Rance, do you have anything to say to this?
Hollywood Christmas Parade Loses Luster

Sun Nov 28,10:45 AM ET

By GILLIAN FLACCUS, Associated Press Writer

LOS ANGELES - The biggest stars at the Hollywood Christmas Parade this year will be the marble ones under the feet of spectators. The annual parade, which winds past the Hollywood Walk of Fame, was once a tradition as rich and famous as the celebrities who graced its floats: Jimmy Stewart, Bob Hope, Mary Pickford and Gregory Peck, to name a few.



But the event's cachet has declined so much in recent years that the Hollywood personality generating the most excitement for the 73rd parade on Sunday is a cartoon character -- SpongeBob SquarePants.


The other big names? Female boxer Laila Ali, the winners of the reality show "The Amazing Race 5" and out-of-tune "American Idol" loser William Hung.


"The parade used to be huge -- a million people would come and there were huge stars," said Michael Levine, author and publicist to the stars. "But today there's no sense of obligation to anyone except yourself and the immediate. It's a shame. The celebrities are missing a great opportunity."


The event has been in such dire straits recently that the Hollywood Chamber of Commerce (news - web sites) called celebrity impresario and Walk of Fame boss Johnny Grant out of retirement last year to try to resuscitate it.


But even Grant -- who rescued the parade in 1978 and kept it going for 20 years -- has had trouble restoring its faded luster. The 81-year-old honorary Hollywood mayor said he called "just about every star in town" for this year's event, but most were already booked.


"I'm not sure we have the caliber stars today that we had back in the era of the golden days of Hollywood. It has changed drastically," Grant said. "Today the young kids are making a lot of money and they hop the charter jet to Miami or the ski slopes or wherever."


Grant hopes that with more publicity, the parade will return to its glory days, when he could call the biggest Hollywood names directly and ask them to appear. In those days, he said, celebrities would fight to be in the parade because it was a sign they had arrived.


"Arnold Schwarzenegger (news - web sites) told me once that he spent his first night in Hollywood sitting on the curb watching the Hollywood Christmas Parade and wondering if he would ever get in it," Grant said. The actor-turned-governor has appeared in the parade, but last year he couldn't commit to be grand marshal.


The history of the parade is as storied as Hollywood itself.


The first, called the Santa Claus Lane Parade, was staged in 1928 by merchants who wanted to drum up holiday business on Hollywood Boulevard. It consisted of a sleigh on wheels pulled by two live reindeer, with starlet Jeanette Loff on board.


In 1946, Gene Autry (news) heard the children along the parade route shouting for Santa Claus and was inspired to write the holiday classic "Here Comes Santa Claus." The parade has been held every year except for 1930 and three years during World War II.


In 1978, the event started to lose its appeal and then-TV personality Grant swooped in with financial backing from Autry to revive it. He renamed it the Hollywood Christmas Parade to draw attention to its star quality and to generate national interest.


But the event has faltered in the five years since Grant stepped down as executive producer, losing live television coverage, corporate sponsors and much of its star power. In 2002, NBC decided to ignore the parade in favor of a one-hour "variety show" taped a week earlier.


Grant hopes his involvement this year will show Hollywood's A-list that they have a vested interest in Tinseltown's past.


"I don't think we've done a very good job telling them how important a tradition this is," he said. "They are using the most famous brand name in the world to enhance their career at no cost."


Grant's former employer, KTLA-TV, agreed to broadcast the parade live locally and on its sister stations in New York and Chicago. Former Laker great Magic Johnson is the grand marshal and "Desperate Housewives" narrator Brenda Strong is on board.





Oh, and never underestimate the pull of that larger-than-life invertebrate, SpongeBob.

This, fellas, is what a woman wants...
Speaking for myself, of course. I have to wonderful if he's for real or if this is pure fiction...

synfulbuns.mindsay.com

Someone Was Asking for Something From Wheeler
Well, here is it. An essay from the "What would I do if I ran Fox Studios"...ENJOY!

Entered: Wednesday, 19 May 2004 - 11:00 EST
Name: Wheeler Jones
Comment: Wheeler's Essay

Ok. The first thing I would do is get rid of asymmetrical hemlines on the female interns. This
might sound a little dictatorial, and perhaps out of
the range of a network head, but trust me: hemlines
are the nexus of the emotional barometer of all
creative content. If you study television history,
there's a clear path that shows that once the hemlines are skewed, the programming is sure to follow.

