The team you had in last year’s pool will win it all.
After his overrated, under talented Duke squad has its ass booted right out of the tournament in the second round, Coach K will make a gracious post-game speech which will impart a life’s lesson.
Despite his best efforts to put it behind him, Coach Bobby Knight will not be able to help himself in bringing up the incident of a decade ago when some smarmy little University of Indiana punk had the temerity to greet him with, "Hey, Knight."
CBS announcer, Jim Nantz, will read, in sickingly obsequious fashion, the Masters’ promo, "A Tradition Like No Other", at least three hundred times over the course of the next two weeks.
CBS announcer, Billy Packard, will vehemently disagree with a call that goes against an ACC team.
The distasteful verb, "drooling" will be used on several occasions apropos the effect that Oden and Durant have on professional scouts.
Studio show commentator, Clark Kellogg, will no longer be able to contain the intense personal hatred he harbors for fellow studio show commentator, Seth Davis, and Davis will be badly wounded in a brutal on-camera assault.
A lower seeded team will win two games, thus garnering the nickname, "Cinderella Team".
Monday, March 12, 2007
Quote of the Day
"I was standing offstage watching him do a scene, and it was so emotional that I began to weep, something I had never done before with any other actor." -
Ms. Liv Tyler on Mr. Adam Sandler’s work in the soon-to-be released film, "Reign Over Me"
Ms. Liv Tyler on Mr. Adam Sandler’s work in the soon-to-be released film, "Reign Over Me"
"24"
After last night, one less saucy Englishman in the world.
The guy was sitting there in the CTU, and was being asked to identify a suspect, when along came the widow of an agent who had died of the virus he spread, and she plugged him twice in the chest with a gun she had taken from her deceased husband’s desk. That saucy Englishman never knew what hit him.
Oh, and Jack had to use an ax to cut off the hand of a fellow agent, who also wanted to marry Jack’s daughter. It had nothing to do with Jack’s daughter. The other guy had gotten the virus dispersal device strapped to his wrist and it was about to go off, and Jack could not disable the damn thing, so he had to cut the guy’s hand off.
Tonight at 9:00 p.m. on Fox, Channel 29 on the UHF, Jack’s unit has to rescue him from the Russian Embassy.
The guy was sitting there in the CTU, and was being asked to identify a suspect, when along came the widow of an agent who had died of the virus he spread, and she plugged him twice in the chest with a gun she had taken from her deceased husband’s desk. That saucy Englishman never knew what hit him.
Oh, and Jack had to use an ax to cut off the hand of a fellow agent, who also wanted to marry Jack’s daughter. It had nothing to do with Jack’s daughter. The other guy had gotten the virus dispersal device strapped to his wrist and it was about to go off, and Jack could not disable the damn thing, so he had to cut the guy’s hand off.
Tonight at 9:00 p.m. on Fox, Channel 29 on the UHF, Jack’s unit has to rescue him from the Russian Embassy.
IN MEMORIAM
Loyal readers, it is my sad duty to impart to you tragic news. Comedian and actor, Richard Jeni, is dead, apparently of a self-inflicted gun wound. Having been a part of the Los Angeles film and entertainment community for so many years, I know that it is pulling together in support of Mr. Jeni, now that he is gone.
Movie fans will remember Mr. Jeni for his work in "The Usual Suspects", as well as his fine supporting turn as Lieutenant Goldberg in "A Few Good Men", and his role as Walter Matthau’s son in the "Grumpy Old Men" series.
I have linked to Mr. Jeni's web page for those who are so moved as to leave their condolences.
http://www.richardjeni.com/
Movie fans will remember Mr. Jeni for his work in "The Usual Suspects", as well as his fine supporting turn as Lieutenant Goldberg in "A Few Good Men", and his role as Walter Matthau’s son in the "Grumpy Old Men" series.
I have linked to Mr. Jeni's web page for those who are so moved as to leave their condolences.
http://www.richardjeni.com/
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Talkin' Baseball
With spring training in full gear, and the boys throwing the horsehide around down in Florida, I thought this would be an appropriate time to relate my two favorite memories of going out to the old ballyard.
This will not be a tedious Bob Costas-like treacly reverie ("From Ruth to DiMaggio to Mantle . . . from grandfather to father to son . . ."). The team involved in this instance is the Philadelphia Phillies. Pleasant memories would make for a dish of thin gruel indeed.
In March, 1987, catcher, Lance Parrish, was acquired by the Phillies as a free agent. He was promoted by the club as "the missing piece" for a pennant winner, having experienced a championship season with the Detroit Tigers. MAB Paints even produced a bumper sticker which read, "Lance Us A Pennant!".
Sadly, Parrish would not enjoy success in Philadelphia. The team stumbled to an 0-6 start out of the gate, and the fans were loaded for bear upon its return to Veterans’ Stadium. Parrish had not gotten off to a hot start. A certain vocal element at the Vet had determined that after six games, the team should be getting more production from him based on his salary. Even more regrettably, his wife’s identity had been ascertained by this element, and they let her have it with both barrels as she sat in the stands.
Parrish would never be accepted by the Philadelphia fans as anything more than a carpetbagging Detroit Tiger. After the debacle of the start of his first year, he kept his mouth shut and took his paycheck every two weeks. He gave off a similar vibe to a short timer in prison marking the days off a calendar. In October, 1988, he was traded to the California Angels for the long forgotten David Holderidge.
I remember attending what must have been a Business Person’s Special, and having seats, or more accurately, having moved to a seat, with a good view of the players on the first base line. The Phils had been behind all day, but here, in the ninth inning, with two outs, they had mounted a valiant comeback and were down by a single run. The sacks were loaded and big-ticket free agent, Lance Parrish, was striding to the plate. The crowd as one rose to its feet, moved by the expectation of victory to root for even this detestable a figure . . .
