I’ve done a lot of horrible things to nice people on April Fools Day (Fools’ Day? Fool’s Day? Foo’ls Day? Grammar. Jesus.) so I figured it was time to get myself good today: I recently found my 1989 diary from when I was 8 years old, and now you’re going to see it. Plus, Diary of a Wimpy Kid is currently tearing up the box office. Plus, I just had my birthday. Topical!
Now, for years, I called this my “Journal.” But let’s look at the cover.
No 8-year old kid keeps a journal with flowers all over it. They keep a diary. I might as well face it. Oh sure, I tried to butch it up with a hologram sticker of Bebop, and a stern warning of “Keep Out or Else,” but one can assume two things from looking at this cover: the “or else” means “…or else you will probably force-read my own diary aloud, while upper classmen run a viscous train on me”, and any 8-year old who can’t spell the word “Private” has no business making threats with a label gun on the cover of his tulip-covered diary. If you stumbled across this in a bush, next to a pair of bloody Fruit of the Looms and broken glasses, not even Nancy Grace would bat an eye. I’ve got it coming.
The inside-cover is a little heartbreaking. My mom gave this to me for my birthday, lovingly inscribed. At the time, I probably was angry I could not stick this book into a Nintendo and press start. But she was actually encouraging me to do something I now do (almost) for a living, which is really nice. The sad part is what follows: instead of “stories and thoughts,” we get “self-centered ramblings, ignorance, spite and hatred: 1989 style.” So, I think I probably let her down.
So let’s see what page 1 has to offer.
Hoo boy, “a birthday I won’t forget.” How’s that for suspense? My parents got us a basketball hoop for our driveway (excuse me, “a cort,” not to be confused with Bud Cort), probably to offset the disappointment of the rose-covered diary. It’s obvious I’m a genius writer from the start. Check this deft prose out: “I got a game.” Hey, that’s super! What kind of game? Was it a board game? A $50 Nintendo game, perhaps? A game of “let’s leave you in the woods?” Great descriptors, asshole. Way to think of your audience.
Now, to those of you who don’t know where I grew up, you might think “holy shit, you got a ROCKET JACKET?” but that’s not what you think it is.
Shown: Rocket Jacket I didn’t get.
The rocket jacket was a Rushville Rockets jacket, our school mascot. This set me on a course to become the actual “Rushville Rocket” years later, which was a big quilted thing that looked like a giant white dildo with fins. But that’s another story.
Shown: Zoom! The mascot of a school that fancies itself a “tough football town.” In fairness, we were called “The Fightin’ White Vibrators” up until the sexually repressed Reagan-era. Other places you may have seen our mascot: in a trucker’s glove box. In Richard Gere’s nightstand. Hidden in a 16-year old girl’s sock drawer as, you know, a “gag gift”.
I wish I could find the undoubtedly wacky “Chris Ward’s La Funnky Music 1 and 2″ on cassette. I mean, it’s not every day someone “tapes their own tape.” Man, wasn’t that a long time ago? I just DVD’d my own DVD today, so boy do I feel old!
“La Funnky Music” is just me rambling (as I believed a DJ would do) into a brown Fisher-Price recorder (again, like a real DJ), and then commercials I’d taped off television to hear later (just like you’d here on WKRB “The Buzz” Morning Zoo drive time). And I would listen to this on trips and in my own backyard. For hours. Apparently, the Bubble Tape commercial and Super Mario Bros. Super Show theme registered as “La Funnky Music” in my book.
