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Sunday, June 30, 2002


Sunday Drive Extra

Today, I took my car to get it washed. At no point while I waited for my car was I given a three-picture development deal, staffed as a writer on a sitcom, or discovered by an agent who thought me to have a fresh face. Didn't have the opportunity to lie to a waitress/model/actress about my place in the Hollywood food chain and then discover her. Didn't surreptitiously toss a screenplay in the back of someone's convertible. I just sat in the afternoon heat in a gray, plastic chair that looked like a big hand and waited for them to towel off my car. But now my car is shiny. So very shiny.

Saturday, June 29, 2002


120 Minutes of Clarity Special

Bush Resumes Power After Colonoscopy

President Bush was incapacitated for about two hours as he underwent a routine colonoscopy Saturday. Vice President Dick Cheney assumed Presidential powers while Bush was under anesthetic.

Even though Bush wasn't responsible for the course of our Nation during these two hours, he kept busy. My contacts in Washington sent me a transcript of notes Bush dictated while under sedation.

To: 'Lil Dickie
From: Big Georgie

Find outlined my wishes for this great country of ours should I find myself dead with this camera stuck in my pooper.

--Provide universal healthcare for all Americans. everyone should be able to afford the wonderful trip I'm on. I think this snake in my ass is talking to me!

--Call Yassy and Arrie. We're gonna let this whole Palestine thing ride on the biggest darn cockfight you ever did see. Condie Rice loves that! Send her an invite.

--Have 'Lil Dickie Cheney killed once this trip is over. He's been eyein' my Laura. I seen it. Make sure the batteries in my remote killswitch for Dickie's pacemaker are changed.

--I pledge with my dying breath that we will destroy the Death Star!

--Capital punishment only for retards. They think they're on a ride anyway. Why can't they just take a ride?

--Make sure Daddy G.H.W.B. feeds the fish in my office.

--I'll see you all in hell! Hee-yaw!

[5 minutes of unintelligible gurgling, followed by one last "Hee-yaw!" Then silence.]

Friday, June 28, 2002


Juxtaposition Depot

Cruisin' Choppers Brace for Boffo Box Office

If you happened to catch the June 14th issue of Entertainment Weekly, you were treated to a nearly life-size representation of Tom Cruise's $20 million-plus-gross-points face, complete with his newly-installed dental correctives. Could the recent disappointing opening of Minority Report have something to do with Cruise's famous smile being marred by these new braces? The Spielberg actioner barely edged out kiddie pic Lilo and Stich for this weekend's box office crown. America's collective summer self-image is inextricably tied to Tom Terrific's electric grin--with stage lighting glinting off his new apparatus, can we as a country buck-up and throw our support behind his lastest popcorn thriller offering? Or will Cruise take the plunge and have a little cartilage trimmed from the tip of his famous schnoz as he reports for shooting on Mission: Impossible 3? Please, Tom, a nation turns its weary blockbuster-hungry eyes to you. We'll still love you when your pearly whites are a little straighter. Just make sure you deliver the high bang-for-our-buck action ratio that we crave as the months get hotter. And smile.

Also in the July 14th issue: EW asks the experts for their verdict on Winona's career. I for one will be the first on line for her next offering. America is a place of second chances.


End of an Era Special Fold-out Section

Bill Maher Tapes Last Talk Show

The last installment of Politically Incorrect, beloved talk show and celebrity-ignorance forum, will air tonight. I've been watching this show since it started on Comedy Central in 1994. I tune in for at least a part of the show every night before switching over to Conan and laughing my ass off for a sold late-night hour.

One of the reasons that PI holds a special place in my heart is that it gave America's celebrities a place to express their personal and political opinions to millions of viewers and prove beyond a shadow of a doubt how vacant and uninformed the vast majority of them are. It was often a cocktail party nightmare--Star A would mouth off across the brim of his lemon-drop martini, but instead of some starstruck actress/model/waitress waiting to do a line of blow off his inner thigh, it was the Republican Congressman from Georgia ready to dismantle his worldview. Of course, Star A smiled, America sighed, and the politician blinked as he fired a blank over the celebrity's shoulder. But for one moment you could detect a droplet of sweat straining to break through the epidermal layer of pancake makeup, and in that instant you could see that Star A knew we knew he was full of shit. If you looked away for an instant, you missed it, and $9.50 was automatically debited from your checking account and into the weekend gross of My Three Sons, The Motion Picture. But it happened, I swear it did. I saw it.

