Monday, November 10, 2008
Monday, August 18, 2008
Thursday, August 7, 2008
One would think that these last dog days of summer would be spent in a kind of carefree, heat- induced haze; Youtubing the rapids of boredom at work, lethargically lamping at a bro-tastic bbq, or simply stone cold chillin' like a polar bear in a popsicle factory. Oh, what a glorious existence that would be, were it indeed the truth.
Instead, I have spent the last two and half weeks in a constant state of perpetual paranoia and fear, incessantly stalked by a man I have never met, but who nevertheless haunts my dreams and frequents the very institutions I hold so dear.
This man has, in all reasonable respects of reality, absolutely no idea that the shadowy world I now call home is the result of his recent actions. And to be fair, it's really not his fault that I now cower under the eerie glare of my flatscreen and shiver at the sound of every audible radio frequency. But that man's existence is responsible for my now fractured one, and he and the minions that follow him must be stopped, at all costs.
The man's name? Brett Favre. His crime? Retiring prematurely and then coming back. The result of this seemingly pedestrian change of mind? An all out Great White Media Feeding Frenzy that has hijacked all sports news outlets in a kind of twisted convergence of football, celebrity, and the insanity of a collective consciousness that thinks noise is a synonym for news.
The impact on the perpetually ponderous persona that is your dear narrator? A catastrophe worthy of a three part post-a-palooza, with sociological scintillation to spare.
Monday, July 14, 2008
As evidenced by a past post in which I declared my twisted yet oh-so-logical (by my, ahem, "standards" anyway) love for our President of Vices Dick Cheney, I'm a bit of a contrarian when it comes to those special places, people and events that bring a smile to my scruffy face. To get very vague and unspecific, the general principles of grand institutions like chaos, bullshit, and anything in the absurd category get me pretty geeked. And if I get to be geeked while other people are doing the exact opposite, i.e. freaking out, melting down or just plain losing it, then I'm more juiced than Barry Bonds at a smoothie stand. So in the interest of saluting the strange proclivities that staple together your narrator's psyche AND serving up a spanking new entree for Bigmouth Enterprises, we proudly present the first edition of The Things That Hate Us (Or, The Strange Happiness Provided By Supposedly Detestable Entities). First on the list (and in list form, no less): Airports!
1. People Say: "There's so much traffic at the airport."
I Say: "I hope I get to see an altercation between an SUV driver and a traffic cop in a neon
2. People Say: "The security lines are so long."
I Say: "I can't wait for the speech about the proper techniques for removing your shoes,
followed by the poster that demonstrates that time bombs are not allowed."
3. People Say: "It's such a pain to remove your shoes."
I Say: "Have you ever seen a businessman undress and then re-dress in front of
100 strangers and a sassy black lady with rubber gloves on? Hilarious!"
Or: "Ooh, they're searching one of those elderly terrorists in a wheelchair again."
4. People Say: "My flight's always delayed."
I Say: "There's a bar!"
5. People Say: "There's never any seats at the gate."
I Say: "There's a bar!"
6. People Say: "Everything is so expensive."
I Say: "$15 dollars for a McGriddle? Hooray for capitalism!"
7. Guys Say: "What's with all the gay flight attendants now?"
I Say: "Why yes, I'd love some extra peanuts."
8. Girls Say: "Airplane food is gross."
I Say: "I'm pretty full... I just ate 13 bags of peanuts."
9. Kids Say: "My ears get plugged on the plane."
I Say: "I don't have to listen to the salesman next to me OR the pilot's garbled geography
lesson, cuz I can't hear a damn thing."
10. People Say: "It takes forever for my bags to show up."
I Say: "Dammit, why'd I eat all those peanuts! At least I've got time to buy a
$27 bottle of Immodium before my bags show up."
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Friday, May 30, 2008
Remember when you had an assignment in school, and you'd think, "Man, I'd pay good money to get out of this right now", because paying money seemed way easier than doing schoolwork? Well scratch that one, kemosabe, because there is no more unhinged and excitedly deranged creature present during the matriculation ceremony than a parent recently freed from the bonds of tuition. They scream. They yell. They bring noisemakers they were recently overcharged for at Party City. If they're aware that their little Einsteins are moving back home directly after the keynote address, they ain't showing it; their behavior would fit snugly into a WWF cage-match crowd or some kind of Guiness-fueled soccer riot. Apparently going to school is a lot easier than paying for school, and boy does it show.
