Well the first thing you need to know is that the official beer is Budweiser and the official food supplier is McDonald's, so bring your own supplies. Since you're a socialist, bring enough to share; you might even convert a few desperate capitalist swine, particularly the toffs, who would rather die (or convert to socialism) rather than snarf Big Macs and wash them down with Bud, Lite or Hevy. You can flush them out by flourishing strawberries and Champagne; co-op grown and bottled only, please.
As World Cup fever grips the globe, many progressives will be sighing at the prospect of another sporting spectacle distracting the “masses” from the pressing issues of the day — the classic “bread and circuses” argument. There is a tendency on the North American Left to disdain sport: its competitive nature, the corporatization of its grand events, its inherent masculinities and cultures of exclusion.
Some of this critique is grounded in good sociology; some of it bears an irrational disdain for that in which one does not participate or enjoy. In many sports, but especially in “the beautiful game,” politics and the game have a symbiotic relationship. Politics can influence and be influenced by what happens on the field of play. The World Cup is no exception.
My parents immigrated to Canada from Liverpool in the 1960s; growing up, soccer and socialism were the main topics of discussion in the Black household. Conversations at the dinner table moved seamlessly between football and politics, England’s chances in the World Cup and the NDP’s chances in the upcoming election.
I only committed my life to socialism after being rejected as a professional soccer player (a brief stint with the English Premier League’s Watford FC is my footballing claim to fame).
Indeed a path to enlightenment shared by many a socialist. I myself was a libertarian until I was rejected by the Vancouver Voodoo. A little-known fact: it was Leon Trotsky, and not Fidel Castro, who tried out for, and was rejected by, the Washington Senators.
by Little Roger and the Goosebumps, which is what you might just get watching this, knowing that Gilligan, the Skipper, and Mr. and Mrs. Howell are on that big deserted island in the sky. Truly one of the greatest fansongs ever, and spiffy video. Rumour has it that this was released as a single and then Led Zeppelin's management had it disappeared.
First ep, featuring guest appearances by Joan Crawford and Tony Robbins is here.
Opening Theme
BUT the boys are MISSING!!! so we have to phone Gonzo and get him to line up a substitute. Kermit warned us this would be a bad idea, but it's five seconds to air: what choice do we really have?
Lollapalosersindeed. But meantime we've at least had time to locate Mike. He was out back smoking "herbal cigarettes" with his friend Frank Zappa, but we managed to tempt them back into the studio with promises of Doritos and sensless violence. Watch as Mike conducts an interview with the original Mother of Invention and later conducts him in musical mayhem as Frank gets jiggy with a47 Chrysler.
Well wasn't that…strange? You know you're out of control when Frank Zappa is the one trying to keep you normal.
Meanwhile, we've just gotten a phone call from Julie Newmar, who is working at the laundromat.
Julie likes to give raincoaster a jingle from time to time to compare catsuit fitting tips and just shoot the shit.
The boys have been using the "Drop off" window for their laundry and had never laid eyes on their pretty Cinderella…until now. Turns out Julie (who lost her virginity to von Karajan in April of '56 in the back row of Teatro di San Carlo, thus the nickname "April") is quite the classical arts fanatic. Here, the boys compete for her attentions.
Davy, as always, takes the early lead despite being at least a foot shorter than April. We relay the news to Mike, who grabs the reciever from us, hears that distinctively husky, liquid-sex voice, and takes off for the laundromat on Mickey's motorcycle. He arrives halfway through the big competition, but makes a strong showing nonetheless.
But guys, don't you know that girls can't resist a rock band? Or even a bubblegum pop band, as long as it occasionally sings in a minor key? Cue "The Girl That I Knew Somewhere…"
Yowzuh!Who knew Peter looked that hot in white tie?raincoaster would be doing a lot of formal entertaining if she thought she could get him to wear that on a regular basis!