Parrish did not let the suspense build. He tapped the first pitch to the shortstop. I had an excellent view of Parrish as he really dug it out down the first base line, giving 110 percent, probably had been hoping to finally do something right, so he could stick it to the fans by not coming out for a curtain call. The throw nipped him by a good seven feet. All the air went out of the fans’ balloons, and they profaned Parrish’s name in any number of creative ways, and public address announcer, Dan Baker, told everyone to drive home carefully.
The second memory involves the person who accompanied me to the contest, who for our purposes today will be known as "The Big Man". The nickname is a tribute to his stature, as he stood, and to my knowledge, still stands at a height of 6'7". For you readers in the UK, I believe that’s six stone high.
The year was 1986. The Mets were in town. That whole contemptible bunch that would win the World Series on the strength of Bill Buckner’s bad back and feet. Showing his gameness, The Big Man elected to go even though he was suffering from a bad case of conjunctivitis, or as it is more commonly known, pinkeye.
I should note at the outset that we never had it as a goal when attending these events to become embroiled in any kind of sudden, violent altercation. In point of fact, I remember attending a July 4th Fireworks Game against the Cubs with The Big Man. We had made our way to a section with a much better vantage point than the ticketed seats we had purchased. A couple of obviously intoxicated rowdies were annoying everyone in our section. Demonstrating his sense of civic responsibility, The Big Man leaned over to me and confided, "If we had actually paid for these seats, I would call the ushers and have those guys thrown out."
Initially, there were no problems. In the second inning, our section began evidencing the fact that the scum from the sewers of Queens must have slithered onto I-95 and was beginning to arrive en masse. We took the prudent course of moving back a few rows, as there were soon dark clouds appearing on the horizon, regarding the continuing detente between these foreign interlopers and some outnumbered Phillies’ fans in our section.
The inevitable melee erupted with a terrible fury in the visitor’s half of the eighth inning. I do not know what prompted it. I do know that the remaining bedraggled Phillies’ fans were taking the worst of it.
We stood and watched from our perch a few rows back. The eventuality never occurred to us that the mob might start looking for "fresh meat". But the pummeling below had abated and now their eyes were turned towards us.
Given our BAC and cardio conditioning at the time, sprinting to safety was not a realistic option. Also at that age in a man’s life, cutting and running seems a less than manly option, less acceptable than when a man begins to acquire a certain wealth of years. And it was fortunate that we stood our ground, for we learned a valuable lesson that will never be given voice by the likes of Bob Costas . . .
You can say what you want about the toughness of the New York sports’ fan, and this myth can be propagated until the end of recorded time. But from hard-won personal experience, I know that not even the heartiest amongst that unfortunate breed has the staunchness, the conviction, the sheer will, to advance with malicious intention on a drunken 6'7" man, whose right eye is noticeably oozing pus.
This will not be a tedious Bob Costas-like treacly reverie ("From Ruth to DiMaggio to Mantle . . . from grandfather to father to son . . ."). The team involved in this instance is the Philadelphia Phillies. Pleasant memories would make for a dish of thin gruel indeed.
In March, 1987, catcher, Lance Parrish, was acquired by the Phillies as a free agent. He was promoted by the club as "the missing piece" for a pennant winner, having experienced a championship season with the Detroit Tigers. MAB Paints even produced a bumper sticker which read, "Lance Us A Pennant!".
Sadly, Parrish would not enjoy success in Philadelphia. The team stumbled to an 0-6 start out of the gate, and the fans were loaded for bear upon its return to Veterans’ Stadium. Parrish had not gotten off to a hot start. A certain vocal element at the Vet had determined that after six games, the team should be getting more production from him based on his salary. Even more regrettably, his wife’s identity had been ascertained by this element, and they let her have it with both barrels as she sat in the stands.
Parrish would never be accepted by the Philadelphia fans as anything more than a carpetbagging Detroit Tiger. After the debacle of the start of his first year, he kept his mouth shut and took his paycheck every two weeks. He gave off a similar vibe to a short timer in prison marking the days off a calendar. In October, 1988, he was traded to the California Angels for the long forgotten David Holderidge.
I remember attending what must have been a Business Person’s Special, and having seats, or more accurately, having moved to a seat, with a good view of the players on the first base line. The Phils had been behind all day, but here, in the ninth inning, with two outs, they had mounted a valiant comeback and were down by a single run. The sacks were loaded and big-ticket free agent, Lance Parrish, was striding to the plate. The crowd as one rose to its feet, moved by the expectation of victory to root for even this detestable a figure . . .
Parrish did not let the suspense build. He tapped the first pitch to the shortstop. I had an excellent view of Parrish as he really dug it out down the first base line, giving 110 percent, probably had been hoping to finally do something right, so he could stick it to the fans by not coming out for a curtain call. The throw nipped him by a good seven feet. All the air went out of the fans’ balloons, and they profaned Parrish’s name in any number of creative ways, and public address announcer, Dan Baker, told everyone to drive home carefully.
The second memory involves the person who accompanied me to the contest, who for our purposes today will be known as "The Big Man". The nickname is a tribute to his stature, as he stood, and to my knowledge, still stands at a height of 6'7". For you readers in the UK, I believe that’s six stone high.
The year was 1986. The Mets were in town. That whole contemptible bunch that would win the World Series on the strength of Bill Buckner’s bad back and feet. Showing his gameness, The Big Man elected to go even though he was suffering from a bad case of conjunctivitis, or as it is more commonly known, pinkeye.
I should note at the outset that we never had it as a goal when attending these events to become embroiled in any kind of sudden, violent altercation. In point of fact, I remember attending a July 4th Fireworks Game against the Cubs with The Big Man. We had made our way to a section with a much better vantage point than the ticketed seats we had purchased. A couple of obviously intoxicated rowdies were annoying everyone in our section. Demonstrating his sense of civic responsibility, The Big Man leaned over to me and confided, "If we had actually paid for these seats, I would call the ushers and have those guys thrown out."