Not that Bill Maher is any kind of visionary. Mostly his emcee seat required that he sit back and allow the spectacle to rage in front of him, occasionally interjecting scripted, somwhat-controversial observations to keep the bloodsport churning and sponsors fleeing [note to Bill--they pay your salary, don't chase them all off]. But I'll miss the guy. And I'll miss the nightly comfort of getting to feel superior to people with three personal assistants and fifteen cars as they totally miss the point of anything more consequential than Monday's box office numbers.

Not that I'm not full of shit. But I don't get to go on TV and show the world my eyes are brown.

Thursday, June 27, 2002

Yao Ming...I heard there's a run on two-foot chopsticks in, that guy is word on if he's going to box someone who's really know, because that's what really tall guys do these days...word around town is that R. Kelly has an Underoo know, because he likes to videotape underage girls...and who's seen or heard from Winona lately?...I hear she's been keeping busy taking things from expensive department stores without paying for them...and how about the German Soccer Team...things have been quiet since they beat the US, invaded Poland and hosted a special Hasselhoff concert in their hotel...they lost World War II, if you hadn't heard...those wacky Palestinian suicide bombers...they think they are going to heaven...and they are right...if by heaven you mean the local pizza shops where they blow up...a peaceful people, to be sure...that was sarcastic, watch out...and the Israelis...well, you know...I'm not going to spell everything out for you...OK, but it is obvious that they are in a difficult's hard to shoot kids with rocks, they run fast...if they are going to take God out of the Pledge of Allegiance why don't they just take all the money back and get it off of there, too...because some people with free time and expensive lawyers aren't that fond of the Big Fella...atheists are funny that way...and so are Catholic Priests...I think I smell a sitcom in there know, the Catholic Priest and the Litigious Athiest...maybe they are both lawyers, and that guy from Fresh Prince is the judge...he's always the judge, isn't he...and let's not ban tag and dodgeball while we're at allows to weed out the weak at a convenient age, before they are able to afford tenacious legal a Catholic Priest with a chip on his shoulder and a score to settle...

Tuesday, June 25, 2002


The There Would Be Humor Here If I Knew How to Read a Balance Sheet Section


Amortize This, Mothafuckas!

WorldCom Said It Hid Expenses, Inflating Cash Flow $3.8

Accounting scandals are the new intern blowjobs and celebrity wife murders. But the illicit fellatio and the "This'll finally shut the bitch up!" stories have the bonus of being easily understood by consumers of the nightly news. Joe Sixpack can readily relate to a hummer or the somtimes crippling desire to be rid of the ball-and-chain. But when it comes to the Enron and WorldCom type scandals that mostly involve shifting numbers from one column to another or paper transfers of assets to offshore holding companies, Johnny Q. Public is left at the prom with a date that's got her knees locked together with The Club. Admittedly, there is a certain fiscal tingle from booking your corporation's operating costs as capital investments (oh, the humanity!), but the scandal lacks the clean lines and tabloid appeal of having your intern disappear under the desk or while jogging in the park, or helping your wife's head fall off in the kitchen or a cut-rate Italian restaurant.

Consider this a plea for America to return to the glory days of scandals that can be enjoyed by all, not just CEOs, CFOs, and CPAs.


This Will Be F'in Huge Dept.

You heard it here first:

I fully expect that this is going to "blow up," as the kids are saying. It's starting to get some national attention--but I think that it all started in sunny Venice, California.

Grease up your bum and get into the action.



tonight i m doing my laundry. how fun. later i think that im gonna watch the real world that cara is really a skinny little bitch and the one with the big hair and the fake knockers to. maybe eat a frozen pizza cuz theres nothin in the fridge.

maybe later ill call annie and jake and see what there up to. or maybe ill see them on IM. i think that later im gonna be pretty bored once the real world is over. they just show that britney making the video like ten times a night, he he :)

ok i gotta go but ill check in later.


