From Muppetz ta G's

Being kitchenless (until recently) and also being on a fairly relentless work schedule, has led to me spending what little downtime I have in ways I'm not exactly proud of. Specifically, I've been watching a lot of crappy reality competition shows that were developed to entertain 17-year-olds with promising futures working in sales at Spencer's Gifts. Even more specifically, I've been watching VH1's utterly shameless I Love Money and MTV's craptacular From G's to Gents. I have no dignity.

The concept of From G's to Gents is that host Fonzworth Bentley (yes, I am totally certain that was his given name at birth) has embarked upon a Pygmallionesque quest to transform a ragamuffin band of uncouth urban youths (the forementioned G's) into suave, urbane sophisticates. In the first episode, a G named "Pretty Ricky" (not the street name I would choose for myself if I really thought that incarceration might be in my immediate future), distinguished himself by urinating on the walls of Mr. Bentley's home. See- classy, enlightening entertainment all the way.

Anyhoo, this video of Bert and Ernie going through a reverse transformation: from mellow "roomates" to hard-bangin' G's amused the bejeebers out of me. Enjoy.



stolen from Skidzilla

Hey, guess what we're drinking at the Scooby Doo Mansion this summer!

Yessir, nothin' goes with a bucket of fried chicken like some syrupy semi-carbonated Lambrusco from a screwtop bottle. Unfortunately, this ad forgot to show the breakfasty side of Riunite - Riunite with french toast, anyone?
The ad also forgot to show how awesome Riunite is with half-eaten, two-day-old Taco Bell leftover chalupas that you picked up while on your previous Riunite bender.

Oh crap, they've got a website even! Even more exciting, they've got an archive of all their old TV ads. Damn.

I don't even want to know

A Farewell to Shadies: A Pictorial Retrospective of the Most Entertaining Neighbors Ever

Once upon a time, Lex-Ham was home to a family who were not real slim, but were pretty damned shady. We just called 'em the Shady Bunch or the Shadies for short. Their house was Chez Shady. And at the center of all the action at Chez Shady was Erik Shady, a guy who just loved keepin' it real.

Yup, that Erik was some real dope-ass gangzta shiznit. He also enjoyed a slice of cake from time to time.

The matriach of the Shady Bunch was Beth Shady. She, also, is westsiiiiiide!

And who could forget those charming little scamps the Shadies were raising to be upstanding, high-achieving, productive members of society? We're gonna miss you crazy kids.

Sometimes a guy we just called High as Hell would come over. Sometimes we could hear the Shadies and HaH having spirited roundtable discussion about exactly how they were all related. It got pretty complicated. Kinda like the McGlaughlin Group or the Algoquin Roundtable, except with more 24 ozers of Steel Reserve Malt Liquor.

And who could forget Uncle Tony? - a mild psychopath who, oddly enough, might have been the closest thing Chez Shady had to a responsible adult.

Sometimes the Shadies would have awesome parties featuring feats of strength. That is, if you consider dusting off a case of Steel Reserve tallboys to be a feat of strength.

So long and happy trails to you, Shadies. We just know you're going to love getting to know your new neighbors - the Mullets.

And so we, the awesome residents of the Scooby Doo Mansion, raise a toast of white wine and shrimp cocktail to you, the Shady Bunch. It's been real, yo.

Remain calm, all is well.

So, obviously I've been away for a while. All I can tell ya is that the Spanish Main don't plunder itself. Since Baby Jesus' birthday is coming up and everything, let's get the action started with some seasonal awesome album covers (caveat: we prefer to celebrate Saturnalia at the Scooby Doo Mansion):


'Cuz anytime you need a laugh, just mention K-Fed. Seriously, the dude is pretty much humor Colt .45 - as in works every time. Just ask Billy Dee Williams.

Hey did you know that Rush is from Canada? They're totally Canadian you know - as any self-respecting Cannuck will tell you less than four minutes into any conversation.

You haven't lived until you've seen Adam Fielitz sing "Paradise by the Dashboard Lights" at Tin Cups.

If you're not like me and your hands aren't permanently ink-stained from reading every single issue of Maximum Rock n Roll cover to cover from 1988 to 1993, then maybe you don't know who G.G. Allin was. All I can say is, think of the sickest shit a performer could do onstage and then amplify it to the power of ten. If it was depraved, twisted, and wrong - our man G.G. was on it. This is a textbook example of why you may want to consider NOT naming your child "Jesus Christ." Just a thought.

BONUS B.S.:


Hands down, this is the best genuine dive bar in Saint Paul. Any place that has "Fuck Her Gently" on the karaoke list and will let seven of us get likkered-up for a cumulative $18 deserves some kind of recognition.


Attention foreigners: In America, all arguments are automatically won by the person wearing an awesome stars-n-stripes shirt and an even awesomer mullet. Them's the rules, bub.