When your last name could pass for an extra on The Sopranos, this day really tears you up.
Surely, I’ll be the first to admit- green bagels can’t be beat, my Flogging Molly vinyl is spinning like Rob Ford after a weekend blowout, and I’ve already tripled my daily salt intake with corned beef, but let’s call a spade a spade- with a last name that rhymes with spaghetti, “Irish” I could say I’m authentic, but I’m just an ‘o-poster today.
So, instead of hearing jolly tidings of St. Patrick’s joy from me, I’m gonna pass the baton to a man who really knows his way around a pint of Guinness. Let’s get goofy green with Mr. Ireland himself… Shaquille O’ Neal.
If you wear a Shaq “Big Shamrock” t-shirt in a bar on March 17, they actually charge you MORE for your beer.
To be sure Nick Nolte doesn’t fall off the wagon into a frosty barrel of green beer, O’ Neal will be spending the weekend with him. Hours will be spent smacking Nolte with Shaq’s elephant-paw when he gets out of line.
In 1996, Shaq took his movie career even further, playing a magic Irish genie in a bottle. He’ll grant ye three wishes, but unfortunately, “wishing I hadn’t sat down to watch Kazaam” isn’t one of them.
Before his time playing American basketball, Mr. O’ Neal spent many a year creating beloved tunes of Beautiful Days and Bloody Sundays with his Irish rock brethren, U2.
Here’s Shaq’s time spent with his leprechaun girlfriend.
Fun Fact: If you were to fill Shaq’s massive size-23 shoe with Lucky Charms, it’d require a whole cow and a half to provide the milk.
Say it with me… Shamrock Shaq.
Q: What happens when Shaq scores a lot of baskets?
A: The score will be DUBLIN!!!
You hear that new Cranberries album? PFFFFTTTTT
With no basketball to dribble around, no dunks to dunk and no free throws to miss, it’s time to hit the silver screen again. Pop your corn and get in line now, Leprechaun 7- coming soon.
So Danny Boy Shaquille- a most happy and merry St. Patty’s to you my Celtic friend. And to all the readers out there in internet land- Irish and non-Irish alike, may your bagpipes be filled with hot air, may all your Murphys be dropkicked, and may your meats be boiled to a fine bland gray.
Talk about getting the most bang for your buck. They really do pack a lot into a little month, don’t they?
In a mere twenty eight days, we’re graced with a bountiful bevy of winter celebration– Valentine’s Day, Groundhog Day, President’s Day, Mardi Gras, Black History Month, Spring Training, and the most important of ‘em all (after Spring Training of course), there’s the great American holiday of Super Bowl Sunday, the biggest party since New Year’s Eve, only one month ago.
While granted, February’s short run is not as eventful as the unseen four weeks during 28 Days Later, but it makes me happy to celebrate my birthday during what would normally end up being a freezing, snowy, boring month with a girly-colored wuss birthstone.
Are you kidding me?
Living in the greater New York area, especially within earshot of Giants Stadium (or MetLife Snoopy Stadium, or whatever it’s called now), the excitement, traffic, and overall buzz has been ramped up to a Spinal Tap-worthy 11 as the Denver Broncos go mono-a-mono with the Seattle Seahawks for all the gusto and glamor of gridiron glory. It’s truly rocky vs. rainy in the Legal Marijuana Bowl.
Blumes note: This offer still stands! Now half price!
But frankly, it’s Friday, January 31st, this is all old hat by now.
At this point, you’ve been endlessly bombarded with Super Bowl ads, magazine covers, news reports, cocky fans, and nonstop party planning for weeks now. When Monday morning comes, and you’re more chili than man, you’ll undoubtedly know the Super Bowl had come and left its mark.
But that’s not who this article is for.
Maybe you’re not a fan of hawks or horses, perhaps Richard Sherman’s post-game interview rubbed you the wrong way, or heck, or maybe you’re one of those people seriously considering a 7th Heaven marathon instead of football this weekend.
Ladies and Gentlemen: Your special teams for the Oakland Raiders!
Of course that doesn’t mean you won’t find yourself enjoying the festivities of Super Bowl Sunday. Dr. Oz-unfriendly food, offensively expensive commercials (that always feature a baby doing something un-babyish), the sickeningly adorable Puppy Bowl, and trying to get your greased-up fingers to press the remote buttons to change the channel as Bruno Mars performs at halftime- this Sunday is a bombastic event that will please folks of all tastes. …as evident by this walk down memory lane of some truly classic and heavily unorthodox Super Bowl games of yore.
1. SUPER BOWL XXXII: BATMAN VS. STORMTROOPERS
As John Madden once called it in a most clever anagram, “Capes vs. Space”, this battle royale pitted The Dark Knight vs. the Imperial Army for 60 minutes of a nerdtastic pigskin extravaganza. After a first quarter that was heavy on the Big D, Commissioner Gordon’s 45 yard rush into the endzone to close out the first half put Team Gotham up on top.
No guts, no glory, as the ‘Troopers marched their way back in the 4th quarter.
The second half was a superhero explosion of history-making offense as holy touchdowns Batman!— the Caped Crusader aired it out to the Boy Wonder (who took a time out from cheerleading) in the Gotham endzone.
But, when the going gets tough, the tough get going, as the Stormtroopers, with their armored backs against the wall, bounced back to tie the game as the 2-minute warning approached. Coach Vader flipped a crap when an ill-timed interception by Alfred the Butler spelled death for the Star Wars crew with the Bats taking home the trophy to Gotham City with a score of 28-21.
Go Team! Arwwwwwaaaaaaaarrrrrrahahahahahhaahhhhaa!!!!