ANYWAY, back to the dramatic story, which I’d like to set the scene for. My dad and I spent all day digging a post hole (maybe not all day. Everything takes “all day” when you’re 8), and assembling a basketball hoop (all day). The hoop is in place. The neighbors are watching out the window, because they now realize their life is about to change when every 5-10 seconds, an 8-year olds ball rolls into their well-kept-and-soon-to be-trampled, lawn. I am presented with a basketball, carefully wrapped. I go for my first lay up and a large man comes out of nowhere and BLOCKS THAT MOTHERFUCKER WITH ALL THE FURY A 40-YEAR OLD MAN CAN RAIN DOWN ON AN EIGHT YEAR OLD. This is Dean, my dad’s friend. He begins instantly apologizing for, you know, my head slamming against the concrete and stuff. And this wasn’t that pussy concrete people put down today. This was the real deal: cracks, rocks, weeds all stickin’ out and shit. “I got hurt bad” as I later recalled.
I mean “my stomace” hurt, man. Like, real bad. It was 8 in the evening when we got back. And that’s all we get. Was I okay? What did the x-rays show? Did anyone go to jail? Well, this was Rushville in 1989, so no one was going to jail for things yet. Even though Dean “stold the ball” from me, I don’t have any ill-will towards him today. He’s a pretty good guy. At least he didn’t yell “BOO-YAH!” which I might have done, were the tables turned.
So there you have it. This sets the stage for a series of blogs where reveal I am a limp-dick pansy. Entries that follow will include ex-girlfriends I call “pigs”, cats hit by drunk drivers and more secret crying.
Shown: Batman cake, UHF soundtrack, purple Rushville Rocket polo, child molester glasses, and a haircut that cordially invites you to kick my ass (please, RSVP).
[ONE LAST UPDATE]
This is how cool my mom is, even after reading this she found a picture of Rocky the Rocket. It’s not me in the costume, but there’s plenty of those somewhere.
Shown: Get it? “The Pits.” I used to help paint these for the football players to run through and destroy on game night. They were so appreciative, coaches like Randy Hawkins treated us with more respect because of our hard work. Just kidding, Randy Hawkins remained an asshole. And even though he died in a terrible tobacco spitting incident years ago, I stand by my recollection of him as a coach and mentor. The artist’s names are down the side, and it looks like Bryan Morrell had a hand in this potentially racially insensitive masterwork. I’m sure Bryan worked really, really hard on it. He loved football, and doing things to support the team.
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.
Ironically, the fact that my wife would see this card and buy it without hesitation is one of the reasons I married her. This card has the kind of non-committal sentiment that says “let’s make this weirder than it already is”
Being somewhat of a talented Greeting Card designer, I decided to do a little Freelance work for Carlton Cards in Cleveland, OH to expand this fantastic line:
You all know Junkstore Jesse Thompson from his hilarious Maxim.com articles and the famous Berserker beer can scene he introduced me to. Well, we drugged our spouses, threw them in a mini-van and had a rock and roll time in St. Louis this year for Junkstore’s birthday/New Years Eve. Here are the pictures! I know it’s not the same as Sad Trombone Monday (I know I’ve missed two in a row now…things have been too crazy) so please accept this pictorial as a kind of Happy Slide Whistle Monday instead. I don’t know if this tops last year’s “Electro Shocked Face Muscles Party” at Junkstore’s pad, but it was close. Which reminds me…hey! This site’s been up for about a year! What a complete waste of your time! Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?
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There was a secret hipster roller skating rave, and Jesse and I used this opportunity to show Lil’ Bow Wow how Roll Bouncing is actually done.
What’s a New Years Eve party without a quick stop at bad guy Ben Gazzara’s basement from Road House? This is the cousin of the bear that fell on Tinker. Actually, this is from the Cheshire Lodge in St. Louis. You know this hotel from Up In The Air with George Clooney. I know it from the housekeeper asking me if I’d seen “The Bearded Man” that haunts the fourth floor. I wasn’t aware Billy Mays had moved on to poltergeisting so quickly. Classy joint. Very posh. Very haunted by Billy Mays.
“When There’s No More Room Left in Hell, Zombies Will Roller Skate Around the Earth.”
CLICK THROUGH FOR MORE, INCLUDING SECRET CAVES AND SHIT!
