Welcome future minions! Today's pearls of wisdom come from the stiff plastic lip of that mask-wearing naughty-maker, V!
Welcome future minions. Take a few pointers for livin' la vida loca in 2007 from Jabba the Hut:
Welcome Future Minions! Today's installment of celebrity resolutions features Zardoz, weird floating head costar of Sean Connery.
1. Find a big stone body.
2. Buy Connery some pants.
3. Do not eat all those guns and then puke in front of everybody like at last year's company picnic.
4. Launch "The Penis is Evil" line of sportswear.
5. See ortho about teeth straightening and whitening.
6. Lend Connery some money so he won't have to take a role in such a stinker movie to pay his alimony again.
Welcome Future Minions! Today I reveal the New Year's resolutions of Emma Frost, the White Queen, the original Diamond Girl, headmistress by day, bedmistress by night:
1. Let go of modesty and let a little skin show.
2. Make Logan realize that blonde is better.
3. Polish up my faux Brit accent for upcoming podcasts.
4. Buy one black outfit.
5. Mess with Scott's head. No, no. Too easy.
How does she get that top to stay in place?
Welcome Future Minons! I thought this week I'd share with you the New Year's resolutions of some famous and infamous celebrities.
We'll start with Godzilla.
1. Get taken over less by ghosts of dead people.
2. Pay more attention to Mrs. Godzilla's needs, respect her as a godzillasaurus, stop coming home smelling of tactical missles and Mothra dust, blah, blah, blah.
3. Be more selective in which nuclear subs I eat.
4. Attack warmer cities with less civil defenses.
5. Get in shape. Focus on balancing pecs and thighs.
6. Kick Ghidorah's ass at DDR.
7. Kick Gamera's ass.
Welcome Future Minions! Happy December 25th!
Is anyone else disturbed by The Disney Corporation? I am.
Disney kicked Little Steven (of Bruce Springsteen's E Street Band) out of Disney World for "looking too wierd". Hellooooooo? Have you seen Goofy? Part dog, part man, all mutant? In which creepy underground Disney tunnel was he grown?
Disney very recently kicked a visitor with a strong resemblence to a jolly old elf out of the park. He was attracting attention from children wanting to tell him what they would like for Christmas, and he played along for the kids, when he made a crucial mistake: he Ho-Ho-Ho'd without a license. Disney stormtroopers--I mean Disney security escorted him out of the park. Hours later, a proclamation was made from Cinderella's Castle: "Randum akts uf kindnez made vitout proper paperss vill nut be toleratet!"
Disney works very hard to project a happy, perfect, everyone-is-welcome image, but underneath the park there is a whole labyrinth (literally) of strict rules of conduct and zero-tolerance policies. "I assure you, ze employeess herr enjoy der verk verry much."
Disney has not one, but TWO male characters who have sole responsibility for multiple male juveniles and long-term girlfriends whom they have not married, for whatever reason. Did anyone see In and Out? (Good movie, by the way. Hilarious dance scene.)
Donald Duck wears no pants. Ever. They can find shoes to fit Daisy Duck's feet, but they cannot pant the Donald. (Coincidentally, a problem we also have in Atlantic City.)
There is a rule that only one Mickey Mouse character can be present above ground in the park at any given time. Disney says this is to preserve the magic. I say... "There can be only one..." And anyone who buys into that after the second movie really is nuts.
Be aware, Minions. Be aware.
Welcome Future Minions.
I have a cat. I have seen my cat eat, in no particular order and not all at the same time, salsa, snow peas, yogurt, fig newtons, various assorted crawling and flying bugs (including a really big daddy longlegs and a paper wasp), dust bunnies, cinnamon sugar tortilla chips, and her own puke.
