Loko four that Loko

So where have we been?  Let’s just say my Jeff Goldblum outfit was too big of a hit.  Also, my brother is staying with me, and the kid always wants me to go out and  have “fun”, which I don’t understand at all.  Furthermore, his only method of payment is a promise not to tell people how I live.  Anyway, let’s get back to the real, indoor fun.  WAIT!  Let me also mention that we’re performing in Happy Mixgiving – A Cornucopia of Improv tonight at 11PM!  Be there!  Any-hoodle,

I am an accomplished drunkard.  I once got thrown out of a Prague club and returned to dare the bouncers to see if they could throw me further than the first time (they could!).  I once killed a prostitute for sneezing.  I’ll let you decide which of those anecdotes is “fake”.

Now I’ll admit that I’ve mellowed.  Most of my belligerence now manifests itself in cold stares, the majority of which go unnoticed.  Anyway, what I’m getting at is that I could never handle this:

A big ol' can of "fuck you".

If you haven’t met four loko yet, you’re in for a hideous treat.  It’s a 12% alcohol energy drink.  Hey kids, let’s rap.  Let’s have serious talk about alcohol.  Your average beer is 5.5% alcohol.  four loko has more than twice that, and as a malt beverage, it doesn’t even have hops, fer chrissakes!  I’m sure many of you are on the phone attempting to contact your congressman already.  Don’t worry about it.  This is the land of temporary moral outrage.   It’s already been banned in Michigan, because, apparently, it’s Michigan’s biggest problem.

I guess Detroit could get worse. I guess.

As you might guess, there’s a laundry list of other complaints from lawmakers and MILF’s about this “beverage”.  It’s a toss-up between the “too much alcohol” people and the “don’t mix caffeine with alcohol” lobby.  The tough thing is that you don’t have to be a fucking chemist to cause either of those problems for yourself without this new crunkifier.  In college I drank Keystone Light like a man twice my weight; and if I wanted, I could’ve  mixed it with whiskey and Diet Coke.  Bam!  Proto-loko.

I don’t see any real legal reason to ban four loko; people have always wanted to drink themselves to death, or at least, toplessness, and they will do so with or without the stuff.  The only reason I would love to see it disappear is that it appears to be a company founded by douchebags, for assholes (BDFA).   Here, check their website.  Be sure to scan the background for nipples.   They also appear to be selling it in Europe without any arglebargle or fooferaw.  The German version of their website is fantastic.   They also don’t have a single booze warning or angry open letter to the guv’ment.

Let me clear your palate now:

"Hey, you have a great night"

Go drink something hoppy.

An eventful week

Not much time to talk right now, but so much to discuss.  As you may know, it’s playoff season in baseball, which means excitement for all fans and misdemeanors for Phillies fans:

http://www.the700level.com/2010/10/fan-appears-to-puke-on-field-going-for-foul-ball.html

You always want the Phillies to get to the World Series, because each additional game the team plays gives the fans more opportunities to entertain us, usually working the contents of their stomachs into the mix.  I’m sure you heard about this fellow .  Ben Franklin would be proud.  That’s all I have to say about that.

In other developments, if you haven’t decided what to be for Halloween yet, here’s an idea:

You truly are King of Kings

That’s right: When Christians interrupt your hard-earned back-alley hand-job and tell you to “Choose Christ”, I’m pretty sure this isn’t what they’re talking about.  I suppose it’s a good way to teach your child the meaning of the word “blasphemy” outside of a classroom setting.  Anyway, you owe it to yourself to read the blurb about the costume.  Then go on and peruse the site.  It’s rife with treasures.  See if you can find what I like to call “Black-Panther Iron Man”.

Help Me Pick Out a Halloween Costume

Bam! Goldblumed!  I hope you’re all paying attention now.  Did you see that man fill that frame?  Think you can do better?  You. fucking. liar.  Why the Goldblum, you ask (aside from the obvious)?  Well, I was looking at my underused pair of black jeans this morning, thinking that they may just be too “metal” to ever see the light of day again.  I run the buROCKracy blog now, and a man in my po-zish cannot afford to look ridiculous.  I needed to find a use for these jeans.  The obsidian denim craves my fuzzy thighs.  Luckily, the jeans were hung directly next to a black button-down shirt I bought at target on Monday as part of Operation: Get Your Shit Together.   Then I realized that I had the two principle elements of this:

The torch is the second hottest thing in this picture.

