Autobiography Sneak Preview...

Here's a passage from "The Alliterate Autobiography of Andy Ackerby: From Tits to Toilets to Teeny Tiny Tabletops" (coming to bookstores February 18th):

Page 119, paragraph 2:

"Believing them to be better butlers than that bumbling Baxter, I employed many monkeys to mind my mansion and me. Wontedly, they are wonderfully wild, wicked and worthy. But, markedly, the monkeys' manners went missing. Besides constantly climbing like King Kong, darting and diving from drape to drape and openly acting out autoerotic activities, primate poo was forever flung predictably and persistently past me like flurries of funk feeding a frightful fantasy. The stench stunk like a stale cesspool and offensively overwhelmed my olfaction. I was continuously cleaning clods of crap off the carpet. It was enough. In an instant, I intended it to end, but the butlers, sensing their services would soon be superfluous, bowed out before I could boot them from the building. "Bye bye, boys!" I bellowed. "Don't let the door damage your derrieres when you depart!"

That's no way to describe the greatest 80's TV show of all time...

It's not that this CNN article about David Hasselhoff filing for divorce is all that interesting, I just think that the one sentence description of the TV show "Knight Rider" sounded rather ridiculous and even insulting. In describing Hasselhoff's career, it states:

"He also starred in the 1980s TV series 'Knight Rider', in which his character, Michael Knight, teamed with a talking Pontiac Trans Am sports car to fight crime."

Teamed with a talking car to fight crime? Sure, it's true, but they make it sound like it was nothing but a third-rate kids show! As any red-blooded, Gen X-ish TV connoisseur knows, "Knight Rider" was not a ridiculous show at all. And certainly not a kids show. So I don't know what kind of non-good-TV-recognizing loser wrote that article (probably somebody's loser grandma), but here's how the show should've been described (in one sentence just to be fair):

"He also starred in the kick-ass TV series 'Knight Rider', in which his smooth-talking, leather-clad, non-balding character, Michael Knight, supplemented his superior crime fighting skills with a sleek, jet-black, customized, supercharged, fully-automated, independent, voice-a-matronic, wise-cracking, Darth Vader's bathroom-looking Trans-Am (capable of reaching speeds of 300 mph and leaping 50 feet into the air) named KITT, which stands for "Knight Industries Two Thousand" or "Killing is the Ticket" depending on how you interpret the subtext of the scripts or how you hear the words in the opening theme song when played backwards at 1/3 normal speed."

I should probably be an Associated Press reporter.

More Christmas Trivia 2005...

by Trudy Joe Johnson (Jimmy's wife)

Hi again, everybody. It's yours "Trudy"! I'm back one last time before Christmas with a little more holiday trivia. So here goes...

As we all know, or at least as the 84% of the population of the United States that's Christian knows, Christmas is a time to celebrate the birth of Santa Claus. But how did this jolly, lovable, severely obese, list-making, list-checking, hard-drinking, slave-driving boss of the elves come to be?

By the way, Jimmy Joe is also a hard-drinking slave driver, but I'd hardly compare him to Santa Clause.

Anyway, one day, circa 280 A.D., God felt that he was being a little too judgmental. So much so that many people were being turned off by the strict boundaries of Christianity and were starting to convert to Unitarianism, the thought of which completely freaked God out. So anyway, the Lord felt it necessary to assign some of the duties of judgment to a less...intimidating being. Somebody people could relate to on a more human level. Somebody they would almost beg to be judged by. It would be a long process taking many hundreds of years to evolve the perfect icon of judgment, so, on December 25, c. 280 A.D., God began the process and made a Turkish monk named St. Nicholas. Nick lived life by giving away all of his inherited wealth and traveling the countryside helping the poor and sick. These legends of altruism came to America in 1773 as the Dutch gathered to honor the anniversary of the death St. Nicholas. They nicknamed him Sinter Klaas. This Dutch story was reported in New York newspapers and, by 1804, wood carvings of St. Nicholas were distributed by the New York Historical Society that depicted the now-familiar Santa Claus images including stockings filled with toys and fruit hung over a fireplace. The nickname Sinter Klaas gradually evolved into Santa Claus, and the name has stuck in America. The 1822 poem "Twas the Night Before Christmas" helped grow the fantastical story of Santa Claus. The sleigh, the reindeer, the presents for "deserving" children. This, of course, relates now to the idea that Santa is checking on children to see if they are "naughty or nice." He's making of list of the bad ones who will be punished with no reward, and a list of the good ones who will be greatly rewarded, thus drawing parallels to casting souls into either heaven or hell. Children all over the world would do good deeds to make sure that Santa would give them good presents. And parents would lead by example. This is exactly what God had planned hundreds of years earlier. An icon other than him that would judge people and cause them to do good deeds, yet would not intimidate them so much that they would turn away from the church.