Anyone who has a cat can tell you that cat food is stinky. Stinky like old socks stuffed with older herring. And yet, I just saw a commercial for Chicken Florentine cat food. With a light sauce and fresh greens that my cat will love. No she won't. She will either ignore it completely or wolf it down and "h...hhh...hhhrk...hhrrrrkkkkk...hhrreeeeekkk" puke it back up. Maybe I'd have more luck with a Wild Salmon and Whipped Egg Souffle.
Know what I had for dinner tonight? Frosted Flakes.
What's next? Cat silverware? I would like to meet the man who tries that one. "We're here today with Bob "Tic Tac Toe" Jenkins. Bob, what's your story?" "Well, Chip, I got this idea that my cat should use a fork to eat her Chicken Florentine. It has garden greens and a light sauce. But she kept dropping the fork, so I got out the duct tape..." "Uh huh, and is that when you lost your arms?" "Yes. About halfway through the attack."
Cats are already pretty well armed. I don't think teaching them to use weapons is a good idea. Before we know it, our future progeny will be living on a planet run by cats. Cats would live a life of absolute leisure, sleeping when and where they like, eating when they want, crapping wherever they want, secure in the knowledge that their smelly naked monkey slaves will prepare their meals, remove their excrement, bow to their every whim and fancy--hey...
Welcome Future Minions!
True story: my parents live in the midwest and drive out to California to see my sister every summer or so. They drive from roadside attraction to roadside attraction, never passing up a looksee at the giant ball of lint or the museum of circa 1939 farming implements.
One night my mother calls me. They are going to see the Donner Pass the next day. I say to my mom "Get me a snowglobe at the gift store." My mother laughs. (The part of me that laughs at others' suffering rode in on the X-chromosome.)
The next night, my mother calls me. She got my father, her hapless and naive life partner of over forty years, to go ask the sales lady for a snow globe. After regaining her composure, the sales lady practically chased my dad out of the store like she was chasing atheist missionaries off her lawn.
My mother laughed all the rest of the way to their destination in Cali. My father did not speak to her for two days.
So...is it too early for them to visit the WTC site? I wanna see if they have toy airplanes.
Welcome Future Minions.
Today I address a most pressing topic: homeland security. We need not fear plots from the middle east, or an invasion of our future chinese masters. Even as I type, the seeds of revolution grow. In my bedroom ceiling. Every night I hear a symphony of scrabbling and scraping. No doubt they are being led by a genetically-altered white mouse.
Having lived in the midwest for a better part of my life, I am familiar with The Grey Squirrel--a truly monstrous rodent. Quick, agile, doggedly persistent, and slightly larger than a housecat, these are the squirrels that inhabit the college campuses of our country's interior, terrorizing those foolish enough to sit on a bench in the quad for lunch until the attack comes and the hapless victim throws his sandwich and runs in the opposite direction, much in the way women in self-defense classes are taught to throw their purses to escape from a mugger.
But I digress.
You need not fear, Future Minons, for I will now share with you tips to curry favor from the buttony-cute fuzzy deathballs that will rule us.
Carry a lot of in-shell peanuts, pretzel sticks, or oblong crackers, like Keebler Townhouse or Club crackers. The extra length of the snack will keep the little buggers from snapping off digits when you make this offering, preventing you from having horrible nicknames, like Joey Four-Fingers, or Half-Fingered Hillary.
As mentioned before, you can throw these snacks over their heads and then run, thereby escaping the roving gangs of juvenile squirrels looking for trouble and fun at your expense.
Open your eyes really wide and show your front teeth to emulate their look. Drink a lot of coffee, too, for that hyperactive twitchy effect.
Use a small digital recorder to record a message of peace, like "I don't want trouble...I don't taste like peanuts..." or "I welcome your domination...my friend tastes like peanuts..." When approached by the squirrels, play this recording at double-speed.
DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES BUY SQUIRREL-PROOF BIRD FEEDERS. There won't be any birds left to feed, anyway.
Using these tips, I think you can get along nicely in our future of squirreled domination. Who knows--maybe our future rodent rulers will have the good sense to pull our troops out of Iraq.
