Showing posts with label guest blogs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label guest blogs. Show all posts

14 June 2007

The Price is Right, According to Bags

It may be a week late but Bags finally found some time on the P&B bus this morning to jot down his final thoughts on the demise of The Price is Right. Let her rip, Bags.

TPIR - RIP

Last Friday, after 35 years, Bob Barker decided that he wasn’t going to “come on down” anymore and called it a career from The Price is Right. It got me thinking that there were so many things that were so awful and so great about this TV game show.

Bottom TPIR Items:

1) The feeling of being lobotomized. The games were so freakin mindless and insulting to your intelligence but even though you knew you were going to be deprived of an hour of your life, you somehow watched the full 60 minutes to see which contestant won the year’s supply of Turtlewax.
2) The audience was typically a genetic cesspool. How else could all of these people have the day off from work?
3) Stupid message on t-shirts. Inevitably they would always choose some braless wonder with huge rack in a shirt made for a toddler with some ironed on message, like “San Antonio loves Bob Barker,” in order to get up on stage.
4) Contestants winning the wrong gift. It always seemed like a sailor doing a 12-year tour would win a new car. You could almost see it appearing instantaneously on Ebay.
5) Plinko – A no-skills-required game that was probably stolen from the Marshfield Fair. Awful and annoying, much like Wally the Green Monster.
6) Roll it Granny. Watching some 112-year-old cripple not being able to spin the 700-pound wheel for one revolution in order to advance the showcase showdown.
7) Not handicap accessible. Everyone was running down to contestants row, jumping up and down and bear hugging Bob. I never once saw a wheelchair contestant.
8) The first showcase showdown. This was always some lame showcase full of ceramic Dalmatians and prizes you’d never want, (which was always deferred to the second winner to bid on first.) This should have been called the showcase shaft-down. The second showcase always had some ridiculous prize like a six-month European vacation and accompanying sports cars.

Top TPIR Items:

1) The TPIR drinking game. Like most collegians, we at Providence College routinely skipped our 11:00 – 12:00 classes to drink beers while watching TPIR. For example, if a new car was offered as a prize you had to slam the beer you were holding.
2) Barker’s Beauties. How else could the TPIR pimp out some sponsorships that nobody had any interest in? Easy, get some modeling agency rejects to saunter across the stage in tight outfits to lather up the crowd. Anytime there was a close up, (on the older shows anyway) most of the models looked like leathernecks with bad plastic surgeries.
3) Contestant selection. With the exception of the OJ Simpson and Michael Jackson jury selection, you’d never see people that dumb lined up in a row having to make a decision.
4) Cliff Hanger – The game where the yodeling hiker went up the mountain based on the over / under bid of the contestant. There is a great bit in a recent Family Guy episode about this.
5) Mean audience members. You could always see the laughing audience members intentionally yelling bad numbers to the idiot contestants that couldn’t correctly price something nominal like a box of Rice-a-Roni.
6) The one-dollar bid. This bid indicated to America that the other contestants were dumb shits and they have all over bid on said product.
7) Bob Barker. He always presented himself as royalty or an aristocrat, when in fact he was nothing more than a cheesy game show host that was being sued by most of the prior Barker’s Beauties. In reference to his signature sign-off line, ‘he should have been spayed or neutered.’ What a douche bag.
8) The feeling of being stuck in a time warp. Much like when I go to visit relatives in Western Massachusetts, TPIR had no intention of changing its existence. The set, clothing, scenery, and games were encapsulated in the 1970’s.

I’m sure there are important items I’m missing here, but I guess work has not allowed me to take a closer look at this American icon for the past 15 years. However, “Are You As Smart As A Fifth Grader” looks like it could be a possible replacement for TPIR.

21 May 2007

Step Away from the Cornea: An Open Letter from Vito the Pug to his Mom

Dear Mom:

I’m pulling a Candy Spelling as I’ve run out of ways to get through to you.

There is no way to sugarcoat this, so I’m just going to say it: Woman, you are WAY too involved in my life. First, you need to step away from my cornea immediately – and my cornhole too while you’re at it. No more swabbing my anus with lukewarm baby wipes. Dingleberries are not the end of the world, they are a fact of life. These little sneak attacks of yours aren’t helping my anxiety. Second: So I had a tete-a-tete with a hydrangea bush and scratched my friggin’ cornea. So what? We all moved past it. But what did you do? You aggravated the situation by taking me to the vet . You know how much I despise him. What I hate even more, however, is the way you stand by and do nothing while he violates me six ways from Sunday, sticking things in places nature never intended.

