Bagels, Boobs, and Beer

2005-11-20T19:41:00.000-05:00

Litany of crushes Jeanette and I share (with visual aids):

Alanna's conventional crush: Jude Law

Jeanette's conventional crush: Ewan McGregor

Dead country singer crush: Johnny Cash

Fictional doctor with gimp leg crush: Gregory House

Fictional rapist crush: Peter Sarsgaard in Boys Don't Cry

Huh?? crush: Alan Rickman

Underage Hogwarts student crush: Cedric Diggory

Internet crush: zzzing

But like, what if Bush gets re-elected?

2005-10-15T01:58:00.000-04:00

This guy just does not get it. LiveJournal operates on its own plane of absurdity, and someone didn't let "bigmeaniepants" in on the joke. Pure comedy gold, this is. Oh, it's hard to play the straight man. Just ask Jason Bateman.

Religion Roundup

2005-09-29T17:38:00.000-04:00

This is appalling. Williamsburg was so much better when it was nothing but Chasids. Anyone care to launch a "BACK TO THE PROMISED LAND" campaign with me, in which we throw out the trust fund hipsters (along with all their irony), and return this swath of Brooklyn to its rightful owners, the Jewy McJews?

ALSO. The fucking Scientologists in the 42nd Street Station: what is up with them? Yes, thank you, I would LOVE a "stress test" from someone who thinks there are chunks of dead alien souls living inside him.

Finally, I saw some cute Asian monks on 7th Avenue Tuesday. Their robes weren't saffron though. More of a burnt orange. I tend to assume all Asian monks know the Dalai Lama personally, and that by standing creepily close to them, I will absorb just the tiniest bit of enlightenment. Hang on, let me check.

Nope, nope. Still got no soul.

-A

2005-09-11T22:49:00.000-04:00

Horrible, horrible stuff. Today is horrible stuff.

Now that that has been said...

Every year, as the family members of victims read out the names of other victims, I get frustrated. They each have, what, ten names to read and they get them wrong? I know that you are in mourning, but at least work things out enough to have the respect to get them right. Those names belong to people, and those people are now dead.

It reminds me of when they televise the annual "War of the Roses" memorial. I mean, come on, everyone's last name is either Lancaster or York, and all the first names are something hoity toity and easy. I mean, it is AlisSTIR, not AlisSTAIR, get it right or pay the price.

And how about those names from the war that turned the gatherers into agricultural settlers? There's no way little Timmy, ancient ancestor of Garumph, is going to be able to get Garumph's name right with his cleft palate and lisp.

I'm going to go ahead and agree with Alanna and say that the best one, though, is the annual readings of the names from the victims of the Cold War. Nothing is more refreshing in these post modern times than three hours of complete silence.

-J

Celebrity deathmatch

2005-08-30T16:57:00.000-04:00

Not to make light of horrible natural disasters- well, OK, definitely to make light of horrible natural distasters...

Considering the hurricane that drowned The Big Easy, I have to wonder which force of nature is better at punishing infidels: hurricanes, or terrorists? Comment with your answer and a thesis to back it up.

PS- My aunt is from N.O. and her home is like, messed up. Does that make this post far, far worse? I like to think I bring fleeting but powerful moments of mirth to people in need, and by that I mean I am entirely unable to process normal human emotions.

-A

A certain je ne sais quoi

2005-08-25T16:04:00.000-04:00

The president of my alma mater is in deep doo-doo. Turns out university funds have been helping him pay for his son's engagement party, his personal French chef, and $200,000 worth of landscaping. No wonder they had to cut the tennis team. Might I add that Mr. Ladner is one of the top 10 highest-paid university presidents in the country?

If the board is involved, this could be a real death knell for the school. What a shame, after all of Ladner's scrambling to make AU a top tier university. The comedy, at my expense, was that I actually thought my degree might mean something one day. The school was gaining more respect, and I was hoping that in a matter of years my degree would be viewed more highly than it deserved to be.

Well, I hope Ladner got some really amazing creme brulee out of it. Wouldn't want to think all my tuition money was spent in vain!

-A

Hey Jude...

2005-08-21T15:24:00.000-04:00

In literally seven seconds, Alanna and I expressed our sentiment on the recent photography scandal involving our favorite nanny shagger...

