Jewy Mannish

I don't know if you guys knew this, but I am a manly man. Burly. I have hair on my chin-y chin chin. I have so much hair I need to use Nads. Not, you know, on my nads, but still, if you had to remove unwanted hair, you'd have to use a product called Nads, wouldn't you?

Anyhoo, the Bears beating up on an old man on Monday night emboldened me and my manness. And my manness had taken a hit recently, due to staying home, mommy-style, with the Child all week, and not being able to fight in the War on Christmas this year because of some lingering laziness.

The Fancy Family was presented with a crisis this week - our gloriously large TV stopped working. And now we were supposed to "talk," and "be a family," and "not ignore each other's slowly intensifying rage." So quickly I responded, and determined what the problem was - the lamp needed to be replaced. And instead of succumbing to the whim and schedule of some electrician, I decided to fix it...myself.

I could build up more suspense, but I don't want to screw over my readers who are afflicted with heart conditions. It was super easy, and took about 5 minutes.

But my manness has returned! Yay!

But it still isn't working, which means that I need a new color wheel, which, from the internets, seems to be a much more complicated process. But with my manness, I shall overcome. Or cry trying.

In the meantime, it's back to "pretending to listen to Wife's crazy patient stories." Wait, that shouldn't be in quotes.

The Bears? SO not jerkin

Rod Marinelli continues to live up to his porno name, and bend us all over some piece of furniture that people are bent over for sex in a very uncomfortable place. Like a Volkswagen. This time it was the Cardinals, scoring and scoring until I just couldn't take it anymore.

So, for the first time, I switched off a football game, and began watching a movie about grrrlpower and the super wonderfulness of best friends.


Josie and the Pussycats is a tremendously underrated movie. The cast alone - Rachel Leigh Cook, Rosario Dawson, Parker Posey, Seth Green, Alan Cumming of all people - makes it worthwhile. Then there's the satirical product placement, and the catchy pop punk.

But most of all, there is Tara Reid, in all her empty-headed glory. Sure, now she's unattractive and boozy and weird looking. But back then, she was a ditzy goddess, a walking blond joke. A female, live action Ralph Wiggum:

"These walls are mushy!"
"The tough make lemonade!"

And so on.

So no, I'm not ashamed.

The real question, though, is whether I'm overreacting. After all, the Cardinals are a solid team. So, it turns out, are the Bengals. And Crybaby is playing pretty well.

But my real concern is that I don't recognize my own team. A pass-happy team with terrible defense? I didn't realize I was rooting for the Oakland Raiders. If we use our first round pick next year on a receiver, I'm going to start freaking out.

Oh, that's right - we don't have a first round pick. We sent it to Denver with the Neckbeard.

Which brings me to my other problem with this season. In Bizarro world, Bizarro Fancy Pants is deliriously happy. The Bears are undefeated, with a 2-headed rushing monster - Matt Forte and (I can't BELIEVE I'm writing this) Cedric Benson. Neckbeard is under center, throwing short, sensible passes to people on his own team. Which is fine, because we're running all over everyone, and the defense is lighting people up. Mike Singletary turned down some absurd head coaching offer out west to come back to Chicago and coach the defense, and ever since their first game when they separated Aaron Rogers' legs from the rest of his body, no one wants to play them. Tommie Harris is a model citizen, because the only thing he's more afraid of than Coach Singletary is making Brian Urlacher angry.

And Rod Marinelli is lying dead in a ditch, or doing 50 chicks in a movie, or something completely unrelated to football, per the restraining order.

See what's going on there? There are a bunch of Bears having solid seasons - they just seem to be playing for other teams. And the current Bears don't resemble any Bears team that has ever worn Bears jerseys. Thus, Josie and the Pussycats.

Honk if you love hugs!
Honk if you love rainbows!
Honk if you love Pussy...cats!

Also - read this.

Tidbits, and mini-Paddlin'

First, to the Paddlin':

Sarah Palin - quitter. Wuss. But I am psyched to see that she still can't avoid the press, and continues to sound like an idiot. Man, the 2012 Presidential race can NOT come fast enough.

Congress - again with the pussiness. Pussyness? Pussitude? Either way, they're a bunch of mincing little girls. You knew about the torture of innocent civilians, you greenlighted an entire war based on little or no evidence, and yet somehow the idea of giving the middle class better healthcare is beyond your reach? All 535 of you are as useless as Pope Hat condoms, contraception for Catholics. Jerkweeds. Pikers.

House Hunters: Wife watches this show. I can't figure out why. Maybe it's watching Iowans choose between McMansion A, B, or C, all for under $55,000. After all, who doesn't love feeling superior once in a while? But it's on more often than Law & Order and CSI: Whatever put together, and she can't get enough. You know who I want to see buy a house? Nobody. I. Just. Don't. Care.