Apropos of Nothing Edition

Kansas City, Missouri is the "Greeting Card Capital of the World."

Sample card commemorating KC's coronation as Hallmark king:

Front Panel: "Congratulations on Being Named Greeting Card Capital of the World! How does it feel, KC?"

Inside Card: [cartoon of Kansas City's citizenry] "Please kill us all! We live in Kansas City!"

Back Panel: UPC Code, 1.95 US

Sunday, June 23, 2002


Because the News Doesn't Take the Weekend Off Dept.

Ann Landers, Advice Giver to the Millions, Dies at 83

One down, one to go.

In honor of a fallen advice icon, I inaugurate a new feature:

Go Ahead, Ask Bunsen

Dear Bunsen,

My favorite advice columnist just passed away, I don't know what I'm going to do without Dear Abby in my life. How can I cope with this loss?

At a Loss for Advice


Ann Landers died, not Dear Abby. They were twin sisters and both were advice columnists (what are the odds?). Somehow one survived, though it is likely that the other will expire from grief in the next week or two. Sadly, this is what happens. Write back in a week when Abby gets syndicated in the Afterlife Times-Picayune.

At 83 years of age, it is clear that Ann was asking for it.

More Strife in the Middle East

Somebody blew somebody else up in a place with a bunch of holy stuff and a lot of sand and near a bunch of places with a lot of oil. Tomorrow, there will be ululating.

Rrrrruuuut-Ro: Scooby Doo Reaches $100 Million

Heads all over Hollywood explode from the implications. Big-screen versions of Marmaduke, Astro, Mr. Peabody, and that dog across the hall that keeps telling me to kill my pretty blonde neighbor with a monkey wrench are rushed into production.

Koreans, distracted by the World Cup proceedings, will soon be confronted with the guilt of eating potential talking box-office stars for dinner.

[This is somewhat of a low blow, but they're kicking soccer ass in their backyard while the US Team sits in a Seoul diner half a globe from home trying to pantomime the question, "What exactly is in kimchee again?" to their waiter.]

Things That Did Not Happen This Weekend

Madonna did not issue a press release including sixteen references to her vagina "ripe and tingling from impending motherhood."

Miss Manners was not found in a Washington, DC crackhouse, forgetting to say "Please" and "Thank you" between hits from the pipe as she tried to wash away the grief of her fallen compatriot.

The German Soccer Team was not seen headed for the vanquished French Team's hotel, looking to "keep the good feelings rolling" by "stomping a little froggie ass."

I was not a little disappointed with Minority Report. Wait, that did happen.


Weekend Fun Corner!

If you happen to cruising around on this lovely Sunday afternoon, I strongly suggest that you surf on over to the Mr. T Name Generator, a happy little activity in the spirit of the Wu-Tang name game and the Prison Bitch Name thing. I'm not linking those; they are so three years ago. This is the Web, and things here lose their appeal after about fifteen seconds [how long did it take you to read this? Am I under fifteen seconds? You might not even make it to the end of

Friday, June 21, 2002


The "Change for the Sake of Change" Issue

If you look carefully to the left-hand column, you may notice a new feature called "The Tag Board," by which visitors may "interact" with this "web site." I don't suggest that you attempt to be funny. The box for the posts is quite small, and you run the very real risk that your reactionary witticism will be clipped off and someone will have to scroll to see what you were saying. A lot of effort for what is sure to be a small payoff [an experience not unlike the one of reading the crap in this part of the site.]

Suggested tag material:
"Tell it, brother man."
"Fuck that honkey shit!"
"Jesus Christ, you are so f'in funny."
"And handsome, too."
"How can I send you five dollars?"
"Five dollar? Fuck this guy is funny! How can I send you fifty bucks?"
"I am a venture capitalist and would like to list your site for an IPO, and give you thirty million dollars. How does that sound, bub?"

etc, etc.

Try it out, tag something up, be a hero in your community. Let's throw it in the water and see if it floats.

For the weekend, I think that I am going to be in a Courier type of mood. Please don't be alarmed by the new typeface. It's probably not permanent. I just felt that I needed to try something a bit different, shake things up a skoach. You may not know this, but once in a while, it's good to take these little types of risks--stick your big toe into the deep end and see what the cold feels like. Yeah, that's right. I did it.

