Left to right: Recently deceased Golden Girls Rue McClanahan, Dennis Hopper, Gary Coleman and Slipknot bassist Masky McGee, who committed suicide.
It’s been a rough week on us all as my Celebrity Wristwatch Curse continues. First, I got this Michael Jackson watch as a gift, and now my wife’s Golden Girl watch has claimed its next victim. It’s just like the Monkey’s Paw, but for $20 plastic wristwatches. So that’s the bad news. The good news is, I’ve bought ever single Rod Blagojevich watch and I plan on wearing them up both arms as long as it takes.
Remember, the Golden Girls airs at 6 and 6:30 on WE Network, 11 and 11:30 EST on Hallmark, and 11 and 11:30 on WE again. Also, I’ll see you on the Hallmark Channel forums (yes, they have a thriving message board community! Thank you for asking!)
In memorial, one last time with passion….let’s return to a magical place, sugah. Rue has already been to Cat Mountain, so heaven holds no surprises for her.
In retrospect, this old post from WorstCartoonsEver.com seems tasteless, crass and mean. But, I stand behind it, and am re-posting it here because of Gary Coleman’s recent death. Enjoy this little piece of nostalgia and think of all the wee child actors you grew up with in the eighties. I kid because I love. Some of my best friends are short and named Gary.
Originally Ran 04-21-2009
Now here’s a premise I can get behind: Gary Coleman, except dead.
So, wait… all Gary Coleman has to do is pleasure himself and he returns from the dead? At this rate, he’ll never stay in the grave! BLAST!
Yep, there is something you didn’t think you’d see when you woke up today: a masturbating Gary Coleman angel. Thank you for coming to my website. There’s a comment card on the nightstand. I hope you enjoyed your stay.
Ok, ok…FINE. One more time. And slooower, just for the ladies.
Note: This is a long entry. Just man up and take the ride. There’s a contest at the very end to win a book called “What’s My Pee Telling Me?” from Chronicle Books and South Park Season 13 on Blu-Ray from Comedy Central.
First things first: My headline is probably misleading, because there are two definitions of “tryst.”
1. An agreement, as between lovers, to meet at a certain time and place.
2. A meeting or meeting place that has been agreed on.
Clearly, I would never intend to meet Gareb Shamus as a lover (though I totally might, have you seen him lately? We’ll get to that) But definition “#2″ deals with our agreed meeting place. Which, in this case, would be something called FaceBook.
Shown: (Left to right) Photoshop fantasy of Gareb Shamus of Wizard Entertainment, Uwe Boll, and Me. Getting ready to be unstoppable street toughs.
For those who don’t know, I used to work for Wizard Entertainment. It’s where I got my start, and I met a lot of good people there. A few of whom are still there, who I haven’t talked to in a while. But most everyone else, including the guy who helped start the magazine in a big way, got fired. Even the entire message board community got fired. And I kinda, sorta got myself banned later on for some jokes I made about the company. An ex-company head told me off the record that if “the company would spend more time actually running things instead of focusing on petty shit, maybe they wouldn’t be totally fucked right now.” I’m paraphrasing a bit, but the phrases “petty shit” and “totally fucked” are actual quotes. Pretty much everyone landed on their feet at bigger, better jobs.
Pretty much.
Actually, to be totally honest, I’ve secretly always thought of Gareb as more than just friends and co-workers lowly employee writer and company CEO. My wife and I have a “Gareb” clause in our marriage, wherein, should I get the opportunity, I can have passionate relations with my ex-Boss/Owner of the entire Wizard Universe. As to not be one-sided, she has a “Rita Rudner Clause” on her end (What a body and what a talent, even after all these years!)
I guess I got a little nervous because I became re-acquainted with Gareb Shamus at practically the same time as Tom Welling AND Rich Johnston of Bleeding and Dying in Gutters, (this is a popular UK comic-book gossip page–like, “who is Batman dating?” stuff–for all the non-comic book fans who are reading this). So, I wished Gareb a Happy Easter. I know, I know…he’s Jewish. I realize that NOW. And I’m not sure what they celebrate in the UK. All I know is that they eat “Eggy In A Basket, Chip Chip Cheerio” and all that happy horseshit. I’m an American, I don’t need to know about that.
