Monday, December 31, 2007

Pictures of Lily and Happy New Year

This is Lily. In brief, here's the story of Lily:

1) I spent summer 2006 in Mexico.
2) There are a lot of dogs in bad shape in Mexico.
3) That doesn't mean there aren't dogs in bad shape here in the U.S.--and people and creatures in bad shape around the globe--there are. I just saw very sad dog-related stuff in Mexico that haunted me.
4) And, when I was in Mexico two puppies were born to a wild dog outside the house I was staying in.
5) One puppy was stolen.
6) The other puppy died.
7) I buried the dead puppy and I wished it had a better life.
8) After I left Mexico, I got an e-mail from my friend--there was a little dog in bad shape in the street and the other dogs were beating it up. She didn't have money for a vet. Could I help? So I helped. And I asked her to name the dog Lily. Dunno why.
9) So, my friend got the dog fixed up and named her Lily.
10) And two weeks ago, my friend called me and said "I have a job in the U.S., are you ready for Lily?"
11) And I said, "Huh?" Because, no. I wasn't really ready for Lily. I was enjoying a comparatively carefree existence for the first time in my life. And it freaked me out because Lily looks like a 1/4-sized mini me version of my last dog. Looking at her picture made me very sad because my last dog had a very rough last year.
12) So I said, "Maybe somebody else needs Lily?"
13) And now, here I am in Montgomery, Alabama on New Year's Eve. With Lily. She is snoring.

Happy New Year to everyone who glanced at this silliness in '07. I hope that your '08 is full of laughs, good health, and secret toy prizes from gumball machines. (More dinosaurs to come soon in '08, I think...)

Friday, December 28, 2007

Greetings from McAllen, Texas!

Weather fine...wish you were here!
McAllen celebrates Cake's country! My rental car...I spent a disgracefully long time reviewing key functions (turn signals, windshield wipers, lights, etc.). I spent SO long that the border patrol apparently became suspicious of me and kept cruising by the Hertz lot every 10 minutes.
This guy has my vote for scariest santa ever. He is definitely making a Bill the Cat "Ack" noise:
My hotel has free snacks and breakfast and soda and "adult beverages"! It also has free popcorn, which leads us to the scariest clown with popcorn coming out of its head ever:

Friday, December 21, 2007

The Cookie Chronicles

Back Story: I am moving in January. I am, indeed, flying to Texas to get a dog next week and driving back. The hot breath of the holidays is searing my neck. Presents to be gotten. Lists everywhere. Little yellow stickie notes everywhere. Details and itineraries dancing like sugarplums in my head.

Sparkle: "What do you want for Christmas?"
Sister: "I want to make cookies with you."
Sparkle: "Cookies?"
Sister: "Yeah."
Sparkle: "Can we buy them?"
Sister: "Ha ha! No. It's about spending time together."
Sparkle: "Oh. Can we spend time together at a nice, cozy little bakery?"
Sister: "Ha ha!"
Sparkle: "Uh. Ha! So, what would you really like?"

That wasn't going to happen this year. No cookie-making. Nope. No matter how much I love my sister, there was no time to...
...make cookies.
So, here are some for you. I recommend the oreo truffles, but you can't really go wrong with any of 'em.

See you next week from Texas (or, lord knows I'll probably take photos at the airport).

Monday, December 17, 2007

Your Vote Counts!

So, I have a dog that I got when she was a puppy and that I have never met. And now, I need to go to Texas and bring her back to where I live--far from Texas, I might note. Let me explain all of that another time, shall I? For the moment, let me just share the following conversation with you:

Sparkle's Friend: "So, I'll have to buy her a crate and you can't drug dogs anymore, but I think I can just pop her on the plane and you can pick her up at the airport."

Sparkle: "Well, won't it be WEIRD for her? She gets put in a cage and has to be in this weird, dark, cold place, and her little heart is pounding, and then she's suddenly at the airport--BOOM--and there I am and she doesn't know me from Adam. I'd be plenty freaked out. I really would be! And, it's not like she can drink a Bloody Mary to relax on the flight."

Sparkle's Friend: "Well, don't take this the wrong way, but I don't think she's that bright. I'm just a little worried that they'll leave her out on the tarmac somewhere."

Sparkle: "Out on the TARMAC? GEEZ! That's no good!"

