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.
--
In the Circuit City ad on Sunday, there was a TV listed that I was
prepared to buy. "This is it!" I proclaimed, gesticulating
wildly as if I were onstage. I was ready to take the plunge, to whip out
the MasterCard and let the chips fall where they may. It was, as they
say, almost too good to be true.
Here's
the television. It's a 42-inch Samsung, and the ad said it featured a
1080p Full HD picture -- for nine hundred bucks! As we used to say back
home, fuckin' A! I'd be there when the doors opened, inappropriately
aroused.
But, as so often happens, it really was too good to be true.
There was a "misprint" in the ad, and the TV's not 1080p, it's
720p. I went online to do some research on it, and went from
hyper-excitement to crushing disappointment in nothing flat. I know,
deep down, that I wouldn't be able to tell the difference between the
two resolutions. But I keep TVs for a long time, and if I'm going to
fork over a wheelbarrow full of cash for a new one, I want to be able to
fool myself into believing that I bought the best.
So, the waiting continues. I read somewhere that after the holidays TV
prices are going to plunge. Supposedly 50-inch 1080p sets will be
available for less than $1000. And when that day arrives, mister, I'll
be there with my fleshy smiling face pressed against the glass, as they
unlock the doors.
-- A week or so ago I mentioned that Sunshine might appear in the studio
audience of America's Funniest Home Videos. Well, we didn't see
her, even when we slowed everything down with the DVR. She was
apparently sitting somewhere where the camera couldn't find her.
However, her friend's son won the ten grand, with a video that featured
a dog playing the drums.
Over the weekend they returned to Los Angeles to compete for $100,000,
and it sounds like it didn't go the way they'd hoped. Because Sunshine
is now spinning wild conspiratorial theories involving the Disney
Corporation and the international Jewish banking conspiracy. Or some
such thing.
Everything's a conspiracy with that woman. It's hilarious. When
her candidate loses an election, it was stolen. When her football team
gets beaten, the mob had it fixed for gambling money. Nothing is as it
seems. We're all being fooled, and it's so completely obvious to anyone
willing to open their eyes. Highly entertaining.
-- A few days ago I linked to a list of
the 10 Creepiest Fast Food
Mascots, which I thought was incredibly on
the mark. Surf Reporter Carolyn has now upped the ante, and taken it
international. Here's a pic she snapped in Paris, of a horrifying fry
man. You can actually see others doing double-takes in the street. Good
stuff. Thanks Carolyn!
-- Yesterday I picked up the latest addition to the world-renowned
Bunker Collection. I'd planned to have my Shane MacGowan poster framed,
along with an old poster advertising the notorious Mr. Mike's Mondo
Video, but got cold feet. The guy wanted way too much to frame Shane
(I don't think he cared for it), but gave me a decent price on Mr. Mike.
So I decided to just go with the latter.
And here it is, finally in its rightful place on the babyshit green
walls of the Surf Report bunker. Don't worry Shane, you're next....
-- This doesn't have anything to do with anything, but Toney bought two
pounds of Dunkin' Donuts coffee a few days ago, and the shit is damngood. It'll keep your regular too.
-- It's Tuesday, and that means it's time for another dispatch straight
outta Normal, over at Jason Headley Dotcom. Right
here. I think I forgot
to link to last week's update, and it was especially good, so be sure to
check it out as well.
-- This is a funny promo for the new season of 24, that Brad
alerted me to. Happy holidays, from the folks at the Christmas Toys
Unit.
-- And it's time once again for the question of the day. Let me set this
bitch up, like I'm on Letterman.... Yesterday I told you about an
encounter my brother and I had with a rogue turd in a motel swimming
pool in Canada. I'd like to flesh that story out a bit, if I might.
When I was twelve or thirteen we went on a great family vacation to the
northeastern part of the country. We visited New York City, took in a
game at Fenway Park, and went to the Baseball Hall of Fame in
Cooperstown. It was the best vacation ever!
We also saw Niagara Falls, and ventured into Canada for a day or two. On
the first night inside the exotic foreign land, we stayed at a motel on
the other side of the border from the falls. It was just full-on
tourist, with hotels and motels and cheesy wax museums lining the
streets. My parents chose a place that looked OK from the outside, but
was pretty goddamn shabby on the inside.
I remember there were little tables beside the beds, with no legs. They
were just attached to the wall, and were slanted radically, as if people
had sat on them with their big fat American asses. When I flipped on the
bathroom light, roaches scampered in every direction. And on the wall,
between the beds, was a print of Blue
Boy, and it looked like someone
had shot out one of his eyes with a .22 caliber rifle.
My brother and I began howling in protest, and my Dad got mad. He rarely
loses his cool, and when he does it'll get your attention. I can't
remember the exact words he used, but he basically accused us of being a
couple of pampered fancy lads, and went on at length about some of the
places he stayed when he was our age. This is like the Plaza compared to
those dumps, he told us. He made it very clear that we would be
staying there, and it was in our best interest to just shut up about it.
Tension hung in the air during the silent minute that followed his
diatribe, then he looked over at one of those comically slanted tables,
and said, "And if any of you see that glass start to slide off that
nightstand, try to catch it. I don't want it to break."
Uproarious laughter, and an instant end to hostilities....
After we got settled into our horrible room, my brother and I wandered
down to the pool. And we found kids scampering for the ladders, and
screaming in horror. The hell? There was a turd floating in the water!
How in God's name does something like that happen? It had to be on
purpose, people don't just go around accidentally ejecting full-sized
logs all willy-nilly through a leg of their swimsuit. Ya know? At least
not here in America.
A boy, roughly our age, was standing on the side of the pool, doing a
play-by-play and quoting the opening segment of the Six Million
Dollar Man: "It's breaking up! It's breaking up!!"
Yes, it was quite a memorable stay, there north of the border. And I'd
be much obliged if you could tell us about your worst hotel/motel
experience. Use the comments link below. I have a feeling this could be
a good one....
--
In the Circuit City ad on Sunday, there was a TV listed that I was
prepared to buy. "This is it!" I proclaimed, gesticulating
wildly as if I were onstage. I was ready to take the plunge, to whip out
the MasterCard and let the chips fall where they may. It was, as they
say, almost too good to be true.