I'm approaching this thrust to power by attacking the peripherals of course.

If you happened to study the Persian wars, you'd
recall that while the Persians had a mighty fleet,
they did not consider utilizing a surprise attack with surfboards and spears. How does this relate to being the head of Fox or handling the peripherals you might wonder? I'll tell you: Not at all. It just was a nice visual, and the kind of unique pitch idea for a mini-seriesthat comes when hemlines are dealt with.

The next move I'd make is obvious, and that's why it's unexpected. Everyone working at the network would have to wear clogs. Now don't dismiss this as a peripheral because it's not. In a 1997 study by a large shoe manufacturer (I can't name names here as this information was obtained through coercion and super-secret email interceptions at a large coffee-house wireless access point) (( I can't tell you which one because they STILL refuse to pay me for the last shameless plug I gave them during
my rendition of the National Anthem at a certain NBA
all-star game, sponsored by Gatorade)) yes the study.

Lost my sentence. The study showed clearly that work
footwear is the undercurrent of all power struggles in organization. The study also concluded something about a microcosm as well, but I lost the details of that part due to a double-espresso accident. I say "accident" anyway.

So clogs. Yes. First of all, you can't move fast in
clogs and this reduces the possibility of last minute sprints down a hallway to make a deadline or final edit. And as any psychologist knows, when you remove the tools of failure enabling, it forces the
individual to adapt. If you're running a professional network, and I'm not saying that's entirely possible, you need to take every advantage you can.

Further, these clogs MUST be Dutch.

Two reasons for this:
1- the Dutch economy is STILL in shambles from the
front-yard windmill scandal of 03.
2- We help them. They help us. It's well known that
the Dutch creative minds are perhaps the greatest
untapped resource out there. I point to their
groundbreaking underground hits like: "400 Ways to Say Mayonnaise" and "Remodel Your House with Antique
Garter Belts".

In conclusion, since I'm limited by word count, let
remind you of the immortal words of Pliny the Elder:
"Onward, Upward, and Wait, I need to Rest a Bit."
-Wheeler

I apologize for the formatting, but I can't seem to fix it. Perhaps the A.S. can help.

Sincerely,

RDD

Happy Thanksgiving!
I received this from feenxc, one of the nicest bloggers around. She wanted to share this with us all and I think it's fitting. Thank you feenxc.

i've used this site before to express sadness, when i made a move at my company, and grief, when my aunt died. i have the need to express myself again.

i have a nice, normal family, with one major difference... we are cursed. i've heard people comment that they dislike the holidays, dread them, that they are exhausting, on and on. me? i fear them. i mean shake-in-your-boots fear. the holiday season is disaster season for us. the list includes: dad's heart attack and subsequent open heart surgery; mom's 1st stroke, the finding of a tumor inside her heart, then open heart surgery to remove it;
the next year, mom's 2nd stroke due to a hole left in her heart from the surgery; my daughter's appendix bursting, then return to the hospital because of a kidney infection; this one was on july 1(we include all holidays), my grandfather's death; on dec. 23rd, my grandmother's death; one year was just minor, dad had a nosebleed which wouldn't stop and meant him being in the hospital to have it cauterized; dad's death on memorial day; the list goes on. they range from minor to major, but always include hospital visits. oh yeah, one time was me. my heart attack, then second trip in to have the stent seated properly. it's kinda freaky to feel your heart flutter, have doctors tell you it's nothing, only to get sent directly to the hospital from cardiac rehab.

well, this year halloween rolled around and my stomach started rolling, my chest felt tight, and daily i jumped out of my skin whenever the phone rang. i thought when my aunt passed, that the disaster had already occured. but i had my doubts, it's always been a more immediate family member. finally, it happened.