Sparkle's Friend: "Yeah. That'd be bad."

Sparkle: "Okay. I have to come and pick her up, then. I don't really know how this is going to work, but you don't have to get a crate, okay?"

Sparkle's Friend: "All righty."

So, that's what I need to do. I need to go get a dog in Texas and bring her back up. Please feel free to vote on the method you think I should use--the poll is to the right of this post. Also, if you have any routes from Texas to New England that you believe are particularly easy to drive in the winter, please do not hesitate to share them with me.

Oh, my. I know I said that I was hankering for a road trip, but I'd be more excited about it if it was summertime. Anyhoo, courtesy of Stuck-With-A-Comb, here is a picture of me as a dog. I think I'm kinda cute as a dog--and it's pretty funny that he turned me into one when I have pooches so very much on my mind this week...

Friday, December 14, 2007

::Celebrates Cake's Birthday Belatedly::

Happy weekend! I imagine that next week we will begin to see some hot dinosaur action. However, today, it is Friday, December 14. It is very snowy, it is very cold, and it is the day after Cake's birthday.

So, I figure that the best thing to do is to think about the summer and to salute this snowy-wintry-day-after-Cake's birthday with a post about the American sport known as baseball. Well, drinking cocoa with whipped cream, mini-marshmallows, and/or star-shaped PeepsTM* would be a solid idea, too, but I'll leave you to take care of that.

(*Please note: Go here to see some fine Peeps Art. And, here you will find some key information about important experiments with Peeps and other candy and snack foods. Last but not least, please pretty please go here to learn more about Peeps: The Candy, The Myth, The Legend, The Stereotype. You must go here and turn your speakers up; you will not be able to stop dancing to the catchy, catchy Peeps music! Dance with me! Here we go...finger snaps, jazz hands, do the jive, feel the crazy Peeps beat move your soul!)

All right. Enough folderol and fiddle-dee-dee. On to baseball. First, I'll create a little atmosphere. I am now pumping the pungent aroma of eau de Fenway Park--freshly popped popcorn, roasted peanuts, grilled sausages and peppers, hot dogs, spilled beer (and, arguably, some vaguely toilety/cleaning fluidy smell from the restrooms) into the air of the blogosphere. I am also throwing in a potent "hot summer night" smell--namely sweat and lingering cigar smoke from the three really big guys standing in front of you in line at the concession stand. Please add your own favorite Fenway scents as desired. Wait, I'm throwing in some freshly-cut-grass smell, too. While not accurate, it's always nice to have around.

Now that we have the smells in place (oh, add the sights and sounds in your own mind...I've gotten lazy), these are the best people to write a baseball-related blog post: Clinky, Cake, Surviving Grady, Redbeard, Tex, and No Oprah. Unfortunately, none of them are here right now. You've got me. Fortunately, I've got mad cutting and pasting skills that I did not even dream about back in my kindergarten days.

So, what I can do is paste in these two humorous posts written by a very funny gentleman named Jon Methven (please find the original, as well as many other fine articles by Jon Methven, on Bugs & Cranks).


Yankees hire Girardi, criticize his performance moments later
Posted by Jon Methven in New York Yankees
October 29th, 2007 (Original article online at

NEW YORK, New York – The New York Yankees Monday named Joe Girardi as the team’s new manager, then moments later criticized the franchise’s lack of direction during his tenure.

“We are proud to have a proven manager such as Joe Girardi running things in the dugout in 2008,” said team representative Hank Steinbrenner, pausing at the podium for a sip of water. “But he won’t be running things for long if this bullshit continues.”

Girardi, who had not yet had the chance to speak at his own press conference, was booed from the podium by the press corps and Yankees brass. He was escorted off the premises by security.

Less than 12 hours before Monday’s announcement, Girardi was a well-respected skipper. A former manager of the year with the Florida Marlins, he was the clear favorite to replace Joe Torre. But the instant the Yankees named him to the post, he was blamed for the team’s poor playoff performance, for Alex Rodriguez opting out of his contract during the World Series, and for this year’s championship run by the archrival Boston Red Sox.

