Saturday, March 31, 2007
Friday, March 30, 2007
So somebody here at the Cerebral Itch Scratch Pad offices busted the channel knob off of the old Zenith console TV we have in the lunch room. So now thanks to this intra-office hooligan, we have to watch one channel until someone finds the needle nose pliers. Well, Oprah is on this trapped channel and as chance would have it I recently caught an episode that made me just a tad cranky. It featured Pastor Will Bowen of Christ Church Unity in Kansas City, Missouri. Pastor Will has whipped up a dangerous idea: a complaint-free world.
First off, Pastor Will is high. Anyone who thinks he can live on this planet in 2007 and refrain from casting an aspersion on something or someone is generously self-medicated and delusional. But to be fair, Pastor Will lives in Kansas City so once you weed out all the bitching you would do about living in Kansas City your list gets pretty short (we don't have any shops in K.C. that carry our cards, so f*ck it). This is yet another attempt by the humor and irony challenged population to compensate for their inability to crack wise. When you're funny, complaining is seen as irony, wit and/or sarcasm. When you're not funny, it's called "complaining" or in its feminine form, "whining".
Pastor Will gives away little purple LiveStrong knock-off bracelets that remind you to live a complaint-free day and also to let other people know you're an idiot. He encourages people to try to go complaint-free for 21 days and if successful, you will lead a happier life. Do you know what would happen if I or practically all the people I know tried to go complaint-free for three weeks? There would be a rash of homicides, strokes and alcohol poisonings by people who have ground their teeth down to nothing.
Spare me the platitudes, I'll keep admiring the genius of Dorothy Parker, Noel Coward, Oscar Wilde, Groucho Marx and today's gold-standard in bitching, Lewis Black, et al. In short, Pastor Will can kiss my ass and go complain to someone who cares; oh wait, he can't. I win.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Well, the "husky" kid took it on the chin the other night. Chris Sligh, the Jack Osbourne (circa 2001) look-alike went down like so many of his full-figured brethren...hard.
Who cares really? This year's crop of screechers is piss-poor on a good night. And if the singing isn't bad enough for you they've got a stylist who I really think is a down-on-his-luck color blind straight guy suffering from glaucoma going gay for pay. Because if he really is gay and claiming to be a stylist, he's going to get his gay membership revoked. Then again, whoever they are, they have crap to work with; I swear to God some of that stuff the women wear is from TJ Maxx and Phil Stacey is a prime example that you can't prune a dead tree.
But back to Sligh; Aw forget it, I just do these American Idol posts for the web hits. He sucked, went to Bob Jones University and is now boarding the train back to Obscurity, USA. Oh, and if you think I'm going to end this entry without mentioning Sanjaya, you're wrong. Although, enough has already been said about him and I'm saving it up for when they bring him out in full glorious drag, because that's really the last card the little weasel can play after the 12-year-old girl's slumber party prank hairdo from this week.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
When a man can piss on the Constitution for over six years and still be able to boogie in the same 24-hour period that a young hermaphrodite reminds us all that inbred cultural illiterates shape pop culture is when you've got solid confirmation that you can max out all the credit cards; because it's all going to be over pretty soon now anyway.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Monday, March 26, 2007
This is how I imagine a conversation going as a result of the above picture:
The mailman: Hi Mrs. Johnson, and how is Timmy today after his visit to the dentist.
Mrs. Johnson: Oh his teeth are fine, but now I have to deal with him pissing himself in terror every time he sees a cartoon
It appears the fine folks at Colgate got the hot idea to put Warner Bros. cartoon character mouths on surgical masks. They felt that such whimsical imagery would lighten up a visit to the dentist. Well, I got news for you Colgate, it's the childhood equivalent of an IRS agent wearing a glow in the dark strap-on to your audit. Funny at first thought, but then again you wouldn't want it hanging over your face.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Through diligent reporting on the part of our own Cerebral Itch Scratch Pad staff, we have uncovered the machinations behind the astounding staying-power of talentless Sanjaya Malakar, the Y-chromosome challenged American Idol contestant who survived yet another night of eliminations.