2. SUPER BOWL XI: KISS BOWL (AKA THE TOILET BOWL)
“I wanna hike the ball all night!”
And you thought the Jaguars were bad…
Nothing screams out “gridiron glory” like mime makeup and gaudy platform shoes on men, but that’s why the KISS bowl was so unique.
Walking embarrassment Gene Simmons bit his long cow tongue as he slipped on his own fake blood on no less than three occasions, turning the usually triumphant game into a fumble-filled lowlight reel. Pain in the ace, Mr. Frehley, shanked four field goal attempts, and starchild, Paul Stanley? Well, he might as well have been the MVP… for the other team.
Chest hair and touchdowns! Not just for Joe Namath anymore!
As far as scoring went, it was Detroit Block City. The spandexed makeuped-ones never did touch the endzone, as KISS went down in defeat to good taste 49-0.
The best worst part was that they weren’t even asked to play the halftime show. That honor went to The Doobie Brothers.
The great part about being KISS, is you can sell any crap you want at the souvenir stands…
The epilogue to this heavy metal tale of the 100 yards: KISS never did get back to the Super Bowl, but on the plus side, KISS never did get back to the Super Bowl.
That jersey has the actual number of KISS fans left on Earth.
3. SUPER BOWL XLV: ZOMBIE BOWL
Let’s have a hand for the hometeam!
It may have been only three years ago, but who could forget when the undead took down scalpers stadium-wide and invaded the turf during the timeless showdown of the Green Bay Packers and Pittsburgh Steelers?
Turning Aaron Rodgers into an Aaron Rodgers kabob? Transforming Clay Matthews into an undead Thor? Sending “Big Ben” Roethlisberger to the sideline to finally get some brains?
It all happened. I guess.
Indigestion from overindulging in extra hot Buffalo wings rendered Daryl and Michonne practically useless that Sunday.
While the gameplay may have been painfully lumbering and a bit lethargic at times, it was no worse than any given Cleveland Browns game on a random Sunday.
The “Running Dead” tried to bite Tim Tebow on the sidelines, but he was immune to it.
But if Broadway has taught us anything, (and I guess it has…) — the show must go on, flesh eaters or not.
Time will tell us that the zombies vs. zombies Super Bowl was a tad gory, maybe too confusing at times, and it may have taken five days to finish, but in the end, it was much less traumatizing than the Black Eyed Peas halftime show.
4th Down of the Dead!
One would be safe to assume the zombie apocalypse and certain doomsday would put a damper on the game’s festivities, with all the undead cannibalism and spilled guts, but the TV ratings reached an all-time high. The NFC z-team ended up hoisting the Vince Lombardi Trophy, rotting limbs and all, bringing it back to frigid Green Bay where decaying slows down like Kirstie Alley’s metabolism.
THE ZOMBIES HAVE BECOME HIDEOUS!
The trophy had to be immediately sent out to be cleaned and shined due to the high volume of blood on it …on a weekly basis.
(On a positive note, in the zombie onslaught, Steelers safety Troy Polamalu was attacked, but escaped by a “hair”.)
Parking was tighter than George Costanza’s wallet…
…but the tailgating was awesome!
4. SUPER BOWL XLII: THE RETURN OF BUD BOWL
Eli vs. Tom- buds for life!
For those too young to remember, the Bud Bowl was an early 90’s stop-motion beer bottle football tour de force that found its home during commercial breaks, squeezed in between multi-million dollar ads for Crystal Pepsi and The Bodyguard soundtrack. It was a kick-glass all-out brawl between Budweiser and Bud Light. Even as a long retired campaign, for me, that fateful Sunday in 2008 always be the year that the suds saved football.
Hut, hut… HOPS!!!
Phoenix, AZ– When a thunderous monsoon that would’ve knocked over human brick wall, Howie Long, hit, it kept planes grounded and prevented both the Pats and G-Men from making their way into warm, sunny Arizona, the NFL pooped their britches, panicked and pooped them some more.
“But I wanna go on the PLAAAANNEE!!”
Sadly, cancelling the big game seemed like the only choice left, seeing as how there was no way to get the unfortunate stranded teams into the balmy city in time. Luckily, the answer was only a bar away…
Long dead since 1997, a time when candy-lovin’ alternarock trio Marcy Playground was brimming with untapped potential, the beer bottles were called off the bench as Bud Bowl sat in as the substitute teacher for the real teams. It was truly like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, but for drunks.
“My nose is red cause I’m half in the bag!”
The bottles tossed on the teams’ uniforms, and no one in the massive Arizona crowd was the wiser. Nearly sixty minutes of play time and we all know what happened next- Ale-I Manning to Beer David Tyree (what a good pick in the draft), the miraculous helmet catch, and a near-perfect season for New England ended in an 18-1 conclusion, as the bottled Big Blue were swimming in confetti in the Big Apple soon after.
No feelings were bottled-up in this game…
Understandably, in Massachusetts, spirits were wicked low, and where did they go? To a bar of course. NORM!
“Sammy, I’ve told you for years that beer saves all.”
5. SUPER BOWL XLIV: GAME MVP- ABE LINCOLN
Four Scores! … and seven years ago.
For a few brief hours, the “L” in NFL stood for Lincoln.
We all know Abraham Lincoln was a president, emancipator, and a vampire hunter, but do you remember Abe’s big-time appearance in the Super Bowl?
The bearded one was called in to play when Peyton Manning had to leave the game early to film an impromptu Kraft Macaroni and Cheese commercial. He ran out, flying past the cheerleaders, zooming by the mascots, with the glisten of anger in his eyes, sweat on his brow, and a chin beard so mighty, the heavens above stopped to gaze in majestic awe.
