Well, the Boston Red Sox won the World Series last night. Man, those are an ugly bunch of dudes. And now I realize why it’s called “America’s Pastime.” Because they pass a f**kload of time in between pitches. Seriously? Do you really need to tighten your gloves and practice your swing after each pitch? Jesus. But hey. It’s a great excuse to stay up late, drink a lot of beer, and be thankful our jobs don’t require us to wear really unflattering pants.
So, I realize I’ve already advised you on how to ward off crazy liberals in your co-op’s parking lot through the strategic placement of absurd bumper stickers, but this past weekend I learned through personal experience not only how to ward off any decent human being, but how to be greatly disliked altogether, all through the strategic placement of idiotic bumper stickers. To wit:
I do realize I should preface this by saying that I don’t like any Euro stickers, whether they represent a country, a state, or something “creative” like your local watering hole (I’m looking at you, TBT…). But what really gets my trunk in a twist is a “26.2” Euro sticker. I rolled into town with some buddies and we parked next to a car with one of these pasted to the bumper. “Ooh, look at me! I’ve run a marathon! Whoopdy-f**kin’-do! I’m going to have knee problems and zero cartilage between my vertebrae pretty soon, but at least I’ve got this rad bumper sticker on my Prius!” Liberals, conservatives, couch potatoes, and even other marathon runners despise you.
Then leaving town I saw yet another Euro sticker, but this one read “13.1.” Really? You’re proud that you ran a half marathon? I cannot stand smug underachievers. Christ. You may have run half the distance as someone with a 26.2 sticker, but people despise you twice as much.
Now, the third and final bumper sticker I saw all in the same evening, the pièce de résistance, if you will, was this gem:
I don’t think I even need to explain this one.
Well friends, I’ve been on a few camping adventures this month and as you can imagine I now have some opinions about camping. First, my positive impressions. For one thing, people seem to drink a lot more when they’re sitting around a campfire. Which is awesome. And instead of staring at my ceiling fan and listening to Howard’s white noise machine while trying to fall asleep, I was staring at the Milky Way and listening to the loons. And by “loons” I mean those black and white birds, not the crazy drunkards I went camping with.
Here I am with my supplies for the campfire…
So while camping is pretty cool, there is room for improvement. For starters, there is no f**king way I’m using some park-approved “toilet.” I’m terrified I’ll fall in, or some poo flies will come up and bite my ass. And WHAT is that smell? What the hell do people eat when they’re camping? Prune juice and refried beans? Lamb curry and week-old dairy products? Jesus Christ.
My other gripe is that the sun seems to rise even earlier when you’re camping. So do loud-talking fishermen and little kids for that matter. But when that sun hits your tent, watch out. After drinking by the fire quite late into the evening, there’s nothing that will make your hangover feel worse than lying in a thousand-degree tent. From now on I’m going camping with a screened-in cabana, complete with awning and cool water misters.
Yeah, that sun is really blasting me in the face… and it’s only 6am.
Now here are a few items you should bring along should you choose to go camping.
The Pachyderm’s Packing List:
1. A goddamn pillow so you don’t have to use ME to prop your head up.
2. A banjo. It’s a fun camping accessory, and if there are any nearby campers, you’ll freak them the f**k out and they’ll leave you alone.
3. Heat-resistant footwear. People who drink around the campfire always want to stick their feet in the fire. I can’t explain it, so just trust me on this one.
4. A book or a magazine. Even if you never open it, at least you brought it. If you don’t at least bring something to read, people will think you’re really stupid.
5. A nalgene with a carabiner. That’s how people really know you’re outdoorsy.
6. Last but not least, The World’s Greatest Condiment that should be on every packing list you ever make: peanut butter. Unless you have a peanut allergy, then nevermind. I don’t want you to make that park-approved “toilet” even more disgusting.
I know. I KNOW, ok? You’ve missed me. I went on summer vacation and didn’t tell you I wouldn’t be posting any witticisms for weeks. I’m sorry. I realize it’s been hard with both me and Jon Stewart out of your life… But Howard and I took a much-needed vacation. We went to a Sandals New Hampshire, and it was amazing.
Here we are in our deluxe hotel room, stealing a tranquil moment between erotic yoga and couples massage…
Let’s see, while I was gone, Prince William and Kate had their baby, Prince George. I like the nod to the Queen’s father. Let’s just hope this George doesn’t stutter but does get Colin Firth’s good looks.
