Body massage!! The Troll has discovered a kick-ass video mash-up spoof of that old Ghostbusters cartoon. It reminds us not a little of those classic Fensler shorts that were done with G.I. Joe PSA’s.
Also, this little gem may or may not ruin your weekend. The Troll admits, turkey is delicious. But there’s something wantonly evil about inventing new technologies just for the satisfaction of decapitating unsuspecting fowl.
Forget the Internet. Forget broadband videos. And forget comedy for one ADD-addled second.
Because we have lost one of the greatest novelists, satirists and humorists of all time: Kurt Vonnegut Jr.
Last night, Mr. Vonnegut died in Manhattan at the age of 84 after suffering brain injuries from a recent fall.
Vonnegut often spoke of the world being divided into winners (an oligarchy of politicians, rich people and corporations) and losers (everybody else, namely the world’s poor). So, it’s worth positing that, based on his exit from this life, he may have also considered himself a “loser.”
That’s because, despite his best efforts, he was unable to succumb to his lifelong cigarette addiction. He once famously wrote:
“I am going to sue the Brown & Williamson Tobacco Company, manufacturers of Pall Mall cigarettes, for a billion bucks! Starting when I was only 12 years old, I have never chain-smoked anything but unfiltered Pall Malls. And for many years now, right on the package, Brown and Williamson have promised to kill me.”
But that didn’t happen. He survived being a chain smoker with the same begrudging attitude that he survived being a P.O.W. during the bombing of Dresden in World War II. Always sardonic, but never too nihilistic.
OK, maybe a little. A lot of his interviews in the past few years were pretty dark. A conversation he had with Douglas Brinkley in a recent Rolling Stone was particularly haunting.
But you always got the feeling that Kurt Vonnegut had earned the right to judge humanity as harshly as he did. And that was because—like all of the greatest humorists—he clearly understood and loved life with a little more zest than the average Kilgore Trout.
He once wrote, “If I should ever die, God forbid, let this be my epitaph…”
THE ONLY PROOF HE NEEDED
FOR THE EXISTENCE OF GOD
WAS MUSIC.
That’s downright positive, I must say.
What’s The Troll? Is it this lil’ guy?
Nope. That’s actually a knick-knack my mother once bought me in Prague. She said if I kept it next to my bed, it was supposed to keep me from masturbating so much. Naturally, I began making love to it in protest.
But I digress. Since there’s been SO MUCH user-generated content uploaded to the Super Deluxe machine since we launched, I thought I’d create The Troll: Every few days, I’ll “troll” through all of our videos for something particularly special, and then share it with you!
For The Troll #1, I present “Pickle Surprise.”
How fucking bugged out is that shit? Yes, that’s RuPaul, waaay back in 1989 with a bunch of other queens like Sister Dimension and The Lady Bunny from NYC.
Postscript: this reminds me of one of my horrible ideas that almost got me fired from here. Basically, I pitched that this blog should be titled “The Tickle Pickle,” and this was my visual aid in that abortion:
And after all, fun is what were all about here, isn’t it?? We’re not on this ding-dong internets to show off our freshly bleached teeth, are we??
That shine cost me 10K, by the way.
So, this is fun: our favorite rock/comedy world ass chafers at Chunklet magazine are making their big debut on Super Deluxe. And they’ve brought some friends with them, too…
That’s Tim Harrington from Les Savy Fav and Brian Teasley from the Polyphonic Spree. They helped Chunklet et. al. film a whole slew of shorts at this year’s South by Southwest in Austin.
Watch them all right now, so you can say you’re already over them by next year’s SXSW.
Courtesy of Malibu…
I know this is a chill map from today, but you get the idea. Curiously enough, the Jesus Cold Snap of 2007 (as this weekend’s wacky weather phenomenon is now being referred to) didn’t really affect the positively muggy temperatures down in Key West. And here I thought old Weird Beard from Nazareth didn’t cotton to “them folks.” You know, “them folks.”
