Monday, April 30, 2007

This Week on 24

Some pros and cons this episode. I still hold that Heroes is far and away the superior show currently. As of this post, however, I have not watched my DVR'd episode of Heroes.

On to 24.

Jack, snap out of it. You're acting like a whiny seven year old girl who kills people and has been in a Chinese prison camp for 18 months.

Audrey, I hate you.

I do like that they brought Audrey's Dad back into the equation. He seems to be coming down a little hard on Jack, however. I mean, his life has been saved by The Bauer several times thus far. He owes him at least his shell-shocked husk of a daughter.

Although, I must say that 24 made me do something that I had promised myself I'd never do again. I ironed.

Yes that's right. And it was awful.

My options this evening were to do laundry, or show up at work tomorrow wearing a bathing suit and a pit-stained Woodstock '99 t-shirt. Comfortable? Yes. Business Casual? Not quite so much.

Anyhow, the dryer in my building takes millions of years to dry, so I figured I'd run it through once, then go finish the job after 24. However, to my chagrine when I got down to the laundry room following the program, the clothes were completely dry and wrinkled like Estelle Getty's Playboy shoot.

So yeah, following another only OK episode of 24, I had to iron. It was pure pain. I pressed several shirts and a few pairs of slacks for work. That's a fun word. Slacks... Trousers. Also fun.

I see I've begun to lose what little coherence I had. I'll take that as a sign to move on and go to bed. Catch you folks later.

Rev

Thursday, April 26, 2007

Listen up.

Read this.

That is all.

Rev

Quest Update

Hello, and welcome back.

A few entries back I called on the interweb community to pull together and make me the next Peter Parker in possible subsequent movie sequels. Recently something else has come to my attention. THIS.

OMMFG, right? Right.

Most of my life I have been devoted to two things: theater and Spider-Man. I think it's fair to say that the layout and title of this very blog reflects the latter interest fairly clearly. Sure, other interests have come and gone, mostly dismissed as impossible flights of fancy, like wanting to be an Astronaut, or a fighter pilot, or hoping to be in a mature, committed relationship. Imagine my levels of surprise/excitement/joy when I first heard this announced.

To be fair, I was wary at first, too. Spider-Man as a musical? Whaa? However, on closer consideration, and given the names attached to the project already, I have confidence that it will at least be worth a look. It can't be worse than my idea for a musical version of The Matrix, complete with rotating wirefighting.


Take the Blue, you'll still be you,
Take the Red, you're in a tub of goo.


Obviously that concept needs some work. Equally as obvious, we would ignore the sequels, which should really only be discussed in detail at the Hague in front of a Crimes Against Humanity Tribunal.

But back to topic. Almost.

I went running the other day, because the weather was beautiful and I had the insane desire to trick myself into feeling healthy. Anyway, I was wearing my moisture-wicking Spider-Man athletic shirt and at around .75 miles I passed a few rather hefty gentlemen getting out of a car. One looked at me, and exclaimed

"Oh, Snap! You look like Spider-Man, too!"

I managed to wheeze a few words of thanks and continue on. In retrospect, I was probably fortunate that I was winded, as my real thought was "Thanks! You kinda look like Biggie Smalls!"



In any event, his kind words brightened my day.

Back to true topic. Spider-Man the musical. Check out this character description:


[PETER PARKER] Male, late teens to early 20's, Caucasian. A bullied, high school senior in Queens passionate about all things Science, and infatuated with Mary Jane Watson to the point of near-paralysis. Earnest, ethical, and frequently relying on his wry, self-effacing sense of humor to get out of scrapes, he was bitten by a genetically altered spider in Norman Osborn's Lab soon before graduating and becomes after trials and tragedy a crime-fighting superhero. He struggles daily to balance the responsibilities his dual identity demands, as well as with the constant temptation to exploit the powers he has inherited. The burden of being a superhero, his guilt for his role in his uncle's death, as well as his debilitating crush on Mary Jane all weigh heavily upon him. Great pop/rock voice.

Science? Wry, Self-effacing sense of humor? Debilitating crush?
All eerily familiar to me.

And so, dear patient reader, I get to the point.

As of yesterday I have submitted my headshot and resume to the Casting Agency tasked with casting the rehearsed reading scheduled for the end of July.