The stovetop hat was thrown down, the shoulder pads were thrust on, and that pigskin flew like you wouldn’t believe. It was going perfect, until… clumsy ox Drew Brees went down with a pulled hamstring on the slippery turf. And being the helpful chap he is, ‘ol Honest Abe took the reigns and stood in for him as well, changing uniforms as the Colts defensive squad ran out.
He abolished the slaves, and demolished the Colts…
As the clock struck zero, the Big Easy soon was celebrating with the sounds of jazz and firey-cajun food up the wazoo as Abe Lincoln received an early birthday gift- a declaration as Super Bowl MVP.
It was rumored plentiful posterior-ed socialite Kim Kardashian emancipated her relationship with then-Saints running back, Reggie Bush, that night to lock lips with the sixteenth prez.
And how did A-Linc become so good at football?
Just how you get to Carnegie Hall… Practice.
Note: Sadly, Lincoln’s pro-career was cut short the following pre-season when Ravens linebacker John Wilkes Booth broke Lincoln’s legs.
Enjoy your Super Bowl weekend! As usual, please Fed-Ex any uneaten chicken wings to me.
With less than seven days until the biggest of big games approaches, are you still scraping for last-minute plans like Urkel on prom night? Or maybe you’re a diehard who bleeds Bronco blue and orange? Or you drink so much Starbucks, your jittery veins just scream out to support Seattle? Perhaps the marquee clash of Peyton Manning vs. Russell Wilson means 100% diddly squat to you, and you’re just are looking to punish your belt by eating your weight in Buffalo wings? OR… just maybe you’re looking to spend Super Bowl week 2014 at the epicenter of the pigskinned party action?
Well, no matter what your interest, wonder no longer friends. Pack your wooliest mittens and your 90’s Starter jackets, you’re coming to Jersey!
Unless you’re living under a rock (which granted, may be a very nice rock), for the first time in the nearly fifty years of the big game, we are about to experience Super Bowl XLVIII, the first such game played in a cold weather location, in an open stadium.
That stadium is called MetLife Stadium.
That stadium, MetLife Stadium, is located in East Rutherford, NJ.
That stadium, MetLife Stadium, located in East Rutherford, NJ, just so happens to be less than ten minutes from my house.
Don’t let the gigantic Pepsi tent fool you, that’s the greatest 1.5 billion dollar spaceship-y looking stadium money can buy!
A. The entire surrounding area has been plastered with these banners for the past month. Literally, everywhere. I think there’s one on my back.
B. Traffic is more trafficy, even by this area’s high traffic standards. Also, traffic.
C. Everyone and their grandmother is making a sweet, sweet buck off this game. From parties, endless merchandise, themed events, and even renting out spare rooms to out-of-state visitors.
So, of course, when in Rome…
Attention football lovers, haters, and the indifferent! I happily present to you, an offer, make that the offer of a lifetime! (Well, technically, I guess that’s kinda true) It’s time for…
BLUMES’S SUPER BOWL WEEK EXTRA-EXTRAVAGANZA!
Yes, you’ve Q-Tipped your ears thoroughly and heard that last statement correctly. Leave your most-likely warmer climate, trek on over to the East Coast, kick back and stay for a spell in the Garden State, and you can spend this upcoming week with me in high style!
Included in this relatively glorious package is:
A one-of-a-kind tour of the local area, including, but not limited to: the icy parking lot of MetLife Stadium, the numerous ceiling-high supermarket towers of Pepsi cases, and insider hotspots, guided by yours truly. Included will be such insightful and highly riveting commentary as:
– “Hey, that’s the cemetery where Joey Ramone is buried!”
– “Oh look, that’s the supermarket parking lot where my car battery died last month!”
– “See that place? Their pizza is sooooooo good! Well, only if you go on Wednesday nights.”
– “Can you wait in the car for a second? I gotta go to the ATM.”
– “That Chinese place used to be a Sam Goody! That’s where I bought Significant Other by Limp Bizkit!”
Hey! Leave me out of this!
Use of my brand new super-soft The Walking Dead throw blanket:
Practice your best “CARL!!!!” impression while snuggled under this bad boy.
The remainder of however many of these Reese’s Pieces are left that I bought the other night: (Note: it will probably be none)
They’re not just for E.T. anymore!
I will cook you any meal of your choosing from this book:
Advice: I’m in the mood for burgers, pick them!
Did someone say LOST marathon?!?
“We have to go back!”
Don’t ask me how, but I managed to get my hands on the best songs of R.E.M.! And I don’t even know anyone! Talk about a score! Prepare to be Michael Stipe-d out…
Together, we will find out what the frequency is.
Massive! Snowball! Fight!
If you aim correctly, you can hit Snooki in the head!
So, let’s get down to business…
How much would you pay for this truly unique, and only mildly crappy experience in the chilly Tri-State tundra for this history-making Super Bowl? $2,000??$3,000??Did you say$4,000?!?
Well, if you’re willing to pay that much, how’s $5,000 sound? I could really use the cash.
I gladly accept cash, check, money orders, or bags of loose change if need be. Don’t let this opportunity pass you by. Together, we can put the super in Super Bowl! Or the owl… either way.
See you then!
“What a deal! …a bad deal!”
(…and act fast! I just ate four more of those Reese’s Pieces.)
The guys in Aerosmith who aren’t Steven Tyler or Joe Perry…
Sometimes you’re just that guy.
There’s a street, and while the name screams out a magical land of bagel toppings, it’s actually a place where jovial fur-covered monsters teach us our ABC’s, our 123’s, and the importance of sharing a bathtub with just that special rubber ducky.
♪ Can you tell me how to get… how to get to Sesame Street? ♪
Practice, practice, practice, and stick your hand up a puppet’s keister.