Add the sheer volume of people present at such an event with this mixture of puffed up pride and financial freedom, and you've got a veritable cavalcade of adults that have essentially lost any sense of rationale or self-control whatsoever. Mothers strain with binoculars to locate their grown bundles of joy, who all happened to be dressed alike. Fathers aim telephoto lenses into the sea of caps and gowns like Ahab looking for Moby Dick. And entire extended families gawk at their own relatives as if a circus clown had just unleashed them into a cage of feral bengal tigers with only a squirtgun for protection.
It's chaotic. It's insane. It's entertainment not seen since the days of the Roman Colisseum. So take a long hard look at that invitation on the refrigerator, and rejoice! Then wait an hour or two til' the graduation party, and watch the parents faces closely, when the kid announces they're going to medical school.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
The existence of such fairweather fans, while not forgiveable, is understandable. Why watch a struggling sports franchise when you could be enjoying your next door neighbor's star-making appearance on "Cops"? What is utterly incomprehensible to me, however, is how a so-called adult could willingly rock the uniform of a team he is not a part of while watching a sport he doesn't play.
There are t-shirts, hats, sweatshirts, sweatpants and a myriad of other options that display your team's emblem, sir. These items politely showcase your affection while still conveying that whole "grown-up" vibe that everybody seems so keen on these days. Give it a shot. You might find yourself looking remotely employable as a result.
The addition of these jersey boys to any social setting is much akin to the addition of the Ewoks in "Return of the Jedi"; although they're intended to be endearing, they're actually just really, really annoying. Children love Ewoks. And jerseys. And that's ok, because they don't know any better. Imagine if one of your friends told you that they realized as they got older that "Jedi" was their favorite "Star Wars" installment because of the Ewoks. How would you view your friend after that kind of comment?
Anthony Kiedis wears a Lakers jersey to games. Jack Nicholson doesn't. Case closed, amigos.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
On a recent trip to Baja, my friends and I delighted each other by 1) Purchasing wrestling masks
2) Passing out Otter Pops to vendors as we waited at the border ('tis better to give, people, and infinitely more amusing,) and 3) Laughing our asses off at the Grownups Gone Wild shenanigans witnessed at the world famous Papas N Beer cantina in Ensenada. (Big Mouth Note: If your girlfriend goes on one of those 3 day cruises to Mexico, break up with her before she leaves. It'll save you both a LOT of trouble.)
My laughter came to a grinding halt, however, when I realized that 97% of the Sir Perv-a-lots in attendance at that god-awfully entertaining establishment were rocking Lakers jerseys and/or Dodger hats. I was initially perplexed as to the lack of Padres paraphernalia, given the proximity to San Diego, until I realized that all those idiots were probably attending a home game for said team in said city.
Then last night, while I was at the gym (rare occurence alert!) sweating my bald little brains out (everyday occurence alert!), I noticed many a meathead, broseph, and dude-brah sporting the legendary purple and gold as well. Now perhaps, beloved Big Mouth enthusiast, none of this strikes you as odd in the least. Fair enough. But to me this brings about two very disturbing trends, which will be discussed in a four-part post-ravaganza.
The bandwagon has rolled back into Los Angeles, and a bunch of neolithic man-children are celebrating it's arrival in uniforms for a sport they don't play.
Friday, April 4, 2008
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
If you've said it once, you've said it a thousand times; nothing captures the spirit of a story like uncredited source quotes taken completely out of context. Well we here at Bigmouth agree wholeheartedly, and have chosen the occasion of a recent bachelor party in Las Vegas ( Perhaps attended by the author, perhaps not. What are you, a lawyer?) to use as a template upon which to focus that most magical of storytellers' lenses ( Whew. That was a long way to avoid a dangling participle.) Onward to the jumble!