Hey Jude
Trim those pubes
Take a rasor
And make it better
Remember
The ladies don't want to floss
It'll be your loss
You're like an Irish setter

Gypsies, tramps, and thieves

2005-08-16T10:55:00.000-04:00

As Jeanette and I complete a move to New York's East Village (from here on out known as E.Vil.), it's comforting to know that Las Vegas tackyness is riffing on our new 'hood. This certainly takes the pressure of your trusted bloggers to come up with a surrealist art project based on their home.

However! We already devised said surrealist art project, as soon as we found out about the apartment. We shall behave, for the duration of our stay in E.Vil., as though we were actually in ancient Rome (complete with using chamber pots instead of toilets, and emptying them onto the street through our conveniently-located living room window.)

Personally, I think we should divide our time between ancient Rome and the Old West, so that we can hire part-time saloon girls to attend to our needs. We also require someone with tumbleweeds and a wind machine, so that they can blow past while Jeanette and I duel in front of the massage parlor next door to our building.

Any takers?

-A.

Time to play...

2005-07-31T12:27:00.000-04:00

It's time to play Bagels, Boobs and Beer's fastest growing quiz sensation, "Looney Tunes Character or Jazz Musician." The rules are fairly self explanatory. If you can successfully determine which of the following names belongs to a jazz musician and which belongs to a Looney Tunes character, you will win a prize*. You can play for best of five with a friend, a la "Rock, Paper, Scissors" or you can play alone, and then kill yourself for not having any friends.

1) Buster Bailey
2) Foghorn Leghorn
3) Cab Calloway
4) Bleeding Gums Murphy
5) Bosko

*you will not win a prize.

-J

Rebel, Rebel in Brazil?

2005-07-27T22:35:00.000-04:00

Jeanette and I have discussed many a time how we aim to be the female Wes Anderson and Owen Wilson. She already called shotgun on Wes, which is fine because Owen is cuter and more personable. And according to Slate, the Butterscotch Stallion brings most of the funny to their movies. Hey Jeanette-Wes, put THAT in your intellectual-glasses-wearing-pipe and smoke it. Your movies without Alanna-Owen suck ass. (Actually, I liked "Life Aquatic," especially the character who covered David Bowie songs in Portuguese.)

ANYWAY. Jeanette and I want to launch an actual website soon, based on the fact that we could easily do the shit they do on The 'Bu, except we don't have that chick from "Scrubs" to star in our no-budget digital video projects. Anyone interested in playing a pervert in our modern-day adaptation of "Crime and Punishment"? Comment away!

Ben Bradlee, when will you ever learn?

2005-07-21T09:23:00.000-04:00

Jesus... I can't believe the bigwigs at the Washington Post let this headline slip through their fingers. It sounds like it's from the minutes of a porn company meeting, in which directors brainstormed new video titles.

I blame this on Dan, who is currently interning there. He has a fervent love of scatological humor.

-A

Try this on for size, Dominique Dawes.

2005-07-09T11:48:00.000-04:00

Oh, Alanna. Good times, good times. It's fun to retrospect, but let's be honest. Btimesthree did NOT win the 2012 Olympic bid. It's a shame that we didn't, because according to a new rule* the host city/blog must now come up with unique olympic events capturing local color. So for example, if Btimesthree HAD gotten the bid (damn Alanna and her well led protests against a Btimesthree Stadium--Alanna, did you really have to get Al Sharpton involved), the new events would have included but not been limited to naked swimming and sexually frustrated girl tackle, which is very close if not identical to the running of the bulls in Pamplona.

However, London was the lucky winner, so take a look at some of the events we will see to capture the essence of all that is British athleticism:

Tea Drinking, with points given for the pinky achieving the perfect 42 degree angle of distance from the cup.

Emotional Repression-offs, in which contestants will be judged on their level of stoicism as they are informed of various, life changing facts, starting in round one with the fact that their gold fish has died, going all the way up to, if necessary, the merciless slaughter of their entire family.

Quidditch. Enough said.

Olympic Pub Crawl.

A throwback to Greco-Roman culture with a British twist, in which the London olympic stadium will have facilities comporable to the coliseum in Rome in order to host an event in which Irish drifters, which will be gathered and held in a Guantanamo Bay like prison from now until 2012, will be fed to lions.

