Tuesday, December 21, 1993

Holy Moly

Why, exactly, do fundamentalist preachers read passages from the Bible and ask their flocks to turn to their Bibles and read the same freaking passage they're saying? Did some huckster preacher pull a fast one once?

PREACHER: Yeah, uh, in the Book of Second Evasions it says ... "Give all your money to me, the guy with the bad haircut." Yeah. Chapter 11 verse whatever. That's exactly what it says. "Thou shalt givest all your money to me." Something like that. Come on. Cough up, you stupid rubes.

So, the rubes get cheated out of all their stuff. Then, one day, one of the few yokels who could actually read looked the passage up. Lo and behold, there AIN'T no such passage. The Book of Second Evasions doesn't exist! Sadly, the PREACHER has already left town with all their money. They rubes vowed ...

RUBES: Goldang it, next preacher reads something, we's gonna look it up! We ain't fallin' for that shit again!

Hence, the read-what-I'm-saying-in-the Bible tradition in the fundamentalist community. OK, fine, the preacher isn't bullshitting you, like Lucy telling Linus that the music in the radio comes from a tiny little orchestra trapped inside. The stuff he's saying is actually in there. But that's a pretty low standard.

Preacher need to try harder. Why don't they?

It seems to me having a captive audience shouting "Amen" is a bad relationship to begin with. Imagine comedians playing to audiences that never stopped laughing, no matter how crappy the joke was. Comedians would get lazy. Standards would go down. What fundamentalist Christianity really needs is sacred hecklers.

PREACHER: What does God want for us?

HECKLER: He wants you to shut up.

PREACHER: He wants us to be happy.

HECKLER: It'd make God happy if you'd FUCKING SHUT UP.

PREACHER: Hey -- you wanna get up here and do this? You think this is easy.

HECKLER: Yeah, I do. But that's OK. I've got a real job.

Congregation laughs. HECKLER gets up, bows, blows kisses, leaves.

The sermons would get better. Real fast.

Popcorn would also be nice.

Sunday, November 14, 1993

And while we're on the subject ...

An open letter to Charlie the Tuna...

Stop trying to get an audition with Starkist. It's not an audition. Yes, the name of the product includes the word "star." That doesn't mean they want to make you a star. They don't want to put you in show business, you idiotic Phil Silvers lookalike. THEY'RE GOING TO KILL YOU. They're going to chop you up into little pieces and put you in a can. That's what the Starkist people do to tuna. Unlucky dolphins too. Do you want that? Is a death wish at work here?

I don't think so. You're not suicidal. You're a dreamer. But it's time to stop dreaming. It's time to accept your life as it is. A career in cinema does not await you, Charlie. You're a fish who wears sunglasses and a beret. Get used to it. And stop tugging on that hook before they kill you.

Sorry, Charlie.

Friday, November 12, 1993

Trix are for rabbits.

Give the fucking rabbit some Trix. For the love of God, people, he's on the fucking box.

The rabbit is a gentle soul. Trusting. Creative. For some reason -- and you could hit me in the head with a rock and I still couldn't explain it -- he isn't bitter.

The rabbit is a bright-eyed, eternal optimist. He has sunshine in his heart.

Yet, the children deprive him of Trix. Their reasoning? Identity. Apparently, the rabbit can't have Trix BECAUSE HE'S A RABBIT. That's it. "Silly rabbit. Trix are for kids!" That's their line of reasoning. Trix are for kids. The rabbit is not a kid. He can't have Trix. Well, QED. Silly rabbit! Yeah, he's silly. He's a rabbit. He wants something that IS NOT MEANT FOR HIM. He aspires beyond his station. What a fucking idiot! Clearly, stuffing "fruit-flavored frosted corn puffs" in your digestive track is a privilege reserved for human children. So they laugh at him. Like the arrogant children of white plantation owners mocking slaves. "Silly slave. Mint juleps are for white people."

The rabbit doesn't argue. He strives for Trix with subterfuge and stratagems. He doesn't pull out an AK-47 and mow the children down while screaming with rage. He wears disguises. He sends fake telegrams. It never works.

Inevitably, the little shits say, "Silly rabbit, Trix are for kids." And he takes it. He keeps on smiling.

One of these days, I promise you, the rabbit is going to snap.

Give the fucking rabbit some Trix. Please.

Before it's too late.

Thursday, November 11, 1993

Dad's Company

(to the tune of "Bad Company" by Bad Company)

A nepotist, a slacker I am called
I go to work, and just stare at the wall
Arrive at twelve, and then I’m gone by one
But no one speaks
‘Cause I’m the boss’ son
That’s what they tell me!