Initially, there were no problems. In the second inning, our section began evidencing the fact that the scum from the sewers of Queens must have slithered onto I-95 and was beginning to arrive en masse. We took the prudent course of moving back a few rows, as there were soon dark clouds appearing on the horizon, regarding the continuing detente between these foreign interlopers and some outnumbered Phillies’ fans in our section.
The inevitable melee erupted with a terrible fury in the visitor’s half of the eighth inning. I do not know what prompted it. I do know that the remaining bedraggled Phillies’ fans were taking the worst of it.
We stood and watched from our perch a few rows back. The eventuality never occurred to us that the mob might start looking for "fresh meat". But the pummeling below had abated and now their eyes were turned towards us.
Given our BAC and cardio conditioning at the time, sprinting to safety was not a realistic option. Also at that age in a man’s life, cutting and running seems a less than manly option, less acceptable than when a man begins to acquire a certain wealth of years. And it was fortunate that we stood our ground, for we learned a valuable lesson that will never be given voice by the likes of Bob Costas . . .
You can say what you want about the toughness of the New York sports’ fan, and this myth can be propagated until the end of recorded time. But from hard-won personal experience, I know that not even the heartiest amongst that unfortunate breed has the staunchness, the conviction, the sheer will, to advance with malicious intention on a drunken 6'7" man, whose right eye is noticeably oozing pus.
LET'S GET POSITIVE! DAILY HEALTHY AFFIRMATIONS FOR POSITIVE LIVING BY FRANZ KAFKA
One of the first signs of the beginning of understanding is the wish to die.
Defeat Acknowledged
My clarion call to fellow politically oriented bloggers has gone unheeded. The President has not rescinded the insanity of an earlier start to daylight savings time, despite my objection. Quite frankly I was ignored, and no "buzz" was generated in the blogosphere.
But mark me, and mark me well. When future historians come to write the tale of the Bush presidency, the decision to start daylight savings time three weeks earlier will be recorded as the administration’s biggest mistake
But mark me, and mark me well. When future historians come to write the tale of the Bush presidency, the decision to start daylight savings time three weeks earlier will be recorded as the administration’s biggest mistake
Quote of the Day
"You take a carny, roll him in the barnyard, kick him in the head a couple hundred times, and what do you get?" - Hank Hill, "King Of The Hill", on rodeo clowns.
Just Wondering
How many of those half-assed jazz albums do you think Bernie Williams will sell now that he's no longer the New York Yankees' centerfielder?
Friday, March 9, 2007
LET'S GET POSITIVE! DAILY HEALTHY AFFIRMATIONS FOR POSITIVE LIVING BY FRANZ KAFKA
My guiding principle is this: guilt is never to be doubted.
Red Meat Political Commentary
WASHINGTON (AP) -- Former House Speaker Newt Gingrich acknowledged he was having an extramarital affair even as he led the charge against President Clinton over the Monica Lewinsky affair, he acknowledged in an interview with a conservative Christian group.
"The honest answer is yes," Gingrich, a potential 2008 Republican presidential candidate, said in an interview with Focus on the Family founder James Dobson to be aired Friday, according to a transcript provided to The Associated Press. "There are times that I have fallen short of my own standards. There's certainly times when I've fallen short of God's standards."
By my lights, former Speaker Gingrich is showing genuine contrition and I find his explanation compelling. Let this be the end of it.
"The honest answer is yes," Gingrich, a potential 2008 Republican presidential candidate, said in an interview with Focus on the Family founder James Dobson to be aired Friday, according to a transcript provided to The Associated Press. "There are times that I have fallen short of my own standards. There's certainly times when I've fallen short of God's standards."
By my lights, former Speaker Gingrich is showing genuine contrition and I find his explanation compelling. Let this be the end of it.
Thursday, March 8, 2007
Heavy Trainers
There is a trainer at my gym . . . been there for years . . . initiated that burdensome, "How’ya doin’" ritual with me some years back . . . I don’t know how it happened, I must have been distracted and looked up as I was walking by him, at precisely the wrong moment . . .
. . . well, he elected not to say hello to me the other night in the locker room . . . instead walked past me and said, "Take it easy, guys" to a couple of young turks who were standing about ten feet away from me . . . probably thought they were "cooler" than me . . . and they didn’t respond to him at all . . . left him hanging . . . and he knew that I knew that they had left him hanging . . . but I didn’t bail him out . . . I didn’t say "Yeah, take it easy, man" . . . I let that humiliating slight of being ignored just linger in the air . . .
I also noticed that he had put on a significant amount of weight. He’s gone to wearing big, floppy sweatshirts, in an unsuccessful attempt to camouflage his burgeoning girth. The heftiness has even affected the way he walks, as he has taken on a waddle in his stride.
And it occurred to me that there might not be another profession in which your appearance immediately bespeaks your incompetence. I thought of a toothless dentist, but that analogy is not really appropriate, since I don’t believe that a dentist can perform corrective services on himself.
. . . well, he elected not to say hello to me the other night in the locker room . . . instead walked past me and said, "Take it easy, guys" to a couple of young turks who were standing about ten feet away from me . . . probably thought they were "cooler" than me . . . and they didn’t respond to him at all . . . left him hanging . . . and he knew that I knew that they had left him hanging . . . but I didn’t bail him out . . . I didn’t say "Yeah, take it easy, man" . . . I let that humiliating slight of being ignored just linger in the air . . .
I also noticed that he had put on a significant amount of weight. He’s gone to wearing big, floppy sweatshirts, in an unsuccessful attempt to camouflage his burgeoning girth. The heftiness has even affected the way he walks, as he has taken on a waddle in his stride.
And it occurred to me that there might not be another profession in which your appearance immediately bespeaks your incompetence. I thought of a toothless dentist, but that analogy is not really appropriate, since I don’t believe that a dentist can perform corrective services on himself.