Based on close to six pages of documentation and a few well placed phone calls to relatives across town, it appears that approximately 300 call centers in Bangalore, India have been utilized in a surgical effort to inundate American Idol with votes for, euphemistically referred to in a confidential memo as their "homeboy", Sanjaya. The most notable call centers allegedly involved in this scandal are those that have existing contracts with Ford Motors/Mercury Vehicles, Gateway Computers and Cricket Wireless. A call center employee who would only allow us to refer to him as "Ted" explained how an entire call center could be utilized for such a nefarious purpose. "Nobody buys that crap so we don't get any calls. We got some of the best Sudoku players in
A spokesperson for Fremantle Media, producers of American Idol declined to comment, but Fox issued a statement this morning stating that they are looking into the situation but currently have all their resources focused on allegations surrounding the Jeff Foxworthy show Are you Smarter than a Fifth Grader? that the show has been plundered by a ring of genius midgets disguised as 10-year old children.
Representatives for Malakar have also declined to comment but expressed to the media that this is a very stressful time for Sanjaya and he needs to focus at the task at hand; which apparently is the utter destruction of whatever credibility American Idol has left. Despite this scandal, Sanjaya's popularity has skyrocketed among his strongest fan base: developmentally disabled little girls who sob uncontrollably.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
"Our enemies are innovative and resourceful, and so are we. They never stop thinking about new ways to harm our country and our people, and neither do we."
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
It was the first time in human history when the term "Get the f*ck out of here!?" was uttered by over 4 billion people. Never before had incredulity united the world. All as a result of the announcement last year that Heather Mills, former wife of Paul McCartney, professional soft-core porn gold digger and uni-ped was going to compete in Dancing with the Stars.
Last night Heather and her partner Jonathan Roberts danced and I am, um, pleased to report, her prosthetic leg did not pop off. A YouTube spokesperson issued a statement this morning announcing it has brought online six additional video petabyte servers to handle the massive load of visitors anticipated when her leg does in fact, pop off on national television.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Many things have been said about the twenty and thirty-something centrist/liberal voter. Most have been derisive and dismissive; "apathetic", "insular" and "imbued with a sense of entitlement” are the most popular and for the most part, accurate sobriquets frequently used to describe. But in all successful open societies, complexity gives way to equity. Balancing out apathy is frustration, insularity has focus and entitlement stokes ambition. When you have a segment of the population that consists of frustrated, focused and ambitious individuals nearing a presidential election in the current climate empowered with tools that give unprecedented influence to voice, you're going to have change on a historic scale. That change began in earnest last week.
In a brilliantly guerilla-esque ad, an unknown Barack Obama supporter (update 3/21/07: identity revealed on the Huffington Post) took the old Apple/Ridley Scott 1984 Super Bowl ad and remastered it complete with digital enhancements ('O-08 logo on the shirt, iPod fastened to hip, etc.) to make Mrs. Clinton into Big Brother. Especially biting was the video of Mrs. Clinton that was used; it was her well received cozy sofa chat debut video off of her own website.
Intelligent, skilled and motivated and not connected to Madison Avenue or political consultant firms are the people that are going to wrest this country back from the establishment. Dying on the vine are Karl Rove's mythical mailing lists and creaky prime-time swift boat ads. Their replacements: blogs, facebook pages, homemade viral videos and meet-ups. Who needs street rallies when you can create an ad in your pajamas purely because you believe and end up on all three of the major news websites (MSNBC, FOX, CNN) the following Monday morning.
In 1979, the futurist Alvin Toffler coined the word ''prosumer". Initially, it referred to an individual who would have influence over their purchases (a mash-up of the words ''producer" and ''consumer.") Today, the term applies readily to anyone who has an innate understanding of the web, technology and branding; because in actuality, we're not just voters anymore but informed consumers who would like to upgrade from the current model.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
Friday, March 16, 2007
Many of you have probably heard about the cinematic import from South Korea, The Host. It's being hailed as "one of the scariest monster movies since 'Jaws'". Well I'm here to tell you, it's about as scary as a spring-loaded snake in a faux can of peanuts handed to you by a five year old.
The movie is a blended mess of genres that fight each other throughout the whole movie and one never really wins. I am still trying to figure out how slapstick comedy fits into the scene where a family openly grieves about the loss of a young girl. Critics are praising this film as, "feverishly imaginative" which is about right; I get pretty imaginative too when I have a fever.
I'm just pissed I got schooled by a cool trailer and a bunch of pretentious critics who apparently believe that all it takes is subtitles, bizarre pathos and less than subtle political statements to make a "wildly entertaining saga".
This flick is essentially a Korean Godzilla remake, and I'm talking about the Matthew Broderick one.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Alright, let's be honest here. When trying to maintain a blog of mediocre relevance, one is hard-pressed to avoid any reference to the festering retarded cultural pox known as American Idol.
