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After spending way too much time trying to upload a video of myself telling an award-winning joke, the time put into it has exceeded my interest in doing so. So this week, maybe a DIY Friday Funny. My dear, dear friend over at Iconclast sent this along. Make your own and send them to me.
Your submissions after the jump.
Looking for a little excitement? Want to see a pre-quel to the Nomi Malone story? Aren't you lucky!
It's not cool when a reality show can make you well up with tears. Tears should be reserved for, well, reality, but there they were pouring out for Joanie during America's Next Top Model. (As a quick recap for the non-watcher, Joanie was given the "gift" of cosmetic dentistry, removing some misaligned teeth and replacing her entire grill with veneers.)
The pain itself of having multiple hours of dental surgery was not what got to me. It was the explanation that although her family could afford the regular dental visits, the braces and retainers that the other kids had just weren't in the cards for her. Having come from a blue-collar background myself, understanding was mine. But when she explained how in moments of genuine happiness she would have to stop herself from fully expressing joy with a full smile as to protect herself. This recollection brought out a voice inside: Joanie! Girl! I've SO been there!
My inner child also had a jacked-up grill. Not British or Appalachian, but still with it's problems. Like Joanie, the aversive mannerism of the aborting full smiles was learned until at least the method of "featuring the mouth at an angle that won't illicit a 'wassup wid yo teef?'" was self-taught with hours of mirror time.
Although the surgery options have been explored there have always been other diversions - silly things like rent - that have tooth-blocked. Additionally, as time passed, my jawline filled out immensely as my age approached 30 and the tight spaced spots sort of fell into place. The only remaining problem was two slightly "out there" front teeth - call them bucked if you must. Within a year following my 32nd birthday a bar-fight pushed the teeth back slightly and a girl riding piggyback shifting her weight thus driving my face into the pavement outside of the Eagle (9 stitches + concussion) finished the job.
A great "reveal" moment like Joanie's on America's Next Top Model with a teary-eyed hug to Tyra Banks is not in my cards. Somehow, over time, nature sort of took care of my grill. Granted, it's not the dreamy Brad Pitt smile, but it's also not the horsey Hillary Duff "why-children-shouldn't-have-cosmetic-surgery" blinding veneer-eal disease either. It's human.
Although the recent public discussion of immigration has lessened on the airways, the battle rages on in other places.
The Scene: The N Train, going uptown after work.
The Players: Turquoise and Seafoam are a hipster couple. Red is a dark-haired fellow. Purple - that's MO. And Anglophile is a white woman in her late fifties.
ACTION: Getting on at Twenty-third Street, MO is tired and wants to sit and read assorted things that he printed out during the day. There is space available, but it requires Red to move about two inches to accomodate MO's manly frame. MO smiles and Red moves. MO thanks Red.
At Thirty-fourth Street, some passengers exit while Turquoise and Seafoam get on the train. As the train exits and proceeds uptown the ride is jerky. Those without an adequate gluteal base (aka a big butt) are move somewhat with the sway of the train. Turquoise and Seafoam move quite a bit. Red moves not at all. MO was brought up on the water and reacts well. Anglophile has ample gluteal support.
As the train progresses between Forty-ninth and Fifty-seventh Streets Red is angered by the swaying of Turquoise and Seafoam and lets out a loud, "Stop Pushing!" The three proceed to have a loud discussion regarding whether they are moving or pushing. The discussion continues until Fifty-ninth Street where Red exits the train, most probably headed to the Upper East Side - the angry commuter headquarters.
(Strangely all of the above is just set-up.)
ANGLOPHILE: (looks up from her book) Mumbles.
MO: (assumes she is talking about Red) Yeah, he had space issues. He should relax.
ANGLOPHILE: He should go back to his country, the dirty immigrant.
MO: (removes sunglasses to purvey shock) What?
ANGLOPHILE: Should never let his kind into the country. Probably a Mexican.
MO: (points to ring) Really? I married a dirty Mexican. You realize that everyone in this country is an immigrant, right?
ANGLOPHILE: I'm not.
MO: Doll, you're twenty shades too too white to be pure native american.
ANGLOPHILE: I'm British.
MO: (laughs loudly) You're also bonkers, doll.
Silence as the train pulls into Queensboro Plaza. ANGLOPHILE packs away her book (the very British Jack the Ripper) begins to exit.
MO: And you're tranferring to the 7? The Immigrant Express? (howls with laughter)
(Author's notice of disclosure: MO is 3/16 British.)
If you're headed to the Cruise-Holmes residence this evening, you can be sure to have a special meal of Placenta Lasagna. But if you aren't why not try it out at home. Placenta Lasagne:
Use your favorite Lasagne recipe and substitute this mixture for one layer of cheese. In 2 tbl. olive oil, quickly saute meat of 3/4 placenta, ground or minced; plus 2 sliced cloves of garlic, 1/2 tsp. oregano, 1/2 diced onion & 2 tbl. tomato paste, or 1 whole tomato.
Remember to bring a present for little baby-girl, Suri. Remember, Suri means "princess" in Hebrew and "Red Rose" in Ancient Persian. Perhaps this is a reference to Princess Rose Red, the sister of Snow White. If they pump out another little girl the name Peruvia Flake may just work!
But babies shouldn't become spoiled, so bring a present for the parents as well. Tom, a famous heterosexual, has always filled out t-shirt rather nicely. And Katie hasn't convinced those tabloid scoundrels of her conviction to Scientology, so maybe wearing her religion on her sleeve (or, er, breasts) would work for her as well.
As for those of you inevitably coming here in your frantic Google searches for pictures or news of little baby Suri (or Preston Federline or the Brangelina baby or Zahara or Maddox) just remember that you're feeding an evil machine. Remember what happens to children that are over exposed to the media from an early age.They are the people that only come out for a nice day, but can't just come out and enjoy the day. They have an agenda and accessories to get them through the ritual of the nice day.
The non-athlete with tons of extraneous athletic gear such as the water-bottle backpack, biking down the walking path and blowing a whistle at anyone in his way.
The exhuberant exhibitionists with gear stored away for a "nice day" (with the real question being where it is that they store these things).
There are those with odd "nice day" accessories, such as a dog stroller.
And the overly accessorized, sunglassed, hatted, and headphoned goofs. They're the worst.
LIBRA: Actions usually speak louder than words, but you’ll get your sentiment across so effectively that what you say will be greatly cherished.
Which is a good thing as, yet again, the back has been blown out in this new quest to "get big". Surrounded by the beefy boys of the beer blast, including one that went to college with me (though we'd never met previously), it is strange being "the little guy". The majority opinion is that there will be an upper limit to size potential that can be only overcome by "getting juiced"; but as a person the won't even take an aspirin for back pain there is little chance of that happening.
As alluded to earlier, there is a reason that Meredith Viera's move to Today is exciting. Having met Viera, my opinion of her is quite high. The fact that meeting her resulted in some cold hard cash only helps more. Perhaps a picture could better explain the circumstances under which we met:
Following are three clips from the airing of the show. No boring details here;
you can judge for yourself how it turned out.
Clip one. In which there is self-incriminating laughter.
Clip two. In which my ability to entertain all generations is displayed.
Clip three. In which Meredith's heart is broken.
