When Musicians Do Comedy

Remember that song “Things That Make You Go Hmmmm?” Well here’s some stuff  as confusing as the continued existence of that wretched song. Just a couple of things that make you go, “Hey that’s stupid like the C&C Music Factory song.” If you even think “Hmmm” you’re fired. Here’s the first one:

I’ve watched a few times now waiting for the joke to represent itself; to stand up and announce, “This is why I’m funny.” Can’t find it. I think Weezer is really pimping their own Snuggie. Worse yet, it’s a ploy to increase album sales. If comedy was intended, I implore you, Weezer, stick to your day job: Be it the rock biz or the Snuggie biz or the None-of -your biz. But cease and desist on this comedy business. I give the same shit to comedians who make music.

Keeping with this theme of musicians slowing their roles, here’s #2: SNL returns live this week with Taylor Swift pulling double duty as host and musical guest.

Sounds like a double dose of doody to me. Musician hosts range between Justin Timberlake at the zenith and Jon Bon Jovi at the nadir, with the vast majority only inches above JBJ. The only categorically worse episodes are the ones hosted by athletes – Michael Phelps and Tom Brady made the Weezer Snuggie informercial look like Monty Python – and at least with those episodes you get a break to watch a real musician perform.

On nights when comedy is forfeited for the evening I think music should make an equal sacrifice. Like, if Lebron James is going to be the host then Dwyane Wade should be the musical guest. And if Taylor Swift heads the comedic portion we should be “treated” to the musical stylings of Zack Galifianakis.

I’m willing to tolerate Taylor Swift for three minutes before Weekend Update and another three at the end of the show. SNL is asking for 90. I think six minutes is quite fair. After all, that’s five and a half more minutes than Kanye West gave her.

My name is Ben and I blogged this.

The Evil Empire Plays Mind Games

The New York Yankees won their 27th World Series last night and that’s just the way it’s supposed to be this year. The more things change (first black president, genomin’ it, cars on the moon), the more they stay the same (Yankees win again, scientifically stupid babies, no parking on the moon).

I was rooting for the Yankees to win last night, though that had nothing to do with their team or opponent or even baseball, really. I like that Fox television show FRINGE, and was informed it would return all-new tonight if the Series ended yesterday. So I rooted for it to end yesterday. If the Phillies would’ve been leading going into last night’s game I would’ve cheered for them, both as a FRINGE-viewer and a fringe-baseball fan. What was I to do? The Yankees were winning and I like that TV show.

Believe me, I didn’t want to side with baseball’s Evil Empire. But the Fox Network took a page from the SAW movies and made me choose between the low road to heaven and the high road to purgatory. I chose heaven; Fausted my eternal baseball soul for a new episode of a TV show I like. It felt wrong while I was doing it, as if the proverbial lunch lady had said “Free tater tots to everyone if the bully beats up the geeky kid,” and I went along with it. But, ultimately, I’m not friends with the Phillies and maybe this beating will get them out of wood-shop where the jocks and the huffers always give them shit for being skinny and good at science anyway. Whoa. This analogy, aside from being NOT analogous,  just turned into MLBreakfast Club.

The point is, I wasn’t happy rooting for the bully. Though I must admit, I’d probably do it again. Because I really like that TV show (and tater tots)…And fuck my eternal baseball soul. And fuck those Philly geeks, too. So what if they take a pounding now, they’re still gonna grow up to run software companies and marry bikini models. Damnit, I don’t know how to turn this analogy off.

This blog needs to graduate already.

My name is Ben and I blogged this.

Chocolate, I Scream!

You know what’s totally awesome? Chocolate ice cream. It sounds obvious, but I guess I’d forgotten. The ice cream game is so overwrought with options it’s easy to let a classic jam like chocolate go unheard. Chocolate ice cream, that’s all you really need. It doesn’t require Butterfinger bars or fudge balls or diamonds or dreams to make it better. Just a plain ol’ scoop of chocolate ice cream. Crammed inside my asshole. For a goat to eat.

Ice cream is a perfect example of a great thing we grew so bored of that someone had to “improve” it. It used to be you could get a scoop of chocolate or a scoop of vanilla, that was it. And the choice said everything about you as a person: Vanilla meant you were boring; Chocolate meant you were cool; A scoop of both meant you were bi-polar. Recently I went to a party where there were two ice cream choices: Mint Chocolate Oreo Chunk or Raspberry Praline. Again, the choice said a lot about you: Mint Chocolate Oreo Chunk meant you were fat; Raspberry Praline meant you were gay; A scoop of both meant you were Bruce Vilanch.

I can only imagine what the future has in store for ice cream. I figure there’s a chubby ginger kid somewhere right now, crying because he has to stop playing video games to eat his ice cream. (I don’t know why he has to be a redhead, he just does.) That child doesn’t know it yet but he’s the future creative force behind the slogan, “Breyers: Now with a video game in every bite!” And I’ll sit there, old and curmudgeonly, shaking my fist at the hologram television shouting, “In my day ice cream didn’t need all these extras; just candy and cocaine, that was all. And you could be as gay and fat as Bruce Vilanch!” Then the little ones will ask who Bruce Vilanch is and I’ll die of shame like all elderly people do when we call it “natural causes.” There are geezers dying right now murmuring the last words, “Too…fat…and gay,” as a Rosie O’Donnell commercial airs. It’s reality, folks. Prepare yourselves for it: The Rosie O’Donnell of the future will be your undoing.

Once I have ten minutes of ice cream, Bruce Vilanch, and Rosie O’Donnell material I’m taking it to the stage. I think I’m serious. But it might just be all this candy, cocaine ice cream talking.

My name is Ben and I blogged this.

Re-Post Tuesday: Terminator 2sday

If you missed The Birthday Boys’ monthly sketch show in October this re-post is for you. Because it’s awesome and you missed it. If you caught the show, thusly having seen this video, this re-post is also for you. Because it’s awesome and you know this. If you’ve never seen Terminator 2, this video is NOT for you. You won’t understand it. And besides, you have some serious pop culture to catch up on. It’s Terminator 2 for Chrissakes! How long have you been allergic to awesome? At least since the 90’s. You should get that checked out. Everyone else, get this checked out:

While we’re on the subject: Don’t forget about this month’s BDBz show at UCB, coming up tomorrow night at 8. Still the best night of sketch at UCB-LA. If you are coming tomorrow, maybe brush up on your Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines just in case. Unless you’re allergic to mediocre; then you might have an outbreak.

My name is Ben and I blogged this.

Rage is Emotional Candy

I didn’t eat one piece of candy this entire weekend, but I did get angry and cuss out an online Scrabble player, so it wasn’t a totally atypical Halloween. Twice I cussed out an online Scrabble player, actually. The second time because, on the first go-around, I wasn’t wearing my Raving Lunatic costume.

Seriously: NO CANDY. Not so much as a Starburst from a mini-three-pack. Not one broken-off piece of a Kit Kat bar. Not even a single M. My inner child is beyond disappointed. My outer fatty is giddy with pride. We survived Halloween none the fatter! As a stomach model this is crucial to my line of work.

I hope your Halloween weekend was the sort of success you are still recovering from. Whatever you wore, drank, ate, or sexed: Here’s to it coming off quickly. And if it doesn’t, next year try cussing out an online Scrabble player. It burns six calories just on screaming, and another ten with guilt and shame. If you still need candy, try spending your holiday with John Candy.

He’s funny. And also scary fat. And also a ghost, which is scary scary. One of those three things should deter you from eating.

My name is Ben and I blogged this.