Nerds Rejoice

I just found this on the good ol' Intronet, a vintage '70's Star Wars Holiday Special w' special guests Harvey Korman, Art Carney and, yes, Beatrice Arthur. I can't believe George Lucas let this one out of the closet. Someone assuredly was fired for this unmitigated disaster. Enjoy; it takes a while, but it's o-so-good!

BFC

You'll thank me later.

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=323909610753051544

Mitchell Report Revisited

"Andy, I'm ready for my 'Flax-seed Oil' treatment, honey"

What Guys Will Settle For This Christmas

Reserve your copy today!

What Guys Really Want for the Holidays

Joke of the Week: 'Right up your Kilt'

An all-time classic

So there was this old Scotsman, we'll call him Tonto MacTavish, who had been drinking and carrying on at an old fashioned Ceilidh in his village. Being a Scot, he had had a wee too many drops of the Crater, and at a certain point in the evening, felt the need to lay down somewhere and rest his weary bones. He heads back to his home, but in his inebriated state only makes it to a big Oak tree along-side the road. He lay down and falls asleep aginst the tree, legs akimbo, kilt half-hiked up, a drunken mess.

Soon, along comes two bonney Lasses leaving the party, on their way home and in a fine festive mood. They approach the sodden Scot, and one says to the other, 'I wonder, Bridgett, is it true what they say about a Scotsman going bare under his kilt'. Unable to qwell their curiosity, the girls lift up the Scots festive Mackenzie Plaid kilt and find that sure enough, only the man's dingus to be home there underneath. So amused by the sight one of the girls took the blue ribbon from her hair and tied to the kilted man's member as a prank. Then they sally forth on their way.

Next morning, the hung-over man awakes to natures call, rises fom his rest and goes sloppily to the bush to relieve himself. When he lifts his kilt to take a leak, he sees his shaft festooned with the blue ribbon left there as a present. Incredulous, he looks left, he looks right, then down again to his mini-Mac. He then says,

(wait for it)

'Me'lad, I doon't know wheeere ya beeen, or what ya beeeen doooin', but sur'n I'm mighty proud that you won fuuurst prize'!!!!

SBL#178 Deconstructs the Top 5 News Stories of the Week

Santa's "personal assistant" Misty

Now, I've never been accused of being the most politically savvey guy in the world. As a matter of fact, until recently I thought the term Fatowa referred to the Bounty Hunter on Star Wars that captured Han Solo (turns out that's Bobo Fet). Still, as I've always said, it doesn't take a genius to tell the difference between chicken shit and chicken salad. In that spirit, the staff here at SBL#178 have compiled and spun the top five news stories of the week, and presented them here using small words that are easy to understand. Truth is certainly better than fiction, and that axiom is never more true than when one reads the daily news. In no particular order, we present:

'Army Intelligence' as Oxymoron

In a report this last week, the CIA reported on the status of Iran's nuclear weapons program. It had been consistently maintained over the last five years by the US government that the rogue terrorist state of Iran posed a terror threat as a result of their nuclear enrichment program and potential nuclear weapon arsenal. Turns out in last week's report, however, that Iran had abandoned their nuclear program as far back as 2002. An embarressed state department maintained that Iran was still dangerous, 'just on general principles', but sheepishly admitted their now unilateral sanctions against Iran lacked any real credibility with US allies. The State Dept. also, just in the nick of time, reporedy recanted sanctions against USSR for their missiles in Cuba, their sanctions against the Southern States for their practice of enslaving Blacks, and sanctions against Germany for invading Poland. A high level spokesman for Britain's Prime Minister was quoted as saying, 'yeah, us too'.

Stop, Chavez Time...

In a bold and imaginitive move this week, Venezualan strong man and perrenial US administrative irritant, Hugo Chavez declared that Venezuala be declared another time zone. Nobody seems to know why. We guess it had just been a few days since he had been in the news. In either case, Venzuala, like our neighbor to the north Newfoundland, is a half-hour off the rest of the world. A distraught MC Hammer, when reached for comment claimed Chavez had stolen his idea, and if anybody deserved his own time zone it was the 'Hammer'. Please Hammer, don't hurt 'em.

Oprah-Obama; Obama-Oprah

Oprah Winfied, America's most beloved pompopus winbag (no wait, that's Al Gore) came out and endorsed Democratic hopeful Barack Obama this week. In this stagnant Democratic race for Iowa, nearly a year before America should even be caring about the election at all, it is a pretty desparate sign indeed that this srory is even news. It is, however, and Obama said 'I'll take it'. Oprah's declaration of allegience to the young senator from Illinois securely locked down the middle-aged white women's vote in Iowa, if not the Black vote. Also, reportedly, Oprah gave the entire state of Iowa a Caddilac if they voted for Barack. An obviously upset Hillary Clinted was quoted as saying, 'Oh no you Di'int'!!!!

Paying it Backwards

It was reported from Greensboro North Carolina on Monday that a Starbuck's coffeeshop drive-thru customer offered to pay for the order of the next car in line behind them. The next customer in line, in turn, payed for the order of the next car, and so on for the next car, paying it bacwards, as it were. This human chain of kindness lasted an amazing 100 cars before the chain was broken. The low down dirt bag who reportedly broke the cahin was a mister Ivan Zweiback of nearby Raleigh, who in his spare time skips straight to the 'good bread' leaving his wife the heel, leaves a teaspoon of coffee in the pot at work so he won't have to make a fresh pot, and never, ever puts a new roll of paper towels out when he uses the last one. He is reportedly also a Yankees fan.

Say it Ain't so Barry

The sporting world stands transfixed today as they await tomorrow's 2pm release of the 'Mitchell Report'. The report commission, headed by no other than ace diplomat and erstwhile Mainer George Mitchell, is sure to name names and point fingers about which major-league baseball players took steroids. Stars speculated as being outed include Barry Bonds, Mark McGuire and Jose Cansenco. Now there's a shocker for you: Steroids in Baseball!? Next you're going to tell me Barry Bonds hit all those Home-runs on steroids. Let me see. One year, Bonds is a lithe, light hitting, base stealing threat. The next year, his head is as big as a picnic ham and his testicles are the size of a Hamster's. Probably coicidence. That one year Sammy Sosa and Mark McGuire broke Roger Maris' single season Home-run record, you're now going to tell me they did that on steroids? Say it ain't so. You know my honest opinion is tha that nobody gives a rat's ass. If Barry Bonds hits a Home-run so hard that it actually rips both of his arms from the sockets, that's still good for baseball. Chicks dig the long ball. That's just the way we roll. What next, George? Are you going to tell us that Professional Wrestling is fixed? No you Di'in't!!

Well there you go, this weeks top stories, ripped straight from the headlines. Happy Holidays from your friends at Sufferin' Batsards Local #178. Remember, Jesus loves you....but he likes me best.

PAX

BFC

The editorial staf of SBL#178 apologizes for BFC incessant use of the word Erstwhile. He doesn't really know what it means. He thinks it sounds 'smart'.

Before it gets too hectic this December, remember to take a minute and think about the 'reason for the season'. Joyeux Noel, y'all!

Just because the last entry skewed a bit too political, here's a little reminder of what SBL#178 is more about.

SBL#178 De-Obfuscates the Top Five News Stories of the Week-11/30/07

' Rosebuuuuuud'!

As I always say, blogging is like panning for crap on the vast silty riverbed that is the intronet. The comedy gold just writes itself; one merely has to cut and paste, basically. In that spirit, and just in time for the holiday season, here are the top five news stories of the week as seen by the editorial staff here at SBL#178. In no particular order, we offer up the following.

My Name is Osama Bin Laden...

