R.I.P. — The Queen Haters

I was surfing around today and stumbled upon something I’ve wondered about for twenty-six years. In early 1983, my brother and I were staying up late watching SCTV. A segment about a British punk band came on the screen with a Johnny Rotten-ish Martin Short, a guitar-wielding Eugene Levy, and a bald John Candy. We were absolutely hysterical. About halfway through the skit, the legendary last accurate weather man, Harold Taft, came on with a thunderstorm warning. He droned on and on and on, as weather men often do when they’re excited about possible deadly tornadoes or hail. We bitched and screamed to no avail. I think my brother even flopped down and beat on the floor. By the time SCTV came back on, the punk scene was practically over and we never knew what we missed. We bemoaned that night for years.

The Last Accurate Weather Man

The Last Accurate Weather Man

Now we have British friends so I feel it’s important for them to know that we weren’t dissing their Queen. Sure, they can send us a cut-out postcard of her face but that’s the kind of thing you can do when it’s your family. We were just young and silly and had loved the Sex Pistols. We still periodically reminisce about that night. This one’s for you, Newton.

Click here to see SCTV-The Queen Haters I Hate The Bloody Queen


Published in: on March 11, 2009 at 6:54 pm  Comments (2)  
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Peter Falk

I heard from an old high school friend of mine last night who we’ll call Miss G. She corrected me about my last post on two counts. People that have known you your whole life don’t ever cut you any slack.

1) Every girl in my junior class did not like Nick Nolte, as Miss G’s favorite actors were Alan Arkin and Michael Caine. Miss G, I left that third one out as I’m quite sure you didn’t wish to make him publicly known! [See title.] You always were mature for your age.

Perhaps at this juncture, I should confess that although I did think Peter Strauss was cute, I had at least two actresses that I fixated on during that time — Joan Hackett and Sandy Dennis. Odd choices, don’t you think? Joan Hackett was a great actress who had a gift for underplaying every scene — even when it called for intense emotion. A ruffian could be pistol whipping her man and she’d just whisper with a slight quiver, “I don’t think you should be doing that.” Sandy Dennis had a little bit of a stutter but that may have stemmed from playing opposite George and Martha in Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? The last I saw of Sandy, she was in People magazine wearing a mumu, surrounded by 27 cats. But I still loved her.


Joan, reacting to a murder


Sandy & unknown cat

2) Back to my corrections! Miss G told me it wasn’t Ellen Barkin but rather an actress named Collette Blanigan. (I reckon that was her fifteen minutes of fame.) I must have been temporarily blinded and unable to distinguish between the two actresses. Here is a photo from that dark theater. See if you can tell whether it’s Ellen Barkin or not.

Surprise, surprise, surprise!

Surprise, surprise, surprise!

Published in: on February 9, 2009 at 5:45 pm  Comments (1)  

Baby’s Head Soft Spot #6 — Nick Nolte

Rich Man, Poor Man

Why would I be thinking about Nick Nolte today when I haven’t seen him in a movie since Prince of Tides. He’s a has-been, a broken down old actor who’s time has passed.

Well, blame it on Mickey Rourke. If you saw the Golden Globes, you know exactly what I mean. Mickey was nasty beyond description. Nothing like the young Mickey that was in Diner, which I hated anyway. I was severely traumatized from the scene in the movie theater where he stuck his manhood up through a popcorn box so that Ellen Barkin would touch it and swoon. Luckily, for the sake of the movie, she was not traumatized. Anyway, he always freaked me out. But now that he’s taken a few too many punches to the ol’ kisser, he’s way scary. We’ll probably see him punching and shuffling his way through yet another 9 1/2 Weeks sequel very soon. Or maybe a prequel. He could play his character’s old abusive grand pappy. So why did Mickey remind me of Nick?


When I was a junior in high school, every girl there was in love with Nick Nolte, the bad boy from Rich Man, Poor Man. Well, except me — I loved, Rudy Jordache, the golden boy played by Peter Strauss. More of a button down type. I didn’t fully appreciate Nick until I was a middle aged woman.  And by then it was too late. The young buff Nick had morphed into a middle aged drunken bozo whose hair had a life all its own. So naturally, when I saw Mickey in such poor condition, I thought of Nick in a similar state of disrepair.

But at least Nick kept his sense of style.

And people wonder why old people live in the past.


Published in: on February 5, 2009 at 7:01 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Dem Bones


It had to happen sooner or later. Researchers weren’t happy scraping around in the donated brains of the Einsteins of this world. (I can never eat chili in a bread bowl — it reminds me of Hannibal Lecter.) Now they want to dig up scientists’ corpses — specifically, Galileo — and figure out why they effed up their theories and calculations. Well, maybe not so much why they screwed up as much as make excuses for them.

