Posts tagged “Andy Rooney

Kung Hii Fatt Choi from Booby Hatch!

Imagine if you will that the text on this page is beginning to flicker. You check your computer, swearing that if it dies on you, you will “totally go 100% mental, and this time you mean it.” By “100% mental,” you mean you will go to a Big and Tall Men’s Store and buy a giant suit, like the one that David Byrne wore in that Talking Heads video, and you will run around the streets in the middle of the night, holding a stuffed penguin, and screaming “BOW WOW WOOGIE WOOGIE WOW!” And by “this time you mean it,” you mean that you’ll talk about doing it with your friends as you get drunk in a bar and swear that you’ll do it next week, but “next week” will never come, and when your friends tease you about it later, you’ll say, “Let it go already, Funky Winkerbean!”
But before you can further contemplate your computer’s demise, the words fade and the image of a deserted moonscape appears on your screen. Without much hesitation, you realize that your FaceTime Jetson phone (a.k.a. Skype) has turned itself on and “accidentally” dialed our number. 
Now “close your eyes” and keep imagineering. Take a deep breath. By “close your eyes,” we mean keep your eyes wide open and read the words on the page.  By “take a deep breath,” we mean put down the bong and exhale.  Celebrate the fact that with modern technology and old-fashioned mind drama, any crap you can think of becomes possible. Just ask Steve Jobs. Cough. Too soon? Back to our future playtime saga…

Sabrina stumbles into the frame, holding a tiny man in a space hat.

Sabrina: AAAAAAAAAAAAAALEX!!! Yer space phone’s ringing.

Alex pokes her head into the shot and looks around suspiciously.

Alex: Ahoy ahoy?

Sabrina: How many times I gotta tell you – save that crap for Alexander Graham Bell Assassination Re-enactment Day. The BLOG is ringing!!

Katharine runs in, holding a smoking gun.

Katharine: Is it the neighbors? I just shot their parrot.

Alex: Dammit, Katharine! He was the only one who knew my email password!!

Sabrina: (Looks at the tiny spaceman) We should probably wish them a Happy New Year or something. We’ve neglected the blog for a while.

Alex: What about the neighbors?

Katharine: Taken care of. I told you I just shot their parrot. Why doesn’t anyone ever listen to me?

Sabrina: No, no. Not Jim Nabors and his wife, who coincidentally happen to be our neighbors. It’s time to wish our blog readers a Happy New Year.

Katharine: Taken care of. That was last year. I wrote a Haiku about it.

Sabrina: No. For this year.

Alex: AGAIN??? This happens every time I drink whiskey. WHERE DOES THE TIME GO?? (sings) Sunrise, sunset..sunrise sunset…

Katharine: You really need to stop blacking out. You miss so much.  Also, people keep writing “Twat” on your forehead.

Alex: This pop stand blows. Let’s get in the time machine!!

Sabrina: But…but…(looks sadly at the spaceman, who has fallen asleep in the crook of her arm.)

Katharine runs out of the frame and returns with a Vita-Mix with a large pineapple sticking out of it.

Sabrina: We can’t all fit inside there! Tiny Spaceman, you’ll have to stay behind.

Tiny Spaceman: Mumble, mumble, fart, poop.

Alex: Good job Tiny Spaceman! That’s another Adam Sandler script in the can. Stay here and write us a Steve Guttenberg vehicle.

Sabrina: Enough jibber-jabbering! It’s time to go BACK! To the fu—(she begins violently coughing. Alex slaps her on the back and a dead parrot shoots out of her mouth. Somewhere, John Cleese rolls over in his cash-filled swimming pool.)

Katharine: (stroking the Vita-Mix time machine affectionately) I have complete faith that this will work.

Alex: That’s what I’m afraid of! Never tell me the odds! Yippy kai ay motherf— (Katharine slaps her.)

Katharine: GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF!!