In short, the whole shiteous production finally jumped, flipped and pirouetted over the shark this season due to the fact that the band of hermaphrodites also known as the "men" contestants can't crap out a K-Tel worthy note and the itty-bitty-titty scandal of Antonella Barba is more aesthetically pleasing than the women who are shall we say, fugly. It's also cruelly ironic that in a year where past participants are scooping up industry accolades, the fresh crop should be scooping up cigarette butts at a bus station before heading home.
Wrap-up: The above cheeseball got the boot last night. Brandon Rogers, former background singer and genetic proof that Isaac from the Love Boat and Tootie from the Facts of Life humped. Rogers forgot his words Tuesday and every time the camera was on him, he did that double-handed pistol finger/wink thing. I wanted to hit him with cold rebar.
And if the war, weather and G. Walker Bush don't scare the bejeezus out of you and make you think the end in nigh. Allow me to confirm it for you:
Patently wrong on so many levels; I am going to go weep now.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
According to Spelling's publicist, the actress and her husband, actor Dean McDermott, welcomed 6-pound, 6-ounce Liam Aaron McDermott on Tuesday. Several hours later, Caltech spokeswoman Shiva Shabadoo, held a press conference to announce the results of a new device designed to scan search engine requests and the sympathetic karmic resonance energy of the general public. The results showed a near-flatline graph illustrating virtually no interest generated by the birth of the child; ranking just slightly below the Duncan Hunter presidential campaign.
When asked about the findings, Grandmother Candy Spelling commented, "A Spelling production hasn't had ratings this low since The Colbys; her father must be spinning in his grave". The couple will be starring later this spring in the reality series "Tori & Dean: Inn Love," on the Oxygen network. Shabadoo was asked if data had been gathered concerning the couple's upcoming series to which she replied, "We believe the device would only confirm what many of us already know, so we'll just save the electricity."
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
My Apologies again to everyone who tuned in Sunday morning to see me on Face The Nation with Bob Shieffer; I was supposed to be on to speak about the documents that I will be presenting Friday at a CSPAN meet 'n greet breakfast requesting that Alberto Gonzales, U.S. Attorney General admit he is no longer a Mexican.
It appears by all accounts, he has undergone the same procedure that Michael Jackson endured to eradicate his ethnicity as well (Jacko also ponied up a few extra bucks to be bleached and neutered). Turns out the Justice Department got wind of my appearance and put the screws to the folks at CBS. No sooner did I step out of my town car that I was met by the FTN producers to tell me I was being bumped for Sen. Chuck Schumer D-NY who was going to call only for his resignation. As if that wasn't bad enough, as soon as I got back into the car, my Blackberry goes off alerting me that Cerebral Itch is going to be audited next week.
Last Tuesday a small FedEx package ended up at our office door containing documents that laid out the slow descent of one Alberto Gonzales, who according to the evidence likes to now be called, Bert Gonnagle. The unsigned cover letter makes three simple conclusions that no Mexican male in his right mind is going to 1: happily work for more than one dumb gringo at a time (POTUS, Meirs, Rove, et al) if he doesn't have to 2. Ever use the word "quaint" and 3. Wear lifts. The document goes on to make the startling literary comparison (ironically a Spanish one) that Bert Gonnagle bears an uncanny resemblance to the fictional character Sancho Panza, the loyal sidekick to the delusional man of La Mancha, Don Quixote. Sancho is described as "Don Quixote's actual manservant [who] follows his master, puzzled but obedient. Riding a mule, [helping] el Quixote get out of scrapes while blithely looking forward to rewards of aventura that Quixote [promises] him.
The evidence and literary doppelganger are compelling as are the instances that have defined his career. He ham-handedly extricated Governor Bush from jury duty in 1996 and smoothed over the fact that he didn't disclose his 1976 drunk driving conviction during jury selection, helped Cheney lock up evidence surrounding the now infamous White House energy powwow with Enron as well as other shady folk and who could forget him getting all snuggly with his old boss John Ashcroft in penning the Patriot Act.
Through all this unquestionable loyalty to his superiors he was soon rewarded with an appointment to the Supreme Court of the
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Friday, March 09, 2007
As the controversy continues to build surrounding the paternity of Anna Nicole Smith's infant daughter, I am compelled to break my silence and join the legion of men who claim to be the child's father; for I am the child's true father: Dannielynn Hope Marshall is the fruit of my loins.
