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Random Videos
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In watching the 2 recent debates, I have some ideas to make the format more interesting.
First of all, I would have several costume changes throughout the debate, where they would dress like a firefighter, an astronaut, Hellboy, whatever…
The winner of the debate wouldn’t be coming from some tainted public opinion poll. The participants would receive points throughout the debate, allowing for a true winner at the end, complete with a tasteful trophy presentation. Of course, there would be points given for most original and scariest costume.
I could picture a scenario where McCain wins most original costume by coming as a giant Chalupa, and a tie for scariest costume between Obama as Blackula, and Sarah Palin’s super scary Jeffery Dahmer costume, with a candy bag filled with authentic looking body parts.
I would have a balcony for the 2 elderly Muppets. They’d be there for comic relief as every once in a while we could cut to them making wise cracks to each other.
This is how I would structure the debate with paper, rock, scissors to choose the order:
Question and Rebuttal
Question and Rebuttal
Arm Wrestling - Or a game of H.O.R.S.E. with a 7 foot high rim so the contestants could include dunks.
Basketball may seem to favor Obama, but it was either that or a proposed “Dancing with the Political Stars” contest.
Question and Rebuttal
Battleship - To see who is better at war. I’d prefer they play risk, but it takes too long, plus the Palin team would never agree to this because of the possibility that he’d have to pronounce Kamtchaka.
Nap (for me)
Mad Libs – With guest star Wayne Brady, who would finish the round by singing a hilarious song about Obama and McCain
Question and Rebuttal
Question and Rebuttal
Guitar Hero
Question and Rebuttal
Monopoly - To see who’s better with money. quick game, like whoever makes it around first wins. Whichever contestant can hold their breath longest would get to be the car.
Question and Rebuttal
Sumo - They would run at each other in those crazy supergigantic padded sumo outfits. then I would have them each do 2 trampoline dunks with Magic Johnson being the guest judge. Magic would hold up a 10, no matter how lame the dunk. The crowd would hiss and boo and start to throw things, so with the 2nd dunk he’d mix things up. He’d hold up a 9 for the first person, then he’d hold up a 6 for whoever went next. The losing candidate would complain and just before things got ugly, Magic would flip the 6 into a 9. Oh m’god, he fooled everyone. Tie score. Everyone feels good. Yay. My other idea here is a round of boxing using those humongous boxing gloves usually reserved for girls in bikinis. This would take place in a ring of jello.
As the credits rolled, an obnoxiously diverse group of young people would fill up the stage and join the candidates and their families in the Electric Slide.
I’ve got my ear to the pavement, and the word on the streets is that the Mad Cow Disease is making a comeback. Ooooooh…how exciting! Next to MonkeyPox, is there a single more amusing and delightful disease out there? I can’t say I feel very sympathetic for people who contract Mad Cow. I mean, its not like cows are very quick and agile, and they have no tempers. It’s like getting chased by one of those world’s fattest babies that occasionally grace the cover of the tabloids. I guess that would be portly baby disease. Anyone who gets bit by a cow deserves all sorts of diseases. If I had anything to say about it, they would also all of the sudden become allergic to cheese and ice cream, and get spots all over their body like cows. They should grow 3 more stomachs and wear a big goofy bell around their necks. And they should speak in moos.
On the other hand, I do feel sorrow for people who get Monkey Pox, as monkeys are adorable, they juggle, and who can possibly resist petting one and offering them whatever yummy treats you have in your pockets at the time.
I know I’m about 7 months early, but I’m so excited that I couldn’t wait any longer to announce the 1st annual Easter Egg Hunt for Homeless Kids on Saturday April 11, 2009 at 10:30 PM. I’m doing it Saturday night so that I can sleep in Sunday morning and wake up to make myself chocolate chip pancakes without having to worry about a bunch of kids waiting for me. I won’t be celebrating Easter, as I’m a Jew, but I feel like I have an obligation to those who are less fortunate than Jews, and to a lesser extent, the rest of society. I decided to have the hunt take place at 10:30 PM so that I’ll have time to have myself a couple of fruity alcoholic beverages afterwards to celebrate my goodheartedness. Also, Easter in 2009 lies on my birthday, so I need to keep my options open in case anyone wants to take me out for cake and chocolate milk.
The Easter Egg Hunt will begin inside of a tunnel underneath a bridge in Central Park in NYC. I’m not giving the specific location because I figure that if you can’t find the starting point of the hunt, you most certainly aren’t going to be smart enough to find the winning egg.
I will hide eggs under cars, inside of abandoned and occupied crack-houses, in sewage pipes, in bowls of dog food left for stray Pitbulls, in dumpsters, wells, hooker’s purses, and other fun places around town.
