Bush locates a MWD. The Mongolian Warlord, Daryll.
Monday’s Quotelet: Mongolian Anagrams.
Bush locates a MWD. The Mongolian Warlord, Daryll.
Bush locates a MWD. The Mongolian Warlord, Daryll.
Polly Wanna Open The Bomb Bay Doors?
As I strolled through Government Center this morning, my head its usual jumble of stresses and tasks for the imminent workday, being shat upon by a seagull was the last thing in the mental pipeline. It wasn’t the first time this has happened – once as a child I was visiting an amusement park near Toronto when one of the winged bastards managed to get a cluster bomb right in my bag of cheesies. What are the chances?
What, indeed. When I got to work, looking like one of the paint covered crooks from Home Alone, I met with some reassuring words from one of my coworkers. “It’s good luck when a bird shits on you,” he said. “Think about the accuracy that takes. You couldn’t do that if you tried.” Well, the last time I tried I got arrested for a hate crime. So don’t hold your breath for that to happen again anytime soon. At least not while charges are still pending. But anyway, he’s right.
The angle, velocity, windspeed, etc. would all have to be perfect. A pidgeon dropping a white, watery grumpy on me from 10 feet in the air is akin to Luke getting two proton torpedos into the Death Star’s exhaust shaft. The assault didn’t worsen my mood though, it actually improved it. All my other worries melted away as I started to giggle at the silliness of it all. Luck, fortune and avian feces. Great shot, Polly – that was one in a million.
Wednesday Wadio: Goonies ‘R’ Good Enough.
“Don’t you realize? The next time you see sky, it’ll be over another town. The next time you take a test, it’ll be in some other school. Our parents, they want the best of stuff for us. But right now, they got to do what’s right for them. Because it’s their time. Their time! Up there! Down here, it’s our time. It’s our time down here. That’s all over the second we ride up Troy’s bucket.” – Mikey
The video for this song is emblazoned on my memory like a makeshift coathanger cattle brand. Cyndi Lauper and the child cast of 1985’s The Goonies run around various sets from the film whilst being pursued by professional wrestlers of the day. Steven Spielberg’s mullet makes an appearence. The octopus (which was cut from the final print of the film) dances along to the breathtakingly strange accompanying song. As I was very in to giant squids, Rowdy Roddy Piper and The Goonies that year, I sat glued to my favorite Canadian video show every night religiously after school hoping for a Goonie-glimpse.
On the eve of the film’s 20th anniversary, and a possible sequel in the works, I thought I’d add this strange-but-catchy little tune to Radio Pye. Forget Time After Time and Girls Just Wanna Have Fun – this is Cyndi’s best work, and the only video she ever made in which that most creepy boyfriend of hers did not also appear. Whoops, I spoke too soon. Upon review it looks like he played the right honorable Captain Lou Albano’s flunkie. Maybe that trusty cattlebrand needs to be reheated.
“During the scene where the boys are sitting in the living room watching MTV, they were not actually watching the Cyndi Lauper “Good Enough” video, which was to be developed six months after filming wrapped up.” – IMDB
Peaking at #10 on the Billboard charts, Goonies ‘R’ Good Enough was shat out by popular culture almost as quickly as it appeared. The cult following of the film cannot be denied, and recently New Found Glory covered the tune on a compilation called “From Your Screen to Your Stereo”. Quintessential 80s synth handclaps, xylophones and Cyndi’s harpy-like voice combine and draw off elements of the film’s original score to create a passable musical tie-in. And when I say passable, I of course mean awesome.
Trolling For Testimonials Two.
It’s been about 6 months since I added the funny little testimonial section you’ll see over to the left there. Every time the page refreshes, a new quote is displayed from a list of about 15 which were submitted at the inception. They’re getting a bit old. A bit long in the tooth. A wee bit stale. If you’re looking for a little interactivity today, email me a testimonial or leave one in the comments for me to add to the fray. I’m not fussy, but the funnier the better. Thy will be done.
The Bag Is Out For The Cat.
I maintain that cats are brighter than dogs – because coming on command does not a smart animal make. Those dense, hairy little canine buggers would jump off of a building if they were told to follow a tasty snausage over the side, wheras a cat would stop dead in its tracks and wonder what the heck you’d been smoking. I don’t think obedience equates to superior intelligence. I like the fact that my domesticated house pet of choice has his own agenda, and doesn’t jump on me, drooling like Sloth every time I walk in the door. I like the fact that I can leave him alone for a weekend and not come home to an apartment that looks like it was broken into by incontinent gorillas.
When I got home tonight, however, Boss put on a show that ranks him right up there with the deer tick in terms of intelligence. I bought a new winter coat on Saturday afternoon, and it’s a big ‘un. The white plastic bag that I brought it home in is ginormous as well and Boss was curled up inside of it just as comfy as can be. I sat down and started watching the news, and he poked his head up to look over at the TV. That was when I noticed he had one of the handles wrapped snug around his neck. I made a mental note that when he tried to get up I’d lean over and remove it – thereby escaping a tragic garroting at the hands of the spiral staircase.
When he finally got up, he got up fast – suddenly realizing he was supposed to be in my bedroom for some life and death situation as cats are known to do. The bag followed him whipping back and forth and making a heck of a racket. Before I could grab him he was off the couch with the enormous bag tagging along above and behind him like a raincloud with a vendetta. He became absolutely terrified, and ripped around the kitchen and living room at a speed I’ve never seen, desperately trying to escape his cheap plastic pursuer. I nearly doubled over laughing as words cannot really describe how ridiculous it looked, but then he headed for the stairs and I snapped back to attention as my spidey senses began to tingle.
By the time I got down to the lower level, he’d successfully gotten away from his nemesis and was looking up at me from the middle of my bedroom floor, chest pumping and eyes wide with kitty shock and awe. The bag lay a few feet away, hung up on the last step. He quickly turned his attention back to it – I assume anticipating yet another attack. That was 4 hours ago, and he’s still there staring at the bag as I type. It’s a Filene’s Basement Bag Standoff, and I truly hope it’s over by morning as I’d like to use it to take my gym clothes to work. Godspeed. You show that bastard bag who’s boss, Boss.