Limes: You're not fooling anyone, you know. I see right through you. You have exactly one use - stuck in the bottle of a Corona to make it taste less like pee (seriously, have you ever drunk a Corona without a lime? It has to be Mexican urine. I'm convinced. I don't know what this means about sticking a lime in there and drinking it anyway, but those ads are just so compelling!). But Lime-ade? Wrong. False. Incorrect.

You are a garnish! Lemon won this war, like, centuries ago. You had your chance. You could have been lemon. But you blew it. We all know the old story of the Last Supper: Jesus had you on one side, and lemon on the other. And what did you do? You made some crack about his beard, and he went with lemon, the silent and tastier citrus. Then you sold out lemon to the Romans, and they crucified him.

I don't even know what I'm talking about anymore, but my point is, shut the fuck up, lime. Go wait by the Corona.

Fantastic new Scientology ads: these have been popping up on my RSS feeds, and I have to say these are misplaced on the Paddlin' list, because they are hilarious.



Awesome! Hooray L.Ron Alien Man!

Recently I've noticed that I really want to be Scottish. This isn't new - I've been obsessed since I saw Braveheart for the first time. It's the accent, the liquor, the opportunity to wear plaid skirts without being a Catholic school girl (although if I do get reincarnated, not a bad choice, if you're listening, Hindu gods...).

But mostly, it's the music. Idlewild, Reindeer Section, Broken Records, Frightened Rabbit - but not Belle & Sebastian. I'm wussy enough as it is - if I started listening to them I'd probably have to start wearing eyeliner and keeping a dream journal.

Finally, a Turducken update: I have mastered the boning - that is, de-boning - or the removal of all bones, there, that's completely empty of bestial innuendos - of a chicken. What I found is that you just have to suck it up and dive in. Just get in there deep, using your fingers to probe around, and find the sweet spots. Crap, I let the sexual innuendo back in, didn't I?

Oh well. Next up - duck. I'm not going to do a practice turkey, because it's expensive, and Wife doesn't like turkey, so I'd be eating the damn thing myself. And I just don't like white meat.

Hey, at least I posted, right? Maybe next time you'll get some sort of structure, or focus.

My support group is lousy with nymphos

I am not a nice person. I make a good show of it, smiling and not tripping small children and whatnot, but deep down I am a cruel bastard. I can't help laughing at Holocaust jokes. My preferred style of driving could generously be described as "predatory," especially here in the non-Midwest. My Child's temper tantrums? Hilarious.

Which is why I didn't provide my 64 NCAA tournament predictions. Not because I'm lazy, or too busy. In the past two weeks I've had this page open not less than a dozen times, ready and willing to fulfill my end of the blogger-bloggee bargain. You know what I said to myself? "They're not worth it. They don't appreciate your acumen in putting UCLA in the Final Four, or choosing Villanova to get upset by Portland State." That's not the kind of valuable insight you deserved. So you didn't get it. Suck on that, reader.

As I watched 30Rock last week, I was reminded again of my not-so-secret evil-ocity. Glory be to my fantastically large HD compatible TV, 55" of Japanese magnificence: it allows me to watch Planet Earth on a 1:1 scale, and to actually see the puck while watching hockey (see? Someone in America DOES watch it). It also allows me to pay inordinate attention to things like Tina Fey's scar. And while I watched it morph and wiggle around smirks and grimaces and other attractive Tina Fey expressions, I wondered whether I was a little too fixated by it. And I was concerned.

Later that evening, though, I was watching Demetri Martin's show, and my mind started wandering, and then my eyes started wandering, and I noticed the mole on his neck. And I was disappointed that it was blurry, because then I couldn't get the full impact of the mole-ness. All of which led me to two conclusions: 1) Demetri Martin's show, while humorous, is not actually funny; and 2) it's not so much that I fetishized Tina Fey's scar, it's that I have an inordinate curiosity about random celebrity blemishes. Which then leads back to my being less than a saintly individual. which leads me to my next post...

Election Eve highlights

- Did you know that BET had election coverage? Say what you want about men with dreads in suits, but that guy could really break down an exit poll.

- CNN's holograms were a waste of money, and effort and completely sweet. I just can't wait for all the newscasters to do their thing via hologram. Not so much because it would change how they did it, but then they'd all be wrapped in a pretty purple aura. Because, like, auras are awesome.

- I was disappointed by Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert. Was 2 hours of coverage really too much to ask? They couldn't pull it off with some more guests, or more Rob Riggle pants-less time? But Colbert was hilarious, so it's all good.

- What I missed from Fox's coverage? Weeping. I wanted tears, and questioning of Jesus' majesty, and ridiculous denial:
"Just remember, folks, they thought Dewey had defeated Truman. And Dewey wasn't even bla- I mean liberal!"
"People lie in exit polls all the time. Is it so hard to understand how that dishonesty could extend into the polling booths as well? Voters actually lying to the government about who they want as president? For shame, America."
"Barack who? No, that guy is McCain's butler. McCain's just letting him give the victory speech because he's busy drinking mint juleps and watching Sarah Palin pick up pens off the floor. MMMMMM, Governor Tight-Ass indeed. What was that? We're on the air? ... I don't believe you."

