February is comedy month.
games with your hands.
So I was thinking that rock/paper/scissors is no longer relevant to today’s world. Also thinking that there should be a more peaceful way of settling disputes in the Middle East. Combining those two thoughts, resulted in such an inspiration I fairly lept off the toilet and wrote this down ?
Religious Rock/Paper/Scissors game with Allah, Jehovah and Jesus:
Jehovah nails jesus. (make a fist with the thumb out like you are hammering)
Jesus draws allah (extend your first and second fingers like a big old pencil) ,
allah suicide bombs Jehovah.(open your hand up like debris radiating out from an explosion)
Also, you could do a version with Mel Gibson / Kramer / Ice Cube. It would be pretty much the same thing.
Mel Gibson drunk drives over Kramer (move fist forward like the oncoming bumper of a car)
Kramer lynches ice cube with a microphone cable. (make a sort of “OK” sign with your thumb and forefinger to simulate a cable around a human neck)
Ice cube (and/or Da Lench Mob) bucks Mel Gibson with a shotgun. (extend first and second fingers like the twin barrels of a sawed-off Mossburg)
Remember the William DeVaugn classic, “be thankful for what you’ve got?”
I listened to it recently, and it turns out it is really retarded. Like, it starts out all spiritually uplifting but somewhere halfway through he sort of goes off-message a little bit.
He’s all like,
Though you may not drive
A great big Cadillac
Gangster whitewalls
TV aviators in the back
you may not have a car at all
but remember brothers and sisters
you can still stand tall
just be thankful for what you‘ve got
Though you may not drive
A great big Cadillac
Diamond in the back, sun roof down,
Kickin’ the scene with a gangster lean
And a bitchen CB radio
With some dice on the mirror
Made of solid gold
and filled with over 4 kilos of pure brazillian cocaine
And the cocaine is also made of gold ,
Somehow,
Plus there is like 14 strippers in the back,
And they just finished taking their tops off
And are about to take off their teeny panties
All giggling and squealing
And on the side is this giant airbrush mural
Depicting all the other fucking sweet shit you own
Like your all-platinum hydrofoil
That you use to haul all of your prize-winning Kentucky Derby thoroughbreds around
When you go visit the Arabian Oil Shieks
Plus the actual suit worn by Al Pacino in Scarface
Signed by Al Pacino -- AND the Pope
Ok, you might not have all that
But don’t worry about it.
Just be thankful for what you’ve got.
A rusty old hand-me-down Hot Wheel
It’s not even a real hand-me-down
More like Your brother threw it at your head after the front 2 tires came off
And you needed stitches on your eyebrow.
But whatever,
Just be thankful for what you’ve got
You fucking scrub.
....
What kind of shit is that?
..........................................................
fun with heavy metal
……………………………
THE MOST METAL THING
So, skulls are metal. Upside-down things are also metal. So maybe the most metal thing ever is, an UPSIDE DOWN SKULL?? With an umlaut on top of it!! and if you look close, each dot of the umlaut is actually AN UPSIDE DOWN WANG. You don’t even need name for your band! any possible name would be a let-down not worthy of that logo!!! Sheeit, at that point you are so fucking metal, you don’t even need a band!!! you’re done already. You can just kick back and wait for the upside-down groupies, the laminated all-access passes, and the lines of hooded chanting monks bearing cocaine and the still-beating hearts of posers.
。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。
So,THE MENTORS.
I realized that The Mentors’ El Duce has a voice similar to many Muppets (dr. teeth, rolf . . . gonzo?). This gave me the idea ? what if, for the sake of corrupting children, they had a segment on every episode of the Muppet Show where muppets sing mentors songs. You could call it THE MENPETS.
TAP BUT NOT SPINAL
You know how deathmetal bands always have that annoying “clicky” kickdrum? How about a deathmetal band where instead of the drummer they have a guy with tap shoes. He just spends the whole show going TAKATAKATAKATAKATAKATAKATAKA. Tux and tails, the whole nine yards. Of course, the other guys in the band would play it totally straight- jeans, morbid angel shirts, just acting like it was the most natural thing in the world.
