iPad Mini Cooper

I want an iPad Mini Cooper.

Pound the Budweiser's Tuesday Tweets of the Week*

On October 19th, twitter had a meme called #BoringHorrorMovies. For the twilliterate, that means Boring Horror Movies. I went batshit crazy and you missed the fun because you do not follow me on twitter. Here are my boring horror movie tweets in roughly the order I tweeted them.

The House of Frank Epstein
The Ex Has A Cyst
Psycho Somatic
Rosemary's Abortion
Night of the Leavened Bread
Interview With a Damp Liar
I Know What You Did Last Summer Because I am Your Teacher and I Have to Grade Your Paper
Godzilla Talks About Golf
The Last House on the Left has a For Sale Sign
Night of the Unleavened Bread (because it would be more boringer and way more horrific)
House of Wax Poetic
Abbott and Costello Meet Bill Maher
Stephen King's Shit
Children on My Lawn

*IN TECHNICOLOR! When I tweet, 9 followers 8 followers 6 followers 8 16 followers can see it. When I blog, 600 visitors a day can see it. Sadly, 99.99999% of these blog visitors are looking for Bristol Palin's camel toe, how to eat a pussy diagrams and Sandra Bullock's ass.

Fun with Twitter: I Have a Conversation Of Sorts With Steve Martin

Yesterday I had a conversation with Steve Martin, my idol/hero/favorite person ever. Before twitter this would have been impossible. Thank you twitter!

I have been a Steve Martin fan forever. You haven't really laughed until you've rolled on the red shag carpeting in the basement of Dave Cunningham's house laughing at "Let's Get Small" while really high.

Just like Sam from "Freaks and Geeks," I had a Steve Martin Best Fishes Poster hanging on my closet door. And if I had ever managed to get a girl into that bedroom, while she gazed at the greatness of Steve, I could have recited word for word every SNL bit, every track from every album and every scrap of dialog from "The Jerk." Poor girls didn't know what they were missing.

"I was raised a poor black child" was my standard pickup line throughout the 80s.

So,when the REAL Steve Martin tweeted this yesterday I was ready, willing and able to respond.

Okay, its not his best work. I think it probably falls somewhere between the 82nd rendition of the Wild and Crazy Guys when Bill Murray replaced Dan Akyroyd and "Cruel Shoes."

Within a minute I replied with "When my twitter account isn't funny I put bologna in its shoes." And then followed within seconds with a carefully crafted additional reply, "Darn it, should have been I put bologna in the little bird's shoes."  I had created comedy gold, spontaneously, within the constraints of 140 characters. I awaited my idol's response, confident that my genius could not be ignored and that a possible mentor relationship might arise with little bird wings.

While I waited, I was disappointed to see that a guy nemed Chesney had snuck in and broken up my comedic run with a little ass kissing. Oh well, maybe it actually added to the timing.

So what did I get from Mister Bigshot Steve Martin? Nothing. Nada. Zilch. A bupkis sandwich. 

Could it be that Mister Bigshot Steve Martin's personal assistant doesn't remember that bit?

King Paul Ryan Joffrey of House Lannister

Last night I was watching the Vice Presidential debates, all those closeups of Paul Ryan squirming in his chair and fondling his water cup and I'm thinking, who does this creepy guy look like? Golem from Lord of the Rings? A little.  The evil little girl from Little House on the Prairie? Kind of. Then it hit me.

Paul Ryan is the reincarnation of evil King Joffrey, Protector of the Realm, the bastard son of the incestual fornification of Cersei and Jamie Lannister.  It all makes sense. They look alike and they think alike.

The Lannisters are the richest family in the Seven Kingdoms obsessed with gold and power.  Paul Ryan is obsessed with gold and power. King Joffrey is reckless, cruel, whinny and blames all the problems he creates on others. Paul Ryan is yadda, yadda, yadda.

And they both have the same plan for dealing with the "small folk" or "the middle class" that get in their way.

Eva Longoria Dating Mark Sanchez: The Doctor is In

Gorgeous Eva Longoria is dating hunky Mark Sanchez! Yes, it is time for more hard-hitting sports journalism from the staff at PoundTheBudweiser. Is Eva dating Mark or is she really dating the pool boy from Desperate Housewives? That's not Mark up there with Eva looking stage right with concern and foreboding. It's Jesse Metcalfe! The hot pool boy slash boy toy that Eva's character Gabby was tearing up throughout the early years of the show.

That's Mark Sanchez looking stage right with concern and foreboding as his football career gets sacked by a head coach so clueless about offense that I'm personally offended.