I don’t know what you’re doing Monday the 21st and, truly, it doesn’t matter. Because I’m going to the Cat Circus. And any interest I might have shown in “what you’re up” to is purely an act, for my every thought turns to the Acro-Cats: the “Cirque du Soleil” of Feline Circus Acts.
That’s how they describe it.
I would settle for the Flea Brothers Missouri Cats of Squaller Revue. I really wouldn’t care. It’s a cat circus. Heavens, I don’t know what to wear!
Did I mention there will be an appearance by the ROCK-CATS??! I’ve already forgotten about that Pixies show I went to. I thought the Rock Cats was a pretty lame name, after the litany of cat puns on the Circus Cats website (”up close and purr-sonal tour…” “purr-sonality.” Basically, purr puns), until I realized it’s a play on The Rockettes. Come on, Acro-Cats try a little harder. You’ve got a cat on an electric guitar, and while that isn’t as impressive as THIS, it’s worthy of a better name than “Rock Cats.” I mean, off the top of my head I can think of, like, five mediocre ones. “Cat the Wet Sprocket.” “Meow-thew Sweet.” “Digable Planets (and cats)” “Catman Crothers.” “Catthole Surfers.” And that’s mostly just the nineties names!
I mean, LOOK at this shit! YES I WILL BE PAYING MONEY TO SEE THIS, DON’T ASK ME AGAIN!
All this Cat Circus hullaballoo reminded me of one of my all-time favorite interview “gets.” I was just starting out as a writer at the Western Courier, at Western Illinois University. I think this article about the original Jingle Cats (named, ahem, “Welcome to the Jingle”) really shows its age (ignoring the Making the Band reference), but I still remember how excited I was to get this as a giant cover story in our Entertainment Section, complete with a giant cat head on the cover. I think it’s about time for a follow-up interview with Cheeseball. But it’s still a pretty good story. Get this drama:
“Spalla admits that growing up in Los Angeles, he was always sort of a cat person, but while living in a Beverly Hills apartment, a fateful encounter would eventually lead to the Jingle Cats we know today.
“I found (Cheese Puff). Somebody had locked him in a basement and put poison food in there. And I heard meowing through the air-conditioning system, and I went down there and the door was locked,” he said.
“We broke the lock off and we rescued Cheese Puff. He was real small and he had a giant head because he hadn’t had any food. There was, like, cottage cheese that had poison in it and he wouldn’t eat it.”
Luckily for Cheese Puff, Spalla took him in and even started taking the new pet to his job at a sound effects studio, where he was then recording a version of Jingle Bells.”
And because that cat was saved, I can now welcome you to the stuff of Christmas nightmares…from my Krampus-filled heart to yours….The original Jingle Cats.
I had almost convinced myself I could do this too. But my cat Cricket Sanjaya Ward is fat, and lacks the motivation of her father! If she would only TRY a little harder and APPLY HER DAMN SELF we could be rich she could live out her dreams of SINGING! GOD! THE HENDERSON’S CAT CAN SING, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!?!?
SHOWN: The untold riches denied me and my own pets
[note: As Chris grew up in and lives in Illinois, much was kept from him about Hanukkah. And by "much," we mean "everything." Though he now has many Jewish friends, they never stopped to explain anything to him, even when he thought Baklava was a traditional Hebrew dessert.We now present you with his entire 6th Grade report on Hanukkah.]
Today marks the beginning of a 33 day tea ceremony the Japanese call “Hanukkah.” The Japanese are let out of school at 1AM, a full two hours early, and don traditional “giant banana hats” for the night’s activities.
Shown: The Jew in his Banana Hat.
This is the extent of human knowledge about this mysterious holiday and its people, though footage is rumored to exist (below). Some even say Jews live among us today. Thank You.