this past weekend, my dear, darling daughter found herself without the kids and some time on her hands. she and her fiancee and 3 friends decided to go see a show then go out afterwards. now keep in mind, it was rainy and damp. eventually they mosied on home, where around 3 a.m. she and a friend decided to go to the store. being responsible adults, they walked. i'm so proud of her not driving. on the way back, they passed a small playground in the complex. remember, this is a grown woman with 2 kids. she decides to go down the slide. i did tell you it was rainy, didn't i? the slide was wet. she was in heels. she starts down the slide, loses control, slides at top speed. the feet land first, the heels sink into the mud anchoring her feet, the rest of her keeps going. sa-nap goes her tibula.

i have been in the hospital the rest of the weekend and will be in everyday for the rest of the week, maybe longer. they operated today, installed a plate. tomorrow she starts therapy, but can't come home til she can put weight on it. hopefully they will let us sign her out for a few hours on thursday.

what do i have to be thankful for? it's here, it's over with, i can breath again. don't get me wrong, i love my daughter, i am so upset about all this. every tear she sheds, moan she makes, goes thru me like a knife. i so want to take her pain away, but i am helpless. but... it's over for this season. she will mend, she will never go near a slide again, noone died.

don't be upset for me, that wasn't my intention here. as the years go by, i just find it unbelievable that all this crap can be dumped on my family. i couldn't tell you when it started, or who might have cursed us, or why. i just know that we go from cuts to broken bones to the passing of a family member whenever a holiday rolls around. it always involves a hospital stay anywhere from overnite to forever.

so be thankful with me. it's over, it could have been worse... now onto easter.

kisshugs

For Everything There is a Season
Tis the season for giving.

My father is extremely disciplined with money. When I was a child I was taught the value of money at an early age. While other kids were out spending theirs on bubblegum and trinkets I was stashing mine away in the vase on the hall table.

By the age of six my father took me to the bank and let me open up my first savings account. I accounted for every penny that passed through my hands and attempted to learn how to compute interest earned.

Now keep in mind this was the 70's. I did not receive an allowance. Every cent I garnered was earned. I weeded the garden for the lady across the street. I sold greeting cards. I ran a lemonade stand on the corner of my block. I went to the local strawberry patch and picked fresh strawberries to resell for a profit.

By the age of 8 I had accumulated $75.67. At the time, 1978, this was an astronomical amount to a kid. My friends were in awe and I was unanimously appointed secretary/treasurer of the neighborhood club. This was no small accomplishment.

In the summer of '78 I spent most of my afternoons at the baseball park watching my brothers play ball. One afternoon there was a lady passing out flyers and posting them around the concession stand. It was a picture of a little boy with a paragraph beneath. The little boy had cancer, leukemia to be exact, and his parents couldn't afford his treatment. They needed money.

The next day I had my mother take me to the bank and I promptly withdrew the entire $75.67 and had them place it in Ryan's fund. I didn't understand why, but my mother cried the whole way home.

Now being older and wiser I understand my mother's tears. It was the selflessness of the act. She knew that money was important to me, yet I gave it away without a thought. Sometimes I believe only a child can give in such a way. As adults we give, but rarely do we give until it hurts, myself included.

I encourage myself and others to remember the story of the widow's mite whether you believe in religion at all. He looked up and saw the rich putting their gifts into the treasury; and he saw a poor widow put in two copper coins. And he said, "Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all of them; for they all contributed out of their abundance, but she out of her poverty put in all the living that she had."


And the season for thanks...hence THANKSGIVING

Never take for granted what you have as shown via Mikeeeee's story. Always be thankful. AND THANK YOU MIKEEEEEEE.

Name: Mikeeeee
URL: http://www.livejournal.com/users/mikeeeee
E-Mail: mja2001@sbcglobal.net
Comment: Hey RDD, as promised...

How do YOU think I did in my board interview with Rohnert Park Fire Division?

Stace almost died after breakfast earlier in the day (before we even went to sleep that night).

We left Denny's at 4:30 am. End of a long night of Birthday fun for a friend. I walked Stace to her car, hug goodbye (yes, even though we would see each other in... 10 minutes at home lol this is important as you'll see later on in the story), and off she went as I sat in my truck playing with my scanner listening for anything interesting and to scare the tweekers surrounding Denny's, for fun.

