The King of Pop Zap Pyoo Pyoo!

It sounds like I'm making it up, but I'm not. Michael Jackson wants to build a giant, 50 foot robot of himself that shoots lasers to roam the Las Vegas desert. I'm sorry, maybe you didn't catch that. Michael Jackson wants to make a giant robot of himself that he'll let loose in the Las Vegas desert. And it shoots lasers.

I want to know how it will work. Will it be one of those things he sits inside like a bad guy in a video game? Or can he control it from a secret underground lair? Maybe, while it's being created, the building will be struck by lightning and it will take on a life of its own. It'll be like Johnny 5 from Short Circuit, except with a huge, Vitiligo-riddled robo-dong.

That sounds like something he told somebody he wanted to do after he had a terrible crying fit over something.

INT. MICHAEL'S LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
MICHAEL sits on a couch, arms folded, crying. His agent, HARVEY, stands pleading with Michael.

HARVEY
Michael, I'm sorry that we had to turn off
your XBox, but you had been playing for 30
straight hours. Please stop crying.

MICHAEL
But I wanted to keep playing XBox.

HARVEY
Your children were worried about you.

MICHAEL
Children? I don't have any children.
I made new friends using my penis and
magic!

HARVEY
Okay. Well, whatever. Just stop crying.
What can I do to make you stop crying?
Do you want something?

MICHAEL
Yes.

HARVEY
What do you want, Michael? You want me
to shape Elephant Man's bones into tiny
dinosaurs for you again?

MICHAEL
No! I want...I want...a giant robot.

HARVEY
A giant robot? We can do that.

Harvey picks up his phone.

HARVEY (cont'd)
(into phone)
Get me a giant robot. I don't know.
Japan probably makes them. They love
that shit.

He hangs up.

MICHAEL
Wait. I want a giant robot of me.
Yeah. And...and...and...

HARVEY
Of you? People can't be robots, Michael.
Only robots can be robots.

MICHAEL
And it has to shoot lasers. Yeah.

HARVEY
Fine. You want a giant Michael Jackson
robot that shoots lasers. And then
you'll stop crying?

MICHAEL
Maybe.

HARVEY
Where do you want me to put it?
Neverland Ranch right between the
pirate ship made of graham crackers and
the tree shaped like Emmanuel Lewis?

MICHAEL
(yelling)
NO!

HARVEY
Well, you're out of room, Michael.
Where do you want it?

MICHAEL
(still yelling)
I WANT IT TO ROAM THE LAS VEGAS DESERT!

Harvey
Of course you do.

MICHAEL
(still yelling)
AND THEN I WANT TO BUY LAS VEGAS AND
HAVE ALL THE SLOT MACHINES GIVE OUT FREE
COTTON CANDY! AND THEN...AND THEN...

Harvey
One thing at a time, Michael. One thing
at a...

Harvey looks over at the couch. Michael is curled up, asleep, clutching Richard Pryor's corpse.

Harvey
(softly)
...time. Goodnight, sweet prince.

Fin.

I'm not going to make any pedophile jokes, though. Those are hacky and overdone. Plus, he hasn't ever been convicted of those crimes, so it wouldn't be fair. This is absolutely true, though. When asked why he decided to build this contraption, Michael responded that he had been trying for years to find a way to rape that adorable Bob's Big Boy.

Another Video That's Not Mine!

I realize it's a cop out when I do this, but at least this video will be more entertaining than the last. This video is the reason I love life.

It's the PG rated version of the trailer for the movie 300. Enjoy.

I Love This Man!

I won't make fun of him. He makes my heart happy and that's saying a lot if you know my heart. If you do know my heart, by the way, please ask him if he's been fucking my liver. I think it's pregnant.

Here he is.

I don't care if he's an act or not, it's goddamn beautiful. The look on his face when he's playing couldn't be greater.

Against All Odds!

Phil Collins was a man ahead of his time. Granted, the words to his song bearing the same name having nothing to do with this post, but I just thought I'd mention it. Invisible Touch? Genius and about telekinesis. The only other song about telekinesis that I know is It's Raining Men.

On to the meat of this thing. I have a tattoo that says exactly that a couple inches below my belly button. It's written in Ye Olde English-style lettering because I'm a classy lady.

If you take a multiple choice test and guess 'C' the entire time, odds are that, if there are four options for each question, you'll get around 25% of the answers right. While 25% is not a passing grade by any stretch, it's still better than the track record that my mighty president has when appointing members of his Presidential Dream Team or whatever the hell it's called. In fact, he would have had a better chance of getting Larry Bird elected to the Supreme Court than Harriet Miers. At least his name is exactly what an eagle is and Americans fucking love eagles.

The latest of his appointments to go south and reek of baby vomit baked in a kiln made of beer-shit and ball sweat is Alberto "He's Mexican, Look How Diverse the President's Cabinet Is" Gonzales. See, he tried to fire the U.S. prosecutors who opposed GWB's ideas because they opposed his policies. I heard that he's not supposed to do things like that because it's unethical or something. It's been a couple of years since I took the Bar.