- Has Al Franken won yet?

- I think it speaks volumes for Alaska that they still might reelect Ted Stevens. Let it go, folks. He's going to jail, I don't know how much he can get you in earmarks and wasteful projects while he's being ass-raped by Jojo.

- As a Jewish community professional focused on continuity and strengthening Jewish identity, I can't tell you what a marketing coup it is having Rahm Emmanuel as Obama's chief of staff. This is sure to bring in at least another three hundred dollars in donations. Maybe even 350.

- I'm not sure, but I think Wife let Child vote for her. We had touchscreens here in Pennsylvania, and Child was in the B-Jorn, and his hands were waving all over the place as they are wont to do, and all I'm saying is they spent a lot of time in that booth.

- John McCain gave a gracious, respectful concession speech. Who knows how things could have turned out for him if all of his campaign speeches had been like that?

- There was talk about what Sarah Palin would be doing now that the election is over, and she tanked McCain's campaign. Analysts gave 2 choices: a presidential run in 2012, or Hollywood reporter. Which I guess for her skillset there's really no other choices.

- Oh, I don't know if you heard this, but Obama is going to be the next president of these United States. I don't know what this means for the country, but I do know one thing for certain: his will be the most-mentioned middle name since Franklin Delano Roosevelt. We should just start calling him BHO and get it over with.

- And no, now that this is over I have no idea what I'm going to write about all the time. Probably porn. Yeah, porn it is.

Once you go black...

I was all set to write about my No Fear Player of the Month, Senator Ted Stevens, R-AK, who was found guilty on 7 felony counts of corruption and bribery. What makes him so gosh-darn indefatigable is that he is persisting in his Senate campaign. And because it's Alaska, home of rocks, oil, and Governor Tina Fey, he may be the first senator ever to serve his term from a jail cell. So hoorah to you, sir.

So I was going to snark all over that. And then I saw this:



He's dashing, he's daring, he smells like...our new President. Three cheers for the bus driver, bus driver man.

When I heard he was going to do this, I had several reactions. First, I wondered at the vast sums of money that allowed him to buy all that time: he's raised over $600 million in less than 2 years. That's 600 million dollars. 600. Million. He has so much money he's buying ad space in video games. He has raised so much money he's funding the next bailout. Obama has brought in so much cash he's making it rain, and he can afford to actually create precipitation instead of just throwing singles at strippers.

The next thing I thought about was how unbelievably self-indulgent the ad could be. The possibility of a front-runner for leader of the free world, having most of the country's attention to say...what, exactly? Would he take a crap on a picture of John McCain on camera? Hell, with that kind of money, he could pay McCain himself to appear in person and be pooped on, and still have enough left over to sway undecided voters in Virginia. Or would it just be footage of him speaking in that sweet sweet baritone, as Nubian princesses rubbed baby oil over his chiseled torso? Either way, it wasn't going to be pretty, and might just be the bump McCain needs at this late date to get back into the race.

So I have to say I was pleasantly surprised. It wasn't too self-aggrandizing, it wasn't all that messianic, and he wasn't on camera nearly as much as he could have been. And while I thought Bill Richardson's beard was pathetic, for the most part the endorsers were pretty good.

Was it a transformative experience? No. Do I think it will change people's minds? Sure, why not. If you thought Barack Obama was a Muslim socialist who eats the hearts and livers of gentle white folk while listening to Public Enemy and snorting blow off an American flag, then you might be persuaded by the video. And it put to shame McCain's increasingly nasty message, given that McCain and Palin came up exactly not at all. So in that sense it was a clear plus for Obama.

What I would have liked to see - and it would have been underhanded, dirty, and hilarious - is 27 minutes of backroom footage of Palin trashing her meal ticket, and criticizing his campaign strategy.

"Oh, dat old guy doesn't know his yass from his yelbow, donchaknow."

Lord, she's appalling. I know she's got lots of kids, and an adoring husband who loves her but hates America and wants Alaska to secede, but I really want her to catch a football with her nose, Marcia Brady-style. That would make my day.

Don't get all huffy and say she doesn't deserve it. She's earned the broken nose. Just ask John McCain.

Bust shots at Big Ben like we got time to kill

First, before I get to this week's half-assed post, I'm obligated to recognize a Mr. Hamburglar/B&D/Krazy/Tubby Bjornferdsentenstein for suggesting the Bob & Doug MacKenzie beer clip from last week. So there you go, Tubby. And for those of you who decided not to click on the fluffy bunny link, maybe you should check it out. Who knew bunnies had anything to do with witches?