I'm no psychologist but lie down on my couch Dr. Freud and grab some tissues!  Without the bikini wax those boy toys are fricking identical. Do you think that Mark has to do some roleplaying in order to get Gabby , I mean Eva, all hot and juicy?  If I gained a few pounds and grew some facial hair, I could pass for a pasty Carlos. Do you think I could score some smouldering, Eva Longoria guilt sex?

I know what you're thinking, who cares if Eva Longoria is secretly wishing she was banging Jesse Metcalfe when she's banging Mark Sanchez, you just admitted that you watch Desperate Housewives -- which is gayer than watching Tim Tebow running shirtless in the rain. Hold on there friend. I wore out my Eva Longoria FHM Wet Dream issue from October 2004. Night after night and twice on Saturdays, I rode that magazine hard and put it away wet.

And that video of Eva kissing the pool boy's boo boo? You know the one. It was a top ten youtube video for three years running on my laptop when that laptop was in the bathroom in my apartment. That video is still a go to cork popper when it's 1 AM and I have to get up for work in four hours.

Tim Tebow Obsession = Gay
Eva Longoria Obsession = Not Gay

I Did It! I Humiliated the NFL into Capitulation

Risking almost certain legal action in the form of a cease and desist order, I defaced the vaunted NFL Shield and humiliated those billionaire, yambag-sagging to their knees owners into doing the right thing.

Posted yesterday, and with over a dozen views, both Charles Barkley and Aaron Rodgers gave me props in tweets, sent out soon after the announcement. I expect thanks from all you NFL fans in the form of sexual favors, everlasting friendships or everlasting gobstoppers.

Where is Roger Goodell?

Where is Roger Goodell?

The NFL is a joke. The owners are pulling a Romney, making everyone miserable to save $3.3 million.

That's the equivalent of 3.3 cents to an NFL owner. Woody Johnson doesn't bother to bend over to pick up 3.3 million dollars. It's not worth the effort. Jerry Jones? He fell asleep at halftime, and he, in theory, lives in Dallas where it wasn't midnight.

Roger Goodell earns $20 million a year to do nothing. See, I told you that the NFL owners consider it pocket change.

So, where is Roger Goodell?
Hiding under a really, really big pile of money.
Sexting Mrs. Seau.
Holed up in a love shack with Robert Craft and Ricki Noel Lander.
Shredding all the proof linking pro football to traumatic brain injury.
Lighting the owner's Cuban cigars with 1,000 dollar bills while they take turns buggering him.
Fiddling while Rome burns.
In negotiations, with Archie Manning, trying to get him to impregnate his wife.
Spooning a drooling Jerry Jones.
In the ESPN chapel, tebowing Golden Tate.

Hopefully, I will add punchlines that are actually funny. I'm calling in the Replacement Writers to take over. Any ideas?

That's the 2nd Most Exciting E-mail I've Ever Seen

I got an e-mail from that guy.

It said, and I quote "Wanted to know if you had some time this week or next to discuss working together." Mr. Skin wanted to work with me! Finally, my singular talent was being recognized. I would spend the rest of my life getting paid for doing something I truly love, looking for glimpses of naked chicks.

Strangely, the e-mail was not from MrSkin@MrSkin.com, it was from BobJohnson@MrSkin.com. I fired off a reply stating that I would only discuss my future career with the actual Mr. Skin. Bob Johnson's e-mail came back surprisingly quick. In Mr. Skin's world, "working together" meant hosting some banner ads on one of my sites, CircusAfterDark.com -- a site that the bean counters at Mr. Skin identified as having "Lots of Hot Celeb content and highly targeted traffic."

I held back the tears. Crushed, I informed Mr. Johnson that CircusAfterDark.com got about 50 visitors a day. At the current click-through pay rate, I estimated that I could expect a $5 check from Mr. Skin in about 300 years.

The first naked boobies I ever saw on TV was on local Channel 9 in NYC. It was an accident. Someone forgot to cut the nude scenes out of an old movie shown late at night. It was the greatest 5 seconds of my life. My friend Rick spent the next five years scanning the TV Guide every week for the movie and amazingly, the nude scene kept popping up until inevitably, years later, the censors got busy censoring.

For an extremely rare, UncleMelon.com How to Eat Pussy t-shirt* name the movie and the owner of the aforementioned boobies.

* Readers of the blog PoundTheBudweiser and members of their family are not eligible for this contest.