It was crazy. I had it all neatly in a nice professional envelope, and went to the proper address. While standing IN line to hand my stuff to the receptionist, I looked around the lobby area. There were several 2o-something actors reading scripts. Using my ungodly super-vision I read that they were looking over a scene between the characters Peter and Arachne.

Also, none of those bastards looked like Peter Parker.

*Gasp* I'm at the front of the line.

"Do you have a submission?" asked the desk lady.

"Yes," I replied "and I was wondering if there was any additional information for electronic submission"

She glanced down and to the side briefly, mentally processing my request. "Are you an Independent?" she asked.

Now this may be revisionist history, but every time I remember her saying 'independent,' the word gets uglier and uglier.

"Yes" I admitted, because Peter Parker doesn't lie, and neither should I. Though I suppose he does lie all the time about where he went running off to just before Spider-Man showed up and totally kicked ass. But I digress.

"Ok, then you don't qualify for electronic submission" She said.

"All right, thank you very much" I replied in closing as she took my envelope and placed in a box on top of the desk. I thought it strange that a casting agency would misspell 'Independent' as I-N-C-I-N-E-R-A-T-E, but I chose not to argue with these artsy types.

Anyway, I had just submitted myself for Spider-Man the musical! The realization sunk in and I nearly swooned. Yes, swooned. I got all lightheaded and dizzy. Also, my pinky fingers began tingling with a huge endorphin rush, just like when I win a big hand at poker, or am about to-

Well, nevermind. The point is I was excited and flying high.

Then on the elevator down I was standing next to Jere Burns. And that's my story. Wish me luck, everybody and pray that miracles do come true!

Make Mine Marvel,

Rev

Monday, April 23, 2007

This Week on 24

Ok, back into the action. Jack's on the run, tricking the Hell out of everyone by masking his movements with high tension power lines. He might get cancer (lie), but at least he got Ricky off his back.

Hey, I wonder if Sylar is going to kill Mohindar, or if Peter is going to be able to stop him. It's totally the showdown of this or any century!!!

Sorry, Got a little distracted, the Chinese continue to be the evil red devils they've always...

I mean, does Peter get to absorb all the Powers that Sylar has absorbed? Including the super hearing? Because that would be a total weak spot that Sylar could use to escape. And what's going on with funny Japanese man?

SORRY. Ok, ummm... White House, talk talk talk, Bill Buchanan fired. That's not right...

I mean I really hope they don't spend too much time on stupid bipolar woman and family. She should've had her brain sucked out long ago. Actually, I think Ali Larter did, in order to use the material to augment her not even-that great breasts.

Dammit.. focus. Ok, Chinese Bad, Bill Good. We've got that far... Ummm... Ricky Schroder sucks goat ass... err

God damn, I can't wait till ten to watch my recorded Heroes.

Bring back Curtis and Eden McCain, the hot waifish chick that told people to do things,

Rev

Sunday, April 22, 2007

Celebrity Sighting!


Nessie.



Bigfoot.

And now...


Aunt May.

Yes, yes. Supposedly somewhere in that photo, evidently taken at the bottom of a lake, is the likeness of Rosemary Harris. Storytime.

I was eating in a restaurant near Lincoln Center yesterday, and the service was pretty bad, and my fish fry was less than impressive. Suddenly, the waiter approaches the table and asks my party "Have you guys seen the Spider-Man movies?"

I fought my initial reaction to slap him, and we politely replied in the affirmative.

"Well, sitting over there is the woman who plays the Aunt." he said with a sort of please-give-me-a-good-tip-for-your-sub-par-fish-fry look and hurried off.

I was confused. There was no woman sitting at that table. There was an empty chair, so perhaps she had gotten up to use the restroom. But was it really Rosemary Harris? Was the waiter making fun of some poor old woman? You know, like the way my brother and I referred to an old man we saw hiking one day as Buzz Aldrin, for the sole reason that he was wearing a NASA cap. To be completely honest at this point, had the waiter really just been having a good laugh at the expense of the elderly, then I'd probably tip him better.

I decided to wait and see if he was telling the truth, because the service was slow and we hadn't paid anyway, so it's not like I could just leave even if I wanted to. Then I saw her. She came back to the table and put on her coat. It was her! Aunt May! May Reilly Parker! My heart skipped a few beats. I fumbled around trying to get my digital camera out. Realizing that I was shaking too hard to point it properly, I handed it to the girl sitting next to me, and told her to take the picture.

