Kansas Will Want To Murder Me For This

I have an image blog for you today. Enjoy!

Requiem For A Narcissistic Twit

Links to see to before we get started. Have a look over at Norma's blog, where she posted about going to the movies for a good cause. And since I'm a cat person, three blogs for you to peruse. First off, give a happy birthday hello to Miss Lucy. And take a look at this collection of the usual suspects at Barbara's blog. Finally, on a sadder note, a blogger I follow has lost a beloved senior cat, Mr Ed.

Today I'm playing around with another funeral eulogy, something that draws itself out of this post. Having had disposed of the infernal nitwit Kanye West in a manner he has coming, why not write his funeral eulogy? But who to give the eulogy? Well, that one finally came to me. Somehow Charlie Sheen seemed entirely appropriate...

"Thank you, Reverend... nice of you to introduce me without rolling your eyes or asking me to behave myself while I'm up here. Don't worry, I promise I'll behave myself. No porn stars by my side while I see old Kanye off to his final rest. No, they're not here... though they are down there in the congregation. Hello, Bambi, hi there, Tiffani... don't worry, this won't take long. Maybe we can have a threesome in the hearse afterwards. I mean, the funeral procession takes forever to reach the cemetery...

Anyway, Reverend Henderson is looking really annoyed with me, so without further ado, let's get this whole eulogy thing underway. How do we bid goodbye to Kanye? Do we talk about his music? Or do we talk about his ego? Because Kanye liked to elevate himself above the little people. Maybe that's part of being famous. Maybe we're all condemned to go crazy at one point or another because we're famous. I know I did, with my tiger blood and my winning attitude. So I lost my mind. It happens. It's been a fun trip though, snorting coke off a hooker's thigh one night, downing shots of tequila five minutes later with a pack of cheerleaders from UCLA... 

Where was I? Oh, right, talking about Kanye. You know, this was a guy who loved life, and loved his place in life. He'd talk your head off about himself. It was his favourite subject. When Kanye wasn't talking about Kanye, he expected whoever he was speaking with to fall all over themselves in adoring him. Maybe some people found that annoying. Maybe people think that what happened is what he had coming to him. You know, that's petty. I mean, no one deserves to get smashed into a pulpy mess by a meteor from outer space while he's standing out in the street.

Oh, sorry, Kim, I know it must upset you to think of the way he died. At least feel comforted by the fact that it happened too fast for him to really feel pain. It was over quickly for him. At least that's what the doctors think. Maybe he felt a horrendous amount of pain for a brief microsecond as that space rock pancaked him into the pavement.

Is that a bad visual? Well, you know, given the way he died, we can't avoid thinking of it and going into detail. It's not as if there was much left of Kanye to put in his coffin, as gold and platinum plated as it is. They had to scoop up what was left of him with spatulas and dust busters. But enough of the particulars of his death. Let's talk about his life.

Kanye and I both knew how to party. We knew all the best clubs where you could find the best booze, the best drugs, and the best women eager to get in your pants. Which explains why there are so many little Kanyes scattered all over the place. There might be more little Charlies around too, but that's a bit of a haze to me, too many nights of getting lucky while under the influence of something smashing. I can't remember if I've used protection or not. Come to think of it, it's probably a good idea if I get myself tested for STDs

Where was I? Oh, yes, talking about Kanye. You know, this was a guy with an attitude. He showed it when he said George Bush hates black people. And he showed it again when he upstaged Taylor Swift. And he showed it anytime he lost an award he was nominated for. You know what? I get that. When you think of yourself as God walking the earth, it does bother you when the little people don't fall over themselves to worship you.

People don't understand greatness. Or they resent it. I know they don't understand me. They resent me. They see the guy with tiger blood, and they resent that. So Kanye and I understood each other. Because he had tiger blood just like I did. He'd **** anything in a skirt just like I do. Oh... sorry, Reverend, I shouldn't curse in church, should I?