Just in time for Christamas, or maybe Ramaden, or is it Kwaanza, theres a new tape from Terrorist mastermind and shameless self-promoter Osama Bin Laden. In the recently released greatest hits issue, he dishes out his usual diatribe of extremist rap, this time directed at America's NATO allies in Europe. According to SkyNews, the new audio message from the testy turbaned tyrant seeks to 'persuade Washington's NATO allies that the fight for Afghanistan is a losing proposition'. Not exactly a news flash, but none-the-less that's what he said. "The American tide is ebbing, so it is best for you to press your leaders to change their policies," said the the Jivin' Jihadist, sternly admonishing naughty Europeans. As per usual, the CIA and other intelligence agencies are working to verify that the speaker is indeed the fugitive al-Qaida figurehead. One thing the CIA does know is that the new release comes with an extra DVD fully loaded with lots of extra features, including director's comments, interviews, and a completely interactive animated 'Where's Osama' game. 'It makes a perfect stocking stuffer', said the diabolical desert-dwelling despot.

Why in Whoville They Say...

It's no news that our illustrious Vice-President Dick Cheney has had a history of heart problems. To be honest I always felt the evil bastard, who has deftly played Senator Palpatine to Nixon, Reagan and Bush's Darth Vader, never had a heart to begin with. Evidentally, though, he has, and it is out of rhythm frequently. So it was no news the other day that ol' Iron Dick was checked into Bethesda Navel Hospital, to have his heart defibbed a lil' bit. It turns out, though, according to his physician, Dr. Ivan Zwieback, that the Vice-president's heart was not actually out of rhythm, rather it was three sizes too small. The restorative procedure, unfortunately, was a complete success and Cheney was released later that day. Describing the touch and go moments on the operating room table, his doctor was quoted as saying, 'then what happened next, why in Whoville they say, Dick Cheney's heart grew three sizes that day'... Leaving Bethesda, escorted by security, the plucky politician was heard muttering, 'it came without ribbons, it came without tags, it came without packages, boxes or bags'...

An Inconvenient Pain in the Ass

It's the perfect storm of a news story. Al Gore is an insufferable blowhard who has claimed authorship of everything cool in pop culture from the Internet to the Mohito. He has about as much charisma as a big box of paper clips and just can't seem to keep his ever expanding fat ass out of the news, teasing obsequeous liberal democrats with the tantalizing thought of another Gore presidential run in '08. Now with him as a Nobel Laureate, why he's just intolerable, really. Then we have our current Executive, GeorgeII, and sorry all you patriotic Americans, the guy's a Doofus. He's got all of Nixon's nepotism and Reagan's dogma, only without all those brainy ideas and big words to get in the way. The guy couldn't grab his own ass using both hands, gosh!...Anyhow, I don't have a gag for this story, but the thought of those knuckleheads shaking hands in front of cameras for the first time since the 'Hanging Chad' days, holding up the Nobel Prize is just comedy gold. This was the best Presidential photo-op since Japan's Prime Minister Koizumi visited the White House last year and did his Elvis impersonation. George, just shut up and give him his prize; Al, do your part for the environment and close your greenhouse gas emmiting pie-hole.

Don Izzle Back up in Here Dizzle

Erstwhile aging shock jock and irrelevent relic to anyone under fifty, Don Imus returned this week from ignomy, and took to the airwaves on WABC Talk Radio in New York. You'll remember that last year the I-Man made some lighthearted, careless, some would say racist comments about some 'nappy-headed' memebers of the Rutger's Woman Basketball Team. In the ensuing grease-fire, he was pretty much ran out of the media on a rail without mercy, led by none other than Reverend Al Sharpton, who's head is a bit nappy his'self, I must say. Anyway, somehow Imus is making a comeback, and in an effort to drum up publicity and gain ground with the young black audience he likely alienated with his comments, he is going to change his radio image to 'Gangsta' during his new morning radio show. Inside sources say the program is going to be called " Don Izzle, your Main Nizzle, All Around the Hood and up in the Hizzle". Somewhere in Gotham, Rev. Al prepares to get up on his high horse.

Must the Show Go on?

The theaters of the great Broadway in New York apparently will come back alight this week as the long standing stagehand's strike comes to a merciful end. An 11th hour agreement between the theater owners and reps of the Union last night hammered out the details of an agreement, which evidentally had been hung up on the Union's demand for skim milk only for their scheduled hourly Latte breaks. The lights of New York's famous entertainment district had been darkened for weeks as a result of the strike, but now thankfully the good citizens and visitors of the most obnoxious city in the world can once again pay $200 per ticket to see people dancing around dressed as gay cats (not that there's anything wrong with that). Now, personally, I'd rather repeatedly poke myself in the right nipple with a bobby-pin than pay for and sit through a big Broadway show, but I am glad the strike is over and everything can get back to 'normal'. The sooner all those flamboyanly dressed,dancin', show-tune singin' mooks are off the streets, out of the bars and gainfully employed, the safer the streets of the Big Apple will be. Fabuuuuulllooouuuusss!!

Anyway, there they are, our top news stories of the week. As you can see, we're definitely living in complicated times. As I say to myself all the time,'... Where the hell am I going anyway...and why am I in this hand-basket'.

Smoke 'em if you got 'em.

Managing Executive Editor and Wine-Taster-BFC

Joke of the Week, Volume #74

Q- What did the Buddhist Monk say to the Hot Dog vendor?

(waiiiit for it)

A- Make me one with everything.....

Get it?... ONE with everything!....

HA...well, I thought it was good. Anyway, remember this holiday season: When life hands you lemons, get some Tequilla and some salt. Hooowwwaaaa!

Shout at the Devil (In Peace)

Apperently NOT in the best metal health.

http://ap.google.com/article/ALeqM5j3CVM9tSCRAA7A3yxLpnIuM2l-IAD8T5K1280

Heads Up

Don't want folks to miss this one. Coming soon to a VFW near you.

Celebrity Haiku Volume #45: Evil Empire Edition

Now for this week's expression of the ancient
oriental art form is the erstwhile Yankee skipper
and all around great guy.

Start spreading the news

I just got fired today

And I'm takin' A-rod

-Joe Torre

Joke of he Week, Vol. #89: Another one about an Irishman

The Irishman and the Mormon.......

A Mormon was seated next to an Irishman on a flight from London. After the plane was airborne, drink orders were taken. The Irishman asked for a whiskey, which was promptly brought and placed before him. The flight attendant then asked the Mormon if he would like a drink. He replied in disgust, 'I'd rather be savagely raped by a dozen whores than let liquor touch my lips.' The Irishman then handed his drink back to the attendant and said, 'Me too. I didn't know we had a choice.'

Submitted by my good friend Heather, who, by the way, is a stinky girl

Salad Days Vol.#28: Ode to the Green Death

Working the late shift, Friday night,

This was back in the Salad Days, 1980's

Room-mate Myk, was taking a hike,

Asked if there was something I would like,

At the Liquor Store, and just what type,

I said 'any kind, I ain't gonna gripe'

If it's your treat, it cant be bad,

Just leave it in the Fridge back at the pad,

I trust you buddy, it'll be good,

But instead of that I should,

Have said, 'Guiness, Pabst or even Bud',

'My pal', I thought, 'was not a dud',

Alas at the Pad, to my chagrin,

In the ice-box was, when I looked in,

A grisly sight to leave me bereft,

He bought me a six-pack of the ol' 'Green Death'.