*CRASH* at about 60 feet away form me on the freeway next to Denny's. I go to the fence line and see the smashed up car in the ditch next to the Denny's fence. I can't jump it safely, but I realize the onramp to the freeway is where it happened, and I can be there in 30 seconds or less, so I take off *safely* to lend a hand. I start looking for Stacey (I knew she was there, don't ask me why, it was the Northbound onramp and she should NOT have been there, but I was looking for her). I see her and I see a comfy spot to pull over and get my gear out. I see smoke so I get the extinguisher along with my trauma bag.

After I approach the car I glove up and I get the woman to get out from behind her car. I thought it might slip in the mud and pin her or me, so I stayed back until she came to me. I didn't want to NEED rescuing myself. She comes to me dazed with a face full of blood, but I figure she's ok with how she is to sit on my tailgate versus laying down. Then I hear she flipped over, and I start to second guess. After she started to pass out on me, it was time to take her to the ground for her own protection. While holding C-Spine, I lay her down with Stacey's help and a 3rd person. I transfer C-Spine ASAP to Stacey when her head nears the ground. I can't get a pulse since she's twitching her wrist a bit. I grab my ears and listen to her heart and lungs, she's ok on both counts. The lac on her forehead was about 3 inches long, made her head look almost dented. My gloves were slippery with blood. LOW AND BEHOLD, VERIHEALTH SHOWS UP in a type 3 rig... I have 2 more EMT's and part of me thinks they'll be taking charge since they're uniformed and driving a rig... no. They look like deer in headlights, and they don't even have a trauma bag. "You've got more in your bag then we have with us..." THEY HAD AN ENTIRE AMBULANCE, and I had more supplies then they had. WTF??? Note to veriHealth... GIVE YOUR MEDICS A TRAUMA BAG, YOU DUMB FUCKS. BLS trauma bag will help 95% of your "walk up" patients.

ANYWAY, I bark out orders not even realizing that when I have a scene, I REALLY HAVE THE SCENE, I want a bottle of sterile water, C-Spine collars, a notepad/pre hospital care forms (which they didn't have) and additional lighting. There is no command vacuum when I'm on the scene and it's mine. I may not always make the correct choices, but you can trust I believe it's the right thing to do at the time and I don't show fear. Truth is I thought she might stop moving/breathing at any time with a spinal injury or the head trauma that could've had a sub-cranial bleeder putting pressure on the brain. BUT to her and to the people around me she was ok, we're helping her until we're relieved, she was in the best hands possible, no danger to her at all because we're the best caretakers ever. It doesn't matter if that's not reality, it was reality to her and my "team".

Anyway, I have Stace transfer C-Spine to the female EMT, and the male EMT becomes my scribe. We get into the particulars of her care and then the real medic crew shows up from Sonoma Life Support. I give them my data and formally transfer care. From that point forward I become a bystander and I just watch her get the Strip/Flip treatment, backboard, load, and go to Santa Rosa Memorial... 7-9 minutes total time with the Patient. Someone jacked my Maglite. That pisses me off just a hair, but it's ok. I did my job, I'll go get a better one.

Stace was there because she took the wrong onramp. She wanted south, not north. She figured she'd go up one exit and turn around. 2 seconds faster and that car that FLEW over her roadway about 7 lengths ahead of her, would've landed IN her little Metro, killing her in a fast, horrible way. That's why I say that hug was important in the start of this entry. I always do that good bye hug or kiss, "Just in case". It's just in case you never get to say goodbye or I love you again. This is exactly why I do that. YOU NEVER KNOW. In this case it delayed her departure by about 2 seconds... Just enough to be missed by a flying car.

I went home, fell asleep by 5:30 am, woke up at 2pm, went to my 2:30pm interview reminded inside that THIS is what I love to do, and blew the review board away with a stunning interview. I think getting to the next step is a sure thing. In the end...

Firefighter/EMT Allen.

Yeah, I can do that.

DUE TO AN UDDER, I MEAN UTTER, LACK OF INTEREST THE RASHOMON CONTEST HAS BEEN AXED, CANNED, GONGED, WHATEVER. NO LAMENTING PLEASE.

RANCETTE AND ROB WILL BE OFFERED A GUEST BLOGGIST SPOT FOR MONDAY, NOVEMBER 29TH AND TUESDAY THE 30TH RESPECTIVELY. YOU CAN WRITE ABOUT WHATEVER YOU WISH. EMAIL THEM TO ME AT RUBBERDEEDUCKIE@YAHOO.COM PLEASE.