Yes, 17 years later, Dr. Ian Malcolm is a totally legitimate Halloween Costume idea.  And yes, it is a strong possibility that I will be Dr. Ian Malcolm when the ghosts, ghouls, and sex offenders take to the streets 2 weeks from now.  Now I know what you’re thinking:

“But Paul, you’re not tall or attractive or Jewish enough to look like Jeff Goldblum.  Your chest-hair will just scare people and further alienate you from those trying desperately to save you from becoming the world’s first straight confirmed bachelor.  Jesus Christ, step back from the brink of insanity!”

Wow… I can’t believe you thought all that.  You’ve got some serious growing up to do.  Besides, it’s either that or this…

Yes, Robin Williams, my brother in sasquatchery.  All I’d need is glasses and a beret.  I don’t know if qualifies as a costume.  You be the judge!…you judgmental monsters.

Palate cleanser: there is another Dr. Ian Malcolm, and he is a real-life doctor, which will never be as awesome.

...though it's hard to picture this guy sitting in the back of a a Jurassic Park jeep and nailing the line "Must go faster".

Sweet threads, though.

Behold! A stereotype we can ALL enjoy!

Stereotypes are despicable.  They serve only to divide people and narrow our worldview… unless you find a really good one.  Then you’ve got viral video, baby.  Below is one such spectacular stereotype.  Love him and cherish him, because American Gladiator “Malibu” (shortened to just “‘bu”  for our purposes) is a diamond in the rough.  I will say “you’re welcome” in advance.

I did a little extra research on ‘bu (born Deron McBee, 1961), because buROCKracy goes where the action is, goddammit!  I was expecting to learn that either his heart exploded in 1998 or he had 9 DUI’s and a domestic battery (to be more well-rounded) on his rap sheet.  He has none of these things.  Turns out American Gladiators fare far better than most professional wrestlers, who are essentially sentient deli meats.  No, Malibu has made it through.  He was married to professional wrestler “Raiderette” until her death from a heart attack in 2003 (see what I’m talking about?!), and has appeared in a smattering of notable films, including Batman Forever, and most lucratively, the Mortal Kombat series, in which he played equine douche-bag Motaro.

"A man in my position CANNOT AFFORD to look ridiculous... how's my light, Gary?"

And now it looks like he’s toned down the “California Surfer Lion” persona and is working on a life-coaching type of show on the My Fitness Channel, which is absolutely one of my top five favorite fitness channels.   This promo is none-too-silly, that is until about seconds 56-57.  I’m not sure who the woman humoring him is.

Truly inspirational.  But not as inspirational as this:

 

I call this my "An Evening With Paul DiCrosta As He Sings All The Old Standards" headshot. It has never gotten me work.

 

 

Why not try a park bench?

I occasionally see people eating lunch in their cars.  Now, while it’s not wholly abnormal to eat in your car, alone, the steering wheel doubling as a friend/sneeze-guard, it’s always pretty damn depressing, and should be avoided.

…unless you have no choice…

 

Speaking of Segways

Segways have always been the butt of jokes.  Somehow, a pretty cool mode of transport has managed to be anything but.  President Obama knows better than to give any state-of-the-union speeches from a Segway (it’d be career suicide!), and it’s pretty tough to picture Steve McQueen escaping from a Nazi prison, ditching his hog, and hopping on one of them to book it through the Bavarian countryside.

"No, I'm not gonna trade you."

Also, they’re just so non-dangerous.  I mean, they don’t go fast enough to do a whole lot of damage to anybody, be they rider, pedestrian, Rastafarian, or Zoroastrian.  Segway mishaps show up on failblog.org with respectable frequency, but no one could ever die while riding a Segway, right?  Well no, unless you own the fucking company.