*not an actual rule

-J

Retrospective

2005-07-08T10:41:00.000-04:00

As you all know, B Times Three has been delighting and enchanting audiences for over six hundred years. It is an international household name, much like McDonald's, only funnier and without the heart disease. But in recent times, there has been a veritable B Times Three explosion in the media. It seems you can't look anywhere without hearing about us. Taking this into consideration, Jeanette and I have decided to feature a special update- A B Times Three Retrospective: The Impact of Buxom Comedy Throughout the Ages.

Though it has been argued that B Times Three has its roots in the Stone Age, it really burst on to the scene for its role in the signing of the Magna Carta. After limiting the power of English monarchs, B Times Three went quiet for several decades, though today rumors of involvement with the then-secret society of stonemasons run rampant.

We all know history is a snore, so let's skip ahead several centuries to visit American popular culture. It is believed that B Times Three changed musical history, though we'd like to offer a hearty "no comment" considering the accusations of the theft of black music.

But who could forget when B Times Three was chosen to host the 2012 Olympics? Thousands of Frenchmen still weep champagne-flavored tears over that one. And it seems we'll never live down our conversion to Scientology. People, it's a self-improvement ideology. It's not like it will make us go crazy or anything.

All in all, we'd like to thank you for all your support in making B Times Three the powerful entity it is today, and remind you that we had nothing to do with that fat man's death.

-A

2005-07-03T23:01:00.000-04:00

Tucc: I saw the muppet with AIDS at the Live 8 concert.
Jeanette: That's horrible. People aren't going to learn from a muppet with AIDS. They're just going to assume that AIDS can only be spread from muppet to muppet.
Tucc: Yeah we need someone like Elmo to get AIDS for it to have any effect.
Alanna: Actually, I think they should have given AIDS to the Count.
Lindsey: Then he could have been like, "One, two, three months to live!"

-J

2005-06-24T14:26:00.000-04:00

Scientology, vol. 1

2005-06-16T20:30:00.000-04:00

I'm partial to pretty, slightly-off celebrities like the Gyllenhaals or Cillian Murphy, which helps me to maintain my indie street cred. That's why I've always been defensive about my crush on Tom Cruise. Embarrassingly, I've been known to cite movie titles in his defense ("Interview with the Vampire! Minority Report! Magnolia!") and shrug off others ("He paid his dues with Top Gun so he could do Born on the Fourth of July.") Worst of all, I've resisted making cracks about Scientology and even weakly supported it ("He says it cured his dyslexia... whatever works, right?"). He's a blight on my antiestablishment record, and in light of recent events I'm feeling resentful.

It seems he's really off his nut. Dan suggests we ignore shtupping celebrities and carry on with our lives, but it's hard to do that when they're rubbing their dubious love affairs in our faces. And when our own lives are boring. Plus, TC apparently set up a Scientology tent on the War of the Worlds set to indoctrinate cast and crew.

At this point I should mention I've been to a church of Scientology.

My mom visited me in DC one hot weekend last semester. We were wandering Dupont Circle like a lost tribe of Israel when we came across a Scientology center. "Bookstore inside!" said a friendly sign, so we figured we'd pop in, browse in the air conditioning, and peace out.

But as soon as we entered, the receptionist insisted on calling someone to give us a tour. An Aryan poster boy materialized and convinced us to watch a video of L. Ron Hubbard lecturing. I wasn't paying attention, but I'm pretty sure he was saying something like, "Crazy crazy crazy." Anyway, I was too distracted by my reflection in the Aryan's big shiny teeth. My mom started interrogating him on the role of women in Scientology, which only momentarily threw him off, and then he said that "a lot of [his] superiors are women." (I don't presume familiarity with Scientologist hierarchy.)

HOWEVER. Once we managed to sneak out, two uniformed women passed us on their way in, and they were WEARING CHAINS. Yes, CHAINS that looped around their arms and shoulders as part of the uniform that is apparently standard gear for Scientologist chickies. My mom and I looked at each other and said at the same time, "Bondage??"

Therefore: TC probably has Katie strung up like a ham right now.
Also: I have another Scientology story, but I'll hold off for now. I know it's hard to amuse you all and I don't want to blow my load or anything.

-A

the number one sign of internet celebrity

2005-06-13T23:00:00.000-04:00

Sometimes I wonder what the world would be like without the Internet. Then I imagine having to go to the train station at 4:30 in the morning to buy pornography and the whole idea seems as quaint as pirates or those old bicycles with the tiny wheel in the back. The concept of the Internet is mind-boggling: an entirely virtual environment where democracy and capitalism thrive in spite of the fact that nobody can tell your cock is hanging out. This is the way freedom should be.