And I learned a lesson. In the celebrity-photographing sphere A) turn your flash on, no matter how rude and conspicuous it will be, B) bad fish fry and hyperventilation don't mix and 3) if you want a picture taken right, do it yourself.

Anyway, I resisted the urge to tackle her as she headed for the door. Even now, I'm not sure why. Sure, there may have been law enforcement officials called to help the waitstaff pull my screaming/crying form from a terrified old actress, but it certainly would have spiced up this story.

And the police blotter.

That's all for now.

Rev

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

Why, free you say? Don't mind if I do.

So basically I thought that today would start out as a regular boring old Tuesday. Actually, worse than that, as I hadn't slept very well last night. A sense of general unease and several miniature snickers bars kept me awake, and my housemate decided to get ready for work at 4 am. Oftentimes I am a heavy sleeper (it helps with the zombie dreams) but for some reason I was tossing and turning all about last night. Anyway, that's neither here nor there.

Today was a celebration of Freedom. By that I mean people giving things to me, and not expecting compensation. That's the best way to be given things, in my opinion. With the roles reversed, of course, I am all about usury and exploitation. There are exceptions, of course. I am learning to be wary of many free things. Massages in the Staten Island Ferry Terminal Men's Room are a fantastic example of something free that I politely decline.

I also had some bad run ins with free energy drinks. Monster being the brand name of the first one. Don't buy this. Don't take it for free. If you find yourself in possession of one of the cans, throw it at a homeless man. Believe me, don't pour it down the sink. The smell alone will make you die a little, and who knows what it will mutate in the drain system, and let's be honest, the Ninja Turtles have enough to worry about.

Also I took a proferred can of 180 Blue or something to that effect. Supposedly some sort of blueberry flavour. Wow. Terrible. You remember Violet from Willy Wonka?



No, the Original.




That's the one. Tasted like her ass.


Anyway, today's free stuff was good!

It all started at lunchtime. I helped my temporary boss set up a conference room for a meeting that I had helped to plan. By "helped to plan" I mean that I sent increasingly annoying and crabby emails to all of the participants on my boss' behalf, but still signing my own name. These men were large and, in my mind, glaring at me with burning, beady eyes. That's the downside.

The upside is that it was a lunch meeting, so there was a buffet set up! Screw you guys, get your paperwork in like you're supposed to and I won't whine at you. Now shut up while I eat this chicken wrap and seriously consider following it with a salmon sandwich. Is that Mozzarella? I'll assume yes and take a bite. Oh God- Tofu. Mental Barf. Sweet Jesus, why would you do that to me? Are they watching me fight this gag reflex? Give me those Peanut Butter cookies. Oh yeah... ohhh yeahhh... Ok, lunch is over, time to hover awkwardly until my boss says I can leave. Sweet. Peace out!

Now, having eaten lunch FOR FREE with minimal awkwardness, I'm going to take a stroll around the Village. Oh, what have we here? A pretentious student band playing interminable songs on trumpets and saxophones. Sure, I'll watch for a little while. Hey, that guy on the Bari Sax looks like Serpico.

Serpico looks like this:

Jesus people, watch a movie.

Anyway, this production seems a little large scale... what's the motive? Hmm... Steinhardt seems to be promoting elections. Are those... They are! Tables full of free Crap! I politely smiled at people and made off with a water bottle, a lanyard and some sort of nylon bag whose function I've yet to discover. AND IT GETS BETTER!

Today, for those of you in the know was Ben & Jerry's Free Cone Day! I give a very special thank you to my coworker for bringing this to my attention. But shame on her for not taking advantage of the offer herself. After work I made my way to Chelsea, stood in line for 10 minutes and became the proud owner of a cone full of Phish Food. No money changed hands Your Honor.

Sorry, force of habit.

The verdict... Free Stuff is Cool! Especially delicious ice cream or samples of addictive narcotics, which are in many ways the same thing. They'll both take your money and ruin your teeth.

That's all for now. Have a lovely day, everybody.

Rev

Monday, April 16, 2007

This Week on 24

Sorry to disappoint anybody out there, but this segment is on temporary hiatus. Today makes it difficult to find the humor in violence, even that as outlandish and fictional as shown on 24. The heroes don't always come out on top, and all too often a Jack Bauer is nowhere to be found.

God Bless those who fell victim today, which in a sense includes us all.