“Certainly we think he is capable of doing the job – that’s why we hired him,” said General Manager Brian Cashman at Monday’s press conference. “But if you’re asking me if I think he’s capable of doing the job, I have to tell you I don’t have much confidence in his quote-unquote ‘track record’ thus far,” Cashman said, making two-handed rabbit ears.

Yankee fans, who have waited weeks for good news, are planning a march on Joe Girardi’s neighborhood this week to egg and toilet-paper his home. For weeks, a small contingent of supporters assembled outside Yankee Stadium with Girardi banners, Girardi jerseys and foam fingers. Following Monday’s announcement, fans immediately torched their Girardi banners, Girardi jerseys and foam fingers, vowing to inflict violence on the former Yankee catcher if he didn’t straighten out the bullpen issues quickly.

“I loved Joe Girardi as a player and I’ll love him as a manager,” said Wendy Schlump, 47, of Bayonne, N.J., as she prepared to ignite an effigy of the former catcher in the Yankees’ parking lot Monday. “But in the past two hours, fucking Girardi and his boneheaded management skills are ruining the direction of this organization!”

Girardi told reporters he plans to move into his new office this week, at which point he expects his house and vehicles to be egged and toilet-papered, and for lifelong Yankees fans to begin calling his home in the middle of the night to drunkenly threaten his well-being.

“I’d like to thank the Steinbrenners, Yankee fans and God – in that order – for this opportunity,” Girardi said in a statement. “Steinbrenners-, Yankee Fans- and God-willing, I will still be employed by opening day to lead this team to another World Series title.”

Yankees officials: Without Boras, A-rod might be an idiot
Posted by Jon Methven in New York Yankees
November 15th, 2007

(Original article online at

NEW YORK, New York Sources close to the Alex Rodriguez negotiations are reporting that without agent Scott Boras to guide him every step of the way, the highly coveted third-baseman might very well be a social idiot.

“This guy is a fucking moron,” a high-level Yankees official said Thursday. “We’ve been discussing hundreds of millions of dollars, and all he wants to know is – can he change his nickname? I mean, I think the guy might be slightly retarded.”

By Thursday morning, the Yankees nearly re-signed Aaron Boone to field third when Rodriguez insisted on a game of Duck-Duck-Goose in the boardroom to begin the morning session. Yankees officials acquiesced, but sources claim that was a mistake. Duck-Duck-Goose was quickly followed by Red Light Green Light, a Three-Legged Race and Pin the Donut on the Steinbrenner.

“By lunchtime we hadn’t even talked numbers,” the source said. “But by then he was all tired out and he wanted his snack pack. We told him we didn’t have any snack packs and he held his breath and refused to breathe until we found him one. We had to send Brian Cashman to the corner store, otherwise our third-baseman would have suffocated.”

Rodriguez approached Hank and Hal Steinbrenner this week, requesting a sit-down without his agent present. The brothers Steinbrenner agreed to the meeting, but sources claim they quickly soured on that decision after Rodriguez requested they dicker in auctioneer voices to arrive at his salary.

“The odd thing was after all those three-legged races and other nonsense, they wanted to get this deal done as fast as possible, so Hank and Hal talked auctioneer to the nitwit,” the source claims. “Then that moron started clapping along like it was a damn sing-along. It’s the strangest negotiation I’ve ever been part of. I speak for all Yankees brass – we’d welcome Boras back to the negotiating table even if it cost us another hundred million. Just so we don’t have to play another round of ‘guess which hand it’s in’ with that boob.”

By late Thursday, all talks about salary were put on hold so management could meet Rodriguez’s main demand.

“That goddamn nickname,” the source complained. “We couldn’t make any headway on a contract because he had some grand ideas about what he wants to be called next year.”

Sources claim Rodriguez offered the following nicknames: Ballet-Rod, Betray-Rod, Cliché-Rod, Groundhog Day-Rod and Every Which Way-Rod. When informed those names made little sense, and sort of made him out to be a dope, Rodriguez threw another tantrum.

“We didn’t know what to do, so we threatened to call Boras if he didn’t straighten out. And I have to tell you – he didn’t make so much as a peep after that. I also think Boras asks for too much money. But after this negotiation, it’s clear to me he earns it.”

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

This is a Test! This is Only A Test!

TEST 1: Yesterday, Cake wrote of her woes with a new winter hat and I volunteered to test out my theory that rubbing Bounce fabric softener sheets on the inside of the hat and/or one's head would help.

