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March 13, 2006

 

Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame Induction Tonight:
The Stooges Fucked Over Again!

Music bigwigs induct Blondie, the Sex Pistols, Black Sabbath, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Miles Davis, and Herb Alpert & Jerry Moss to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame tonight at a swanky dinner in Manhattan.

There will be more cocaine in that room than in all of Bolivia.

No, wait—more coke than at Coke headquarters in Atlanta.

Wait a minute, screw it. It’s Monday, make your own gravy.

While we’re okay with nods to the Pistols, Skynyrd, Sabbath, and Miles, we’re less than thrilled with this Blondie business. Oh, they were okay, they’re all right, but there are tons of acts we’d put in instead. Someone like the three Stooges: Iggy, Ron, and Scott.

We’re scratching our heads. Their shit was the real deal 35+ years ago, and if you’ve heard them live lately, the fucking passion and fury are still there.

This is no reunion act here, folks—it’s the fucking Stooges.

The nominating committee should ease up on the Mogen-David. Loosen up a bit.

Though he claims to not want to attend, Ozzy Osbourne’s going to the dinner because he does what his wife Sharon tells him to do. And she’s gonna keep filling that cash register till long after Ozzy is cremated.

But the Sex Pistols will be a no show with Johnny Rotten comparing the rock hall to “urine in wine.”

Ha, that’s a good one: 'urine in wine,' ha.

And they mean it, man.

Wish I didn’t have to go—it’s Apprentice night—but when the dinner features All-U-Can-Eat lobster, I am there with bib on and pants unbuttoned. Lobster, lobster, lobster, I am so about lobster. I’m a freak for that fish, I can’t get enough. Dipped in butter…with a baked potato on the side chased by diet Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper on extra ice. Oh, man.

If lobster were a band, they would be in the Hall of Fame, no doubt. And since the Stooges are the lobster of…no, wait, that’s no good.

If Iggy were a lobster…no, that’s even stupider.

Hey, it’s Monday—make your own gravy.

Long story, short: Put the Stooges in the stupid fucking rock hall of fame—they deserve it.

A.) Bite me, pal. Blondie rocks.
B.) The induction committee is ‘no fun.’ Looking for writers?
C.) Iggy Pop, Ron Asheton, and Scott Asheton are the godfathers of heavy metal and punk rock.


It's No Joke, Holy Shit:
Tony Soprano Really Shot!

We’re still in shock. Tony Soprano took one in the gut last night on the opening episode of the last season of the Sopranos. Someone told us this wasn’t in the script and the mob boss really did get shot.

It may have something to do with Jason Alexander replacing James Gandolfini in the big screen version of the show hitting big screens next summer.

A.) Damn, I watched Desperate Housewives instead.
B.) Ryan Seacrest is Popgo the Weasel.
C.) Tony Soprano is the J.R. Ewing of his generation.



Happy Fucking Birthday!

Filmmaker David Cronenberg turns 63 today. The Canadian was the first director to make a film called Crash—does that ring a bell? Of course it does, it’s the title of the flick that won this year’s Academy Award for best picture.

We haven’t been to a movie theatre since 1988’s Dead Ringers. Flipped us out. Jeremy Irons played creepy twin gynecologists, Elliot and Bev Mantle—two whack jobs that disintegrated into a haze of drugs, madness, sex, and death.

A.) Sounds like you and Musty.
B.) Videodrome didn’t suck either.
C.) I wish I were eating lobster right now.


artlyzak@ladybombescorts.com

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