So, overall, I choked on this one, alright? Opening comment jitters. After all, Gareb wanted to be my friend. He asked me. In spite of everything mean I said about him, too. Well that was all in the past now as far as I was concerned. I mean, Frank Miller ripped up a copy of Wizard Magazine onstage, and Miller has been a Guest of Honor at Wizard World since then. All I ever did was make jokes and help sell his magazine.
Straight up business question. Letting him know he can just get in touch with me whenev’. I think she’s getting a Bill Finger award this go ’round, don’t want to miss it.
Letting Brent Spiner know where to reach me….
SO THEN I get pretty excited because I see this video on Gareb’s Page, and it prompts several questions from me about In Dance We Trust coming to Wizard World, all which are almost answered in the video (watch about 20 seconds of it, if you’re able to). Just priming the pump, getting people excited about the comic book convention where the In Dance We Trust girls will be appearing.
Pretty straightforward questions, I think you’ll agree. Important ones, too. I don’t want to toot my own hose but I’m a reporter, you know.
But then something goes horribly wrong between Gareb and I. CLICK THROUGH to find out how Gareb responds to my sexual advances which I just couldn’t contain anymore.
I’m 29 today. God. What a terrible number. What a terrible, un-round number. 30 I’d be fine with. Good round number, 30. Here’s some videos to reflect how I feel today. Some old, some new…whatever makes me laugh today to get me through this Clogging Dance Competition in North Carolina. Best present so far? A hacker kid at the even showed me how to tether my Droid to my laptop, leeching internet from my phone and…well, it’s all real technical and involves “proxies” and “climbing telephone poles” and what have you. So here’s some videos of birthday shit, and also two men pouring beer over each other.
How to Wish me a proper birthday:
How to Terrify your Child with “Bimbo the Birthday Clown”:
How to Take Advantage of your Local News’ Stations Inane, Chuckle-Headed Birthday Announcements
How to Wish me a Fucked Up German Birthday:
How to Really Celebrate a Birthday, The Chris Ward Way:
How to Create an effective and pleasing birthday:
Creating a MORE Effective Birthday for Your Corporate, Animatroic Loving Clients:
Creating a More Effective Dick-Head, Failed Talk Show Birthday:
And, finally, How to Force David Bowie Into an Awkward Birthday Greeting on Your Foreign TV Spot:
Yep, you’re not alone….this is pretty much how I remember it to.
Godspeed, Frog Brother #1. I guess this finally answers The Thrills’ enduring question. Truly, Haim turned never closing your mouth into an art. Here’s some clips of a video I wish I’d bought last week. Not surprisingly, it’s about $100 on eBay now. Vultures.
…And my favorite all-time Corey Haim scene, in which Corey fends off a group of rollerblading thugs with a handful of fruit and a flame-throwing Super Soaker: all from Nicole Eggert’s shopping cart.
Welcome to part 2 of World of Ward Crap’s 13 WEEK series on filming junior dance competitions. Read about last week’s travesty adventure HERE.
Having survived a trip to the heart of Amish darkness last week, Bryan and I once again mounted our mini-van and headed to another dance competition in Nashville, TN—this one was at the Grand Ole Opry (or “The Grand AOL Opry” as my text messaging spell check kept insisting, giving me a possible glimpse into the not-so-distant future). To catch you up to speed, here’s what I’m involved in:
Terrifying, right? It’s weird how things work out. I first met Dan Raleigh (aka, Fred Price) when I worked for Wizard Magazine…my friend Junkstore Jesse Thompson and I picked his hilarious video Supercycle USSR as Wizard’s “Direct to Video” contest winner. We flew him out to Chicago to collect his prize, and Dan and I immediately learned we shared the same love for things like the Beastmaster and stuffing large plants into hotel elevators. Now, years later, he’s kind of my boss. Check out his winning Wizard video. I should mention that Josh Powers (seen below) is also my boss, which is AWESOME. Do you have a cooler boss than this? I don’t know, has your boss ever stolen a Russian super bike? There’s something else familiar about these two videos…listen closely.
Yep, after you hear the narrator from Supercycle, it’s hard to take the dance commercial seriously ever again. Hooray, Easter Eggs!