Sabrina covers the tiny spaceman’s eyes with her hand and gently carries him off-screen. She returns and the three ladies climb inside the blender, alongside the pineapple. Alex hooks the pineapple up to a computer, and the lights begin to flash. You put a bra on your head and press this link, as it disappears beneath your finger: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zDe5Ckt4joQ  The screen goes dark, and one-by-one all the lights in your house/coffee shop/office/train car/box of donuts go out. You sit in darkness, wondering what in the Heckleberry Finn you have gotten yourself into, when suddenly power is restored and your screen comes back on. The moonscape is gone. You are now watching the past, a New Year’s party in an old-timey wild west saloon. The date is December 31, 2011.

Alex: (Looks around) What a dump.

Katharine: I don’t think my spleen made it.

Sabrina: It did, but it’s over there, sitting on Mark Twain’s Melba toast.

Katharine: Again?

The camera zooms out and reveals Mark Twain, Shania Twain and Damon Wayans standing in front of a poster of Dwayne Wayne, star of Michael Bay’s remake of Shane.

Mark Twain: All things change except barbers, the ways of barbers, and the surroundings of barbers. These never change.

He eats Katharine’s spleen.

Shania Twain: Men are like shoes! I ain’t got time for the flip flop kind.

Damon Wayans: I was 12 years old when I had my first job, delivering packages.

If you decide to follow Nostalgic Damon Wayans to the nearest UPS, turn to page 15. If you decide to suggest that Mark and Shania Twain are the same person, click this link: http://uncyclopedia.wikia.com/wiki/Mark_Twain  If you think politicians have become way too political, grab some poster board, the ghost of Andy Rooney, glitter glue, and make a sign about it, why don’t you? If your name has any vowels in it, continue enjoying this space blog.

Alex: This Western SUCKS. Where are all the floozies and sarsparilla?

Katharine: Ooh check out this trunk fulla junk!

Sabrina: EXCUSE ME? Just because a lady has a curvaceous derriere does NOT —

Katharine:  Wha chu talkin’ bout, Brina?  I was just pointing out this mysterious trunk full of Olde Tyme Western Wear I just found.

Alex: I call dibs on the chaps!!

Sabrina: I call the tiny spaceman! Wait, what’s the spaceman doing here? I thought we left him behind.

Katharine: Don’t question it; this is fantasy. And put a kerchief on that spaceman; he’s nude, and this is a family show.

Alex: Isn’t it New Year’s Eve? Sabrina, didn’t you and Don Rickles have a gig tonight?

Sabrina: Crap, you’re right. (turns to the blog audience) Thank you all for coming to the New Year’s Eve Friar’s Club roast of Kadeem Harrison. I would like to take this opportunity to share this eggnog recipe from the restaurant formerly known as St. Elsewhere with you:

6 eggs separated
1 cup brown sugar
1 cup dark brown sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
1.5 teaspoon vanilla
6oz Scotch
3oz Bourbon
3oz Brandy
1 pint milk
1 pint cream
3 tablespoons white sugar

Beat the egg yolks with the brown sugar, salt and vanilla to the ribbon stage. Add the booze and the dairy and mix until incorporated. Set this mixture aside.

Whisk the egg whites with the white sugar to the medium-hard peak stage. When ready fold the egg whites into the boozy mixture. Season generously with freshly grated nutmeg. FRESHLY!

Allow this to sit for at least an hour or two to let the drink separate from the foam a little. Garnish with a pair of round flip glasses and shoulder pads. Enjoy!

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a large crowd begins to count down in unison. The Ladies of the Hatch throw on their Western wear, dress up Mark Twain as a saloon tranny floozie, and pose confidently against the flimsy backlot film set as flashbulbs pop and confetti cascades down upon them. There is a resounding cry of HAPPY NEW YEAR!! Ryan Seacrest makes out with a New York City cop and all is right with the world. Sabrina, Alex, and Katharine clink glasses of eggnog.

Sabrina: (leaning on the tiny spaceman’s rifle) God bless us, every one!

Alex: (through violent hiccups) It really is an (hic) anytime drink…Ann Jillian (hic) was right…(hic)

Katharine: Who’s the dude?

Sabrina and Alex: MARK TWAIIIIN!!

Katharine: Huh. He looks different in person.