Saturday, March 01, 2008

Even when you're at your most most macho while shopping for replacement parts on your washing machine at the local Ace Hardware, it is no match for the swaggering femininity of Ring My Bell when it plays over the store's PA system.

Is my cat Little Hitler a living descendent of Adolf Hitler? I must have History Detectives investigate...

The voice recognition devices now being installed in new cars seem handy, but instead of responding to the command, "Play artist: The Strokes", wouldn't it be more useful for car manufacturers to install a device which responds to the command, "Kill artist: The Strokes"? And then the car goes out and actually kills The Strokes? And the car has to stand trial for you when you're charged with murdering The Strokes? It would also be cool if the car offered to give its life for you after you're sentenced to die for murdering The Strokes because a lethal injection for a car would probably just be sugar poured into the gas tank. Big deal.

Idea for a horror movie: Jimmy Swaggart is dead but two of his three chins are still very much alive and on a bloody killing rampage.

Possible book series: self-help manuals for indie rockers lacking self-esteem. Tagline could be: "If four pasty white guys from Columbia University can call themselves Vampire Weekend and put out crap faux-South African Mbaqanga for the caucasian NPR crowd, then you can do anything!!"

I'm still trying to come up with possible cash-cow spinoffs of Fox-TV's new hit series The Moment of Truth. Strongest idea so far: center the show around Bindi Irwin, having her corner a different manta ray each week to ask, "Did You Kill My Daddy?" Look into product placement tie-ins with Mrs. Paul (advise them to change name of best-selling item to "Deep Sea Revenge Sticks").

I have a feeling hordes of gullible music fans will end up buying that forthcoming Ryan Adams 6-CD boxed-set. Perhaps I can fleece them into also buying a boxed set comprised of my last six bowel movements. Mine is obviously the better deal but I should think about throwing in a rebate coupon just to clinch the sale.

Attempting to fill your 80GB iPod to capacity means resorting to the leftovers in your collection like Polvo and that ill-informed Neil Young purchase. It's similar to that experiment where you try wearing every single item of clothing in your closet every day of the year, no matter how hideous. When the moment arrives and you're sporting the wacky neon-green vintage Hawaiian shirt you bought in high school, you're an ass. It's the same feeling you'll have when Breaker, Breaker by Scrawl pops up on shuffle and you think, "Why have I been hanging on to this all these years??".

Despite what the Religious Right says, the ghastly events of 9/11 did not happen because God was punishing America for engaging in deliciously sweet sodomy. No, 9/11 happened because someone disobeyed Devo's universal laws and played Gut Feeling/(Slap Your Mammy), Come Back Jonee and Sloppy (I Saw My Baby Gettin') as three separate tracks. These three songs must always be listened to as an ensemble, one right after the other. They make up a holy trinity and must never be parted. They are as much a rock opera as anything else in the pop cannon. To play them as separate tracks is akin to pogoing on God's foot in the mosh pit.

My father’s recent decline in mental and physical health has given me inspiration for a new book series (similar to Everyone Poops) which teaches the elderly not to fear their body’s natural undertakings as they descend into their final golden years. Possible first title in the lineup: The Pokey Little Penis.

Idea for a new drinking game: when watching Antiques Roadshow, you must do a shot whenever they say the word Connecticut.

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