Every night I spend alone in my wood-paneled basement leads me to the same conclusion: I wish I could play a VCR Mystery Game with self-decapitating robots. Apparently, the purpose of this game is to save the Earth from robots, which kind of goes against Issac Assimov’s Three Laws of Robotics. But a game where you’re just ordering robots around wouldn’t be too fun, I guess. So instead, the game involves a robot ripping it’s own head off and coldly relaying that “you’ve made a mistake” before it, I assume, uses your intestines as a leash for its Robot Dog. Good, clean, terrifying fun for all. “Wanna come over? I’ve got this game where Robot Paul Reiser tears off its own head to prove a point. It’s for up to 4 players? No? Ok, maybe some other time! Just text me if you change your mind! I have no friends LOL.”
Let’s watch the commercial, as I imagine it in my mind. Thanks to Gary Hodges for passing this tape along!
“Within 5 minutes, you’ll be on one of 256 possible courses to save the galaxy.” It’s like the Butterfly Effect, if the fabric of time were limited to 80 minutes of SLP video!
This is an Amway propaganda tape I picked up about the dangers of common, every day tap water. She’s just watching out for her children’s interests, at the end of the day. Good for her.
Ok, I’m kind of phoning into today’s entry. It’s funny cat videos. But since you’ve already seen the other awful things I’ve trained my cat to do, or made them watch me do, here’s the requisite origin story.
My wife’s Valentine gift to me was that she was secretly training our cat to ring a bell. I don’t think I can ever top this. Here’s how that went down. Or, rather, here’s how it all came up. On my kitchen floor.
So all this Cricket attention has made Champion, our first born cat, jealous. He’s acting out. He can’t ring a bell. He can’t do shit. And he’s trying way too hard to earn our love back.
“Hey guys, I’m an elephant! You seein’ this?”
“Hey guys, LOOK! I’m a rooster! The Cock of the Walk!”
“Hey! HEY! Over here! I’m Young David Bowie!”
“SEE? SEE!?? YOU CAN PILE SHIT ON ME TOO! LIKE THIS!
PLEASE GOD ANYTHING JUST PAY ATTENTION TO ME AGAIN.”
Sigh. It’s just so sad to watch all this play out. So who wants a free, non-bell ringing cat? We’re getting rid of him.
Kidding! Kidding. But seriously. He better be shooting bottle rockets out of his ass in a year’s time or it’s back to the streets.
You all know DJ Daymage. Not only does he make amazing mixes and provide soundtracks to bachelorette party videos, but he comes through on some pretty amazing birthday gifts. A few years back, he gave me this priceless item:
But, still, I had so many questions. This little guy was willing to hold whose bag, exactly? My bag? Gareb Shamus’ bag? The long-awaited answer came this year, with yet another piece to add to my collection of tragically misspelled art, including the famed Finger Pupies. Behold:
Shown: The unfortunately named “Male Bag.”
My cat, Champion, wants no part of this. Even without his balls, he knows the difference between “mail” and “male.”
But my other cat, Cricket, is another story altogether. Cricket looovves to play with my Male Bag. She gets a treat every time she plays with the ding dong on my Male Bag. She used to get a treat for just touching or rubbing up against my Male Bag, but I started running out of food quick. Observe! Maybe you’ll learn something:
I never thought I’d see the day when Tales of the Gold Monkey arrived on DVD (or “The Gold Monkey,” as the original promo advertised, confusing the audience and leaving too much room for interpretation. Were these “Brief Anecdotes of the Gold Monkey”? “Third-Hand Information About The Gold Monkey”? No. Clearly, these were Tales, and the later title better reflected that.)
I think I’d rather watch more videos from Know More Monkeys (AKA, the coolest kids ever) in which they beat a snowman’s head in with a skateboard. Though I’m pretty sure there are already DVDs out there called “Snowman Domination,” if only in Japan.
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
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.]
I’m only going to say this once, and it’s very, VERY important that you understand completely: because what I’m about to tell you is the most important advice you’re ever going to get concerning the video game system in front of you. Even if you think you know ever code in the book. Under no circumstances—no matter how your NES looks at you, no matter how much it cries, no matter how much it begs—the most IMPORTANT rule. The rule you can NEVER, EVER forget is…well, I’ll just let Olympic Videogame master Donn Nauert tell you:
Nintendo Tip: do this with your mouth, and often, for free continues.