Ballantine Ale, jaundiced and pale,

Unpleasant, corpulent and stale,

Nauseating bitter tonic,

Pungeant, vile and vitriolic,

Alac to think I could have drunk,

Another ale that hadn't stunk,

A Michelob, I could have had,

Or Miller High Life, like my Dad,

But because I was not specific,

I suffered consequence horrific,

Instead of amber stout so fine,

I had to choke down Ballantine.

So listen up, you young guns,

And don't repeat what I had done,

When your pal is buying beer,

Make your preferences clear,

As for me, I learned a lesson,

And never again, I am guessin',

Even if there's no Beer left,

I'll pass up on the 'Old Green Death'.

More News about Spice Girls...

...and Daddy shouts Hooooorayy!!!

Check out all the juicy deets' on http://rocksellout.com/2007/10/16/spice-girls-encourage-fans-to-wear-underwear/.

I'll tell you what you want, what you reall, really want!!

Vitriolic Venting of a Bitter Old Man...Vol.#1

Welcome to Orono Maine, home of the effete intelectual. College is in full session now, and the happy sound of drunken college kids serenade me to sleep each weekend night. Ah, to be young with disposable income. This must be Karma left over from my 1986 Patriots Super Bowl party.

Anyway, sing this one to the tune of Creedence Clearwater Revival's 'Looking Out My Back Door':

Verse 1

Just got in from the liquor store, shut the front door, yeah boy,

Got to lay down and have a beer on the porch,

College is in session, soon I'll see, I'm guessin'

Dude, dude, dudes walikng by my front door.

Verse2
College kids on cells phones, free downloaded ring-tones,
They run out of minutes, well their parents buy 'em more.
Fresh faced Co-ed Nubies, Frat boys smokin' dubies,
Dude, dude, dude right outside my front door.

Chorus1
Dude walks by the other day, in a trench-coat dressed in black,
Is that a Mullet or is it a Mohawk Dude, Do-do-do-do-dude?!
If you ask for my opinion, they're wasting their tuition,
Dude, dude, dude looking out my front door.

Chorus2
Hippies. freaks and Liberals all beating on their drums,
Won't you take a ride on my hikin' boot, do-do-do-do-dude?!
Dresse up like Madonna, listenning to Jane Fonda,
Dude, dude, dude, looking out my front door.

Smoke 'em if you got 'em.
xoxoxobigfoot

Lookie What I Found on the IntroNet, Vol. #16

Dig this web-site on how to speak 'Hip'. Like, Daddy-O, it helped me a Lot! Now I'm not such a drag at parties, maaaaan. http://www.howtospeakhip.com/

be cool

Joke of the Week: MLB Playoff Edition 10/03/07

Submitted by my good buddy 'Yankee Lover Mark'.

There happened to be an accident the other night on Rt. 2, just outside of Bangor. One car was heading east and the other heading west. The east-bound car swerved and there was a terrific crash, totalling both vehicles. Miraculously, neither driver was hurt. Two men stumbleed from the wreckage and faced each other by the side of the road. Coincidentally, one driver was a New York Yankee fanatic, decked out in Yankee gear, shoes and all. The other driver was a hard-core Red Sox follower, wearing a 'Big Pappy' tee-shirt and a throw-back Sox hat. In the heat of frustration from the accident, and the realization that each was a fan of their arch-nemeses, the two men started in to fighting. However, the cool headed Sox fan finally said, 'look this isn't getting us anywhere. I have an idea'. The Yankee fan agrees, and steps aside. The Sox fan reaches into the back seat of his car and pulls out a big bottle of Jamesons Irish Whiskey, the preferred beverage of Red Sox fans. He hands the bottle to the Yankee lover, who says to himself, 'finally, this is what I call conflict resolution'. He takes a big long swig out of the bottle, smacks his lips, and hands the bottle back. The Red Sox fan calmly and slowly recaps the bottle and throws it into the woods. Incredulous, the Yankee boy says, 'hey, aren't you gonna' have a swig'? 'Nah', the Bostonian says, ' I just think we'll sit here and wait for the Cops to show up, you Alcy'.

GO SOX, YANKEES SUCK!!!!

Celebrity Haiku Volume #3, "-------"

To mime the wind

One becomes a tempest

I REALY hate mimes

-Marcel Marceau 3/22/23-9/23/07

Slapshot revisited...

Submitted by my ol' cousin I-Dog. Reminds me of an old joke:' What does a Polish girl and a Hockey player have in common? They can both go three periods with out changing their pads'!!!

Anyway, kudos, Big Dog...

The cockiest,dirtiest, most irresponsibe group of athletes in the world. Will do anything just to be able to tell his teammate a great story in the locker room. Live the dream until they are 35 and then realize they never made it. Ladies love us, guys want to be us, we are the soul of the universe.
You lace up the skates, strap on the helmet, put on the gloves, and walk on to the ice and nothing else matters. It doesn't matter that you failed a test, your girl is being a bitch, or that you got a ticket on the way there.... your world is absolutely perfect for the next couple hours.
So heres to face-offs, goals, assists, breakaways, going top corner, going 5-hole,overtime, cold rinks, early mornings, late nights,on the road, new skates, practice, puking, thousands of dollars, dangling D-men, end to end rushes,big hits, broken twigs, packing bombs, dropping the mitts, wheelin' broads,coaches, adding the letter "y" to the end of everyones last name,the word "fuck", pick up, tape to tape,let downs, miracles, and most of all-the game of Hockey.

-Ian McMullin, the king of the cross-check

News of the World- Week of 9/11

Terrorist master-mind Osama Bin Laden,

looking absolutely fabulous in his new make-over (AP photo)

I apologize in advance for posting a few SBL#178 entries in a row of with an overtly political nature. I'm not a particularly astute person, politically speaking. To be honest, until recently I thought the 'Middle East' meant Ohio and Indiana. Likewise, recently a friend told me Hammas is a Muslim political group, not a delicious sandwich spread made from Chickpeas. Be that as it may, a farce is a farce, and sometimes you have to go with what presents itself. So, in that spirit, here are, presented for you, in a pre-de-obfuscated format, the top five news headlines, as we see them at SBL#178. Enjoy.

Queer Eye for the Muslim Guy

A new video of Osama bin Laden was released this week making no overt threats against the United States but boasting about the devastating impact the 2001 terror attacks on the nation--AND showing the uber-evil Despot sporting a hip new look. In the video, the terrorist mastermind and well known extremist wet-blanket, was shown wearing a sassy silk turbin, trimmed beard with just a touch of 'Just for Men', and, if I'm not mistaken, some-body had been exfoliating. In a rambling 30-minute speech addressed to Americans, bin Laden references the attacks on New York and Washington several times, almost gloating about policy changes by the U.S. government in response, and 'calls out' George Clooney, personally challenging him for the throne of 'People Magazine, Sexiest Man Alive'. Clooney could not be reached for comment.

'Law and Order' Back in the White House

Tennessee Senator, and erstwhile stodgy character actor Fred Dalton Thompson, threw his hat into the GOP ring this last week on the Tonight Show with Jay Leno. Making the announcent that he would indeed be running for president prompted many to speculate why now, why had he waited, and just what can he add to the debate. Well I say unto you, liberal Democratic detractors, this: one short look at his venerable record will easily show you what makes Fred Thompson the right man at the right time for America. His long running role on 'Law and Order, Special Victims Unit' shows Fred to be a man of honesty and integrity who can make the tough decisions that need to be made. His supporting role in 'Looking for Comedy in the Muslim World' (2005, co-starring with Albert Brooks) shows him to be a keen student of the Middle East mind. His role in 1994's smash hit, 'Baby's Day Out' shows his commitment to children and families. His appearance on the long-running TV hit 'Sex and the City' shows that he is the candidate who can skew young to the sassy Gen-X crowd. Likewise, his 2 stellar appearances on Andy Griffith's 'Matlock' shows he can appeal to the older folks as well. He even played a president, Ulysses S. Grant, on last year's 'Bury my Heart at Wounded Knee', showing him sensitive to Native Americans, and as well, I'll bet, to other ethnic minorities. I'm tellin' you, he's the man who can take down Rudy and go up against the Multi-headed Hydra of Hillary-Barack-Orhodam-Obama-Clinton. Well, okay, technically, I have no idea about his actual voting record or anything. But he looks presidential, boyee. And as we all know by now, that's all that matters.