LET'S GET POSITIVE! DAILY HEALTHY AFFIRMATIONS FOR POSITIVE LIVING BY FRANZ KAFKA
I have the true feeling of myself only when I am unbearably unhappy.
IN MEMORIAM
Long time Phillies’ coach, John Vukovich, has passed. To fans of a certain age, John Vukovich was the Philadelphia Phillies. On June 23, 1971, Mr. Vukovich preserved Rick Wise’s no-hitter by stabbing Pete Rose’s line shot for the final out. He also served as a Phillies coach from 1988 through 2004, working under a diverse string of managers, including, Lee Elia, Nick Levya, Jim "Jimmy" Fregosi, Terry "Tito" Francona and Larry "Bonesy" Bowa.
The Phillies have announced that the organization will pay tribute to Mr. Vukovich by having the players wear "Vuk" on their uniforms this season. A small quibble with an otherwise generous gesture by the Phillies. The name should be spelled "Vuke" rhyming with "Luke". "Vuk" rhymes with "luck", and will invite the barbarians who inhabit Yankee Stadium to hurl insulting couplets at the players, when they visit the Bronx this year.
The Phillies have announced that the organization will pay tribute to Mr. Vukovich by having the players wear "Vuk" on their uniforms this season. A small quibble with an otherwise generous gesture by the Phillies. The name should be spelled "Vuke" rhyming with "Luke". "Vuk" rhymes with "luck", and will invite the barbarians who inhabit Yankee Stadium to hurl insulting couplets at the players, when they visit the Bronx this year.
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
Fellow Bloggers: A Plea For Information
Does anybody out there know how to post pictures to your blog so that they accompany specific posts? These "help" topics may be alright for someone with a dollop of computer literacy, but I can’t make hide nor hair out of it. I am experiencing extreme artistic frustration in not being able to employ the visual medium. Its analogous to James Dean discussing his sexuality, when he said, "I have no intention of going through life with one hand tied behind my back."
Secondly, does anybody know if there is some kind of computer gizmo thingy which counts the number of visitors to your blog. I know when I sold my collection of "adult oddities" on e-bay, there was a counter at the bottom of the page, to see how many people viewed the merchandise.
Secondly, does anybody know if there is some kind of computer gizmo thingy which counts the number of visitors to your blog. I know when I sold my collection of "adult oddities" on e-bay, there was a counter at the bottom of the page, to see how many people viewed the merchandise.
"24"
Well, I hope you saw it . . . cause I'm just right now pickin' my jaw up off the floor. That crazy SOB, Jack, went ahead and cut that Russian's pinkie right off, clean as a whistle. After that, the Russian was more than happy to tell Jack everything he wanted to know about Gredenko's nefarious plans. Unfortunetly, after getting the information, Jack walked right into a concussion bomb, and now the Ruskies are holding him as a prisoner at their embassy.
If Powers Boothe does not win some kind of special Emmy for his over-the-top, scenery chewing performance as the Vice President, there should be a recount.
And as for that saucy Englishman on Sunday night . . . Jack had the guy’s daughter brought to the quarantined hotel where the Englishman had let loose the deadly virus, and Jack told his people to put the daughter in the hotel, and that saucy Englishman tried to hold out, but knew that Jack was going to do it, so he was only too happy to tell Jack everything he wanted to know about where the other vials of the virus were being stored.
If Powers Boothe does not win some kind of special Emmy for his over-the-top, scenery chewing performance as the Vice President, there should be a recount.
And as for that saucy Englishman on Sunday night . . . Jack had the guy’s daughter brought to the quarantined hotel where the Englishman had let loose the deadly virus, and Jack told his people to put the daughter in the hotel, and that saucy Englishman tried to hold out, but knew that Jack was going to do it, so he was only too happy to tell Jack everything he wanted to know about where the other vials of the virus were being stored.
IBP Film Division Greenlights Second Project
A second film project has received the "greenlight" from the IBP film production division. Open auditions will be held for the part of a seedy Frenchman. Dates and times to be announced.
As with the inaugural film, this project will be shot on an extremely limited budget. I am already getting snowed under with memos from the bean counters over in accounting, and shooting hasn’t even begun yet. Thus it would be seen as a "feather in the cap" for auditioning actors to bring the props which the part will require, such as an easel, charcoal pencils and drawing paper. It would further redound tremendously to the auditioning actor’s advantage if he were also to bring the appropriate software allowing a director to edit, dub, sub-title, etc., the film on a computer.
As with the inaugural film, this project will be shot on an extremely limited budget. I am already getting snowed under with memos from the bean counters over in accounting, and shooting hasn’t even begun yet. Thus it would be seen as a "feather in the cap" for auditioning actors to bring the props which the part will require, such as an easel, charcoal pencils and drawing paper. It would further redound tremendously to the auditioning actor’s advantage if he were also to bring the appropriate software allowing a director to edit, dub, sub-title, etc., the film on a computer.
From today's New York Post . . .
NH COPS COLLAR "TAM MAN" PERV
by
JACK BINKLE
Police in the small New Hampshire town of Norbridge, have apprehended notorious sex offender, Jeffrey "Tam Man" Lidge, who has been wanted for trolling New England public parks and flashing teenage and pubescent boys. The sicko got his nickname from victims' descriptions, which noted that the he always wore a distinctive tam and ascot. Lidge was also carrying a book of the collected poems of Robert Frost at the time of his arrest.
Norbridge Police Captain, Cal Humphert, stated that the Tam Man’s modus operandi was to sit on a public park bench, lure young boys to where he was sitting, and then yank up the book of Robert Frost poetry which was in his lap, giving the victim a real eyeful.
"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and he took the one that led to jail," quipped Captain Humphert.
