(posted by ben axelrad)
Coming at you a day late with my weekly LOST coverage ’cause T.J. hogged the site yesterday with his awesome interview. I’m glad you wrote an excellent post dude, but the rest of us need to use the internet too.
Anyhoo . . . LOST!
Of all the seeming impossibilities made prosaic on LOST, none seems more far-fetched to me than anyone following Hurley anywhere that didn’t have a snack bar or a water bong. Hurley found weed on that island, right? No one could stay that dumb, calm, and hungry without cannabinoids.
Speaking of drugs on the island, I bet after three years people are starting to get pissed all Charlie’s heroine burned up. I would’ve been pissed after three hours. This ain’t NA, bitch, we’re stranded on an inescapable island and you just torched our only artifice of escapism. If I was there this is how it would’ve gone down:
Charlie, did you find heroine?
Uhhhh…Nooooooo. This isn’t heroine.
Cut the crap, dude. That’s heroine.
Fine. But don’t tell anyone.
I’m telling EVERYONE. Hey everyone!
Charlie found heroine! Let’s all do heroine.
They don’t do heroine.
I don’t either. But this is the worst situation
ever and rumor has it that’s the best shit ever.
I think we’ll make an exception.
EVERYONE, COME QUICK!
Shhhh! You’re going to get me in trouble.
I’m a recovering addict.
Dude, no one cares about your stupid addiction.
One, we only met your junkie ass like a week ago.
And two, we just fucking plane-crashed on an
island they’re NEVER gonna find. You think
Hurley’s counting calories or Shannon’s working
on being less of a giant twat? No.
“Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em,” brother.
But I had a real problem with the stuff.
Yeah, well you have a few real problems now too.
And most of them won’t get you high as shit.
Try catching a buzz off that homicidal billow of
anthropomorphic black smoke.
I guess you’re right. Let’s do some heroine.
After this we should try my addiction.
Oh yeah? What’s that?
Masturbating to tropical polar bears.
Don’t judge me, junkie.
This island is magical.
We all know the island cures everything except death, and apparently heroine addiction. So that means either heroine addiction is as bad as death or the island condones it. I mean, am I wrong? Probably.
Don’t do drugs, kids. Unless you’re stranded with me on an island. Or in a prison. Or at a somewhat long stop light.
My name is Ben and LOST is my drug of choice (as are drugs).
“I’m going to eat you,” he pronounced in raspy, slurred English. “I’m going to eat you and your family.” As far as we knew, those were the only words Adam (or Aaron, or whatever . . . it really doesn’t matter cause that dude was fucking crazy) was capable of speaking. At one point he asked me for a lighter, but as I recall he did so using a series of hand gestures and indecipherable grunts. Verbalized or not, it turned out he actually needed a cigarette, which I promptly gave to obtain amnesty in the event that he grew hungry for me and my loved ones.
After the seven hour drive that included rural routes, Roman candles, unexpected snowfall, and Disney sing-a-longs, the Sketchfest trip officially began at the International Sports Club, which is where I met up with The Midnight Show and, eventually, the above referenced Dr. Lecter. The night had many high points, I must say, most of which were strange and depraved for various reasons. And surprisingly, “I’m going to eat you” guy wasn’t the creepiest individual encountered. The following scenario was told to me by Hal and Joe of The Midnight Show, which I’ll translate in language simple enough for a monosyllabic cannibal to understand:
Man masturbates in street. Hal and Joe view from afar. Man shows no signs of stopping. Hal and Joe appreciate man’s commitment. Man is interrupted by very rude pedestrians. Hal and Joe wonder if it’s a citizens’ arrest. Man discovers that citizens are police officers. Hal and Joe feel bad for man. Man feels very arrested.
Just to clarify, that’s a story about a man openly masturbating on the sidewalk. In theory, he was walking along, possibly to or from home (our witnesses claim he didn’t appear to be homeless), and thought to himself, “Here’s good.” Then he masturbated. So there’s that story.