IN RESPONSE TO MY ANALYSIS OF HUGH
ROBYN HAS SOMETHING FOR YOU.


Name: Robyn
URL: http://www.hometown.aol.com/meowkitty0
E-Mail: themkickingpoe@aol.com

Comment: I think this is due
to
Hugh
being a perfectionist. You
know... the curse of the artist-intellectual. You
see how things can be better, so how can you
be impressed with something so lacking? Life is full of mediocrity and it can be depressing. The attitu
de happens when you
stop engaging in those social structures you
find so insufficient, or you
go about them painfully because you
have to
to
do
other things you
think are closer to
your ideal situation. Such is Hugh.
A purpose, I think he has... quality. The adherance to
which sacrifices satisfaction, and in turn, joy.

adieu,

robyn


I WOULD LIKE FOR YOU ALL TO GIVE A WARM WELCOME TO RIK. HE HAS GRACIOUSLY COMPOSED A PIECE OF MISCHIEVOUS FOR US ALL TO READ. I HOPE THAT YOU, IN LIKE KIND, WILL SHARE A MISCHIEVOUS STORY AS WELL. I HAVE PROVIDED A LINK TO RIK'S BLOG. IT'S A GAS.

Name: Rik
rikaitch.blogspot.com
Comment: As promised...

Teachers should never lower their guard

Its 1980-something, and a teenage adolescent by the name of Rikaitch was feeling mischievous. The school computer lessons mostly consisted of word processing, and really were quite drab. It didn't help with the fact that every other school in the area had the popular BBCs and we had to make do with Link 480zs . A small group of us were 'in' with the computer teacher, because we would get to school early, and help her to set up the computers each day. For security reasons the computers were locked away in a cupboard each night, and apparently this cupboard was impenetrable and could withstand attack from local burglars, teenage residents, or even special military forces. Anyway, the room was left unlocked during the day, and it became a game to see who could get onto the server PC for the longest, and do the most subtle alterations. One day Mrs Coleman, the computer teacher (a most interesting and unlikely computer teacher, more then likely just taken the post even though she really was a maths teacher) was away probably selling technical secrets to the Russians. We took the chance and told the cover teacher that we always work on the computer in the room. He looked doubtful, but when we showed him work we had already done he was so impressed he agreed.

So, there it is. 3 mildly pubescent aggravators sat for the next 2 hours at the control centre of each and every computer in the school. Oh yes, the power, I could feel the power. Mmmmmm, what could we do? Well first was to lower the security just enough on the main computers to allow us access again in the future. This was rattled off in a couple of minutes. We needed to do more, but being uncreative 13 year olds we thought we would go looking for inspiration. Some level of security was in place, but we found that this could be disabled by just going around the password program. Eventually we found access to a Commodore Pet.

"Strange," said one of my counterparts, "I didn't know the school has any Pets."

"Oh they don't really, only the one in the head's office," said the other accomplice.

"Gumpf," I said.

Closer examination showed it was said computer. I typed quickly, the chance of being caught now red handed would be fatal. One of the guys told a weedy member of the class to keep a look out for us, or face a dead leg. Not a lot could be found, but one large file was too tempting. Just to stop us losing such bounty, we copied it to the main server and set about looking into it.

"Bloody Hell!!!" cried one person.

"Flippin' 'eck" cried the other.

"Gumpf", I said, again.

It was only the teacher's personal details. Full names, dates of birth, addresses, phone numbers, inside leg measurements. You get the picture. We'd struck hacker's gold. How could we possibly print out the list though, with the teacher's desk next to the printer? We decided we could do better then that. We modified the file so that it would work in the main school database program used by each and every year to learn how to make and query a database. The seed was sown, and it was only a matter of time...

3 weeks passed, and a fellow pupil appeared in registration one morning with a large computer printout. His older brother had come across it, and printed out the entire list. They took the list home, photocopied it (good on them!) and came back in to distribute the list to anyone that cared, for a small fee of course. By break time they'd sold out, and we were getting a tad nervous and hot around the collar. By lunchtime the great "Chester" (the head) had beckoned me... me?!?! Only me. I had to plead my innocence, but apparently because of my knowledge, the computer teacher thought I was the only one that had the ability to do such a thing.