Anna Nicole and I had become quite close over the years. We met during a Deepak Chopra book signing at a Ft. Lauderdale Borders. She was being harassed by the patrons (pre-TrimSpa days) and Deepak was really no help. He and I had were already on shaky ground from an incident earlier that year where I had to extricate he and Tony Robbins from a Kabukicho sex-fantasy club in Tokyo, but I digress. Anna Nicole and I fled out the back of the bookstore and made it to a Denny's where we spent the rest of the night lost in conversation and grand slam specials. She spoke only of a life seared from the spotlight; a life where the spiritual and intellectual pursuits were unattainable. Where sycophants and capitalists had reduced her existence to one of a Nabokov protagonist trying to break free of the psychological bonds in a dystopic world; her words not mine. We said goodbye as the dawn came. We exchanged MySpace profile addresses and kissed. I must've stood in that parking lot for an hour after her taxi pulled away.
We met again in October '05 at the opening of Pure, a Las Vegas nightclub in the bowels of Caesar's Palace. I was battered and bruised from an unsuccessful tenure as joke writer for the Kerry presidential campaign and a newly cut American Idol semi-finalist. She was the radiant picture of health and lucidity that we all remember her being. She ran to me, lifted my chin with her gentle alabaster fingers and whispered "get me out of here and take me to the stars you silly sexy beast." I am proud to say, I did.
For the record, Mr. Stern was never spoken of in flattering terms, much less intimate ones. He was instrumental in seeing that our
Now, I sit and wait for the announcement. The announcement that will bring back to me what Anna and I were. Love personified, love given wings, a love that only Celine could sing about.
I thank you in advance for your support,
the Cerebral Itch Guy
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Quick! Who won the SuperBowl this year?! Yeah, that's what I thought. Quick! Who freakin' nailed it at half-time with a righteous piece of entertainment that set the house on fire and almost made all of us forget past Aerosmith, Britney and Josh Groban Gong Show-worthy performances? You know it: Prince.
So why am I bringing up a fact that is now over a month old? Well it seems that a disturbingly large number of mothers and fathers in the hinterland saw something dirty in Prince's guitar solo behind a rain-soaked sheet. So dirty in fact, that they're lodging complaints with the FCC. I can understand they're sadness and ire. One, it was Prince performing, so naturally it's going to be free from any sexual overtones or innuendo. Two, Prince broke new ground that night by being the first man ever to connect the dots between the apparent phallic symbolism of a guitar and where it resides on one's body while being played. And lastly, why can't CBS just stick to showing wholesome entertainment consisting of large men crippling each other in gladitorial splendor and programming that brings us all together like family-favorites, CSI(s) and Two and a Half Men with that precocious Christian scamp, Charlie Sheen?
The complaints of this concerned citizenry contain eloquence and a call to arms we should all heed:
(FCC) Complaint Summary:and this fiery polemic:
II was obscene to show Prince, A HOMOSEXUAL person through a sheet. as to show his siluelte while his guitar showed a very phalic symbol coming from his below his midriff section, I am very offended and I would preffer not to have showed it to my 4 children who love football. One of them has hoped to be a quarterback and now he will turn out gay. I am actually considering to check him for HIV.' Thanks CBS for turning my son GAY.
During Prince's rendition of Purple Rain…there seemed to be a shadow puppet of his (penis), The sheet that was the backdrop seemed to be (stained?) with something (semen?) My children were watching and now I have to explain to them what a wet spot is on a c*m covered sheetJoin these people in their rage, stand behind them in support of saving their children; but just don't call them during Are you smarter than a 5th grader?.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
So I thought I would be able to get a post up sooner, but my responsibilities as an alternate juror in the Lewis "Scooter" Libby case precluded me from doing so. It seems the raucous group that dropped the hammer on the little patsy today wanted to enjoy a $2 well drink/buffalo wing special down the street from the courthouse at a Bennigan's in celebration. One thing led to another and I'm sitting here at the bar with my laptop blogging while drunk off my ass with Tucker Carlson trying to get me to go in on Jello-shots for some barely-legal Georgetown hotties who keep looking this way. Frankly, the man bugs the shit out of me with all his sordid tales of how he is now "swimmin' in ass" since his foray on Dancing with the Stars.
I know several of the Sunday morning pundits praised our jury for being "analytical" and "careful" in the pursuit of truth; but I'd like to see their faces when practically every one of the jurors either mooned or flipped the bird to Libby's armored SUV as he drove past us. I think Libby's crew were actually going to come in but then recognized this lynch mob and beat feet outta here.