I’d like to think that as I continue to report on this weekend there won’t be any more anecdotes involving threats to my life or public indecency, but that’s obviously a pipe dream. Might as well openly disrespect inevitability and propose a bold toast with my Day Two one o’clock cocktail: Here’s to nothing even remotely weird happening for the rest of the trip! Try me, San Francisco.
My name is t.j. and this blog is parked in SF.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Tickets are still available for The Midnight Show on Friday (featuring John Ennis, Mr. Show) and Saturday (featuring Trevor Moore, The Whitest Kids U’ Know). Make it happen.
In college football Bowl Game news, Air Force has just finished annihilating the Houston Cougars. Which is good, because if it was the other way around I was going to insist that Houston defend our skies against strategic attack.
It’s an extremely rare feat when a military school beats a major university in athletics. This season Navy beat Notre Dame football for the second year in a row after losing consecutively for over four decades. And we wonder why the United States hasn’t won a war in over half a century; there’s a stronger military at a Catholic school in Indiana.
If Notre Dame beats Houston no one should give a shit. It’s just a game. But if Notre Dame beats Army, isn’t Notre Dame a better army? Everyone is so quick to point out whenever an athlete declares himself a “soldier” that war and football are not the same. Well masturbation and knitting aren’t the same either, but they utilize similar muscles. Don’t the same traits that make a football player great translate to a great soldier? Speed, strength, pinpoint body control, discipline. I could be describing a football player or a ninja.
There isn’t really a point here. I don’t actually want football players to go to war because I don’t even want soldiers going to war. I don’t like war. I’d like the troops to come home and improve at football. But I’m still right about all that other stuff.
Be safe tonight, everyone! Happy 2010! Big changes coming in the new year!
My name is Ben and I blogged this.
Every year (never before) around this time (because this is the first time ever) I like to take a break from my busy schedule (around-the-clock poetry slams) to honor the TVs that make it possible for me to watch TV. This year is no different (entirely different) (I’m serious) (never done this before) (probably never will again) (parentheses). Welcome one and all to the Teevees, given by me to the best televisions and television accessories in my life. Most of the awards were handed out in a ceremony held never, but we’ve saved the most coveted prizes for announcement right…NOW.
The Award for Best Television for Watching a Series Goes to…My roommate Joe’s flat-screen in the living room. Like most “Best…Series” winners it offers stunning performance, was acquired for cheap, and almost never gets watched. You know the story: A critical favorite, unappreciated until award season. After this award I’ll probably look the TV up online, marvel at how great it looks, then forget it exists again.
The People’s Choice Award for Best Television Goes to…My laptop. It’s far more expensive, provides worse performance, and gets watched constantly. It’s like Two and a Half Men only easier to masturbate to. My God, Two and a Half Men, masturbating to you is such a chore!
The Award for Best Drama Involving a Television Goes to…The giant TV that was in the living room prior to getting the flat-screen. It was really heavy, so it stayed there next to the new TV through diversionary plotlines involving its possible sale or giveaway, all leading up to the season finale when Joe moved it to his bedroom. With suspense like that I can hardly wait to see what happens this season!
The Award for Best Supporting Player in the Watching of a Television Series Goes to…My surround-sound 5-disc DVD player. Everyone knew it would win this year because it died.
The Lifetime Achievement Award Goes to…My eyeballs. They have changed the way I view television. They were there the first time I was introduced and are still with me today, popping up every time I try to watch anything. They’re like Lorne Michaels, only bluer, prettier, and lodged in my eye sockets.
That’s it, folks! There were more trophies to hand out but I left them in the trunk of my Buick. I would retrieve them, but I don’t own a Buick. If you own a Buick, check the trunk, you might find out you’re a really great TV. Who knows, maybe you are.
Hey, here’s a coincidence: The Emmy’s were tonight. How apropos. So tell me, did Growing Pains win anything or were they robbed again? I knew it! What won, 30 Rock? Never heard of it.
My name is Ben and I blogged this.