So what did you think of my last post? Some pretty awesome poetry, right? Here it is again:
a thing long hurting
AWESOME. I’ve always been pretty amazingly good at poetry, but never really exercised that muscle too frequently. Well that’s all going to change starting right now. I’ve been lax at blogging anyway, so from now on I’ll be posting A POEM A DAY. That’s right. Hey New Yorker editors, don’t all come calling at once!!! Here’s today’s effort:
she glanced sidelong
a little too long
she needed to
the shy type this one
BOOM! Not bad. Hey here’s another one:
“heave!” cry the midgets
“heave!” cry those stalwart midgets
the caterpillar costume lurches forward
each nylon foot full of eager midget
determined midgets marching
gonna win this costume parade!
BLAM. That’s two new poems in like, 5 minutes. It’s like a spicket of creativity that I can pretty much turn on and off at will I mean like THIS:
Every rainbow has a heart!
An arc of color!
ZOOM. what’s that, like three awesome poems in like, less than 7 minutes? I’m on a roll. CHECK IT:
puppy puppy puppy yeah
puppy puppy yeah yeah
Alright, I think I’ve made it clear that I’m a laureate to be reckoned with. So from now on, a poem a day (if not more). Get ready for brilliance.
Since I haven’t posted many blog entries other than video clips and Moonwork notes in a while, here’s my latest futile salvo of silly writing for consideration by network tv. I spend way too much time fretting over this stuff, and then when it’s all said and done I look at it and think…”eh. I thought I was funnier than this.” In fact, the more I look at this packet the less I like it. C’est la vie!
(they just aired some sort of Sorkin parody, but I swear I wrote this prior to that – also, thanks to Amanda Melson for telling me my offhanded comment mocking Sorkin scenes would make a funny bit)
Our next guests combine the exciting action of roller-skating with the intense dialogue of the television dramas of Aaron Sorkin. Because the only thing more captivating than watching people argue while walking…is watching them argue while rolling! It is my pleasure to bring you, Roller Sorkin!
CUT TO: Two young, enthusiastic performers in one of the back hallways, each wearing a microphone headset, matching outfit and of course, roller-skates:
BOTH – The West Wing. Season Two. Episode Eight!
(they roller-skate down the hallway while performing the dialogue)
GIRL – Did you read McIntyre’s speech?
GUY – She said I was “boorish”.
GIRL – You need to read the speech.
GUY – What does boorish mean anyway?
GIRL – Boorish means ill-mannered.
GUY – I’m not ill-mannered.
GIRL – Yes you are. Case in point, you said you would read the speech and you didn’t.
GUY – I don’t need to read the speech.
GIRL – Why not?
GUY – I wrote it.
BOTH – (arms raised like cheerleaders) Roller Sorkin!
GPS is an indispensable tool of modern transportation, but it can be boring. Now, you can get your GPS system outfitted with both the voice and personality of your favorite celebrity!
Woody Allen – “Oh jeez, you really should’ve made that left back there. Stop veering! Get in the left lane. I haven’t wanted to be in a lane this much since I met Diane Lane at The Russian Tea Room. She’s a looker. But way out of my league. You missed another turn. Sorry. Do you have any aspirin?”
Dick Cheney – “Make a right. Then the next right. Then another right! Always stay to the right!”
Mel Gibson – “Speed up, Sugartits! We’re being chased by a vast Jewish conspiracy!”
Sidney Poitier – “Remember, the choices that you make here and now will have a profound effect on where this road takes you. In twenty, or even fifty years, will you be able to look back on this moment and say to yourself ‘yes, I am proud of the person I have become?’ If so, then merge! Merge with all your heart!”
Nick Nolte – “Where are we? Do you have an atlas? Get out a map! I need a drink. Wait, I’m just a voice, I can’t drink! Aaaaaaaaah! (beat) You have arrived at your destination.”
A new one-dollar coin featuring a portrait of George Washington was unveiled today. Finally, a coin with Washington on it! Other soon-to-be introduced currency:
-A one dollar bill with Lincoln’s face on it.
-The one cent bill.
- A twenty dollar bill with a portrait of Andrew Jackson in which he is holding a ten dollar bill and giving a thumbs up.
- A bill with 50s in the upper left and lower right corners, and 100s in the other two corners, with a portrait of Grant and Franklin making out.
- A bill that just has dollar signs in the corners and the word ‘Money!’ across the middle. The portrait is of a cheeseburger driving a racecar.
