Holy
crap in a Bundt pan...
Due to the
recent well-publicized shortage of
amateur websites produced by assholes who consider themselves to be
clever, I
have been called into action. My name is Jeff Kay, and I’m an
Ugly American living
on the cusp of a mid-life crisis, near Scranton, PA. And I’m here to
serve, baby.
The
State of My Fat Ass A journal of
sorts, updated every once in a while.
--
So I was standing in line at Wendy's a few days ago.... Toney told me I
was on my own for dinner, and I'd made a beeline for my beloved #1 with
cheese, no pickles, and a Coke.
There was a family in front of me with two or three teenage boys, each
suffering from the high-ugly, ordering about forty dollars worth of fast
food. It was taking forever. The Dad asked if he could have potato chips
instead of fries with his meal (something I didn't even know was an
option), then proceeded to polish off the entire bag while standing at
the counter.
Man, that makes my blood boil.... When I see people eating straight off
the tray while still standing at the cash register, as workers struggle
to keep the assembly line of fat running at full capacity, I feel like
throwing punches. For the love of God man, have a little dignity!
The mother, who seemed to hold the keys to a testicle lockbox, was
handling the money. As she paid Dad absent-mindedly flattened out his
potato chip bag, until it was like a sheet of notebook paper. While he
worked on this important project he continued moving his lips and jawbone
even though the chips were long gone. It seemed to be some sort of
primal phantom-chewing instinct at play, and I had to turn my head.
The cashier asked the mother if she'd like to donate one dollar to the mumble
mumble fund, and the woman waved her hand dismissively and said,
"Sure. Whatever." Then the cashier went back to helping load
the four(!) trays they'd dedicated to this crew, and I could feel my
blood pressure inching upward. The whole thing was pissing me off.
While I waited on the butter hogs' trough to be filled, I grumbled under
my breath, then began distracting myself by scripting an answer to the
coming "Do you want to donate a dollar?" question. My plan was
to say, "I'm sorry, which disease was that again?" Then when
the cashier repeated it, I'd answer, "Oh no, I don't donate for that
one."
By the time it was finally my turn, I had my lines memorized and was
ready to go. This was going to be great! And she took my order and
money, gave me back my change, said thank you and turned away.
Wotta rip-off!
-- I don't know about you, but I've been
recording as many TV campaign commercials as possible, so we can
continue watching them here at the Compound, even after election day. It
makes me sad to realize that we're almost at the end, and will soon live
in a world with a greatly-reduced amount of political advertising. No
more doom and gloom. No more character assassination. No more
"We're all going to hell in a handbasket, and there's a shortage of
handbaskets!"
And mister, that's why I'm doing something about it.
-- And speaking of archival material, it appears that Phil Hendrie is
going to re-launch his new and improved website today. As I type this,
there's a Coming Soon page here. But Phil sent out a mass email a few
days ago, promising that the site will be up and running before October
ends. Eventually it will feature every complete show from at least
the Los Angeles era, and that's ten years of genius, baby. Plus, he says
he'll be doing a weekly podcast, which has the Phil Phanatics all abuzz,
as well as some sort of mysterious web animation project.
Needless to say, I'll be a charter subscriber. Seven bucks a month is a
small price to pay. And this time it's going straight to Phil, and not
Premiere Radio, or whatever. Hook me up, goddammit.
-- I hope it's not too obvious, but I'm having all sorts of trouble
squeezing-out this update today. I just can't get myself into the
fucked-upness zone, for some reason. But, luckily for all of us, I have
some exciting news: Metten has risen! I'm not sure if he planned this to
happen on Halloween, or if it was only a coincidence, but just when we
thought he was gone forever.... he's returned. Right
here.
-- And I know this is sorta short, but that's the way it goes sometimes. I'll
leave with a Question of the Day that just occurred to me a few minutes
ago, as I was walking upstairs for a Little Debbie oatmeal cookie.
When I was in high school and afterwards, there was a popular dance club
in our area called Galaxy 2000. I only went there a couple of times,
because I'm not really a dance club kinda guy. But there was no escaping
their advertising. It was all over the radio, wedged in between every
horrible Eddie Money song, and right up in your face.
I remember they had a regular event where every guy who showed up on a
certain night received a bolt at the door, and every girl a nut. If you
could locate the guy or girl who held your corresponding piece of
hardware, and you could get them to, ahem, screw together, both of you
received a free drink. Or something like that.
For some reason that particular gimmick stuck in my head. Probably
because it's so creatively blatant. The only one that rivals it is a
club here, where they reportedly sponsor a Penny Till U Pee night once a
week. Apparently they give everyone a wristband that entitles you to buy
drinks for a penny each, until you have to take a whizz. Then your
wristband is taken away, and it's back to the regular inflated prices.
Good stuff.
What are the best club gimmicks? I have a feeling there are a ton of
good ones that I've never heard about, since I don't get out much. Tell
us about it, won't you?
--
So I was standing in line at Wendy's a few days ago.... Toney told me I
was on my own for dinner, and I'd made a beeline for my beloved #1 with
cheese, no pickles, and a Coke.