After all, the Internet is a place where you can not only broadcast your most personal thoughts to hundreds of people who will ignore you, but have those thoughts deconstructed and examined thoughtfully by strangers gifted with reservoirs of constructive criticism. These strangers have been named "Trolls" (after mythological creatures who live under bridges and ask stupid questions), and without their much-needed advice the Internet would be a vast, lawless hellhole of spelling errors and jokes about weathermen. It's a great thing that these "trolls" exist, because every night after a hard day of sleeping I enter a deep, philosophical, peyote-induced trance and I think to myself: "A human being's life is one continuous series of thought, most of which is focused on self-reflection or self-improvement." That's not nearly enough. It comforts me to know that there are folks out there with such concern for my well-being that they are willing to confront me directly via two computer screens. It's not really an insecurity until everyone else points it out.

- s

2005-06-13T19:35:00.000-04:00

Why do news anchors always act like it's the weatherman's fault when the prognostication is unfavorable? Like, "Aw, come on Tom, I thought you were going to give us some sun for the weekend." And the poor schmuck is all, "You know Jane, I'm sorry, I really tried." Are weathermen the scientific equivalent of the Dalai Lama or the (Nazi) Pope, with a direct line to God? Is that how they know, and can they put in a good word?

This gives me an excellent idea for a skit: The Antagonistic Weatherman. He wants you to suffer through sleet, humidity, fog, and fucking tornados. He may not actually have a say in it, but damn if he'll let YOU know the truth.

Antagonistic Weatherman: "It's looking lovely here in midtown Manhattan; 75 degrees and a pleasant breeze scattering the empty coffee cups abandoned by harried commuters. But don't worry, New York: black storm clouds should roll in around 4:45 p.m., just in time for your trip home. And they're not going anywhere this weekend, so forget about taking the brats to the Hamptons.

The torrential downpour will stop late Sunday night, making way for an absolutely spectacular work week. Too bad you'll be stuffed into a cubicle in a giant windowless room, between the woman with bad breath and the guy who's always looking at kiddie porn.

Lucky for me, I only work mornings, so I'll be in Sagaponack rubbing elbows with a drunk but jovial Billy Joel by 10:30. Have a good one, fuckers!"

-A

2005-06-11T22:12:00.000-04:00

The best thing about having an ear infection is getting to watch Troma movies all day without feeling obligated to grade my students' papers, even though school is ending really soon and any responsible teacher would have graded them a week ago when they were handed in. But during the best scene of Toxic Avenger 4, when two fetuses battle to a gruesome death inside their mother's womb, I started thinking about updating this blog. Last week one of its webmistresses gave me permission to write a post about how much better America would be if it was colonized by Santa Claus. All colonization is a bad thing, I said, epecially when instigated by fat Canadian slave-owners, but anything would be better than the prudish, sodomy-hating Puritans who braved the oceans blue in cramped oral-sexless boats so that they could send their homosexual children to reprogramming camps rather than hug them. Unfortunately this ear infection hurts and is making it difficult to think about complicated political issues.

I'm assuming my ear is infected, because it hurts like the dickens and I can only hear out of it when I pull down on the lobe. But it's not gross or anything, like ear infections are supposed to be. Everyone I've asked says that if my ear is infected it will smell like Welch's grape juice. I'm having a hard enough time remembering what Welch's grape juice smells like, and it's difficult for me to stick my finger too far in there because it hurts so fucking bad. So I think I'm going to keep self-medicating with illegal drugs until Monday when I can see my ear/nose/throat doctor. Last time this happened, the good doctor told me my ear was infected and he jammed a pole in my hole, putting me in the most excruciating pain I've ever felt in my life. After he was done I couldn't balance and had to sit in my car for about a half hour before I was confident to drive. Four years later and I'm at home on a Saturday night, my ear hurting just as bad, thinking about Santa Claus while all my friends are out attempting to have sex with strangers.

GIRL TALK!!!