So, this works, huh? Particularly if you dig a Gary Oldman in Dracula meets Cousin It look?
Wait, wait! Give it a chance! Here you can see how the Bounce fabric softener helped condition my hair!
Oh, rats. It's just no good. When I have a theory I like to stick by it to the bitter end, like a captain going down with his ship, but this is the only solution that really works for me at the moment. I plan to cut small slits so I can sort of see where I am going.
If you, too, suffer from hat head there is a place for us: Hat Head Holiday Park. Let's go! It looks sunny and warm! (Hopefully "Holiday Park" is not a Logan's Run-type euphemism for a place where they cull the herd of the hat-headed.)

To sum up: I have not cured hat head.

TEST 2: My uncle used to work in the desert testing all kinds of materials to see how they bore the brunt of intense heat and high temperatures. Here are some photos of the facility that I just found. To me, intense heat and high temperatures sound very, very good right now. I would stand up well to their forces (although perhaps not the venomous snakes--as the sign notes, watch out for your members).

Great Scott! It's an early prototype of Bacon Ace's sideburns!
All kinds of stuff lying under the desert sun. And again, that sounds like a really good idea to me--unless, y'know, there are vultures and such lurking about.
To sum up: Don't get bitten by a poisonous snake.

Monday, December 10, 2007

Be Wary: Jackass Circa 1950

Please. Do not try this at home:
Does this frolicsome sport exist now? Because it seems like a really bad idea to me. The skiers look all game and gung-ho in their brightly-hued billed caps and hooded parkas, but what are they ready for? To the best of my reckoning, there is a sharp precipice at the edge of the horizon and they do not appear to have any poles. Plus, the helicopter looks kind of cute and benign, but isn't its eventual role to wrench these poor dudes' arms out of their sockets? It worries me. (This is the cover of the December 1950 Popular Mechanics. I buy old guys' collections of the magazine.)

I bet the "inventions" and "good ideas" depicted in my old issues of Popular Mechanics were never tested. In fact, I suspect that many were just the fanciful brainfarts of someone who stayed cozily at their desk in NYC and peacefully puffed on a pipe while in small towns everywhere people blew themselves up, turned into human torches, and lurched off precipes into a vast blue nothingness. Back in the day, people didn't sue as much--they just figured it was Crazy Uncle Ralph's look-see if he went sailing off a precipice, not Pop Mechs' fault.

Speaking of "good ideas," this do-it-yourself bicycle chariot says to me not just, "Whee!" but "Little Darla is about to lose the front teeth that just grew in" (little Sammy seems to know this with his devil-may-care trike racer stance). Am I an alarmist? This just seems like an accident waiting to happen. The gift of major dental surgery that keeps on giving...
And speaking of gifts, let's mosey on to Christmas "good ideas." Popular Mechanics circa December 1950 has LOTS of 'em.

GIFT IDEA #1: Child-In-A-Bag
Okay, as it turns out these are NOT directions for a child-in-a-bag but for a laundry bag FOR a child WITH the child's face on it. I am horrified. The child in the picture is horrified. It would terrify me to wake up in the night and see the shadowy hulk of me across the room. With laundry in me.

GIFT IDEA #2: Paintings by "The Great Masters" rendered in SEEDSThis takes patience, time, and a certain amount of quiet desperation. I suggest that you start this project now and prepare to have it as a gift two years hence. Best of luck. If you lose your mind, please sue Popular Mechanics and not me. Thank you.

GIFT IDEA #3: A Telescoping House Trailer
Please make me one now, I want one. All kidding aside. I want this. The directions appear above. Thank you.

Finally, if you have a Christmas tree or if you have friends who have Christmas trees, you might want to pass the following info on to them. This is Mr. Christmas Tree. I always thought that trees grew in the woods, but apparently they grow out of Mr. Christmas Tree's left hand. He must be pretty old by now!
Fire can be a problem with Christmas trees. Pop Mechs has a solution. Simply station your young children beneath the tree throughout the holiday season so they can raise an alarm if there's trouble. All set? You bet! Thanks for stopping by!
TODAY'S BONUS FEATURE: A Cute Old Ad...Just Because!