When contacted by the Post, his sister, Molly Lidge, said that her brother was once a respectable citizen, gainfully employed as an air traffic controller. The pantless pervert’s downfall began when President Reagan fired the striking air traffic controllers, and Lidge was unable to procure employment at a comparable salary.
The Tam Man is being held on $100,000.00 bail.
by
JACK BINKLE
Police in the small New Hampshire town of Norbridge, have apprehended notorious sex offender, Jeffrey "Tam Man" Lidge, who has been wanted for trolling New England public parks and flashing teenage and pubescent boys. The sicko got his nickname from victims' descriptions, which noted that the he always wore a distinctive tam and ascot. Lidge was also carrying a book of the collected poems of Robert Frost at the time of his arrest.
Norbridge Police Captain, Cal Humphert, stated that the Tam Man’s modus operandi was to sit on a public park bench, lure young boys to where he was sitting, and then yank up the book of Robert Frost poetry which was in his lap, giving the victim a real eyeful.
"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and he took the one that led to jail," quipped Captain Humphert.
When contacted by the Post, his sister, Molly Lidge, said that her brother was once a respectable citizen, gainfully employed as an air traffic controller. The pantless pervert’s downfall began when President Reagan fired the striking air traffic controllers, and Lidge was unable to procure employment at a comparable salary.
The Tam Man is being held on $100,000.00 bail.
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
Red Meat Political Commentary
While driving the other day, I noticed that someone had posted in a prominent location by the roadway, a bumper sticker which read, "Impeach Bush". My first thought was the pain that a father on a family drive would go through attempting to explain to his young son what the bumper sticker meant, and how it would impact on that young man's sense of respect for the country's institutions. My second thought was wondering how in the bumper sticker poster's wildest imaginings, he could believe that his action would somehow add to a reasonable discussion of the nation's issues.
Sunday, March 4, 2007
"24"
Just a reminder that tomorrow night at 9:00 p.m., Jack will be kicking some serious tail.
Having not watched "24" prior to this year, I am fortunate to be able to enjoy a previous season of "24" on the UHF, Channel 57, on Sunday nights at 10:00 p.m. Last week, some saucy Englishman who has been raising hell by spreading a deadly virus, was captured by Jack after the airforce blew up the Englishman's helicopter as he tried to make good his getaway.
At the end of the episode, the Englishman taunted Jack to torture him since the guy is a former member of the English secret spy service, the guys who killed Princess Diana, and had worked with Jack before.
Tonight, we're going to find out what Jack is capable of, because even though the Englishman might not give anything up under torture, Jack's got the guy's daughter in custody.
It should be a hot one.
Having not watched "24" prior to this year, I am fortunate to be able to enjoy a previous season of "24" on the UHF, Channel 57, on Sunday nights at 10:00 p.m. Last week, some saucy Englishman who has been raising hell by spreading a deadly virus, was captured by Jack after the airforce blew up the Englishman's helicopter as he tried to make good his getaway.
At the end of the episode, the Englishman taunted Jack to torture him since the guy is a former member of the English secret spy service, the guys who killed Princess Diana, and had worked with Jack before.
Tonight, we're going to find out what Jack is capable of, because even though the Englishman might not give anything up under torture, Jack's got the guy's daughter in custody.
It should be a hot one.
Never too early to start thinking about Valentine's Day, 2008 . . .
Every Valentine’s Day or anniversary or birthday, has the woman in your life come to expect and, truthfully, almost dread, the same gift from you for each such occasion? The gift that says, "I didn’t want to put any real thought into this so I got you the same thing I get you every year"?.
There is a product, linked below, which is simultaneously romantic and practical, and having used it for over fifteen years, I can attest that its benefits are undeniable. I’m as healthy as a Brahman bull. It’s a gift that bespeaks, "I care about you and I want you to be here with me for a long time."
I urge you to give it due consideration.
http://naturesplatform.com/
There is a product, linked below, which is simultaneously romantic and practical, and having used it for over fifteen years, I can attest that its benefits are undeniable. I’m as healthy as a Brahman bull. It’s a gift that bespeaks, "I care about you and I want you to be here with me for a long time."
I urge you to give it due consideration.
http://naturesplatform.com/
Understated New York Post Headline In Reference To The Anna Nicole Smith Funeral
DIG THESE BAHAMA ANNA DING-DONGS
PALS & TOURISTS AT GRAVE SITE
PALS & TOURISTS AT GRAVE SITE
Saturday, March 3, 2007
Introspection
After a week of hard-core blogging, I’m going to step out from behind the curtain, break the fourth wall and speak directly to you, the reader . . .
The witching hour draws nigh, and the last cigarette has been smoked . . . and you are left with nothing but the deafening silence and the suffocating loneliness, another black night of the soul . . . and again you are compelled by necessity to rely on memories to somehow make it through until morning . . .
And due to the constant repetition of the process, the tapestry of the memories itself has become threadbare . . . Am I recalling these events correctly, or even more distressing, did these events ever happen at all, or is it all a trick of the mind? What of significance have I forgotten, and if we are all the sum of our life’s experiences through memory, what have I become?
That was all before I discovered a little something called "you tube". Man, I didn’t think this gem I’m going to link to was around anymore, so it was a real "Eureka!" moment when I found it.
The year was 1986. Jimmy Valiant had been a headliner ten years earlier in the WWWF, but now, as his sagging pecs and prominent midriff bore silent witness, he was most assuredly a second-tier performer.
Tully Blanchard, perhaps best remembered as a member of The Four Horsemen, was feuding with The American Dream, Dusty Rhodes, and the affections of one "Baby Doll" was a sore point between the two. Tully Blanchard Enterprises had been formed, and Mr. J.J. Dylan had been brought aboard.
