Wednesday, August 31, 2005

The Munchkin Policy

Get this.

So I go to Dunkin Donuts during lunch, as I do, to buy an XXL coffee for $2.00, and to "treat myself" to 2 Munchkin donuts, which I do about twice a week as a little reward for not having killed myself yet.

So I says to the girl, I says "Can I also get 2 glazed Munchkins?" As usual, she reaches for a bag, and then stops herself. "I'm sorry, we got a new Munchkin Policy."

"A new what?" my lower lip quivered.

"A new Munchkin. Policy."

A cartoon and scarily lifelike rendering of my face at this exact moment. Same glasses, hairstyle, etc. It's like my own personal ending Six Feet Under style, bad make-up and all, where I drop from a heart attack at a D&D in Saskatoon.

"What's the policy?" Would they not sell them to me because I was too tall? Too semitic? Too saddle-baggy?

"I can't sell you only two. I gotta sell you five."

"But that's the whole reason I get Munchkins, because I don't want 5, I just want a taste."

She rolls her eyes. "Well, it's 5 for $1, do you want them?"

"I dont understand -- how much did the Munchkins used to cost?"

"Twenty cents each." The people in line began to laugh, almost mockingly.

"Then why --"

"Because we lose money when we only sell 1 or 2! Now do you want them or not?"

My brain tried to add up the numbers and sense on an abacus made of Munchkins and Twizzlers. This was total horseshit! You know they send thousands upon thousands of Munchkins to donut heaven at the end of each night -- why must they torture me and my eating addiction so?

I so badly wanted to shout -- "Donut lie to me! I run a pun blog!" but instead, took 400 napkins and my coffee and walked out a changed woman. You would think these motherfuckers would stop their torture at shrimponds. But now, the Munchkin Policy will takeover as the thing that haunts me in my dreams every night.

Excuse me, I'm on the phone with my friend Rico, who's about to show Dunkin Donuts what old school dwarves like to enforce as their "Munchkin Policy". It may or may not include a Super Soaker.

Like They Need My Blessing

The Onion launched a whole new format today, replete with bells and maybe a whistle here and there. The new format may take a little getting used to, but overall I think it looks great and is a welcome change. Also I'm all about The Onion, as I find the folks who work there to be 100 percent purely the nicest, best and funniest people. Oh, and I tried writing Onion headlines once and truly sucked at it, so it is also a thankless art form. (/ass kissing)

Also, I'm not sure who's responsible for this "Op Ed" piece, but considering I'm the girl who went to T.J. Maxx last night for some new bedding and walked out with a cookie jar shaped like a sheep wearing socks, it's right up my alley. (p.s. Only 7.99!)

(Click on pic to read entire article)

That's one proud goat.

Tuesday, August 30, 2005

J. Must Stand For Just-A-Bunch-Of-Disorganized-Assholes

Recently, I received a very exciting e-mail in my vastly lonely inbox -- J. Crew, my store of stores, was having a forty percent off final sale! Now, they'd like you to believe that by "final" sale, you must keep whatever items you order, but let me tell you from my ill-fittingly-clothed experience that the store would be happy to take your items back for a refund.

Long story long, the clothes were flying off the digital shelves. No matter what item I added to my "Cart", I would get a screen saying "I'm sorry, we're all sold out of the "BLACK CASHMERE TANKINI" Would you like to instead order "PIPING HOT VOMIT SERVED ON YOUR FACE"? etc. Finally, I was able to eek out a carrot-colored bathing suit for 11 bucks, and a pair of truly adorable flats (size 11 thank you very much, foot fetishists need not apply) for $30. Hoorah! A truly happy and fulfilling lunch hour.

So last Friday the office doorbell is a-janglin, and I hop out of my ass-grooved throne to see who it is -- ah! The UPS man! With a package for a glowing, apple-cheecked young girl with a name that rhymes with Trishelle.

But this is odd -- the package arrived in a padded envelope and seemed, well... small. No way are my shoes inside of here. I tore open the flap to reveal... a tankini... (note: not in black cashmere)... in a size 4 and a size smaw. Haha! Is this some sort of wacky J. Crew practy joke? "Send the girl a spandex hairband, give her a scare!" Mort in packing shouted in the imaginary warehouse bubble in my head. My mind wandered elsewhere, to me, frolicking on the beach with some friends, maybe hitting a beach ball around, all the while my tits and backfat literally sploding out of the size 4 haltered top, while my ass-crack swallowed up the better part of the small, hi-cut briefs. Right as I go to pick-up a sand dollar, the strength of the suit's power becomes too much to bear, and slices me in half. Then, my legs, with a new brain of their own, decide to go for a jog. My torso instead chooses to have a cone of rum raisin and consider disability insurance.

At least my imagination is active.

I dialed the J. Crew Customer Service hotline (tattooed inside my eyelids for safekeeping), and was met by the comforting southern twang of the representative. I explained my sitch, that I was out not only my money, but my shoe/suit combination, and very politely demanded an answer. After some checking, she discovered that my order got switched with a girl in Connecticut -- what the hell! What does she think she's running over there, a baby hospital?