Throwback Thursday - Receiving a Major Award

In 1976, at the Humboldt County Fair, Best Buggering - Ewe.  I keep it next to my Peabody, Emmy and Booker in the box in the storage unit.

I know what you're thinking, that's one fine-looking velour windbreaker. I still wear it on chilly nights.  And yeah, I daddy warbucked Little Often Annie behind the pig racing venue.  Sadly, Britney Spareribs did not join in the fun.

Star Wars Mashup

My Star Wars mashup. It is not gay despite what my brother says. For you Who aficionados, that's the late, great John Entwistle's pee stain.

Glory Days - Books I Writed Part XIII

More books from the box in my mom's attic.

The Dork That Could Fly, 1997.  A sequel to the highly regarded 20th Century Fox film of 1986, The Boy That Could Fly. High School guidance counselor Harvey Peckerman learns the secret of flight by waterboarding that "autistic" troublemaker. Harvey chooses to use his flying ability for good including partying with a Marylin Monroe drag queen and banging the cute, curly-haired girl from the movie who is now over eighteen and legal in all 50 states.

Made Fun of her 10th Grade Art Project, 2003. Myrna was the girl of my dreams. She was gorgeous, smart, a great little cook and a whore in bed. What a dame! Everything was perfect until I made fun of the bust of Julius Caesar she made back in public school.

Too Much Mascara, 1989. When this horrible war was over, I was gonna take her back with me to Kansas, get hitched, and make us a family -- just like my daddy did and his daddy before him. But Sgt. Flint was never gonna let that happen. He didn't think the problem was Mabelline. He thought Sue Lee was a Jap, a dirty Jap spy. One of us was going back to the States in a box.

Japan Cheats at the Olympics and I Give Up on the Olympics, Again

That's the most memorable image from NBC's telecast of the olympics last night. The Japanese Gymnastics Delegation bribing appealing to the judges that their scores be raised so that they can win silver medals. Do you see that pile of yens that the coach is giving the judges?  Don't worry, NBC assured us that this standard operating procedure when bribing appealing to a gymnastic judge.

That's Kohei Uchimura completing a beautiful "Flair to a Handstand to an Almost Break Your Neck" dismount from the pommel horse.  The photo doesn't capture the grace and strength that Kohei-san brought into our living rooms -- seriously, Mr. Bean could have done a better dismount. And if Rowan Atkinson was on the Japanese Gymnastics team, the pile of yen may have been bigger but the medals would still have been silver.

That's the cutest cheater in Olympic history,  Kohei Uchimura, relishing the rewards of an appeal well done. Cut to Bob Costas thanking us for joining him.

Why didn't the British team appeal their scores?  Why didn't the Ukrainians appeal their scores? Why doesn't every gymnast that has ever fallen off an apparatus appeal his or her scores?  Let's ask Bob Costas. Oh, wait, he's cut to another commercial.

It's not only the obvious, amateurish (not in a good way) bullshit of changing scores after the fact so that a favorite team can win medals that has forced me to turn off the olympics for good, again.

It's also NBC.

Bob Costas might as well be hosting The Bachelorette.  Every second last night was carefully manipulated by the network. Remember, it all happened five hours early.  NBC producers carefully cut tape, changed sequencing and added drama before every commercial break. 

The adorable, freckled-faced Ukranian gynmast that cries when he finds out that the Japanese have stolen his medal? Let's cut away from the hapless Americans for 30 seconds so that we can show him not fucking up a routine around 9:30 PM.  The bushy haired cutie pie cheater from Japan?  Give him some time earlier in the hour so that we can really, really hate him when it counts.

Why don't I like the olympics?  For the same reason I don't like Say Yes to the Dress, The Bachelorette or Whose Sleeping with a Kardashian.

Why do the olympics get such great ratings? Same reason Say Yes to the Dress, The Bachelorette, and Whose Sleeping with a Kardashian make a ton of money for their respective networks.

But Bob, it ain't sports. And this sports fan is going back to baseball.

Glory Days - Books I Writed Part XII

More books from the box in my mom's attic.

Junk Yard Whores: No Blondes Allowed, 2000 -- Cute and perky Annika Svenson moves to town to fulfill a lifelong dream.  The other girls are mean because they are jealous of Annika's blonde hair. Hilarity and soliciting ensue.

Even Baby Jesus Can't Untangle the Christmas Lights, 1994 -- The Callahan family asks Baby Jesus to untangle their Christmas lights. Baby Jesus tries His best but even with His considerable super powers He just can not do it. Baby Jesus gets frustrated, has a feeding and then falls asleep in the arms of Mrs. Callahan. God bless us all, everyone.

