Sweepstakes Bonanza Challenge

I'm in San Diego for a couple of days. Whoever finds me here and hands me a live fish will win 74 dollars and 83 cents. It's all part of my personal reality TV Show.

Pics, Pans, Puns & The Case of the Missing Underwear

Pic of the week:

Murry Wilson's Opus

Pan of the week is to avoid seeing the film "Fido", which is having limited release here in town. Fido, made with Canadian taxpayer money, is about domesticated zombies in a 50's-era neighborhood. Sounds interesting enough on paper, yes? However, like most contemporary films portraying life in the 50's, what comes across on the screen amounts to a zealous art director's showcase of retro-kitsch sets, costumes, and cars, while the script is nothing more than an afterthought. It's the stock portrayal of repressed families in neatly manicured neighborhoods living blithely in the atomic age, bla-bla-bla. That kind of smug treatment always drives me totally crazy, perhaps because I'm just such a huge Hugh Beaumont fan.

Beaumont in non-repressed repose

Might as well go rent the 1989 flick: "Parents" with Randy Quaid, which is a superior close-cousin in theme, although it too had more potential than it lived up to.

Pun of the week: Did'ya hear'bout the fire down at the circus? -Yeah, it was in tents! Ha-ha-ha.

Finally, if anyone can find my missing underwear, please let me know.

Thanks.

Yet Another Cartoon About Oil Drills

Here's a High School animation project that I dredged up. It's not an entirely horrible effort, I suppose. Towards the end of making this I found myself slightly in over my head, running out of time and, consequently, things got more limited as it went along. The quality here is total crap, as it's derived from a VHS recording of a Super-8 projection off a bedroom wall.

If you'd like to discuss the deep social profundity of "The Wandering Man", then by all means do. I don't have a clue what it's all about. I was much smarter when I made it and now I just shuffle down the street and keep to myself.

Andy Devine vs. Slim Pickens

Cast Your Vote Now

Ebay Archaeology Update

I noticed that the notorious Ventriloquist Dummy commode painting has resurfaced on Ebay. I couldn't help but wonder if this was the same one as before, or if they are massed-produced and installed in various mansions in Beverly Hills. I forwarded that very question to the seller/artist and this was the reply:

"Over my years of being an artist I've found that a lot of people would rather buy a painting that they can use than to just hang on their wall. You see that at a lot of craft shows artist painting on flower pots, end tables, shelves etc. for buyers who like to decorate their homes with art and not just hang it on their walls.......... This is about the 6th. Vent[riloquist dummy] figure I've painted on a toilet seat, I've sold all the others"

That's a pretty unassuming answer from the source of the most subversive work of art since Marcel Duchamp's "Fountain" in 1917. Duchamp's piece, which shocked critics when it was unveiled in 1917, was selected ahead of Picasso's "Les Demoiselles d'Avignon" and "Guernica" -- chosen second and fourth, respectively -- as the most influential work of art.

By extension, that would make this ventriloquist dummy toilet seat the über-influential work of art in the history of man. Now, if it could only talk.

And now I've redeemed myself for making this whole sordid exercise educational.

Romancing the Throne

The things I could've bought on Ebay, if I'd only been more drunk. Ain't it a beauty?

[it's yet another token image for a "guy blog" & the lame tawdry bathroom humor outlet]

Loitering Pays

Recalcitrant bohemian Paul over there at The Goldstate has acquired what looks like a very nicely-preserved Optigan. This has stirred up one of the deadly sins in my soul which is sloth. ...meaning that I want to eschew my responsibilities and greedily sleep off my envy and lust for this much sought-after instrument which is so rare that I'm impelled to gobble it up with gluttonous abandon. If not for my pride, I will nonetheless show my wrath one day. [I would like to pitch to the Vatican that being excessively cute on one's blog should be included as the deadliest sin].

If you want to know more about the Optigan keyboard then go Here. Tom Waits and others have used this kitschy kontraption to good effect. Paul found this at a certain second-hand store which has turned out to be a wellspring of impossible luck and gold dubloons for free.

I Shall Never Be Fit To Run For Congress

"What If" --aka: Happy Fears pt.1

What if all the bees that have gone missing from hives all around the United States have simply gone shopping to help boost the American economy?