HANG GLIDING DOUCHEBAGS
These guys bring a bad attitude to a high altitude! It’s Trey and Boner, the Hang Gliding Douchebags! Two meatheads in hang gliding gear ‘fly’ in front of a green-screened panorama, shouting insults at the people off-screen on the ground:
TREY – Hey lady, you’re so fat that from up here, you DON’T look like an ant!
BONER – You just look like a very far away fat person!
TREY – Hey look, it’s Al Roker
BONER – Hey Al, looks like a 100% chance of showers! [spits]
TREY – Forecast calls for snow! Woo! [scratches scalp]
BONER – Ooh, looks like there’s gonna me some funny smelling, yellow rain!
TREY – (beat) Um. I can’t…when there’s other people around.
BONER – Oh. Me neither. I’ve got what do you call it, shy -
TREY – Shy kidneys yeah. Hey Roker you lucked out we’ve got shy kidneys!
TREY – Hey Roker! F(bleep)k you!
BONER – Go f(bleep)k yourself Al!
TREY – High five!
Trey and Boner high five, which sends them careening to their deaths on the hillside below. Oddly, their crash culminates with a massive, fiery explosion.
We all love balloons, right? And we all love juggling, right? Well, our next guests have taken the calculated risk that we’ll also enjoy balloon juggling. Please welcome…Balloonimation! A gaggle of performers come spilling out onto the stage, each with a red balloon in their hands. They form a circle. Dramatic music swells. “This juggling formation is called…The Maelstrom! 1…2…3!” They attempt to juggle, but upon release, all of their balloons float up to the ceiling. After a moment of stunned confusion, they grill ‘the new guy’ as to why he filled the balloons with helium. After a beat, he defiantly screams “Balloonapalooza rules!” and runs offstage, where he high fives a different group of balloon-holding performers. Damn. Thwarted by their nemesis again.
KIDS SAY THE MOST INACCURATE THINGS
Let’s face it – kids are cute, but woefully uninformed. Conan asks some cute kids various current events and trivia questions. Each time they get a wrong answer, a giant booming voice says “INACCURATE!” and an animated dunce cap appears on the child’s head. As it goes on, the big booming voice gets more indignant.
- “INACCURATE! HOW COULD YOU NOT KNOW THAT???”
- “HIGHLY INACCURATE! AN ELEPHANT THAT HEAVY WOULD BE CRUSHED UNDER ITS OWN WEIGHT!”
- “TOTALLY INACCURATE! THE WORD IS PRONOUNCED ‘SPAGHETTI’! ‘PASKETTI’ IS NOT EVEN A WORD! YOU’RE MAKING UP WORDS, WHICH IS WHAT LIARS DO! LIAR!”
- “INACCURATE! YOU ARE NOT POINTING AT IDAHO, YOU ARE POINTING AT NORTH KOREA! THE APPROPRIATE AUTHORITIES HAVE BEEN ALERTED!”
- “INACCURATE! YOUR LACK OF KNOWLEDGE MIGHT BE CUTE NOW, BUT IT PORTENDS A FUTURE IN WHICH YOU ARE POOR AND ANGRY.”
A GHOST, A SNAKE, AND A BULIMIC
As Conan announces the following night’s guests, he is interrupted by booing, hissing, and gagging sounds. He looks into the audience to see a ghost, snake and very skinny woman with a pail. When he scolds them for being rude, they apologize, claiming it’s just their nature, since they’re a ghost, snake, and bulimic. Conan then continues announcing the following night’s guests, and is interrupted by the same sounds again. Except this time, the camera clearly captures that it’s the ghost making the gagging noise, the snake booing, and the bulimic hissing. After Conan scolds them again, they feign innocence and promise to be quiet. During Conan’s third attempt at announcing the following evening’s guests, we hear a cellphone ringing. As it continues ringing, the ghost, snake and bulimic all sit still, stonefaced. Finally, Conan yells “just answer the damn thing!” The snake spits the cellphone into the pail, which the ghost then picks up and answers – “Dude, my friend ate your friend. Boo!” Cut to Joel on his cellphone looking grief-stricken. “Fernando! Mi Amor! Nooooo!”
Hey you kids out there! Are you like me? Do you find reading the newspaper as boring as a Metallica song? Well, we’ve taken the day’s headlines and reduced them to the essential handful of letters necessary to barely convey the news:
-CLTS CHMPS – The Colts are Superbowl Champs.
- ZZZZZZZZZZ – President Bush gave the State of the Union Address last night.
- MHMD AHMDNJD BSHR ALSD ABDL AZZ ALSD NR ALMLK MR MTZPLK MT TO DSCSS MDST CRSS YSTRDY – Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, Bashar Al-Asad, Abdul Aziz Al Saud, Nouri al-Maliki and Mr. Mitzelplik met to discuss the Mideast Crisis yesterday.
