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.
This is my 100th post, ya’ll! Thanks for sticking with me, I feel we’ve become great friends!
Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson hosts Saturday Night Live tomorrow with Ray Lamontagne (Ladies, grab something vibrational). The Rock is one of the great, unsung hosts of SNL and it wouldn’t be lame at all to stay in tomorrow and watch him. Here’s the preview:
Saturday Night Live is like Coca-Cola: After all these years the only ingredient removed from that timeless formula is Cocaine. Everything else is the same. And no matter who or what comes along to challenge them, SNL and Coke do their thing and survive the threats.
Let’s raise a Coke to SNL!
Every week you know exactly what to expect and also nothing of what to expect. Not every episode is great (I’m talking about you, Mike Phelps!), but they are all exciting (I’m talking around you, Mike Phelps! You dead-faced pothead!)
100 down. This feels good, dudes. Raise a Coke to me, too. I’ll raise one for you.
My name is Ben and I am 100 times a blogger.
p.s. Don’t forget A FENNIS FOR DEMBO, sports and rap lovers!
Here at the offices of Poop or Chocolate (my bedroom), we (I) love nothing more than a follow-up (blow job).
I’m talking to you, Michael Phelps. About the follow-up, not the blow job. With lung power like yours? You’d suck the dick right off of me. I digress.
Alright, Phelpsy. You’ve been suspended for only three months and some sheriff in South Cackalacki wants to throw you in jail, so we don’t have a moment to spare. Let the Michael Phelps-Ben Axelrad best-buddies forever, experimental drug binge begin.
We gonna try everything, me and Mike. We gonna lick a toad’s belly. We gonna try herocaine. We gonna try PCPCP. We’re even gonna try whatever rapping Joaquin Pheonix is on these days.
We won’t take this lying down, Michael Phelps. Unless the drug is enhanced by lying down. Then we won’t take this sitting up.
Maybe we’ll just smoke Joaquin’s beard. Nah, it looks too smelly.
My name is Ben and this blog thrives on causes.
Michael Phelps ain’t sorry about no weed.
I knew monotonic Michael Phelps was a pot-smoker the moment I laid eyes on him. Outside of a swimming pool he seems to have speeds of Slow and Stop. His eyes couldn’t have looked more distant if they were 50 meters away.
Picture Michael Phelps before a meet: Head lightly bopping to Lil’ Wayne on his iPod. Body limp, relaxed. Unemotional. Mouth agape, looking like he doesn’t have a care in the world. If you saw this guy outside of a video arcade you’d be certain he was stoned. You might even try to buy a bag off him.
The nonchalance with which he handled his record-breaking quest was half of his appeal. That was the weed! And now he has to apologize for it?
Think back on your own high school experience, if you can do so without crying at work. Didn’t all the swimmers smoke weed? Why wouldn’t they? It’s a sport where your performance is improved by shaving off the part of your body where evidence of marijuana use is stored. And the chlorine explains away the constant red eyes.
Michael Phelps ain’t sorry about no weed.
But he still had to act like he was. And that’s hard. Demonstrating genuine emotion while stoned is difficult, faking it is nearly impossible. Did you see his SNL? We know the boy can’t act.
I bet he would’ve only gone for six or seven medals if he knew eight would have photogs snapping his every move.
Poor Greatest Olympic Champion of All-Time.
My name is Ben and I refuse to apologize for smoking weed during this blog.