The Norweigan Blue's Got Beautiful Plumage...

Excerpts from today's Boston Globe:

'Brandeis University scientist Irene Pepperberg knew that Alex, an African gray parrot whose advanced language and recognition skills shattered science's understanding of the avian brain, would not be around forever to greet her in her lab each morning. But his sudden death Thursday after 30 years of research has left Pepperberg and fellow researchers shocked, scrambling to piece together the remaining data from their latest work with the bird, and feeling as if they had lost a colleague'...

'Emotionally, his development was similar to that of a 2-year-old. Intellectually, he had the brain of a typical 5-year-old'.

'What is clear is that the bird had not reached a plateau in his cognitive development, Pepperberg said. As recently as this year, Alex was demonstrating the ability to take distinct sounds from words he knew and combine them to form new words'.

'Just last month, he pronounced, for the first time, the word seven. "We were working on some really interesting things," Pepperberg said'.

In a related story, school districts around the country are being consolidated to save money, teachers' entry-level salaries are substandard, and after years of 'No Child Left Behind' efforts, even strong proponents of standardized testing admit skills for public school students are diminishing rapidly. Many students in the United States graduate from high school unable to read or write... Still, that's pretty sad about that genius parrot dying and all.

Hsu are you, Hsu, Hsu, Hsu, Hsu...

Norman Hsu is a naughty boy. We all know this. As Larry Craig, soon to be erstwhile Idaho Senator and men's room densison, would say, he's a naughty, bad, nasty boy. Hong Kong born, later US naturalized, Hsu has had a questionable record during his meteoric rise to riches. He has been linked several times with organized crime, and even worse, has donated tens of thousands of his dirty dollars to Democratic political campaigns, notably Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama. News of Hsu's sketchy, though lucrative endorsements, leaked recently, causing mad scrambling and rapid distancing from parties involved. Hsu was dropped like a smoking hot plate of fried rice and all the money given to the respective campaign coffers were promptly and sanctimoniously donated to charity. A spokesman for the Bush administration almost was reached for comment, but then remembered the 2001 Inauguration, when standing behind the president, a'smilin' and a'wavin', was Ken Lay and Jeff Skilling, who donated 100 grand or so themselves. I don't remember which charity that $ was donated to.

Deja Vu All Over Again

It was 1978. Baseball's All-Star break had just come to an end, and the Red Hot Red Sox had a seemingly insurmountable 14-1/2 game lead over the uber-evil New York Yankees. Confidence was at an all time high in Beantown. But alas, in September, after an horrific July and August, the Red Sox found themselves at a virtual tie with the Evil Empire. Because of a schedule anomoly, it came down to a one-game play off between Boston and New York to see which team would go on to the playoffs, and the World Series. In the end, it was a diminutive shortstop, named Bucky Fucking Dent who did the Sox in, homering over the Green Monster after being served up a pumpkin-sized Mike Torrez curve ball. Sox fans would have to wait another 8 long years before having their hearts ripped out in the playoffs, a la Buckner, 1986 and Mookie Fucking Wilson.

Today, the Red Sox find themselves 5 games ahead of the contemptible clouters from Gotham. Only the Tampa Bay Devil Rays stand between Boston and a 3 game series against the Yanks. Please, does anyone know the Heimlich Maneuver?!

Celebrity Haiku Volume #45: Rhino Rudy

Do not tell me you Democrats can't go up against this guy.

Romney, what Romney.

If all fails, invoke 911.

"R" in name only.

-Rudolf 'Roooodie' Guiliani

SBL#178 De-obfuscates the Headlines of the Week 8/31/07

Sometimes, the top news stories just magically transform themselves into comedy gold on their own merits. Ands this week's headlines ar no exception. In no particular order, I offer, as SBL#178 Executive Editor, our slant on the news:

What a Naughty,Bad, Nasty Boy, you are...

Gay scandals involving pious Senators from Idaho are pretty hard to pass up, but I think the press has gotten this one all wrong. For some time, as all you good, decent God a'fearin' Republicans know, the Idaho Statesman, an obviously Pinko-Liberal newspaper from uber-liberal Boise, has had it in for the senior Senator. They have dogged him about 'allegedly' being gay and have printed, time and again, outrageous stories implying as much. Well it comes to no suprise to me that the good Senator was framed last week on a trumped up charge of disorderly conduct for allegedly soliciting sex from an undercover police officer in a Minneapolis airport. It's all a big mistake, I tell ya'. Come on, it could have happened to anybody. How many times has this kind of thing happened to you: you are sitting there in a public men's room. You accidentally drop a piece of toilet paper, then reach over with your foot to brush it within reach. You just so happen to brush against another patron's foot in the process. Then, by chance, you, out of nervous habit, rub the bottom of the stall partition, and gently, but accidentally, sroke the hand of the patron next to you, who just so happens to be an undercover cop. That doesn't mean you're GAY!!! Jeez, can't you see the guy is NOT gay and is happily married?! I mean, not that being gay is bad. Far from it. I'm just saying. It could happen to anyone. Lay off the guy!

http://blogrevolution.com/archives/2007/08/29/2608024.html

You Got Another Thing Coming

Speaking of Gay and Famous, we found out this week that Hard Rock lead singer and frontman of Judas Priest Rob Halford has actually been gay all these years. I know, I know. You could have knocked me over with a feather. But it's true. In an interview in the Advocate this last week, the leather pants and leather biker beanie hat wearing rocker came a'flyin' out of the closet on his chrome covered Harly....Wait a minute...leather pants, leather hat...you don't suppose?...Oh, now I get it. Jeez, I have to admit, I did not see that one coming. You don't suppose that guy from the Village People, do you. Wait, how about Freddie Mercury? Say it ain't so Freddie. Wait,... 'Queen'...Jeez, of course. anyway, like I said, 'not that there's anything wrong with that.

Ri-Co Sua-ve!!

Former-Hispanic American, prolific Bush Yes-Man, and erstwhile Attorny General Alberto Gonzales made the news this week as the Bush Administration dropped him like a smokin' hot Chalupe, after he pretty much embarrassed the president by doing exactly what the president asked him to do. The wire tappin', judge firin', Macho Libre of the Justice Department was kindly asked by the President to step down recently and since the whole friggin' administration is turning out to be a total grease-fire, he was only to glad to do so. Reached for comment about how he was treated by the Bush White House, the plucky Texan said, 'adios, sus Putas Malo'!

Di, Princess Di

You know, when Princess Diana of Wales bit the proverbial big one in a fiery car crash ten years ago, my first jaded cynical reaction was, 'who the hell cares about those pompous Brits and their archaic monarchy. Good riddance to her'. As my old pal Johnny Rotten would have said, 'God save the Queen, and her Fascist Regime'... But alas, time has made me a kinder gentler being. Ten years after her untimely death, I look upon the charming young gal from England and her legacy of hope with a more philosophical eye and a softer heart. As my good friend Sir Elton John, aging British rocker and erstwhile member of the Golden Girls would say, 'It seems to me you lived your life like a candle in the wind'... Jeez, wait... I'm thinking of Marilyn Monroe. I was right the first time. Who does care about those pompous Brits and their archaic monarchy.

