Monday, January 26, 2009

And the Pretentiousness Prize Goes To:

Ladies and gentlemen, I have missed you so. Where have I been? What's the deal with posts of puppies and tales of bloggery deferred? Well my dear, dear friends, I've had to take the week off to bask in the glory of the coronation of our new president Mr. Barack Obama. Now as many of you know many months ago I endorsed our new president, creating what Malcolm Gladwell calls "the tipping point" and Mark Penn describes as a "microtrend," this endorsement swaying tens of tens and leading the way for the New America we find ourselves in today. So please stop sending me expensive edible bouquets. While delicious, they're completely unnecessary -with the notable exception of the ones with muss melon cut to look like tulips, please keep those coming.

My work of endorsing our new president left me with a sense of accomplishment unlike anything I've ever felt before, and in a lot of ways I felt like I was very similar to our new Commander-in-chief. I'm very charismatic, he's very charismatic. I have the ability to do handstand push-ups, he can shoot soft-serve ice cream out of his ass. I can give people awkward hugs that warm the cockles of their heart, he can fly faster than a speeding locomotive. By locomotive, we're talking an Acelea train here, not one of those crappy cargo trains that pass through your shit town, ya dig? Yeah, we're a lot alike the President and I. We're doers.

The more I thought about how cool we are, you know Barry and I, the more I realized that there are a lot of people out there who think they're cool, but are not, but still talk like they're all cool, despite their inherent "not coolness." This trait is something remarkable, something uniquely annoying. This trait itself is so douchey to me that much like the coveted Profiles in Greatness Award, it needed to be given a trophy all its own.

Terry the Turd: The GWGG Pretentiousness Prize

It is in that spirit that I have created a new accolade, the Pretentiousness Prize. The Pretentiousness Prize singles out people who perform moderately easy jobs and use every opportunity to tell people how hard and important that job is and perhaps most importantly how good they are in that very job, in the most obnoxious, laboring and self-congratulating way possible. It is a feat that is executed by many, but few will perform the feat as deftly as the winners of this award.

To help give the award "legs" I wanted to provide a name and iconic feature that people would be able to "run(s)" with. Therefore, much like the Oscars, the Tonys or the Stinky Pete's, I proudly present Terry the Turd. Terry is 6" of petrified turd plopped down like so much poo on a base of solid cherry. A majestic sight by any measure.

I taunt, I titillate, but who is this year's winner? This year's Pretentiousness Prize goes too...


Wow, does this woman love herself. (Editorial: Self love is not a crime, as I write this I am dressed as the little dutch boy taking artful shots of myself plugging holes in a dyke, so you know, there's nothing wrong with self love.) It is not that she, like myself thinks that she is the shit, it is the profoundly pretentious way that she expresses it that wins her, her Terry the Turd. Here are just a few clips that helped to ear Ms. Rashad this illustrious award.

Did she have an epileptic fit there at the :43 mark? NO, THAT'S THE PRETENTIOUSNESS! You can almost hear James Earl Jones saying, "you silly blowhard, please shut the fuck up." But he says it in his Darth Vader voice so it has much more gravitas. Interestingly enough, the runner up for this prize is the star-fucking twat who at the end of the video blurts out, "well said," as Phylicia orgasms over the sound of her own verbal vomit. Hooray for the theatre!

And another:

"That is a disappointment." Oh Claire, why won't you sign the poor girl's program? Tickets to your little skit only cost $7,000, sign the poor girls program for the love of God! Oh, you hateful so and so.

Lastly, if that weren't enough, this montage that Phylicia made for herself.

No one wears a mu mu like you, and for that -and the two years you take to complete a sentence- you win this year's coveted Terry the Turd. May he stink up your mantle.

Tuesday, January 20, 2009


Where's your blog post? It's coming! Barry's getting inaugermaratin' and I want to write about that, y'all. Much like CNN, stay here for the latest. THE SOURCE FOR NEWS (if you only get your news once a week).

Sunday, January 11, 2009

Hey, What If?

I am going to be honest. I have a serious case of the Mondays. What if rather than coming up with cutsie things to say, I just posted a blog full of cute puppy pictures? Well shit, it's my blog.

Wasn't that nice?

AUDIENCE PARTICIPATION: Feel free to submit your own cute puppy pics and I will be happy to add them as I receive them. That's the power of the internets and the depth of my puppy love. Make it a great week, kids.