This will be an especially fun Easter Egg Hunt because there will be not 1, but 2 winning eggs. Whenever an egg is found, it should be cracked open without hesitation. One of the winning eggs will have a live baby chicken inside of it. The prize for finding this egg will be a new pet baby chicken. The other eggs will contain egg. These eggs must be eaten right away. The winning egg will be the one that does not contain salmonella. I will know who wins by eliminating all the homeless kids who get violently ill. The champion egg finder will receive half of a turkey sandwich and the sweatpants that I’m wearing at this very moment. They’re almost new, except for a couple of small holes and a smell that I don’t particularly like, but to the winning child they will smell of victory and most certainly will be an improvement over whatever his or her current pants smell like.
I do not want people telling me how wonderful I am for doing this amazing deed for the kids of the street. The look on the face of the child who gets to eat my half-sandwich while wearing my sweatpants will be reward enough. And it feels good knowing that some lonely child will have the loyalty and companionship of an adorably little baby chicken.
I’ve decided that I want babies. 3 of them, to be exact. I want triplets, but I don’t want them to all look the same.
I’d like for one of my babies to be a Burtle. A little tiny baby Burtle. 50% Bear, 50% Turtle, 100% precious. He’d be my favorite. I’d spoil him like you wouldn’t believe. I’d buy him all sorts of cute little rattles and such. I’d hire a full-grown Elmo to be at his birthday party. I’d send him to private school so that he could be anything he wanted, like a doctor, or a congressman. I’d buy him the nicest blue bonnet that I could find at Baby’s-R-Us. I would call him Umberto my Little Pookie Wookie Burtle Baby.
I’d like for my second triplet to be a Mermaid baby. I would love my mermaid baby very much, just not quite as much as my precious little Burtle baby. I would be most pleased if my mermaid baby had little lobster claws for hands. I would send her to public school and encourage her to play tennis or to be on the debate team. I would go to her high-school graduation, but I would not stay until the end. I would discourage her from having surgery to separate her legs, making her more normal. I would tell her that if she did such a thing, that I would love her less. I would be so proud if she grew up to have a respectable job, like a manager at a yarn store, where she could cut the yarn with her lobster claws. I would buy her a bonnet from Target. I would call her Thelma the Mermaid Baby with Claws.
I would like for my third triplet to be normal. I would not like my normal baby one bit, and that’s the truth. I would neglect him and feed him discounted hamster food. I would dress him in raggedy torn overalls and make him carry around a pitchfork. I would tell him that if he shined Umberto’s shell, I would feed him porkchops. When my precious little Burtle’s shell was super-shiny, I would feed my normal baby Rabbit food. I would homeschool him, then not teach him anything. I would ask him to read things and then laugh at him along with Umberto and Thelma. His illiteracy would be the root of many jokes in my household. I would hire someone who slurred really badly to tutor him until he developed the same slur. This would make his attempts at reading even funnier than before. I would not buy him a bonnet. I would call him Zeek.
I used to think that the scariest thing for a small child was the boogeyman, or Leatherface. That was until last Easter. The sheer horror I saw on the youngsters faces as they were being forced into the lap of the Easter bunny made me rethink my stand. The kids were crying hysterically as their parents, upset that they just spent $25 to get pictures that will be carefully placed into colorful frames and cute little snow globes, were shoving and using candy and whatever else they could think of to get their kids to force upwards the corners of their little mouths in a quasi-smile long enough to have their pictures taken with the big furry monster. I think they should have kids take pictures with a real bunny, or a small stuffed bunny. What’s the worst thing that can happen, rabies? But to have a disgruntled balloon artist dressed up like an 8-foot tall bunny, with his ugly middle-aged head visible through the hole in the fur helmet sitting on his head, and smelling more by the minute, and only able to communicate with clumsy waves reminiscent of a bear swiping at a tourists head is frightening to me, so you can imagine what it does to little kids. At least known killers like Jason and Freddy are out in the open and don’t try to hide their motives. When you see them, you run. But with the giant bunny, you don’t know whether you should approach them for a hug, or throw eggs to distract him before running as fast as your tiny little toddler legs will carry you.
Some guy at the gym today was wearing a shirt that said Booty Hunter. If he really wants to keep it real, tomorrow he’ll wear a Booty Kryptonite shirt. Never has there been a man with less of a chance of scoring with the ladies since crustacean lover Timmy Crocker decided to start wearing a leather jacket embroidered on the back with “I Have Crabs!”
Someone on TV just said, “There’s a lot of coldness in those glaciers.”
Indeed there is.
It just makes me wonder… If someone like that could make it to the egg as a tiny little sperm, what kind of weakened competition was he up against? After years of heavy drinking and thousands of whippets, his dad probably had one barely living solitary sperm left, along with several hundred dead sea monkeys.