In about 20 minutes we're leaving to go out to Greta Van Susteren's for cocktails and then over to the Sofitel Hotel for a victory party the Wilson's are throwing. The last time we were out at Gretta's she had Neil Cavuto in a cupid's outfit for a Valentine's Day/Birthday gag for Brit Hume. I frankly was astonished at how accommodating Cavuto was for this sort of thing but then someone who goes to the same gym as he told me that Cavuto thinks he's hung and hoped the cherub outfit would support that rumor. Judging how most of the ladies were extending their pinkies while drinking after he would walk by, I took that as a silent statement of contradiction. It was a hoot nonetheless.
But I digress, Scooter Libby took the fall today for his Dick as well as Karl Rove, who most likely will be knocking back Chardonnay and laughing atop his stack of vintage 1920's Negress porn that yet another political bullet has whizzed past his head.
Okay, it appears that the bus DailyKos chartered for us is here - if I remember half of what happens tonight or don't end up in a dress, I'll be shocked.
Monday, March 05, 2007
Sunday, March 04, 2007
It's a beautiful Sunday morning here in San Diego. The air is crisp. the sky clear and the promise of a new day beckons. One would almost be swayed to think the world is without war and ugliness.
Well that last part went down the shitter in the amount of time it took to come across this story: Baby comes as shock - The mother didn't know she was pregnant until she had carried the fetus to full term. At first glance I thought "oh another dumbass teen pregnancy" then I clicked through to the article and have been nursing a cup of peppermint tea to settle my stomach ever since. Apparently Ms. April Barnum of Garden Grove, CA, who is currently weighing in at 420 lbs didn't know she had a bun in the oven due to her massive girth. April got a tummy-ache last Monday, went to the hospital, they x-rayed her abdominal area (don't even get me started on how much radiation had to be used to penetrate her gut - I bet the radiology department is still glowing), and discovered the bundle of joy. Two days later, little Walter (note: fat kid name) was born.
So this is where I'm mildly apoplectic: Somebody had sex with April! Now there are people we know of that do some crazy shit in this world; i.e. scale Everest, circumnavigate the globe in a balloon and even go to Kenny Chesney concerts where we find ourselves saying, "good for them and their insanity, but not for me." But in the case of April Barnum, her fiancé Walter Edwards II lit some candles, pounded some 2 buck Chuck, took a deep breath and tapped that ass. Yep, think about it; not too long though, but try to think back to those exceptionally long periods of celibacy in your life where you wondered "am I ever going to get laid?!" and here we have big April showing us all up by getting some. And let me leave you with this last tidbit. The kid was delivered c-section; probably not her choice but the doctors who thought the view would be better from up top.
Thanks for reading, I'm going to go pack my bags now, because I'm going to Hell for this one.
Saturday, March 03, 2007
sending Ann Coulter a BIG TRANNY Intervention Card!
Special Offer: Buy any Cerebral Itch greeting card and write "Ann Coulter is a Big Tranny" in the "special instructions" box at checkout and we'll send her our BIG TRANNY card in your honor.
What got Ann this illustrious honor? Oh, the crazy right-wing hag let another chestnut fly at the annual Conservative Political Action Conference (CPAC) in Washington, D.C. - Anne said:
“I was going to have a few comments on the other Democratic presidential candidate, John Edwards, but it turns out you have to go into rehab if you use the word ‘faggot–so….’"
Don't believe me? Click here to watch the video of her once again, verbally soiling herself.
If you want to do the dirty work yourself,
here's the poisonous harpie's address:
c/o Random House-Publicity
Friday, March 02, 2007
If this sad, formulaic and homophobic piece of crap kills at the box-office this weekend, I'm moving to Finland. If you or any poor misguided bastard you know is even thinking of seeing this thing, please use the below links as tools for intervention
Thursday, March 01, 2007
There are some days when the term "What the F*ck!" just does not cut it. Today is one of those days.
Allow me to present Pikku Orava (Finnish for Little Squirrel) a singing/axe-banging CGI squirrel, that has has made Finland it's bitch. This 'shroom trip's first album, Uusi Seedee reached number one on the Finnish album charts and ended up going platinum (30,000 sales). Fine, we have Paris Hilton and Taylor Hicks cutting albums, but their sh*t doesn't sell; I'd like to say we have standards. Jeté on over to little Pikku's MySpace page and let it fire up the hit single "lick it up". Yes, that's right, I just told you that a Scandinavian CGI photo-realistic squirrel will be singing a song called "lick it up".
Here's some advice Finland: Let us and the Japanese do the pop-culture corrupting young minds thing. You guys, stick to cell phones.