But your recent behavior is testament to the twisted dichotomy of our relationship. One minute, you’re in my face, plumbing my wrinkles with wet Q-Tips, the next, you’re completely oblivious to me and my suffering. For instance, in the lobby at the vet’s office when that ginormous black mutt sniffed my undercarriage and upended my hindquarters – I was humiliated. But did you do anything to stop this uninvited dirty wheelbarrow? No. Instead, you chose to pet the perverted pooch, ask what kind of dog he was and laugh when his owner said, “He’s part Lab, part T-rex.” Trust me, you wouldn’t think it was so funny if this amalgamation had his snout up in your junk.

Where were you when the receptionist -- after breathlessly declaring that I was ”the biggest pug she’d ever seen,” -- called four or five other personnel out front to gawk at my girth, one of whom took a picture of me. Jesus, Mary and friggin’ Joseph. How could you let that happen? I’m going to wind up in some freak show photo essay next to that stupid two-headed cat.

Then, just when I thought it couldn’t possibly get any worse, you allowed Dr. Sadist to dump fluorescent green dye into my left eye to locate my so-called corneal scratch. Now THAT was a true kick in the balls -- and I don’t even have mine anymore.

Perhaps the worst part, however, is that this was a horrible way to spend an afternoon. I could’ve been in the front yard, charging at neighborhood children and making them cry. I can never get that time back.

So now, you have to restrain me and put antibiotic goo in my eyes every two hours for the next 10 days. What a friggin’ nightmare. My advice to you: Let it go. Move on. Get a hobby. I’m chubby but can be pretty agile when people are chasing me with ointment.

Most Tepid Regards,
Vito

02 December 2006

A Wiggly Shake-Up (by SAC)

The following is Scott A. Cyr's much anticipated "official statement" on the demise of the Yellow Wiggle:

"In an announcement that shocked the toddler world, the Wiggles have had a shake up. It appears that Greg Wiggle will be departing the band due to illness. Now, many of you PU readers are no doubt scratching your head, wondering who the Wiggles are but to millions of parents out there, they are the crazy, semi-gay, Australian whack jobs that provide us, the parents, with a much needed and often necessary 30 minute respite from our screaming, nagging, patient, and oh-so loving children.

Greg's departure, although sad, leaves me to question the millions of children who will fiercely battle on the playgorunds of preschools across America proclaiming themselves Greg Page Wiggle fans or Sam Moran Wiggle fans (a la the David Lee Roth [Rothonian] v. Sammy Hagar [Hagarian] debate that has plagued our generation, and still does.

It will be little Jack Beaudin who, I think, will be our first supporter of the non-Greg Page Wiggle DVD's and BlueRays while Caroline, Bennett, Camden and Paulie lay a diaper full of whoop ass on him denouncing the new Wiggle for the great talent that Greg was while showing this to Jack on VHS. (Jack, will no doubt be saying "Dude, what is VHS?" thus opening his own can of whoop ass on his "old bastard" friends)

Either way, I wish Sam Moran the best of luck as the new Wiggle and promise to provide him an open mind.

However, I do hope this new Wiggle is able to provide the legions of parents across the world with that much needed 30 minute siesta from the Zen of Child Raising to study the Art of Love by Teddy Pendergrass. Turn Out the Lights....."

23 November 2006

A Thanksgiving Blog from the Butterball Himself: Vito the Pug

If you know me, you know I’ll eat just about anything. But I’m partial to turkey. Any kind of turkey. Even the slimy deli turkey that tastes like moist trouser socks. I don’t care. I’ve eaten my own crap, for Christ’s sake. In fact, I love turkey so much that some of the brats in my neighborhood think my name is actually “Turkey.” While they are clearly morons, it is my mom’s fault for exploiting my poultry lust in the most self-serving way. Whenever she wants to lure me in from the yard, she’ll open the front door and yell, “Turkey!” And I come running like some sorry-ass Pavlov’s dog. (But I am a dog after all. I lack critical thinking skills. What’s your excuse?) So anyway, some kids started calling me “Turkey the Dog” and I couldn’t respond because I can't speak the King’s English. So, my mom who thinks she’s funny but is not, says maybe “Butterball” would be more appropriate. Ha ha ha. Fat jokes. How original. But I was willing to let that go because Thanksgiving was approaching. And on Thanksgiving, I get the real deal. Not the deli turkey, not the occasional turkey scrap from a Gerard’s turkey pot pie. I’m talking real roast turkey -- with gravy. So, you’ll understand my outrage when I inform you that my mom forgot to defrost the Thanksgiving turkey. Are you friggin’ kidding me? I don’t care if I have to dial the 1-800-Butterball hotline with my lipstick dick, that turkey is getting cooked today and I plan on eating myself into a tryptophan coma.