"He said it would be weird being the only girl at dinner. I said it sounded like fun." "Dude! You're funny... we should do some illegal shit later on together." "What were you doing upstairs, extracurricular activities?" "Location?" "Is that the white Baron Davis?" "This is the first and last picture we're taking this weekend. Everybody clear on that?" "Are you in town for the construction convention?" "Bachelor parties are my specialty!" "Thanks for sniffing out the hooker for us." "No seriously. I can't be around any drugs or I could lose my job." "He's not the bachelor! He's already married!" "We stayed up all night and re-invented the wheel, at least three times." "I wasn't exactly sitting on a stack of Bibles when I met her." "A Mormon bachelorette party? Let's go steal their ginger ale." "Whoa, somebody call 911." "This techno music goes great with my irregular heartbeat." "I woke up last night and it took me two whole minutes to find my arms." "The hotel pool isn't the greatest place for a vison quest." "Jim Morrison and a naked indian should be here any minute." "How are things back in the Shire?" "Would you put your feet in my Ugg boots?" "I don't like you. You're funnier than me." "I don't think I have that in my fanny pack." "I know everything about Romania. I'll blow your mind." "It's a 15 minute loan! Fuck you guys!" "Let's make that magic happen now." "Somebody owes me $4.99." "I can sum this up in two words: Dudes and money." "Most forms of German food are phallic." "I bet her hair smells nice, too." "She was from Alaska? Did she have all her teeth?" "Oh look at my goth uniform, my life is so miserable." "I got a sack full of quarters right here. I'm gonna go down to Fremont and make it hail." "We need more dudes on this Dude Bus. Wait, we need new dudes!" "It's not Pac Man Jones, is it?" "What, I can't test out the merchandise?" "Bring me a helmet for these beers and then you can sit down." "I AM being gentle." "Marry you? I would never even date you!" "This town loves a sucker, and tonight that sucker is me." "Here comes the anxiety." "By the time we got home he'd already re-decorated the bathroom." "I've taken the day off tomorrow, for religious reasons."
Almost feel like you were there, don't ya? God bless you, quote jumble, and all who made you possible.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Recently Bill Clinton made a statement referring to Barrack Obama as "America's imaginary hip black friend" and added that the country didn't need a fairytale like that in the White House. Poor Bill. He's in danger of being replaced as the country's first black president, and he knows it.
Of course, Bubba is right. We don't need an imaginary hip black friend. We need a real one. And as far as I can tell, Obama is that man. I would go as far as saying that EVERYONE needs a hip black friend, and the good ol' US&A is at the top of that list. Let's face it: we're lame. Unpopular.
Unfriendly. And so uncool. We're like Ned Flanders' alcoholic twin brother. Who the hell wants to hang out with THAT guy? Well the hip black guy still does, and he's got a makeover for you that just might work.
Your hip black friend can improve so many facets of your life. First and foremost, he makes you look cooler to everyone who sees you with him. If the United States walked into a club with Barrack Obama, the rest of the world would think, "Damn, that must be a pretty cool country if that guy's hanging out with him." It's called street cred, and it's something that a ball-busting woman and a fiery old man can't get you.
Secondly, your hip black friend can get you into places that you couldn't go to before. There's a whole world (more fried plantains, papi?) out there that the US doesn't know about because we essentially don't know the handshake at the door. Nobody wants the loudmouth capitalist pig ruining their exotic evening, and now they don't have to worry. "You're with him? Si papi, es bueno."
Finally, and most importantly, your hip black friend can get you laid. This is the inevitable combination of points 1 and 2, as long as you've paid close attention and learned something while hanging out with your new homey. We're in the position we are as a country right now because nobody wants to get into bed with us. This in turn makes us cranky and angry to the point that we end up lashing out at people who have nothing to do with us and our lonely little existence. It's the motivation behind every bar fight (or war) you've ever seen. The only dudes throwing down are the ones not getting any lovin (or oil).
So wake up America. There's a world party going on and you haven't been invited. But there's someone knocking at your door with an invitation in his pocket, and it reads, "Obama + 1". Barrack, let's rock.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
It isn't that I dislike the Super Bowl. It's just that, well, I could care less. Because let's be honest, it's not about any of the aforementioned things above that I love. It is in fact, about nothing at all, and not in the amusing Seinfeldian way, either. It has nothing to do with football (the game is always a terrible blowout), nothing to do with entertainment ( it went from pop crap at halftime to geezer crap at halftime in the flash of a nipple), and nothing to do with funny commercials (Jessica Simpson likes Pizza Hut? That's hilarious!). It is the biggest collection of nothing, nobody's and never-should-haves on the planet, and the result is that the entire planet tunes in.
