Day 188:  Sunday, May 2, 2010: Paleontologists think your ancestor’s fossils are a new kind of sauropod.

MSN Headlines from Thursday, April 30:

Celebs Whose Hair Look Better Short

GRRRRRRAMMAR

This was the leading story.  The big headline.  With pictures of people like Halle Berry and other celebs sporting the short bob, which really kept the damn nation up all night, and you could just FEEL the fucking TENSION ripping from from coast to coast like a killer bee on crack, people catching their reflections in store windows and shit, envisioning a makeover between the ears.  I mean, sure their houses have been grabbed by the bank (again) and their unemployed hubbies have been cross-town binging after beating the kids with a horsewhip marinated in kerosene, but Jesus Christ, what if we just thinned back a bit on the sides and back or even went all troop like GI Jane?  Wouldn’t that shake things up a bit?  I mean . . . have you SEEN Hillary Duff lately?  Yeah.  Like that sexy high school grrrrrammar teacher every pole-panted adolescent DREAMS about.  Suddenly she’s a LADY.

John Wayne.  John Wayne was a killer with short hair but MSN missed this opportunity for an obvious fashion juxtaposition, and I’m pissed as hell.  Just the women, hey?  Can you envision Mister Wayne all Eddy Vedder – Jim Morrison looking but still throwing the broad-casted roundhouse punch and shooting those shiny six shooters?  Yeah.  Crazy, huh?  ‘Course he’s dead, but you get my point.  What short hair does for the ladies, long hair does for the conservative crazies.  We’re on to something for sure here, and life will be much better now.  The lion sleeps tonight.  He sleeps HARD.

HIS GUN IS HAPPY TO SEE YOU

 

Next headline: 

How New ‘Nightmare’ Rates With Critics

Who the hell cares what those bastards think?  Advance trailers, net surfing, and drunk friends tell us all we wanna know about what we wanna see.  Who reads some frustrated film student who made himself god and tries to define quality in a radical dynamic art form like film.  WTF?  They should try working instead of sitting on their asses and watching movies all day.  Critics were obsolete the minute Siskel died, or was it Ebert?  Are both dead now?  Because they tapped into something rare and exciting in the world of movie reviews.  We want more than one viewpoint, and it better be entertaining.  And it better not be up against good programming.  Otherwise it’s a useless exercise, because every single movie is open to an individual viewer’s taste and interpretation, therefore a critic’s opinion is just another viewer’s take.  A paid-off Hollywood insider wannabe’s opinion.  I’ll trust my own sources, thanks.  Nightmare’s not something for me, but only because I’ll cry like a little girl and wet myself . . .         

Goats That Play Dead?  It’s Just Fear

I don’t have any need for  a goat right now, so – maybe if the goat farmer didn’t let them watch Nightmare . . .

Report: Second Man In ‘iPhone-Gate’

Ever since Watergate, every scandalous thing gets “gate” slapped on it.  And who cares about the second man, when most of us don’t even know the first.  Plus . . . it’s a tech thing.  who gives a shit?  Guilty parties will be out on the links in a “prison” or have a damn GPS collar above their Birkenstocks.

What Are Mexico’s Immigration Laws?

I only go there in a sleek little Cessna flown under the radar to an obscure plateu in the Sierra Madres, under the name Pinky Gomez.  They seem to accept these conditions rather well. 

Hey!  Who wants to immigrate to Mexico?  Those crickets sure are loud!  Ha-ha-ha!  Is this thing on? 

I just think it’s funny that the Arizona immigration fiasco is all over the news, so now MSN has to say “Hey!  What about THEIR immigration laws?  Huh?”

It can’t be too tough.  Our arms dealers have no problem moving arms to  their drug dealers.

And that’s my Headline review for the weekend . . .

DAY 116:  Monday, February 1st, 2010: They wrote a song all about your size, and are still singing.

Severance Pay: continued from Day 115 . . .

Later that evening:

Two doctors walk down the Nutmeg Highway with a security guard, lab coats flared with quick feet in near-perfect unison as they approach a room door and open both slots

“Hey Max.”

The huge body builder is trussed tightly in a triple XL straight jacket, slouched against the far wall as a thread of drool hangs like spider line.  He has already been sedated, eyes glazed with the dazed and distant look of a stoked junkie.

The men enter and kneel before their huge guard as his head flops to one side, trying to focus.

“You gotta listen,” he says through labored breathing.  “Spense has to be punished . . .”

“We know,” one doctor answers softly, patting a huge, bound bicep.  “We’re all over it, Max.”

 “Yes . . . she has to be punished and stopped . . .”

“We know Max, we know . . .”

His head comes up, and there’s a brief moment of recognition as the doctor asks, “Max?  Did Janelle ask you for anything special when you came in here before?”

Max is trying to focus, asking, “Janelle?  Our sweet little Janelle?”

“Yes, Max.  Janelle.  Did she ever ask for things?”

Max puts his head back and starts sniffing like a dog, as the doctor’s hand rests on his massive arm. 

“Max?”

A smile appears, Max asking, “Smell that, gentlemen?  Can you smell these padded walls?”

The two doctors exchange nervous glances as Max drops his head a little, demonic eyes finding the security guard, who wonders why that look seems so familiar.

Max smiles.  “That smell is exactly like the beat-up boards of the old Boston Garden, where you could see chips and puck marks of greatness left behind like the signatures on our Declaration of Independence . . .”

“Shit,” one of the doctors mumble, but Max suddenly stops his brief history lesson, eyes locked on the security guard, who nervously steps back and starts looking around like he may have lost something.

“Hey Teddy!” Max says.  “Tell these guys all about the cool favors we did, for our poor little Janelle . . .”

Both doctors turn in time to see their security guard bolt from the room, Max now laughing and rolling his head like Stevie Wonder.

“Teddy’s a huge Bruins fan,” he explains. “When your brilliant team of experts let him give Janelle that big ol’ Bruins jersey as a present before the so-called meeting, he also delivered matching Sigs in a tight little sports bra double-sling holster rig.”

He starts laughing as drool returns for an encore, and after twelve minutes he’s sleeping like a baby, living out a slow and peaceful recovery from total mind domination, slated for testing later that week.

Spense is another story.

To be continued . . .