So Galileo called it wrong about Saturn. It was round and ringed. We don’t need to make excuses for his bad eyesight. We don’t need to take DNA to try and pin it on his bad case of creeping juniper glaucoma or whatever. We don’t need to know about his arthritis, his night sweats, his bloody discharge (orifice unknown.) The Catholic church has readily admitted that Galileo finally went blind but you don’t see it making excuses for him. As a spokesman for the Pope said, “He was under house arrest with no visitors for years. Of course he went blind.”

What’s next? Will we start taking DNA from old has-been ball players? Shawn Bradley would have been great. If only he hadn’t had the Big White Stiff gene. Or worse. Will we start looking at ourselves and making excuses? Who knows. I might have to take my own DNA sample down to the admin building in defense of my crappy bulletin boards. Wouldn’t that make those nasty teacher unions even more powerful than they are now! They could get me a special dispensation for using store bought posters instead of handmade artsy stuff we’re supposed to do on our own. It would go down in my file in human resources — Must be allowed use of stencils due to lack of fine motor skills. No artistic bent whatsoever. Needs positive reinforcement. Kind of like an IEP (Individualized Education Plan) for professionals.

So maybe all those high-browed scientists should stop the madness and take a tip from us Texans — we only do exhumations here to see how tore up the body is.

Published in: on January 23, 2009 at 9:57 pm  Comments (4)  
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Holy Blowout, Batman!

You might have known it would happen in Texas — where we don’t believe in crying “Uncle” and we obviously don’t listen when somebody does cry “Uncle!” In a regional TAPPS game, the Covenant girls basketball team obliterated the Dallas Academy girl’s team 100-0. The Covenant school is a religious school and when you peruse their website, all the students are dressed alike — much like the Von Trapp family. By contrast, Dallas Academy is a special needs school full of kids with short attention spans and dyslexia.

So how does a game get to this point? Well, evidently the Covenant girls were still doing a full court press well into the fourth quarter. There were eyewitness reports that Dallas players were wandering off the court and coming back with nachos. That’ll help you win a ballgame. And one of the score keepers heard some Covenant players taunting the Dallas girls with, “Yes, Jesus loves you; yes, Jesus loves you; yes, Jesus loves you but he cain’t help you now!”

The Covenenant website has a statement of regret on its news page. The Headmaster says, “This clearly does not reflect a Christ-like and honorable approach” blah, blah, blah. The same could be said for a lot of religious institutions.

The Dallas Academy girls seem to have take the loss pretty well, considering. However, upon post game interviews, they seem to have thought they won the game.

Published in: on January 23, 2009 at 5:23 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Armageddon Week

The End Is Near

The End Is Near

Up in the heavens a bewitching siren

Feeds on an all-beef wiener in front of the masses.

On the battle field runs a cowboy launching errant missiles

While the angry mob cries in the depths of hell.

–Nostradamus, Century XXI, quatrain 1

(Translation: Up in the skybox Jessica Simpson

Chows down on a hot dog on national tv.

Tony Romo, the Cowboys quarterback, has a shitty year

and we haven’t won a playoff game in twelve years.)

Yeah, it’s pretty obvious that I’ve been watching Armageddon week on the History Channel. I’ve come to know the Four Horsemen — although I don’t remember which color guy stands for what. There will be an anti-Christ but you can make it whoever you want him to be; I pick David Caruso. I understand the concept of the Apocalypse like never before. I can draw a Mayan calendar, predict the size of an asteroid crater, and calculate which world cities will be lost when the Greenland ice shelf melts into the ocean.

I became sufficiently worried enough that I actually looked up the elevation here in Dallas/Fort Worth. We’re 653 feet above sea level. However, London, you and Perth may have a problem. (Come live in the Gay Bunker with us when everything hits the fan. No Marmite, please.) My other friends should be okay. In the event of nuclear holocaust, we’re all screwed.

In any case I’m taking the lead of one of my old uncles who moved to Arkansas — specifically to live off the fat of the land, like George and Lenny — while preparing for the end of days. I’m planting a victory garden and filling up the bunker with Dinty Moore stew, vienna sausages, and Xena and Gabrielle posters. It’ll be just just like in my twenties and thirties — manual labor, crappy food, and the inability to get married.

The Anti-Christ

The Anti-Christ

Published in: on January 11, 2009 at 8:21 pm  Comments (7)  
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Bubble Gait

Bubble's Binding Bitch

Bubble's Binding Bitch

Well, it’s another gift giving time of year and true to form, I got a wide array of presents from my family. I was shocked to see that I had been given an exact replica of Bubble’s Binding Bitch, the contraption that Bubbles the Clown had endured as a youngster on the fringes of the bigtop circuit. The process of foot spreading is very akin to that of Chinese food binding, except here the toes are not broken and bound — the arch is broken and the foot is crammed into the flattest, longest, skinniest shoe one can find. Just as the Chinese women had the so-called lotus gait, the modern day American clown has what has been nicknamed bubble gait.