Friday, December 7, 2007

My Aunt the Outlaw

Queen Jayne has me thinking a bit about relatives. Back in August, I wrote about my aunts. When I was growing up, I had no idea who my aunts were. I just knew they were old (not really), they wore a lot of lipstick (oh, yeah, really really really--like frosting on a layer cake), and they wanted kisses from me (yikes). That was more than enough to make me flee from them.

What I did not mention is that at least one of my aunts has the soul of an outlaw. She revealed her true self to me on the day her husband--my mom's brother--was buried. I'm driving her slowly through the town in which she and my uncle grew up and where she mostly raised her family. It's important to know that my aunt has literally spent 5o years in this town, was class valedictorian, the whole nine yards. Remember this, please.

So, I'm behind the wheel. My aunt is riding shotgun next to me. My sister is lurking in the back, thinking longingly of trying to pop down an alleyway and smoke a cigarette pre-service. As I drive along reflecting on, you know, life and death and whatnot, and gazing moodily at the hollowed-out shell that is Main Street (why the heck did they have to get rid of the DINER? If you're going to rip out a town's heart, why not just dig up the streets, too?*), I SHOOT RIGHT PAST THE FUNERAL HOME and begin to sail majestically out the other side of the town. It is a very small town, Main Street is a one-way street, I see the crowd outside the funeral home growing smaller and smaller in my rearview mirror, and I panic. OOH! I panic!

Urrrrk! I slam on the brakes and bang a sudden left so I can turn the car around.

Ooook! I have picked another one-way street. I am now driving up it the WRONG way.

Wee-oo, wee-oo, wee-oo. I've got the flashing blue lights of 5-0 in my rearview mirror now. RATS! Funeral. Must get to. Starting soon. Have what I suddenly wildly think of as "the guest of honor" in the passenger seat of my car. My cop flop-sweat starts to dampen the appropriate spots of my vintage black dress (somber, respectful) with a print of baskets of purple flowers (hopeful, humorous--my uncle would have liked it).

There is not very much going on in Mayberry, and the cop is bored. A flatlander from Taxachusetts driving stupidly=Big Fun! He advances slowly toward the car, hand on gun.

"LICENSE AND REGISTRATION!" he barks as the three of us sit there grinning weakly at him.
Stop. Take a minute. What happens next?

1) My aunt says, "My husband just died and we need to get to the funeral back there."
2) I look up at him and say, "Arrest me, I did it."
3) My sister silently slips out of the car, finds an alley-way, has a cigarette.
4) My aunt, who has lived in the town for 5o years, leans across me, looks up at him with wide eyes, and says, "We're not from around here."

Yes. It was 4). Later on, I find out that my aunt really hates cops. She saw one beat a man up when she was little, she "almost kicked the bee-hind of one that was rude to your uncle," she thinks they abuse their power, and she "rarely likes their attitudes." As I find out that day, my aunt "does not believe the police deserve the truth." WHOA!

So, the cop immediately lets us go. "Oh? You're not from around here? Well that explains it, ma'am." And, off we cruise to the funeral home.

I'm due to go visit her soon. She reads a lot of books and saves them for me, and she tells me that the book stack is now "taller than I am" and that she has had a dream about "meeting Judge Judy and giving her all of the books I've been saving for you" which seems like a CLEAR indication that I'm overdue for a visit.

And then, there was the aunt who played saw in an all-girl Hawaiian band. And, the aunt whose father gave her away to the Fuller Brush man, and the aunt who...Ah, well. Other stories for other times. I'm never going to forget this one. You can spend your whole life thinking about a person in one way and have it change with one sentence.

"We're not from around here."

*Things the town used to have a lot of: movie theatres (3), jobs (heaps), restaurants (many many)
Things the town has now: no movie theatres, no jobs, 1 restaurant, lots of heroin (much much)

Thursday, December 6, 2007

A Mysterious Note

Last night, I was making some evening snack toast, and I heard a weird scratching/grunting kind of noise at the front door. "It's the dog," I told myself. Then I realized, in the best horror movie type of way, There is no dog. I crept to the door and peeked out, but the yard was empty and the only thing I could see was a little envelope on the front doorstep addressed to "Blunt-Toothed." The note inside was pretty surprising, so I'm passing it along to see what you think.