Free Dirt

This scene from George Axelrod's "Lord Love a Duck" is required viewing if you want to ascend all 12 vibrational levels of Bloggy-Blog's cosmic enlightenment program. The disciplines here are rigorous. The navel-gazing intense. Consider the cost and proceed with humility and focus. Whoever decodes the symbolism of the clip first wins a Nehru jacket, complete with underarm sweat stains from 60's troubadour Donovan.

I'm not kidding. This is serious. Stop joking around.

When Suddenly...

Hey gang, get a load of this!

Jumbo's Clown Interactive Rumpus Room

As you well know, BloggyBlog is nothing if interactive. You just tell me what sort of crazy stunt you want me to perform any time of day and I await your request via our exclusive "1-800" line or in the readers' comments section. As you can see on the live Bloggy-Cam below, I reside in a cramped low-budget video studio. I'm here for your entertainment beck and call, clad only in my Depends briefs and reclined on a circular rotating water bed. I'm all yours, although Larry King sometimes comes 'round to visit unannounced.

It's all part of promoting the betterment of society in the electronic age.

Live Video Feed

I hope my colleagues at work are reading this to see just how plugged into technology I really am!

The New Used Car Smell

I recently bought a new used car. I'm OK with most everything about it but someone at the dealership sprayed the interior with some sort of new car smell. Or, perhaps, the previous owner was a stripper at Jumbo's Clown Room because it smells like the cheapest, gamiest, perfume in the world.

It makes me wonder how many lunkheads, finding themselves dubious as to the purchase of a used car, were brought over the threshold by the seductively tacky new car smell? I'd personally prefer the moldy sandwich under the seat essence, if given the choice. At least the object can be located and removed --or dangled fetchingly from the rear-view mirror.

Can anyone recommend an antidotes for getting rid of the fake new car smell so that my shallow consumerist world won't be unsettled?

The Gang's All Decapitated

I won't try too hard to distance myself from the fact that there are two films of the musical genre that I can actually watch, being that I'm just that secure with my masculinity. They are "The Wizard of Oz" and "The Gang's All Here". The latter film, by far the most bizarre, is noteworthy because it has a finale segment sung by various disembodied heads.

The movie is bookended by heads singing over a neutral background. This floating head sings a stirring rendition of "Brazil" in the open of The Gang's All Here.

proto cool: slouchy & stoned benny goodman

better hide, 'cause he's a shark that can't go in reverse

a journey into edward everett horton's nostril

the gang's a colony of bacterium under a microscope

The Gang's all Here not only features songs sung by disembodied heads but also features a child's hand that glides off the wrist and morphs into an electric parade float.

the lovely severed paw

a procession of women from venus proceed to remove the neon hoops from the giant sleeve (above) and rotate 'em around in unison. yes, we've seen it all a million times. it's a technicolor fever dream for the entire family.

What I like about this whole spectacle is that it all happens gloriously for no apparent reason other than to freak you out. This film, directed by Busby Berkeley in the early 40's, delivers a bold style that pushes into the Avant-garde but I don't think most people even know it exists --although they DO subconsciously , because it features the famous number with Carmen Miranda and her damn hat o'fruit.

finally, everything makes sense!

Soul-Sucking Cat at Large

I don't know about you but, for as long as I can remember, I've enjoyed making a certain ridiculous voice that can only be accomplished by inhaling while talking. It's a kind of sound that can be funny to some but the effect can also drive other people completely mad, which is even more satisfying.

So now I see that MY inhale-voice thing has been stolen for a Dairy Queen commercial and I don't mind saying that I feel extremely violated. Here's my single most defining routine, something I've nurtured and shaped to perfection over the years... it's a voice I was going to use on some future animation project and then I see it being cynically one-offed for the sake of some kind of "flamethrower" sandwich.

I can't believe it. I give up.

The Coolest Cereal Pusher Man

The following vintage clip from YouTube shows cereal pitchman Sugar Bear saving Granny Goodwitch from "Mad Vitamin Stealer" Victor Vicious. In the years that followed his rise to "Bear of the Hour" and subsequent fall into oblivion and madness, scholars have wracked their brains over just what made this paradoxical character so cool, so charismatic, and yet so destructive to tooth enamel.