Well, Kanye is gone now. There'll never be another one like him. All we can do as a society is raise up a statue in his memory. He'd appreciate that. A statue befitting his ego. It'd have to be a couple thousand feet high. Aside from that, we can nurture his little daughter North West... you know, that's a really stupid name... Kim, why didn't you just name the baby Charlotte? We could have called her Charlie for short. Anyway, that's beside the point. We can nurture North West and feed her ego, and twenty years from now she'll be just as self absorbed as her daddy was.

I see Reverend Henderson is trying to get me to shut up. Don't worry, Rev, I'm almost done. Kim, look, I know you're distraught right now with the way he bought the farm... but you've got the whole Kardashian family behind you. So what's the worst that can possibly happen? And you've got John Mayer there right beside you... is it too early to date someone on your fiance's funeral day? Listen, by the way, if things don't work out with John... and seriously, I doubt it will, because Mayer's a player. Oh, don't look at me like that, John, you know it's true. When it all goes south on you, why don't you and I get together? Charlie Sheen and Kim Kardashian would be a relationship for the ages.

As long as you don't mind sharing me with the porn stars. Speaking of which... ladies, how about we get things started in the hearse?

Kurse Of The Kardashians

Pointless Reality Show Family Holds Pointless Press Conference Just To Annoy Real Journalists

Los Angeles (AP) The committee overseeing Hollywood’s Walk of Fame had a rather unusual meeting this week, which ended in some unlikely events. The Chamber of Commerce, which manages the more than 2500 stars arrayed in Hollywood of famous actors, musicians, and others in the industry, were being asked to consider someone whose fame is dubious at least.

This reporter was, to his great protest, forced to attend the events. It seems this reporter has an editor who took offense to his inadvertent remark that her child’s fingerpainting looked like something a monkey would do. So this reporter was being punished by being sent out to cover entertainment events amid a sea of paparazzi. This reporter found himself wishing that a legendary Mountie could be in attendance to teach some of these entertainment “journalists” some manners, but word has it that Inspector Ulrich is in Canada, and has been known to remark that Los Angeles needs to be hit by the next big earthquake, if only to wipe out ninety percent of the world’s entertainment reporters.

On this day, the Kardashian family turned up to demand that Kim Kardashian, the centerpiece daughter of the reality show clan, be given a star on the Walk of Fame. The group included stepfather and demented former Olympian Bruce Jenner, who recently separated from clan matriarch Kris Jenner (who has never heard of a photo op she didn’t like), daughters Kim, Khloe, and Kourtney, and Kanye West, the overrated self-absorbed musician who happens to have a baby with Kim.  

The Chamber took five minutes to say that Kim Kardashian does not deserve a spot on the Walk of Fame. A wise decision, to say the least, and it’s the kinder way of saying what they must have been thinking: are you people really this crazy and stupid? Needless to say, the Kardashian clan (or Klan, as they’d like to be called) were annoyed. West seemed angry as he walked out among the reporters, followed by the rest of the family. “**** ‘em! You hear me? I said **** ‘em! What do they know? My baby mama’s a star, and she deserves a star! Everyone’s fascinated by her! And not just ‘cause she received the seed of the Almighty Kanye! I mean, how many women are there out there with little Kanyes? I’ve lost count. Wait, did I say that out loud? Doesn’t matter! All that matters is what I say, and I’m gonna go out there and convince the world that these morons are wrong!”

He started towards the door. “Because I’m Kanye West, and I’m bigger than them! I’m bigger than Jesus! I’m bigger than God!” At this point, he walked out the door, out onto the street, and out of nowhere, he was struck down by a large meteorite that appeared out of nowhere, smashing right into him and killing him instantly. Later, the real reporters on the scene of the first fatality by meteorite agreed that we’d all seen that one coming, and that we wouldn’t miss someone as pretentious as Kanye West anyway. At the moment, however, we all looked at the Kardashian family.