Thirsty Thursdays

Fall is in the air, and the waning days of summer have given way to the to the calls of Academia. All across the country students are returning like Lemmings, or maybe like Swallows at Capapstrano Island, to bucolic college towns across America. Even here in Orono Maine, home of the effete intellectual, students are returning in hordes, taking up my space in check out lines and making traffic intolerable. And with these students comes 'drinking'. Drinking and Partying. Dare I utter it? Underaged drinking, too. Well, this year Colleges and Universities all across our great land have vowed to curb 'bing' drinking and underaged drinking on campuses. I even read in the Boston Globe this week that Framingham College in Mass. is actually going to start scheduling classes on Fridays to cut out the 'Thirsty Thursday' type partying that students engage in, hoping to get a frosty cold jump on the weekend. Wow, they're really laying down the law! What next? Cracking down on sex on campus. What's left to go to school for? Certainly not the overpriced classes, taught by fat, old, bloated, tenured, self-important windbag professors more intent on their research and hitting on college girls than their lectures. Shit. I'd bing drink too. Hey, kids, you're paying for it, so drink up. Just be a little more quiet as you stagger home from Margarita's when you go by my house. Yo!

So there you have it. Ripped from today's headlines. Fair and balanced! Who says you can't find any good news these days. It's just like Grit Magazine. Peace out!

BFC

(for more 'current events', click on 'current events' below)

Celebrity Haiku, Vol.#34: Adios MF

No recuerdo,

Te dije que, no sepa,

Adios,tú putas sucias.

-Alberto Gonzales

Al, we hardly knew ye, hombre...

The Stripes Do Maine

I had suggested to my dear friend John that he and his sister Megan start their official tour of the U.S. (which stands for united states, which subsequently doesn't stand for as much as it once may have). John (who stands for most of the show) agreed to play the Cumbersome County Civic Center on July 22nd in the teaming city of Portland, Maine.
The show began promptly at 8 with Birmingham's own Dan Sartain...at least that 's what the papers reported, as Daddy was across the street pregaming it at Brian Boru's. I did manage to stagger in for the final moments of his act and enjoyed his sounds tremendously.
I know there are a few here who do not enjoy the raw, stripped-down,bare-bones, white-knuckled, teeth clenched, head-bobbin', ummmmmm fist-pumpin' sounds that the kids from Detroit bring, but damned if you can convince me they don't put on one hell of a show.
John and Megan take the stage and deliver the welcome descending-note open of "Dead Leaves" and for the remainder of the show, even though I have great seats . . . I am on my feet. John and Megan continue their high energy assault with rockin versions of "Jolene" "Effect and Cause""Hotel Yorba" and "Little Cream Soda" oh well! By the time they broke into "Slowly Turning Into You" I had already forsaken Mrs. Daddy and swore my allegiance to Megan, John's older and somewhat more endowed sister. About halfway through the performance John turns the stage over to Sis for her signature piece de la resistance.... "In The Cold Cold Night. Now many of you who have heard the recorded version of this song are with me when I tell you the entire audience all held our collective breath as Megan began her moment in the spotlight.
We need not have worried. She nailed the fucker.
Capping off an incredible set with an awesome rendition of "Icky Thump" we slapped our hands together until they came out and played seven more songs for us including . . ."Blue Orchid""The Denial Twist""Sugar Never Tasted So Good"
As the show wound down and I sobered up I realized I had probably better stick it out with Mrs. Daddy and keep Megan on the proverbial "back-burner" in case things ever got dicey with my babies mama. I hollered to my dear friend John "Great show man! Come back and see us in Maine again real soon!" John hollered back...
"Who the fuck are you?"

Tell me what you want, what you really, really want...

...I really, really, really wanna zig a zig ha!

I know I haven't been posting lately, but I knew ol' Daddy would want to get in early on this one:

Spice Girls under pressure to double comeback tour dates
Spice Girls under pressure to double comeback tour dates The Spice Girls reunion tour is all set to turn into a bigger extravaganza than what was planned before, for talks are on for adding 25 more dates to the tour's itinerary, following fan's requests for tickets.Tags: Spice Girls Spice Girls

Please, Jesus, if you're up there, let there be a Portland Tour Date.

Song of the Week

As a service to you faithful readers, with the help of my hip Friend Daddy and HypeMachine.com, SBL#178 will now begin posting cool songs for you to listen to, and possibly go out and buy for yourself. Me, I prefer to steal them right off the Intronet, but hey, to each their own. I'll start you out slowly with an old favorite from Henry Rollins and Black Flag, just so's you get the idea. Enjoy 1984 all over agin.

http://www.merryswankster.com/mp3/Black_Flag_TV_Party.mp3

Sufferin' Bastards State of the Union, Independance Day 2007

Sometimes getting old sneaks up on you, like carbon monoxide from a bad furnace you should have had checked out months ago. You just get kind of tired, kind of woozy, then surprise, it's on you like a Duck on a June Bug. Other times it whacks you in the friggin' head like an open closet door in the middle of the night, when you get up to have a pee. It's like,"Whapo', up-side the head. 'Jeez, that really hurt'. How the hell did that happen? I'm old.

Well, it happened the other day that old age hit me up-side the head like it does. I was at our family camp up in the woods, and I was thumbing through an old issue of AARP magazine ( for those of you who don't know, that's the literary arm of American Assoc. of Retired Persons). Okay, it wasn't mine, first of all, it was a friend's. Anyhow, whom did I see on the front cover but sexy and sullen film-star and director Kevin Costner. Now, I'll be the first one to admit that I'm not a really big Costner fan. I mean, there IS Bull Durham, and who didn't love his futuristic masterpiece Waterworld. But aside from th... oh yes, I forgot Dances With Wolves. I liked that one. But aside from that.... Jeez, maybe I AM a Costner fan.... ANYway... In GENERAL, I never thought Costner could have acted his way out of a speeding ticket. As a matter of fact, in a Thespian battle of Wits, I don't even think he could eat Keanu Reeves' dust. But in any case, that'a not the point, is it? The fact that Kevin Costner would be on the cover of a Rag for retired old people made me feel a little unsettled. Then I'm told by my father-in-law that somehow when he was 49, he started mysteriously getting AARP magazine in the mail. It's like they just were waiting for him: 'Hey, you're old. Welcome to the club. Here's your magazine'. It made me wonder how many of my adolescent heroes are now reading through AARP. How about Iggy Pop thumbing through August's issue about what cruise ships give you the best value. Or Keith Richard reading about the changes made in prescription drug policy that may affect him. Or Harvey Keitel comparing the anti-oxident levels in Pomegranite and Gobi juice. Very concerning. Again, let me re-iterate that I'm not a really big Kevin Costner fan, and never have been. It's just an example, a microcosm of what it's like to be fuckin' old. It's like the other day, me and my family are driving into Boston, doing our regular thing at the Museum of Science or Aquarium or whatever. Me and my lovely wife are having a conversation and admiring the skyline of the Olde Towne, and I'm regaling her with stories of how I used to work in this Towne in the Aulde Construction Days, and how I worked on this building and on that one, how I saw this band or that one at a club that no longer exists. It suddenly occured to me that I've told her these stories at least a dozen times already. She was much too polite to tell me, but I know it to be true. I'm spent. I have nothing new to add to the dialog. That's what it's like to be old. As a matter of fact on the way home that night , after a full day in the city, we actually had this conversation: whether Weed Whacker or Weed Whipper was a more appropriate name for the handy and popular yard toolwe use every week (by the way, it's Weed Whacker; you'd have to be insane to call it a Weed Whipper). That's what it's like. Sometimes, it sneaks up on you like a Tele-Market-er when you're expecting an important call, and sometimes it jumps up in your grill, like a Jehovah Witness at the door when you're ten minutes late for work (Wow, excessive use of Simile). Anyhow, I digress. All the fuckin' time....Wait a minute, my Wine is gone. I'll be right back......