While the symbolism in this TV spot might require volumes of data to deconstruct, I'll attempt to make it all very simple without sugar-coating the facts. First, let's be frank: Sugar Bear was a known Quaalude abuser, as evidenced by his tell-tale lazy eyelids from photos of the period. Furthermore, his entire adult life was devoted to getting children hooked on mountains of processed sugar. Make no mistake, he was shrewd and he was cunning. He made us laugh; he made us cry. Yet, we loved him in spite of all that he put us through, even more than Danny Bonaduce.

Born in a simple log cabin in 1962, leaving a nasty placenta stain on the kitchen table, Sugar Bear was a precocious banjo-player who appropriated the old-school cocktail suave of Bing Crosby and upgraded it into a more accessible druggy vernacular. His entire wardrobe consisted solely of a blue turtleneck sweater and no pants, which was very de Rigeur amongst Greenwich Village poets of the day.

Few lives are without contradictions. Likewise, there were controversies and questions as to the bear's loyalties. It all started when Sugar Bear was invited to lecture at a Marxist training camp in North Korea in the summer of 1968, where he was welcomed as a revolutionary hero. He made various trips to other Iron Curtain countries, only to quietly return to his corporate Post Cereal job until President Reagan banned him from returning to the States during the 80's.

Sugar Bear was a protege of Timothy Leary as well as close friend and confidant to Bobby Seale, Eldridge Cleaver, and Barry Goldwater. He was an enigma and a two-dimensional character; a friend and foe; a lover and a fighter; alpha and omega, cheese grater and processed cheese in a can. Still, in the final analysis, he was a devoted and loving husband to his wife Maxine and their three kids: Stoolie, Crapper, and Grunter --no matter how much human carnage he left in his wake.

"it smells in your piss"

Is anyone still reading this? To win your prize, compose a sentence using the word "dungarees" in the comments' section. Thanks for playing.

Big Scoop: Lennon vs. Spiderman

We all know that John Lennon stole or "nicked" his song ideas from the likes of Cole Porter, Jimmy Osmond and Frank Sinatra. Well, here's yet another Gotcha Exclusive from the folks at Bloggy-Blog! We have Side-by-side evidence that Lennon's hippie protest song John Sinclair was a blatant rip-off of the popular 60s' TV cartoon Spiderman.

Push HERE for smoking gun.

[note: If you play it backwards it goes: "Richard Nixon is my very favorite pal". ...but that's for another post]

Lyndon BBQ Beans Johnson --Eat My Words

Anyone else out there having trouble with the "My Bad!" expression? It's still making the rounds and, subsequently, upsetting my sleep cycle. I'm wondering if one can actually petition the Gov't to drive a lame expression out of circulation ? The thought gives me hope. After all, the City of New York has just done it with the "N"-word but that's another discussion. That's for mature people. That's not what we do here.

On the other hand, the popular exclamation "Awesome!" has survived much longer than I expected and I've sort of adapted to it. Just when I thought "awesome!" was dead, it returns, enjoying waves of resurgence. "Awesome" got a lucky break. It works amongst dunderheads and the Urban Chic alike (and aren't they really the same anyway?). It's an equal-opportunity Republican or Democrat. "Awesome" is a changeling; a betrayer AND a lover. "Awesome" can stay but must be watched carefully.

So well-done "Awesome"! Hats off to you. However, "my bad" is no "awesome".

Coulrophobia in the news

From CNN today:

BOGOTA, Colombia (Reuters) -- Two clowns were shot and killed by an unidentified gunman during their performance at a traveling circus in the eastern Colombian town of Cucuta, police said Wednesday.

The gunman burst into the Circo del Sol de Cali on Monday night and shot the clowns in front of an audience of 20 to 50 people, local police chief Jose Humberto Henao told Reuters.

One of the clowns was killed instantly, and the second died the next day in hospital.

"The killings had nothing to do with the show the victims were performing at the time of the incident," Henao said in a telephone interview. "We are investigating the motive."

With an entrance fee of under 50 cents, Circo del Sol de Cali attracts mostly poor Colombians. It pitched its tents in Cucuta, near the border with Venezuela, earlier this month.

"The clowns came out to give their show, and then this guy came out shooting them," one audience member told local television. "It was terrible."