Kim seemed perplexed. It’s a common expression for her, and for the whole family. “Kanye? Baby? Are you okay? Mom, what just happened?” she asked, looking at her mother, and her sisters.

Kris Jenner shrugged. “Don’t worry, sweetie, we’ll find you someone else to leach off of. Maybe that John Mayer guy. Look, what just happened isn’t that important. Sure we’ll all miss Keith, Kevin, or whatever the hell his name was, but what’s important is that these idiots in the Chamber of Commerce don’t realize how important it is to do everything we say. We’re the Kardashians, after all, and we deserve to be treated with respect.”

“I’m not sure why I’m here,” Bruce Jenner muttered. “I mean, aren’t we breaking up?”

“Quiet, you,” Kris admonished him. “So we’ll just have to show them. Effective immediately, big news in the Kardashian empire. Now that I’m ditching Mr. Mumbles here, I’m on the lookout for someone new. So I’m going to get myself hitched to Billy Ray Cyrus. Sure, I’ve never met him, but this is all about the marketing angle, and everyone’s talking about his daughter right now. Can you see Miley as stepsister to my girls Kim and Khloe and Kourtney, and whatever the hell the other girl’s names are? It’ll be ratings gold! Of course, Miley and Billy Ray will have to change their names from Cyrus to Kyrus.”

This reporter spoke up. “Ms. Jenner, what do you say to the following? It has been said that the Kardashian family are quote, a pestilence and an abomination to anyone capable of thinking, a drain on the intellectual abilities of those foolish enough to pay them any attention, and a clan of bottom feeders that wastes perfectly good oxygen, end quote.”

Kris looked outraged. “Who told you that?”

“Well, William Kendall, the ranking expert on instigating mischief and tormentor of marketing executives, as a matter of fact,” this reporter admitted.

“And where do I find this William Kendall, because I’m going to kill... I mean, I’m going to have a nice conversation and set him straight about the difference we make in so many lives every day.”

“Unfortunately, he’s out there beyond the Fourth Wall,” this reporter told her, knowing that such theoretical concepts are beyond the comprehension of someone so shallow and clueless.

“And what is this Fourth Wall?” Kris demanded, her eyes flaring in anger.

This reporter began to explain despite himself. “You see, there’s a theory that none of this is actually happening, that we’re merely characters, and there’s a man with a computer...”

“Oh, don’t be silly! Now look, this still stands. Our getting Kim a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame was just the starting point. Because we were going to get Khloe and Kourtney stars too. And what’s their names, my other kids. Because we’re the Kardashians, and we deserve it! And it’s just the first step to my ultimate goal. Having the country renamed Kardashia. Because when I’m through, I’ll be the Queen of Kardashia. And all of you will be our lowly footservants.”

“You realize you said that out loud?” another reporter asked.

“I did?” Kris asked, looking clueless, a common problem among the Kardashians. She pushed her way through the crowd, followed by her brood and the shiftless senile Bruce. They paused by the meteorite that only minutes earlier had crushed Kanye West before moving on. Whatever was left of Kanye was oozing from beneath the rock on the damaged street. Kim was the last to leave.

She called after her mother, “Hey, Mom, how fast do you think I can hook up with John Mayer?”

Susan Sarandon's Wagging Finger Of Shame Versus The Vampire Bunnies

So you've decided against your better judgement to watch the Oscars. Well, these things happen, don't they? Now you're settling in, watching the big show. And soon enough, it'll happen. You're going to be looking at your watch, and thinking, why is this taking so long?


It's an awards show. It's supposed to take a long time. Weren't you paying attention in my last blog?

All right, calm down. I know, you're in a tough spot here. You've got that ceremony in front of you, and maybe your significant other wanted to watch it, so you don't have a choice. I'll give you that.

So what can you do?