- WTF – Britney Spears shaved her head.
GUITAR SOLO OR ORGASM?
Ladies and gentlemen, this game is simple. We’re going to show you a close-up of a person’s face, and you have to determine whether that person is playing a guitar solo or having an orgasm.
- Eddie Van Halen’s face. He’s playing a guitar solo.
- Ron Jeremy’s face. He’s playing a guitar solo too! Huh, who would have thought.
- Prince’s face. He’s doing both. Actually, he’s playing one guitar solo and having two orgasms simultaneously.
As he is wont to do when there is an attractive female guest on the show, Conan makes the cat pawing gesture and “Rowr!” sound at some point during the interview. When he does, a siren goes off, balloons drop from the ceiling, and 1000TH ROWR! flashes on the screen as Joel announces that it’s the 1000th time Conan has made that flirty sound to a hot female guest. After an intern hands Conan a trophy of himself making the cat gesture, a slo-mo montage of such moments from over the years plays accompanied by the song ‘What’s New Pussycat’.
MAX WEINBERG’S ‘GLORY DAYS’
Being the band leader for Late Night is fun and all, but it’s nothing compared to Max’s ‘Glory Days’ with Bruce and the E-Street Band. Each segment involves Max wistfully recalling some debauchery-filled moment from his ‘Glory Days’ on tour with Bruce as the Max Weinberg Seven scowl and the song ‘Glory Days’ plays in the background. At the conclusion of each story, Max says “Yep, those truly were my ‘Glory Days’. But I like you guys too.”
Buck Dollarworth – the man with the richest name in the world! He’s a hobo who asks Conan for change. “It’s only my name that’s rich!”
Jim ‘Boob Job’ Jones – “I’m professional arm wrestler Jim Boob Job Jones! Why is my nickname ‘Boob Job’? I dunno. Why don’t you take a look while WHAM LOOKS LIKE I JUST BEAT YOU AT ARM WRESTLING YESSSSSSSSS!”
‘You Wouldn’t Want To Hurt The Baby’ Man – a superhero whose sole power is the cute baby he’s carrying in a baby bjorn. “Stop right there, mugger! You wouldn’t want to hurt the BABY, would you?”
The Guy Who Pretends That He Thinks He’s Invisible – a naked guy who persistently attempts to use the excuse that he THINKS he’s invisible, when it’s obvious that he knows he’s not. He just likes running around naked.
Captain Vicarious – a superhero who pops in from time to time to ask Conan about his life, and is clearly just living vicariously through him. “Wow man, I saw that sandwich you were eating earlier. That looked delicious. Tell me it was delicious, Conan. Captaaaaaain Vicaaaaaaarious! Away!”
Here’s a humungoid mishmosh of two of my older pieces that I’ve never done at Moonwork. Well, I’m doing them both tomorrow night as one mammoth weirdfest:
Good evening, Moonwork! I am Andres du Bouchet. Forgive me for insulting your intelligence by introducing myself, for there is one man who needs no introduction, that man is this man. At this point, no doubt, a dozen or more of you are busy tapping away on your blackberrys or text caddies or palm ponies – incidentally, I communicate the old fashioned way, I do whatever the fuck I want and when someone has something to tell me they need to figure out what fake name I’m checked in under and sneak a note under the room service tray that brings me my nightly jenga tower of sushi. I will not acknowledge you in person unless I’ve previously received a note via the method just described! Simple system. Cuts away the clutter. Anyway, yes, right now many of you are sending e-mails to one of those celebrity sightings websites – Gawker or Defamer or Stalker or Loser or snarky a-hole loser dot com, you know, one of those sites, and you’re typing “Andres du Bouchet spotted on a stage in a school on Sullivan street. So large and masculine! As if a tiger had fucked a tornado and 9 months later Andres sprang forth from that tornado’s windgina.”
Yes, such is my presence. I do not merely have stage presence, I have world presence. After all, as Shakespeare said, “all the world is a stage.” So why confine my presence to the stage? No, I command every corner, nook and cranny that I occupy. I have stage presence, bar presence, Starbucks presence, vagina presence, sitting on the bus presence, Kate’s Paperie presence, it doesn’t matter where I am. “Excuse me ma’am can you help me choose some stationery! Show me some stationery, won’t you, Kate??? Bring Kate before me so that she may show me my stationery options!!!” Do you see? I have presence. I remember one time I was at an ice cream establishment entitled The Cold Stone Creamery. The employees were so inspired by my presence that they broke into song…but I digress. I didn’t come here to spend my one night off from the set of “Thunderlazer Four” to wallow in my own presence. I am here to tell you a story.