HARRY - Astoria, NY
(as submitted by Gumptioneer, Tim)
1.12.09 - 12:18am

(as submitted by Gumptioneer, Sharon)
1.12.09 - 7:18am
Ada, OH
(as submitted by Gumptioneer, Jean)
1.12.09 - 7:30am

Who Knows, USA
(as submitted by Gumptioneer, Ashley)
1.12.09 - 4:28pm

New York, NY
(as submitted by Gumptioneer, Ryan)
1.12.09 - 10:00pm

Denver, CO
(as submitted by Gumptioneer, Salli)
1.12.09 - 11:00pm


Monday, January 05, 2009

2009: The Year of Make Your Own Fun!

Well, hello you! Happy 2009, you poor unfortunate so and so. Did you have a Happy New Year? What's that? You did? You didn't? It doesn't matter either way I'm going to tell you about my New Year's celebrations and you can live vicariously through my tales and that will be good news for you! Right? Of course right.

Where ever do I start? Let's start at the beginning.

Much like every other year, as the close of 2008 approached I was bombarded with invitations to celebrate the coming New Year with friends and fans. This year however, I felt like the tone of the invitations had more of a topical twist to them as glossy invitations coaxed me to attend events like The Cox Family New Year's Celebration & Liquidation Sale - 2008 MUST GO!, and Hal & Betty Jean Are Newly Hobos Pub Crawl & Recycling Drive. Yes friends, this year seemed a bit bleak to most. Luckily for me I live in a Zoloft-induced haze which gives life the constant feel of a Barbara Walters interview -fuzzy and warm with pleasantly speech-impedimented conversation.

Due to being filled with holiday cheer and anti-depressants, I figured I would rebuff the poor people and opt for something a little calmer, a little more folksy. The answer: A dinner party.

Sadly, no one I knew was having such a soiree. Undeterred by this minor set back, I dressed in my finest navy blazer and went door to door throughout Astoria until I found people who were having a dinner party. Luckily for me, (2) hours into my search I stumbled (or as the police report would later recount "kicked") in the door of stately Justin & Shanna who, unfortunately for them, are not as good at shutting doors on unwanted guests as I am at barging in on surprised party hosts! Hooray for hospitality!

Believe me you their feelings of violation were quickly replaced by what can only be described as gratefulness. How did I turn the tide so quickly? Two words: I am a people person. What's that? That's more than two words? Well, I majored in musical theatre not rocket science, Mr./Ms. Smarty Word Counter Person, so piss off.

From my earliest days in Ohio I learned two things. First, always make yourself useful. Second, when you take your bed pan out in the morning make sure you dig a hole to put the poo in if you went #2 the night before. Close adherence to these principals taught me to immediately assist with the preparation of the food, and then to seek out their bed pans.

My horror-stricken profoundly attentive hostess had prepared the most succulent pork roast which needed to be harvested so as be served to the guests. Now, as we all know, any schmuck can take a carving knife and slice meat into thin, consumable slices.

"Aren't you worried about the choking hazard?" I inquired of my hostess.

"Not really," she replied.

"Well, I am." With that, I began biting off chunks of pork, chewed them for (6) seconds, and spit them on the plate. At first the lady of the house was aghast as partially digested pieces of pig splattered on the serving tray. However, after I gingerly explained to her that the only way to assure bite-sized pieces was to take actual bites, she seemed to "get it." So much so in fact that she told Justin she needed to go make an emergency call. I can only imagine it was to share my revolutionary technique with others.

Dinner was served, but no one seemed to want any pork. They totally ate all the brie concoction that Justin had made, but with the exception of me chowing down, not a morsel of couchon was plated. Shanna seemed a tad upset by this so I reassured her that it was probably just that her presentation was crap, and she should use more rosemary or accent it with sprigs or some shit to make it more appealing. With this, she started crying, rocking, and comically mumbling something like, "you've ruined everything, you've ruined everything..." What a jokester.

After dinner I (once again) took the initiative, and popped in that traditional New Year's song, Strokin' and let the dance party begin.

I thought the Dance, Dance Revolution was going really well, and I was just about to launch into my signature move, the Punching Monkey, when all the sudden the cops burst into the room! Evidently, Shanna's "emergency call" was not to share my pork presentation proficiency! Betrayed, I pulled a Claude Rains and hopped out an open window and gave chase!

My mind was racing as I ran down 31st Street, the sound of barking police dogs ringing in my ears. "Where to go?" There was only one place to go:


Granted sanctuary inside the emerald walls, I was given a beer, a hug and a kiss from Sondra. She then smuggled me into an orange truck which provided safe passage to Mexico where I have been renamed Miguel and am working as a successful restaurateur. ¡Próspero Año Nuevo de Sunny México!


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