For the curious, I received an A on that report. Everyone else in class being from Illinois, they took me at my word. Looking back, it seems silly to think of a time when Christmas dominated the Midwest, before our Jewish friends invaded every Wal-Mart and Dollar General with their crassly commercialized “hot toys of the year.” Happy Hanukkah, Midwestern Illinois!
Shown: Impossible to find toy of the year 2009 and Toys R’ Us 4AM crowd who will soon be turned away.
If we were at a Texas Roadhouse Chain Eatery right now, you would hear the faint sound of forced employee clapping make its way from the kitchen right to our table, followed by a cowboy hat and saddle for this website to sit upon and pose for pictures. And then a 17 year old kid with a looming Ford Mustang payment would say “Hey pawdners, today marks this website’s 100th post!” and they would woop and holler and everyone would try very hard not to look up from their Chicken Ding Dillers and Texas Tonyun Boomin’ Possum Blossoms. And what a good time we’ve all had in the process. Thanks for stopping by. And now, as always, I hope your Monday sucks! PSHHHTTT!!!
This is what we got from my wife’s aunt one year for Christmas. It’s lingerie. For a Christmas tree. They say it’s the thought that counts, and her thoughts turned to buying us naughty, mini-undies to hang on our Christmas tree.
Ahem.
So I guess these are official Hallmark keepsakes for the family that likes to put the “Sex” back in Chrisexmas. [Sad trombone!]
On the plus side, her aunt got me my all time favorite ornament, the Pac-Man Arcade Keepsake, the next year…which Cobra Commander enjoys playing in his Hallmark Keepsake Boxers from the previous year.
“High SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSScore!”
Hey!Now here’s a holiday tradition you won’t want to miss: pictures with Santa Claus. And how could you miss it, with all those hours he’ll be appearing? Oh, what’s that, little boy? You’re here to see “African-American Santa” instead? Well Black Santa’s appearing one day only, for two hours.And I hear he’s not even really African-American…I hear he’s African-CANADIAN! [Sad Trombo-ho-ho-hone!]
Also please address Santa as “Santa”—or Regular Santa—and not Caucasian Santa. And make sure that when you lie to your kids about Santa, you’re also lying about the correct race of the Santa. If your white kid thinks a Black Santa screwed him out of a present, you’re just just stirring up racial resentment at an early age. Best to tell your white kids that Santa is white, and black kids that Santa is black. It’s easier that way. Separate, but equal Santas, you know?
“But what about Chinese Santa?”
Don’t be goddamned ridiculous kid. There is no Chinese Santa. Just pick a line—Black Santa or White Santa. But, between you and me, it’s best to pick White Santa (he’s here more often).
Still, on the positive side, no waiting line for Black Santa! Why? Because there’s a bearded black man yelling “HO! HO! HO!” in the center of the mall and a white lady freaked out and called security. Once they get all that ironed out, I’m sure you can sit on his lap.
Isn’t holiday diversity a wonderful thing?
…And after a hard day of deciding what race the Santa you worship is, why not bring the family in for a warm Pooboy Sandwich? Mmm, Mmm! Just like momma used to pinch right into a hot oven. Nothing says Christmas like a moist, juicy, steaming Pooboy Sandwich. [Poo Trombone!!!]
Check out this holiday special from the Best Buy Geek Squad! For only $19.99, the Geek Squad will drive to your house in their awful car and install the latest firmware updates to your PS3! Hey, that’s terrific. Because when the PS3 tells me “Latest Firmware Update Required” (roughly every fucking time I turn on the PS3), it’s too much trouble for me to hit the “X” button to Accept. I love how helpful the Geek Squad is. Like how they’re willing to sell me a $200 Monster HDMI cable, or “set-up” the picture on my Plasma TV by adjusting the contrast and brightness, or push the “power button” on my remote with their able thumbs. I am useless without them! Here, just take all my money! I’m a complete moron! Of course, the price of this highly necessary service varies from place to place. $20 is a steal! [HI-DEF TROMBONNNNE!]
