I just watched some of a softcore porno film in which every on-screen participant was just physically repulsive. Now, I have nothing at all against ugly people getting it on, even girls with mousy faces and hilariously fake everything, and porky guys with bad haircuts and hairy backs. In these movies, the actual appearance of the actors is not as important as it seems, thanks to lighting, cinematography, judicious editing, etc. But these folks were just hideous. I swear, they looked like Daniel Clowes drawings.

I mean, in any cast of softcore players, you’re going to get some hard faces. But for the entire company to be so downright nasty is quite remarkable, and I choose to believe that it was deliberate casting by the director. After all, the world of secret sex cults is a seedy one, and who better to convey that ugliness than the nastiest, trashiest softcore actors and actresses around?

And to think that if I had studied a little harder in my film classes in college, I could be living the dream and directing these movies myself.

Daily Hey Magic Number: 14

So who wants to apply with me for a spot on the television series The Amazing Race 3? The premise of the series is that eleven teams of two people each race around the world and engage in a combination of anxious travelling and running around cool-looking ancient landmarks. Each week, the team that comes in “last” while running around the ancient landmarks is ejected from the show; and so it goes until only one team stands at the end as the Ultimate Amazing Racers.

Each team is composed of two people who have a real-life relationship, such as a mother and her daughter, or two frat buddies, or co-workers, or a gay couple, or a young, glamorous starlet in danger and the rough-around-the-edges cop assigned to protect her, or the single-minded and ruthless Inspector Javert and the object of his obsession, cunning bread-stealer Jean Valjean, or some such arrangement. They seem to find separated couples interesting, so I would like to encourage all my estranged wives from whom I have not yet obtained legal divorces to give me a call.

Going on the show seems like a nice, cheap, quick way to see the world, and the show doesn’t seem to saddle the contestants with the whole “media whore” image that shows like Survivor and Big Brother seem to do. If you’re interested, let me know soon, because the deadline’s coming up and we’ll need to make a three-minute tape. Here is a copy of the application. Let’s go kick some divorced fratboy ass!

Thumbs up, Canadian figure skaters!

Yeah!

Well, it looks like the folks at my digital cable company had no idea what was going to be on MoreMax (Cinemax 2) at 1:00 AM tonight, so they just took a stab in the dark:

I clicked on “Info” to get a description of the program, and this is what I saw:

Fair enough. Unfortunately, I do not suscribe to Cinemax nor its sister channel MoreMax, and could not make video captures of the actual program for all of you to enjoy. Woe is you.

I realized a moment ago that I have now watched UPN two nights in a row… NOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Or, well, whatever.

I recently had the pleasure of learning (if you can believe this asshole) that despite being pre-empted by an address by Bush to both houses of Congress (“My fellow Amurrikins, this war against turrorism will be long and hard, and God help us I’m commander-in-chief of our milturry.”), the Columbian Broadcasting System’s wonderful summer series Big Brother 2 went ahead with its live finale, even though it was not being broadcast. And, in the final analysis, after the polls were closed and the votes were counted and the fix was in, the winner to emerge from the corporate-sponsored camera-laden cathode-ray hovel, clutching half a million dollars desperately to his breast, was none other than Will, the Funny, Evil Doctor.

I found this to be fantastic news. I easily count Big Brother 2 as my Favorite Program of the Summer Which I Watched Less Than Ten Percent of the Time It Was Actually On, and Will was easily the most entertaining contestant, despite his early alliance with two of the more cringe-inducing people on the show – Mike “Boogie”, the white rapper, and Shannon, the psycho hose-beast. Congratulations, Will, and here’s hoping you save up some of that money – Evil Doctors do a lot of pro bono work, after all, and you’ll need *something* to live on.

Complacents.com is live, if that means anything to any of you.

I’ve spent the last several days with the “Electric Company” theme in my head. I have the Noggin network on digital cable, and they show “The Electric Company” on a regular basis. I credit my overall successful education to the hours clocked watching it and “Sesame Street”, which also appears on Noggin, back in the first four years of my life. Why, that’s why my generation is better off than today’s teenagers… why, those baggy-pants-wearin’ gun-totin’ baby-havin’ to-N*Sync-listenin’ whippersnappers woulda been eaten alive back in my day. Because back then, we didn’t have any food. Food had not been discovered, and so we ate each other, for warmth, as neither heat nor hunger had been defined either. Sure, things were tough back then. But we weren’t grumbly, sullen punks. Of course, we are now. Being grumbly and sullen are what your twenties are all about. What, then, are your teenage years about? Being hormonal and underappreciative, that’s what! Being unwilling to see any sort of larger picture, that’s what! Perpetuating the career lifespans of various undertalented yet highly commercial pop stars, that’s what! I mean, that’s what my generation did when we were that age!

I am going to go drink some milk.

I just watched the first episode of “Boot Camp”. It was GREAT!

SIR YES SIR!!!

That is all.

I just saw a lip balm commercial featuring Colleen Haskell of “Survivor” fame. She’s no Nancy Pender, looks-wise, but I wouldn’t mind she and I being the last two humans alive on the planet. Also, were I to die in such a way that several of my major organs were still operational, I would happily have them donated to Colleen. Even if she did not need them, I would have them placed on retainer in the event she ever would. Even now, still alive, I would at a moment’s notice trade my legs, which are hairless and shapely, with hers, which are infected and scarred and shapely.

“If I could, I would, but I don’t know how” – Phish