Enjoy your new low-tech, more interactive reading experience.

Thursday, June 20, 2002


Ripped From Tomorrow's Headlines Dept.

Yasser Arafat Phones Ariel Sharon, Flushes Toilet, Hangs Up

JERUSALEM--In the wake of the recent outbreak of Palestinian suicide bombings and Israeli military reprisals, PLO President Yasser Arafat extended what he called "an obvious, heartfelt olive branch to my Israeli brothers" early Friday morning. Following the news that five Israeli settlers were cut down by Palestinian gunmen in a raid on their Itamar home, Arafat immediately took his satellite phone into the commode, pressed the number eight on his speed dial, and peacably flushed the toilet once Sharon was on the line. A surprised Sharon remarked, "I kept asking, 'Hello, hello? and could only hear the sound of rushing water and someone giggling." Sharon rubbed his brow and continued, "I know it was Yasser. I have the Caller-ID." In response to Arafat's communique, Sharon ordered a force of 1,500 Israeli soldiers to surround Arafat's bunker headquarters as a team of specialists disconnected the structure's plumbing. "If this is the way Yassir wants to play, he can urinate in a terracotta pot in the corner of his office."

Arafat decried Sharon's retaliation as "totally contrary to the spirit of reconciliation that I am so fervently trying to foster. If Sharon cannot recognize an outstretched hand when he sees one, an agreement for an autonomous Palestinian state may never be reached and a lasting peace will continue to elude us." Arafat shook his head grinly before continuing, "I mean, we are trying to drive the Jews deep into the Red Sea, but that doesn't mean we can't meet over a hot cup of Turkish coffee and hammer something out."


One Good Plug Deserves Another

For those of you who might like some real commentary on issues [seemingly] more important than the popcult trash that tumbles from my noggin, check out There you will find someone who can have an informed opinion about things you might see in the Wall Street Journal, The New Republic, Reason, and Martha Stewart's Living. [OK, not the last one, but the dude loves a good doily as much as the next guy.] But I don't want to make it sound like it's musty and straightlaced over there--I've seen the proprieter smash his head on things and he's one of the funniest guys I know. He just happens to read the front page of the paper first.


News QuikHitz: Some Actual News Items and a Bunch of Shit That Didn't Really Happen

How About Working on the Policy Where Only First Class Passengers are Allowed to Steer the Plane Into Skyscrapers?

In a move that is certain to deter scores of rotund terrorists from riding the Oakland to Burbank shuttle, Southwest Airlines announced that it would begin to enforce a decades-old policy of charging morbidly obese passengers for two tickets. A Southwest spokesman commented on the move towards enforcement of the policy, established in 1980: "If your posterior cannot fit comfortably into the check-in desk overhead compartment luggage-sizer, hauling your ass at 20,000 feet might require two trips. So buy the extra seat, have a Twinkie, and enjoy tonight's in-flight movie starring 95-pound Gwyneth Paltrow in a fat suit." Oprah Winfrey, Roseanne Barr (circa 1988), Louie Anderson, the amazing 200-pound baby, and an extra from "Sweatin' to the Oldies IV" all were unavailable for comment.

Furthermore, a senior official had "nothing to add" when asked if Southwest would revive its 1975 policy of requiring facially unappealing women to wear burlap sacks (with optional eyeholes) on flights of two hours or longer.

And Earlier in the Evening, Principal Dismissed Following Highly-Inappropriate Hymen Check

A San Diego female assistant principal was demoted for lifiting girls' skirts to make sure that they were not wearing thong underwear to a school dance. When contacted for comment, undergarment afficianado/hip-hop star Sisqo offered, "How are these young women expected to get their 'groove on' in granny-drawers?" Sisqo then performed four handsprings and a one-handed cartwheel before finishing, "Thong-tha-thawn-thawn-thong. Do you have a quarter for an Egg McMuffin?"

Bottle of Red, Bottle of White, Face-Down Under the Piano Bench in a Puddle of His Own Vomit

Billy Joel lands in rehab. Joel immediately disavows any memory of recent classical music jag.