The fact of the matter was she was right. I knew one thing though...

They could prove nothing.

NOTICE: FOR TODAY, AT LEAST, THE COMMENTS WILL BE UNMODERATED. BEHAVE!

NOTE TO RIK...YES YOU: PLEASE SEND YOUR PIECE IN. WE WILL PUT IT UP ON MONDAY.

NOTE TO ALL RANCE READERS: AS OF LATE I HAVE SURFED THE WEB LOOKING FOR THE BEST OF THE BEST, BLOGGERS THAT IS. ON MONDAY WE WILL HAVE A GUEST BLOGGIST. HIS NAME IS RIK. HE IS ACROSS THE POND. I'M SURE YOU'LL FIND HIM TERRIBLY WITTY


HUGH GRANT

Hugh Grant, I'm sure much to his disdain, is sexy. He's rather ordinary looking, but his wit and intellect are magnetic. He comes across as extremely unavailable and mysterious.

However, as of late, Mr. Grant seems thoroughly disenchanted with everything and everybody. Using my C.J.D., I diagnose Mr. Grant as: MISERABLE.

What makes him miserable? Lack of purpose.

He appears to be completely bored with life. No one or thing interests him. He's been there and done it all.

This morning on Regis and Kelly, unless my ears deceived me, he called Regis a bitch. Yes, his wit is dryer than the Sahara, but I honest to goodness don't think he was joking. The sad thing is, no matter what he says, people laugh, which makes him all the more disenchanted. To him, they're no more than clapping monkeys.

I was told that Liz Hurley, after their break-up, said that nothing she did ever impressed him, not even her looks.

I don't know what you're looking for Mr. Grant, but may I propose a suggestion? Get a purpose.

I was watching my soap yesterday only to realize that one of my favorite characters was now "being played by someone else". No matter how hard he tries, he will never be "Hal". I realize this is how some of you feel about this blog, and I couldn't agree more.

In truth, I have no clue what I'm doing here. Just killing time I guess. I suppose you could look at me as a chaffeur, driving Rance's blog until he gets his license back.

Maybe the stress of having to write something entertaining all the time was getting to him. I must say, it seems he could have written about his daily bowel movements and many here would have been thrilled. So it goes with celebritiism, even pseudonymously.

You also have to consider the fact that the poor guy couldn't speak of anything about himself, not even his dog, without the fear of someone finding out who he was. That doesn't leave you much to write about.

My hope is that he found happiness, got out of the basement, passed his mid-terms, found the gal of his dreams and will someday come back to blog about roses and wine instead of piss and vinegar. Call me a romantic...

But in the meantime, I hope he's reading and that we, for a change, are entertaining him.

Due to request, the Rashomon deadline has been extended to Monday.

Back, by popular demand, Bingo the Monkey...

The Second (And Final) Installment of "Oops I Pooped In Your Bed" By Bingo The Monkey

The moment that I woke up, I knew something was wrong. I wasn't in my moo cow pajamas and I was surrounded by someone else's pink and purple pillows. The only memory from the night before was this noise that would make children want to move to the mountains of Tibet, just to get their hearing back. I decided to try and get out of there, but that was when I heard that high pitched lightning fast noise again, and I couldn't move, let alone think. My ears were bleeding; I had a monster 1,420 calorie hang over.

"Stop it!! Stop it, I'll tell you anything you want to know!!" It was torturous and I decided to cooperate as a way of getting out of this situation. First they had left me on a psychedelic doll house bed, and then they had used their ultimate weapon- "the squeal."

"Oh my freakin' god, how did it get inside my trailer? That is like, the smartest rabbit I've ever seen." One of its tall huge buddy guards leaned over and whispered, "Uh, Brit it's a monkey." It responded back, "I totally fucking knew that, I was just kidding. God, you must think I'm soo like stupid and stuff. But I'm not, I like read Glamour and Marie Claire, and they have a lot of social issues in them, like `how to enter a room and get everyone's attention without even saying anything."