2005-06-06T20:46:00.000-04:00

<>
Dymphna18: right i remember already throwing up in my mouth at this comment before
Eff B Eye: there's always room for more mouth vomit
Dymphna18: oh man i was going to make another penis comment (or lack therof) comment in response to that but live and let die, no?
Eff B Eye: your call
Eff B Eye: i can take it, though
Dymphna18: okay im going to go for it then
Dymphna18: my apologies ahead of time
Dymphna18: ahem
Dymphna18: sure there's room for more mouth vomit, it's not like there's any penis in there, purple or otherwise
Eff B Eye: hahahaha

Dymphna18: i hope you dont kill me for my desire to listen to at least five cheesy pop songs a day
Dymphna18: including kelly clarkson
Dymphna18: ill try to do it when you're not home
Eff B Eye: yes, that would be best
Dymphna18: and you can listen to the indigo girls when I'm not home
Eff B Eye: aha. ahahahahahaha.
Eff B Eye: go fuck yourself
Dymphna18: awwww roomie!!!!
Eff B Eye: HUGS

-J

2005-06-01T22:45:00.000-04:00

Anyone who's seen the new Star Wars, Return of the Syphilis or whatever it's called, knows that the denouement involves a superlative episode of bellowing from the one and only Darth Vader. Never before have I heard a No Scream quite like this one.

What is a No Scream, you ask? Have you ever noticed that the prerequisite of all action movies is that a character, typically the villain, must scream "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" as ostentatiously as possible when their plans go awry? Jeanette and I have long been baffled by this trend, as this never happens in real life. When something failes to go my way, I tend to respond with a hearty, "Shit, man," or, more recently, "Lousy cocksucker." If really melodramatic proclamations are in order, I'll take a "WHY GOD WHY?" over a "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" any day.

The funniest part of Darth Vader's scream is that it is performed by James Earl Jones rather than Hayden Christenson. And yes, it makes sense in the ridiculous context of the movie, but just imagine the conversation between J.E.J. and his agent that preceded the scene:

Agent: OK Jimbo, I finally have a juicy part for you.
JEJ: Field of Dreams 2?!?
Agent: Uh... no. How about doing the voice of Vader again?
JEJ: Eh, I dunno. I'm kind of over that whole thing. I mean, who could really believe I fathered Mark Hamill?
Agent: But Jimmycakes, all you have to do is a No Scream, and then walk away with a fat paycheck. Come on, let's practice.
JEJ: Welcome to Verizon.
Agent: Just scream no.
JEJ: Verizon 411, nationwide unlimited calling--
Agent: J-Man! What are you saying??
JEJ: I don't think I can do this.
Agent: WHY GOD WHY?

-A

They say the darndest things...

2005-05-28T10:47:00.000-04:00

I've been thinking about children lately, but not in a Paula Poundstone (SCS sufferer) sort of way. I violently disagree with Bill Cosby; I don't think they say the darndest things at all. I think what they say is completely apropos.

My co-worker, Jennifer, and I were discussing this yesterday. I'm writing a bit about "Twelfth Night" for my internship at Lincoln Center, because that's one of the featured works of art they're using to instruct educators in their Summer Session. I started researching twins, because of Sebastian and Viola, and found this website obviously created by a very young twin. One of her sections was called "Stupid Questions." (At which point Jennifer and I agreed that there is definitely such a thing as a stupid question. Sometimes I think that's all there is.)

Apparently, one of the questions frequently posed to a twin is, "How do you know which one you are?" Ponder that. Repeat it to yourself of few times in place of your "I do deserve happiness!" morning mantra. The more I think about it, the more it sounds like a profound philosophical inquiry. Imagine how Descartes would respond to the child who thought of it.

All of this is to say that I propose we cancel "Kids Say The Darndest Things" and replace it with "Kids Go Head to Head With Famous Philosophers." Exhume the corpse of Nietzsche, for instance, employ a puppeteer, and have him act as the philosopher, posing some of his most intriguing theories to a 4-year-old opponent. Then the 4-year-old will respond. Or scream in terror. Either way, they'll end up traumatized by their television appearances and become a cokehead by age 12. Which means we, the viewing audience, wins.

I promise a less-psychotic, more Star Wars-oriented entry later this weekend. Ta!

-A

Just some thoughts on life

2005-05-21T10:07:00.000-04:00

Everything is more fun when you're holding hands with someone else.

Except for rape.

And as things get larger, they always get more expensive. Small, expensive. Medium, more expensive. Large, very expensive.

Except for hookers.