Then it hit me -- while I'm in my cubicle contemplating all the things I can do with a miniature bathing suit, this bitch in Connecticut is probably fantasizing about taking her two new canoes (read: my shoes) down to the lake this weekend and pitching a spandex tent (bathing suit) for a nice, overnight camp out. How dare she insinuate that my shoes are canoes?? This bitch don't even KNOW me!

My shoe arrives safely in CT.

My darling service rep. apologized profusely and promised to sort things out. I would have to send the suit back, and hopefully, lil' miss petite from, no doubt, Darien or some shit, will take my items to UPS Freight, and we can each end up with our rightfully purchased, and fitted, products.

End of story: I'm still waiting to receive my items, hopefully before the first snowfall.

I like it for the coverage.

In other news, I had a Blonde Trifecta of celeb sightings yesterday: Hilary Swank, blondish/long pony-tail, who gave me a hint of an annoyed sideglance, but looked incredibly beautiful, in post work-out gear on Prince; Claire Danes, blonde as ever, hailing a cab on same street; and Heather Graham, who looked great and -- you guessed it -- blonde. Shem smiled at my friend and I on 11th street, and YET AGAIN, looked radiant. All of these sightings leading my to ask myself: Should I lose 50 pounds and go blonde? Don't worry -- I know the answer!

p.s. Does anyone have a spare slide whistle they could send me? I need it for personal reasons. So if you have one, and are willing to give it to me no questions asked, let me know. I wouldn't suggest "loaning" it either.

p.p.s. Kidding about the slidewhistle. Just forget I asked, OK?

My life-long dream: To master the slidewhistle to such an extent that I may one day be able to duet with Chad Karloff, slide whistle virtuosooooOOOOOoooo

"I Don't Do Mournings"

Monday, August 29, 2005

A Prairie Tantrum

For maaaany maaaany years, people have been coming to this blog to read something that would perhaps make them laugh...shock... or even arouse.

Today, I am launching a whole new feature at You Can't Make It Up, in the form of a small animation. Life has been a little cooh cooh cah cray cray these days, so my friend Annie Tucker has come to my rescue with her charming drawings that will one day make her famous (along with her famous "banana pudding", which is a euphemism for "heroin"). Just think of us as "The New (And Improved) Yorker"

The comic is yet to be titled. Today's episode is entitled: "A Prairie Tantrum."

Thursday, August 25, 2005

The Apiary Hits A Homer

A great site all you comedy nerds should check out, The Apiary, posted this little ditty about my forgotten pun blog yesterday... After reading it's genius, I buzzed Chelsay Perettay , co-punner, who I'm guessing from the background noise was out on the town, and read her this genius... then we laughed and laughed. It's truly brilliant:
Archaeological Dig Uncovers Blog of Comedy Magnates

While clicking around on some links, we nervously found ourselves staring through a portal into the innermost thoughts of NYC comedy-blog heavyweights like Michelle Collins and Chelsea Peretti. Like a godfearing antiquarian discovering the lost Mesopotamian city of Akkad, we breathlessly trembled joyously amongst its ruins.


Punrise, Punset!

(With thanks to Nate)

Wednesday, August 24, 2005

Celebrity Fast Fowarding

Now I'd like to play a little game called... CELEBRITY FAST FORWARDING, where we see what young celebrities will look like when they get older. Today's celebrity is:


Here's a current pic of HoJO, with the band Eisley (via OhNoTheyDidnt):

Notice the handsome jaw-line, the Radiohead t-shirt, Gallagher-esque brows and warm glow.

Now let's fast forward a few years:

I gotta hand it to HoJO -- he's still got it!

And a coupla more years:

Wait, is this Haley as an old man, or a screencap from the finale of Six Feet Under? Zing! I'll tell you who ISN'T going to get an Emmy from SFU: the makeup department. Remember when Peter Brady played Benedict Arnold in the school play, and had the horrible bald cap on? Basically how every character looked during the last 10 mins. of Six Feet Under.

ps: Anyone have a Lime-Light registration code they want to share with me? It would greatly improve the hilarity-factor on this blog. Thanks ever so much.

R. Kelly Clarkson Is Actually Genius

Yup folks, after last week's Eminem mix-up, Google News has done it again:

Um... here's a guess to your question, Google: When she turned black?

After much rumination over this error, and following a very-Carey like "Finkle N' Einhorn" debacle at work, it hit me what Google is getting at: R. Kelly.... Kelly Clarkson.

R. Kelly Clarkson.

A hybrid so exciting it shoots a double-fisted middle finger at the Toyota Prius. R. Kelly Clarkson, folks, would be an unstoppable, showbiz juggernaut of such magnitude that they'd invent their own genre of music... one so powerful it could never be uttered by mere human lips.

And can you imagine what it would feel like to have Justin Guarini pee all over you? Magic, that's what.

You can't fake that kind of enthusiasm, folks.

Tuesday, August 23, 2005

Queen Finklestein Here

Part of my duties here at work, other than secretly cutting myself, are answering the phone. This morning, the following exchange occurred:

Me: Good Morning, Katz, Dogs and Katz, how can I help you?
Girl: Yes, may I please speak with Greg Smith?
Me: Sure, who may I say is calling?
Girl: Princess Rodriguez from Baker and Grant.
Me: Hold Ple -- Sorry what was your first name?
Girl: (mouth smack) Princess.
Me: Hold.

