I just saw something on the American Music Awards that pissed me off. Now I should note that I was not actually watching the AMA’s, because I’m an old fuck who believes that music has been going steadily downhill since Led Zeppelin disbanded in 1980. Seriously, you don’t have to be able to play an instrument any more since session hacks will record everything for you, and now you don’t have to be able to sing either. Fucking auto-tune. Now your odds of hitting it big and going straight to the top are directly linked to your ability to fellate Simon Cowell to orgasm. (Hint: It is a known fact that Simon Cowell cannot climax without having three fingers placed in his anus. Not two, not four, three. And yes, he can tell the difference.)
So it was while I was walking through the family room that I noticed Beyonce being given an award and then her appearing on a video screen to basically say, “I have more important shit to do, but thanks for the award.” This is bullshit. If you want an award, you have to show up for it. None of this Woody-Allen-playing-the-clarinet-in-his-apartment-in-Manhattan-instead-of-attending-the-Oscars crap. “Oh, I don’t do this for awards! I do it for my fans!” Yeah, you also charge $85 a ticket for nosebleed seats, you doing that for your fans too? Bullshit. You don’t want the award? Fine, then don’t take it. But you don’t get to stay home and get the award.
This is how this situation should be dealt with:
Presenter #1: (Haltingly reads some lame attempt at humor from a cue card)
Presenter #2: (Fake laughter, jiggles boobs conspicuously)
Presenter #1: (Gets “serious” for a moment to discuss the world-changing importance of the award he is about to present, in this case Best Backup Vocal Performance On A Christian Barbershop Quartet Song About Eco-Terrorism)
Presenter #2: (Nervous laughter, jiggles boobs again)
Presenter #1: And the winner is… (Fumbles with the envelope)
Presenter #1 & #2: Dingus Malrooney!
Presenter #1: What? Oh, Mr. Important can’t be here tonight because he’s too good for us all. Well fuck him! Fuck him with a lamp pole sideways. That piece of fucking shit couldn’t carry a tune if you nailed it to his tremendously tiny balls. You! Hey you! Yeah, you, the asshole in the 3rd row. You want this fucking thing? It’s yours. It’s not even gold-plated, they cost us like $9.95 a piece. Take it. Maybe you’ll appreciate it more than Dingus “I Once Raped A Groupie With A Trombone Slide” Malrooney does. (Pulls down pants, urinates on stage before storming off)
Presenter #2: (Jiggles boobs)
Needless to say, I would watch every fucking award show if this behavior became the norm, and so would you.
All right, on to the week you missed while you were jiggling your boobs:
- On Monday I explained String Theory as if you cared, and as if I knew what the fuck I was talking about.
- On Tuesday we rocked out to pre-adolescent girls in quasi-Satanic schoolgirl outfits. (And if that phrase doesn’t drive some perverted Google-search traffic my way, nothing will.)
- On Wednesday we made fun of Iowans tendency to stick their dicks in things that go “Moo!”, “Baaa!”, or “Ribbit!”. That’s right, frogs.
- And on Thursday I offered you a peek inside of my head where we discovered Little People in makeup, naked dudes that look like they’re wearing shag carpeting, and Bill Cosby strapped to giant pink butt-plugs. I may need counseling.
Three last things before I let you go : First of all, don’t forget to get your hypothetical questions to me so I can ignore them, which is what one reader has accused me of doing. (Officially, your question was not ignored, T.L.K., it was mocked, laughed at, dragged behind the chemical sheds and shot in the head.)
Second, a few of you caught my tweet to Styx to ask them what it would cost for them to make me a roast beef sandwich and subsequently asked if Styx has answered me. They have not. This is possibly because they are super busy recording their next album, or maybe just because they’re a bunch of gigantic assholes. All I know is that if they don’t get back to me soon I will have no choice but to ask Foreigner what they’d charge to make me a Reuben.
And finally, I was reminded of this glorious piece of sports history today, and although I’ve read it multiple times, it still never fails to make me laugh. (This is 100% true, incidentally. I’m not making this up.)
In 1973, Yankee Stadium celebrated its 50th anniversary, and as part of a season-long celebration asked former Yankees to share their favorite Yankee Stadium memory. Mickey Mantle received his letter and answered with the following:
I consider the following my outstanding experience at Yankee Stadium: I got a blow job under the right field bleachers by the Yankee bull pen.
This event occurred on or about (give as much detail as you can): It was about the third or fourth inning. I had a pulled groin and couldn’t fuck at the time. She was a very nice girl and asked me what to do with the cum after I came in her mouth. I said, “Don’t ask me, I’m no cock-sucker.”
Signed Mickey Mantle, the All-American Boy
Fucking. Awesome. Almost makes me not hate the Yankees.