Badcomedy's Weblog

Obama Victory Display

badcomedy — Tue, 11 Nov 2008 21:37:49 +0000

PLUS

This might actually be from P.O.D.’s myspace. What up guys

Equals

The best way that President Obama could properly gloat and cheer me up at the same time. Do another infomercial but sitting on some steps in Anacostia with Michelle on the step above him twisting up some belgian waffle cornrows. He’d be real positive and eloquent as always, but then just a few shots from a different or lower angle of him staring real hard like “yeah I see you G.O.P…”

Oliver and Company is Fucking Awesome

badcomedy — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 06:32:03 +0000

Was a little high watching this with Kaiti and had to take another look just to be sure it was as good as I thought it was. Totally was.

How is this little Disney gem overlooked? So maybe it is just this side of goofy – plus fuck Bette Midler…pretty much…I think.

But besides that, the movie is seriously full of cool ideas. All kinds of imagination and little tricks. Dodger, the tough “streetwise” NYC dog who befriends Oliver, is played by Billy Joel. There’s this one scene where he’s watching TV at the rest and the static is reflected in his black obviously ray-ban sunglasses. It is top-shelf material. And anybody who thinks that Billy Joel playing a hard dogg from the streets is corny or fake is simply wrong. He was born in the Bronx and was SUCCESSFUL as a boxer on Long Island. Plus he wrote “And So it Goes.” If you don’t feel those changes, I can’t help you. Better than the Nick Lowe song? Fuck, I don’t know. But he also plays the piano upside down and backwards, which, unlike the more famous guitar behind the head or back, is actually difficult. Like, amazing difficult.

Cheech as the chihuahua and Robert Loggia, an underutilized gangster type from Lost Highway as the villain, pretty much guarantee classic status. The dull uninspired “little girl” character who plays a minor part in the story can’t even dim the flame. She sings a whole song to Oliver the kitten about how they’re going to be friends forever right after finding him too, which is adorable.

And for the climax, the villain chases Oliver, the gang of dogs and a hobo (on his moped) through a subway and onto the Brooklyn Bridge. Dude peels off on the subway tracks, rips off the tires and goes after them riding on rims and throwing sparks everywhere. I won’t spoil the very end, but through all that the little girl pretty much keeps her mouth shut.

For the ending, rather than the dog friends moving in with Oliver and the girl in the rich family’s house like I thought they would, Dodger and the gang decide to keep hustling instead and Cheech gets the girl. I guess I don’t really know how I feel about Bette Midler and her giant fucking tits, but that ending is perfect.

A Crying Sham

badcomedy — Sat, 05 Jul 2008 06:20:33 +0000

Now’s the time. For nothing, I mean. It’s the time when absolutely nothing happens that hasn’t happened already to just about everybody just about everywhere. And it bored them all right into the ground too. I ain’t special.

*fourth of July picture – cold blues and hot reds; sparks like rice at a wedding. The whole thing.*

What a bust this holiday was. I played beer-pong with water and found myself drinking the water. It was one of those moments you feel like punching yourself in the mouth.

“What am I d- I’m not even thirsty!”

*picture of a guy looking disgusted with himself*

I used to write about stuff, too. Not since about freshman year of high school, but I did. The way soda machines and lit-up signs are warm when you touch them. Like when you’re lost and wandering across a strip-mall parking lot. Shit like that. Who cares.

*picture of a cartoon moose with a sad expression*

We done given up, boss.

Or has we?

RPM’s was a diner that had radical neon and also Street Fighter

badcomedy — Mon, 26 May 2008 23:39:32 +0000

What is it you’re working on here, Peter?

I’m doing a little research on my reputation. There had to have been something to make everyone at school hate me.

Maybe it’s your combative and superior attitude.

Couldn’t be that.

You’re right, what was I thinking.

What were you thinking.

I plead temporary insanity. What else could it be.

Well…there was this local placemat competition when I was in like second grade.

Ah-ha. A placemat competition.

Exactly.

Now there you might have something. That’s much more plausible.