Meanwhile...read this, because the birds and the bees, though their famed interaction may be exciting, don't always live happily ever after.

I had a decent idea to write about this week, about how much I hate Woody Allen. He and Philip Roth are equally responsible for giving Jewish men a bad name, and terrible role models. But then I heard that his new movie has Scarlett Johannsen and Penelope Cruz making out. So for that, Woody, I'll forget about the whole "marrying my adopted daughter" thing.

And I'm not going to write about the campaign, because nothing is happening. Forget the news - and I'm not even going to link to anything, because I don't want to encourage you - and their carping on every little misstep or not-so-surprising center moves by both candidates. August is for vacations and pining for the NFL, and that's it. Obama wants to name a VP? I'm all ears. But until the conventions in a couple of weeks, there's really nothing to talk about.

Oh, then there's that whole Russia-Georgia thing. I wish I could get worked up about Russia's imperialism, but I wouldn't be so sad if Hotlanta went Russky. Imagine the crazy Outkast album!

Beyond that, the only thing that anyone cares about right now is the Olympics, and all those medals by that guy with the gills. Much to the Madre's - and Wife's, for that matter - I'm not watching them. I'm not so down with China, ever since my Gap t-shirt got a hole in the armpit. Come on, you've got like 50 million child laborers - does not a single one know how to sew? You think losing the medal race to the U.S. is embarassing? How about all those crappy Nikes, and their uncomfortable soles? Now that's some national shame.

I could say it's all a joke, that I've been watching the epic gymnastics battle, and those beautiful opening ceremonies, but for some reason I find I've got other things to do. Who knows. Maybe I'm just overreacting, being a snotty liberal and all. I mean, there have been some unforgettable images coming out of China:



I'm sorry. I really tried to keep this light. But you know what? I'm really sick of the Olympics. I'd really just love to sit down and watch some crappy reality TV, but NBC's coverage has just been ridiculous. Just bring back the Office already.

Two men enter, one man leaves: Phil Hartman vs. Will Ferrell

For some reason I was watching Elf last week. Maybe because it was on. Maybe because I was hiding from In-Laws. Who knows. Either way, I'm not usually down with Christmas, being one of the Christ-killers and all, but I'm ok with that movie. Is it because of Zooey Deschanel? She plays her part, certainly. But really it's all Will Ferrell. And then I remembered a conversation I had in college, while he was still on SNL.

The question was: who is your better Everyman, Will Ferrell, or Phil Hartman? This was obviously before Will Ferrell became WILL FERRELL, but still, he's got a bit of that regular Joe appeal. He's awkward, his body is funny looking, and we know his body is funny looking because he has no issue whatsoever with letting the world see it. And then encouraging the world to giggle at untoned hairy chest. Plus he had Adam McKay as his own Cyrano, writing amazing characters and lines for him.

But Phil Hartman... Everyone who loves the funny loves Phil Hartman. He was plain, and brilliant, and dumb, and clever, and he did high comedy, and he did impressions.

Here, look at some clips of these magnificent comedic gods. And I know I forgot Robert Goulet, and More Cowbell, and Colon Blow. And I would have Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer but Lorne Michaels can sometimes be a douche, and there's no footage online that I could find in 10 minutes' searching. Let us also not forget Kap’n Karl. Alas, no video, but you should find it and bask in the glory of Phil Hartman as a saucy seacaptain, and pre-public masturbation Pee Wee Herman. But anyway, some highlights:

Phil Hartman, Frank Sinatra:




Newsradio: Real Deal Bill McNeal



The Simpsons: Troy McClure



Lionel Hutz, attorney at law



So I Married an Axe Murderer.





Will Ferrell, Perfect Cheer



Celebrity Jeopardy



Ron Burgundy, you magnificent hunk of mustache



Ricky Bobby



Mr. Mugatu



Now, because of his evil, whorish wife, we'll never know the kind of leading man career Phil Hartman would have had on the big screen. But I think he'd have been glorious. Will Ferrell, for all his above-mentioned regular...ness, is totally whacko. You can see it in his eyes. Phil Hartman, though, he could play anyone. Sea captain with a love for some painted-up french chick? He's your man. Radio personality with a god complex? Phil Hartman redefined the standard office blowhard. The only person who's come close since is Dwight Schrute, and even Rainn Wilson has a little too much Will Ferrell in him.

I freely acknowledge that this is some Freedarko-style argumentation, all potential over actualization. But if I want to cast a mild-mannered accountant who's sick of everyone calling him "Numbers," and eventually leads his office in a coup over the regional manager, I'm going with Phil.

Unless he has to get naked for some reason. Then it's all Will Ferrell.

Yo Joe!/Hey, Brother

Today I offer two forms of shame, arising from opposite ends of my life. Shame and excitement. Shame, excitement, and apprehension. Shame, excitement, apprehension, and an almost fanatical devotion to the Pope. No, wait, that's the Spanish Inquisition.