You can always slip out of the room, perhaps for a drink, and simply not come back. Go off and do whatever you like. Odds are, you won't be missed. Your significant other will be so engrossed in the ceremony that they won't notice your four hour absense from the room. Good. You're golden.

On the other hand, you might be missed. In which case, you're screwed. You'll have to come back into that room, subject yourself to watching the interminable awards show. Yes, I know. It's painful. Short of faking a heart attack (probably only to be used as a last resort), you'll have to put up with it. That brings us to today. I'll be making some presumptions of what to expect at this year's Oscars, and ways that the Oscars can be improved to make the ceremony less tedious.

Without watching the ceremonies, I can make some casual predictions of things that will take place.

At least two starlets will be wearing the exact same gown from the exact same designer, which for some reason is some big faux pas.

Nic Cage and John Travolta's hairpieces will be even more ridiculous then usual.

At least on seven different occasions, a winner will shed tears upon accepting their Oscar.

Joan and Melissa Rivers will be camped out somewhere, trying to pretend they're still hosting a red carpet special.

The evil ones (Entertainment Tonight, Access Hollywood, and the rest) will be gushing over stars to no end, pretending like they're close buddies, basking in the glow of fame, and thinking they're famous too.

When the dead of the last year scroll across the screen, inevitably there'll be someone important missing, a fact screamed about across the web the next day.

At some point, the camera will pan on Jack Nicholson, who will be sitting in a daze, wearing sunglasses.

Susan Sarandon will wag her Finger of Shame (patented in 1994 by Susan Sarandon Enterprises) at the Republicans.

Someone will make a political speech. Kanye West will bitterly come on stage and say that George Bush doesn't care about Vampire Bunnies.

At some point during the night, Anne Hathaway will make a joke to James Franco, something like this one. You know, James, I kind of feel trapped by a boulder right now, just like you in that movie, and why did we agree to host this again?

Kanye West will storm the stage when Colin Firth wins the Oscar for Best Picture, and launch into a diatribe. Yo, Colin Firth, Imma real happy for you, but Eddie Murphy totally deserved this....

The Oscars will go very long over the expected time.

So, those are the reasonable assumptions about what the Oscars have in store. What if you're one of those poor sods condemned to watch it? What about you? I offer you, and the Academy, some ways to make the show more entertaining. Lord knows it needs it.

Halle Berry and Adrien Brody are positioned on stage, ready to make out with every single winner.

Jack Black and Roseanne Barr streak naked behind the Lifetime Achievement winner.

Cut out the performance pieces. You'll be saving an hour, and the sanity of the audience. Who cares about the choreographer who's been working for months on a ballet performance by vampire bunnies? I mean, aside from the choreographer, who for some reason does care?

I know, Academy, you've tried to coax winners who go on and on off the stage by having the orchestra start up. That doesn't always work. Some type A stars think that doesn't apply to them. So, have a firing squad on stage, rifles at the ready, with the understanding that they may open fire if anyone chatters for more then a minute.

Have Brad Pitt present an award. And have him say the following words: I know there's a lot of people out in the tabloid field who seem to think that there's still some hope for a former relationship I had that ended years ago. But really, I haven't spoken to that clingy, desperate idiot for years, and I'm quite content with my life now. So why don't you find something else to report about?


Oh, and it's essential  that the camera show Jennifer Aniston's reaction. It'll be priceless.

Let's make the winning and losing interesting. Take a page from the Mayans. Their winners were champions. The losers were put to death.

Speaking of death... come on, let's face it. Jack's been getting on, hasn't he? They prop him up in the first row every year, and for some reason every host has to give the man a nod. As if he's the Godfather or something. I would suggest to you this: Jack Nicholson's been dead for years. He only appears animated because his body is under the control of a voodoo doctor. Well, Academy, it's time to bring it out into the open. Halfway through, take that voodoo doctor out of the auditorium. Then wait five minutes until Jack's corpse keels over onto the carpet and January Jones starts screaming in horror.

Now that would be a classic Oscar moment.