Too bad there’s only so many colors in the rainbow, because if you reside at 123 in the brownstone-laden land of Sesame Street, and you’re the blue monster who’s not Cookie Monster, then you’re that guy. And your name is Grover.
“What does ‘nom-nom’ even mean?!?”
I Got the Sesame Street Blues
While loveable and time-tested, being the second most popular blue Muppet means naturally, you’re gonna lash out to be noticed. So, when everyone and their grandmother is waxing poetic over that gravel-voiced, pre-diabetic Oreo-muncher, you spill some soup, toss out contractions completely from your vocabulary, pop on a cape, and hurl yourself out the window, cause you’re the redheaded blueheaded stepchild, and you’re getting some attention, come cookies or high water.
Enter, SUPER GROVER
He’s loveable, he means well, and he crashes more often than the Obamacare website. Heck, he even took time out of his busy schedule to protect our Thanksgiving from evil tryptophan and blowout Detroit Lions games.
Soaring like an eagle, Super Grover protects the skies of Gotham… on Turkey Day.
And if by this point something just looks slightly familiar about Super Grover, replenish those lost electrolytes and take a gander at this, gander-takers…
There’s a storm a-brewin’ and the forecast calls for a 100% chance of lightning bolts. They’re flashing all over Sesame Street and they’re leaving huge smoking craters all over the football field. This is a chicken-and-egg situation so gigantic, it’s like Big Bird squated his feathery-yellow self down and popped out a massive omelette right in front of us.
“Snuffy, breakfast is on me today!”
Be Like Mike
Simple answer to this origin… history lesson! But unfortunately, this thirst-quenching quest isn’t really that cut and dry…
Gatorade, America’s most popular sports drink, founded on the campus of The University of Florida in 1965, and currently owned by PepsiCo., has incorporated the lightning bolt into it’s advertising since 1970. Despite that, with a number of logo redesigns, it wasn’t until 2009 that the current “G-Series” logo was introduced with the bolt included.
Super Grover, the alter-ego of the Sesame Street character was introduced in the 1970’s, and used the “G” logo similar to the Gatorade font for decades, but it wasn’t until a 2010 re-branding that a lightning bolt was added to his costume.
So, while Gatorade was the first to use the lightning bolt, at the same time, Sesame Street can lay claim to the “G”. All of this nonsensical circular research is really enough to make you feel winded and sweaty.
“After all of this flying, I am going to need many sips of Riptide Rush to feel quenched!”
Lemon Lime or Lemon LIES?!?
So, if no one can officially produce concrete proof of placing their flag into the soil, it sunk in… maybe this is some kind of clever tie-in? Maybe coincidences are for squares… Cahoots! Cahoots I say!
After contacting both parties involved, here’s what I received back:
OFFICIAL STANCE FROM GATORADE/PEPSI CO.:
Thanks for writing to us. While I can’t comment on other consumer feedback, I can tell you that there is no official tie in between Gatorade and Super Grover.
I hope this helps.
Jenny Gatorade Consumer Relations A Division of PepsiCo
(sent on January 5, 2014)
OFFICIAL STANCE FROM SESAME STREET/THE JIM HENSON COMPANY:
No reply. (as of January 10, 2014)
“All of this reading and things are still fishy!”
So, all that work, and where does that bring us?
Gatorade can weave a clever yarn, but it’s impossible to overlook these little coincidences…
As recently as 2011, Sesame Place ran an on-can promotion with Pepsi, Gatorade’s parent company…
Well, I guess there has to be some kind of reward for suffering through a can of Diet Pepsi…
Sesame Street characters, Elmo and Abby Cadabby appeared in a segment with Los Angeles Laker, Kobe Bryant, who has appeared in Gatorade commercials as recently as last year…
“Elmo help fix Kobe’s broken knee!”
Last year, Diet Pepsi used actress Sofia Vergara in a campaign. Sofia Vergara is essentially evolving into a giant, jiggly, impossible-to-understand, cartoonish Colombian Muppet as each day passes.
“I love PEEEEEPSI, and being on SEEEEEESSSSAME STEEEEEET.”
With Sesame’s tight-lipped stance, perhaps we’ll never know if this sports beverage and this puppet superhero are in bed together. Despite what Gatorade’s official statement is, like it or lump it, kids plopped in front of the tellie will know that lightning bolt, and when they cramp up on the soccer field this spring, we all know what beverage they’ll be handed first. To quote Ned Flanders, while this remains foggy, I’ll remain a bit of a “Suspocious Aloysius”.
In a year’s time, when we’re treated to “Grover Grape” flavor Gatorade, we’ll all know where that marriage began.
Looks like Oscar’s flavor is still not confirmed yet.
It’s become an annual tradition that during November and early December, I spend the bulk of my free time hand-painting Christmas ornaments to sell at my nephew’s school Christmas sale. Art has always been my first passion, so it’s been a lot of fun, and at this point, I’m nearly 100 in, have painted more Elf on the Shelfs, Elmos, and Disney Princesses than a grown man should admit to, (and surely now am one step closer to Carpal Tunnel Syndrome), which has taken away a bit of my time on here for a few weeks.
During this (delicious) time of thanks, I want to extend a big thank you to everyone on here for your continued support on my blog over the past three months. Being able to create, share, and most importantly, make so many new and amazing friends is something I am very appreciate of, very thankful for, and cannot wait to continue.
A very Happy Thanksgiving to you and your families! Send me your leftovers!
-Andrew “Blumes” Blumetti
…but to quote Buzz McCallister from Home Alone 2, “enough of this gooey shhhhhh…ow of emotion”, here’s the stupidest thing you’ll see all day… robble… and gobble!