Just hear me out-we had to design these anti-smoking uh…placemats. Like to put your-

I know what a placemat is.

Okay but so you…don’t remember this.

Maybe it’s because I didn’t place.

You didn’t place. Ha!

Ha.

Right, well the thing is, see – I won. And my winning placemat design was made up of two things:

Mmhm.

There was a big “NO” where the capital O was like, with a line through it and a cigarette-

It’s called a prohibitory sign.

Terrific. But the thing I think that got me first prize was this little bee, like an insect bee, saying “Just beeeeeee yourself.”

That’s awful.

In a little word bubble, an-

Not only is that awful, it’s stolen from Aladdin. You are a ripoff artist.

I was eight years old. But you’re right, it is from Aladdin. I think that may have been an early foothold-

For the generalized hatred? I think it’s bad enough.

Yeah?

Sure, I mean I hate you now. Didn’t they like, put these placemats out somewhere? Like around town.

You bet your ass they did. Some diner on Main Street, and also….RPM’s.

RPM’s.

Fuckin’ RPM’s, man. They were eating off my placemats for a few months.

They weren’t “yours.” You had a scam running that got your terrible drawing on a few placemats around Mt. Horeb.

No, well I mean, you’re exactly right.

I’ll bet it was rough on the judges when they found out they excluded some budding young artist’s original work-

In favor of my blatant plagiarism, yeah.

Maxin’ with the kids one day, he or she pulls down Aladdin in its big soft white plastic Disney case and throws it on.

Those were the clamshell cases, yeah – for like so the kids could get them open easily.

Ah.

And they get to that part and are like “Wait, hold the phone, that placemat slogan we gave first prize to – Robin Williams said that shit in Aladdin.”

Right.

“We fucked up”

I’ve decided not to settle.

badcomedy — Mon, 19 May 2008 21:52:49 +0000

I’m searching for a summer job. I’m only doing this now, because I mostly do everything the wrong way.

The ridiculousness that’s about to begin will seem like it doesn’t pertain to the above, but it does!

Good tidings to all Ella’s customers. Wait – you there! Are you really enjoying eating off the kids’ menu at age TWENTY-TWO, ASSHOLE?

What you see above is the late Captain America riding a device that seems to be a combination of three things:

Old-fashioned monoplane -

Thank me for the guns.

Magical, mystical, alien-homeworld-bound rocketship:

*ahem*

Star-nosed mole

Anyway, the resulting monster patrols the ceiling, along with about a thousand other rainbow-hued paper-mache characters/badly-painted strange objects at the Madison restaurant everyone loves for distracting you from the food: Ella’s Deli!

I don’t want to work at the actual restaurant. You thought too soon. If you’d given the question any real consideration, you’d know that I of course want to design new novelty tables!

There are tiny trains inside the table.

Maybe a “famine” oriented table, with lots of harrowing starvation pictures under the glass. Challenging.

Or maybe uh. Exotic firearms. And little speakers in the table legs will play Guess Who’s “Guns Guns Guns.” For the kids.

NOT THAT FUNNY!

Ted Dancin’

badcomedy — Mon, 19 May 2008 01:17:02 +0000

Dad, I mean. I know you’ve got your own agenda.
Yeah.
I just think it’s stupid.

Scarlett Johansson

badcomedy — Fri, 02 May 2008 18:22:40 +0000

I have a natural knack for spelling difficult female celebrity names.

J-a-n-e-a-n-e G-a-r-o-f-a-l-o

She’s aged very well, hasn’t she? However self-righteous she might get on her radio show, she still has that wiseass charm. Not as cute as when she was on Space Ghost, but still.

Quick, Janeane – do some comedy!

There’s this other girl who hasn’t so much aged gracefully as lived gracefully through her youth and into young adulthood. She is one of those actresses whose delivery suggests she must be at least slightly cool when her lines aren’t written for her. And physically, well.

Even candid and unposed, in form she’s clearly the best selection for our generation’s Perfect Woman.

Unfortunately, she stands on the cusp of a brutal (and unnecessary) test of charisma and relevance: an album! Of sung songs! Sung by a singer. Which is um, her! Why? I don’t know, why did Zooey do it?