In order to advance the storyline, Blanchard was going after all of The American Dream’s friends. Now, in reality, Rhodes, prior to this feud, had no association with Valiant, who in the twilight of his career, had adopted the absurd persona of "The Boogie Woogie Man". Valiant was no more friends with Rhodes than I am with the man on the moon. But the organization needed someone who would not be too great a loss in the event that he suffered an actual injury when having his head bounced off a cement floor. I’m sure that when the discussion as to the list of candidates for this role was broached, a quick consensus was reached that The Boogie Woogie Man was the perfect man for the job.
Interestingly, this story line soon after petered out and I don’t think it was ever required that another wrestler had to "wear the hat" in the manner that The Boogie Woogie Man did in the linked video.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QbOJ_NgRLME
The witching hour draws nigh, and the last cigarette has been smoked . . . and you are left with nothing but the deafening silence and the suffocating loneliness, another black night of the soul . . . and again you are compelled by necessity to rely on memories to somehow make it through until morning . . .
And due to the constant repetition of the process, the tapestry of the memories itself has become threadbare . . . Am I recalling these events correctly, or even more distressing, did these events ever happen at all, or is it all a trick of the mind? What of significance have I forgotten, and if we are all the sum of our life’s experiences through memory, what have I become?
That was all before I discovered a little something called "you tube". Man, I didn’t think this gem I’m going to link to was around anymore, so it was a real "Eureka!" moment when I found it.
The year was 1986. Jimmy Valiant had been a headliner ten years earlier in the WWWF, but now, as his sagging pecs and prominent midriff bore silent witness, he was most assuredly a second-tier performer.
Tully Blanchard, perhaps best remembered as a member of The Four Horsemen, was feuding with The American Dream, Dusty Rhodes, and the affections of one "Baby Doll" was a sore point between the two. Tully Blanchard Enterprises had been formed, and Mr. J.J. Dylan had been brought aboard.
In order to advance the storyline, Blanchard was going after all of The American Dream’s friends. Now, in reality, Rhodes, prior to this feud, had no association with Valiant, who in the twilight of his career, had adopted the absurd persona of "The Boogie Woogie Man". Valiant was no more friends with Rhodes than I am with the man on the moon. But the organization needed someone who would not be too great a loss in the event that he suffered an actual injury when having his head bounced off a cement floor. I’m sure that when the discussion as to the list of candidates for this role was broached, a quick consensus was reached that The Boogie Woogie Man was the perfect man for the job.
Interestingly, this story line soon after petered out and I don’t think it was ever required that another wrestler had to "wear the hat" in the manner that The Boogie Woogie Man did in the linked video.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QbOJ_NgRLME
Understated New York Post Headline In Reference To The Anna Nicole Smith Funeral
WACKY D-LIST WEEPAPALOOZA JUST WON'T LET ANNA BREAST IN PEACE
Friday, March 2, 2007
If e-mail existed in 1979 . . .
None of his friends had called Pewter back. He had noticed that his popularity had waned as more people in the group had gotten their drivers licenses.
He laid down on the couch and stared at the television. "The Love Boat" was coming on. Robert Reed and Jo Anne Worley were on the show. This really sucks, Pewter thought. This was no way for a high school senior to spend his Saturday night. The Class of ‘79 was running out of tomorrows.
Pewter had an inspiration. He went online and to demonstrate that he was "with it", worthy of still being included in the group, while in no way hinting that he feared his social standing had badly slipped, he sent the following lyrics from Pink Floyd’s recently released, "The Wall", via e-mail to his buddies:
Hello?
Is there anybody in there?
Just nod if you can hear me.
Is there anyone at home?
Pewter went back out and laid on the couch and waited for his telephone to ring. He watched as Robert Reed and Jo Anne Worley navigated the rough shoals of love. After fifty minutes, Isaac the bartender eased the couple’s transition back to life off the boat by telling them to "take it slow, and just keep on keepin’ on."
Pewter could stand it no longer. No one had called. He went to his computer to see if anyone had responded via e-mail. He was disappointed when he saw that he had no messages.
He laid back down on the couch. Rip Taylor and Charlene Tilton had already arrived on "Fantasy Island". With a violent whiplash motion, he removed his encroaching bangs from his eyes. Out of frustration, aloud he said, "This sucks."
He laid down on the couch and stared at the television. "The Love Boat" was coming on. Robert Reed and Jo Anne Worley were on the show. This really sucks, Pewter thought. This was no way for a high school senior to spend his Saturday night. The Class of ‘79 was running out of tomorrows.
Pewter had an inspiration. He went online and to demonstrate that he was "with it", worthy of still being included in the group, while in no way hinting that he feared his social standing had badly slipped, he sent the following lyrics from Pink Floyd’s recently released, "The Wall", via e-mail to his buddies:
Hello?
Is there anybody in there?
Just nod if you can hear me.
Is there anyone at home?
Pewter went back out and laid on the couch and waited for his telephone to ring. He watched as Robert Reed and Jo Anne Worley navigated the rough shoals of love. After fifty minutes, Isaac the bartender eased the couple’s transition back to life off the boat by telling them to "take it slow, and just keep on keepin’ on."
Pewter could stand it no longer. No one had called. He went to his computer to see if anyone had responded via e-mail. He was disappointed when he saw that he had no messages.
He laid back down on the couch. Rip Taylor and Charlene Tilton had already arrived on "Fantasy Island". With a violent whiplash motion, he removed his encroaching bangs from his eyes. Out of frustration, aloud he said, "This sucks."
My Response
I must ask for a point of personal privilege. This column and its author have been under full scale attack all day by one Markos Zuniga and his small-minded henchmen at The Daily Kos. I will not link to that site. I will not give them the satisfaction or the increased web traffic, which they so desperately crave.
To newer readers, some background on the friction between IBP and The Daily Kos might prove illustrative. During the 2004 Presidential campaign, a “tipster” in whom I placed great confidence, advised that Democratic Presidential candidate, John Kerry, had been arrested for public drunkenness in Spartanburg, South Carolina, in 2002. He also forwarded me documentation, including the relevant police report, backing his claim.