Sixfinger

Sometimes we human primates look back and wonder how our ancestors managed to survive without the handy gadgetry of modern life. And speaking of my favorite handy gadget: "Sixfinger, Sixfinger, man alive! How did I ever get along with five?"


It looks like a finger but it DOES ALL THIS: 1. Shoots cap bombs. 2. Launches S.O.S signals: "Help, I'm being held hostage by a projectile-launching plastic finger attached to my hand!" 3. Writes like a ballpoint pen that uses your own blood. 4. Shoots "secret bullets", which is far better than bullets having your return address written on them. 5. Shoots "message missiles" --and really, whose finger doesn't do that? 6. Shoots "fragmentation bomb", as opposed to those generic bombs that burst leaving clowns and ferris wheels in their wake.

yeah, i know
____________________

Reviews of Sixfinger:

"I adore sixfinger. I got one up on the gun rack of my truck and 7 more pickled in a jar."
-- Caesar "Chip" De Longpre

"Oh heavens no. We've seen enough devastation from Sixfinger"
Rance Binyard

Moist Towelette

Before you do anything else, go to the online Moist Towelette Museum.

So, music combo "The Police" are back together. It's alright by me. Why should I care when I've spent all my petty rage whining about the Beatles' "Love" project? Sting still looks like Sting. Copeland looks like Ted Danson on drums. And Summers looks exactly like me. He might consider the Specs'N Nose solution for that eternally youthful look.

What else is in the news? North Korea will be suspending its plan to lob missiles at my forehead, and for that I'm mighty grateful. Add another nation to our payroll so they don't kill us. Now I can walk down the street with confidence and not wear so much antiperspirant on my upper lip.

And finally, I would like to formally announce my plans to marry my car so that I can start a super race of Model T's with my face on the grille.

ant

Nothing Can Move Me Like SpecsN'Nose

I'm under a lot of social pressure to vary my Specs N'Nose.

Bottom line: I doubt most males would care what sort of Specs N'Nose they have on if not for the awareness of how chicks judge them by nothing other than their caliber of Specs N'Nose. It's as though High School social stigmas never entirely vanish from adult life. Eventually you will be maligned and sneered upon based on how un-hip your Specs N'Nose is. Indeed, the Specs N'Nose I wear mark me for the unwavering nerd that I am.

I actually do have trillions of different Specs N'Noses but I always gravitate back to these (conspicuously in pairs):
-because they are light, inexpensive & extremely comfortable. ...I know, I know, it's crazy.

Nothing Can Move Me Like Shoes

I'm under a lot of social pressure to vary my shoes.

Bottom line: I doubt most males would care what sort of footwear they have on if not for the awareness of how chicks judge them by nothing other than their caliber of shoe. It's as though High School social stigmas never entirely vanish from adult life. Eventually you will be maligned and sneered upon based on how un-hip your shoes are. Indeed, the shoes I wear mark me for the unwavering nerd that I am.

I actually do have trillions of different shoes but I always gravitate back to these (conspicuously in pairs):
-because they are light, inexpensive & extremely comfortable. ...I know, I know, it's crazy.

*The good news is that if you keep wearing anything long enough, the fashion cycle repeats itself and you will suddenly attain "Mr. Awesome" status every 20 years or so. So you never actually have to change your underwear ever again.

The Password is... Recompense

The response to my previous well-researched post was rather weak. Therefore, I'm immersing my readership into a Rip Taylor video as punishment. Think of it as TV waterboarding for your crimes.

Walt's Unwashed Glitterati

This is the first in a series of articles in tribute to the unsung ensemble players featured in celebrated animated cartoons. These lesser-known background characters or "extras" were vastly talented at their craft but have fallen by the wayside in terms of the historical recognition that they deserve.

_______________________

While Disney Studio cartoons never packed the biggest comedic punch when compared to competing studios, I nevertheless appreciate the general look of their vintage, so-called "rubber hose-era", stuff. The first example would be the captain in Steamboat Willie -- a part played with gusto by a hulking tobacco-chewing cat identified only as "Pete" by historians who write about such things.


I cannot say this with authority but I think Pete may have evolved into the notorious "Peg-Leg Pete". This was again another criminally underrated character who never saw his full potential realized. Mr. "Leg" was from Russian extraction and had studied acting with Konstantin Stanislavski before coming to Hollywood in the 20s.