The device is cleverly camouflaged in designer footwear so that the budding young clown can create the foot deformity before his unsuspecting parents realize what’s happening. Depressed, journeymen clowns also wear Bubble’s Binding Bitches when they need to get out in public in their civilian clothes and just don’t feel like being funny.

The Real Deal

The Real Deal

Published in: on December 29, 2008 at 8:34 pm  Comments (3)  
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To All The Pets I’ve Loved Before

Who traveled in and out my door

More or less in order . .

First up was Chi-chi, a tiny chihuahua who was constantly paralyzed with fear. Unbeknownst to my mom, I used to feed her the red plastic peelings off of bologna. Fate: run over by a big truck on a little highway.

Next was Sandy, an extremely athletic sheltie who could catch anything you threw to her. I used to loosen corny dogs from the sticks and then throw like hell, leaving the stick in my hand like a grenade pin and the corny dog remains way out in the yard for Sandy to fetch. She never brought them back to me. She died of a heart attack at age 19 while fetching her food.

Now I know you can’t ever replace a pet but Sandy was replaced by Toky, a sweet-natured border collie who lost a couple of teeth catching frisbies. I named her after Alice B. Toklas because both had small mustaches. Yeah, I know. What straight girl would name a pet after her? I just thought I was sophisticated. Anyway, Toky had a heart attack when I came out to my parents.

During that same time, we had an assortment of dogs that my brother and sister brought home. Fig was a lovable, black retriever of some sort but he was the dumb blonde of dogs. Badger was a bad-tempered Corgi (if they were good enough for the Queen, they were good enough for us!) who accidentally broke my nose during a stare-down. After he nipped the little girl next door, he had to be put to sleep. However, we found out a couple of years later that the girl’s own dog had mysteriously died with a tennis ball stuck in its throat. It appears Badge was a good judge of character. Sorry, Badge!

It was about this time that Mam-aw’s apartment dog, Dibs, was involved in an altercation with another apartment dog. When Mam-aw tried to kick them to break up the fight, she fell and broke her dadgum hip and we inherited her dog. Mam-aw always bragged that if a male dog approached Dibs for a little fun, Dibs “wouldn’t let ’em.” More likely it’s that they passed on her because of her hideous breath. Dibs lived for-EV-er.

Then there was the blind poodle named Gemini; Rosie, a ginger-colored dog who was chosen because she matched my sister’s living room carpet; and Lassie, a little sheltie with a severe underbite. Don’t look at me. I didn’t name her. Thrown into the mix were a couple of cockatiels named Prince and Fletcher, who my mom used to whistle Dixie to every morning. They weren’t ever able to whistle it themselves but they did learn to repeat, “Look away, look away.”

But the crowning jewel of the entire menagerie is a cat named Boots. Obviously, when this stray kitty was named, his little white feet were his most prominent features.

Time has a way of changing things.

Cat With Rodent Ulcer

Boots -- Cat With Rodent Ulcer

Published in: on December 27, 2008 at 11:05 pm  Comments (2)  
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Quiz Flashback — What Goddess Are You?


You Are Artemis

Brave, and a natural born leader, you want to believe that women are drawn to you for the right reasons. You hope that they are looking beyond your sixteen or seventeen breasts.

A tomboy from the get-go, you’re willing to fight for what you believe in, but you also believe in picking your battles. Besides, why risk collateral mammary damage when your brother will often smack down your enemies for you.

You’re willing to make tough decisions — that metal chastity belt thwarts the most ardent lovers, but it’s a bitch to go to the ladies room. Hunting trips are hell, too.

Don’t forget — the people around you have ideas too. When they come to you with those visions — and they will — don’t discount the one called the She-Wee.


Published in: on December 21, 2008 at 10:17 pm  Comments (1)  
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Black Market Jesus

There’s a new trend in life size nativity scene security this year — GPS tracking. Churches are attaching microchips to the little Jesuses’ ears like farmers do with cattle or prize hogs. This has paid off several times because the different nativity statues have been tracked down and restored to their rightful owners.

When the local sheriff was asked what the average value of a black market Jesus was he said, “It depends on a couple of things. Like whether there was realistic swaddling clothes or if his little tallywacker was shorn.” He then added, “We caught a couple of boys ’cause they tried to unload some Baby Jesuses to a downtown synagogue.”

As to the value of the other nativity scene pieces, the sheriff said that black market lambs and oxen fetch more than Jesuses in rural parts of the county. “I’ve never seen such violated animals in all my life,” he said. “We found a big plastic ox in one boy’s barn and just had to have it put down.”

Published in: on December 17, 2008 at 1:47 am  Comments (2)  
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