24 October 2006

Auntie's & Bags' Wild Night with Toiletries from Brooks


Bags said: Celine and I were having a good laugh the other night at one of the truly lighter moments of being new parents. Jack's been a little bound up with all of this iron rich Similac formula that he's been downing (like he's on a bender.) Needing a little help with his problem, Auntie asked me to stop off at Brooks Pharmacy to find a solution.

So here I am coming down the aisle with a large bottle of suppositories, latex gloves, two large tubes of Vaseline, two aerosol cans of bathroom spray, and a box of hypo-allergenic wipes. Getting to the counter the old biddy behind the cash register gave me a bewildered look, to which I responded, "You should see the night that me and my wife have on tap."

14 September 2006

12 Things that Annoy WMD

(photo: "Those dicks.")

Guest blogger WMD lets loose in a Ferrigno-esque rant today after "idiots around him" stirred his annoyance and awoke the tiny curmudgeon that lives in his soul.



Warning: If the word "dick" offends you, you may want to stop reading now.

Ordinarily, I consider myself a pretty calm person. LP may disagree a bit, being half I-ti and half Irish doesn't help me but for the most part, I don't fly-off-the-handle (as my old man would say) too easily. (What the hell does that mean anyway?).

There are however certain things that range from pet peeve's to annoying the shit out of me. Being in a slightly annoyed mood this morning because of idiots around me, I've decided to list some. I don't care that you didn't ask, here they are:

1) When a-hole ad execs decide to take a TV commercial and change it to a radio commercial by describing everything that's happening in the TV commercial. Yourcommercial wasn't funny to begin with now it completely sucks.

2) Saying "Prom" instead of "The Prom." Nice work, Grog. "Me go prom now. Me get ass first time"

3) Guys that tuck their t-shirts into their underwear. See it in the gym locker room far more often than you might think. Who does this?? The Social Darwin lifecycle of this is 1) you do this in kindergarten 2)you get caught, beat up and nicknamed "Melvin" 3) You stop doing it. Not sure how this group of "The Others" survived.

3) Guys in the gym locker room shaving naked. What the fuck, dude? I don't shave naked at home why would you want to be naked in a gross locker room? It's not what you might be thinking, it's not jacked gay guys here advertising the goods, it's gross old straight dudes that I don't want anywhere near a sink I have to use. The trifecta of punchface is when they're (and I'm not making this up) shaving in the locker room with a t-shirt on and nothing else.

4) Girls who don't care or follow sports talking about them incessantly during playoffs. If you like and follow them, this is not about you, you're entitled. But for the others, any guy will tell you there's nothing cuter than a girl who doesn't give a rat's ass about sports. You can make us feel smart and that is a very small window for us. It's a far better conversation than having to listen to some numbnut who after following the Sox for 2 weeks recites channel
7's editorial on how Pedro should have been pulled.

5) People seriously referring to themselves in the third person. I thought this only happened in Seinfeld?? Recently witnessed it, amazing.

6) Guys who completely fabricate their single life of hookups. I've got a friend that tells stories like he was Wilt F'ing Chamberlain. (I assure you, he was not). We are in awe when he gets going because we're like, "Uhh, I was with you that night and other than you shoving late night Chinese food in your face an passing out with piss running down your leg, I don't quite remember the blond twins of which you speak."

7) Girls who think they're badass because they've taken tae-bo or some karate aerobiboxing or some crap like that. I'm not knocking the class, I'm sure it's a super difficult workout and you get in great shape. But before you think you're J-Lo and can beat up bad men, try taking just one punch in the face, I'll pay for the icepack. I've taken one and I don't care who you are, unless you are a trained boxer, you are not prepared. Kick in the balls, ladies, that's all you need to know, kick...in...the...balls.

8) Jimmy (the dick) Fallon fake laughing in every skit so people think, isn't it funny he's laughing, now I'll laugh at him laughing.

9) Celebs spouting political opinions. I don't care if I agree with you, shut the f@%& up and entertain me.

10) Ticketmaster!!!! and any other entity that rapes you for purchasing a $22 ticket that ends up at $40 because of fees and shipping. (the latest is a $7.50 fee for an email ticket!! Where the F' is the expense in that? my adobe acrobat, my paper and my toner (you dicks)

11) People who still say "don't go there" or "you go girl". Way to keep up. Newsflash nitwit, Nixon's dead too and there's a new guy running the show.