I e-mailed my friend Mike about it, this was his response:
Princess is a great name for my daughter, along with "Deucebaggia" and "Marsbarina."

Marsbarina enjoys her first birthday party the way kids should: By eating themselves into a glucose-driven coma.

Monday, August 22, 2005

The World Finally Makes Sense Again

Remember this past season on AI, the runner-up Bo Bice? His painful grunting and strained voice seemed abnormal, and definitely not healthy. I didn't dub him "Penis Neck" for nothing -- the guy sounded like he needed a Correctol (the only gentle woman's laxative on the market) stat.

Well, the clouds have cleared, and beyond it, a light and clarity so blinding it runs through me like my morning coffee.

It's official, straight from MSNBC's mouf: "American Idol" runner-up Bo Bice had emergency surgery for a blockage in his intestines, and won't be returning to the "Idol" tour.

I kneeeeew he had to take a shit and couldn't while on stage, I just KNEW it. You guys should hear me sing during Passover! Not unlike Bo Bice folks.

You know those doctor's removed a Drano-commercial-worthy doody-sized hairball from inside him, ya just know it.

On a separate note: My favorite sentence today comes from Vic Chestnutt, concerning right-wingers: "Ladies, you'd better kiss your unwanted rape babies hello because Roe v. Wade is history the very instant John Roberts is handed his robe."

Somehow, I've managed to find a picture apropos to both of the above matters of business:

Sunday, August 21, 2005

Six Feet Under Series Finale: Way To Make A Bitch Cry

I spent the better part of my day today in bed, headache ablaze, feeling ill because I knew that at 9 pm tonight, my favorite show would be ending. I had a dream during a poorly executed afternoon doze that my family and friends were watching the finale in all these different rooms, and I kept running from room to room, missing the ENTIRE show. Then I woke up wondering if my dream was real, if I really HAD missed the show, just like when I was in Kindergarden and woke up from a nap thinking I had missed my first ever date with this kid named Kevin, a short, tan little guy who looked not unlike a grown-up Jon Lovitz. Luckily, I hadn't, and my mom took us to the mall, where she bought us pencils and treated us to a showing of "The Aristocats."

Anyway, I decided it would be best for me to catch the finale with some friends... I didn't want to be in my room looking around with glistening cheeks for someone to talk to. So I shlepped down to Brooklyn, where I knew of a few friends catching the show.

Before the episode began, I was raving about how good the HBO On Demand trailer music was. One song in particular, used for a Six Feet Under trailer, was called "Breathe Me" by Sia. I've had the song on my Ipod for a while now, and whenever it comes on, I feel like I'm in my own movie, much like when the Beegees lesser known hit "Fannie Be Tender With My Love" comes blasting through my h-phones.

The episode begins, and I won't give anything away other than that I am truly sorry it's over, and that Alan Ball's inclusion of "Just Shoot Me" was the final nail in the brilliance coffin. That being said, I nearly had a KAH-NIP-SHUN when Claire pops Ted's "Unhip Mix" in the CD player... and sure enough... "Breathe Me" by Sia starts playing! The last song to play in the series is one that I have completely already bonded with on many a commute/long walk.

I teared up a bit, but the many many emotional walls I've built prevented me from an outright bawl session circa "Man Without A Face." I plan on watching the finale many times over on Demand (God Bless It), to try to come to terms with the fact that I have nothing but "Curb Your Enthusiasm" left to be excited about, and maybe even having a good cry, alone, in my room, where no one can judge me for feeling.

Although, for those of you who DID watch, Billy's makeup in the last 10 minutes had the ENTIRE ROOM hysterically laughing.

Feel free to post your comments about the episode -- I'd love to know what you guys think!

We'll miss ya guy.

UPDATE: Here's a link to the song, courtesy of Stereogum. (thanks Claybird!)

UPDATE II: HBO has listed each character's obituary... I'll paste them below for helpful and immediate healing:

Ruth O'Connor Fisher

Ruth Fisher was born in Pasadena in 1946 and died at Good Samaritan Hospital of Glendale on Wednesday. She graduated from Pasadena High School in 1963 and stayed home to raise three children before opening the Four Paws Pet Retreat in Topanga Canyon twenty years ago.

She is survived by her loving companion George Sibley, her sister Sarah O'Connor, her son David Fisher of Los Angeles and her daughter Claire Fisher of New York City. Ruth will also be missed by her four cherished grandchildren - Maya Fisher, Willa Chenowith, and Anthony and Durrell Charles-Fisher.

Viewing will be held on Saturday, March 15th at 2 p.m. at Fisher & Sons Funeral Home at 2302 W. 25th Street in Los Angeles. Private burial to follow.

Keith Dwayne Charles

Keith Charles, founder of Charles Security Company, was born in 1968 in San Diego. He died suddenly at work on Tuesday morning.

Keith attended West Point Military Academy, graduating with a degree in Criminology in 1989. He served the city of Los Angeles as a member of the LAPD for nine years before joining the security industry. He leaves behind his devoted husband David Fisher and loving sons Durrell and Anthony Charles-Fisher, his grandson Matthew, his sister Karla Charles and his niece Taylor Benoit of Carlsbad. Keith is pre-deceased by his parents Roderick and Lucille Charles of San Diego. Memorial service will be held on Sunday, February 18th at 2 p.m. at Fisher & Sons Funeral Home at 2302 W. 25th Street in Los Angeles.