Or maybe he’s saving “them” for a different fate a la Sodom & Gomorrah.
God, this is so hot.
I really thought this was going to be the year of the beret. I guess not.
The story has spread around the Internet faster than a pantyless picture of Dick Cheney crawling out of a stretch Hummer with Fergie sucking on his pacemaker.
Of course, I’m talking about the original Crypt Keeper, Keith Richards…
…and his sobering admission to NME magazine:
“The strangest thing I’ve tried to snort? My father. I snorted my father. He was cremated and I couldn’t resist grinding him up with a little bit of blow.” Richards continued to explain the scenario in the interview, stating that his father’s ashes “went down pretty well, and I’m still alive. My dad wouldn’t have cared.”
Now, I know everybody’s already jumped on this, but I still have a few questions to “ax.”
Like… Which part of all this would his dad not have cared about: Being snorted like a drug? Comingling with cocaine?? Or being ingested into his fucking son’s already heavily-diluted bloodstream? This is like those moms who buy beer for their high school sons and daughters and let them party in the basement because “at least they’re not out drinking and driving.” At least Keith was keeping his drug use in the family. Or keeping his family in his drug use.
Mr. Richards also says he “couldn’t resist grinding him up with a little bit of blow.” You know, Keith just couldn’t help himself. God forbid, we’ve all been there. The funeral services come to an end. You find yourself back home. You’re emotionally drained and alone with an urn full of your dead dad’s ashes. Grieving gets pretty boring. So, whaddya do next? Really, it’s a no-brainer. You party!! With dad’s charred remains!!
And another thing: I don’t believe that his father’s ashes are the strangest thing Keith has ever snorted. This is a guy who’s been inhaling controlled substances longer than I’ve been alive. He’s probably crammed entire regions of Colombia into his sinuses. And Lord knows, it couldn’t have all been pure cocaine. At some point, a tropical rat or a hamburger or something probably got mashed up in the mix. Who would’ve known the difference??
This also presents a new dilemna for Keith. Presuming he’s going to keep living forever, what about the funerals and wakes of all of his extended family and friends he’s going to have to attend in the future? Are these events going to prove too much of a temptation for him? Will he end up running around, knocking over urns, snorting everything in sight (and rubbing it on his gums? Couldn’t tell by this British dental habits).
Hey Keith!! Does this make you want to get fucked up??
Man, I know just the sight of a crematorium gives me the “let’s get HIIIIIIIGH” jitters.
With all of this said, I think the funniest part of this truly strange story is how nonplussed everyone is. Most media types have responded with a shrug of the shoulders, and an “Oh, there goes Keith again” reply. The majority of my coworkers have expressed their approval. And my editor, who’s convinced she’ll die before Mr. Richards, says her dying wish… is to be snorted up by him.
Mmm. Start me up.
What a climatic night it was on Monday. Folks, I’m still getting goosebumps just thinking about it. The planets were aligned. The stars were out. And across the globe, millions of fans were riveted to their TV sets in anticipation for that final moment.
Months of speculation, theorizing and hand-wringing were behind us. Whether we invested thousands of dollars or just a single penny in our silly little office pools, it didn’t matter any longer what any of us had to say about who we thought the rightful victor should be.
Because in the end, the final decision lay in the very bosom where it’s always been: Tiffany “New York” Pollard’s.
That’s right. I’m talking about the season finale of VH1’s I Love New York!! What did you think I was prattling on about? College basketball?? Who gives a shit about that?
What really matters today is that the beautiful and enchanting New York chose the ever-dutiful and ever-dull, Tango, to be her new beau.
Spoiler alert! In case you didn’t already know, the big lug ended up proposing to her. And she kind of bugged out. Guess we’ll all have to wait for the I Love New York - Reunion special to find out how that went.
As for the evening’s loser, the ever-irascible Chance…
…well, he seems like a smart enough young buck (didn’t he refer to dolphins as “water dogs” in the final episode?). I’m sure he’ll find work somewhere else in VH1’s reality TV universe.
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