Ladies, if you ever see this guy, get outta town. Unless it is of paramount importance for you to find someone’s wife, of course. If that’s the case, find out all you can about the husband and his entire family. Genealogy is creepy, man.
“Crack the identity of that woman. Look at the husbands dealings. Trace his entire family…Go now…”
What if God were one of us? Just a mumbling, ghetto-fabulous, do-nothing slob like one of us? “JC in Tha Hood” is the kind of movie that appears like a star of wonder, star of bright in the video store. How can you not immediately grab this off the shelf, and be healed by its power?
Saafir…Caffeine…Shorty Mack…Eastwood. Don’t look for any Da Vinci Code meaning to these seemingly random words on the DVD cover: these are the film’s actors. Caffeine (you know, like the drank!), Eastwood (not Clint ), Shorty Mack (in the flesh!)…they’re all here like a Holy Trinity with a +1 on the guest list!
We rented this and Left Behind last weekend (naturally). Needless to say, after watching JC In Tha Hood, we had not a second to devote to Kirk Cameron’s end-of-the-world shenanigans. They suddenly seemed silly next to JC’s keepin’ it real message.
Saafir plays a character named “Jesus,” and he at least has the “one name” thing in common. Everything else…not so much. Picture if Humpty Hump from Digital Underground and Jesus got bizzee in a Burger King bathroom. You’d get JC in Tha Hood.
His voice is, like, transcendent. Just the way he says Lucifer as “Loocifer” floors me. I can’t get enough of it. When he says “Wha happen, Loocifer?”, it’s like a crappy Song of Solomon on mine ear. “My Fah-thuh, who arts in hea-vun” is another favorite. The movie even seems to ask the audience “what if Jesus was BLACK?” I know, I know…this question was resolved by Yahoo! an entire YEAR AGO!
Not convinced of the godsend that is JC in Tha Hood? Watch these jaw-dropping clips from the movie (for sale here), which I’m officially propping up as the Christian version of The Room! Seriously, you have to see the entire movie. This montage doesn’t do it justice.
(note: while JC in Tha Hood has the trappings of a Christian film—and while I doubt that capital-g God cares which mortals are saying words like “motherfucker” down here on Earth, in English or otherwise—this movie is full of language, sexual violence and homeless funk that would make the Pope weep. It’s definitely Too Hot for the Fireproof Crowd. I left out the, ahem, sexual romance for this montage.)
Additional things you’ll get to see when (and I say WHEN) you watch this movie:
- A long speech between Satan (in a cherry red Brooks Brothers suit) and Jesus about a battle for souls, FOLLOWED by scenes of Satan getting people to do awful things to themselves. And what’s the titular Jesus do this whole time? HE WALKS AROUND LA HOLDING A BIBLE IN THE AIR. There is not ONE scene between Jesus and anyone in this movie who needs his immediate help. It’s maddening. The whole time my friends kept screaming “Jesus, DO something already!”
-A green-screen heaven. No, not the LucasArts ranch. An actual green-screen heaven.
-A whore-killing pimp who has a full-size posters of The Mummy, The Matrix, and one prominently displayed Paul Hogan/Elijah Wood Flipper Poster in his apartment. And it appears to be SIGNED!
-A slideshow from director Dale Stelly (which just makes me want to say “Stale Deli!” when I read it) featuring the crew slamming Colt 45s. Works every time! Also, the gangbanger’s car says “STELLY” on the license plate, which kind of takes me out of the film. Which is where I wanted to be, actually. So, in that case…thank you!
-A drawn out final scene on a staircase, where a reformed gang member preaches the gospel and thanks his members for letting him preach in the house “while the church is being worked on.” Uh-huh. The church is under construction. So we couldn’t film there. Eli eli lama sabachthani?* ["My God, My God, why have you forsaken my Location Scout?"]
-At least 3 different takes of the “Hey Old Man, wanna buy some DRUUUGGS?” guy. [note: those guys are totally the same age, but he insists on calling him "gramps" and "old man" in every version of the 3 stories! GAHH!!! Also, this guy would make a GREAT team with whistle-enthusiast Bubb Rubb.]
Woo-WOOO! WANT SOME DRUGS, OLD TIMER? WOOOOOO!!!!! THA DRUGZ GOES WOO-WOOOO!!!
And by the time the whole film ends with someone screaming “GLORY!” into a microphone—WHO?!?! Someone TELL ME WHO!!!—followed by an inexplicable tribute to those who lived through 9/11…well, it’s stranger than any apocalyptic future Johnny Cash sang about.