Why did Paris Hilton do it? Because she’s soul-dead. But surely this isn’t just a ploy fo’ dollas. Scarlett’s way too pretty to do anything less than honorable.

I’m wandering pretty far here. All this to get to the fact that she’s covering one of my first favorite songs, Tom Waits’ “Anywhere I Lay My Head”

Blah blah bad between-songs-joke blah blah awkward blah blah.

I’ll be damned if I’m going to go on trying to be funny. Instead I’ll give you the straight story:

This song is way too pure and glorious and brutal to be done justice by some hip young know-it-all wannabe chanteuse.

And it’s not just the song, it’s the title of her album! This kind of thing weighs on my mind.

I don’t need anybody
Because I’ve learned
I’ve learned to be alone

Scarlett, you haven’t learned shit about being alone. I can’t off the head come up with anyone who is LESS alone than you are. A song like this is all about pure, visceral, unadulterated sincerity. And poor Scarlett trying to sell a line like

“(S)he left in my sleep boys, I can feel it in my bones”

might be cute, but it couldn’t be sincere. And Tom Waits isn’t cute. Alright, when he tells stories and jokes during a set and comes off all insecure and nervous he’s pretty cute. Sigh.

God damn this rain.

Sammitch Madness: Officers are in Pursuit…

badcomedy — Wed, 30 Apr 2008 20:38:03 +0000

Of a 6’2″ tattooed white male in possession of what seems to be the thickest, baddest and most bombastic turkey-pepper-mozzarella-barbecue on wheat in the tri-state area.

Bystanders described the sandwich as “truly glorious and terrible.”

A man believed to be repeat cuisine criminal Peter Michael DeWitt was enjoying a delectable spring day when he was spotted by Buggy-Force officers in the area, who immediately gave chase; declaring a “lunchtime emergency.” Suspect is a delicious fugitive in violation of strict statewide sandwich sanctions. He is armed with a lethal array of unlikely flavors and is not to be approached without officer accompaniment.

Buffet the Campfire Slayer

badcomedy — Wed, 30 Apr 2008 04:30:48 +0000

Family buffets: another quintessential childhood experience.

All the nighttime lights in the world can’t keep your silly little heart warm.

Magical places drenched in toddler drool and a constant overhead glow. Any staff you see are mostly cleaning rather than serving, giving the impression that they’re always in the middle of closing for the night.

Any time you look up from your food and over the top of the adjacent booth, steel yourself:

These places long ago became the domain of staring babies.

You will feel oddly convicted. That look always seems to demand an answer, and when you realize you can’t provide one, you will feel worried and strange. Defenseless.

Anyway, shake it off and get in there. Keep in mind those tricks any halfway decent brother/sister pair works out by the time they turn 5 or 6:

wheres the pussy bar tho lol

When navigating the maze of bright glass food stalls (that’s what they’re called), remember to keep your wits about you. What I mean by that is:

Do not use the dessert bowls for dessert. Any buffet-goer worth their knox blox cubes knows that the soup bowls are the only way to go. The dessert dishes are shallow, and often very warm. They don’t hold much ice cream, and what they do hold will melt too soon. The soup bowls are deep and cold, like the river that runs through a woman’s heart.

Hotels and mini-golf courses are two other forgotten realms, for anyone who is between their early youth and having children of their own. Maybe I’ll write on one of those soon.

Sighlock

badcomedy — Mon, 28 Apr 2008 21:43:11 +0000

Now here’s a fun picture.

Blades of psychic energy match outfit – total coincidence.

The fabric of the suit almost covers her vulva. She’s gonna fuck around and have lips hanging out when it’s time to fight Sabretooth. Gross, yeah I know. Thong underwear provides about 65% more coverage than what she’s wearing here, and from what I know, this is her official assigned combat uniform. Exactly what combat capability does it have? I’m gonna wager that she didn’t make it herself. I don’t think anyone really knows who the tailor for the X-Men is. Apparently some perv.