David James Fisher

Born January 20, 1969. Died at the age of 75 in Echo Park. He was proud owner and operator of Fisher & Sons Funeral Home of Los Angeles for over forty years. After retiring in 2034, he went on to perform in dozens of local theater productions, including Weill and Brecht's "Threepenny Opera," Rossini's "The Barber of Seville," and as Ebenezer Scrooge in Dickens' "A Christmas Carol." David leaves behind his partner Raoul Martinez, his beloved sons Durrell and Anthony Charles-Fisher, his sister Claire Fisher and his three precious grandchildren Matthew, Keith, and Katie. In lieu of flowers, donations can be made to the Southern California Opera Association.

Hector Federico Diaz

Died at the age of 75 while vacationing with his wife in Puerto Rico. Federico graduated from Cyprus College in 1997 with a degree in Mortuary Science. He worked as a restorative artist for several years before becoming part owner of Fisher & Diaz Funeral Home on 25th Street. In 2005, Federico opened the Diaz Family Mortuary on DeLongpre Avenue in Hollywood, where he served the community for 35 years before retiring.

Pre-deceased by his parents Mauricio and Lilia Diaz of Los Angeles. He was married to his beloved wife Vanessa for 54 years and leaves behind his cherished sons Julio and Augusto and his three grandchildren: Emily, Celestina and Vincent.

Memorial service will be held at Diaz Family Mortuary on Saturday, February 16th at 11:00 a.m. Funeral mass will be held at 9:30 a.m. the following day at St. Paul's Catholic Church in Atwater Village.

Brenda Chenowith

Brenda Chenowith was born July 19, 1969 and died at the age of 82 at home. She earned her Masters Degree in Social Work at California State University of Los Angeles and a PhD in Theories of Human Behavior at University of Southern California.

Brenda wrote several books about the role of the gifted child in family development. She is considered to be one of the most distinguished scholars in that field of study, adding several courses to the Social Work curriculum at USC. She developed research methodologies to conclusively prove the link between deviant human behavior and fetal alcohol exposure. As a child, Brenda was the subject of the book "Charlotte Light and Dark" by Gareth Feinberg, PhD.

Brenda will be dearly missed by her beloved children Maya Fisher, Willa Chenowith, and Forrest Nathanson, her loving husband Daniel Nathanson, and her brother William Chenowith of Malibu. Private services will be held Wednesday March 9th at Deep Creek Nature Preserve. In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to a charity of your choice.

Claire Simone Fisher
1983 - 2085

Born March 13, 1983. Died February 11, 2085 in Manhattan. Claire grew up in Los Angeles and studied art at LAC-Arts College. She worked as an advertising and fashion photographer and photojournalist for nearly fifty years, creating several memorable covers for Washington Post magazine, W, and The Face. Claire often exhibited her work in New York and London art galleries and in a time when nearly everyone else in her field had turned to digital scanning and computer-driven imaging, she continued to use a silver-based photographic process. Claire began teaching photography as a faculty member at New York University's Tisch School of the Arts in 2018, earning tenure in 2028. She's pre-deceased by her beloved husband Ted Fairwell.

Friday, August 19, 2005

Google News Needs To Face The Music

I know it's hard to admit, Google, I know it's gonna take you a long time... It's taken us all a while to confront.

But it's high time for a little reality check:

Eminem is a white man.

Not black.

We know, we know -- how could the country's best rapper be white??

It's exactly this kind of racism that lead to Eminem's exhaustion and pill dependancy in the first place.

ps. Has 50 Cent ever taken a more adorable, less threatening picture in his life? Look at that mug!

It's OK, 50. Eminem's going to a bigger and better place. Chin up ol' pal!

Still, nothing will sweep us off our feet with joy like when you gave us John Roberts on, Google.

Update: Gawker posted it, but didn't do a linkback... yes, I know I have no life, but I follow these things. Just know you saw it here first!

Thursday, August 18, 2005

A Day In The Life Of Undercover Hilton

Page Six had an item that caught my eye on the train this morning. It reads:
Paris Hilton is now so famous that she can't go out in public without being mobbed by fans, so she's taken to wearing a disguise. Sources say the hotel heir-head had a professional makeup artist spend three hours the other day transforming her with a prosthetic nose and a red wig, until she was completely unrecognizable. Then she took her two brothers to Disneyland.

So convincing, and yet still, so erotic.

Well what else is an overexposed talentless nobody to do?

Interested, I decided to delve further... and what I found will shock and almost definitely please. In an effort to stay “under the radar” and avoid being mobbed by hordes of torch-carrying rebellioners, these days Ms. Hilton will not leave the house until she is completely and cleverly disguised. Now, here, we here at You Can’t Make It Up (read: me) have landed our hands on some top quality paparazzi shots of Paris masquerading about LA on errands and such in some very clever get-ups. Let's douse our feet in baby's blood and take a walk in Paris' shoes, shall we?

Paris begins her day with a leisurely stroll through the market. Did someone say Kashi? Looks like her L.L. Bean quilted car coat just did.