…Why hey, it looks like Slate.com is running a related story on Best Buy scams. This one’s about the Geek Squad “optimizing” your new Mac (read: turning the power button on). That I can agree with but…hey, Slate, I hate Jon and Kate as much as the next American who built up their celebrity status in the first place. But maybe tell your underpaid web-designer to ease up on the violent imagery in his subliminal banner scroll. Merry Christmas! BLAM! [Sad Trombone Plus 8!]
The comics world was abuzz (so abuzz, they were afraid to comment!) upon seeing Watchmen creator Alan Moore’s psychedelic rock band in action, as I first witnessed with terrified eyes over at Topless Robot. This is a big deal for two reasons. 1.) The snake worshipping Moore rarely plays his breed of Showbiz Pizza Place-inspired rock in public, and 2.) It’s the first time in years he’s played with long-time bandmate Kenny Fisher from the film Can’t Hardly Wait
Did someone order a Love Burger…WELL DONE?
After I watched the video, I realized this was all very familiar. I emailed a friend of mine, and—YES—he sent me the only existing footage of Alan Moore’s first performance with The Retro Spankees singing “You Cannot Fart Around With Love” from 1969. I knew we had this laying around! But the real point I’m getting at is this: I’m sick today and don’t feel like doing anything, and by watching this video you will then feel exactly like I feel.
See? I wasn’t joking. Do you feel like doing anything now but taking a good, long shit? Of course you don’t. This video is an audiovisual stool softener.
Shown: Iron & Wine robs the clearance aisle of Kay Jewelers.
And SPEAKING of demons, December 5th is Krampus Day, so be sure to terrify all the children in your life by filling their heads with stories of Santa’s sidekick, Gruff Vom Krampus, an impish, black-tongued Satan who beat children with reeds and rattles chains in their ears. Leave it to Germany. Why, Krampus even has his own, hilarious Twitter page this season! I wonder what person(s) are behind that?
Shown: Giddy Up, Krampus! How can you have any apples if you don’t eat your MEAT!
In the coming weeks, days and years, I will begin archiving my Pac-Man collection on this website: listing each item I own and writing about it. It’s something I’ve been meaning to do for a while, in case someone tries to burn it all and collect the money (I suspect Pinky). Of the numbered items in this bedroom, I own #1 (two of them), #6, #7, #8, #9, #10 and #13. I have no idea where to get a Pac-Man nightgown, though I’ve been known to wear girl’s nightgowns.
Look at that crap. At one time, I could have owned all this for under $300, including a Pac-Man jumpsuit. Oh, hurry Christmas…Hurry FAST!
This is also a call to arms. The First Church of Pac-Man hasn’t been updated since 2004: I’m declaring my site the new church of Pac-Man, and I need your help coming up with a name for my church. This is a reformation. Getting back to the roots of fundamentalist Pac-Man.
Billy Mitchell, the Pac-Man Champion, is a world-class douche. Together, we’ll cast him out of the Pac-Man community.
Is you is, or is you ain’t my constit’ency?
Stay tuned for the first entry in the near future …
Today is “Cyber Monday,” hot on the heels of “Black Friday” and a prelude to “Lime Green Dell Laptop Buyer’s Remorse Wednesday” and “Take Another Man’s Life to Get Your Hands on a Hamster Toy Piece of Shit Thursday.”
Like you, I avoided the “Big Box” stores altogether last week (I get all my Christmas gifts from Debbie’s heavily trafficked Build Your Toys From Trash website anyway) and hit a few of my own secret spots. Close your eyes and try to imagine opening these gifts on Christmas morning, and then divide that feeling by the number of Kleenex you’ll need to wipe away your tears, and you’ll have a formula for a Celexa-popping Xmas morning, Charlie Brown. As always, hope your Monday SUCKS! BLEAH!