The perils of SCS

2005-05-12T14:47:00.000-04:00

For those of you who think being funny is an easy job compared to, say, searching for undetonated mines in Vietnam or being the sheriff of unclaimed Black Hills territory in 1877, you've got another thing coming. According to MTV, that venerable branch of the Fourth Estate, our role model in hilarity has checked into a mental facility.

It would appear that Mr. Chappelle is yet another fallen footsoldier in the war against Sad Clown Syndrome (SCS). This ailment seems to strike the funniest of funnymen and women, ranging from cocaine addict (Robin Williams) to murder-suicide victim (Phil Hartman) to alleged child molester (Paula Poundstone).

Are all comics such neurotic messes of human beings that they must turn to drugs, violence, and Southern Hemisphere mental facilities in order to convalesce from SCS? I think the answer is, at least the comics with souls must. Luckily for Jeanette and I, we have nothing but howling vacuums inside. If you lean in you can hear the whistle of wind blowing through the place where our hearts and souls ought to be. So fear not: SCS is not contagious, and Jeanette and I will continue to plug away despite whatever may befall our brother-in-arms, Dave Chappelle.

-Alanna

More on religion...

2005-05-06T13:44:00.000-04:00

So when you think about that whole "destined to die" thing associated with Jesus Christ of Nazareth, nowhere in any of the predictions about a savior does it say anything about crucifixion. That means that he could have died any way, but it just HAPPENED to be crucifixion thanks to the vast influence of the Roman Empire. This arbitrary means of death, however, has been adapted into a symbol that is synonymous with Christianity. Devout Catholics bless themselves with the sign of the cross more times in a day then they wipe their own asses. For these people in particular, it is a GOOD thing he didn't die in a more complicated manner. Can you imagine if Jesus had been run over by a rogue donkey cart? Then Catholics would be outlining their heads and torsos with the sign of the ass cart which, for someone like me who has problems drawing simple geometric objects, would be very hard. Even if it was shortened down to just the sign of the ass, cloven hooves are just so hard to get right.

In conclusion, thank goodness for Roman domination.

In further conclusion, I need to stop obsessing about religion.

-Jeanette

H2G2

2005-04-30T20:02:00.000-04:00

I saw "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" last night and Sam Rockwell ran away with the thing like an Islamic fundamentalist with a kidnapped American contractor. Jeanette and I knew he was the shit back when we saw "Confessions of a Dangerous Mind" a couple years ago and wrote this ode in his honor (to be read in an obscenely high-pitched squeak):

OPEN LETTER TO SAM ROCKWELL
Deeeaaaar Sam:
You always play a wacky sidekick
But that's OK 'cause you have a big dick
I hope you like movies about game shows
But even if you don't I will give you a blow
...job.

We have similar poems for Alan Rickman and James Marsters, among other B-list celebrities.

Anyway, the "Hitchhiker's" producers recognized they had quite the spectacle on their hands and put out a musical campaign video for Zaphod Beeblebrox. The following link is from Aint It Cool News, my plug of which should firmly cement my dorkitude. Watch this... it's mesmerizing.

Zaphod Beeblebrox has the longest hair of any candidate

-Alanna

Reality TV Roundup

2005-04-29T15:23:00.000-04:00

Thursday is an interesting time in TV-Land these days (Yes, I just referred to TV-Land as an actual place--what of it, punk?). Thanks to that British piece of manmeat, Mark Burnett, this Thursday status is due largely to reality television. His formula, once unique, is now time tested and more predictably classic than a Dickens novel featuring a doppelganger. Once the show comes to an end, you KNOW that someone will be let go in some democratic fashion, whether it be directly (like Survivor) or indirectly (like The Apprentice). Either way, there is discussion (sometimes heated) and then a formal and routine departure.

Then along came P-Diddy.

We thought he had MADE reality television when he infamously made his potential "band" members walk to Brooklyn for Juniors Cheesecake (p.s., big deal, it's right over the bridge). But then, he took Burnett's time tested formula, ripped it up into little pieces, and then for emphasis drove over it with his Diet Pepsi truck.

We don't see Diddy sitting around a campfire with Making the Band Hopefuls. Instead, as they dance in front of them. He points and says goodbye. Sometimes he points, calls them fat and then says goodbye. Sometimes he points, accuses them of not really being black because they can't dance, and then says goodbye. Sometimes he points with his cane. A cane? Really, Did? What's next? A horse's head in their bed? I hope so...

insert obvious reference to popular american folk song

2005-04-27T18:33:00.000-04:00

A group of wayward bison peaced out from their farm and wandered around a gated community in Maryland. The photo of the bison leaping over a tennis court net out-surreals David Lynch. Jeanette says it looks a little Hellmouth-y to her, and it makes sense to me that a vortex to Hades wouldn't be far from Baltimore.