Now, on to Nashville…..Click through to hear about the Dukes of Hazzard museum bathroom incident, which country music stars are dicks, and why Tupac and milk go together so well…
The late night wars are hard for even a lot of Americans to understand. Though, in fairness, most Americans haven’t learned that Ed Hardy pants look ridiculous, and Lady Gaga is an elborate hoax by a Japanese game show. So I can’t fault the Chinese for resorting to turning Conan into the Hulk, Leno into Superman, and Jeff Zucker into…I’m not sure Captain Bald or something….just to explain it. You can see the not-as-funny English version HERE, where you’ll hear that…yes…even the “didn’t get the memo” cliche has made its way into Chinese news, taking its spot alongside those hilarious “human rights violations” cliches. This clip is courtesy of America’s foremost animation expert, Jerry Beck, from his awesome Cartoon Brew website:
And speaking of crappy animation, I guess it’s a good time to announce that I’ve been pegged as the new Animation Guy over at UGO.com! Thanks to my time over at Worst Cartoons Ever, I’ll have a weekly column discussing everything cartoon related. I think the column is tentatively called “Celling Out,” which is a pun on animation cels and the lengths I’ll go to in order to make a buck (Sean T. Collins originally penned this one, I believe. I put out a call-out for catchy names amongst friends. UGO didn’t go for my suggestion…”Acme Sweatshop”…or my friend Ryan’s suggestion, “Cock Garage.” But I’m still holding out hope for “Cock Garage.”)
Also, you’ll probably see classic Chris Ward edits like this as I go:
Translation: Hands off the Masturbating Bear, scum!
I don’t actually have the time to post…it’s late. Just got home. I just got back from the CAT CIRCUS.
I just watched a cat and a chicken have a bell ringing contest. I watched a bunny drive a red car. I watched a black cat knock some shit over and send other cats running into the crowd. And then we all sang Silent Night as some cat pounded on a drumset. In short, it was awesome. Got a really amazing interview with the wonderful cat women (sexy and single cat women, I might add) involved and I’ll be sharing with you soon where it will appear. Until then, here’s my cat music video again. It pretty much sums up how I feel.
SHOWN: “Hey, it’s your cousin Morris…MORRIS THE CAT….listen, you know that new sound you’ve been looking for? LISTEN TO THIS!!!! [MEOOWEROERERRR....]“
I’ve finally figured out my perfect movie formula: What could possibly be more exciting than…
A.) the sudden critical acclaim and respect of a forgotten actor whose face looks like a Jim Henson Creature Shop wet dream (see: MICKEY ROURKE, SID HAIG).
B.) The successful, thoughtful resurrection of a once dead and buried property (see: BATTLESTAR GALACTICA, ROCKY BALBOA.)
Combine them, and you’ve got a case of the fanboy warm-and-fuzzies that is equal parts cheery Gizmo in a Barbie convertible and Jagermeister after a chest cold. Actually, that’s the same formula that could lead to a fiery pink wreck of blood and hair all over the interstate. Well, I’m taking my chances. Here are the mash-ups I want to see.
JACKIE EARLE HALEY in THE ICE CREAM MAN. We all know JEH is the rich man’s Clint Howard, and he’s proven he’s more than just a pretty face in WATCHMEN (advertised as “Watchman” on his official site, which may not be official). Take his testicle-clipping performance in Little Children, add those nuts to a warm waffle cone, and BAM…origin story! This property’s gotta be cheaper than a new Nightmare on Elm Street film, and a helluva lot more fun. The Ice Cream Man’s puns make Freddy Krueger look like the greatest stand-up comic in horror.
ERNEST BORGNINE in GHOULIES! Ernest Borgnine’s career is already in the toilet (apologies to fans of Lifetime’s “A Grandpa For Christmas”), so why not let this beloved actor resurrect a movie about ass-biting sewer puppets? Ok, show of hands if you loved Ernie in ESCAPE FROM NEW YORK and his Best Actor Oscar-Winning MARTY—a movie which you’ve never seen but act like you have around film buff friends? [everyone raises hand] Ok, now show of hands if the VHS cover for Ghoulies delayed your potty training by three years as a kid? [everyone born before after 1980 raises hand]. So let’s combine the two and pinch out some movie magic.