Ms. Hilton returns home to unwind with her true love… the mighty bass. Listen as the sweet orka tones wail and cry while the heiress grieves through song. What had she done to deserve this life? Yo Yo Ma’s sex tape, “Bendover’s Cunt-certo Number Sex”, didn’t ruin his career! “Why must the public be so hard on me?” she whispers in the confines of her bag.

Later, Paris straps on a fatty suit and meets up with her two cousins for a quick splash at the YMCA pool. The chlorine there was famous for killing unwanted children. At least that’s what Raven Simone told her.

Next, it’s off to Rodeo Drive for some undercover spending! Little known secret: Fred Siegel loves blackface. On her way home, she’ll have her teeth knocked out by a group of Compton kids.

Every once in a while, Paris has to go au naturale to let her skin take a rest. She looks as pretty as the day she was born, no?

Finally, Paris dons a custom-fitted Dolce & Gabbana Vagina Costume for some truffle mojitos at the Roosevelt Hotel. The night ends up being an utter clitastrophe when an eager Gilbert Gottfried body slams Paris into the pool. The super-absorbent labia nearly cost her her life, but thankfully she made it out alive, and remained anonymous. The vagina costume, on the other hand, was ruined for good. Looks like she'll have to borrow Meredith Viera's next time.

Wednesday, August 17, 2005

A Peek Inside My Comedy Notebook...

In prepping for tonight, I came across this doozie:

Character: Stand-Up Dramarian

"So, have you guys heard the one about the little boy in the coma? He had no chance of living... so his parents decided to UNHOOK THE MACHINE!"

Also, a sampling of things jotted down in the margins:

-random pubes
-Smear Factor
-Suicide Prevention Hotline: No noose is good noose.
-Cat Fancy?
-Dasani-one know what I mean?
-Here's a novel idea: The Grapes of Wrath.

This n' more (no relation to This N' More, RIP) tonight at 9... unless I kill myself before then which is a likely option for one who is no-doubtedly insane.

UPDATE: I totally left my notebook at the bar yesterday!! If anyone finds it, let me know. There's a beverage of some sort involved, and it may or may not be a Fuze. (Strong May Be) It's small, black, and has a humorous Ashton Kutcher sticker on it. Yes I'm that desperate that I just told the world about the Ashton Kutcher sticker.

You've Been So Patient...

And I love ya for it!

I was in Florida this weekend, "relaxing" in my usual style by outlet/Marshall's hopping (although this time around I tried to limit my spending to the necessities, like new Teva flip-flops -- the best, Jerry, the best -- and large sweaters with picture of babies on them).

Found at TJ Maxx for the cool price of slaying my first born. A steal!

I also did my fair share of eating this weekend, including my favorite resty in Miami, Versailles, an authentic Cuban eatery where I once had the honor of shaking Bob Dole's left hand. (Long albeit amazing story) There, my mother ordered a "Ham Hock", which to my surprise arrived as an entire pig leg, hoof, skin and all. Seriously, the stink from this thing no doubt wafted over to the grave of my kosher grandparents, a stink so powerful it brought them back to life for one quick, delicious, traif moment. (That one goes out to the Jews in the house.)

My mother also insists on speaking the language of the origin country no matter what restaurant we go to. At Versailles, I was subjected to hearing her shout at the busbot* "Excuse me, may we have some more PAN?" She then turns to me, "Pan means bread."

*Began as a spelling error, but really, they are usually busbots, and not really boys, am I right?

Where the fatty magic happens. Castro is a genius in the kitchen.

My mom has convinced herself that she speaks roughly 415 world languages. At one point this weekend, we were checking out some on demand features. One movie that caught her eye was called Rosenstrasse, which came in two television formats. "Oh what's that? (rolled R) Roooo-zhen-SHTRAAAH-seh Vid-eh-SHCREE --" "MOM, IT SAYS WIDESCREEN. Not Vid-eh-SHCREE, widescreen!" I shouted.

A few years ago, my mother raved about a bakery on Biscayne Boulevard called La Boulangerie (bakery in French.) "Uch, Michelle, you HAVE to go there! LA Boo-LONGE-eh-REE! (rolled R, obvs.) The best stuff! Paninis, cookies, you name it! LA Boo-LONGE-eh-REE!!" I couldn't take it anymore. I HAD to find out what was SO delicious about this far off bakery known as LA Boo-LONGE-eh-REE. My car pulls up in the driveway, and I read the name of the restaurant -- LA BAGUETTE. THE FUCKING PLACE WAS NAMED. LA. BAGUETTE. So much for worldliness in Miami.

Breathe, Michelle. Breathe. Their paninis were delicious.

Julia Child waives an Air France jet down the tarmac, circa 1965.

Anyway, I was reading today about a nun who is protesting the filming of the "Da Vinci Code" starring Tom Hanks (for the memories). In it, the Sister says "When I face Almighty God, at my final judgment, as we all will, I can say, I did try my best to protest."

Read it again, I'll wait.