Makes you think, huh? Well, be good, everyone! God and Santa are watching. Merry Christmas (to 84% of you) and Happy Holidays (to all)!

Christmas Trivia 2005

by Trudy Joe Johnson (Jimmy's wife)

Well, it’s that time of the year when yours truly, Trudy Joe Johnson, (or should I say "yours Trudy"?) shares a little bit of Christmas joy via my vast knowledge of all things Christmas. Today I reach way down to the bottom of my magic sack of trivial goodies to discover the origins of the Christmas tree itself. Believe it or not, it’s “roots” (ha ha) date all the way back to the ancient Egyptians!

By the way, Jimmy Joe has a magic sack, too. It's fuzzy and changes shape depending on the temperature.

The Egyptians were part of a long line of cultures that treasured and worshipped evergreens. When the winter solstice arrived, they brought green date palm leaves into their homes to symbolize life's triumph over death. In the end, however, death would prevail. Life is fleeting, but death…death is imminent. Death is the great equalizer. Death will ALWAYS win. I ask you, what’s the point of living if we’re just going to die anyway? Someday I'll die, and I'll take Jimmy Joe with me.

Anyway, the Romans also celebrated the winter solstice with a fest called Saturnalia in honor of Saturnus, the god of agriculture. They decorated their houses with greens and lights and exchanged gifts. Then they threw slaves and unpopular gladiators to the lions to appease Saturnus even though Saturnus didn’t really care for slaves that much. He preferred virgins. Young ones. And lots of them.

Also, centuries ago in Great Britain, woods priests called Druids used evergreens during mysterious winter solstice rituals. The Druids used holly and mistletoe as symbols of eternal life, and placed evergreen branches over doors to keep away evil spirits. What the somewhat dimwitted, oafish Druids failed to realize was the obvious fact that evil spirits can simply walk through walls thereby avoiding the protective evergreen branches in the doorways. Silly Druids!

Late in the Middle Ages, Germans and Scandinavians placed evergreen trees inside their homes or just outside their doors to show their hope in the forthcoming Spring. And from these early traditions, our modern Christmas tree evolved into what it is today. A stunted, unnaturally trimmed, over-fertilized pesticide sponge decorated with lead-based tinsel and secular symbols of affluence and capitalism. A Merry Christmas indeed.

Bye, everybody! I'll try and share more Christmas trivia later before the "big day" arrives!

Dear Christmas,

Please stop horning in on my holiday. You are annoying the crap out of everyone right now. There's plenty of time for you next month. Just wait for me to do my thing, then the country is yours, you impatient bastard. Notice how I don't go around touting myself during Halloween or Veterans' Day? That's called R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Find out what it means.

Sincerely,

Thanksgiving

P.S. All Christmas music is lame. Stop playing it so damn much.

P.P.S. You suck.

Ideas for the opening line of a new novel...

They call it...Monkey Road.

"Hand me my gun, Barbara."

Rose didn't like the idea of anal sex very much, but she did it nonetheless.

Klinklebor wiped the space dust from the Zirconic lenses of his facepiece and knew right away that this would be a long space day.

Usually, stumbling upon an angry bullfrog isn't cause for alarm, but this day would prove to be different.

His face was rough and his bourbon smooth, and his trigger finger could only be described as itchy.

Rose didn't like the idea of double penetration very much, but she did it nonetheless.

Heads turned in the forward church pews as Hubert directed both visible and audible anger at his ill-fitting slacks.

Call me she-male.

"Chop chop, Anoria, we'll be late for tea!" barked Auntie Guenevere.

When soap gets in your eyes, everybody cries - except Gunnery Sergeant Max Flagstone.

As the strengthening sun refracted its brilliance in the dewy grass, a thunderous fart echoed across the Irish countryside.

Rose didn't like the idea of autoerotic asphyxiation very much, but she did it nonetheless.