I carry no brief for either political party. However, such an explosive revelation provided insight into the character of the man who would be the leader of the free world, and I felt it important that such information be injected into the national debate.
Following the publication of the information, this column and its author were besieged by a firestorm of criticism. Leading the charge was The Daily Kos, Zuniga and his libelous minions, and being the recipient of their spewed fury was an experience which I was not eager to repeat. One does not easily forget the first time that one is called a “right-wing scumbag”.
We need not go on at length now, how upon closer inspection the named individual in the report was “Jon Currie”, how the arrest photograph showed a man with a full beard and distinctive forehead mole, how the arrest date happened to coincide with the night of Mr. Kerry’s 2002 senate inauguration and a well-witnessed swirl of parties in Washington, D.C. This is old ground and not of moment.
However, this history does provide a backdrop to the wrath incurred by my publication yesterday of a Guest Journal. I firmly take issue with the statement, “The right-wing scumbag and blowhard has now lowered himself to publishing the raving, lunatic Republican fantasies of pedophiles!!!”
Firstly, as previously stated, I do not care for the appellation, “right-wing scumbag” or any of the other more profane labels which now dot that website’s comments section. Such juvenile invective is beneath civilized discourse.
In reference to yesterday’s Guest Journal, I believed that the piece had a certain Robert Frost-like pathos, which gave the work a haunting quality. I never vouched for the author’s accuracy in his recollection of the Reagan era. I will candidly admit to you that in the eighties, I was at a place in my life where I was not attuned to the country’s political affairs.
Lastly, I have read and re-read the piece, and note nothing contained therein which could lead to the conclusion that its author is a pedophile. Such a malicious accusation can only be attributed to a deliberate effort to smear me by association.
To newer readers, some background on the friction between IBP and The Daily Kos might prove illustrative. During the 2004 Presidential campaign, a “tipster” in whom I placed great confidence, advised that Democratic Presidential candidate, John Kerry, had been arrested for public drunkenness in Spartanburg, South Carolina, in 2002. He also forwarded me documentation, including the relevant police report, backing his claim.
I carry no brief for either political party. However, such an explosive revelation provided insight into the character of the man who would be the leader of the free world, and I felt it important that such information be injected into the national debate.
Following the publication of the information, this column and its author were besieged by a firestorm of criticism. Leading the charge was The Daily Kos, Zuniga and his libelous minions, and being the recipient of their spewed fury was an experience which I was not eager to repeat. One does not easily forget the first time that one is called a “right-wing scumbag”.
We need not go on at length now, how upon closer inspection the named individual in the report was “Jon Currie”, how the arrest photograph showed a man with a full beard and distinctive forehead mole, how the arrest date happened to coincide with the night of Mr. Kerry’s 2002 senate inauguration and a well-witnessed swirl of parties in Washington, D.C. This is old ground and not of moment.
However, this history does provide a backdrop to the wrath incurred by my publication yesterday of a Guest Journal. I firmly take issue with the statement, “The right-wing scumbag and blowhard has now lowered himself to publishing the raving, lunatic Republican fantasies of pedophiles!!!”
Firstly, as previously stated, I do not care for the appellation, “right-wing scumbag” or any of the other more profane labels which now dot that website’s comments section. Such juvenile invective is beneath civilized discourse.
In reference to yesterday’s Guest Journal, I believed that the piece had a certain Robert Frost-like pathos, which gave the work a haunting quality. I never vouched for the author’s accuracy in his recollection of the Reagan era. I will candidly admit to you that in the eighties, I was at a place in my life where I was not attuned to the country’s political affairs.
Lastly, I have read and re-read the piece, and note nothing contained therein which could lead to the conclusion that its author is a pedophile. Such a malicious accusation can only be attributed to a deliberate effort to smear me by association.
First IBP Film Project Gets Greenlight
The film division of IBP has greenlighted a film which will have to be produced on an extremely limited budget. The bean counters over at accounting don’t think the project will have any legs, while some on the creative side aren’t confident that it will ever go "wide".
An experienced actor is needed to play the role of Liberace. A time and place for the casting call will be announced shortly.
An experienced actor is needed to play the role of Liberace. A time and place for the casting call will be announced shortly.
"24"
The old sandman just would not pay me a visit last night, so I was up late watching a rerun of "King of the Hill" on the UHF. It was the one where the track coach uses replacement by Bobby as a threat for poor performance or disciplinary violations. (Best line of the show is Hank, asking rhetorically, "Is there any lesson that sports doesn’t teach us?")
Anyway, during the show, a promo was shown for "24". It showed Jack saying, "You’re going to tell me what I need to know," and then it did a quick cut to the Russian ambassador looking very apprehensive . . . Man, I can’t wait until Monday night.
Anyway, during the show, a promo was shown for "24". It showed Jack saying, "You’re going to tell me what I need to know," and then it did a quick cut to the Russian ambassador looking very apprehensive . . . Man, I can’t wait until Monday night.
Thursday, March 1, 2007
Guest Journal
Faithful column readers are familiar with my policy of rarely publishing unsolicited transmissions, said policy having stood me in good stead. However, on rare occasions, I receive a journal of such a poignant nature that I feel it incumbent upon me to share it with my readership at large:
As I was taking my air on a walk through the park today, my ascot and tam protecting me against an unusually brisk New England afternoon, a young man tread across my path, and being of an intellectually curious bent, said to me, "Hey, mister. I’ve been reading about this President Reagan. You must have been alive when he was President. What was he like? He seems like he was a righteous dude."
Ah, the inquisitiveness of the young. I wish I had had an opportunity to answer that young man before he was shooed away by an overprotective guardian.
