I’ve Loved, Laughed and Cried! As promised last week, this is the last Realisms column. We’re leaving to build funny new concepts and marinate our writing chops at Ladybombescorts.com. I’d like to thank JB, AA, and BJH for giving me the opportunity and freedom to entertain my fellow Detroiters and the world. If Musty, Tokugawa, and I made you laugh hard enough to spit up your drink or drop your crack pipe, then we did our job. If not, tough tits.
A.) Yeah, you can’t win them all, man. B.) “Marinate our writing chops?” You’re a comedy butcher. C.) Can’t read the column right now—I’m watching the Kid Rock sex video.
I’ve Had My Fill, My Share of Losing! Ladies and Gentlemen, say hello to Marlena, a 22-year-old buxom brunette from Battle Creek, MI, She is the featured whore this week over at the dotcom. Oh, she is so hot. This brown-eyed, beautiful, bisexual babe will blow your mind. Five hubba hubbas!
A.) She sounds nice; I will try her. B.) I’m happily married and will pass, but yes, she does sound nice. C.) Show me a guy that wouldn’t like that and I’ll show you a gay guy.
Now As Tears Subside! If you ask me, the most disgusting Realism that Musty Scribblins ever wrote featured a Michidude on meth caught fornicating with a pumpkin. And it wasn’t even Halloween. Seriously though, the Musty one did brutal research on that story like no other god-fearing man should, if you know what I mean.
A.) No, I don’t know what you mean. B.) Yeah, maybe your chops need marinating. C.) I married a pumpkin, and we’re quite happy together.
I Find It All So Amusing! Wow, we’re strolling down memory fucking lane! It’s no secret, dear readers; we’ve always loved using the f-word in print. No, not as the verb for sexual intercourse (“He fucked her.”) but as a noun (“Don’t be a dumb fuck.”), and most importantly as the best descriptive adjective ever (“Wow, we’re strolling down memory fucking lane.”). You see, it helps describe the lane we’re strolling down. Call us corny but we can type it all day: fuck, fucker, fuckizzle, whatever, we are all over it.
A.) Thanks for explaining. We understand it’s a humor device—we’re not stupid. B.) Yes, Einstein, like you’re the only one that uses the word. C.) A little too much marinade—know what I’m saying?
To Think I Did All That! How cool is that? A celebratory telegram from Bosco and Amp Jacotti! They’re still out in Hollywood where they’ve made millions of dollars producing what they call ‘cornography’—dirty movies with really fat chicks and small-penised premature ejaculators. All of the flicks start with the lovers sharing a large sandwich in the kitchen before engaging in some quick fu…oops, I mean, sexual intercourse. The things that people will pay to see absolutely amaze me. Bosco and Amp send their regards.
A.) Remember when Bosco accidentally shot Musty in the ass? B.) Amp Jacotti looked a lot like Jack Nicholson. C.) My favorite was when Musty threw a half-dozen Slim Jims into a vat of vegetarian curry at Sir Paul McCartney’s wedding.
No, Not In a Shy Way! I love my wife, Christine. I’m one lucky fucking guy and I know it. And a quick pat on the head to Taxi, our Border Terrier. He’s a good boy.
A.) My wife is a bitch. B.) My dog just shit on the new carpet. C.) I’m single, no pets, and am on my way to the club looking for love. Later, losers.
Not Me—I Did It My Way! Besides lording over our whorehouse dotcom, I’ve got an application in to become a Federal Air Marshal—you know, the crooked kind. Like the pair busted two weeks back with 33 pounds of blow and $15,000. I’ll fly around the world, take money to move dope, pack heat, and flirt with the chicks as I protect passengers from terrorism.
A.) Down with hummus! B.) Change your name to Shake Mahan—it’s a friendly name. C.) Ha, you’re too funny this week; you’re killing me, stop, stop, I’m begging you… Oh, wait—it’s your last column, ha.
The Truth, Man—Like It Or Not! Guess what? This is our second to last column. It’s true. Musty, Tokugawa, the girls at Ladybombescorts.com, and I are ending this particular circus. We’re taking the tent down and packing up for another show in another place. Happy trails to you until we meet again. And yes, we did sell the cotton candy machine. It wasn’t about the money. I just can’t tell you how much I hated that fucking cotton candy machine.
A.) Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out, pally. Next. B.) Yep, “Tough titty,” said the kitty when the milk was gone. C.) You’re moving to Hollywood to do the Giddyup Vagina flick, aren’t you?
Everybody Is A Star! Very cool to see Sly Stone onstage at last week’s Grammy show. Hey, and it’s always solid entertainment when Paul McCartney hits the stage. Many years ago, he was in a rock group called the Beatles. Sir Paul sang Charlie Manson’s theme song, Helter Skelter, and then later in the show mashed up “Yesterday” with some hip-hop guys. McCartney, sans guitar or piano, came off like a British Barry Manilow.
A.) My gaydar almost went off. B.) How dare you, scumbag? Leave, goodbye! Macca forever! C.) What a coincidence, I’m downloading the new Barry Manilow album onto my iPod. Manilow rocks!
Dance, Sinners—Dance! Since Nick Lachey’s split with wife Jessica Simpson, the dude’s been banging chicks left and right, even though we’ve never been sure what ‘left and right’ means in that sexual context.
A.) It means he gets in a day what you get in a year. B.) It means he sticks his wiener into two girls, one on each side, when he makes sex. C) Go ahead and laugh, ha, ha, but guess who’s hiding the salami in Simpson now? That’s right, fuckers—me.