Ok, here's my take. If following what I hope is a long and fulfilling life of blogging, I meet with the almighty God, and he drops the Da Vinci Code bomb on me at my final judgment, I’m just going to stare at him, maybe blink a few times. Then I'll slowly rise from my knees, while staring, brush the sweet smelling dirt from heaven's floor off my pants, turn around, and walk away. As I walk, I’m going to stop, turn around again to look at him, look down, look at him again, then slowly begin taking the long and lonely staircase down to Hell. I mean, come on God, I would hope you’d take more offense to “Bosom Buddies”, or at the very least “Splash 2”, than this movie. Or at least bring up my affinity for 12-year old Thai boys than my NOT having protested the Da Vinci Code.

Now for some small notes:

I'll be doing stand-up tonight at Otto's Shrunken Head at around 9 pm, along with Becky Yamamoto, Rachel Kramer Bussel, and Michael Cyril Creighton. It's on 14th Street between A and B. and will be SO fun. The theme is FOOD ISSUES, which is like saying to me - you have 10 minutes and your topic is The Holocaust. Go.

Also, Friday night at 8:15, I'll be doing my FAVE THING ON EARTH which is chatting up the lovely Derek and Romaine on Sirius Satellite Radio Channel 149. I love those bitches beyond, esp. when there's Bacardi Limon in the vicin.

And don't forget to buy tickets to next month's Rejection Show!

Friday, August 12, 2005

A Cingular Sensation

The other night, I had the fortune of catching the delectable Paul Rudd on Conan. If you're around my age, Paul Rudd holds a very special place in your heart as the incestuous step-brother in Clueless, the smart guy who probably went to Brown but ends up working non-profit and living in an efficiency apt. (i.e. every girl's dream). Rudd has only grown more charming over the years, not to mention more hilarious -- he was at least as funny as Will Ferrell in Anchorman. He also earned major "street cred" by guesting on "Strangers with Candy". Rudd is also a common fixture on the alternative comedy scene in New York, although not so common that we've ever hung out, or like, that we've ever gone for gimlets together or anything...

Anyway! So I see Paul Rudd, and I tell a friend, and the next thing I know I am pulled into a whirlwind of deception and intrigue involving Mr. Rudd and a careless Cingular salesperson, a tale of trickery so deep, so dark, that it could only be uncovered by using a secret and covert form of communication known as AOL Instant Messenger.

Paul's Oskar* nommed performance in "Liebe in Jeder Beziehung" turned many a fraulein's kopfs.
*Germany's Oscar.

People, this blog FINALLY has a scoop. You Can't Make It Up has scored an exclusive interview with Pam Lipshitz of Queens, who a few years ago was issued Paul Rudd's old cell phone number. Yes, the VERY SAME Paul Rudd whom I've lusted after since the mid-90's. So what is it like sharing the same cell phone with a veritable God? Let's find out:

Michelle (9:56:28 AM): So, Pam, tell us where the confusion began...
Michelle (9:56:34 AM): briefly, please.
Pam (9:58:18 AM): several years ago i was the lucky winner of the paul rudd cellphone number
Michelle (9:59:06 AM): hahaha
Michelle (9:59:08 AM): love it already!
Pam (9:59:25 AM): great connection to the greatest movie ever -- CLUELESS
Michelle (10:00:30 AM): obvies
Michelle (10:00:39 AM): so you had his exact number?
Pam (10:01:29 AM): yeah...
Pam (10:01:45 AM): every single digit was the exact one he had
Michelle (10:01:50 AM): How did you figure this out?
Pam (10:02:21 AM): after a bunch of "paul calls" I asked someone who is paul
Pam (10:02:51 AM): and that is when i found out how lucky i really was
Michelle (10:03:05 AM): longing sigh
Michelle (10:03:06 AM): go on
Pam (10:04:54 AM): then one day a lovely british voice was on the other end of the phone and it was amy heckerling’s office *director of clueless
Michelle (10:05:15 AM): oh!
Pam (10:05:22 AM): calling i am sure to get another stellar performance from Mr. Paul Rudd
Michelle (10:05:34 AM): hahah
Michelle (10:07:18 AM): so what did it feel like knowing you and paul rudd shared something?
Pam (10:07:31 AM): MAGICAL!
Pam (10:07:36 AM): ABSOULUTLEY MAG.
Pam (10:07:36 AM): I.
Pam (10:07:38 AM): CAL.
Michelle (10:08:09 AM): hahah
Pam (10:09:10 AM): and you know a bit at peace with myself, like good things can happen in this world
Michelle (10:09:23 AM): no doubt about it

Michelle (10:10:56 AM): how did you feel when the calls stopped coming through?
Pam (10:11:04 AM): lonely and hurt
Pam (10:11:15 AM): but once in a while--even after all this time--i still get a call
Michelle (10:12:07 AM): really?
Pam (10:12:08 AM): and all the good memories come flooding back...ohhhhhhh paul rudd
Michelle (10:12:09 AM): any booty calls?
Pam (10:12:28 AM): good question--but you know--its been all men ;-)
Michelle (10:13:06 AM): you should pretend to be his wife and ask for free stuff frommmm like, I don't know, the salvation army?
Michelle (10:13:08 AM): where do you think he shops?
Pam (10:13:34 AM): kmart
Pam (10:13:36 AM): nooooooooo
Michelle (10:13:40 AM): no no
Michelle (10:13:44 AM): he's always so smart looking
Pam (10:14:09 AM): true, he did gain some weight for a while... i saw him on some late night talk show
Pam (10:14:18 AM): and he looked GOOD

Paul Rudd battling his demons.

