear advertising.  T-shirts were for the help only.

I changed that.

I would hound the counter staff over and over for a T-shirt, only to be appeased with paper hats.  Until I found an opening.

He was a rumsoak and he worked behind the counter.  I smelled the booze, moved in and immediately bribed him.

“Come back Tuesday,” he told me in a hushed whisper.  “You gotta keep it quiet because I’ll get fired if they find out.”

I assured him that I would never wear the shirt around Buzzy’s and we sealed the deal with a nod.

Three Tuesdays and two attempted back outs later, he finally came through.  Oddly enough, drunks tend to have low reliability….I don’t know why.  I’m not a scientist.

On the third Tuesday, I pulled up and he scurried to the curb handing me a brown paper bag with two t-shirts in it. 

I was touched as I had only asked for one.   My sidekick for the night chimed in…..

“What are you gonna do with the extra?”

“It’s not an extra…..its a spare.”

Can you spot her simple yet fatal mistake?

John from Akron Ohio thinks he did:

 ”She should have offered to give you head in exchange  for the T-shirt, right?  What did I win?” – John from Akron Ohio

You’ve won a lifetime in Akron Ohio John.

The correct answer is that she should have immediately given me head while asking for the T-shirt.

Anyway…..back to Drunky.

I handed him a twenty and a small bag with a bottle in it.

“What’s this?”   

“A bonus.”  

I smiled and he opened it…..”bless you!”

Joy!

A blessing from a bum is like 10 blessings from a normal person but still not as good as a single blessing from a black person.  Obviously blessings from homosexuals work in reverse, but I’m getting off track.

A year later Buzzy was selling T-shirts caps and sweatshirts…..I bought a sweatshirt.

And then it all came apart.

Buzzy’s was run out of their location by the dicks at Mass General and chose to go upscale, opening a new sit down Buzzy’s on Mass Ave in Cambridge.  

Big mistake.

It tanked immediately, just after I won an award for taking part in its design which I appropriately did while drunk.

You’re welcome.

Visit Buzzy’s Fabulous Roast Beef.

Building the perfect Steve

Compared to you I’m perfect.  Believe me, I didn’t miss that one.

This week’s therapy provided a serious breakthrough!

After months of assuring me that my feelings and traits are mostly normal (she rates me a 1 out of 3 in a scale of fucked up with 3 being the most fucked up) she finally threw me one……

My therapist closed by stating that I’m not O.C.D. or A.D.D., but that I possess small qualities of both which is rare.

             FUCKING FINALLY!

All I’ve ever wanted was for someone to acknowledge that I’m different!

To celebrate my newly recognized uniqueness I threw her a little bonus at our end of session fuck.

I do this thing where I have the chick lay on her back while I thrust my cock in and out of her repeatedly until I don’t feel like it anymore.

I bet she loved it.

What became of Cocktober?

I don’t know.   I’m too lazy to follow through with anything.

My therapist says thats why I can’t achieve climax.

But I say it’s because she’s a selfish stuck up whore bitch with sexual hang-ups like not letting me call her Mommy or allowing me to wear a sock puppet that cheers me on when we fuck.

Anyway stay tuned for NO-vember!

With a catchy name like that I can’t fail!

Cocktober draws to an end

              Wouldn’t it be cool if it spit out Tootsie Rolls?

When Cougars’ nanas attack.

Can you spot the error?

I did.

The article attached to the above photo stated that the “girls” are filming an “eighties flashback scene” when obviously they meant to say a flash forward to their eighties.

                                                          Rawwwr!

I assume that HBO Productions will be sending me some kind of a prize for my keen eye.

Please don’t let it be Sex In The City dvds. Sarah Jessica’s monkey paws scare Steve. 

              Make three wishes….if you dare!

When frogs grow tits, you say?

Gotcha!

Now all I need is for Kelley Osbourne to learn how to fly and I’m unstoppable!

Oink-oink….Boo!…Oink-oink-oink.

 

Can you get the swine flu from a photo? 

OMG (Oh My God)……I think I have the swine flu!

Spot the douche

I like the new Pearl Jam song although I really couldn’t care one way or another about Pearl Jam.

I have a friend….we’ll call him Retard, who’s a Pearl Jam super fan. Goes on tour, buys all their crap….has the Eddie Vedder pillow cases etc…

Anyway, Retard has taken me to a few PJ shows and I went because I’m all about music and friends and all that shit.

Heres some stuff that I like about Pearl Jam.

1) Eddie joins the opening act at some point during their performance.  This encourages the fans to catch the warm-up band. Nice.

2) Pearl Jam never plays the same set twice and doesn’t play Jeremy every fucking night. Great.

3) Pearl Jam donates money from their proceeds to the local food bank.  Nothing like leaving a place better than when you arrived.

 

Heres a few things that I don’t like about Pearl Jam.

1) Mike McCready is a douchebag.

First off, he’s a marginal guitarist….sorry Retard and fellow retard PJ fanboys.

On top of this, he runs around the stage in his douchewear striking rock star poses and the like.

Mike frequently changes the color of  his douchespike hair making him slightly less dopey than Lady GaGa.

See if you can spot douche Mike McCready in this recent pic.

Any luck?

How bout’ now?

Anything?

Here.  Try this one.

No?

How’s this?

 

Hmmmm?

Still no luck?

I can’t help you retard.