Ball of Confusion 2006! Unless they can add a couple of hours to a day and then give it away for free, satellite radio can kiss our ass. That’s right, I have spoken. Stern, Oprah, Martha, blah blah…who fucking cares--I mean, really. You have AM, FM, CDs, cassettes, TV, DVDs—will the motherfuckers never cease? I think we have enough crap for awhile, okay? Everybody get a grip. There’s a thing called silence that won’t kill you for two fucking minutes either, for fuck’s sake.
A.) Whoa, I smell a meltdown—oops, nope. Dog poop again, fuck. B.) Can’t read the column right now, sorry. I’m downloading every song ever recorded in the 60s onto my new iPod. C.) I’m bored.
Spotlight on Plastic! After a two year separation, the matchmakers at Mattel are putting overpriced toy dolls Ken and Barbie back together again. Ken is much hipper now with his motorcycle jacket, cargo pants, and new plastic penis. Barbie? Oh, you know--she’s still a bitch.
A.) I use an old Ken doll as an antenna for my satellite radio. B.) A plastic penis? Those freaks will give Barbie a vagina next, watch. Then the world will end, we’re all going to die and go to hell. C.) Chick peas and garbanzo beans are the same thing, right? What? Oh, sorry.
The Chick That Killed Bill! Ultimate hot chick Uma Thurman has been named a Knight of Arts and Letters in France by some French bigwig who probably got some of that for naming her that.
A.) Uma magnifique! B.) Uma fantastique! C.) I remember when we called French Fries “freedom fries.” That was fun.
Look Out! Killer Lunch! HAMAS is a devious terrorist group and they’ve been in the headlines a lot lately, but whenever I see a headline or hear their name, like most sophisticated Americans I think of hummus—you know that chick pea stuff. That shit is the bomb. Delicious. On pita bread, or right off a spoon, I am all over the hummus.
A.) HAMAS was formed in 1987. B.) Hummus has been a Mediterranean staple since 1200. C) I wonder if HAMAS eats hummus.
You know where I’m at… firstname.lastname@example.org
Ball of Confusion 2006! Okay, everybody, the visitors are gone. Whew, that was some high maintenance shit, wasn’t it? Go here, don’t look there, sniff this, don’t park here; touch this, $10,000 a throw? Bite me, pal. But hey, that’s what modern day Super Bowls are made of, right? We dug right in. Ouch, my nose hurts.
This week, exhausted, we keep our sentences short. Special thanks to Steve Martin and Norm MacDonald for last week. Good--no, excellent--fucking times. You fuckers are too fucking funny. Denise, Candace, and Rhonda from Lady Bomb are still laughing. Let’s do this Bowl thing here in the motor city every year. Now pick A, B, or C. Savvy readers will also remember secret high-concept letter D.
Our Kind of Girl! After a quick visit to Great Britain to talk to cops about her coke snorting photo shoot, supermodel Kate Moss got on a plane and flew straight to Miami Beach, Florida—a heaven on earth with its sunny beaches blanketed with sands of fluffy, flaky, sparkling white nosegay.
A.) Ze cocaine poetry is so outré. B.) Sacre bleu! Letter A is correct. C.) Wait a minute—A & B are hipster out-of-towners from France, get them!
One, Two, Three—Green Light! Steve Martin and I sold our first script together, “Giddyup Vagina,” (formerly “Showdown at the Crack of Dawn”) to Miramax subsidiary, Edge Hell. Steve doesn’t want the amount disclosed, but we got a fuck load of dough. Norm Macdonald will play Marshal “Rope” Chambers with Lindsay Lohan and Kate Moss as red hot, naked, tenderly probing, first time lesbian lovers, Jenny and Dawn. Troy “Boondock Saints” Duffy will direct.
A.) What a coincidence—I’m drinking Busch beer. B.) I smell a hit. Oops, no--I stepped in dogshit, fuck. C.) Norm MacDonald is the David Niven of his generation.
The Truth, Man—Like It or Not! On a stretch of road in Murfreesboro, Tennessee, cops pulled over Nashville cat David Kennedy for crappy driving. You know, weaving between lanes and et cetera. The fuzz found a stack of porno magazines on the seat next to him. Was Kennedy too “busy” to drive? We don’t know. We don’t want to know. The right-handed loverboy was charged with felony reckless endangerment.
A.) Freak! Look at porno like the rest of us, whilst taking a dump. B) Sorry, I don’t look at porn anymore. C.) I bought a replica Jimmy Kimmel Live in Detroit ticket on eBay for only $87
Born Too Loose! Musty, Tokugawa, and I are so fucking surprised. Actor Tom Sizemore has failed another drug test and has been thrown out of a drug treatment program because he’s a pathetic hothead.
A.) Sizemore has been nominated for Most Drug Addicted Actor. B.) Sizemore should take a hard look in the mirror. C.) Presley, Vicious…Sizemore.
New Trend for Manly Men! We’re smack dab in the middle of New York Fashion Week, and it looks like skirts for men are back in again for this fall.
A.) Thank god. I am so sick of pants. B.) I wear my skirts short—no panties--so my junk hangs out. C.) I’ll continue to wear pants, thank you.
Close Shave, Motherfucker! Right before closing the Detroit-Windsor tunnel last week for the third annual International Funnel, Canadian guards busted a guy trying to bring 300 pounds of weed across the border. Dude whipped out a copy of the Snoop Dogg contract for his Bud Bowl gig at Tiger Stadium. Rider item number four: “300 pounds of weed—the good shit.” Officials pinched off a chunk, tried it—it was good shit-- and let the guy go.
A.) “Yeah--that pizzle was the flabizzle, my schnizzle.” I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m saying; I just want to sound hep. B.) Can’t read the column right now—I’m busy blowing strange guys in alleys to save up for a replica Kimmel ticket. C.) Norm Macdonald remembers when pot was something you boiled hot dogs in.