There, that's better. Now where was I? Oh yeah, I remember. The other day I was driving home from my hideous, soul sucking job. I see this fat old dude ambling down the road, walking this ridiculous Toy Poodle on a leash. The poor old dude was about 90, and his wife must have sent him out to take Muffy for a walk just to get his tired old ass out of the house. Totally de-masculating. At least I'm not that guy. I may be old, but at least I'm not walking a fucking Toy Poodle. Or a Pekinese. Or a Pomeranian. And I never will. That is my solemn vow. I may be the perverbial Sufferin' Bastard who secretly thumbs through AARP magazine to read about Gene Simmons of Kiss and his favoritre recipes for veal. I may repeat stories about the Glory days to anyone who'll listen to me. But at least I'll never walk a Poodle. A man has to know his limitations, as Clint Eastwood used to say. It's like the Billy Joel song, 'Keeping the Faith': 'the good old days weren't always good, tomorrow's not as bad as it seems'.....Sweet gentle Jesus, take me home, I'm quoting Billy Joel. All Right, this time the Wine's all gone. I'm done. And remember what I said about getting old. Kevin Costner be my witness. Non Illegitimi Corrundum.

BFC 7/2007

Celebrity Haiku Volume #36: I Gotcha Global Warming Right Here'!

Meet Me in Rehab

My New Prius Fuckin' Rocks!

My Dad's Such a Bore

-Al Gore III

Come and get 'em!

NOW AVAILABLE FROM FLYBYNYT!!!!!

"SpiceWorld, The Best of 2005" simultaneously released with
"Metenoia, The Best of 2006"

While supplies last!

Pretty Sweet Little Story

Here's a truly heartwarming story about the bond formed between a little 5-year-old girl and some construction workers that will make you believe that we all can make a difference when we give a child the gift of our time.

A young family moved into a house, next to a vacant lot. One day, a construction crew turned up to start building a house on the empty lot. The young family's 5-year-old daughter naturally took an interest in all the activity going on next-door and spent much of each day observing the workers. Eventually the construction crew, all of them "gems-in-the-rough," more or less, adopted her as a kind of project mascot. They chatted with her, let her sit with them while they had coffee and lunch breaks, and gave her little jobs to do here and there to make her feel important. At the end of the first week, they even presented her with a pay envelope containing ten dollars. The little girl took this home to her mother who suggested that she take her ten dollars "pay" she'd received to the bank the next day to start a savings account. When the girl and her mom got to the bank, the teller was equally impressed and asked the little girl how she had come by her very own pay check at such a young age. The little girl proudly replied, "I worked last week with a real construction crew building the new house next door to us." "Oh my goodness gracious," said the teller, "and will you be working on the house again this week, too?" The little girl replied, "I will, if those assholes at Home Depot ever deliver the fuckin' sheet rock..."

Rocket's Reprise....Again

Check out this true-life documentary, Red Sox fans...it's a hoot! Oh, it's truuuueee!!!

http://www.boston.com/sports/baseball/redsox/extras/extra_bases/2007/06/a_mustsee.html?p1=MEWell_Pos3

A new Beginning

I have been working on Bud since last November getting him ready for this day-

Our first ride. This is a picture of Kirk on Bud.

Separated at Birth, Volume #1

Everybody's favorite Cinematic Pirate and erstwhile Rocker, Keith Richard....

and Hogworts favorite House-Elf, Dobby....

'Mif'n f'ck'n mizzlflender, maaaan', says keith

Celebrity Haiku Volume #668, 'the next door neighbor of the Beast'

You must be Joking

I Looove them TeleTubbies!

Told 'em I was Sick.

Rev. Jerry Falwell

Ask Bigfoot Chester: Advice for the Outdoorsman

Dear Bigfoot-

I read a lot of your stuff recently and you seem to go on and on a lot about 'Fly-Fishing'. What is so great about Fly Fishing anyway? Is it so much different than just plain fishing, you know just sitting in a boat drowning worms? I tried it a couple of times with some buddies, but it was about as exiting as watching latex paint dry. What gives? Are there some hidden lessons in it about life or something? I seem to be missing the point. You're usually on the money, so I'd really appreciate some clarification.

Befuddled in Bedford



Dear Befuddled-

Well, firstly, the main distinction between fly-fishing and 'normal' fishing, my neophyte friend, is that usually 'regular' fisherman are likely to actually catch a fish. Well if that's all you care about, you worm dragging, 'meat-fisherman', you might as well pick another hobby like watching the WWE, because you probably won't get it. I might as well explain why to play golf, why to go watch a baseball game, or why to smoke a $10 cigar. It just doesn't make sense, unless it makes sense. Savey? But if you are willing to open yourself up to the subtle nuances of the finer art form of fly fishing, and aren't too hung up on that 'fish catching' thing, there are indeed some lessons you could learn and apply to your every day life.

The first thing I learned from fly-fishing, that has served me well in my real estate endeavors is this: Location is everyting. If you are standing in the right stream, at the right time, with the sun setting just right, a warm can of Milwaukee's Best can taste like a fine Belgian Ale and a Swisher Sweet can taste like that $10 Cuban cigar. Talk about you 'curb appeal'; try Grand Lake Stream the middle of May, when the hatch is good. Another thing I have learned from fly-fishing that has served me well is that I don't really know much of anything. I've been doing this thing a number of years now, both 'living' and fly-fishing, and the main thing I know is that, most of the time, I'm flying by the seat of my pants. Even in the waters I've fished now for 10 to 15 years, on any given day I don't have a clue as to what fly they're biting on. Same in life. Most of the time, for me, it's guess work at best. But mostly, it works out alright. So there you go. Related to that, as little as I know, I find that everyone else knows about the same, maybe less. The more I talk to fisherman I meet along the stream, the more I realise they're full of shit too. And the more they profess to know, the less they actually know. This a very valuable metaphor for everyday life, I find. As a matter of fact, the two main things I learned from fly-fishing is 'know what you know', and 'keep your mouth shut'. For example, even though I said I know I don't know much, at least I know what I do know, you know? Psychologists call that 'meta-cognition', that is, knowing your knowledge and how to use it. But psychologists are also full of shit, I would say, prone to talking to much. Which leads to the main lesson: keep your mouth shut. Ergo, suppose you are slaying Brook Trout, in an unlikely spot, using an unlikely fly, enjoying the hell out the experience. If a fella asks you how's the fishing, keep your mouth shut and say as little as possible, unless you want all the anglers in the local wooded area to be completely up your ass, taking all your fish. Lesson: don't over-share. Less is more. Another lesson in life gained from fly-fishing is to be able to focus. As a guy with a life-long ADHD affliction, I fully realise how hard it is to stay focused. But in dry fly casting, if'n you aren't focused completely on your floating fly, you are sure to miss that magic sound of 'Schluupp' a Salmon makes just before it breaks the surface of the water and sucks down your Caddis. Thus you will never hear the even more magic 'Schluuup, Whhhzzzz, reel, reel, reel, reel, reel sound of bringing in said Salmon. Focus is important for me, at least when I'm motivated by a big enough Salmon. The most important lesson from fly-fishing, though is how to figure out what's important, remember that, and stick with it. For example, I might not be catching anything but a cool buzz form the warm beers in my creel, but that's not the important thing. The important thing is that I'm not at work, I have three more beers in my creel, four more cigars in my front pocket, and did I mention, I'm not at work. As in life, Fly-Fishing is analagous to my favorite myth, the myth of Syssaphys, who was cursed to roll a rock up a hill for eternity, only to have it roll back down when he reached the top. What Syssaphys didn't realise is that it's not whether he ever gets the rock to the top of the hill, it's in the act of rolling the rock. Enjoy the fuck out of rolling the rock, even though you know full well it's a waste of time. Likewise, whether you fill your bag full of fat Rainbows is irrelevent, if you are enjoying the act of not catching fish. Just make sure you have enough beer. It seems to help.