Anyhoo, there are two filmic events that both excite me and scare the bejesus out of me (shouldn't it be beJesus? Who knows. Jesus might, I guess).

The first is G.I. Joe. As a liberal who hates military fascism and moral absolutes tied to nationalities, it's embarrassing to admit that I used to love this show. I read the comic books, I bought the toys, I staged hundreds of epic battles between the Joes and COBRA, a ruthless terrorist organization determined to rule the world. COBRA, if you were curious, had fantastically better characters and vehicles, and the Terror Drome was badass. On the other hand, G.I. Joe had Snake-Eyes, who made up most of the difference. But I digress. As ashamed as I am to have loved - and, evidently, still have strong feelings for - the hyperpatriotic Joes, I was thrilled to hear they were going to do a live action movie.

Then I heard it was going to be directed by this guy, and I broke out in hives. What if it blows? Who am I kidding, of course it's going to be terrible! Destro doesn't even have a chrome mask! This is the sort of trauma that ruins childhood memories. And yet...still, there is a fluttering in my soul. Against all odds, it may not suck old man balls. Right? Right?

The other end of this admittedly unique spectrum is Arrested Development. Holy mother of magnificence is it going to be fantastic.

So where, you ask, is the shameful component? Here it is: I only watched maybe half a season when it was first run on TV.

You see? I, an ordinarily loyal member of my demographic, should have scheduled my weeks around the show, should have been shouting from the rooftops odes to its absurdist glory, and devoted hours to dissecting and memorizing each episode. Not only that, but now, having rented and pored over the scant few episodes, I proclaim its glory to every one I know. I truly believe, guilt notwithstanding, that Arrested Development is the funniest show ever. It beats Seinfeld, Cheers, The Simpsons, Family Guy, South Park, The State, Mr. Show, Larry Sanders, 30 Rock, and The Office (even the British one).

Despite all that wonderfulness, just as I am culpable for Weezer sucking (an explanation of which will be a future post), I am responsible for the cancellation of Arrested Development. There. Ah, the confession feels good, like ripping a Band-Aid off.

But let us forget the past. Both movies are going to be glorious, and I will weep tears of joy just to see them brought to the big screen.

Long Island ≠ Jewish

Last night, after a long day of playing pickup ball with octogenarians and avoiding In-Laws' questions about my professional intentions as to their fair city, I settled down to enjoy Night of Too Many Stars, a Comedy Central special to raise money for Autism. No, I don't know what the connection is, and no, I'm not going to make a joke about it. If you want that sort of humor, read Kissing Suzy Kolber. Seriously. Stop reading this crap. Go there.

I give the whole phonathon a B+, for the effort. They had a ton of stars, you got to see Tina Fey groped by some corporate flack, and Sara Silverman did that version of Amazing Grace where she harmonizes with her vagina. So that's something, I guess.

There were really only two parts of the show that grabbed my attention and shook it like a colicky baby.

The first was Chris Rock and Steven Wright, doing each other's material. Steven Wright did surprisingly ok - it was funny hearing him say "cracker" in ebonics, and it turns out that you don't have to scream Chris Rock's jokes in a grating whine to make them work.

No, the weird thing was hearing Rock do Steven Wright's jokes. I'd heard them all, and to see Chris Rock attempt a deadpan was unnerving. His persona is all inflection and emoting, whereas Wright may as well be a paralyzed wino, mumbling and drooling at passersby. Steven Wright's jokes, or bits, or missives, or whatever, are truly unfunny when told by someone else. I don't think Chris Rock got more than a sympathy chuckle for any of the jokes he told, while Wright got plenty of laughs doing Rock's material. So the question that kept me up the rest of the night is this: Is it that Chris Rock's stuff is just universally hilarious, or that Steven Wright's material is so wrapped up in Wright's persona that, unless you try and impersonate him, you'll never get a laugh trying his set?

The last thing that got to me was Rosie O'Donnell's set. Evidently, now that she's been booted from the View, and Donald Trump has moved on to perfecting a new combover look, she's bored. And lonely. And the lesbian jokes just aren't hitting their marks anymore. So what does Rosie decide to do? She checks out Kabbalah. And wouldn't you know it, but Long Island + Kabbalah = Jewish! So she can do a whole host of jokes about schmoozing with Pearl and Gitty, and say words like mishpucha, and now she's Ethel Merman.

Listen, and listen good, Rosie. Drop the Jewish jokes, and back slowly away. Just because you're large, have brown hair, and sound like Portnoy's mother doesn't mean you get to mock the Tribe. If you watched the thing, it was like a bad homage to the Seinfeld "Anti-Dentite" episode. She puts on a red string, and then gets to pretend she also knows how to make matza balls? Absolutely not.

Rosie O'Donnell is not only a lesbian, she's also Irish Catholic. She's been on the View. If she can't make comedy gold out of that wealth of material, then she should stay off the stage. Which, I think, would work for everyone involved.