-Rev

Thursday, April 12, 2007

Billy Pilgrim lives on.

Miserable day.
Farewell, Mister Vonnegut.
He died. So it goes.

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

24 UPDATE

OK, I just watched Monday's episode on Fox's ultraconvenientinternetmyspacevideowatchshowsyoumissed doohicky.

Nice work Jack. Where have you been all season? If you hadn't lost Curtis, you two could've been murdering terrorists the entire time, instead of one sweet scene.

It hurts that Ricky Schroder had the best line:

Doyle: (surveys carnage, bloody terrorist corpses) Damn, Jack.

That's right, be impressed. You can't hold a candle to the one called Ba-Wur, ancient lord of sneaking and killing.

Damn. Audrey's alive. Oh well, maybe we'll get to see her die now! I'm such an optimist.

Bring Back Curtis,

Rev

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

This Week on 24

Basically, this week there was a lot of Jack Bauer in a race against time, and political intrigue involving power-hungry politicians with questionable motives.

Ok, fine. I didn’t watch the episode. At all. I tried to have my housemate Tivo it for me, but unfortunately he wasn’t home at the time. Come to think of it, the possibility remains that I’m smarter than myself and set the timer to record the episode... I’ll have to check on that when I get home, but I doubt it. I’m wily, but rarely am I able to sneak one by myself like that.

Anyway, getting to the reason I wasn’t around in the first place. I went to a taping of the Colbert Report. And it changed my life.

For a glorious 30-45 minutes I was not 50 feet away from the Greatest Living American, Dr. Stephen T. Colbert, D.F.A.


It was everything I dreamed it could be. And more.

I was fortunate enough to have a seat in the front row, and when the man himself came out to riotous applause, he ran along the audience, high-fiving as he went. He struck my hand in an unmistakable gesture of solidarity! Yes, we are all here together in this studio to make this show happen. The elegant performer/audience symbiosis was in full effect. Energy was given and taken and swirled about and launched through the air with orgiastic abandon and electric wordplay.

Then it happened.

For those of you not in the know, before taping, Mr. Colbert will take questions from the audience, both to get the crowd going and to warm up his Olympian Ad-libbing skills. And he called on me! Me, Rev, the devilishly handsome boy from Utica was suddenly conversing with the heir to Captain America’s shield himself.

I asked some question that I thought was clever, but am even now rewording and editing and revising in a futile exercise of what-could-have-been. We exchanged a few sentences. The rest of the audience may have heard something different, but thanks to REVisionist history, it went like this:

Mr. Colbert: I sense a kindred spirit in you. Join me, and become invincible.

Rev: I pledge my life and soul. Your God is now my God, and your enemies shall tremble before my wrath.

Mr. Colbert: Your response pleases me. Return home, and I shall send you coded messages through your television.

And scene.

Then the absolute unthinkable happened. He shook my hand. I can see it still, in slow motion. The microphone shifted to the left hand, the right arm lowering, lowering, extending, perfect fingers uncurling in a gesture of warmth and acceptance. What was happening? How am I to respond? Good God, what is my hand doing? It’s moving of its own accord! Where my thoughts have been stricken numb with the unimaginable weight of this reality, my body automatically responds with the instincts and muscle memory of someone raised in a household of courtesy and manners. I must remember to thank my parents. Oh crap, the hands are still going… And contact. It was a half second, three hundred year grasp, with one pump, and release. Lightning.

The craziest thing is I never even intended to make that paragraph so blatantly sexual. I honestly just noticed when I typed the word 'pump.' I’ve made myself slightly uncomfortable, but I take nothing back.

The rest was a blur, Mr. Colbert talked to two guests while I sat back and silently cursed the studio’s No Smoking policy. The first guest was some enviro-weirdo close talker and the other was an ultra-liberal crazy lady who couldn’t ad-lib her way out of a paper bag. She didn’t even pick up on any of the fantastic openings Mr. Colbert generously shoveled towards her.

Then it was over. The audience picked up their temporarily forgotten belongings and shuffled out into the brisk night air. We didn't say it, but we knew we were all sharing the unmistakable pangs of something glorious lost, but also the fulfillment of having witnessed history.

God Bless you, Mr. Colbert. We shall meet again someday.

God Bless the United States of America!

Rev

Sunday, April 8, 2007

Easter Parade


Nope, not that one.

Well, actually something like that.