Anders points out that this is especially amazing in a man vs. nature sense. The residents of this upscale community can keep out black people, but they can't keep out bison! Put that in your country clubhouse and smoke it.

-Alanna

The Pope be MY PEEPS

2005-04-19T19:40:00.000-04:00

Okay Alanna, my little Jewess. You think you have the right to bash my pontif?! I do NOT think so, girlfriend. It takes a lapsed Catholic and two of her co-workers (I actually have no clue of their faith status) to bash the pontif, which resulted in the folliwing:

Top Ten(ish) List of Reasons That It's AWESOME to Have a Nazi Pope
10. Finally, someone who will REALLY make the Jews accept Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior...if you know what I mean...

9. That boring cross will finally be updated with the bodacious angles of the swanky swastika.

8. The bible will mysteriously start reading more like "Mein Kempf," which, let's face it, is a hell of a lot better of a read.

7. Wagner goes way better with the our father than some stupid gregorian chant.

6. Vatican-endorsed "master race" makeover of Jesus gives him blonde hair and blue eyes, allowing Brad Pitt to play the role he was born to in Mel Gibson's sequel to "The Passion..."

5. Really, What better book to slip a Nazi propaganda insert in than the bible. it's all about circulation, baby.

4. Catholic Church finally gets trendier reputation now that it is doing as the hot, young Royals do (does Harry have a future as Pope?!)

3. Pope is DISTURBINGLY good at coming up with quick and easy ways of getting rid of the 6 million rats roaming the catacombs of St. Peter's...

2. With the Nazi's adamant anti-homosexuality stance, Priests will at least think twice this time before molesting altar boys.

That leaves number one open, folks. ANY SUGGESTIONS?!

-Jeanette

Oy vey...

2005-04-19T13:41:00.000-04:00

So the new Pope was a Hitler youth and also helped in anti-aircraft measures at a BMW factory where they used concentration camp slaves... of course he didn't want to do any of this and it was all compulsory... Still, I smell a Rat(zinger!) He says he never fired a gun on anyone because he had an "infected finger," which sounds a bit too "I didn't inhale" to me. Well, he's already 78 so hopefully there won't be too many years of rabid Jew-hating. Oh wait, there will always be rabid Jew-hating. Carry on, folks.
--Alanna

This week's B-list celeb commentary

2005-04-18T04:25:00.000-04:00

I just found out that Joaquin Phoenix is in rehab. I'm willing to bet that all my harelip jokes sent him over the edge. Sorry, Joaq. That was super insensitive of me.

Also, Jeanette needs to freakin' update so I don't look like such a dork. She's too cool for me now that she smokes dope with Kenan Thompson. Hey Jeanette, does he ever recite "Goodburger" lines when he's stoned?

I wonder what happened to the other "All That" cast members. I was all about Lori Beth Dinberg, personally,

Love Alanna

2005-04-06T23:06:00.000-04:00

Anyone but me think this chick needs a good smack upside the head?

"The scarf speaks for itself— Hermès." I mean, seriously? Sell your $500 scarf and feed a family in Sri Lanka for a month. I think that would speak for itself pretty clearly.

Is it just me, or is haute couture and its trust fund hipster devotees the most obnoxious beings ever?

-Alanna

Wham, bam, thank you ma'am!

2005-03-24T22:22:00.000-05:00

Jeanette got hit by a car today, crossing Oceanside's much reviled Lawson Blvd. She's mostly OK, just bruised up and sore. And the hospital gave her ibuprofen and muscle relaxants, what kind of bullshit is that? Break out the Percocets, I say. Anyway, after I played all nice and concerned, we had the following conversation:

Alanna: Well, you know what I always say to people when something like this happens to them.
Jeanette: What?
Alanna: Better you than me.
Jeanette: Oh, thank God. I was getting sick of everyone being so sympathetic.