NAME THAT GHHRRR!!!!! UUUHHH!!!!
Another metal idea I would like to try ? the “Grindcore vocal name-that-tune gameshow.”
Just like the old tv show, contestants would have to guess which popular song was being played, and whoever could guess right fastest won some bullshit prize. But in this version, the pop tune is being sung acapella by some grunting grindcore guy where the melody and lyrics are just totally unintelligible. All, UURRRGHHHH HHH HHHH HHH!!! GGHNNNN!!! UUHHHH GNNNN NNNNNNNN HHHHHH FFFHHHHHHH GGGHH!!! And he’s just doing it FURIOUSLY ? neck veins all going, skin beaded with sweat after the first two notes. A totally uncomfortable close-up of his face is projected 20 feet tall on 3 of the four walls.
And eventually after like 5 minutes of this, some pale housewife from Arkansas will hit the buzzer. . .”Ummm . .. . The Greatest Love Of All?”
host: “Yess!!! Congratulations! Oh, now that buzzer tells us it’s time for the super bonus round!”
Metal guy: “AUHHHHH!!! GHH!! GGGHHH-H-H!! UUUUHHHHHHHHH!! UUUUUUUU!!!!!”
second housewife “is it, Piano Man by Billy Joel?”
host: “Aww!! Close! It IS the famous East Coast pop idol, but off of a different album.”
First housewife again; “I know, chuck! It’s a trick question. It’s billy joel doing a cover of Bon Jovi’s hit livin’ on a prayer!”
Host: that’s it exactly, Cheryl! You just doubled your points!
Metal guy: “congratulatioRRRRRRHHHHHH!!! UHHHHGGNNN!!!!”
COVER BAND
Also, I totally want to start a band that does Fab Four covers in the style of Celtic Frost, called, The Tom Geetles.
the romantic bad boy
yes, I am that most precious and rare of men : the romantic bad boy. The one you are all looking for. Sensitive, yet macho. My huge rugged-but-tender hands are equally adept at fixing James Bond spycars and gently massaging your sternum. I am a bad ass and a poet. I will hoist you onto my giant motorcycle, only to drive you to the top of the forest to witness the birth of an eagle. My upper torso is covered of tattoos, all but one of which portray sunsets of staggering beauty (the remaining one is of a flaming, winged horse (being ridden by a sunset)). When we watch Titanic, I will cry so much that the tears drip onto the theatre carpet . . and form an exact replica of the Motorhead logo. I can kill a shark with my bare hands, but then turn it into delectable sushi for you with the most delicate arrangement on the plate. I might beat up an old man half my size, but only because he was looking at you all horn-style. I might get blind drunk and punch you out for not doing the dishes, but when you awake, you will find that I have written an elaborate Elizabethan love sonnet in your blood and mucous, dedicated only to you, my darling. I might sell you to some of my biker friends in order to obtain some fresh crank, but while high I will redecorate your whole apartment with the most delicate pastels and luxiurious silks. . . . Upon which I will hang the still-warm lower jaw of an ex-boyfriend whose address I found in some old letters of yours, which I will surround with fragrant aromatherapy sachets, whose magical odor properties will cause you to forget all about the restraining order. When I fuck your best friend at half-time during the superbowl on top of my jetski, I will be so grief-stricken and guilty that I will stone cold lose bowl control of myself, but my romantic longing for you will cause my discharge to come in the form of hundreds and hundreds of boquets of roses and dahlias, flying out of my butt, creating a sea of flowers, and the very dolphins will arise out of the sea, playing lutes and nylon-string acoustic guitars, serenading your best friend’s screams of pleasure with their own lilting melodies of sadness and regret. I am the romantic bad boy!
!
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