Texas. Ohio. The Lady vs. The Brother

I was set to do a write-up/liveblog of the results tomorrow night, but I realized that would be a waste of time. Between CNN, MSNBC, Fox, WE, WB, ESPNU, and Nickelodeon there will be about 45,000 analysts picking apart the exit polls, and as original as my fantastic wit can be, there might be some overlap. So tonight I'm violating the principles of time and space and the internet, and liveblogging it now.

8:30 - CNN starts its coverage, and 17 former student club treasurers are offering their take on what to expect in Ohio and Texas:
Anderson Cooper says that the economy will be the biggest issue in Cleveland, while Galveston worries about immigration.
Wolf Blitzer, his beard cultivated in the shape of ancient Gaelic runes, is adamant that pets rights will play an underrated role in people's last minute decisions.
Christiane Amanpour blazes her sultry eyes from a dimlit newsdesk, and proclaims the secret to be the pheromone advantage held by Senator Obama.

9:00 - the polls close in Ohio, and MSNBC calls the state for hometown hero Dennis Kucinich. The diminutive politician is unavailable for comment, as he's already given up the race to take his chances on the dwarf-tossing circuit. In his first heat, he finishes a disappointing third.

9:12 - Brit Hume uses the word "promising" to describe John McCain, and Sean Hannity promptly lays him out with a 2X4 he has stashed under his jacket. Watching off-camera, Ann Coulter completes her portrait (oils on sheepskin) of Rush Limbaugh, naked, riding an Arabian steed across a brilliant green vale. It's glorious.

9:25 - Keith Olbermann counts down the top 10 most evil people in Texas, topping off his list with Daniel Day-Lewis' character in There Will be Blood. "Just because he's dead doesn't mean his sinister legacy doesn't live on in the hearts and minds of the soulless oilmen of today. Dan Patrick, if you're listening, I'm less of a man without you. Come back to me, and we'll spit snark over this crazy thing they call 'democracy.' Dan! DAAAANNNNNNN!"

9:34 - Bill O'Reilly: "Well, early numbers favor Senator Hussein Obama, despite unconfirmed reports that he's molested Christian children as part of a terrorism instruction series he leads at his mosque in Chicago. Also, from sources who wish not to be named, and may or may not be affiliated with her campaign, Senator Hillary Clinton has consumed the heart of her husband Bill, as part of her attempts at swaying the gods who rule over the Texas panhandle. Folks, this is just another example of liberal communist extremists trying to subjugate good Christian folk with their progressive hoo-doo."

10:00 - CNN calls Ohio for Obama, and Chris Matthews has to go change his pants.

10:06 - Exit polls in Dallas put Obama ahead by 346 votes. Geraldo Rivera, in horribly accented Spanish, stands in front of a polling station and asks a young Hispanic woman who she voted for and why. "Geraldo, stop calling me at home. If you come near me again, I'll mace your eyes until they melt. Oh, and your mustache smells like rotting bananas." As Geraldo turns back to the camera, he smirks and says "obviously she's voting for Hillary." Anderson Cooper is not amused. His hair, however, is immaculate.

10:20 - Fox News comes back from commercial to find Dick Morris massaging baby oil into Gretchen Carlson's perfectly toned delts. Gretchen informs us that winos outside a Qwik -Stop in Austin are predicting a Clinton sweep of the border counties.

10:45 - Tim Russert is grilling Mark Penn, Clinton's campaign manager:
Russert: Tell me I'm your mama. Say it! SAY IT!
Penn: ok, you're my mama. Can I have my wallet back now?
Russert: First, let me tell you why tetherball moms are upending CNN's predictions about today's primary.

11:05 - Chris Matthews, tears streaming down his face, calls Texas for Senator Hillary Clinton. "Are you happy now, you blond fascist! What do you have against Barack? Can you not see his beauty? His life-affirming smile, his ears large enough to carry all our prayers? At least acknowledge that he has the legs of Abraham Lincoln. And you think you can do a better job as president than Abraham Lincoln's legs? What hubris, woman!"

11:10 - Rhode Island and Vermont have also evidently held primaries, but no one cares.

Thunderdome: Brett & Jumaine vs. Jables & KG - sexy time all around?

A few years ago an acoustic rock duo exploded onto HBO, sending rock and sexy mansweat spewing everywhere. Jack Black and Kyle Gass, united as Tenacious D, used hair metal as a weapon against evil, and a dangerously powerful aphrodisiac (how many power duos have no problem sucking on toes?).

Then, last year, a shot was fired across their overweight bow. Out of New Zealand, the 4th-ranked digi-folk parodists duo Flight of the Conchords proclaimed that looking like Andy Samberg and loving David Bowie makes you the nuts.