Michelle (10:14:25 AM): i saw him on Conan
Michelle (10:14:30 AM): and fell in love all over again
Michelle (10:14:39 AM): he talked about whores
Michelle (10:14:52 AM): i was like "Is this what love feels like?"
Michelle (10:15:06 AM): "Because I want to feel this way all the time!"
Pam (10:16:13 AM): haha
Michelle (10:20:04 AM): Are there any messages you want to give Paul if he's reading this today?
Pam (10:20:27 AM): have my number--give me a call sometime!
Pam (10:20:30 AM): :-*
Michelle (10:20:33 AM): hahahha
Michelle (10:20:39 AM): i was going to add that -- but i read ya!
Pam (10:20:44 AM): (kissing smiley face is creepy by the way)
Michelle (10:20:45 AM): it’s how I imagine myself looking with cancer
Michelle (10:20:55 AM): right down to the face mole

So there you have it -- that's what it's like to get calls intended for someone else who also happens to be a celebrity who also happens to be adorable. Imagine if she was getting calls for Charles Nelson Reilly.

No thank you.

Thursday, August 11, 2005

How the Mighty Have Fallen

Open memo to Patricia Arquette:


I know your career has taken a turn to the television series. But do you really have to stoop so low as to appear in an ad for a fake online university?


A Devoted Fan

Wednesday, August 10, 2005

Catty Arbuckle

I've resisted posting this site for so long, because it's gotten a lot of attention and I wasn't quick to the draw... but then I saw this today...

..and was like ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!!! I CAN'T TAKE IT ANY LONGER! So here, here you go, stuff on my cat web people, I'LL LINK TO YOU ALREADY!!:

Stuff on My Cat

Plus, if I don't link to it, my parents will never see it, and that's inexcusable.

Going to Miami this weekend -- am totes putting everything in the house on my cat at least one and taking a pic. INCLUDING THE BABY GRAND PIANO!!

Instant Messaging From Beyond

What follows is an IM messaging session between me and my dead Aunt Ethel.

Michelle: Hi Aunt Ethel! How are you?
Aunt Ethel: Dead. And you?
Michelle: Good, good thanks. What’s new?
Aunt Ethel: Not much, dear. How is work going?
Michelle: Ah, little of this, little of that.
Aunt Ethel: Have you been eating? Every time I hover over you, you’re nothing but skin and bones.
Michelle: (sung) Look who’s talking, John Travolta style Auntie.
Aunt Ethel: Sweetheart, I’m dead. You have another 32 years to go, you want to look your best!
Michelle: Only 32 years? Who told you --
Aunt Ethel: I mean --
Michelle: that?
Aunt Ethel: No one. Nothing. Stop asking me so many questions! Your Aunt Ethel is cold and rotting.
Michelle: Aunt Ethel?
Aunt Ethel: It’s so… so chilly down here. I’m sorry, it’s hard for me to concentrate.
Michelle: It’s ok. So did I tell you that I pierced the webbing between my toes?
Aunt Ethel: ROIMG!
Michelle: ??
Aunt Ethel: Rolling over in my grave!!
Michelle: Oh haha
Aunt Ethel: One second.
(5 minutes pass)
Michelle: Hello?
You’ll have to excuse me, I’m a little bit dead right now.
(2 minutes later)
Aunt Ethel: Dear?
Michelle: Hi!! I really got worried for a sec!! Are you ok?
Aunt Ethel:<------- NOT ALIVE
Michelle: haha
Aunt Ethel: LOS!
Michelle: ?
Aunt Ethel: Laughing Out Shroud!
Michelle: That one wasn’t funny.
Aunt Ethel: No, it is! It was a Jewish funeral. I was buried in a shroud!
Aunt Ethel: Maybe we should end this whole made-up conversation then, eh Collins?
Michelle: Yeah, I think this joke has been… buried! Into the ground! LOQ! (Laughing out quietly -- I’m at work!)... Sometimes I wish sweet sweet death upon myself Aunt Ethel.
Aunt Ethel: LOS! We should take this on the road!!
Michelle: OK!

And my new touring act was born:

Me, Aunt Ethel, and our masseuse, Tony.



Some upcoming shows:

Weds., August 17th, Brutal Honesty
Hosted by me dear friend Becky Yamamoto
Ottos Shrunken Head, 538 E 14th St btwn 1st and 2nd
According to Becky, "9ish"


September 13th, 8 p.m.


with newly minted "Uncle" Jon Friedman
Performance Space 122
150 1st Avenue at 9th St.

I'll be telling a tale of Rejection (where to begin?) along with:

(, formerly from Howard Stern)

(, Oscar nominated animator)


(cartoonist, The New Yorker)

and more fun rejection surprises!

or call or visit the P.S. 122 box office at (212) 477-5288

Also, check out my friend Michael Cyril Creighton in:

The New York International Fringe Festival
9 GREAT JONES STREET (east 3rd street)
between broadway and lafayette (4th ave)
All tickets: $15. For tickets visit

Jeremy Piven says "Yay for plugs!"

Oh I so went there.

Tuesday, August 09, 2005

Wedding Hall & Marriage Oates...