Today was Easter which, for all of you not of the Christian faith, commemorates the day Jesus jumped out from behind a bush and said "Hey Mary, look who's not dead! Oh man, all that cross stuff would have sucked if I weren't the SON OF GOD... Holy crap, I'm awesome! But seriously, your sins are forgiven."

Or something to that effect. Certain details have been lost to translation and time, but basically it was the first and greatest episode of Extreme Makeover.

Anyway, getting back to what I did today. I decided to go to church. This Church, actually:

nice.

The sermon was actually pretty fantastic and peppered with bad jokes, which are a personal favorite of mine. Also, they had the entire congregation sing the Hallelujah Chorus along with the choir. However, I later learned that it was the first year the Church tried such a thing. So basically it turned out to be the choir, me and the very pleasant soprano sitting next to me going nuts on Handel's work. Yeah, people stared a little bit. Lousy WASPS, turn around and learn your own part.

At any rate, I decided to check out this whole "Easter Parade" thing that I'd heard about. Ladies walking about on 5th Avenue, showing off their Easter bonnets, right? Wrong. Maybe once, but now it has (d)evolved into a flat out silly hat party.

For the record, I love silly hat parties. The first party of mine that was broken up by the cops was a silly hat party. I'm pretty sure the main reason my housemates and I were let off with just a warning was my jaunty oversized tricorn with a festive blue bow and an artificial bird.


really, no photo? I thought I had one... oh too bad, it was sweet.


Anyway, this event has most definitely been added to my holiday activity list. Some people's headgear were just ok, with a few random flowers stuck here and there. But some people went the extra mile.


like these people.

Though it all honesty, I think you should be able to support your hat's weight all by yourself. Disqualified. Also:



It's a family activity.

I would have given extra points if one of the children had been built into one of the hats. Maybe next year.

However, my personal favorites were these, for their NYC themed hats:



I apologize for the blurriness, but yes, that's Coney Island's Cyclone on that woman's head. Bravo. Truly, you put the "dash" in "haberdashery."

And these guys. Not the first time I've seen the idea, but impressive nonetheless:


Yup, all MetroCards.

Anyway, I'm extending the invitation for next year. All you wonderful people out there, next Easter let's get completely effin hat-wacky.

Rev out.

Friday, April 6, 2007

Together, we can do anything.

Ok, so it’s brainstorming time. That’s brainstorming, and not barnstorming, even though I would very much like to try being a stunt pilot at some time. Especially in a nice WWI era plane and hat, like Manfred Von Richthofen.


Bad. Ass.

And I’m already off topic.

Anyway, what we as a blogging community need to get together and figure out is how to land me the role I am destined to play. Of course I am speaking of Mr. Peter Benjamin Parker. I am officially announcing my candidacy for the role in case Tobey Maguire decides not to continue.

height added for psychological effect.


Let’s face it folks, I’ve got the looks, I’ve got the talent, I’ve got the penchant for redheads. It’s a match. All we need to do is alert Sam Raimi to this fact, and get me an audition.

It has to be as easy as it sounds, right?

But let’s review what I have in common with Mr. Parker. We’re both bred of Irish stock: his mother’s maiden name was Fitzpatrick, his aunt’s is Reilly. My grandmother was a Kinney. We both were (are) huge nerds. We excel in the classroom, and were not exactly Big Men on Campus in high school.

We both moved to the City to fight crime. Sure, he stuck with it, but give me a break, he’s a spider-powered vigilante. I was a trainee in a department best described as law enforcement’s answer to the Island of Misfit Toys. But I digress.

The main thing that I would bring to the role is humor. Tobey’s got a lot going for him, and he can play up the conflicted angst and anxiety pretty well, but let’s be honest. He couldn’t deliver a punchline if he was stuck in an elevator with a pregnant setup. Spidey needs to be quicker, funnier and more of a chatterbox through the action sequences. It’s one of his secret weapons, keeping the enemy off-balance and infuriated.

I can be extremely infuriating. Trust me.

So hopefully, blogalaxy, you’ll support me in this mission. Let me know if you have any ideas/connections that could help me out as I take on my greatest endeavor to date.

Make Mine Marvel,

Rev

Tuesday, April 3, 2007

My Weekend Adventures

So yeah, this weekend I made a trip upstate to reconnect with some old friends. It was a pseudo-spontaneous trip. I say pseudo-spontaneous because I had obsessed over the decision for several days in my twisted head until finally simultaneously winning and losing the argument. I booked the tickets, and was on my way.