Now, for the first time anywhere, we who Wear Pants pit them against each other in the Thunderdome. "Two men enter, one man leaves."


Origins:

The D: spawned from the pits of Hell and vomited upon this land in LA, where they play small clubs and fight about whether cock pushups make you ready to rawk.

Conchords: Fom New Zealand, which is awesome, because the only other things from New Zealand are Peter Jackson, hobbits, kiwis, and sheep. Lots of sheep. So it's fitting Brett & Jumaine moved to Brooklyn.

Advantage - The D, by a nose (New Zealand is cool, but Hell is hot.)


Appearance:

The D: jolly fat men who wear white socks pulled high. JB's hirsuteness (hirsute-ity?) makes up for Kyle's baby-like absence of hair. Like Donal Logue in The Tao of Steve, their girth does not prevent them from wooing the ladies.

Conchords: Andy Samberg, without the weirdly thick neck or Jewish nose. Hipster uniform, as required by Brooklyn residency statutes. Jumaine has fantastically thick lips, stretching from his chin almost up to his indie-rock plastic-framed glasses. Brett wears sweaters.

Advantage: The D, because you need extra calories if you're going to bring the rock. And because KG, if he lived in a place with snow, could pass as a snowman. He's a double scoop of vanilla on twin popsicle sticks.


Vocals:

The D: quality harmonies, and surprising range for the round mounds of sound. Add that to Jack's Dokken-esque roar, and they're pretty versatile.

Conchords: Jumaine can hit the lows and the highs, and Brett's just all over. Plus, there's the kiwi accent, and the Pants Wearer loves accents.

Advantage: Conchords.


Music:

The D: focusing on the rock, they do what they do well. But beyond an occasional love ballad about the D and the double team, that's about it. Their secret weapon is Dave Grohl, who shows up to play drums. But this is a 2 on 2, so he doesn't count.

Conchords: From hip hop to folk to Marvin Gaye-esque protest ballads about love being like cellar tape, they can do it all. Plus, their Bowie in space is better than Bowie actually being in space. Dig that.

Advantage: Conchords


Shows/movies:

The D: The show was great, and had the benefit of great cameos, like John C. Reilly playing Sasquatch. Disadvantaged because their show was only 15 minutes long. Made up for it by making a movie, but it kinda sucked. The Pick of Destiny will forever sully the memory of the D on screen.

Conchords: haven't made a movie, but their show is amazing. Their support cast - manager, obsessed fan, random building guy - is also a whole lot better than the D's. Could not, however, exist or flourish without the D having blazed the trail before them.

Advantage: Push


Secret identities/powers:

The D: AKA Wonder Boy and Nastyman. How about the power of flight? That's levitation, homes. And killing a yak with mindbullets? Telekinesis, Kyle.

Conchords: Hip Hopapotamus and the Rhymenocerus. The Hip Hopapotamus - his lyrics are bottomless. The Rhymenocerus raps about reality, like there ain't not party like his Nana's tea party (hey, ho).

Advantage on powers: The D, in a blowout.
Advantage on hilarity: Conchords, because New Zealand sometimes trumps all.

The winner: There is no winner, because the Pants Wearer is many things, but sometimes being decisive is not one of them. So there you have it. A tie. If I had a sister this is what it would feel like to kiss her. But given the joy that both groups provide the world, aren't we really all winners?

NBA All-Stars - where the Jason Kidd trade happens?

Random thoughts on the NBA All-Star game...

- Interesting which players shine in this game. Obviously there's Kidd and Nash, who drop dimes with loops and curlicues and drops off the backboard. Roy and Paul are just following in their footsteps. James and Howard, who add power to the flair of the 1s. But the Pistons? Wade? Their form serves function and function alone - if there is no real consequence, they're reduced to dutiful layups and 3's.

- Whenever Anthony and James are in the game, they go right at each other. The rivalry is a sight. What are the odds we ever get to see it in the Finals?

- Nowitzki should be on the team, but shouldn't be allowed to play. There is nothing pretty about his game. Even his jumpshot is all Prussion functionality.

- It's fun, and sad, watching guys who've never played with a real point guard flub passes. Roy dropping that bullet inside from Paul? Stoudemire would've held on.

- Chauncey Billups is a matchup nightmare, and a beast on the blocks. It is for these reasons and more that he should join the German Giant on the bench.

- What does Howard have against Yao? Is he playing defense against anyone else?

- Of course James would be well on his way to a triple double by halftime. The only thing I'm more excited to see is whether Paul can get to 20 assists. Lord he's good.

- Allen*, Sheed and Pierce are adding nothing. Wasn't there some sort of jumpshot showcase last night, something about 3-pointers? Sunday night is for slashing and driving, unless you're eight feet behind the line.
* - 4th quarter update: OK, fine, the 3 is compelling. Sometimes.

- Antawn Jamison? Really?

- Is the All-Star Game the essence of freedarko.com-style liberated fandom? Or a glorified playground game? And is there a difference?