If Wet Dreams Were Legal Evidence, I Might be Paying Hurley-Baby Palimony

DNA evidence proves that producer/heir Stephen Bing had indeed provided the genetic spark that ignited embryonic fire in Liz Hurley's uterus. Hugh Grant never really seemed up to the task, preferring to deposit his seed in Hollywood Boulevard sidewalk sperm receptacle.

Crazy-Ass Celebrities Doing Some Wacked-Ass Shit

A famous person did something totally fucking hilarious and strange. Those crazy-ass celebrities are certainly an endless source of wacked-ass shit, are they not, constantly getting married, eating in restaurants, abusing substances, and pretending not to have babies. What's their deal?

Wednesday, June 19, 2002


World Cup Humor Preview

With the US soccer team advancing into the quarterfinals, there will be ample opprtunity for jokes at the expense of the powerhouse German team. Here's an advance look at some of the jokes we'll see:

Potential Headlines:
--Germans Goosestep to Victory Over US
--WWII Rematch: This Time Teutons Triumph
--German Soccer Team Exterminates Eastern European Jewry, also Defeats US 4-1.
--Marshall's Other Plan: Germany Lend-Leases 3-0 Win
--Was It Over When the Germans Bombed Pearl Harbor? US Not on Roll, 2-1
--Germans Lose Two World Wars, Win Meaningless Soccer Match Against Twice-Vanquishing, Lone Superpower: A Study in Obvious Irony and Moral Victory

Human Interest Features:
--German Players Love Soccer, David Hasselhoff
--German Team Fashion Watch: Black Socks, Sandals Added to World Cup Uniform
--Germans Players Celebrate Victory as Cold, Impersonal Techno Music Pulses in Background

[disclaimer: Not all Germans did bad things in World War II, nor were Nazis. But it makes the jokes easier.]

[And they all love Hasselhoff. Which is the greater crime, really?]

Tuesday, June 18, 2002


Bunsen's TV Minute: MTV Rules Reality Roost

MTV, fresh off the surprising, runaway success of "The Osbournes," introduces "Brandy: Special Delivery," which chronicles the crossover star's pregnancy from conception through to her baby's birth. The show was a fascinating look at the entire reproductive cycle, but I found the close-up, steadicam views of the penetration that produced the actual fertilization to be amateuirsh and cliche, and, perhaps predictably, there was no money-shot. Video footage revealed Brandy's husband to be an uninspired lover, finishing his business quickly and rolling over for a nap while his swimmers worked their magic deep inside his wife's cervical cavity. Fine in-utero camerawork revealed that Spermatozoa #1,563,993 finished nearly six-hundred lengths ahead of its nearest competitor in the race to the egg. And in the biggest surprise of the show, Brandy gives birth to an abandoned Cambodian girl. Compelling TV the MTV way.

Next Tuesday on the 10-Spot

"Inside R. Kelly's Big Black Van." MTV's reality crew tracks R&B supastar R. Kelly as he cruises the neighborhoods of Los Angeles in search of fresh, new talent. In the series' premeire episode, the cameras capture R. as he hangs out in the parking lot of Hollywood High, taking candid videos of eager fans as he shows them the tricked-out interior of his phat Cadillac Escalade. No access has been barred--viewers can watch as R. shows eager students the rubber zebra-pattern sheets on the rotating circular bed in the back of his ride, his impressive lollipop collection, and features snippets from R.'s home movies. Catch this one when it drops, yo!

Monday, June 17, 2002


This Just In Dept.

Cancer is still bad.

But from what I gather, lots of men with thinning hair study it and try to make it less bad.


What Says Monday Better Than a Trip Through the

I love getting feedback, testimonials, and other random pieces of e-praise in my inbox. Today's affirmation came as a big surprise. Here's the text of the message:

Dear Kindly Mr. Bunsen-man,

I like your website. I will never go more that one hour without checking it for new content. You can print this as a testimonial, but if so I would like it to be attributed to the President of Senegal.

The President of Senegal

I was floored by this message. But to me, this just reaffirms the transcontinental potential of the World Wide Web. The Prez even included his URL with his kind note.