Nancy the Nympho in The Butcher, The Baker and the Candlestick Maker Wear Out a Rubber, 1992 -- A novel with a title so long, the printer left off the last word due to budget constraints.  This was the forty-seventh Nancy the Nympho Classic Adventure I penned and it's one of my favorites. I got to use the term buoyancy chamber which sounds cool.

Glory Days - Books I Writed XI

More books from the box in my mom's attic.

Saved By A Shark, 2000 -- After she is tossed overboard by her two-timing, millionaire boyfriend, Cindy is saved by a Great White Shark.  The shark carries Cindy in his mouth all the way home to Kennebunkport. Then he eats the boyfriend.  Cindy sets her orphaned shark free to roam the world's oceans with a kiss on the nose. Roger Ebert wrote in the Chicago Sun-Times, "I haven't cried this much since I had to sit through Born Free."

Hugh Hefner: Outer-Space Marine, 1995 -- A misguided attempt to get a novel serialized within the pages of Playboy and get myself venerealized within the walls of the Playboy Mansion.

White Men Can't Jump, 1991 -- Sgt. Gary "The Pure" Gallafan's only desire is to remain chaste for his fiancé, 43-year old virgin Christine O'Donnell. The horny denizens of the Island of Lipstick Amazons only desire is to perform sexual favours for Gary, over and over again. Will Sgt. Gary be able to jump the three foot fence standing between almost certain pleasure and his freedom?  Here's a hint. He's white.

Throwback Thursday - My First Date

Recently discovered photographic evidence of my first date. No, it was not also my last date.

If memory serves, her name was Cheryl, she was the daughter of my mom's co-worker and that's the closest I got to her all night.

I believe she smelled good and looked satiny.

Carmelo Anthony and Stephen A. Smith

Is Stephen A. Smith just Carmelo Anthony's bitch?   Or has he become the new Pedro Gomez?

At ESPN, it's all about the access, my man!

Carmelo Anthony and Jeremy Lin

Carmelo Anthony and Jeremy Lin

Willard "Mitt" Romney: King of the Rats

Mitt is not Mitt Romney's real name. His real first name is Willard. Willard Mitt Romney.

Everyone knows that Willard is the guy that sleeps with rats. And talks to rats. And caresses rats gently as he plots his revenge on all those that are not incredibly rich, or Wall Street Scumbags Rats, or have teased him about his hair and his love of rats.

Why did Mr. and Mrs. George W. Romney name their youngest son Willard?

Wikipedia would have you believe that Willard "Mitt" Romney was named after hotel magnate J. Willard Marriot, one of his father's closest and poorest friends.  But we know who controls Wikipedia, don't we? No, not the Jews. Please, try to concentrate. That's right, the Scientologists...  or the Mormons. Same difference, they both hate women, worship in strange and unusual ways and secretly blow washed up movie stars while they sleep.

Willard Mitt Romney is the King of the Rats. The rats do his bidding. When he speaks to the rats, the rats obey. We have no evidence concerning actual rodents but rats with two legs? Rock solid sources. Just ask all the regular folks fired when the Rat King was running Bain Capital.  

The investigative journalists at PtB may not be very well paid, and they may not be very good and they may not be journalists but they are thorough and think about toupées a lot.

Have you ever seen Willard "Mitt" Romney without his toupée?  Neither have we.  So, in an effort to keep our investigations complete, we had one of our interns fire up the photoshop and defrock Mr. Romney -- with frightening results.

Great Scott!  The plot thickens.

Put yourself in poor Mitt Romney's sh... Ouch, that's not just an oxymoron that's an oxy-unfuckingbelievable! Okay, put yourself in young Mitt Romney's shoes. Yes, I know that you, me, and the State of Mississippi can't afford his shoes but it's called empathy. Try it. You Republicans can sit this one out. I don't want you to hurt yourselves.

Mitt or Willard. Flip or flop. Pretentiously ridiculous or smothered with bubonic plague. Poor, little rich boy.

*Yes, I noticed that Mitt Romney only lets the white rat sit on his shoulder. Let's not jump to conclusions.

Glory Days -- Books I Writed Part X

More books from the box in my mom's attic.

John Cardinal O'Farrell and the Amazing Girl-to-Boy Serum, 1995 -- Deep beneath the Archdioceses of Greater Boston, in his secret laboratory, our hero, John Cardinal O'Farrell perfects his amazing serum -- despite the meddling antics of the evil, heterosexual government agent, Capt. Larry "The Lutheran" Lawrence.