So, it’s November (or as I call it, “Not October”) and alas, Halloween is sadly over.
Back when he donned the eclipse-causing high hair and rat’s-nest-mullet like a first-rate 80’s champ, Jon Bon Jovi may have semi-eloquently declared, “Never say goodbye.”, but Jon, you schmaltzy-optomistic nut, the calendar says we have to.
Oh, don’t worry Bon Jovi, I’m just TEASING you…
Don’t get me wrong, Christmastime has this indescribable feel of childlike wonderment, whimsy, and snow-filled magic, and I cannot wait for the smell of freshly cut evergreens, peppermint and Nat King Cole’s gravely pipes belting out beloved yuletide carols while I spend 45-minutes searching for a parking spot outside Best Buy just to have to deal with the brainless derelicts inside. Nonetheless, Halloween still holds a special place in my heart which is difficult to recreate no matter how many times I watch Rudolph gleefully reach for the heavens after dreamy doe, Clarice, says that she thinks he’s cute.
I love working on my lawn display, frequenting crowded haunted houses with fellow-ghoul lovin’ friends, and browsing Halloween stores complete with massive lines of shoppers snaking out the door. And even though the 160+ candy-hungry trick-or-treaters didn’t leave me with an ounce of sugary junk to snack on, it was still a blast and a half.
…but much like that rascally ragamuffin Gary Coleman taught us— different folks, different strokes…
“What’chu talkin’ ’bout Blumes?”
My neighborhood, a small and quiet tree-filled suburb in Northern New Jersey is a safe and delightfully boring little town that has not just one, but two CVS’s and now two 7-11’s. I’ve had the same neighbors since I can remember, the parking is ample, the lawns are lush and green in the summertime, and everywhere you look, a playful bunny is hopping around freshly-planted vegetable gardens like a delightful children’s book with a well-worn spine.
With a few exceptions, we’ve had very little changeover in the neighbor roll-call over the years– most of the families are longtime residents who’ve now had their children grow up here and start adorable families of their own.
And I suppose with that kind of boring consistency, you don’t really get around to greeting the new folks as fast as you should when they actually do move in.
Mr. Rogers would be so disappointed in me. That’s not very neighborly after all. You should really take a few minutes to welcome your neighbor, because who knows? They could be Kate Upton, they could be your new best friend, or maybe, just maybe, you may want to keep an eye on them cause they could be just a bit odd.
But hey, who amongst us isn’t a little bit?
“Sorry Blumes, maybe next time.”
Well, that fickle little needle on the odd scale went from “a bit” to “Holy crow, it’s Christopher Walken after a dozen Mountain Dews” this past Thursday, October 31st.
It was an unseasonably mild and relatively overcast Halloween afternoon. The breeze was nearly non-existent, and the weak late-October sun had given the ‘ol college try attempting to dry up the shallow puddles of collected rain that had fallen earlier in the morning. After the schools were dismissed, my nephew and niece were in the area to do some trick-or-treating with my family to the local neighbors’ houses while I manned the door at home. As it usually goes with the kiddies, excited spirits and happy feet soon turned to exhausted spirits and fatigued feet, as the joy of a spooktastic day soon began to show its age. They returned home, and being the generous and giving uncle I am, I volunteered to help “sort out the candy”, which in layman’s terms, means “vulture-pick the kids’ freshly-earned candy stash”.
After laying down some immediate damage to a bag of Reese’s Pieces, I looked down, where amongst the crinkly piles of Butterfinger and gummy bear wrappers, we saw this staring back at us…
Holy moly on toast with jelly, what is this we have here?
My taste buds did a backflip cause- hey, isn’t that one of those Wendy’s coupon books for ten free Frosty ice cream treats? Oh glorious day!
But no, this find should not be so sweet.
One peek inside, and we were greeting with lecturing, the cornerstone of any fun-filled Halloween. Which is kind of an odd choice, considering we decided to give out Cheetos, M&M’s and Swedish Fish.
Now, for the record, I don’t have any problem with any kind of religion whatsoever. My family is Catholic, and whatever floats your boat is cool with me. I couldn’t care less if someone’s Christian, Jewish, Muslim, or if they pray to photos of Sofia Vergara’s bowling ball-shaped kid from Modern Family.
“BLOOOOMS, don’t you make the jokes on your BLOGGG about HEEEMM!”
All sensitivity aside, and with that being said, this beaut was too unsettling and gaul-darn hilarious to not share with the world, cause man alive, we apparently have some new neighbors who are borderline bananas, B-A-N-A-N-A-S.
This is still better than finding Mary Janes in your bag though…
You may come home, tired from a long night of trick-or-treating, dump out that heavy bag full of sugary candy on the floor and count seven Milky Ways, five Snickers bars and a couple of Dubble Bubbles, but really, how many preachy books of cats about to be sliced up on a pentagrammed-alter do you have?
Not enough, right?
Now I know why there’s no cats around the neighborhood. …and less cats means more mice… which means LESS CHEESE!!!! Now they’ve gone too far…
Twick or tweet! (apparently Satan is on Twitter now)
Just remember, Halloween’s no joke kids.
…except for this one:
-Why did the ghost go to the bar?
For the “boos”.
Common sense would tell you, being the devil, you wouldn’t need a scary costume, cause ya know, you’re the evilest thing in existence, and the culmination of all the world’s hatred, malevolence, and terror. Heck, people shell out a pretty penny just to dress like you on Halloween.
…but hey, that Party City coupon for that killer spooky pumpkin costume was just too good to resist.
Bad news:Human sacrifices will increase, so you’ll most likely be hacked to bits by guys in scratchy-looking cloaks who moonlight as roadies for Zakk Wylde.