Lastly, "Horace Horsecollar" and "Clarabelle Cow" were recurring bit-players in Disney cartoons during the 30's. Their unbridled antics as a pair of mixed-breed lovers was truly an astounding libertine statement for its time.

All these characters later suffered the usual spiral into debauchery and alcoholism --but you knew that already. Clarabelle Cow was ambassador to Ghana until replaced by Shirley Temple Black under Nixon.

Shopkeeper Leaves, They Come Alive

Here's a couple of images taken from the antique doll store in Pasadena. These figures were particularly disturbing but Bloggy-Blog's raison d etre, as always, is to deliver such goods.

A Cog in the Celebrity Underwear Machine

I've culled together a reel of recent animations from work for your passive amusement. Each was made within the usual 2-3 hr. turnaround timeframe. I had to see them collectively myself just so it could sink in that I do this for a living.

Push THIS to see.

(not for the squeamish -you've been warned!)

Mr. Peanut is Chloroforming Me

They say that the first step on the path to recovery from addiction is admitting your disease.

Folks, I cannot stop eating Planters Dry Roasted Peanuts. [Disclosure: Planters does not pay me to say this.] I bought a jar just the other day with its promise of escape from the stresses and cares of the workaday world -- its vampiric and dapper mascot tap-dancing seductively on the label. I knew I'd lose the battle of wills to a cartoon, as I am wont to do.

Mister Mother Superior:
he called himself "Mr. Peanut" but I only knew him as
" Fred Astair Reaper of my Intestinal lining"

Another allure of addiction entails sensory rituals: twisting the lid and the tactile pleasure of the vacuum seal being released; the aroma; the ecstacy! The threshold is down and now sweet plunder is mine! And so I dive in, spending countless hours tilting back the jar and dumping its flavorful contents down my gullet, like a hyper-fattened Foie Gras duck.

The toll on my health is devastating. I cannot move, save for one finger on the keypad. [Again, neither Planters or its subsidiaries subsidize or endorse this blog.]

amour betrayer

Presidential Moments in a Depressive Coma

I woke up today and across the room sat Richard Nixon staring at me across the dusty hues of dawn. His countenance shone like lightening as he spoke unto me, "do not fear for I bring you wisdom and sound direction in this confused time". As my teeth chattered a frantic S.O.S. signal, I dragged a plush powder blue blanket over my head, "I cannot come out, for you are Richard Nixon and because of this I not only have fear but also trembling and a challenged bladder".

Unmoved, Nixon sounded a command that rolled like thunder, "You will march to the fridge and prepare for me a bologna sandwich as an offering. It will be 20 by 22 cubits with a dollop of cheese whiz and shall be cut diagonally. If you do not cut it diagonally, a rain of locusts will beat upon your car and mar the finish.


"Right!"

And so I prepared the sandwich, hoping to placate the moody apparition from Yorba Linda before things got ugly. However, when I returned, he was gone. On the chair where he once sat was a pile of peanut shells and a note that read: "You are loved".

Soul Brother

I like this photo of Noam Chomsky working behind the scenes on Davey and Goliath. Actually, it's not Mr. Chomsky. It's really this cat named Peter Kleinow who just up and died. I admttedly didn't know anything about Kleinow or his career until reading his recent obit on Cartoonbrew. I realize now that he was a pretty happenin' dude --for me, the complete artist.

When your legacy mixes playing guitar with The Flying Burrito Brothers AND writing the *Gumby theme song AND working with Art Clokey AND animating the Pilsbury Doughboy, that's a distinguished career one can be proud of.


*thanks to Charlie Hancock for this fine version made lightning-quick in the wee-early 80s.

Behind the Behind

Many thousands of requests pour in every day asking me about the working guts behind creating graphics for television. To answer, I've prepared the following flow-cart to guide you through this wondrous creative process. All you have to do is believe in the magic!

By the cold light of an infomercial

Sorry, I really have nothing to talk about. This is the year of positivity and I'm drawing blank.

Perhaps if someone asked me a really messy personal question, we could get the ball rolling. I could give advice. I know many of you are experiencing a life crisis and could benefit from my wisdom.

Ready, go.

Love and the color yellow

I got a chimpanzee for Christmas. It's really neat. We rob banks together and it knows karate. You can keep your Nintendo and Commodore 64. I'm sticking with the chimp.