Anyway, there you have it, Befuddled, even though I'm pretty sure you're not going to believe it. But hey, I could be wrong, you metal bait slinging neanderthal fish-killer. In eithe case, be careful out there and keep your Muddler moist.

Bigfoot Chester

Iggy still gets it done...

I hope I'm still this fucking Whacko when I reach retirement age. It takes a bit of time to buffer up, but the clip is pretty good.

www.v8films.com/_projekte/stooges/

'The Dude Abides': 5 Stories Last Week that indicate the End of the World

You don't have to read through Revelations sometimes to realise that the world is going straight to Hell in a $120 Longenberger Basket. The older I get, the more crusty, cynical and resigned I get to that fact. Of course, it doesn't help that, indeed, the world IS going to Hell in a hand-basket. If'n you don't believe me, check out these true headlines from last week. In no particular order, I offer you:

The Dude Abides- The web-site Entertainment Earth is now selling a line of Action Figures based on the cult-movie classic, 'The Big Lebowsky'. Yes you too can now own the 8" likenesses of Jeff Bridges, 'Dude' and John Goodman;'s, 'Walter'. They'll probably go along nicely with your totally mint Kirk and Spock Action-figures you got at that San Diego Trekkie Convention last year. Then you might want to consider moving out of your Mom's basement, Travis.

DubaiLand- There's a new Theme Park opening in India called DubaiLand. Chock full of exiting and cultural attractions like feces throwing monkies, syphalytic beggars, rick-shaws, and more feces throwing monkies, this disaster in the making theme park is completely enclosed in glass. An indoor theme park, you ask. Yes, Dubai sounds like it's average daily temperature is 112 degrees. Sounds like a winner, Mahatma!

Dickens World- Speaking of the most stupid idea I have ever heard, this just took the cake from DubaiLand. Dickens World will be a theme park in London, supposedly recreating the effervescent era of ol' Chas Dickens' writings. Disease, Rats, Rat Catchers, and even more beggars than Dubailand will add a festive flair to your experience of literary history. Just don't drink the water. 'It was the best of theme-parks, it was the worst of theme-parks.

Make up your fucking mind Roger- After much wooing from the Red Sox, Yankees, and home team Astros, Rocket Roger Clemmons finally decides to drink the Kool Aid and sign with the Evil Empire for a part time job as their fifth starter. To paraphrase an old song from the 70's, 'Ramblin' boy, why don't you settle down, Boston ain't your kind of town,...' Seriously, if the deal with Roger included a middle relief pitcher, I think it might have been worth it, cuz' the old fat bastard will be dragging his big fat ass by about the fifth inning on every start. Of course Rocket says it's not about the money. Right. I am the Walrus. Coo Coo Ca Choo.

That's a hell of a hat, yo- England's Queen Mum this week made a whirl wind trip through the states, her first in a long time, and here, here it's about time too! To quote another old song from the 70's, 'God save the Queen, we mean it maaaaan'. First the old bag stopped to visit and console the students at Virginia Tech, some of whom thought she was Martha Stewart. Then she stopped at Churchill Downs, coincidentally named after Winston Churchill's drunken Uncle 'Skates', who used to like to bet the Nags. There she got totally bagged on killer Mint Julips and ended up doin a Keg Stand on the infield with Paris Hilton. Awesome. Well, at least she had the hat for the occasion.

Well there you go. If that doesn't prove things are heading south, take a look at Fox TV. Any way, I'm crawling back into my bottle of Bacardi. I know ther's a Mohito left in there somewhere.

Mo-Hiiiiitooo!!!

Peace out,

BFC

Where have you gone, Jackie Robinson...

The Dynamic Duo- Batman and his partner, boy-wonder Robin Protect Gotham City from Evil N'er Do Wells such as Penguin and the Joker

The 'Ambiguous' Duo-Admiral J.T. Kirk, and his long time companion Mr. Spock, Protect the Universe from Klingon Imperialism and spread the Federation's Creed of Democratic Self-Determinism.

The Dogmatic Duo-Jesse 'Hymie-Towne' Jackson and not so reverend "Nappy' Al Sharpton Protect America from Wrinkly ol' Bigoted Radio DJ's, Rapin' LaCrosse playing student athletes, and will pretty much come a running like ants from under a log, when ever a cause presents itself, as long as it keeps their useless old asses in the limelight.

Shoooooow me the Money!!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zqfFrCUrEbY

Okay, I changed my mind. This is the best thing on the intronet I've seen all week. The Who have never sounded better. Youtube to the rescue again. God, I'm so ashamed.

Salad Days:If you believe there's a Rock n' Roll Heaven...

Bigfoot Chester's Future retitement home, Cootersville Alabama

I felt a great disturbance in the force today, as Obi Won used to say to me all the time. I never knew what the hell he meant either. In any case, today, dear readers, I found out in the news that, after complications from a fall at his New York home, beloved author and pivotal influence to my adolescence, Kurt Vonnegut Jr. died. So it goes. Coincidentally, or maybe not, today is also the birthday of erstwhile teen-idol and Partridge David Cassidy. My calculations make him at about 57. I was also reading a concert revue in the Globe the other day, waxing nostalgic about Iggy Pop and a current tour featuring the Igster and some of the original Stooges at the Orpheum in Boston. Turns out ol' Iggy is over 60 years old himself. Jesus fuckin' bejeepers: Iggy Pop over 60! What the hell! When did that happen? And why is he still out there yelling and a'smearing peanut butter on himself, moshing in the mosh-pit, with kids young enough to be his grandchildren, on that bad hip of his? Man, this kind of stuff gets a me to thinking. Thinking about my own mortality. Thinking of what's left to do and what's been left undone. Got me to thinking about the old Salad Days again, and all the great rock shows I've seen over the years and all the great shows that got away. I had a pretty good run for a while there. So since I've already bored the starch out of my wife with these stories at least a hundred times, I guess it's up to you, faithful readers of SBL#178, to absorb the brunt of my nostalgic ruminations. So, here they are: the top 5 rock n" roll highs and rock n" roll lows from the arhives of Bigfoot Chester's pre-dementia memory bank. In no particular order, I offer up the following excerps from Rock History:

High- Only a Lad: Backstage with Oingo Boingo and Squeeze:

The Orpheum Theatre in Boston some time in the mid-80's. Me and my old buddy Duayne Sherman scored some tickets from this guy named Roman from Oingo Boingo's label. We called Roman from the Dunkin Donuts in Saugus on the way into town. He say,' do you want to meet the band'? We says, 'sure, why the hell not'. So we got to meet Roman and the entourage at Legal Seafood, a very chi-chi eatery in Fannual Hall. So I'm there sitting next to Danny Elfman, chit-chatting about his new project, soundtracking a Rodney Dangerfield movie or something. Very nice. So we finish eating and are invited to sit in for their soundcheck. We thoroughly enjoy the check and also a great set by Boingo, before the main act comes on, one of my personal favorites,Squeeze. Gifford, Tillbrook, Carrack et al play a sensational set and we are invited by Roman to come back stage and schmooze with the band. So imagine me, long haired leaping gnome back stage drinking Heinekin, talking shit with Jules Holland, ace piano palyer and seemingly one hell of a nice guy. I went home that night with two souvenirs: Oingo Boingo's setlist and one hell of a case of heart burn from the salmon I had at Legal Seafood. What a night.