It’s Dad’s company
I can’t deny it
Dad’s company
Till the day he dies

I got my car
And my expense account
Those escort gals
Make my expenses mount
Convention fun
Las Vegas and LA
Put the drinks on me
My daddy's gonna pay!
That’s what he tells me …

It’s Dad’s company
I can’t deny it
Dad’s company
Till the day he dies

Tuesday, September 28, 1993

Rockin' In Sea World

(to the tune of Neil Young's "Keep on Rockin' in the Free World")

There's a whale in the tank
And his name's Shamu
There's a lot of freaky things
That this whale can do
He can jump through hoops, bounce balls off his nose
He can swim in circles, he can tickle your toes
But he'd rather eat penguins, he feels kinda hosed

Keep on rockin' in Sea World
Keep on rockin' in Sea World
Keep on rockin' in Sea World
Keep on rockin' in Sea World

They got a souvenir shop and an ice cream stand
It's all overpriced, and you're forced to stand
The kids are whining 'cause they want to buy shit
You hate this trip and what's become of it
Three hundred bucks and they're screaming "it sucks"
It's another family weekend you cannot get back
Another step closer to your first heart attack

Keep on rockin' in Sea World
Keep on rockin' in Sea World
Keep on rockin' in Sea World
Keep on rockin' in Sea World

Monday, September 27, 1993

Blessed Insurance

(to the tune of "Blessed Assurance")

Blessed Insurance,
Whole life or term
What we would pay
Reflects what you'd earn
It's a big risk pool
You place your bets
If you drop dead
Your loved ones collect

This is my story, this is my song
Selling insurance, all the day long!
This is my story, this is my song
Selling insurance, all the day long!

Thursday, July 29, 1993

Rage Against the Schween

BILLY -- a SoCal punk in his mid-teens - trucks along listening to a CD on his scratched-up Walkman. He hears a disembodied ANNOUNCER's voice.

ANNOUNCER: Say Billy, what're you doing?

BILLY: Listening to the self-titled "Rage Against the Machine" CD.

ANNOUNCER: Ever wonder where that CD comes from?


ANNOUNCER: I'm glad you asked!

A giant robot claw grabs him by the leg and drags him into the next scene.

ANNOUNCER: It comes from the Machine, Billy!

BILLY: Eagggghhhh!

The claw holds BILLY over a giant, cube-like Machine full of moving parts.

ANNOUNCER: Look at it hum, Billy!

BILLY: Put me down!

ANNOUNCER: It's spitting out Rage Against the Machine CDs, Rage Against the Machine T-shirts, Rage Against the Machine bumper stickers, Rage Against the Machine bobbleheads. Isn't that something?

BILLY: I guess.

ANNOUNCER: I don't like your attitude, Billy.

BILLY: OK, uh. Wow that's some Machine!

ANNOUNCER: Yes, it is, Billy. It's making music industry executives and angry leftist frontman Zack de la Rocha rich! But the Machine doesn't run itself, Billy. The Machine must be fed.

BILLY: What do you feed it with?

ANNOUNCER: Why, you Billy!

Tosses him at the Machine. A metal mouth opens up. Swallows Billy.

ANNOUNCER: Goodbye Billy! Remember what happened to Billy, kids.

BILLY: (muffled) Fuck you, disembodied Announcer voice!

ANNOUNCER: "Rage against the machine" all you want. But don't piss the Machine off!

Wednesday, April 28, 1993

Imagine there's more money

(to the tune of John Lennon's "Imagine")

Imagine there's more money
It's easy if you try
No need for self denial
If you want it, only buy
Imagine all the goodies
We could have today
You may say I'm a schemer
But I'm not the only one
I hope to make a killing
And look out for number one

Friday, April 2, 1993

Instant Prozac

OPEN: Shot of sad-looking WOMAN with a face full of bad.

ANNOUNCER: (OS) Say. Are you experiencing a sense of emptiness and despair? (she nods) Hey, who isn't? If you read the newspaper, it's the logical response.


Tracking shot of ANNOUNCER walking through clean white laboratory with busy SCIENTISTS in white coats doing important shit behind him.

ANNOUNCER: Prozac has been shown to relieve feelings of depression in many patients. But it can often take weeks, even months, before it takes effect. Can you afford to wait that long? Here at EnorMed --

SCIENTISTS: (shouting in unison) We don't want you to wait!

ANNOUNCER: No we don't! That's why our amazingly brainy research team has created new, fast-acting Prozap! With Prozap, you get all the benefits of Prozac and none of the wait. Prozap offers fast relief!


ANNOUNCER: How fast? Let's try it out on an unhappy young man.


AUDIO: Thunderously loud grunge music. The opening act.

The members of Nirvana are still backstage. KURT COBAIN is scowling and knocking stuff over.

The ANNOUNCER winks at us and plops a Prozap in an open beer bottle. Then he walks up to KURT COBAIN.

ANNOUNCER: Hey Kurt. Care for a beer?

COBAIN takes the beer and spits in his face and walks away.

ANNOUNCER: What an irrepressible young man.

Sound of beer bottle smashing. (OS)

ANNOUNCER: Let's check out the concert!


COBAIN is singing "Rape me."

ANNOUNCER: Wow, he seems depressed. But watch what happens!

TITLE: Ten minutes later.