...are such a great band. I'm totally downloading some of it when I get home.

Speaking of music that makes me cry, I was recently discussing with a newly engaged friend what song she was going to play at her wedding. We played a guessing game for about 28 minutes, when finally she just told me: "The Luckiest", by Ben Folds. Great song, indeed.

Which got me to thinking: What song am I going to use for my wedding? Another friend, Annie, my "MOH" (or "Maid of Honor") (ps Annie, it's blogged now so you can't go back on your word) said she wanted "In My Life" by The Beatles, which I've always found borderline depressing, but my friend insisted it was a song about true love. A sampling:

But of all these friends and lovers
There is no one compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new
Though I know I’ll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I’ll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more

Anyway, if I had to choose a Beatles song for my wedding (and gentlemen, my ring finger's gettin' chilly, so get on it!) it would probably be "Here, There and Everywhere." That or "Komm, gib mir deine Hand!", the German version of "I Want to Hold Your Hand":

Oh komm doch, komm zu mir
Du nimmst mir den Verstand
Oh komm doch, komm zu mir
Komm, gib mir deine Hand!

This would also make perfect sense as I plan on having "A-Ha" sing at my wedding. And if they're not available, I'll settle for Amy Grant or "Crazy Adolf and the Eva Bronze".

Anyway, I wouldn't choose The Beatles because even though I'm a Beatles girl (as opposed to an Elvis girl, which I think is code for "I like Elvis and also have syphillis"), it's a little trite to have their melody blaring over the loudspeaker as I awkwardly shuffle around the dancefloor in my Versace fishnet gown.

So I thought and I thought, and I think I want my wedding song (brace for it) to be "Somebody" by Depeche Mode. When I read the lyrics to my MOH, she paused and said... well, it's honest. But that's me, I'M HONEST. And Honestly, I've had the type of shitty day where I have been reduced the thinking about the SONG that is going to be SUNG by A-HA at my WEDDING to _?_?_?_?_?_. Fingers crossed it's my baby's daddy.

Anyway, here are the lyrics:

I want somebody to share
Share the rest of my life
Share my innermost thoughts
Know my intimate details
Someone who’ll stand by my side
And give me support
And in return
She’ll get my support
She will listen to me
When I want to speak
About the world we live in
And life in general
Though my views may be wrong
They may even be perverted
She’ll hear me out
And won’t easily be converted
To my way of thinking
In fact she’ll often disagree
But at the end of it all
She will understand me

I want somebody who cares
For me passionately
With every thought and
With every breath
Someone who’ll help me see things
In a different light
All the things I detest
I will almost like
I don’t want to be tied
To anyone’s strings
I’m carefully trying to steer clear of
Those things
But when I’m asleep
I want somebody
Who will put their arms around me
And kiss me tenderly
Though things like this
Make me sick
In a case like this
I’ll get away with it

Haha, re-reading it now, I realize it is clearly NOT a great love song, moreso a song about longing. The "Aaaahhhhh...."'s are the best part.

Any takers?

UPDATE: Am I the only one depressed when re-reading this? When did this blog turn into a dream about weddings kinda thing? Jesus. I'm gonna go smoke right now and do permanent damage to my face.

Monday, August 08, 2005

Hair Today, Blonde Tranny Tomorrow

Will someone please explain what in the HELL is going on in these pictures? Apparently, Pamela Anderson had a Comedy Central Roast, and thankfully, photographers were on the red carpet capturing what can only be described as celebrity roadkill. But why try to explain what only pictures can convey?

Here's Pammy Anderson doing her best impersonation of Tom Hulce in Amadeus... or was that Dominique and Eugene.*

*Where he played a retarded man.

"OK, Anna, more on the gums, get that static electricity going, and a littttle less on the functioning human being. Now more guuums.... lessss functioning human being... and perfect!"

Sigh, Anna Nicole delivering as always... by popping a squat and no doubt shitting out a frontal lobe or two.

But what's this?? It's Charo, challenging Anna to a Pop-a-Squat-a-thon! Charo is Portuguese for "Dung that is of the Blackest Night." My money's on this clown.

Anna Nicole shoots Charo her best competitive glare, as the field mouse locked up in her cranial cavity gives birth to a litter.

She's ready for Charo! Hamstrings firmly in squatting mode, Anna bends, pushes and squirms... and what's this... something is emerging! No... it couldn't be? Is it?!?!? Ladies and gentlemen, from the anal cavity of Anna Nicole Smith, I present to you:

Dennis Rodman. More like "Dapper Dan" Rodman.

Excuse me while I take a grapefruit spoon to my eyesockets.

Marissa Jarot Winokur points out the reason she's not a bulemic... her pinkie finger's too small to reach back there!

Finally, achieving the truly impossible, Anna Nicole Smith meets Anna Nicole Smith for the very first time.

I'd like to end this post with a quote from the esteemed Anna Nicole, when asked by FHM Magazine "What was the kinkiest sex you've ever had?": "A ghost would crawl up my leg and have sex with me at an apartment a long time ago in Texas...I was freaked out about it, but then I was like, Well, you know what? He's never hurt me and he just gave me some amazing sex, so I have no problem."

Um, Anna... I think that was your husband.

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