Good news:You won’t have to sit through another season of The Neighbors.
Did you know?:Witchcraft is “exploding” among teens today? Looks like Bieber Fever is quickly being replaced with “witch itch”.
Blumes note: Don’t mind that sour drawing of John Favreau. He’s just bummed cause he blew a first-round pick on Ray Rice for his fantasy football team this year.
Oh Satan you soulpatched-silly goose, the last time I trusted you, you pranked me by unscrewing the cap on the salt shaker.
Written and illustrated by Andrew BlumettiBOOMETTI
Holy moly on toast, we’re finally here!
Before our mouths start watering for delicious turkeys and the stores become packed to the brim with mistletoe and holly, we still have enough gas in the tank for one last spooky blast on this lovely October 31st.
But… well… did you notice something is a bit different? Call me nuts, but I’ve got that sinking feeling something just doesn’t feel totally right. Kind of like when Urkel’s voice hit puberty and that squeak of his soon morphed into a sound one would best describe as an alley cat vomiting on top another alley cat vomiting on a hobo being run over by a street sweeper playing Nickelback at full volume.
Let’s do a checklist…
Bags of candy are ready for the trick-or-treaters? CHECK.
Have I now eaten all of said bags of candy, leaving the trick-or-treaters crap outta luck? DOUBLE CHECK.
Well, that survey is clearly air tight… so why does it feel like something’s simply off this October? Reminds me of when they switched Harleys on Boy Meets World for one episode, not thinking we’d even notice.
“Dear Adam Scott, please get me an autograph from Ron Swanson.“ Thank you, Original Harley
Wait a pumpkin pickin’ minute…
EUREKA! Much like Catherine O’Hara finally realizing she left Kevin McCallister at home by himself for Christmas, it’s hit me!
WHERE’S THE FREAKIN’ McRIB?!?
It’s been an oh-so tasty October tradition for years as those McDonald’s golden arches become a bit more greasy shinier when our collective mouthbuds salivate in all their fast food barbecue-y glory at the sight of this limited-time-menu item.
Never before have sauce-slathered pork, pickles and onions created such a rabid cult following, as rib-heads chase this high-caloric thing around the country as if Jerry Garcia was wailing away on it with his nine-and-a-half fingers.
Wait, I’M Jerry Garcia?!? Man, am I fried!
Usually, the phantom sandwich nestles it’s way into our beating hearts for just a few short delicious weeks, eventually rushing back into hibernation for another agonizing 11-months that we have to live with just stupid regular food.
In 2012, the Mickey-D’s powers-that-be ponderously decided to delay the McRib’s usual autumn release until December, to strengthen a usually slow-sales period, help anticipation grow, and make Santa even fatter.
So far, the porkless wait is excruciating as this fall seems to be following the same test-your-fast food-patience pattern as last year, although according to Facebook’s McRib Locator, this currently flatlined ribless-autumn may finally have a blip of a heartbeat as elusive scattered McRib sightings have started showing up in select states. Hopefully leading into what hopefully will be a full-scale release before year’s end so I won’t have to keep writing weekly angry letters to the Hamburglar.
So, it makes you wonder… with all this newly-found time off, just how has the McRib been spending his downtime this Halloween season?
Lucky for us, the aggressive paparazzi never sleeps a wink, and being the invasive monsters they are, TMZ happened to snap a few pictures of just what happens when mass-produced pork has the time of its McLife.
Strap in folks, things are gonna get saucy …
You can believe McRib’s shaking in his boots watching things go bump in the night in during a Paranormal Activity marathon…
Everyone knows no Halloween season is complete without going all horror punk and blasting some Misfits.
“Return of the Fries”
“We Are 13-Ate”
One cult following meets another as McRib crossdresses and hits up a midnight showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show…
The horror! Ribby’s spilled his Dunkin’ Donuts pumpkin coffee!!
Too many Snickers!! C’mon McRib, lay off the Halloween candy!
Finally, no proper Halloween is complete without spookin’ your McDonald’s brethren as the McRib zombie. Behold… THE WALKING BREAD!!!
Have a safe, happy, and sugary Halloween everyone! It’s been a fun month, and a blast to celebrate with all of you. Catch ya in November!
The most perfectly wrapped cow chips money can buy!
It all starts with an innocent peanut.
Just an ordinary peanut growing in the sun-drenched fields, not much unlike any of the other millions of potential allergy-ruiners that reside on the fertile farmland soil.
It never hurt anyone, never caused a problem, never made a scene, but hey brotha, sometimes, fate just deals you a crap hand, and the next thing you know, you’re being picked up faster than a tequila-filled college sophomore on spring break by a guy in a non-ironic John Deere cap.
From legume to leDOOM!
From there, it’s just a quick slide straight down crap mountain as that simple peanut who was just kicking back on the soil soon endures the fate of an unfortunate Jigsaw victim in Saw IV, V or VI, being roasted, toasted, and grinded into a deliciously gooey paste.
“Hello peanut, I want to play a game.”
Let’s get to seasoning– toss in some salt, a dash of sweetener, jar it, pop a lid on that sucker and this once fresh peanut, full of potential and possibility, is now part of something bigger and something even more tasty: your favorite two words, and mine– peanut butter.
…but with that title comes infinite possibilities or infinite doom:
Meanwhile, somewhere sweeter…
In a secret lab which just has to be run by old ladies in supportive knee-high hose, sugarcane or sugar beets are getting a once-over of their own, refined and turned into sweet, sticky, syrupy mess, more popularly known as molasses.
You know the stuff. It’s got the pitch-black color of the heart of a teacher who gives you homework over Christmas break, it’s sweeter than the last three minutes of an episode of Full House, and moves about as fast as a tired sloth full of NyQuil.
