How I spent my time at the 2007 MTV Video Music Awards with Veejay in tow

So apparently $3000 cash (twenties and fives) and a Ziploc quart bag of seriously dank Maui Chronic stuffed in an green Adidas duffle bag deposited in an east facing trash bin outside the Riviera Hotel parking structure (as instructed) will get you two all access passes to the MTV Video Music Awards - Veejay and I were in.

One may ask why we went to this kind of trouble to get into last night's televised mind screw of America's 15-25 year olds. Well, our old friend Britney Spears was opening the show and that little witch owes us quite a bit of money for breaking the terms of her contract when she was the Cerebral Itch spokesperson (click here for the background story).

Veejay and I flew into Las Vegas yesterday morning armed with subpoenas and a six-pack of whoop-ass for anyone who stood in our way in getting to Ms. Spears. I had misgivings about bringing Veejay considering the pooch-screw he wrought in New York at the Live Earth concert when he literally threw himself on, not at, but on Cameron Diaz. My rationale for this trip was Veejay had never been to Vegas so there was a little altruism, but mostly it was because he would make good bouncer-bait if shit went south.

Our plan was to soak up all the glamour and schwag at the pre-show party, grab a seat in the backstage lounge and spring like the panthers that we are on Britney as soon as she finished her opening number. Well, best laid plans. No sooner did we arrive at the Palms that Veejay spotted 50 Cent and his crew playing craps in the high roller lounge. Veejay, always the cool customer in the face of manufactured fame, fancies himself a bit of a hip-hop aficionado and proceeded to rush 50 Cent and his boys. Arms swaying side to side grabbing his nuts trying to look urban, intermittently throwing gang signs that made him look like he had the palsy. I swear to god, it sounded like a sound effects recording session for a John Woo movie when 50 Cent's chums simultaneously drew and cocked their glocks all aiming for Veejay's forehead. Rushing in to avert the bloodshed, 50 Cent notices my platinum Cerebral Itch lapel pin. Much to my surprise, 50 Cent is a huge Cerebral Itch fan - loves our cards and reads the blog. He couldn't get over the fact that it was really Veejay who stormed him and was somewhat flattered. He asked if we would do his Christmas cards to which I agreed, clearing up the brouhaha. We politely excused ourselves (I made Veejay kiss his ring and apologize) and made our way upstairs to the Playboy Club to take the edge off before we executed our mission.

Kid Rock and Tommy Lee were already going at it in the lounge area which made it easy for me to spot Kanye West hanging back with the ladies. My other purpose on this trip was to see Kanye and personally deliver our new Dick Cheney/DNR shirt. The man beamed, hugged me and proceeded to introduce us to his harem all while offering us lukewarm overpriced alcohol served off of Playboy bunny asses. Kanye knew why we were really there and gave me his support, "that bitch needs to be put down - if that was a black girl doing all that shit there'd be jail time." To which I thought bringing up mother-of-the-year Whitney Houston wasn't such a good idea.

We finally made it to the theater, where we settled in with our free Boost mobile phones, spa certificates and watched the show start. We soon stood up amazed at what we were watching. It looked like a talent show at a Rotary Club in bumf*ck Alabama where the big number was some guy's daughter doing a Britney Spears impersonation, except we were looking at Britney Spears doing the shittiest impersonation EVER of Britney Spears?! The best part was looking around at the faces of other people backstage. There was head shaking, laughing and even crying. Christina Aguilera was punching her fist in the air hissing "I win, I win!". I looked at Veejay and posed the question "can I really serve her with $15 million dollar lawsuit considering she's fat, devoid of talent and just hit rock bottom on international television?" No sooner did I finish my sentence then Veejay grabbed the subpoena, jumped into a passing crowd which turned out to be Britney leaving the stage and jammed it in her cleavage like a freakin' Jedi Knight. He coolly looked her in the eye and said "courtesy of your former employer". After that was tackled, pummeled and zip-tied. As he was being dragged away to I still don't know where, he flashed me a bloody smile and winked knowing he had done good.

Veejay is my new best friend.

Not to be confused with MENSA Fever

Alright, I know that singling out one piece of detritus from the television landscape to berate is about as futile as trying to find panties at Lindsay Lohan's. But there is one program so heinous and moronic it has to be recognized. It is MTV's Maui Fever - a half-hour dirty needle of a show that features a group of 20-something friends living on Maui. Here's the show in a nutshell: the guys are smooth-brained surf bums with the prime directive of bagging tourist chicks hours before they leave the island to avoid blowback and their female sidekicks are hair-twirling dime-store diva bitches who probably took their SAT's with eyeliner pencil. That's it; I kid you not.

There are three reasons this show needs to end: One, these people are breathing our air and that certainly has to stop. Two, there are no Hawaiians on the permanent cast. Hat's off to you MTV for stoking the already tense racial situation in Hawaii between locals (native Hawaiians) and haoles (Caucasians). Three, Maui is shown in a rather unflattering light with absolutely no attention given to the culture and the history. Yeah, I know it's an MTV show and not the Discovery Channel, but for crisake make an effort to do something mildly redeeming if you're going to use one of the most beautiful places on Earth with a proud people trying to save their rich heritage as your backdrop for a Laguna Beach knockoff.

Okay, I'm done. You know where I stand. Now I have to go yell at some punk kids to get off my lawn.