After all, I have led a storied life. And as such, my life has many stories. You are about to hear one of them. It is not for the faint of heart. I am not proud of the tale I am about to relate.
I met David Hasselhoff in the Spring of 1996, while shooting a guest role on his then white-hot hit show Baywatch Nights. I played a rogue nightclub owner slash private eye named Dash Brilliatine, who had just moved into town, and was roguishly, sexily attempting to muscle in on Mitch Buchanan’s (Hasselhoff’s character) nightclub slash private eye business, using all the savvy roguish charm at my disposal. At any rate, in the episode (I believe it was called A Dash of Mitch and A Pinch of Dash) Dash and Mitch actually roguishly join forces to defeat their common enemy, a bellicose Cuban cockfighting-ring kingpin slash druglord named “El Pedo Del Diablo”. We only shared three brief scenes, and two of them involved an intense karaoke face-off in Mitch’s nightclub, so our actual screentime didn’t overlap much. However, due to a mutual affinity for belittling the catering staff, we soon became fast friends.
Following the shoot, I stuck around for a few extra months just to hang with David and enjoy the nightlife. We made superb carousing partners, harvesting eager starstruck hotties with ease, scaring up the ‘tang with alarming frequency and precision. The potency inherent in our mere identities was so strong that the only opening line I needed to utter in order to initiate poonage with a fame-guzzling-booze-hussy was “Hello, I’m Andres du Bouchet,” and the only line David needed to offer for the sugartrap to snap was “Hello, I’m…a friend of Andres du Bouchet.”
We did have a third companion on these sexcursions, however:
Zeus’ Nutsack. I see some of you nodding. You too have experienced the sack.
For the uninitiated, a Zeus’ Nutsack is a diabolical alcohol and drug cocktail in which two shots of peach schnapps are dumped into a pint of Guinness, and then the resulting concoction is imbibed through two straws made of pure crack cocaine. One straw up your mouth, and one in your left nostril. The right nostril is reserved for simultaneously smoking a menthol cigarette.
On a typical night, David and I would each do six or seven Zeus’ Nutsacks. It was an unbelievable sensation, like shooting through psychedelic space in the nude whilst straddling a giant Toblerone candy bar as the soundtrack to the original 1977 Star Wars film reverbrates through your perineum. Positively reverbrates.
Incidentally, the Toblerone is my favorite of the candy bars. To my knowledge, it is the only candy bar shaped like a prism. And as such, it refracts deliciousness into its two primary components – chocolate and nougat.
But Zeus’ Nutsack giveth, and Zeus’ Nutsack taketh away. After a rare unsuccesful evening of she-spelunking, David and I stumbled into his condo just as the sun was beginning to tickle the horizon’s own perineum. We were still smashed out of our gourdballs on zeus’ nutsacks.
You guys know how it is. You’ve been out all night, you’re wasted, you don’t want the night to end, “hey let’s chill back at the condo and watch shitty movies we’ll pick up a six pack, a large valencia orange and some electrical tape on the way yeah!” — “yeah alright sounds good wait did you say orange and electrical wuh? ah, whatever woo!”
Once at David’s condo, we began to half-heartedly debate what to watch on tv – either a pay-per-view M. Night Shalamyamlmlm flick – the one with the twist at the end – or our favorite nature special – ‘Awwwwww AAAAAHHH – Cute Animals That Will Eat You Part 3 – The Polar Bear’.
We settled on a DVD that David produced from underneath his mattress entitled ‘That Won’t Fit In There! #18′. This would prove to be a warning shot over the bow of the listing ship that was my consciousness that went unheeded by my Zeus’ Nutsack-addled mind. We settled in to watch the film. Just as David began approaching me with a valencia orange and some electrical tape, I blacked out.
For some reason my mind must have known I was in peril, for in the inky blackness of unconsciousness I began reliving snippets from my long and successful career:
There was my role as Dean Xylorb in the hit 80s sex comedy Frat Planet – “If I find any space beer in your biodome, space frat, I’ll confiscate your modulators!”
Then I flashed back to my role as the host of the hit reality show ‘Who Does Joey Fatone Want To Have Sex With Twice’ – “Candy. I must regretfully inform you – that it is my pleasure to tell you – that I must sadly see you go – nowhere at all as I give – the bad news – to your pessimistic side – that disappointingly – we won’t be seeing you go – anywhere but out of here – if it were backwards day. Therefore, you are not – not one of the people – Joey Fatone won’t not be having sex with twice. You may return to the row of whores.”