This was sent to me by my friend Kim last year, but I just now got the courage to open an email called “Bag O’ Baby.” This actually brings back funny memories. Last year, I asked my wife for a Bag O’ Baby for Christmas, and imagine the look on her face when she showed up with a Glad Lock bag full of dismembered infant parts and I had to explain that I meant romper cotton onesies! I showed her this picture, and we all had a good laugh (well, except for the baby) and then sold the still-wriggling, pungent remains to The Beatles. But for some reason, this album didn’t make the Beatles Box Set. [SAD RINGO TROMBONE!]
Shown: “HA HA HA HA HA! Everything we do is genius!”
I don’t care if it’s marked down to $2.99…I will not open a box marked “Puppy Surprise.” Not after the Finger Pupies incident, anyway. [SAD TROMBONE!]
2008 Mattel Executive: “Ok, everyone…we’ve just produced 500,000 of, what I believe, will be the hot girl’s toy this year. The IM-ME! It updates the concept of “passing notes” for a new, tech-savvy generation of girls! You see, girls want two things: 1.) Things that are pink. It’s pretty much the only color girls like. 2.)High-tech gossip gizmos. The “IM-Me” takes the chat room…to the CLASS ROOM! Judy, write that down. “From the chat room…to the class room!” just like that, with the dots and the exclamation point. Of course, this may be hard to hide in the classroom, cause it’s big. Also, it beeps loudly. I’ve invested all my money–and I mean all my money–in this thing, I believe in it so strongly. You’re all getting bonuses!”
2009 Mattel Executive: [on phone] “How’s the IM-Me selling? What’s that? Cell phones, you say? Excuse me for one second.” [hangs jacket on chair, leaps out of 3rd story window. Only breaks legs. Dies, quite avoidably, from pulmonary embolism, as a result of DVT Blood Clot, when nurse simply forgets to administer routine Lovenox shot upon his release from hospital. Guilt-ridden nurse kills self.]
There. I hope you’re thoroughly depressed. If not, here’s the actual product description from the website:
It sounds 2good2btru – but it’s 4real! Girls, you no longer have to wait for your turn on the computer, because with IM-Me™ you can stay connected with family and friends from anywhere in the house! IM-Me™ for kids is private, convenient, portable and safe.
Even cooler, you can build your own community of
IM-Me™ friends. Once you’ve exchanged user names,
you’ll be able to instant message your buddies anytime, anywhere. What r u waiting 4? Start IMing now!
Now are you depressed? Good. I’m glad. [SAAAADDDD TROM-BONNNNE!]
The mouse you’re using right now may have more germs than a White Castle toilet seat French Fry. Actually, knowing you, it definitely has more. That’s why I can’t figure out why this mouse wasn’t a big hit. Was it because there’s an entire segment of the population who would NOT LIKE TO HOLD A COMPUTER MOUSE DIRECTLY UNDER A RUNNING FAUCET? Apologies to Howie Mandel, who owns 6. [WACKY SAD TROMBONE!]
Shown: Get it? He hates germs!
Let’s say you’re looking for ideas for your son’s Christmas gift. Your son is 15, and doesn’t really talk to you much anymore. He’s going through that “surfing the net in a locked basement” phase of development. You know how kids are. Well, if he won’t talk to you, there’s nothing wrong with checking out his web history to see what he’s been into these days. Hmm, it seems from 8PM until 3AM every night, he’s “curious” about “farm animals”! Thank god, because there is a Curiosity Kit to help him explore these curiosities! You’re a good mother. Your son is going to love this. [SAD TROMBONE!]
…Oh, and your son is also going to love this Christmas card with his Farm Animal Curiosity Fulfillment Kit. I guess what I mean to say is, even if you run a small time greeting card company, and your budget is lacking in this economy, do find an artist who has enough sense of field and depth of vision to avoid painting scenes where North American Brown Bears appear to discreetly fuck White Tail in front of the baby Jesus. I mean, come on…it’s Christmas. [SAD TROMBONE!]