12) Any movie with Kevin Costner in it. Which now includes Field of Dreams and No Way Out. I used to exclude those but he's such a dick that he even ruined a Hackman movie for me and Hackman rules... dick

There are probably a lot more, sadly this only took 20 minutes which is scary. Maybe I'm not as calm as I thought. But I'm sure the rest of you have some pet
peeves as well...

17 August 2006

"A Modern Marvel"


Guest blogger SAC waxes philosophical on a ground breaking invention, one that will surely revolutionize the way we imbibe.

Mankind has witnessed many great accomplishments over the past 150 hundred years. Each time something new is developed, society, in general, has benefited from these amazing feats. The accomplishments are far reaching, from transporation marvels like the Chunnel that connects England to France via high speed rail service (and as far as I know does not leak like the one we have in town), to things like the Hoover Dam that provide electricity to thousand of customers, to the Internet, which connects all people to more information and allows us to collaborate on projects from the four corners of the Globe.

Of course the list goes on and many have more impact on our day to day lives but if I elaborated on those subjects, I would not have enough time to tell you about, perhaps, mankinds greatest achivement to date:


The Beer Opening Flip Flop.

Very stylish and highly functional, this is something that I should have thought of! I no longer need to carry a churchkey on my keyring, keep one in the car, stashed in the cooler, borrow somebody's lighter, or use my teeth or anything else for so long as it is in the summer months, I have a beer opener at hand or rather at foot.

This will surely lead to the beer opening work boot, sneaker, dress shoe and snow boot.

I cannot believe it took this long to invent this!


-SCOTT A. CYR

13 June 2006

On the "Cutting Edge" of Hanover Street

Guest blogger LP laments that she has the "lamest brushes with fame," but the lamest are often the funniest. This story is right up there with WMD's tale of drinking at Bennigans with Keith Olberman, a story only made wackier by the fact that Olberman was sporting a Michael Jackson-issue red & black leather jacket. You just can't make this stuff up.

THE NORTH END -- It was just another rainy Saturday night in Boston when WMD and I, lacking the energy or creativity to think of an appropriate spot for a planned “date night”, eagerly jumped on the bandwagon led by the Joneseys to meet for pizza and beer at the North End’s Pizzeria Regina. The perfect antidote for soggy June blues.

After stuffing our faces with sausage pizza and diet Buds, we voted for a nightcap at Café Florentine, a typically crowded North End hotspot. We were pleased to find a few empty barstools and quickly saddled up.

In the midst of pleasant conversation and libations, a duo of dudes in fancy coats and rumpled tresses staggered in, looking for some grub to absorb the large quantities of alcohol sloshing about their bellies. They lurched themselves onto the stools beside us, bumping into my chair in the process. The burly but amiable bartender kindly informed these newcomers that the kitchen was closed. Nostrils flared, words were exchanged and the two dudes muttered something belligerently as they backed off their seats and headed towards the door.

Suddenly, one of the hooligans grabbed a three-ring binder from the hostess stand and hurled it at the barkeep, missing any patrons or staff but causing quite a commotion as it knocked stuff off the bar. This guy was definitely from out of town – any local fool knows that you don’t publicly assault a barkeep in the North End without finding yourself shoved inside the trunk of an unmarked black sedan and taken off to a gravel pit someplace in Saugus.

In a flash, the entire fitted-black-tee-shirt clad barstaff leapt across the bar without disturbing so much as a drop of condensation off our glasses. Out the door they fled, triumphantly returning moments later with the dude in a headlock. Amidst the cheers of the crowd and a swirl of obscenities, they hauled him behind the bar and made him clean up the mess he made.

It was then, despite being hasselhoffed off several lethal Makers & Gingers, that WMD realized that this guy was somebody pseudo-famous. Who could it be? We wondered. And then it came to him: “I think that’s D.B. Sweeney."

Could it be???? After some research, we confirmed today that the goon in question was in fact D.B. Sweeney, that nice guy with the aw-shucks smile and all-American good looks from 1990’s ice skating chick-flick, “The Cutting Edge.” Apparently, he is now a somewhat bloated and surly writer/director of independent films who happened to be in Town on Saturday, cocktailing and attending the Boston International Film Festival to promote his new movie, “Dirt Nap” Ironically, the tagline of the film is, “The journey of a lifetime...hope we brought enough beer.”