Have you ever wondered what happened to Amy Jo Johnson, the pink ranger from Mighty Morphin Power Rangers? Me either. But the other day while cruising a music forum I discovered she has her own band. Not much to report besides the fact that she got significantly hotter than her Power Ranger days and now she makes shitty Sarah McLaughlin music. Such is life.
You can go to her Myspace page here. Creep on Creepers.
Wednesday…also known as Hump Day (or Hump Day, if you go to school here) the mid point of the week and one of the final hurdles to get over. It can be rough, but the Captains have a little secret to help you get through it. It involves a little Paul Simon, a little Chevy Chase, a music video and a thermos full of Jack Daniels.
It’s come to my attention from several friends, co-workers, family members, and strangers, that I make sounds similar to what a caveman would make. Is that a problem?
Personally, I think cavemen get a bad rap because everyone is always all caught up in them being primitive, but seriously these motherfuckers were the world’s most hardcore inventors. Don’t believe me? Look at a short list of their accomplishments:
Now tell me it’s a damn honor to be considered a caveman!
Just to be a dick, because you’re reading a blog that might contain three of the modern world’s biggest assholes, walk around the next few days and give our a heart “rahhhh” or “runnh” at the top of your lungs. You’ll feel fantastic. And if people look at you funny, feel free to club them mercilessly with your shoe (or anything within reason for that matter).
The only shitty thing about being considered a modern day caveman is those pussy GEICO cavemen that ruined the image. It’s the equivalent of what hair metal did to rock music in the mid-80′s.
Unlike Santa Claus, The Easter Bunny and Diet Dr. Pepper, Punxsutawney Phil is real. He is a groundhog that lives in a tree stump but on every February 2nd of each year, he is yanked out of his stump like a homeless man yanking out his peener on a bus…with extreme force. If you didn’t already know, this morning in Gobbler’s Knob, PA (more on that name later), Mr. Phil saw his shadow this morning. So what does that mean for us? That winter will last another 6 weeks. Fuck you Phil.
Is it a shock to you all that Punxsutawney Phil isn’t the only animal that declares our winters longer or shorter. We live in America…weren’t we built off trying to be better than the last guy or in this case groundhogs? This certainly applies to weather forecasting rodents. Here is a list of some of the animals, including Phil, that are America’s most famous weatheranimals for a day.
Sir Walter Wally – Raleigh, North Carolina
Sir Walter Wally out of Raleigh was actually born in Easington Colliery, England. He saw no opportunity in England as a groundhog’s day groundhog because the weather is constantly shitty there and will never see his shadow. So he got his furry little ass on a plane to the states and wound up in Raleigh, NC. Why Raleigh? From what I hear UNC has a lot of hot chicks.
I love watching Jeopardy, but I hate Alex Trebeck. It pains me to listen to him…he is a smug, arrogant, prick. I really feel that he gets a perverse pleasure out of letting the contestants know their answer is incorrect. He always seems like he is trying incredibly hard not to let out an enormous grin.
I have no doubt that he a reasonably intelligent man, but he seems to forget that we all know that he has the answers in his hand and zero pressure when he corrects the contestants. He particularly enjoys when they mispronounce a word or don’t say it in the plural sense.
The reasons described here is exactly why some people love this flaming piece of a Canadian and in theory he seems like someone I would enjoy. In fact though, I really can’t stand the mother fucker.
TCM would like to give Trebeck a big FUCK YOU from all the Captains!
Oh, and grow your mustache back.
As many of you undoubtedly have heard, famous Catcher In The Rye author, J.D. Salinger died last Thursday at the age of 91. This presents very conflicted emotions for me, because I was both elated and also saddened when I heard the news. On one hand, the author has written one of the seminal books of the 20th century portraying teenage angst and confusion in a way I’ve never seen equaled. In fact, Catcher In The Rye’s beauty somehow only magnifies the older you become (the book has the distinct honor of being one of two books I’ve read multiple times and will continue to do so).
On the other hand, the author has not published since 1965. Actually, Catcher In The Rye is the only true book he released. His entire anthologized published output amounts to 4 short novellas spread out across 2 books and a collection of 9 short stories. Countless other short stories were published in the leading magazines of the 1940′s and 50′s but never collected.
Salinger’s death has been something I’ve been eagerly awaiting and excited about for years. Starting in the 1960′s he became America’s most fascinating recluse, moving to the remote town of Cornish, New Hampshire. Periodically emerging from the house for groceries and to scare off teenagers pilgrimaging to see him. The legend goes that he continued to write daily without publishing, simply because he loved the act of doing so. He was sick of dealing with critics, publishers and the general public. His daughter wrote a memoir a few years back saying that he had stacks of manuscripts ear marked for when he died to, “publish as is”, “edit before publishing” etc. I’m positive his estate will go through with this and take advantage of a tremendous cash cow.
This whole situation is fascinating to me. It’s like if the Beatles had stopped making records in 1966 with Revolver and had stopped touring, but continued to record albums and just chose not to release them. Then when John Lennon died they released Sgt. Peppers and the White Album and the rest of the catalog.
This all presents very exciting possibilities. I mourn your death J.D. Salinger, but I look forward to appreciating your work both old and new for years to come.
“I think, even, if I ever die, and they stick me in a cemetery, and I have a tombstone and all, it’ll say ‘Holden Caulfield’ on it, and then what year I was born and what year I died, and then right under that it’ll say ‘Fuck you.’ I’m positive, in fact”
-Catcher In The Rye (1951)