"Yo, and Brit knows how to do that dog, she just gets everyone's attention by not wearing nothin." This comment came from the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, she had perfect skin, nice jewelry, and the shortest hair a woman could have. She walked in wearing workout clothes, covered in sweat.

"Oh my god, Justin you're here finally," It said.

"Yo baby you know I got's ta workout everyday for like six hours so that I can have these rock hard abs and still weigh less then you. I was working on my dance moves in between sets of crunches. Let's get things started on you're MTV show, I gots to get back to the gym in like three hours."

For the next hour I watched the scantily clad boy in a wig shake his ass and lip synch to a song about people trying to be free from slavery. The pretty girl came over and said, "Yo dog you got to work on your routine, your part is coming up soon."
"I can't understand you," I told her, and I couldn't, I didn't understand any of them, they all spoke different languages. Half of them spoke what I started to refer to as the "yo dog" dialect and the other half spoke the "oh my god like" dialect.

"Yo dog why you gotta dog me like that dog?" `She' said in response.
"I CAN'T UNDERSTAND YOU, I SPEAK ENGLISH, AND I'M A MONKEY DAMN IT, NOT A DOG!!" I yelled at her, even though I didn't want to because she was so pretty.
"Yo B," Justin yelled at his boyfriend Britney, "This monkey is wack."
"Oh my god like, little monkey dude are you okay? Do you need like a frappachino or something?" I pondered this question, having caught three of the words in the entire sentence. "Beer,whiskey,vodka,gin,brandy,cognac,port,wine,wine coolers, I'll even drink a bottle of triple sec if you've got one. It only hurts for a while."
He looked at me with his big brown eyes, while his girlfriend Justin looked at me with her big blue eyes, "Like, alcohol will make you fat, and like I only am allowed to drink it on the weekends and then I have to work out on Sundays for like four hours straight. But, I do have this." He handed me a small silver can and said, "It will so totally make everything better, and if you want anything to eat, there's some like cheetios in my trailer."
I drank the contents of the can, and then another, and then another, and then another, and then I ate the cheetios, and then I had another can of the magic elixir. It was awesome. But I did freak out and trash the place for thirty minutes. I tried to pull off Britney's hair, but it turned out that it wasn't a wig. I tried to convince Justin to grow her hair out, but she wasn't a girl after all, go figure she was too pretty to be a guy. After tearing up the place, I sat in the corner shaking uncontrollably while J.T. tried to talk to me.

"Dude yo you need to relax dog."
"I'm not a dog damn it. Why can't you see that?" I cried, letting all the tears flow.
"Please, just get me more of those little cans, I just need a few more and I'll be okay." I started to rock back and forth, and this continued, it helped ease the cravings, and kept me from pacing the room like an OCD freak looking for something to clean.

"I can't stop rocking my body," I told Justin. He looked at me, and then jumped up, spun around grabbed his crotch and did the robot towards me. "Yo dog you just gave me an idea for a song yo for my debut album."

"That's great but ah, number one, I'm a fucking monkey, number two, I pooped under the purple bed and found these while I was down there." I handed Justin a stack of photos that must have been taken the night before, because it was of me and Britney. In the first one she's feeding me cheetios, but I keep spitting them in her face. In the second one she's wearing a scream mask and humping my leg, the look on my face is the same face I made when I found out that Rage Against the Machine was splitting up, it's a really sad face. In the last picture, she's trying to stick her orange tongue down my throat.

"Yo, I can't believe she'd do this to me. We've been together for like," He tried to count it out on his fingers, but got lost, "Yo for like ever dog."
"That's too bad, cause I'm gonna take her unusually tight ass to court."

Justin then went and talked to Britney, I tried to listen to the conversation but I was busy trying to shove all the Red Bull's into a bag before getting out of there fast.
"Yo Britney, you don't have to tell me what you did, yo I already found out from my dog Bingo." At this point the entire set crew laughed, and I just flipped them off and said, "Yeah, that's great laugh it up meat heads. Laugh at the monkey with a dog's name."

Britney looked at J.T. puffed on a fag and said, "Okay, like I'm sorry Justin. It was only like, a kiss, it's not like I had sex with him."
("Damn," I thought, "I was this close to losing my virginity, even if it was with a she-male.") "I mean, I was like really drunk and he was like even drunker and it just happened okay, it's not like a big deal, just get over yourself, you're just a guy in NSYNC and I'm fucking Britney Spears."

