>The Visa Toy Store ad
Has anyone noticed the music from the Visa toy store ad? It’s originally from “Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure.” It’s called “Breakfast Machine” by Danny Elfman. If you want to hear it:
I can’t think of a better theme song for the Bush administration. It needs to be played during every briefing. “Breakfast Machine” reflects our industrious nature while blending in a healthy dose of bat shit crazy. This music speaks to me. It says: We are America. The land of the free, and home to a three ring circus on acid.
I’m looking at you, Fox news.
Last blog entry I did “freaky weird crazy.” This time I thought I’d tackle “Bat Shit Crazy.”
Bat Shit Crazy
“Bat shit crazy” was originally termed regarding those infected with bat guano rabies. In Austin, Texas, bats are it. Our hockey team is called the Austin Ice Bats. Yes, we have a hockey team, and yes, that’s a dumb-ass name. We have a bat hospital: http://www.austinbathospital.com/ which is nearing 12 years old. (I wonder if they’ll have a bat mitzvah.) We even have a monument to the bat. All this bat-a-monium is because Austin is home to the largest urban bat community in the world. Located downtown, underneath the Ann Richard’s bridge, there are over two million Mexican free tail bats.
To comprehend ‘b.s. crazy’ you need to understand the degree of severity. Tom Cruise jumping on Oprah’s couch doesn’t make the cut. Think more in terms of 20 naked Pentecostals in a Pontiac.
In August of 1993 police in Vinton, Lousiana pulled over the naked Pentecostal’s who were told by God to: “rid yourself of your clothing and go to Louisiana.” “The devil was after them and Floydada, Texas (it’s near Lubbock) was going to be destroyed if they stayed there.” What makes it funny is the naked reverend and his congregation tried to run from the cops and later hit a tree. No one was hurt. Twenty people – five kids in the trunk – emerged from that wreck without a stitch of clothing. The sight must of been clown car surreal. I honestly can’t figure out how they did it. On its face, it doesn’t seem possible.
On its face, it doesn’t seem possible that our vice-President would get drunk and shoot a lobbyist in the face while hunting for birds that have already been caught, but there it is, bat shit crazy. “B.S. crazy’ often comes with delayed punch line. The Pentecostal’s punch line came when a semi-famous country song relayed their naked adventure to millions. In the case of Cheney, the delayed punch line arrived when the victim actually apologized for being shot in the face. (That never stops being funny.)
In June, Gary Aldridge, died of autoerotic asphyxiation.
He was found hogtied and wearing two complete wet suits, including a face mask, diving gloves, slippers, rubberized underwear, a head mask, two ties, five belts and eleven straps, according to the autopsy report. He also had a dildo covered with a condom that he had inserted into his own anus. As Pee Wee would say, “Ruber-ee.” Another scuba related fashion death. When will they learn!?!
Oddly enough, strangling yourself in a rubber suit only reaches the ‘freaky weird crazy’ standard. ‘Bat s. crazy’ is only in effect when Gary Aldridge turns out to be a pillar of the community and a Baptist minister to a large congregation in Alabama. Take a ride on my “Republican Culture of Corruption” to better understand.
If ‘b.s. crazy’ was incorporated, a major stockholder would have to be Michael Jackson. Lately, Jacko has been negotiating to have a fifty foot robotic replica of himself walk around the Vegas desert firing lasers from its fingers. http://music.yahoo.com/read/news/41620594 Needless to say, I am already assembling a crack team of drunken nare-do-wells to kidnap this ego bot and hold it for ransom. If things go according to plan, Jacko will hold his soon to be famous, “please don’t hurt him” press conference at the exact moment we set it on fire and drop it from 20 thousand feet. It has to be done. Who’s with me?!?! Aaaaaaaaa! (This is where I run out of the room like Bluto in Animal House.)
On the lighter side, ‘b. s. crazy’ goes hand in hand with the second funniest things ever.
Top 2 Funniest Things Ever
I can’t mention the second funniest thing ever without mentioning Number 1. Coming in at number one: Pres. George Bush, Sr. vomiting on the Japanese Prime Minister.
The inherent comedy of world leaders vomiting on one another seems bi-partisan, but my petitions to the History channel to immortalize this moment with its own documentary have sadly gone unanswered. Apparently, appreciation for this glorious nexus of puke and politics doesn’t “do it” for the snobs at the History channel.
What’s the protocol for our top guy vomiting on your top guy? A hundred years ago things like this would of been a prelude to war. In the end, we all paid a hefty price for that vomit. It was because of this diplomatic incident that American children were infected with Pokemon. The Bush administration tried to retaliate with the Barney, the purple dinosaur, but we were thoroughly trounced when the Japanese counter attacked with Yu-Gi-Oh! and the Power Rangers. Fifteen years later, Abu Ghraib. Why doesn’t the History Channel return my phone calls?
Coming in at #2 on the list of funniest things ever is Stephen Colbert at the White House Correspondence Dinner. Wow! If you haven’t seen this, please take the time.
On a personal note: Stephen, if you have been Googling your own name and read this; Oh, my God!!! You have balls as big as Texas. I salute you.
The delayed punch line to Colbert’s speech came a year later when Bush personally selected Rich Little to be the keynote speaker. Rich Little?!? Bush’s choice to replace Colbert gives us a excellent insight into our President’s psyche. You don’t have to be clairvoyant to guess how the conversation went:
“Uh, Mr. President?”
“Yes, Turd Blossom.”
“Uh, yeah. You remember when you told us to never to mention that comedian’s name, from the correspondence dinner?”
“Is he dead yet?”
“Oh, no, Mr. President. But in the meantime, I’m afraid that if we hire a comedian for this year’s correspondence dinner he might try to ‘out-do’ the previous host.”
“You’re right. We need someone that is really funny but may be dead. How about Rich Little?”
“Perfect choice, as always, Mr. President.”
‘Bat shit crazy’ is thinking Rich Little is funny. Add that to my ‘freaky weird crazy’ and you get a President who has boldly gone where no man has gone before. (Much like Bush’s self mandated mission to Mars.) I haven’t figured out what to call it yet. ‘Lunatic, panty waste, nut job crazy’ doesn’t quite fit. Feel free to e-mail suggestions.
(Please make a note: two million rabid bats under the Ann Richard’s bridge are less than a mile from Bush’s former home, the Texas Governor’s mansion.) Atticus Fitch would know what to do.