- The problem with Kobe playing his 2 minutes is he killed in its infancy my dream lineup in the West - Nash, Paul, Deron Williams, Iverson, and Roy. What can I say? I'm a dribble and pass kind of guy.

- Would it be more interesting if the league suspended its rules about kicking for the game, just to see what Nash could do?

- Would the game be more fun if they cut out the 3-point line?

- Boozer and Nowitzki, two sides of the same uninspiring coin. Maybe Boozer should take a cue from Karl Malone, his predecessor in the post, and buy an 18-wheeler, maybe develop a cute free-throw shooting ritual.

- Is it too obvious to say that Kevin Garnett is the most vocal dad on his kid's pee-wee football sideline? Is he just as passionate when watching golf?

- Is it too much to ask for the 4th quarter to erupt into a monster Stoudemire - Howard throwdown showdown? I want to see them go one on one every time downcourt, just so I can keep seeing physics upended.

- Has anyone yet established which of the three is the better dribbler, Paul, Nash or Iverson?

- It's fitting to watch Billups school Nowitzki in the 4th quarter.

- Steve Nash has a lazy eye? And I hope to G-d he actually blew his nose in Craig Sager's hankie.

- Shaq's job in Phoenix is to convince Stoudemire that everyone he plays is Dwight Howard.

- Is Paul deliberately not passing to Nowitzki? And can anyone blame him?

- Oh, that's right. Wade = guts. Forgot about that.

- Are they really going to make the All-Star game end with free throws? That's it, 8.2 seconds to go, and I'm going to bed.

Ow, they broke my childhood's leg!

When I first heard of the new Knight Rider movie, I was excited, and nervous. And I saw this:



which made me even more anxious, because his name's not Mike, dammit, it's Michael. Show David Hasselhoff some respect, stupid car. But I thought certain things were sacrosanct, untouchable. Obviously the new KITT would be a Pontiac Firebird, and speak in a fey British accent that made you feel that your annunciation was sorely lacking.

I was wrong. The new Kitt is in no way similar to the old one.

How do they want me to react? Like everything is ok? As if I would understand that certain updates were necessary, and frankly if the new car was also going to be the same model that the new David Hasselhoff would also have to have a curly, flowing mullet? And who's going to replace Hasselhoff, the German Wonder, anyway? Who is sufficiently masculine? Who has the guts to put himself out there like this:



or this:



or this?



How do you top that? You don't. All you do is sully the memory, and my memory is sufficiently sullied. So when my child, who won't be able to speak when the new Knight Rider appears, but will question me with his/her eyes, wonders what happened to the old Knight Rider, I shall say to him/her, "I'm sorry, my child. Michael Knight got ripped on uppers and blow, and crashed KITT into an orphanage. Let us never speak of this again."

It's the Questions...

Questions that have tormented me ever since no one would tell me what “Smurfing” was (and no, I can’t find answers to these on Wikipedia.):

- Inspector Gadget. The Claw, Gadget’s nemesis. The Claw had a cat. What is the cat’s name?

- The Breakast Club. Judd Nelson crawling in the ceiling, tells a joke. “Naked woman walks into a bar with a 12-inch salami under one arm, and a poodle under the other. Bartender says, ‘I guess you won’t be needing a drink.’ Naked woman says’” and that’s where he falls into the library. WHAT? What does she say?

- Q-Tip can’t get off his ass and make another record? What else is he doing?

- Is it so hard to produce another You Can’t Do That on Television? I miss Moose, and Alastair, and wondering why Canadians can’t speak proper English.

- You’ve got the greatest defense in history. The best running back ever (until LT retires). A complete madman at QB. One of the best mustaches on a coach, ever. And a catchy theme song. How exactly were the Bears only able to squeeze out one Super Bowl win? Come on, the Giants? Joe “I get manicures because toenails are yucky” Montana?

- Lorne Michaels was able to produce the bizarre and awesome Kids in the Hall while presiding over the often mediocre SNL. No thoughts of a crossover? What exactly did Dana Carvey have over Dave Foley?

- Does it make me a bad Jew if I prefer Colbert to Stewart, and believe that Woody Allen is a whiny ugly pedophile, and that Johnnie was a cooler Ramone than Joey, and that Ben Stiller isn’t nearly funny enough to be in 7 or 8 movies each year?

Now What am I Going to Do?

According to "scientists," and "experts at the LA Times," I can't use the brilliance of zombie Albert Einstein to raise my kids. Unless someone has access to the brain of Isaac Newton, or maybe Shakespeare's ghost, I'm screwed. And don't bring me the skeleton of Galileo - I have no desire to pass on his authority issues to my kids. If they're going to be geniuses - and who are you to suggest otherwise? - they're going to do it while cleaning their rooms, doing the dishes, and believing the sun orbits the earth, because I said so.