JEFFREY JONES in FRIGHT NIGHT! This on-again, off-again remake has been in the works for some time, but it would have already been out and made a Gazillion US Dollars if they’d only hired the terrifying Jeffrey Jones as the lead vampire! Jeffrey Jones already built a career on making people feel weird and uncomfortable in FERRIS BUELLER’S DAY OFF and HOWARD THE DUCK, and he took it to “video of ALF’s dad snorting crack off a male hooker” levels by becoming a registered sex offender. Well if Roman Polanski’s taught us anything, it’s that Hollywood is willing to overlook dalliances and foibles with unwilling 14-year-olds. People love a good Jeffrey Jones role, vampires are hawt right now, and underdogs NOW Comics would probably like to re-launch their 80s Fright Night series, so it’s a win-win-win!
Let’s show all show some critical compassion to Jones and some, oh…what’s the word. He yelled it at his secretary in Ferris Bueller? Oh yeah: “GRRAAACCCCE!!!!”
ANDY SERKIS in MAC AND ME! The Onion AV club unfairly dumped on this movie recently, using words like “shameless and wrong,” “hideous” and “horrifically scarred fetus.” Well, if a movie about a “O-faced” creature who survives on Coke and McDonalds product-placement is wrong, I don’t wanna be right. I loved this terrible, terrible, exploitative film as a kid. And that’s why Andy Serkis should slap on that Ping Pong Ball Suit of his and exchange his psychotic pursuit of the One Ring for a Big Mac Attack (wouldn’t it have been perfect if I’d have said “trade the One Ring for an Onion Ring there?” Well kiss my ass. McDonald’s doesn’t serve ‘em and I have a Journalism degree to uphold, thanks for asking.)
[True Story Digression: At the end of Mac and Me, and big title card promises "WE'LL BE BACK!" So, every year for 3 or 4 years, I would ask my mom when that Mac & Me sequel was coming, and she'd make up something about a filming delay. After it finally sank in that there was no sequel, I was crushed and jilted by Hollywood from that day forward. You don't promise little kids sequels and never deliver. A movie you love as a child is like a little universe that actually exists in your brain, and when there are no more movies it's like you've blown up Krypton in that kid's mind. You know that sinking feeling you get when you turn on Animal Crossing for the first time in 3 years, and your cute, once-loved village has been overrun by cockroaches and the stench of death? THAT'S WHAT WAS GOING ON TO THE MAC & ME UNIVERSE IN MY MIND EACH YEAR HOLLYWOOD DIDN'T GIVE ME A GOD DAMNED SEQUEL.
I still have a Mac and Me sized hole that has never been filled. And it's exactly as disgusting looking as that sounds.]
Welcome to the “I’m tired” edition of Sad Trombone Monday. Old Man Peterson’s got me doubling back into a swing shift, and if that sumbitch thinks I’m moving the palettes that MARY left in the warehouse bay, then he can kiss my ass. So, once again, here’s Monday’s collection of random, depressing observations. Hope your Monday sucks, bleah!
I don’t have any control over what Facebook spam ads pop up on my page, but all I want for Christmas is an option button that lets me click “disable tit-feeding father ads.” Are you a breast-feeding dad? Here’s 10K towards education! Welcome to Obama’s America….am I right, everyone!?!?? [Sad Trombone!]
Depressing: Appearing on Love Connection. More Depressing: Lying about your age on Love Connection. Most Depressing: Your name is So-So, and you’re painfully average looking.[Sad Chuck Woolery Trombone!]
Oh godDAMMIT! Angelina’s hiding the twins?!?! ARGHH! I guess I’ll have to resort to sexy old screenshots from Foxfire and Gia. Wait, they’re talking about the babies? Oh, I don’t care about those. Poor choice of headlines for the normally classy Life & Style. [Sad Tromboner!]
“Dear Eyeglasses Shop bathroom on South Grand: your sign is not working! Thank You!” [Sad Trombone!]
I liked how this asshole even stacked the smaller rolls on top of each other. Nothing thrills me more than petty, passive aggressive wars like this being waged inside retail jobs all over our great nation. Well played, TP guy.
“How will Jesus Come.” The question for the ages. During Red Shoe Diaries? In a Doubletree Inn honeymoon suite? In a truck stop shower stall? With a pinky finger up his…actually, forget it. I’m not touching this one. I want to live to see Christmas. Oh, not because I’m afraid of getting struck by Jesus lightning. Because I’m afraid of Glenn Beck’s people.