The Emmy nominations were announced. I cannot believe Julian Fellowes has been nominated for Best Writer for “Downton Abbey.” Did the panel not actually watch Season Three? Also hard to believe, Jason Bateman nominated for Best Actor in a Comedy Series for “Arrested Development.” I wanted to punch him in the face. Oh wait, George Michael already did that, and it was a sh*tty ending to a sh*tty season. But I’m not entirely displeased with the Emmy noms. “House of Cards” and “Veep” were recognized. Those are two political offices I would love to work in, both for very different reasons… And despite my displeasure with Downton this season, I’m still rooting for Maggie Smith and her Dowager Countess.
Blah blah, Fourth of July, lots of rain followed by lots of heat and humidity, blah blah, an eerie amount of train accidents, blah blah blah, lots of Quebecois cyclists taking over my serene country roads which pisses me off. Blah. Ok, we’re all caught up to speed, and amazingly tomorrow is August…
AUGUST, people. That is seriously upsetting. But August will offer great enjoyment before summer comes to an end, such as county fairs complete with demo derbies, big gals in short shorts, and arm wrestling competitions. Farmstands that overcharge for heirloom tomatoes but undercharge for colorful flowers so it’s all good. Mountain brooks that are finally warm enough for my delicate rabbit to swim in. Not to mention Howard’s birthday is in August… So, ok. There’s still plenty of summer to be had. Watch out, August. I’m gonna make you my bitch.
Friends, I am pleased that DOMA and Prop 8 got put in their place today. I remember a time when elephants and rabbits couldn’t even get married… and now married gaylephants can receive federal benefits, and still get married in California. BOOM.
That’s some elephant-sized love right there.
Well, people. I’m still only about halfway through Season Four. I can’t imagine how those die-hards watched every episode in one marathon couch session. I would have poked my f**king eyes out. I can barely get through any more of it as it is. I thought there would be perhaps half of one episode, or even one full episode recapping what had happened to the Bluth family over the last seven years. I didn’t expect EVERY Goddamn episode to recap. Who cares? Give a quick recap and move on. What are they doing now? Who knows, maybe they get to that in later episodes, but this painful, chronologically confusing bounty of flashbacks is just that. Painful and chronologically confusing.
And speaking of flashbacks, while I do love Kristen Wiig as Young Lucille, I always found it funny in Seasons One Through Three that the kids looked younger but George and Lucille were the same (though George would wear a tongue-in-cheek pathetic wig to look younger). That was good stuff. Kristen is at least believable and awesome, but Seth Rogen? Wake me up when George Michael makes an appearance.
Snore…snore… yo, where the f**k is George Michael? We haven’t seen him since the first episode. Sure, he now looks like the newest member of the Hair Club for Men, but he was always so good on this show. He must have known this season would suck so he went the way of Lady Sybil to get a shitty hairdo and die. SPOILER ALERT: George Michael must die in Season Four. It’s the only explanation.
George Michael isn’t the only one who looks a little off. Maeby is no longer a believable “hot cousin” crush (harsh, I know, but true…), Lindsay is too skinny, and Michael’s no longer adorable. The plot lines are far more annoying than in previous seasons, and I haven’t seen a single Taunting Chicken Dance. WTF?
The only thing that has made me genuinely laugh is ANUSTART. Ironic, since I find Season Four to be one giant Anus Tart.
Celeste: Captain Elephant to Captain Whale. Over.
Prince Harry: Right. Um, it’s actually Captain Wales.
Celeste: Oh dear, I thought it was Whale. I like to think of a whale as the elephant of the sea.
Prince Harry: And I like to think of a narwhal as the unicorn of the sea.
Celeste: I would LOVE to check out your mythical ivory tusk, Captain Narwhal. I’m kind of an expert on tusks, if you know what I mean.
Prince Harry: Pippa said something very similar to me on my brother’s wedding day.
Celeste: Come on, you must have hit that.
Prince Harry: A prince never kisses and tells.
Celeste: No, he just has his picture taken playing naked billiards with a bunch of bimbos in Vegas.
Prince Harry: Blimey.
Celeste: So, where are we headed in this fine Apache helicopter, Ginger Spice?
Prince Harry: Well, I doubt you want to fly with me to Kabul, Love.
Celeste: Are you kidding? I could be the Goose to your Maverick! Though to be honest, Goose is kind of a pussy… and I’ve always considered myself more of an Iceman.
Prince Harry: But if you were Iceman and I were Maverick, we’d be enemies. And I’d age really well while you aged terribly. I mean, have you seen Val Kilmer lately? Bloody hell.
Celeste: You’re right. You’re so right.
Prince Harry: Cheers.
Celeste: Oh, cocktail hour already? I always thought we’d be good drinking buddies.
Prince Harry: Oh, um sure. Why not. I’ve got a flask of, wait for it… Crown ROYAL. See what I did there?