I understand that we're the biggest, richest country in the world, and that we can throw a party whenever we want. I'm well aware that football is our nation's most popular sport. And I'm all for having as many national holidays as we can muster (Saved by the Bell Appreciation Day? Anyone?). But seeing Howie Long interviewing Nick Lachey about his favorite Doritos ad while Willie Nelson soundchecks in the background for his duet with Hannah Montana as part of American Idol's Tribute to Ol' Dirty Bastard isn't super at all... it's just stupid.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Thursday, January 17, 2008
And the tools aren't the only thing outdated. Even the toothpaste they use is some strange amalgamation of sidewalk chalk and sweet tarts. Is it too much to ask to get some Crest in the house? Those 4 out of 5 dentists recommending all these toothpastes might wanna get the word out a little better and start dishing some samples to their brethren, because I feel like I've just had my gums rubbed with tangy sand.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Please stop being attracted to me. Seriously. I know I’m nice and fairly easy to talk to, but it’s starting to become bothersome. I realize I’m handsome in a realistic, highly attainable sort of way, but now it’s downright annoying. I like being able to pick up my phone at will without screening the call. I enjoy reading email from people whom I’ve willingly given my address. Sorry, but if I’ve denied a friend request on one social networking site, I’m probably going to respond the same when you try it from five other ones. It’s not like I’ll have a lapse in judgment all of a sudden or conveniently forget that you’re insane. Inconsistency like that just isn’t my thing. Which means it probably won’t work out between us, because I’d be reminding you to take your meds all the time, and you’d want to keep your doses erratic, like you’ve always done. Hey, I get it. I have no right to try and change you. You’re beautiful just the way you are, and I’m sure you’ll find someone co-dependant very soon.
Rule #1: No More "Cheesy Christmas Sweater Parties"
You've got 11 months to let this one sink in, so don't get all outraged if you threw one this year. Just don't do it ever again. I got invited to 5 of these things this past holiday season, including one that was a work party. I'm sorry, but when the theme hits the office extravaganza, it's no longer clever or ironic. Pick a new theme. ( Special exemption goes to Robin, Ian and Kelly's. Theirs is awesome.)
Rule #2: No More "Getting Crunk"
Again, no longer clever or ironic. I understand that there's a funny 'lil rapper guy, and he yells a lot, and he's got a pimp chalice, and he was on Dave Chappelle's show blah bah blah. It doesn't mean you need to respond to every Evite in your inbox by claiming how "crunk" you're gonna get (see following rule). Hearing white people say it is about as cool as a cold sore. Cut it out.
Rule #3: No More Evites
Yes, it's an email invitation. No, it's not neccesary. I struggled with this one myself because I actually enjoy writing those things ( and I'm damn good at it), but let's face it: they're pointless. Just send a regular email, give the neccesary information, and be done with it. Either you get a hundred people who respond and then don't show up, or you get no responses and a hundred people at the door. The unfortunate truth is that we all like to look at those things everyday until the party because we want to gauge our own popularity. Well guess what... if no one shows up, then you're not that popular. Wasn't that easy?
Rule #4: No More "Cougars"
Again, I struggled mightily with this rule, for my own personal history with predatory older women is quite storied. Yet still I shout,"Enough!" There are two major problems with this whole subject. First of all, the word has become so ubiquitous that everyone from "Entertainment Tonight" reporters to Oprah to my own mother is dropping it into their conversations. Here's a hint: Anything that Ryan Seacrest's glue-filled head can read off a teleprompter is lamer than a Creed reunion tour. Secondly, since when is desperation empowering? A real "cougar" is a lonely older woman who needs the affection of a younger man to feel younger or prettier or well, anything at all. Demi Moore gets enough liposuction to start a soap factory and all of a sudden she's a figure of female pride and strength? REALLY?