Dear Blunt-Toothed,
My name is Blake. I am a chupacabra. There are a lot of wrong things being said about me, and it upsets me. Tonight, I could not eat my tuna noodle casserole--and it was the kind with the crunchy top! Crunchy top usually makes me feel better. Not tonight. I need to go organize my stamp collection album, so I don't have much time. But, I just want to set the record straight. You people seem to like lists:

1) I like tuna, not goats. Is this so hard to understand? Do you like goats better than you like tuna? Whatever. I do not.
2) Puerto Rican comedian and entrepreneur Silverio Pérez came up with the name you people call me--chupacabra. It is not my name. Would you jump off a bridge if he told you to do so?
3) "The wiki" says that I have been known "to hiss and screech when alarmed, as well as leave a sulfuric stench behind." Okay. That is very hurtful. Haven't you ever made a weird noise when you were startled? And, my aftershave has "hints of forest and surf," not sulfur.
4) Why do you people believe in this mythical oracle of truth called "the wiki" anyway? Who proves that any of that stuff is true? Would you jump off a bridge if "the wiki" told you to do so?
5) Some people say that when they see me they become nauseated. That is hurtful.
6) Some people say that I have spines. I have a back-mohawk. Don't you people know the difference? Is punk really so dead in your culture that you can't recognize a back-mohawk?
7) I faint at the sight of blood. I'm not proud of that, but I do.
8) This woman named Phylis Canion found three of us in Texas and preserved the head of one of us in her freezer before turning it over for DNA analysis. What kind of a sick chick keeps a chupa head in her freezer? You people frighten me.
9) Nothing for 9. Ha. Uh. Ha ha. That felt great.
10) What was up with that "Lost" series? I rented it from Netflix, but I found it very confusing.

Sincerely, Blake
(Chupacabra illustration By LeCire (Image:Chupacabras.JPG) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. Viewed on the excellent Cryptozoology News website.)

Wednesday, December 5, 2007


So, I'm all kicked back and semi-relaxed here this morning; I've finished the two projects for the guy who eats bee pollen, and I'm waiting for the really-big-project lady to rouse from her jerrylewispercodan stupor and send me chapters. Suddenly, I thought about the profound impact that chupacabras have had on our nation's history and pop culture. I almost knocked over my coffee in my excitement!

I'm thinking I'll write a dissertation about it and get a bunch of letters to stick behind my name! It's definitely a viable topic for a dissertation--for awhile there, everybody I met was doing a dissertation on a bitchin' fun topic like, "The Implications of Amusement Parks for Stress Relief," "Drive-In Movie Theatres: A Critical Analysis of Post-World War II Symbology That Means I Get To Go Around Taking Photos of Old Drive-Ins for the Next Five Years" and "Wild, Mindless Sex: Can It Penetrate the Shield of Academic Disaffection?" (Or: "Wild, Mindless Bacon: Can It Sizzle Through the Shield of Academic Disaffection")

Really! People write dissertations like that, and I'm pointing it out because I'm deeply jealous. Yet, Jealously B-Gone! I now have my OWN juicy dissertation topic that I can footle about with pleasurably for awhile. Soon, you'll be able to call me Dr. Sparkle. Ready? Here it is:

Chupaculture: Parsing the Beast Among Us

My concept is that chupacabras aren't JUST these goat-snacking playboys magooin' around baring their teeth. Nope. They walk amongst us and are so tightly woven into the interstices of the fabric of our daily existence (dissertation committees love that shit--"tightly woven into the interstices"--I could just stop with that one line and they'd give me the letters to go after my name) that we don't even stop to think about them.

Here are some examples:
1) Remember when Ted Kennedy "went all Britney" (a startling pop culture reference sure to wake up the dissertation committee members) and dunked the poor girl? People do NOT know that a chupacabra was driving that night--a friend of Kennedy's from prep school who went by the name "Sammy Mungo" and later was proven to have ties to the Las Vegas mob. In the chupacabra community, the incident is known as "Chupaquiddick." It gets mentioned every time Sammy Mungo comes up for election.

2) Remember when David Letterman hosted The Chupacabra Oscars and he made the SAME awkward joke he made with Uma Thurman and Oprah? He's standing there, in front of a huge crowd of chupacabras (who are, of course, wearing tuxedos and snacking on goat legs, as is their custom). And, he looks out on that sea of hairy, bloody stinkiness, spots the only celebrity to be seen--Deepak Chopra--and goes, "Chupas, Chopra; Chopra, Chupas." He got pelted with goat legs!