Not an item that typically ends up at the top of your shopping list, molasses is oddly enough, the unheralded star of some of your favorite eats. Without it, certain barbecue sauces, desserts, beers, and rum just wouldn’t have the same taste. Heck, in a pinch, molasses can even help remove the rust from the hood of your old ’93 Pontiac your weird uncle sold you.
…and about a century ago, this marriage is where things went horribly, horribly wrong.
Just two years after the disastrous sinking of the Titanic, the world was met with another horror, this time one of the candy kind. In 1914, The Charles N. Miller Company decided to Frankenstein us all, adding peanut butter and molasses together. And much like the destructive giant green monster, sparks flew, wires had gone berserk, everything went awry and this abominable creation was bestowed upon us:
Ladies and gentlemen, the Mary freakin’ Jane.
Later owned by Stark Candy Company and currently by classic confectionery outfit, Necco, this taffy sugar candy has lasted over 100 years. And with that legacy, comes a timelessness, as that maize and red wrapper signals a generationally-beloved goodie to dispense to adorable, grimey-fingered trick-or-treaters who crowd your doorstep come Halloweentime like packs of salivating wolves waiting to pounce on a raw porterhouse.
“Give us one more Mary Jane, and you’re getting a flaming bag of dog poo on your porch!”
OF COURSE THEY’RE NOT, THEY STINK.
Simply put, Mary Janes are the scourge of the Halloween candy world.
Yes, I’m talking about you.
If you’ve ever spent weeks picking out that perfect costume and hoofing your tired little feet all over the crunchy leaves of the neighborhood, the sweetest reward is coming back home to dump out your obnoxiously huge bag of hard-earned cavity-makers all over the rug to sort them out like some sort of supreme candy god.
Making piles and separating the goods from the not-so goods, here’s a few of the biggest offenders that will soon find a permanent home in your trashcan or chucked at your sister’s head:
Good & Plenty: The dreadful licorice candy you can fortunately sell to deadheads as pills.
Non-descript Black and Orange Wrapped Candies: I’d start gnawing on drywall for survival before I resorted to these.
Bit-O-Honey: The candy that makes bees enjoy stinging us.
…and in that ill-fated batch of not-so-dandy candy, sits that same lone peanut we started with– mashed, smashed, and forever bound to molasses, with a one-way ticket to the Island of Misfit Candies.
“Nobody wants a Charlie, Mary Jane in the Box!”
Wow, that’s pretty harsh, right? That paints a cold, cold picture. Maybe even I’ve changed my own mind.
So, this October 31st, when you look in your plastic Halloween pumpkin and are sourly disappointed to see you walked up those steep stairs to a old lady’s mothball-ridden doorstep for a half-squashed Mary Jane instead of a colorful pack of delightful M&M’s, maybe it’s time to do some corn-syruped soul searching…
Just think, maybe this could be your arm!
Perhaps there’s someone out there who will love the sweet journey of that poor peanut. Perhaps there’s a generation who hears “Mary Jane” and instantly doesn’t associate it with potheads sitting in a drum circle. Perhaps this is just a textbook case candy ageism, and we should respect our sugared elders, giving them a second chance. And perhaps come November 1st, an open mind will reward us with our new favorite treat.
And if that’s the case, please send me your address so I can mail all of mine to you, cause those things are gross.
Four fantastic days into crisp October, and I hope your horror movie marathons are up and running just like they are over here.
Scary movies are an odd sort. Most are written off by critics as nothing more than shock-value rubbish. There are a few of course, that cross that plateau into the land of cinematic legends. Psycho, Alien, Night of the Living Dead, The Silence of the Lambs, and The Shining are all examples of that perfect combination of terror, shock, thrills, chills, and the rarest of them all- near universal critical acclaim.
This is not about those.
2010’s Dutch horror sleeper, The Human Centipede (First Sequence), squirmed its way into worldwide cult infamy in all its shining mouth-to-bum glory.
Delivered to us by writer/director Tom Six, and dubbed, “100% Medically Accurate”, The Human Centipede introduces us to a consistently non-smiling psychotic German surgeon who drugs and traps two vacationing American girls, (who are pretty dumb, even by horror movie standards) and an unlucky Japanese man in his giant, creepy German surgeon home, complete with a convenient giant, creepy German operating room in the giant, creepy German basement.
It’s no-holds-barred as he proceeds to play out his twisted desire to surgically attach them in the most uncomfortable of positions, via one joined digestive track to create what he titles, “The Human Centipede”, connecting all three of them, you guessed it– mouth-to-derrière. It’s the perfect last first date movie …well if your sweetheart works full-time at a carnival freak show, or if every other movie is out of stock at Blockbuster.
“Wait… there’s still Blockbusters around?!? I never returned my copy of Kangaroo Jack!”
As a horror film it was crude, vile, slightly brilliant, and mildly offensive to centipedes. Not to mention, the trailer, with its deletions and re-additions, has pulled in nearly a combined 25 million views on YouTube. Good job you sickies…
Not one to rest on his stomach-turning laurels, Six revisited the Centipede world, with your mom’s favorite film of 2011, The Human Centipede 2 (Full Sequence). Originally banned in the UK, Australia and New Zealand upon release, this film, now deemed, “100% Medically Inaccurate”, was a revolting black-and-white tour de force of depravity, twisted humor, blood and guts, and the crème de la crème– a centipede one dozen people long. That’s like the entire Brady Bunch family, Alice, Sam the Butcher, AND it still leaves room for two more. Let’s not mince words, that’s a lot of rectal surgery. In Six’s irony-free words, the grotesque sequel was created to make the first film “feel like My Little Pony” in comparison.