This post is not about Terry Schiavo

2005-03-23T21:34:00.000-05:00

Just sitting and listening to the fellow students in my fiction writing class is like being on LSD. My mother, who is the assistant principal of an arts high school, says that out of all the students- musicians, actors, artists, dancers, and writers- the writers are by far the weirdest. I've been recording quality quotations (whoa, check out the Q alliteration, that's like a bajillion Scrabble points right there). Here's a random sampling of how my peers critique various stories we've read:

(the only black student in class hands in a highly colloquial piece)
"The way white people talk is boring."

(a student uses the phrase "ample bosom" in her story)
"I like the word 'bosom'."
"Do you like them, or the way they sound?"

(all stories are typed in Times New Roman)
"We need to diversify the fonts."
"Use whatever fucking fonts you want."
"How about Comic Sans?"

(a character is very promiscuous)
"This bitch is a slut."
"She was raped by a drug dealer when she was 11!"

(a character is abused by his father)
"And then his dad breaks out the nipple clamps--"
"Nipple clamps? They were jumper cables!"
"Okay, so now you all know what I do on the weekends."

--Alanna (Jeanette hasn't yet discovered the necessity of signing posts in order to stake claim to her pearls of wit)

2005-03-23T21:33:00.000-05:00

I don't know about you guys, but I would NOT want to go to a party hosted by the Republican Party. Why? Well, just look at their definitions of life. If they're counting fetuses and borderline comatose patients, who the hell would the life of the party be?

Answer: Strom Thurmond

2005-03-23T07:06:00.000-05:00

Also remember, anyone saying they're Alanna and Jeanette anywhere else on the web (myspace, friendster, chat rooms, message boards) is not us, except on our livejournals. This is the only place we write.

2005-03-22T22:26:00.000-05:00

Eff B Eye: so im signing off for a little while but ill be back on soon
Eff B Eye signed off at 3:21:55 AM.
Dymphna18: good thank goodness she's gone
Dymphna18: yeah we hate her
Dymphna18: come along, smiegel

2005-03-17T01:56:00.000-05:00

I'm a little curious about midget humor. Ever since the second "Austin Powers" introduced Mini-Me, small folk seem to be a comedy standard. I don't fully understand- what exactly is the source of hilarity? Is being out of proportion with the vast majority of human beings that funny? I can see how it worked the first time. Number Two expositions that he has made a clone of Dr. Evil who is a replica of him in every way-- at this point a large shadow of Mini-Me appears on the wall, then grows progressively smaller as he draws closer and enters the room-- and then we discover that said replica is one-eighth Doctor Evil's size! The incongruence, the defying of expectations... this is what makes the moment undoubtedly amusing. But how does one explain the steady popularity of midget tossing?

Midgets appear now in hip hop videos, reality TV shows, advertisements, and of course, every low-brow comedy film vomited onto American screens. Which leads me to wonder, are midgets the 2005 version of Asians? That is, sec0nd bananas parodying and stereotyping themselves for an easy laugh?

Don't get me wrong. I'm not some dwarf teetotaler. By all means, studios- give them some work. The countless documentaries I've seen banking on America's little people fascination have drilled it into my mind that life is hard for these folks. Perhaps I can find a statistician to illustrate on a graph how the difficulty of life and height are inversely proportional. But yeah- health problems, discrimination, being hired to entertain as a subject of ridicule at the parties of the infuriatingly statuesque Rebecca Romijn.

I must admit, I do have a fascination with human oddities. This may originate in the book "Born Different," which my mom purchased for me when I was 8 or 9. It candidly discusses the experiences of such individuals as the giant Robert Wadlow, Tom Thumb, Siamese twins Chang and Eng, and of course, the Elephant Man. Many a night when I'm bemoaning my dearth of post-graduate plans, or wondering why I live with a woman who is six inches taller than me yet weighs the same as I do, I tell myself, "At least you're not the Elephant Man."

My mom also bought me the film "Freaks" last year and turned me on to the HBO program "Carnivale" when I was visiting home last weekend. Both are about sideshow carnies, though they are far more malevolent in the former than they are in the latter. Now that I write this, it seems the oddity obsession runs in the family. And luckily for my future children, it doesn't appear to skip a generation. Exploit away, kids. I suppose I've answered my own question here- why are midgets funny? Because we think they're worse off than us.

I'm Alanna and this is my blog with my comedy writing partner, Jeanette. More than anything, it's a placeholder on these internets of ours until we have the means to launch an actual website.

Man cleverly pretending to be midget