3) No examination of Chupaculture is complete without an analysis of their impact on television, and upon the mass mental drugging and zombification of our society (I said that for the dissertation committee member who hates TV--even pointy-head PBS stuff! I also said that so I can stay in my jammies, watch a lot of TV, eat popcorn, and pretend I'm writing a dissertation). To wit:

--"Chupa and the Man": A hot-headed, groovy young chupacabra lives with whatever grouchy old actor guy can fill the boots of Jack Albertson (WHO? There is NO ONE who can fill the grouchy boots of Jack Albertson). Misunderstandings abound, but their cross-cultural man love overcomes all obstacles. Except for the goat entrails.
--Chupie's Angels: Oh, I think we know what THIS is all about. NO! It's not about tits and ass (or bacon) and flawlessly layered hairdos! It's about a chupacabra who is a PRIEST and struggles mightily with his occasional need to snack on goats. The "angels" are three nuns who try to keep him on the straight and narrow, and oh, let's go ahead and cast the Olsen Twins and Charo as the nuns unless you have a better idea.
--Chups in Charge: Oh, god, NO! Don't put "Chups" in charge of those children! Aiiiiiiieee! (Only one episode of this doomed series was shot. It is only available on the Internet and DON'T watch it if you have a weak stomach. The studio is still paying off the parents of the child actors.)
--CHuPS: Groovy California chupacabras cruise around on motorcycles enforcing The Law. Each episode features a "ChuP Gone Bad" plot in which one member of the force goes off the rails and raids a farmer's goat herd. Internal investigations and zaniness follow! Also, in each episode "Sarge" blows his stack and drinks a potent cocktail of Maalox and scotch that he keeps stashed in the bottom drawer of his desk. It is not easy being Sarge.
--Chupamarket Sweeps! In this giddy game show, housewives zoom through the supermarket in full body armor trying to fill their shopping carts as quickly as possible while chupacabras jump down upon them from the tops of the shelves. Wait. Maybe that one was cancelled?

So, that's my plan. CHUPACULTURE! Maybe I'll get the Nobel Prize for this!

Tuesday, December 4, 2007

Muscle Relaxers and Bee Pollen!

I have three deadlines this week!

My two-project client is all hopped up on bee pollen.

My one-really-big-project client is all doped up and droney on muscle relaxers.

Between the two of them, and their respective uppers and downers, it's like working with Judy Garland!*
*True Fact: In 1936, Judy Garland took so much benzedrine that she thought Toto was a chupacabra. So, she dressed Mickey Rooney up like a goat. That's Hollywood!

Monday, December 3, 2007

I Got The Music In Me

My highly-esteemed blogeague Don Clinkerando has made this Chupacabra Week. I guess this is a chupacabra?It's a little scary-looking*, but I am sure it's greatly misunderstood. Perhaps it likes to nibble toasted cheese sandwiches and curl up in front of a roaring fire with a good book on how to--I don't know--disembowel goats more efficiently?

Anyhoo, all I've got in me today is a quick, rattled off list of suggested Chupcabra Week Anthems. Here goes:

1) Handel's Messiah Hallelujah:

2) The Knack's My Sharona
Ooh my little pretty one, pretty one.
When you gonna give me some Chupacabra?
Ooh you make my motor run, my motor run.
Gun it comin' off the Chupacabra
Never gonna stop, give it up.
Such a dirty mind. Always get it up for the touch
of the younger kind. My my my i yi woo. Chupacabra!

3) In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida by Iron Butterfly
In-A-Cabra-That's-Chupa, honey,
don't you know that goats fear you?
In-A-Cabra-That's-Chupa, baby,
don't you know that you make goats blue?

4) My Generation by The Who
People try to put him d-down (Talkin' 'bout my chupacabra)
Just because he GOAT around (Talkin' 'bout my chupacabra)
Things they do look awful b-b-bold (Talkin' 'bout my chupacabra)
That goat is gone before he get old (Talkin' 'bout my chupacabra)

5) Supercalifragilisticacbealadocious

Ooh. It's all I got.

*comes from