Low-Missing the Stones 1981:

Back in the 70's, the Stones were the greatest show on earth. I mean if Jesus came back he wouldn't have been a hotter ticket. Even in 1981, when I first dipped my toes into college life, they were still pretty cool. Not like now, when the old buggers look like Dame Judy Dench and the fucking Golden Girls. In 1981, they were still cool: on the bubble, but still cool. Anyway, amazingly, though I'd been to many big rock shows already, I had yet to see the Stones. Alas, by the time I got to my bank, rounded up my ol' buddy Spot, raced to Augusta to the nearest Ticketron outlet in my 1974 Mercury Monterray, and got a speeding ticket, we found ourselves 6 people short in line. As the ticket window slowly close, so also disappeared my hope of ever seeing the Stones while they were still cool. Well, at least we'll always have that Super Bowl Half time.

High-Warren Zevon at Merril Hall Auditorium:

Me and ol' Spot, together again. We were a bit earlty to the show and were low on cash, so instead of hopping bars until show time, we decuided to get our seats ahead of time. We must have been really early, because when we went through the gate, there was nobody there. So we leave our tickets on the counter and find our spots, balcony Center. Not bad. Turns out I was privey to another big sound check. Spot gets bored and starts snooping around backstage. He comes running back and tells me he found Zevon's dressing room and heard him talking. So we both go back and prepare to hound the poor bastard. But halfway there, we meet the Zevon entourage coming on-stage to finish the soundcheck and test Mr. Zevon's mic. As he passes by us Mr. Zevon points to the balcony in the stately old theatre and says 'Seat Mr. Lincoln over there'. The security guys subsequently tell us to return to our seats until show time. We enjoy a great show and 'his hair was perfect'.

Low-The Big Easy:

New Orleans, right around Mardi Gras. Hurricanes, Gumbo and the French Quarter. Possibly one the most classic bars in the world, Tchoupitoulas', in the eclectically seedy warehouse district. What could be a better backdrop for an epic night of music, right? Who was playing that night? The Radiators? The Neville Brothers? Stevie Ray Vaughan? No, friends, it was 'That Petrol Emotion'. Who? That's right, 'That Petrol Emotion'. I finished my beer and went back to the hotel.

High-Johnny B. Goode:

Living Legend Chuck Berry at the Pit, Orono Maine. I was back in high school and somehow my parents gave me the nod to take my 74 Merc, the Deathmobile to a real live 'concert'. Probably didn't hurt that it was Chuck, one of my dad's favorites. Anyhow, me and the usual list of suspect, including the infamous Hazelton Bros. twisted the night away to the boogie woogie strains of the Architect of Rock n' Roll himself. At the last encore, Ol' Chuck invited a number of front-stagers to come up on the stage and dance with band. So there I am, not more than 3 feet from the wrinkly old bastard, while he did the Duck-Walk. Claaaaasic.

Low-Smokin' in the Boys Room, Rockland Maine:

You all rmember the 70's hit Smoking in the Boy's Room by Brownville Station, right, also covered by some hair band in the 80's, Motley Crue, I think. Well me and this little band I was in, Strange Brew, was playing in Rockland Maine, home of the North Atlantic Blues Festival. Well no, we weren't actually playing at the Fest, but since a lot of the actual musicians were staying at the Tradewinds Hotel, where we were playing, there were a lot of 'celebrities' in the audience. So anyway, this dude comes up to us at break and asks if we would like to do a set with Cub Coda, founder of Brownville Staion, 'you know, Smokin' in the Boy's Room'. We says sure, it sounds like a blast to jam with a real live musician. This could be our big break. Turned out, not only was the guy a no-talent, but he was the biggest, most pompous ass I had ever jammed with. I shouldn't be telling you this, because, evidentally he croaked a couple of years back, and I shouldn't speak ill of the dead. But hey, Kurt Vonnegut also croaked. So it goes.

High-Gabba Gabba Hey at the Living Room:

The Living Room, back in the 80's, was the hottest night club in Rhode Island short of The Station. The Ramones were the greatest rock n' roll band to ever lay down three chords and a cloud of dust. Jane's Addiction was the most pertinent up and coming Alt-band on the scene. A recipe for success. You bet. Undoubtedly the best show I've ever been to. As the Mow-hawked, noes-bloodied dude I smashed into in the Mosh pit so eloquently summarized the scene, a la Keanu Reeves, 'Whow dude'!

Low-Make mine a Tuborg-Jame Taylor at Tanglewood:

As previosly written in 'Salad Days: Me and Meryl Streep and James Taylor and Barely Spraged', I hadn't always been the biggest James Taylor fan, though I've since grown to be. At the time, though, after seeing shows like aforementioned Ramones at the Living Room, JT at the ultra-mellow Tanglewood scene seemed like a notch or two lower on the coolness scale. To make matters worse, I found my self waiting in a long beer line before the show. Well, let me retrace: it was cool that I could buy beer at least. Bu who should be in line with me waiting for a brew than Academy Award winning actress Meryl Streep. The coolness level plummeted precipitously. Anyhow, it turns out we bought the same brand of beer, Tuborg Gold, and, like me, her favorite movie of all time was Repo Man. Who'd a thunk? I thoroughly enjoyed the show, as well as my brush with fame a la Streep, but that's between you and me, 'kay?

High-Dont'cha be no Baaad Boy:

Pine Top Perkins is a still legendary blues pianist, a pivotal influence on both Blues and Rock n' roll. He played with many legendary front men, most notably Muddy Waters. His recordings read like a living history of Blues music and his live shows are legendary. The thing about old blues musicians, though, is, that after a while they get a little kooky. Though the night I saw him play at the Tradewinds in Rockland was epic, the highlight of the show came during a break. Being blues groupies, me and my friends sought out and clustered around ol' Pinetop and sought to shoot the shit and benefit from his greatness. Ol' Pinetop, on the other hand, just wanted to have him a drink or two and catch a buzz before he went back onn. He also, it seemed, wanted to hit on all the members of our party, men and women alike. As I was bringing ol' Pinetop another round, I see him rubbing his pelvis up against my buddy ol Tom, saying, 'dont'cha be no baaaad boy. You ain't no baaad boy are you'. No shit. 'Uh, Mr. Perkins, it's time to go back on'.

Low-Iggy at the Channel, mid-80's:

Iggy Pop always represented the seedy underbelly of Rock. The Channel always represented the seedy underbelly of Boston Rock clubs. Iggy was also riding a wave of popularity from his big hit 'Cold Metal'. The Channel was one short subway ride from where I was living at the time. Iggy would subsequently use the recordings from this gig to make a live record. The Boston Globe decribed the show in such epocryphal terms as 'tour de force' and 'juggernaut' .

Only an asshole would miss a show like that, right? Well call me an asshole, because I missed it. Not because my Mom was sick in the hospital. Not because I had to be at the birth of my first child. No, just because I didn't feel like going out that night. When I die and go to the Pearly Gates, and they ask me if there's one thing I would go back and change, it would be that I would have gone to see Iggy Pop that night. You know why? Because now he's over 60. And he's got a bad hip. And one of these days, I'll pick up the Globe and read that Iggy Pop has died in his Detroit Mich. home after complications from a fall. Just like Kurt Vonnegut.

So it goes.