Yes, the man who lived by the Segway has died by it.   James Heselden had just bought the company after a long career in industry, presumably manufacturing irony.   He rolled the darn thing off a cliff in England, and the Great God of Gravity (Graxos)  was not merciful.  It was  a 30-foot drop, meaning that the poor man had just enough time to realize that he was going to die either from the fall or the embarrassment.   It was, thankfully, the former.

I don’t want to be too hard on this fellow, though.  He seems to have been a good guy (he was rich, after all), and was pretty accomplished.  This man owned Segway.  His death was international news.  I own an air-conditioner, three chairs, and a Swiffer (with dry refills).  If I rode a Segway off a cliff onto a beach in England, the authorities would simply click their tongues, mutter a “Nasty business, that” or two, and wait for high tide.  I’d eventually wash up in France and become a delicacy.

Anyway, where was I?  Oh yeah – if you’re gonna smoke, for GOD’s SAKE: wear a helmet.  Steve McQueen’s orders!

CLLAW Your Face Away

Sorta like this, but with LADIES

The members of buROCKracy are rarely allowed to associate with other groups of people, much less reputable theatre companies, but there was one time we got it right.  The Chicago League of Lady Arm Wrestlers saw potential in me and Bruce, and we were conscripted as trainers for two un-trainable ladies:  “The Cutting Edge” and “Strawberry Shivcake”, two uncompromising bitches with a gift for arm-pullin’.  Shivcake is below, with her insidious trainer, Gene Fortinbras Maudlin:

Naught need be said.

On the side of righteousness, there is “The Cutting Edge”, a fantastic fighter, defending champion, and so-so figure skater, and her trainer, the drunken Moldovan Anton Pamchenko:

You get the idea

But there are many, many more lady wrestlers, and it’s anybody’s game tonight, folks.  And if that’s not enough (and it is), then there’s a 3-hour $25 drink package and we play Sylvester Stallone’s documentary Over the Top – the film in which Sly arm wrestles his way over said top in order to go back in time and fund Rocky.  Regardless of your motivation, CLLAW is a blast.  It’s tonight from 10PM-1AM the Mystic Celt – 3443 N. Southport in Chicago, about 200 feet from the Southport Brown Line.  Be there, suckas!

Funny or Tasteless? What on earth is it?

There are things that drift away, like our endless numbered days, as Sam Beam of Iron and Wine might say, but Crispin Glover is not prone to drifting once he has established himself in your subconscious.  You might know him as the fellow who prevents Biff from raping Michael J. Fox’s mother in Back to the Future, thereby preventing a solid treatise on time travel from becoming a snuff film; however, Crispin Glover eventually decided that he was not only a character actor, but an auteur.  He had a retch of creative activity that was not restricted to trying to kicking David Letterman in the face.    Mr. Glover decided that he should create film art.

Before I introduce this, I would like to mention that this is not safe for work, nor is it safe for anywhere else.  Please observe What Is It? by Crispin Glover.

Have you decided what “It” is?  No?  Don’t give half-a-shit?  That’s ok.  You are now 1 of approximately 6 billion other people who have seen enough.  However, if you’ve decided that you want more from Crispin Glover, please enjoy Clownly Clown Clown.  The only thing that can clear this palate is, of course, Sean Connery.

"I've shot the clown, dawg"

Drunk with knowledge

If you don’t drink, you should.  Even if you’re pregnant… well not if you’re pregnant, but otherwise, you’ve got no excuse, you priss.  Chicago has a whole theater based specifically on that premise.  But that’s not what we’re talking about today.  Today we’re talking alcohol’s ability to take a man’s passion and make him more passionate about it.  I give you Derek Waters’ Drunk History.  Knowledgeable history students take get banged up on everybody’s favorite psychotropic drug and then take on classic historical fare, bringing it to surly life (this one features John C. Reilly):

You don’t come up with “Electric Jesus” without half a bottle of Absinthe.

Beats the Hell Outta Crystal Meth

Early in the week I usually look for suicide videos to post, and I was thrilled when I found this one. Unexpected spoiler alert: the “man” survives, and thereby sets a new standard for beating the rural blahs. Look out, Crystal Meth!