Oh how I wish it were that simple. The on my way part, not the deciding part.

Friday I had to work, so I planned to take a late JetBlue flight to the land of cows and horses to which I owe my fantastical State Bachelor's Degree. Come 5:30 pm I was out the door and heading to JFK. Then it all came crashing down.

By that I mean somewhere in the five hours between work and takeoff, I managed to reach a new height of despising humanity. I used to enjoy airports, but my eyes were opened to the pulsing, writhing mass of self-centered garbage that they really are. I still like flying, however. The snacks are delightful and the little TVs pretty fantastic. If only there were a way to do it without having other people around. In one terminal, I determined that I would feel ok punching absolutely any of the people around me in the face, including the people asleep in their strollers. I suppose I was overtired, because the feeling passed as soon as I started actually moving. Anyway, I finally arrived in Rochacha airport, and was picked up by these people:


so hot.

Anyway, they (sadly) weren't dressed like that at the time. But they did drive me safely to our destination, stopping at what was temporarily the largest Wal*Mart in America to buy beer. And then the real fun started. Hooray for being reunited with old friends! New friends, no offense.

I know what some of you are thinking. "Ew, was Rev really one of those lame people who go back to their college after having graduated to go to parties and pretend like he's all cool still?"

Yes.

And it was all I dreamed it could be.

And shut your filthy whore mouth.

Remember my Hexxus theory? You know, about Staten Island? If not, scroll down to my Saint Patrick's Day post. Anyway, I sometimes feel that every day I spend on Staten Island, my soul battles this monster that kills a small piece of it. I guess it's more of a Spider-Man vs. Symbiotic costume struggle. If you don't know what I'm talking about, just wait until Spider-Man 3 blows your mind out the back of your skull.

Basically my point is that by returning to Geneseo and seeing all the fantastic people from my salad days, I recharged my batteries. I'm on top of the world and picking up abandoned writing projects like gangbusters.

There was a keg party, and cheap beer in plastic cups and berating ignorant freshmen! Unfortunately I was a little too busy with the drinking and debauchery and knife-wielding Puerto Ricans to take a lot of good pictures, but I managed to snap this one:



In order to explain just what we are doing here... allow me to use the miracle of modern technology to travel over six years into the past, to a trio of fresh-faced freshmen about to embark on their first performance in the Musical Theater Club:


were we ever so young?

So those two pictures will close out this blog. I apologize for everyone who was expecting something jucier or whatever.

But seriously, thank you to everyone who made this past weekend such a blast, you're all fantastic and A-OK in my book. If ever you need anything that I can help out with, feel free to send up the Rev signal.

"Operator"
"Could you give me the number for the Middle East?"
"what?"
"Peace in the Middle East!"

Rev

Monday, April 2, 2007

This Week on 24

Hmph. Ok, I'm going to be completely honest with you, because that's the sort of guy I am. I didn't watch most of tonight's episode. Sure, I started to, and watched the first 25 or so minutes, but then I got a phone call and started talking about this weekend, which is a way more interesting topic.

Let me see if I can sum up... the White House storyline continues to break world records for ass sucking. There was a vote to determine whether or not the President is fit to perform his duties after his surgeon had just used the words "Induced Coma Brain Injury." Somehow I think that would invalidate just about any candidate... of course, [Insert timely political joke here].

Oh wait.. something cool happened? Rade Serbedgia, reprising his "Boris the Bullet Dodger" character from Snatch, cuts off his arm to escape, or get away with something... I told you before, I wasn't watching that closely. But man, that was a nice fake arm prop they used. I can think of a million ways to use that, like [Insert severed arm practical use here].

Also of interest was the standoff/shooting in the sports bar which culminated in a group of Americans savagely beating an Arab man. Pure Racism. If that were a white guy who just shot that dude in the chest, everybody would've been fine with it. Another thing that's racist is [Insert borderline to completely tasteless joke here].

Well, I'm tired, and I hope to waste more of your time tomorrow, as I recount my misadventures this past weekend. The regularity of this segment is a blessing and a curse.

However, if you'd like to fill in the blanks for my lazy ass, feel free. I may award a prize to the best ones. However, it's more likely that I won't.

Bring Back Curtis,

Rev