One thing, Mr. President: I don't know if I can keep up with your expectations of a new post every hour! I have a day job to attend to...but perhaps you can help me out with that by diverting some of that $16 billion Gross Domestic Product that your nation of 10,284,929 cranks out per annum. Not bad! Humbly, I can't say that I approve of your infant mortality rate of 56.75 deaths for every 1,000 live births, but no nation is perfect! [Though America comes pretty close, does it not? How about that whuppin' we put on our Mexican brothers last night? Huh? You like that?] Maybe you should work on this little problem before sending me a contribution.

Kindly Bunsen-man.

[Bonus: Senegal Fun Facts!]


I Swear to God I Fell On It Dept.


If Only Richard Gere Had the Web That Time With the, Well, You Know...

If you have any use whatsoever (other than the giddy entertainment value it is sure to provide in its misuse) for the information contained in the following link, you are most certainly in the wrong place--your Google search has done you wrong, my friend.

But here it is.

[Scroll to the bottom of the page and you'll get the idea much faster.]

[I am somewhat ashamed I am linking to this.]

[Really. And it should go without saying these are not my x-rays.]

[But there, I said it.]

Sunday, June 16, 2002


A Helpful Note for Red Sox Fans: Take a Hot One for the Team!

The Only Way You Can Hope To Shake the Curse of the Bambino

The writing is on the wall, Sox fans. Self-immolation is your ticket to the Big Show...


[Purely optional for Mets fans.]


Sunday Afternoon Special: Reader Mailbag

Tom P. of Bronxville, NY, writes in with his favorite bumper sticker:

"My Other Ride is Your Mom."

Nothing warms the soul on a Sunday afternoon like a hot cup of coffee, an inky copy of the New York Times, and a heartfelt mother joke. Thanks, Tom.

Saturday, June 15, 2002


Christina Aguilera Never Seemed to Mind When I Told US Weekly That She Likes to Be Spanked


Not much else needs to be said. Tsk, tsk, Timberlake. A gentleboybander doesn't devirginize and tell.


There Would Be a Polish Joke in Here Somewhere Involving Lightbulb Installation If I Knew How Many Soccer Players Were on a Side

The Polish National Team drilled Team USA 3-1 early Friday (all the games are "early," as FIFA rather inconveniently situated the Big Soccer Tournament half the globe away. On the East Coast, people are heading out to bars to take in some footie action at 5am. Out here on the West Coast, one's options are limited to pulling an all-nighter to catch the 2am start time or avoiding all media outlets and watching the TiVo'd version after work. A futher option, of course, is to ignore the scores, close one's eyes, and listen to the din of a city full of bandwagon Lakers fans (this is Bandwagon City, after all) relishing a title won in the most lopsided series since Grenada.

[I really have a hard time believing that I made a Grenada reference here. What is this, the Dick Cavett show? I suppose I could have gone with Desert Storm, but come on. Retro is probably a little better than the near-past rehash. Yesterday, I actually made an Amway joke at work. Then I stopped myself, in a similar fashion as what is on display here, and had to ask if Amway even exists anymore. Like I said, I think I watched way too much late-night TV in the '80s. I shall finish this parentheical {or is this a brackethetical?} with a round of fist-pumping and woofing. Take that.]

Despite that fact that the Poles rolled over the good-ole Yanks like Soviet tanks through Gdansk, the US still advances to the second round of World Cup play. This is a feature of soccer (or maybe just the Cup) that I never really understood--you take a beating, then get word that someone else in your Group has crapped out, then celebrate the moment when you realize you still advance, instantly forgetting about the humiliation in progess. Italy and Mexico actually STOPPED PLAYING when they found out they both were moving on to the second round and the score of the match became meaningless. Being a baseball fan, this soccer nonsense drives me to the clicker and I flip on the latest Yankee game, basking in the elegance of the designated hitter, the Infield Fly Rule, the ground rule double, and that thing where you can run to first base if the catcher drops the ball on the third strike, resulting in a strikeout but not an out, but only if first base is open.

Simplicity itself, amigo.