As his father briefly convulsed, then sighed and exhaled his last breath on that chilly November eve, 9-year-old Henry knew that it would be up to him to save the family funnel cake business from bankruptcy.

Standing in front of a broken urinal, penis in hand, Jenkins couldn't help but laugh at the irony.

The verdict rang out to the packed courtroom like a church bell on Easter Sunday. Guilty, one count, accessory to loitering.

Sister Roberta didn't know why she liked to eat Lucky Charms for breakfast, nor did she care.

It's always hard when a grandparent contracts a venereal disease.

The steady tick of the clock reassured the malignant spirit that time was relentless and knew not of good nor evil.

We all wanted to eat the hampsters, but they were just too difficult to catch.

He was a dark and swarthy knight...

I really REALLY want to write something that has this as the title. It's too good of a title to not be used somewhere. Unfortunately, I think it could only be used as the title of either a Harlequin romance novel or of a gay pornographic movie.

D-Fense! *clap clap* D-Fense! *clap clap* D-Fense!

*clap clap*



*clap clap*



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*clap clap*

Things to do before two new conservative judges are appointed to the Supreme Court...

• If you're a dude, marry, like, 30 dudes.
• Have sex with a seedless watermelon. Not sure if this is currently considered illegal under the Constitution, but it might be in the future thanks to conservative judges. By the way, use seedless because nobody wants to know what sort of bizarre creature a half-fruit-humping human, half-watermelon guy would look like. And it might terrorize the solar system. Then George Bush would have to kill it anyway for supporting terror.
• Burn a 3-dimensional representation of an out-of-focus picture of the American flag. You'll get your ass kicked if you burn a real flag.
• Openly pray for your god only on your own time.
• Clone all sorts of shit. Like a shark that's riding on an elephant's back, which happens to be the most dangerous animal on the planet. It just tramples and eats everything it sees*.
• Enjoy the unregulated worlds of the internet, cable TV and satellite radio.
• Send a petition with 400,000 signatures to Washington demanding the nomination of Judge Reinhold for Supreme Court Justice. Mainly because his first name is already Judge, which would make for an easy transition, but also because he got to make out with Phoebe Cates in Fast Times. She's so hot...
  
  
• To prepare for the new regime of Justices, start drawing a picture of Judge John Roberts in the dictionary next to the words "stiff", "robot", "lame" and "poopy." I assume poopy is in the dictionary. If not, write it in. Here's the definitions: Adjective, pronounced poo'-pee, 1) Stained with poop. Example: How did my nose get so poopy? Well, that's the last time I do THAT with the wife. 2) Characterized by a general dislike. Example: This Broadway musical is both gay and poopy. Let's leave. 3) Judge John Roberts (see picture).
• Help scientists dispose of embryonic stem cells by holding the garbage bag open for them.
• Oh, and what about the whole abortion thing? I wouldn't touch that issue with a 18-inch coat hanger. Peoples is crazy about that shit.

* Deep Thoughts by Jack Handy, c. 1990.

I got a blogger on my finger and I can't get it off...

Look, I understand that in the past few weeks I haven't been posting very often. Or even at all. It's just that I've discovered recently that not only do I have something called "a job", but also something called "a life outside of blogging." It has never been my goal to be a career blogger. I just wanted to share my occasional brain vomit with everyone. To be honest, I'm disgusted to even associate myself with bloggers. Bloggers are fucking retarded if I may be so blunt. They think that people care what they have to say. NOBODY cares what a blogger has to say. That's because almost all blogs are beyond boring. I'd rather read the back of a shampoo bottle and contemplate for hours the perpetual nature of the instructions than read the god-awful blogs that are out there. In fact, 99% of bloggers should be repeatedly kicked in the nuts or vagina - or both if hermaphroditic - until they vow never to write another word ever again. Damn hermaphrodites. They can go fuck themselves for all I care. I'm pretty sure I didn't make up that joke. Anyway, it just so happens that the blog format is the easiest way for me to barf up my undigested thoughts about showers, the Food Network, Taco Bell and Captain Kirk, so here I am in the world of blogs. And because I'm such an altruistic bastard, I choose to share my milky white mind discharges with you, the reader. All I ask in return is for your patience and for your gratitude that this blog exists at all.

Believe it or not, though, I know how you feel. I've been waiting more than a month for Maddox to post something to his website. That jerk needs to update already.

By the way, I am working on stories for Water Blogged Tuesday. I just never said which Tuesday.