But as the big song winds up, they realize that April has been kidnapped! Davy and Mike turn into secret agents to get the answers and go undercover in the lobby of a cheesy, overdone Beverly Hills hotel, the type where rich old women go to recover from facelifts. While there, they receive a mysterious phonecall which tells them April is in Paris or something like that…
As the boys follow that lead, their plane is hijacked by the Pamplona Panthers and they are led far afield, to Spain! They make their escape and arrive in Paris to rescue April. And just look at the havoc they cause; what's French for Monkeemania? From there, they follow the trail to Toyland?
and hey, there's April! She can totally lay down the heavy Chopin when she wants to, can't she?
Finally realizing that La Newmar is out of their league, the boys free her from her kidnapper, a would-be svengali who wishes to keep her all to himself. April kisses the boys good-bye and runs off to London to appear in a George Michael video.
The boys then attempt to escape from her many jealous suitors. Cue obligatory fleeing-posing-and-making-no-sense-set-to-cancan-music scene:
The boys return home just in time for their next gig, playing the wedding reception for The Brady Grandparents. The svengali remains firmly trussed, although even prone he attempts to groove along with the music. raincoaster is not at all sure that a song about infidelity is the very best choice for the occasion, but she loves "Look Out, Here Comes Tomorrow" anyway.
Davy sure can work that lipgloss, can't he? Is that Lip Venom? Enquiring minds want to know.
And, to make up for that Zappa-tastic strangeness at the top of the show, here is special guest Tim Buckley performing Song to the Siren.
It's all very convoluted, really. I found this on Wil Wheaton's blog. It's an extremely twisted British video by Cox and Combes about George Washington and his 30 penises and 4 testicles. Because you can never have too many, eh?
I think Wil may be training for the Gitmo Marathon soon if Ann Coulter finds out about this.
This was brought to my attention when I abused America and Americans, repeatedly and at length, not omitting my catchphrase “My ancestors looted and burned the White House and I’m proud of them” plus much other assorted insultification … to an American. To her credit she was quite polite about it and if she did raise her voice in stereotypical American fashion I couldn’t tell, because it was email.
In any case, there is one American whom all right-thinking and good-doing persons will agree deserves a heapin’ helpin’ of stereotype-based abuse smackdown, even though she’s not fat, and that person is Ann Coulter.
I stole a cab from Ann Coulter after seeing her come out of an apartment building on the Upper East Side. She didn’t look happy, dressed in a yellow raincoat and hailing a cab and it was her dejected face that first caught my attention…when I realized who it was I decided I had to steal the cab even though I had no where to go…
Now that, ladies and gentlemen, is truly mean. I am in awe.
But wait, there’s more. Here’s Perez Hilton muse Kathy Griffin going straight for Coulter’s crispy, deep-fried jugular:
And what has the woman done to deserve this? Besides being that thin and still having bingo wing thighs and upper arms, you mean? Get thee to a treadmill, bitch; a hundred years ago you’d probably be doing five to fifteen on a treadmill somewhere anyway.
Remember the Ann Coulter video moment I alluded to the other day? I can take a lot. I read true crime and write horror stories for fun. I’ve seen corpses. I went on a date with a serial killer. But I had to click this video off just a few seconds into it, for reasons that will become obvious. It’s clear to me now just how appropriate it was for her to poop out her new polemetic on 6/6/6; if she’s not the Whore of Babylon, she’s certainly the Shrivelled Cunt of the Capitol.
Behold as Matt Lauer listens in horror as she relentlessly abuses the women who lost their husbands in 9/11. A hero for our times, that Ann.
Well the first thing you need to know is that the official beer is Budweiser and the official food supplier is McDonald's, so bring your own supplies. Since you're a socialist, bring enough to share; you might even convert a few desperate capitalist swine, particularly the toffs, who would rather die (or convert to socialism) rather than snarf Big Macs and wash them down with Bud, Lite or Hevy. You can flush them out by flourishing strawberries and Champagne; co-op grown and bottled only, please.the 1960s; growing up, soccer and socialism were the main topics of discussion in the Black household. Conversations at the dinner table moved seamlessly between football and politics, England’s chances in the World Cup and the NDP’s chances in the upcoming election.
raincoaster 