Saturday, November 22, 2003



Genuine shock and awe, just mind boggling, who’d of thunk it?

With charges filed against whatever is living inside the surgically warped protoplasm legally known as Michael Jackson, brother Jermaine has hired former UN Weapons inspector, Scott Ritter, to search the singer’s property for WMDs or Weapons of Michael’s Deviancy.

Speaking on behalf of his own non-existent career and the hope this exposure may kick-start some renewed interest in himself, Jermaine Jackson said that hiring Ritter was key to “not finding a damn thing” that might implicate his brother.

“This guy knows a thing or two about this kind of problem. He’s an expert at making sure that kids don’t mess up the more important things in adults lives, like political agendas”.

Mr. Ritter’s spokesperson said he’d be getting to work just as soon as he could log off “teenchatforspecialfriendsinbaghdad.net”.

Barry Bonds has won his third consecutive MVP award. Bonds gives credit to the amazing scientific anomaly that he has gained immense muscle mass after the age of 35 by merely eating right and lifting weights.

Despite a federal grand jury subpoena to testify in an investigation of a nutritional supply company he endorses, and which has been identified as a source of the steroid THG, Bonds insists his sensational physical growth is all natural.

“Of course it’s all natural and all legal. Take for instance Barry Bond's head. Barry Bond's head has improved from a size 7 ½ cap to size 8 ¾. Barry Bonds can’t get that kind of result with juice. Barry Bonds spends 4 to 5 hours a day watching tapes of Barry Bonds.

Barry bangs a dinger. Barry makes a great catch. Barry steals a base. Barry disses a teammate. Barry towels the sweat from his brow.

It’s hard work but hell, Barry Bonds is worth it.”


JFK has been dead for 40 years but so has Aldous Huxley and CS Lewis. All three said adios on the exact same day in 1963.

One has been canonized, one has been marginalized as non-required reading for English Literature majors, and the latter has been a best selling author for decades with annual sales of over 2.5 million books.

Forty more years and Lewis will still sell, "Huxley's Brave New World" will be banned by all media corporations and Kennedy's shortened term will be seen as the equivalent of William Henry Harrison's 30 days in office.

Monday, November 17, 2003


Memo to President of ESPN:

Subject: The World Series of Poker (But, I hardly know her)

Dear Prez,

Saturday, I happened to catch the first few minutes of the World Series of Poker on ESPN. I'm sure that you've done your research, scouted the demographics and planned your broadcast to fit a time frame where chair slugs and compulsive gamblers are most likely to be found. You're the best and I respect that.

However, after viewing the first ten minutes of the WSOP and having to scrape the resulting inch thick glaze that had settled over my eyeballs, I realized that this event has much greater audience potential than even you might think.

Poker is exciting to that group of people who get a thrill from any activity where the mortgage payment is at risk and the kid’s college tuition fund is used as collateral. This group is a die hard audience to be sure, yet relatively small compared to the size of an audience that appreciates the prospect of a multi-car disintegration at Daytona.

Poker in America has a storied tradition in folklore and movies that should be leveraged to deliver a mass audience that thrives on mayhem and action.
Instead of a bunch of boring guys with silly nicknames and doofy looking shirts putting the viewers to sleep, why not create a WSOP where the competitors are equipped with the armaments of competition familiar to the sport’s American heritage? That is, unlimited liquor and six shooters?

Wait! Before you hit the 'delete' key, think about it.

When most people hear the word "poker" what comes to mind? Right, it's the saloon scene where the young hero reluctantly sits in on the game with the hope of winning just enough dough to save the family farm from the no-good character actor cattle baron who is taking over the town.

And what makes it compelling? Booze and bullets, my friend. Every Wild West poker game ends with the bad guy, fortified by liquid courage and prodded by the desperation of knowing he's holding a pair of nothings, pulls his gun on our hero and shouts something about cheating, polecats and saying prayers.

Is that a formula for success or what? We're talking about a weekly series here, not just a once a year event; an opportunity for turning poker into the next NASCAR, where fans worship players, buy tractor trailer loads of officially licensed merchandise that help identify them as individuals to be avoided at all cost, develop Carpal Tunnel Syndrome from “WSOP The Video Game”, and generally lose their life to the sport.

I’m willing to bet someone else's life that this is a money maker.
Hit me before Vince McMahon does.

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