Wednesday, June 12, 2002


Winonamaniapaloozafest 2002 Part II

Bonus Featurette: Inside the Making of a Winona Ryder Joke!

Following is a simple template for the construction of a can't-miss joke about everyone's current favorite ingenue-in-jepoardy:

Winona [synonym for "steal"] + [name of item] + [name of actor/musician with whom she was at some time publically and carnally involved {here is a handy reference page} OR [name of celebrity who appeared with her in an unfortunate cinematic offering] + {reference to current legal troubles] + [mention of mysterious arm injury suffered in way to recent trip to court]

This handy template is employed by writers for such beloved talk-shows as Late-Night with David Letterman, The Late-Late Show with Craig Kilborn, The Daily Show, and especially and unrelentingly, The Tonight Show Starring the Unfunny Hatchet-Headed Ex-Comedian, as well as by smaller scale humor outlets somewhat similar to this one (see below).

Uh, Free Winona.



This week's Newsweek drops a little joint about the fallout from Ms. Ryder's recent retail indiscretions, ranging for picking on her recent choices in movies ("Autumn in New York," "Lost Souls") and other hot/hip/young actresses whose flashpanning careers have left the doe-eyed starlet in the dust of late (Gwynnie, Reese Witherspoon, et al).

Things found jammed in Winona's purse that fateful day in Saks Fifth Avenue:
1. Johnny Depp's codpiece from "Edward Scissorhands"
2. map with secret location of current whereabouts of Soul Asylum
3. travel alarm clock borrowed from Harrison Ford's nightstand
4. Phone number of drummer brother of quick-thinking security guard that nabbed her
5. Hollywood Blvd. souvenir-shop Oscar statue bearing inscription "Best Supporting Friend" (consolation prize given to her by Angelina Jolie after her win for "Girl, Interrupted")
6. $17,000 ermine coat liberated from PETA rally protestor
7. Lots and lots of things that she "forgot to pay for." Get it? She steals things!


It Was Just a Matter of Time Before the Oppressed Masses Threw Off Their Chains


Former Sitcom Star Revealed in Excruciating Yet Exceedingly Boring Detail

Today's New York Times features a story on the burgeoning literary genre of Underling Revenge Writing. What kind of a market could my memoirs find in this new economic climate? What vast sums could be gained by my blow-by-blow descriptions of the behind-the-scenes shennanigans at a failed sitcom? The possibilites boggle the mind, as it was this very purpose that I started this whole blogging experiment, for which I am paid the grand sum of jack shit.

The world may not realize this, but I have stories to tell about the lunches people eat in this behind-the-scenes settings, tales of coffee prepared, of celebrity offspring shuttled to and fro, of dogs fetched from Hollywood grooming houses with names containing horrible puns (see the horror of The Barking Lot and Chateau Marmutt!).

Oh, I think you hear me coming, and I've got a lukewarm cup of cappuccino and a BLT without the lettuce.

Tuesday, June 11, 2002


Did We Remember to Put a Cookie on Jerry Seinfeld's Hard Drive?

Somtimes in one's wide travels on the Web, one comes across a site so informative, boasting so high a utility for the public good, that we must take pause and shout its URL from the apex of the bloggin' hills.

Behold: Legal Age of Consent, a web page listing the ages of consent in a variety of languages and for a variety sexual orientations. This site lets you, the web surfer, know that in Denmark, you are free to sow your sexual oats from 15 on, but if you happen to find summer in Guyana, heteros can get buck-wild at the veal-tender age of 13--but you better watch out if your proclivities tend to the Sapphic or the Guy-on-Guy.

The disclaimer states that the site is not an "official" guide, but what the hell. How many times are you going to find yourself in Peru trading Pokemon cards and stealing romantic glances with that 14-year-old across a crowded In-Sync concert? Legal Ages of Consent tells you to go for it. And go for it you shall.

No word on whether they intend to add a countdown clock for the Jailbait Main Event: June 13, 2004--the day that the Olsen twins spin perilously into the Age of Consent.

Monday, June 10, 2002


Assyrian-Babylonian Goddesses Discover the World Wide Web

The reach of the web is complete. Even in this age of nonfaith, deities from the distant past are able to log on and touch their devotees in new and exciting ways.