I don’t know what he’s getting at, this Centipony was SIXTEEN ponies long!
And because all good things come in threes, 2014 will bring us the long-awaited final piece of the detestable trilogy, The Human Centipede 3 (Final Sequence), set in a prison, featuring a rumored FIVE HUNDRED PERSON centipede and most horrifyingly of all, starring Eric Roberts. In an interview with DreadCentral.com, Six gleefully promises the repugnant finale, will “make the last one look like a Disney film.” and “(is) going to upset a lot of people.”
Pluto! You’re the middle piece of the centipede! Don’t worry, you don’t talk anyway!
Not surprisingly, you probably want to send the kids to bed early before snuggling in with your sweetheart and a freshly-popped bag of popcorn to sit down and enjoy. The audience for The Human Centipede films are mostly limited to horror hounds, gore lovers, and the kind of people who will peek under their Band-Aid to see how icky the gooey cut on their knee actually is.
Best part is, if you can keep your lunch down while watching such wretched films, well then you’re gonna have plenty of room for delicious, sweet, sweet dessert.
Well, unless the baker happens to be a big Centipede fan as well…
Just remember, dragging your feet on this gem will ruin your meal. Better be fast to get some, those who are late to the party end up with the red digestive track to eat.
Hey Alex, I hate to be the one to tell you this… your friends hate you. I don’t even wanna imagine where the candles go in this thing.
SPEND THIS CHRISTMAS WITH THE HUMAN SANTAPEDE!
Little known fact*: In the original rendition of the English Christmas carol, “The Twelve Days of Christmas”, dating back to the 18th Century, there was an extra day penned on to the end of the listed group of days, totaling the amount to its original title, “The Thirteen Days of Christmas”.
After long thought, it was felt that due to the unlucky connotation of the number 13, the day should be dropped, thinning down the song to it’s now classic 12-day roundup, full of gifts of birds and dancing ladies.
Some other historians believe the real reason the song was thinned from its original baker’s dozen was because of this line in the song:
“On the thirteenth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… a gingerbread Human Centipede.”
“We can’t sing that. It’s gross.”
*This fact is total crap.
GET READY TO TOSS YOUR COOKIES…
I bet these were a pain in the butt to make.
WHAT A HALF-BAKED IDEA
Upon first glance, you may think these graphic cookies look trashy, but please note the curled-ribbon in the corner. That makes them fancy. Like the kind of Centipede cookies the Queen would nosh on.
“My dear… I wonder what it would be like to be the front piece??”
I’D RATHER BE MUGGED…
You’d be surprised how fast Starbucks ran out of these collector’s mugs. Don’t be shocked when your coffee tastes like crap though.
“Mary?!? Here’s your tall Carmel Macchiato, extra vanilla, extra steamed milk, served in a mouth-to-butt surgery mug.”
THIS JUST TAKES THE CAKE!
Straight from the Cake Boss‘s ovens to your taste buds, this cake will make your sweet sixteen even sweeter.
Games to play at this birthday party:
“Pin the Tail on the Person You’re Surgically Attached To”
“Awkward Musical Chairs”
“The Human Centipiñata“
MEET YOUR NEW FAVORITE GIRL SCOUT COOKIE…
Quick! Do the humane thing and put the sad middle and end pieces of this cookiepede out of their misery.
“Five dollars?!? When I was a kid, Human Centipede cookies cost a nickle!”
WELL, THIS STINKS.
To you and me, this may look like the worst cake ever made in the history of mankind, but for a better idea, let’s go to the horse’s mouth and ask Birthday Boy, Mark Mallman, what his thoughts were on this unique cake:
– “I got three bites in before I vomited. It was the best birthday ever!”
– “The wood was certainly not edible. I don’t understand why they used wood on a cake.”
– “I thought these were the Rugrats characters, thank God for the ‘Human Centipede Birthday Cake’ label on the cake to clear that up.”
– “I don’t know why my friends call me by my first AND last name.”
WELCOME BACK HOSTESS!
Woody Harrelson’s rough-and-tough character, Tallahassee, braved a nation of flesh-craving, undead cannibals, searching for the simple spongey deliciousness of a Twinkie in the hit comedy, Zombieland.
The tragic fate of this Twinkiepede would surely have brought a tear to ‘ol Tallahassee’s eyes.
“Those poor Twinkies never hurt anyone!”
AND NOW, HUMAN CENTIPEDE BAKING WITH MARTHA STEWART…
“Hello friends. Today, we’re going to take a page out of my new cookbook, “Heinous Baking with Martha”, creating everyone’s favorite surgically screwed-up dessert. If it’s October, then it’s time to fill your home with the sweet aroma of our Human Centipede cupcakes.
– First, make sure you iron your cloth napkins. A Human Centipede cupcake on a wrinkled napkin just won’t do. Don’t forget to polish your silverware as well, if you can see your reflection in it, your guests can see their smile as well.
– A lit candle with the wafting smell of cinnamon will fill your home with an autumnal aroma, a treat for your guests.
– Now, we’re going to use a fresh-made buttercream for our Centipede heads. My secret? Just a pinch of almond extract will make your mouth-to-tush baked treats the ones all the Trick-or-Treaters want to bite into this All Hallows’ Eve.
– Soft Red vine licorice will supply the touching look of dread we’re looking to place on these cupcakes.
– Now, we can’t forget the delicious shared digestive-track, can we? A simple line of licorice straight through the cake of all three will do the trick.
– Place your disgusting doomed treats on a hand-cut ornamental doily, and your ghoulish guests will be smiling all through the night.
Join me next time, as we make my famous fruity Evil Dead blood punch with a garnish of fresh-picked celery stalks. “