But, how can somebody be so consistently bad at making decisions? That's like this girl on The Price Is Right.

But even she eventually wins. (Spoiler alert)

I would love to meet GWB in person, just to see how far his idiocy goes.

EXT. WHITE HOUSE - DAY
A crowd of onlookers mill about for some made-up occasion so that I can have some one-on-one time with George W. Bush. I approach him, holding my fists clenched, arms out toward him, backs of my hands, facing the sky.

ME
Okay, Mr. President. You'll get three
chances here. I have a one hundred
dollar bill in one hand and nothing in
the other hand. Three chances. Two
hands. One hundred dollars. Pick.

GWB
Is this a trick? I guess your left foot.

ME
Okay, that's one guess, sir. No. It isn't
my left foot.

GWB
Aww, shoot. I had it on good authority
that it was in your left foot. You got me.

ME
Fool you once...

GWB
Yeah. I like that saying.

ME
Next guess. Two more guesses. Two
hands. You can do this, sir.

GWB
Well, I can see something sticking out
of your right hand that looks like it
might be some money. Hold on.

GWB snaps his fingers and a MAN who is chewing on a bloody, disembodied child's arm drops it and runs over.

GWB (cont.)
Dick, he's got some money in one of his
hands. Which one is it?

DICK CHENEY
Well, Mr. President, did you try...

GWB
Yes, I tried his left foot. He says it's not
there.

DICK CHENEY
Hmm. Well, there goes my first guess.
But he has some money sticking
out of his right hand, so obviously he's
trying to trick you and it's in his left.

ME
I'm not trying to trick you. That's a
very good guess based on the evidence
that's right in front of you. If I were
you, I'd definitely pick my right hand.

GWB
You. You're tricky. I'm going to say
your left hand. You're not going to
make a fool out of me.

I open my left hand to reveal nothing. Cheney scurries away, growling at a crying, one-armed girl who quickly drops her bloodied stump and runs away.

ME
Wow, sir. When I started to write out
this scenario, I thought for sure you
couldn't possibly be that dumb.

GWB
I'm full of surprises. Do you like magic?

ME
I'm a grown man, sir.

GWB
I love magic. Have you seen that David
Blaine fellow? I'm pretty sure he's the
real deal. I saw him fly. He's so
mysterious just like a real wizard.

ME
That sounds impressive. You have one more
chance. It's not in my left hand or somehow
in my left foot and your only other choice is my
right hand. What do you choose?

GWB
You know, I'm going to have to ask the
American people. See what they believe.

An ASSISTANT hands GWB a sheet of paper.

GWB (cont.)
It says here that there was a poll taken by
some guy named Roy Ters.

ME
It's Reuters. It's a news..how do you even
misread that? It's impossible to even think
it says that. Whatever. Talk.

GWB
And Roy says 95% of the American people
believe that the money is in your right hand.

ME
There. Go with them. They're right.
Listen to them. Listen to the American
people.

GWB
One second.

GWB closes his eyes and nods his head, mumbling under his breath.

ME
What are you...?

His arm juts forward, his finger pressing against my lips, quieting me.

GWB
Shhh. I'm talking to Jesus.

ME
You don't need to talk...

I open my right hand face up revealing the money so he can see it.

ME (cont.)
See that? That's the money in my
right hand. Just say that it's in my...

GWB
(quickly)
Jesus says it's in your left. Am I right?
Did I get it? Where's the confetti?

ME
I hope Dick Cheney eats you.

Fin.

The Biggest Little Post on the Internet!

I went to Vegas this past weekend and I saw midgets. I didn't just see a midget. I saw many midgets. I realize that using the m-word to refer to them is rude, but they can't read anyway, so they'll never know what I'm saying about them.

First, I saw one--and I wish I would have taken a picture because it sounds made up--dressed like a leprechaun. He had a microphone and was trying to get people to go into O'Shea's casino on the strip. Needless to say, I went the fuck in. I couldn't have been more in that place. Sadly, he was the only one there. He was standing in the sun, out front of the casino and here's a little bit of trivia I learned: midgets don't have shadows.

Then I saw a gaggle of midgets that night. A herd. A flock. A pride. A murder. A den. A fucking bunch. And, to make this sighting even better, I saw them at the top of the Stratosphere. For those who don't know, the Stratosphere is this giant tower thing that's 108 stories high where you go to ride rides and pretend you're not scared out of your fucking mind. 108 stories! To the midgets that's like 216 floors up. If one of them fell off the top, they would burn up in the atmosphere before hitting the ground.

There were five of them and they were all old, which is another weird thing since I was taught that once midgets hit 30 years old, they start regressing in age back until they don't exist anymore. My parents really shouldn't have let Professor Hate-Tank the Bearded Prophet tutor me until I was 16. I always found it strange that I had to meet him "by the beef jerky in the 7-11" for class.