Just watch out when Shiva's driving an SUV and talking on the cellphone at the same time. There's some damage waiting to happen. Then again, Shiva's got enough arms to multitask.

Friday, June 07, 2002


After He Eats Your Children, He'll Gnaw on Your Rattan Furniture For Kicks

Oberservers at Mike Tyson's weigh-in for his imminent fight with Lennox Lewis have noted that Tyson seems to be "in the best shape of his life." One onlooker noted, "He's also more mentally unstable than ever". After promising he was ready to "crush" Lewis' skull, Tyson dropped on all fours, barked the second verse of God Bless America.and wandered out into a busy intersection, where he spoke to confused pedestrians in the manner of an English butler before discharging a flare gun and collapsing from dehydration.

Thursday, June 06, 2002


Useless Polychromatic Info Dept.

Watching the White Stripes on the MTV Movie Awards provides a disturbingly close visual analog to shopping at Target.
If you don't "feel me," as the kids might say, flip on the MTV and take a look. The Movie Awards (extended parenthetical run, watch your heads!hey, kids, it's MTV's hip, young, and irreverent version of the Oscars! Where celebrities can go on TV to air-fuck each other and groom Gen-Y and Gen-Z [how f'ing old are Gen-Z'ers anyway? Are they the ones watching the Pokemon/Digimon/Sanitized Japanimation that I see everywhere?] to flip into the Big Boring Air-Fucking Pat-On-The-Back-A-Thon that enslaves the populace once a year when it's still cold out back East.) will be broadcast roughly on a daily basis from now until the ice caps greenhouse-flood us all into a New Atlantis. I'm somewhat shocked that MTV would go anywhere near a band one-third as cool as the Stripes with a ten-foot barbershop pole.
But these awards are something of a pop-culture necessity, and I do love me the pop-culture. Where else is Viacom going to fete such wonderful flicks as A Knight's Tale, Pearl Harbor, and Queen of the Damned (that Aaliyah sure could act, you know, before). And Mandy Moore run away with the online poll for Best Dressed. It's so touching how's she's getting some recognition after going brunette and chopping down her locks to distance herself from Britney "The Queen of All Faux-Virginal Jailbait" Spears.
Maybe this is just a reaction to the fact that I'm now a couple of years on the wrong side of 25 and have tumbled hopelessly out of their target demographic, try as I may to cling on to my TV-youth through The Osbournes, Cribs (nothing turns me on more than a rapper who has a 24K gold bathtub while I have a job without health insurance), and The Real World. Hell, I think that I'm getting too old for VH-1 (sloagan: We're Not Just "Behind the Music"--We Have Divas IV!) as they're playing Incubus videos now. --Sigh.--
An MTV Did You Know: College kids don't know who Kennedy is.
--Deep Sigh of Existential Crisis--
I just need to close my eyes and let Jack Black do his magic. They could have gotten Lance Bass before he's jettisoned into oribit.


But Have You Ever Seen a Cowboy in a Muumuu?

If you are a fat lady, the cowboy hat isn't doing you any favors.

Wednesday, June 05, 2002


Maybe We Yawned, but it's Always Nice to Whup on the Other Iberian Country

Am I about to eat my words? The US Soccer Team just handed the swaggering Team Portugal their heads. I must admit that it's pretty to exciting to think the scrappy US of A could take down the No. 5 team in the world. But then again, the game started at 5AM and was over long before I even got out of bed. I suppose that we'll have to wait and see if this helps to put soccer on the map in America. A big win in '94's Cup in Los Angeles didn't seem to help much. It's still soccer. Isn't it only fair to have a sport where the rest of the world has a chance?

Let the marketing blitz begin:
Soccer. It's Kind of Boring, Then the Fans Trample Each Other.
Soccer: We've Set Our Sights on Arena League Football
Etc, etc.
USA Soccer: The Other Sport With All White People

About this site

This is the internet home of Mark Lisanti, a Los Angeles writer sometimes known as Bunsen. He is the founding editor of Defamer, a weblog about Hollywood, where he now serves in the nebulous capacity of "editor-at-large."
If You Like Bunsen, Then You'll Love Bunsen