Santa's Pack

I was going to write someting modern and caustic about Santa Claus and his hairy sack full of guns and cocaine but, really, haven't we had enough trash-talk as a nation? TV is rife with gangsters tripping grannies attempting to cross the street; Republicans and Democrats are eating each other's flesh; everywhere liar's pants are on fire; knuckles and faces are colliding every which way ... and I say enough!

Everything will be positive on Bloggy-Blog from now on. I'm turning a new leaf, as the kid's say.

What's wrong with saying I love puppies in a basket? Furthermore, I'm not too ashamed to embrace the color yellow or skip merrily into lanes of on-coming traffic. I will even think of something positive to say about Oliver Stone, Barry Manilow, The Osmonds and processed cheese. They are all living things to be respected.

And so my smartypants sarcastic friends (especially you east Hollywood Myspace hipsters), I must depart from you. You will see me ascending into the sky and on to a higher calling. We will all be together, by and by.

Mandingo

Bloggy-Blog Dating Page

Now, all the beautiful people who march arm-in-arm with the philosophies of Bloggy-Blog can meet-up and swing! Just write your profile in the comments' section. Make sure to include your shoe size. Then, simply wait by the phone with cucumbers over your eyes and curlers in your hair. This is your ticket to love!

The Doors of DVD Revisionism

I return to Doors music infrequently. Now and then, however, it's just the thing, like a welcome cold pizza. A combination of factors converged with the Doors that still convey a satisfying 60s flavor that I must imbibe, say, every eight months or so. The same applies to Peter Sellers. I must mainline a Peter Sellers movie into my veins, no matter how dubious, at least once a year or I will wither.

So last night I watched the expanded 2 DVD set of Oliver Stone's "The Doors". I've seen the film before and was mostly ambivalent, yet appreciative of how challenging it must be to make a film reenacting a celebrated rock band and not slip off a completely maudlin cliff.

Watching "The Doors" again, this time shirtless and with headphones for full effect, I had an epiphany. I had anticipated a drama but It's really a very comedic film played totally deadpan. There are many moments in the film where Oliver Stone so completely massages his own obsessive love convulsion of the mythic aspect of Morrison and the Doors that absurdity quickly overtakes credibility. It's a film that subverts itself while it tries to subvert, whether by accident or not that makes it a comedy in my book. I really don't have to give examples because it's basically all throughout the whole movie.

Someone might argue, how could you make the film worth watching without indulging in Doors-ey stylistic license? I'd say that's fine to do but just don't make it so retarded!

Val Kilmer was pretty good, actually. Almost as good as his portrayal of that OTHER rock icon Nick Rivers in "Top Secret" -a comedy played so deadpan, you'd think it was a drama.

The End

Best Thing Since Monkeys On Rollerskates

X-ray Diffraction Evidence for a "Cyclotriene" Motif in the Molecular Structure of Trisbicyclo[2.1.1]hexabenzene

Hey bachelor readers of Bloggy-Blog, get your kicks from this knockout sexy website. Hubba-hubba! Keep watch for the boss looking over your shoulder. You could get canned!

Now THAT'S Entertainment!

Text Will See Us Through

OK, so my preceding tour down Hollywood Blvd. has been met with little fanfare. Fine. All but a toot from our distinguished Mr. Polanski. Thank you.

What sort of sick perverted dance must I do to get readership here? What kinda' drive-by freak show can compete with the current cultural bar set by Jerry Springer? C'mon people! Let's shake up this rotting town. I wanna dance on tables and ride motorcycles all through the night!

What would you like to see more of here at Bloggy-Blog? --Blanks space? Longer intervals between posts? The constant droning of crickets? You call the shots.

Text and just a Little bit o' Lovin'

OK, so my preceding tour down Hollywood Blvd. has been met with little fanfare. Fine. All but a toot from our distinguished Mr. Polanski. Thank you.

What sort of sick perverted dance must I do to get readership here? What kinda' drive-by freak show can compete with the current cultural bar set by Jerry Springer? C'mon people! Let's shake up this rotting town. I wanna dance on tables and ride motorcycles all through the night!

What would you like to see more of here at Bloggy-Blog? --Blanks space? Longer intervals between posts? The constant droning of crickets? You call the shots.