"Yo, Brit that hurts me, that hurts me, right here," He pointed to the right side of his chest. "I'm out dog. You'll see, I'll be bigger then you. I'll put out my own record, and date older women and I'll be a bigger star then you, I'll," Justin was crying so hard at this point that I could hardly hear him, and it didn't help that I had shoved six cheetios in my ears to try and muffle the sound of Britney. "I'll, I'll, I'll be in a movie with Kevin Spacey!! Yeah, that's it; I'll be the best dog ever yo. And you'll just get married to some stupid guy who'll make you buy your own engagement ring!" And with that, he was gone. And so was I. Justin gave me a ride to the bus station and said, "See you dog. Thanks for showing me those pictures."
"Yeah, if you thought those were bad, you should have seen the one's of her at a donkey show in Mexico." And with that, he rode off, and I sat on the curve, picking my nose, and eating cheetios out of my ears when who should pull up but George Clinton.

(Yeah, it's in a movie, but who do you think inspired the character Gutter?)

As a point of discussion today I provide the following with this disclaimer: I in no way endorse or condone the views expressed in this piece:
Hot Topic



Below is the new Rashomon chapter. I will accept entries thru Friday, November the 19th. All entries should be from other characters' points of view as to the events in this piece and anything your character would have done in response to the events in this piece. If you have any questions, let me know...

My chest felt as if a small campfire had been lit inside, and it was slowly growing larger, spreading the warmth outwards to my limbs. My head felt light and fluffy. It became as if I were enveloped in a warm fuzzy cloud. A smile began to creep across my face as I wrote. "Do you like green eggs and ham?" What the...I tried again "One sock, two sock, red sock, blue sock." A giggle escaped from my lips. I pressed my fingertips to my besotted mouth, admonishing myself for being so giddy.

Have you ever had writer's block? Felt like you were trying to reinvent the wheel? Searching for just the right words to astutely convey what you're trying to say? Yeah, well try accomplishing this under the influence while suffering from dementia. It ain't easy.

How can my mind confuse cat for dog, a rhyme with a fable, Dr. Seuss with Aesop? There's no logical connection. I'm sure the alcohol is responsible for a measure of the confusion, but the main source is the disease. At least I was aware of the dementia. I knew what I wanted to say. I just had to find the words. Everything had to be set in motion now...before it was too late.

As I stood before the table under the soothing hypnosis of the alcohol I felt sure and steady. I thought of Paul in my closet and wondered which shirt he was wearing. I hope he left the blue plaid on the dressing chair. I haven't worn that one yet and I do so hate it when he stretches them out. Using my notes as a prop, I looked out over the clan. What a group. Not even a sane person could logically choose one of them. Not that I was insane mind you. I was simply losing my faculties.

"Things are not always what they seem." I slurred. "I'm not a blathering drunk. I'm a blathering drunk with Alzheimer's. But don't spend the money just yet. I'm not dying, I'm dementing."

"The bad news is I gotta pick one of you to guard over me...ya know, be my guardian. Someone to manage my estate, make decisions for my care, take inventory of my closet. I've decided there's only one way to go about this...a contest."

" We're gonna have ourselves a contest to determine which one of you is the most qualified to be my...umm...ahhhh...pris-o-ner...nooooooo...It starts with a geeee...baaasketballlll??? Noooo...Buckingham Palace...red suit...small bear on top of head...change...changing of theeeeeeee...GUARDIAN!"

"As I said, things are not always what they appear to be. The nuts are on the table. Will you be a dancing monkey?"

The burning in my chest was now a three alarm fire. The pain was excruciating. I couldn't continue. "Aunt Jemima" I gasped, clutching my chest. "Aunt Jemima!"

I fell to the floor and felt my face against the cold tile. Ah yes, the beautiful Mexican tile I had custom ordered and imported for this house. It's cold touch was comforting.

The pain was excruciating. I could hear the vultures hovering over me, checking my pulse, pacing and cackling like barnyard chickens.

Bobbie frantically asked, "Aunt Jemima...Who's Aunt Jemima?"

Good Lord help!