Celeste: You’re adorable. To the Prince and the Pachyderm! Now take me to bed or lose me forever!
PEOPLE. Set your alarms. Midnight tonight: Season Four of Arrested Development will be available, IN ITS ENTIRETY, on Netflix.
I’m pumped. Nay, I’m f**king stoked. I’m even willing to overlook the fact that it appears from the trailer as if Ron Howard is no longer narrating the show. Can you believe the ego on that guy?*
*Correction: Ron Howard, thankfully, is STILL the narrator. Premature accusation on my part. Rare, I know…
Anyway, expect some recaps for sure. I don’t plan to make a marathon out of watching all the episodes at once because I’ve got a f**king life, and also because I want to savor this, but I’ll have some comments on Season Four for sure. It’s the FINAL COUNTDOWN to seeing the whole gang again.
In the meantime, I imagine this is what I would look like if I were reincarnated as a human being, no?
The Seaward. The Rape Horn. Gangy. F**kin’ A. Enjoy Season Four!!!
Happy Memorial Day Weekend everyone!
I am so excited to bust out my linen clothing and my white pants. Just kidding. You all know I love livin’ in the nude. And if I did wear clothes, I sure as hell wouldn’t be excited about wearing white pants.
While I would ordinarily enjoy a lovely three-day weekend welcoming the arrival of summer— attending parades, grilling meat, sipping a cold brew or two, and of course memorializing— it’s supposed to be freezing and rainy where I live. THE WHOLE WEEKEND. So this is what I’ll be doing:
For those of you who are in sunnier parts of the country, I’ve got some Memorial Day Weekend tips. You’re welcome.
1. Don’t stand too close to the grill. Especially if you are a tiny, plush elephant or an even tinier, faceless rabbit. Or if you’ve consumed a lot of booze and are highly flammable.
2. The more beer you plan to drink outside, the higher the SPF should be on your sunscreen. Unless you’re going for that tripped out, my-face-is-on-fire feeling you get after a day of drinking in the hot sun… in which case replace your sunscreen with olive oil.
3. If you want to improve your town’s parade, fire the costume designer for the high school marching band. Those pants aren’t doing anyone’s crotch any favors, especially not the portly flag twirler at the front of the line. Camel. Toe.
4. Croquet, Horseshoes, Slip n’ Slide, and Capture the Flag are all awesome outdoor games, but if you want your party to be a real success, go for Badminton. It appeals to preppies, hipsters, and low-brow yahoos who love the word “shuttlecock.” Fun for everyone. SHUTTLECOCK.
5. Finally, don’t eat too much corn. It’s always freaky the next morning when you take a big dump and your turd looks like a corn cob.
HOWARD. Bring me more tequila so I don’t have to get out of my tub.
Hey hey HEY! I know, I know, it’s been ages. You’re feeling neglected. You’ve missed me terribly. I get it. But I have a really good excuse. I’ve been on the road for a few weeks now, delivering commencement addresses and receiving honorary degrees from several distinguished colleges and universities.
What can I say? Young, impressionable college students want to absorb my sage words of advice before heading off into the real world, and who can blame them? I’ve done pretty well out here myself, and much like the Class of 2013, I too have no car, no job, and no conscience, so I’m inspirational and relatable all at the same time. Here are some excerpts from the speeches I’ve given over the last few weeks…
"Be gracious and appreciative of your family members who have supported you throughout your college experience. Many of you are going to have to ask them if you can move back in with them tomorrow."
"People say, ‘Never say never.’ But that’s bullsh*t. There are three things you should never do: never ask the DJ if you can sing an a capella song at Karaoke Night; never skip the Deep Fried Oreo cart at the State Fair; and never accept a ride into town from a guy named Travis."
"Now that you’re no longer college students, you can’t bring cheap booze to a friend’s house anymore. I know it’s unfair, but rules are rules."
"Most of you have made lifelong friendships here in college. You’ve laughed, cried, held each other’s hair back while you vomited… Then there are some of you who everyone thinks is a weirdo and they’ve given you some hilarious nickname, and for the next several years they’ll laugh and talk about you when they all get together and don’t invite you. Don’t be depressed. You’re still a weirdo, but at least you’ve made some other people laugh at your own expense."
"When life hands you lemons, make limoncello."
"You’ve made plenty of mistakes in college: shirtless frisbee golf, that drunken hookup with your lab partner, majoring in Gender Studies… Don’t beat yourself up too badly about it. No mistake you make will ever be as bad as Lady Sybil’s decision to cut her hair."
Pretty inspiring, right? Yeah, you’re welcome, Class of 2013. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a lot of f**king honorary degrees to hang in my study.