 

You're Gonna Need a Bigger Spear, 1986 -- Sadly, my best selling book to date. Set during the idyllic summer of 1963, on the beautiful, unspoiled beaches of North Carolina' s outer banks, it's a rollicking celebration of the love of an octopus and her best boy.  No beavers were opened wide for this novel.

Commie Commie Bang Bang, 2003 -- When the KGB steals a magic car invented by Professor Caractacus Potts, Dick Van Dyke gets to work on his less than believable English accent and a Berwick Street strumpet/hooker named Truly Scrumptious.

Glory Days -- Books I Writed Part 9

More books from the box in my mom's attic.

Dr. Hasbro and the First Barbie, 1991 -- The evil Dr. Hasbro kidnaps the first Barbie model from ace toy designer Matt Mattel and uses her to compensate for the inadequate size of his penis when he takes photos for his Facebook page.

Elaine! Benjamin Braddock Zombie Hunter, 2000 -- Recent college grad Benjamin spends his days lounging in his parent's pool and his nights fighting zombies. When he shows up uninvited at his true love's wedding, he's a mess.  Is it from running all the way from Beverly Hills to Santa Barbara or has the hunter become... a zombie?

Van Der Graaf Zap-ellin, 1990 -- Back when steam was what heated my fourth floor walk-up and punk was the guy Clint Eastwood had a problem with, I wrote this proto-cool story while high on three tablespoons of nutmeg and half a bottle of Aqua-Velva Blue. Tennis cutie Steffi travels the country in her tricked out van with Scott Baio and me and the always horny Ellen Barkin

Glory Days -- Books I Writed Part 8

More books from the box in my mom's attic.

Beach Blanket Berlin!, 2001 -- Eric Von Zipper, the leader of the Malibu Rat Pack Biker Gang, joins the American Nazi Party, kidnaps all the guys and brings them to Berlin for a PR stunt that causes quite a führer.

Congressional Blonde, 1994 -- Elle Woods wants her chihuahua, Bruiser, to reunite with his mother, because she would like Bruiser's mom to attend Elle and Emmett's wedding. Elle hires a detective to find Bruiser's mother, only to discover that the company that has her dog's mother is a cosmetics company that uses Bruiser's mother for cosmetic testing. She finds out that her law firm represents the C'est Magnifique Corporation. Elle decides to leave Boston, where she and Bruiser have settled with her fiancé Emmett, and go to Wahington, DC to work on Bruiser's Bill. Elle is upset that her dog's mother is in a make-up testing laboratory, and decides to take it upon herself to be the "voice for those who can't speak" and to outlaw animal testing. While working for Congresswoman Victoria Rudd, Elle is met with skepticism and other barriers common to Washington politics. Rudd's member of staff, Timothy, sarcastically calls her "Capitol Barbie." After a variety of ups and downs including a failed attempt to improve her work environment by having her co-workers write compliments about one another and place them in the "snap cup", Elle starts to lose her faith in Washington politics. As the story moves along, Elle discovers that Bruiser is actually a homosexual, after she is paged by "The Paws that Refreshes: A Doggy Day Spa." Bruiser has been affectionate with Leslie, a Rottweiller owned by Congressman Stan Marks, the Chairman of some committee which has jurisdiction over Bruiser's Bill. Elle also finds that Congresswoman Libby Hauser, the Ranking Member of the same committee, was a member of Delta Nu. As a result, both Marks and Hauser warm to Elle and eventually come to support Bruiser's Bill. Elle also discovers that Congresswoman Rudd has actually been working against her. So Elle becomes a lobbyist and sleeps with a bunch of fat, bald, smelly congressmen. The End.

It Gave Her Head In More Ways Than One, 1990 -- Golem shacks up with a hot, redheaded witch and forgets all about that stupid ring.

Glory Days - Books I Writed Part 7

More books from the box in my mom's attic.

C-3PO Takes a Wife, 1994 -- After significant reprogramming and the addition of a few extra parts, mild-mannered C-3PO embraces the Barbarian lifestyle. George Lucas was kind enough to write the forward.

I Married A Gal With No Nipples, 2000 -- A moving tale of an illegal alien that is forced to bottle feed her offspring. Made into a movie starring Mike Myers that went straight to video, I still get an occasional residual check.

Nancy Goes Too Far, 1993 --When Ronald sees Arnold's economics trickling down Nancy's thigh, he goes all Irancontra on his ass.