And then I flashed back even further to the PBS documentary about helium that I narrated. I can still remember – “Helium. To most of us, it is nothing more than the substance we use to inflate party balloons. But helium is so much more. Come with me now, won’t you, and together, thanks to a grant provided by the American Helium Advisory Council, we shall discover the wonders of Helium, The Noblest Gas!”
Hmm. I remember that one very well! Let’s see…
“The year is 1868. Venezuela has just begun its long, tumultuous relationship with that sultry lady known as Civil War. The good people of Japan are waking up to the dawn of the Meiji Restoration. And the United States Congress says “Howdy, you big cowpoke, welcome to the Union” to the brand new state of Wyoming. In a bittersweet turn of the Great Wheel of Life, the whole world celebrates the birth of Scott Joplin, the future King of Ragtime Music, and then mourns the death of David Brewster, the inventor of the kaleidoscope.
And on the dark and mysterious subcontinent known as “India”, French astronomer Pierre-Jules-César Janssen discovers the first evidence of a brand new element! While observing an eclipse through his telescope, he notices a heretofore undocumented yellow line in the solar spectrum. This would prove to be one of the most startling encounters with a yellow line in young Pierre’s life, second only to the time just a few days earlier, when his brother, Francois, had gotten completely loaded up on Beaujolais and then relieved himself in the snow on Pierre’s front porch before passing out. There in the snow next to Francois’ unconscious body, in fine, yellow script it read – and I’m translating from the French here:
“My dearest brother Pierre, best of luck to you on your upcoming trip to India to study the solar eclipse. I am so proud that you have the talent and drive to pursue your lifelong passion of becoming a truly great astronomer. Do you remember the times I teased you about your dreams when we were children? I said you had stardust in your brain, and I always gave you horrible wedgies. Well, now it is I who deserves the wedgies. You are now a great man of science, whereas I am nothing but a drunkard with an extraordinarily large bladder and incredible penile dexterity. Sincerely, your devoted brother, Francois-Guy-Henri Janssen.”
And Francois did indeed have incredible penile dexterity, for there, beneath the many loops and flourishes of his signature, was a perfect, yellow rendering of the family crest. Two unicorns crossing horns in front of a shield emblazoned with a perfect map of France, detailed down to the county lines, and shaded according to each region’s population density.
Incidentally, Francois would go on to reap quite a fortune touring the globe, displaying his prodigious skills as a urinary maestro until passing away tragically from an infection that he contracted in the Amazon river. An infection brought about by the Candiru, a very tiny species of catfish that, when sensing warm urine in the water, follows the urine stream up into the human urethra and then, using tiny spines on its head, lodges there, causing excruciating pain, then infection, then ultimately, death.
They called this new element helium!”
I woke up on David’s bed – what could have been minutes or maybe hours later, my head pounding dull. A painful weight pressing against my spine. My wrists sore and behind me. Were they…bound? No! Yes. As my world started to clarify, from random jockeying through my career memories to the nude prone now, I could start to make out my own blurry face in David’s mirrored closet door. A valencia orange electrical-taped into my panic gurgling maw. A small length of blinking red Christmas lights somehow affixed to my forehead. The red light blipping back and forth across my sweat-streaked temple. Back and forth. Back and forth.
I could see my clothes in a heap on the floor.
I soon made out a husky voice in my ear, mumbling – “duh duddle duddle duddah, duh duddle duddle duddah, duh duddle duddle duddah, duh duddle duddle duddah…bah bappa bah, bah bappa bah, bah bappa bah bah BAH!”
And that horrible weight upon me. Eager and hairy weight. David must have cycled through the Knight Rider theme 10 or 12 times, before saying:
“C’mon KITT. Someone’s drowning. We’ve gotta…we’ve gotta go help the drowners. C’mon KITT. Turbo BOOST!”
On “Boost!” my worst fears were confirmed.
I don’t know what I found more upsetting:
a) that David had gone so far over the edge, that his brain had become so addled by abuse, that his two hit shows were in his mind now one – in which a lifeguard saves people with the aid of an intelligent car?
b) That he was now inside me?
or c) That there was any debate as to which of those two things was more upsetting?
“Helium also plays an integral role in the process of nuclear fusion!”
Ahhh. It feels good to have opened up to you, ladies and gentlemen. I have never told anyone that story. Please, do not let it leave this room. I don’t want David Hasselhoff to be the gerbil to my Richard Gere. Just remember this one lesson if you remember nothing else from tonight -
If you dare to steal the bathrobe of fame from the hotel room of life, it will get added to your karmic bill. Make no mistake.