COBAIN is singing "It's a Sunshine Day" and dancing around like a grinning fool. The audience is showering him with bottles, chairs and debris, but he's insanely happy. DAVE GROHL throws down his drumsticks and walks away in disgust. So does the other guy. COBAIN's career is ruined.

ANNOUNCER: Ask your doctor about new, fast-acting Prozap. If it'll work on a grunge musician, it'll work on you!

Go to product shot:

FEMALE ANNOUNCER: Prozap, a product of Enormed Pharmaceutical Group. Available only by prescription. Use only as directed.

Fade out, standard disclaimer, etc.

Sunday, February 28, 1993

Electric Chainsaw Massacre


A leather-faced MANIAC runs after a screaming woman. He's holding an electric chainsaw - the cord trails behind him.

MANIAC: Eh-heh-heh-heh!

WOMAN: Eagghhhhhh!

CHAINSAW: Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!

MANIAC reaches end of the cord. Back in the barn or someplace, the plug pops out. The chainsaw rattles to a silent stop. MANIAC stands there looking stupid. The WOMAN stops, looks at him. He looks up.

She kicks him in the nuts.

Friday, February 26, 1993

American Chainsaw Association

Open: Husband and wife sleeping in bed. Da warm glow of the alarm clock.


Someone kicks in the door!!!

PSYCHOTIC: Eee-haha-haha! The voices in my head command me. YOU MUST DIE!

Mr. PSYCHOTIC revs up a chainsaw, cackling insanely.


ALL AMERICAN MALE HOMEOWNER sits up in bed, contemplating his sudden death. His wife shrieks. MR. HOMEOWNER reaches behind his pillow...

And pulls out his own chainsaw!

He fires it up aaannnd....

Cuts MR. PSYCHOTIC in half from top to bottom. Or bottom to top, if you wanna get more gross.

WIFE: I love you honey.

HUSBAND: I love you, too.


CHARLTON HESTON's giant HEAD appears.

CHARLTON HESTON: Remember. If chainsaws are outlawed, only outlaws will have chainsaws. Please support the National Chainsaw Association. (revs up chainsaw) I do. YOU DAMN DIRTY APES!

He runs out of frame.

Monday, February 22, 1993

The Flamemaster 3000

Open, a boy and a girl kneeling down in the garage burning their Dad's "Playboys" and giggling.

DAD: (OS -- angry) Are you kids playing with matches?


Dad bursts into garage. Furious, but it's an act.

DAD: Don’t lie to me! Why in Sam Hill would you play with matches. (Suddenly smiling.) When you could play with this?!

Two shiny, plastic flame-throwers magically appear in the kids' hands.

KIDS: Wow! The Flamemaster 3000!

ANNOUNCER: (VO) Yes, kids love the Flamemaster 3000— 'cause kids love fire!

Shot of the kids running around burning the crap out of everything with their cute flame-throwers.

ANNOUNCER: (VO) The Flamemaster 3000!

Montage illustrates --

ANNOUNCER: (VO) It’s perfect for making smores, dealing with hoof-and-mouth outbreak and defending yourself from zombie attack!

And it's always perfect for Christmas! This holiday season, make your kids' eyes light up with joy! Give the Flamemaster 3000. They'll love it!

KIDS (in unison) 'Cause kids love fire!

Another announcer reads the following warning at auctioneer/Hog caller speed:

WARNING: Fire is not a toy. Fire may result in property damage, first, second and third degree burns and death. Ask your parents before buying the Flamemaster 3000 and use only under strict parental or adult guardian supervision according to product specifications. Do not use the Flamemaster 3000 on household pets, homeless people, parents, siblings, witches, or anybody, especially if you could get caught. Do not use the Flamemaster 3000 indoors. Do not use the Flamemaster 3000 outdoors. Do not use the Flamemaster 3000. Consult local laws and fire ordinances before using the Flamemaster 3000. The Flamemaster 3000 is illegal in all 50 states. Seriously, do not use the Flamemaster 3000. Do not buy the Flamemaster 3000. Purchase or sale of the Flamemaster 3000 is a Class A Felony. The JoyToy Corporation assumes no liability if this product is used either properly or improperly. There is no way to use the Flamemaster 3000 properly. For the love of God, we beg you not to use the Flamemaster 3000.

Tuesday, January 26, 1993

"Born to be Retired"

(To the tune of Steppenwolf's "Born to be Wild")

Get my three-wheel tryke
Head out on the highway
Looking for my dentures
And the coupon that I saved

Gonna hit the Early Bird Special
Steal sugar packets and the butter plate
Complain to the manager, baby
Then I’ll be back by eight

Crawling like a turtle
Backing up the traffic
Taking up two lanes
And making young folks spastic

We fought Adolph Hilter, baby
Screw the Boomers who don't wanna save
Gonna spend the gummint’s money
Take it all to the grave!

Like a true World War II child
We were born
Born to be retired
Gonna drive so slow
Ain’t never gonna go

Born to be retired
Born to be retired