I shall answer him now. Righteous dude, indeed. President Reagan, or Papa Reagan as he became affectionately known to his countrymen during his term of office, serenely sailed the ship of state for eight years with nary a ripple appearing on the surface. He was beloved by Americans of all ages, races, creeds and social standing. His popularity was such that he never had to veto a bill as no legislation of which he may have disapproved was ever submitted to Congress. His Democratic opponent for reelection went on national television and subjugated himself in abject apology for being placed in the untenable position of challenging Papa.
The only blip in his eight years was when a small, dangerous group of fringe crackpots attempted to make out of whole cloth a scandal in regards to the work of a military hero in fighting for freedom for a tiny, oppressed country. The nation waited expectantly as Papa went on television to explain, as surely no justification was necessary, his role in these events and whether we as a people should be worried. In a master stroke, he said not a word; rather he softly, almost imperceptibly, shook his great leonine head from side to side, and the moistened glint in his eye let us know that we should not concern ourselves, and the scandal quickly faded into the vapors.
I hope, one day, to again see that young man in the park.
As I was taking my air on a walk through the park today, my ascot and tam protecting me against an unusually brisk New England afternoon, a young man tread across my path, and being of an intellectually curious bent, said to me, "Hey, mister. I’ve been reading about this President Reagan. You must have been alive when he was President. What was he like? He seems like he was a righteous dude."
Ah, the inquisitiveness of the young. I wish I had had an opportunity to answer that young man before he was shooed away by an overprotective guardian.
I shall answer him now. Righteous dude, indeed. President Reagan, or Papa Reagan as he became affectionately known to his countrymen during his term of office, serenely sailed the ship of state for eight years with nary a ripple appearing on the surface. He was beloved by Americans of all ages, races, creeds and social standing. His popularity was such that he never had to veto a bill as no legislation of which he may have disapproved was ever submitted to Congress. His Democratic opponent for reelection went on national television and subjugated himself in abject apology for being placed in the untenable position of challenging Papa.
The only blip in his eight years was when a small, dangerous group of fringe crackpots attempted to make out of whole cloth a scandal in regards to the work of a military hero in fighting for freedom for a tiny, oppressed country. The nation waited expectantly as Papa went on television to explain, as surely no justification was necessary, his role in these events and whether we as a people should be worried. In a master stroke, he said not a word; rather he softly, almost imperceptibly, shook his great leonine head from side to side, and the moistened glint in his eye let us know that we should not concern ourselves, and the scandal quickly faded into the vapors.
I hope, one day, to again see that young man in the park.
Legends Field Report: 3/1/2007
Man, is my blood boiling.
I get to Legends Field bright and early this morning, cause I want to see how the Bombers are swingin’ the bats, see if Jeter left his game down in Puerto Rico with Jessica Biehl, and I get a good spot right behind the screen . . .
. . . and I’m watchin’ and A-Rod comes out to take his cuts, and I figure, ya know, it’s a new year, give the guy some encouragement, let him know that everybody in New York don’t hate him, and so I yells to him, I yells, “Hey! Alex! Let’s do it this year, buddy!”
And he turns in my direction . . . and gives me the dead lookaway! He gives me the high hat!
And so I’m thinkin’ to myself, I’m thinkin’, “Who in the hell does this guy think he is, treatin’ me like that?” And so he gets in the cage, and I really start ridin’ him, givin’ him the old what for, and I says to him, I says, “Hey, A-Rod! You suck!”
Well, next thing I know, this security guard’s got his hand on my elbow askin’ if I could tone it down a little bit, and I says to him if he don’t get his hand off my elbow, I’m gonna do him a favor and break his jaw for him, and I guess another one of Steinbrenner’s goons must’ve snuck up around behind me, cause I get rabbit punched, and when I come to, I’m on the ground and four or five of um are stompin’ away, really puttin’ the boots to me . . .
Long story short, they must’ve finally gotten tired and they pick me up by the shorthairs and gives me the bum’s rush right out of the place . . . and when I finally got outside, I let um know about it . . . treatin’ me like that . . . I was going up to the Bronx, supportin’ um, before Giuliani started bustin’ heads and it was worth your life to go up there and see Don Slaught and Raffy Santana and the rest of um . . . no more . . . I got my pride . . . I’m headin’ up to Port St. Lucie . . . my next report will be from Mets’ camp . . .
I get to Legends Field bright and early this morning, cause I want to see how the Bombers are swingin’ the bats, see if Jeter left his game down in Puerto Rico with Jessica Biehl, and I get a good spot right behind the screen . . .
. . . and I’m watchin’ and A-Rod comes out to take his cuts, and I figure, ya know, it’s a new year, give the guy some encouragement, let him know that everybody in New York don’t hate him, and so I yells to him, I yells, “Hey! Alex! Let’s do it this year, buddy!”
And he turns in my direction . . . and gives me the dead lookaway! He gives me the high hat!
And so I’m thinkin’ to myself, I’m thinkin’, “Who in the hell does this guy think he is, treatin’ me like that?” And so he gets in the cage, and I really start ridin’ him, givin’ him the old what for, and I says to him, I says, “Hey, A-Rod! You suck!”
Well, next thing I know, this security guard’s got his hand on my elbow askin’ if I could tone it down a little bit, and I says to him if he don’t get his hand off my elbow, I’m gonna do him a favor and break his jaw for him, and I guess another one of Steinbrenner’s goons must’ve snuck up around behind me, cause I get rabbit punched, and when I come to, I’m on the ground and four or five of um are stompin’ away, really puttin’ the boots to me . . .
Long story short, they must’ve finally gotten tired and they pick me up by the shorthairs and gives me the bum’s rush right out of the place . . . and when I finally got outside, I let um know about it . . . treatin’ me like that . . . I was going up to the Bronx, supportin’ um, before Giuliani started bustin’ heads and it was worth your life to go up there and see Don Slaught and Raffy Santana and the rest of um . . . no more . . . I got my pride . . . I’m headin’ up to Port St. Lucie . . . my next report will be from Mets’ camp . . .
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