Friday, July 31, 2009
J-Lep (aka Jennifer the Leopard) performed last night at the Redcat Theater and knocked 'em dead. My only complaint about the 25-minute set was that it was too brief, although perhaps leaving your fans wanting more is a good thing...
Although the music itself was enjoyable, the performance went beyond the sonic, cleverly infusing video, back-up dancers, and a full-blown audience percussion section. The quartet made especially inventive use of video during the 'move your car' and 'this is a break-up song' segments and kept the audience clapping, stomping, smiling, and shaking their noisemakers during the entire set.
Are they punk, post-punk, rock-n'roll, or a blend of it all? Who cares--it's fun. Go see them at Redcat, in downtown Los Angeles, either tonight or tomorrow at 830pm.
And Now the Obligatory Warnings:
#1: Redcat works more like a museum than a music venue--latecomers are only allowed in during a set break or intermission. Last night, that meant getting in by 830pm, at 847pm, or between the two differnet performance pieces.
#2: There are two drastically different performances on the bill. I recommend rolling in around intermission, unless a Big Lebowski-style 'dance quintet' set to the tune of a never-ending fart is your kinda jam.
#3: If you plan on drinking, I'd bring a flask, as my favorite $20/bottle bourbon is $10/glass from the surly wench at the plywood bar in the hallway.
Buy tickets here.
FYI--parking garage underneath the Disney Theater is only $4 if you're going to Redcat.
For those of you out there who just can't be separated from your dog for ten minutes, treat your dog like a child, and make love to him/her...
For those of you tired of having your dog sometimes get a touch uncomfortable, not be waited on hand and foot every second of their lives, and--worst of all--being forced to mingle with those disgusting plebeian pets in the cargo hold of a mean old 'regular' airplane when the two of you fly off on your lover holidays...
PetAirways is for you!
Come on--your little pookie is worth it. Trust me.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Who isn't, right?!!!!
Well, then check out the titles of the 164 movies Sasha Grey was in before she got Soderberghed. And don't ask me how I stumbled on this...(when did imdb start listing pornos, btw?)
My six faves:
Filth Cums First 3
Blow Me Sandwich
Flower's Squirt Shower 5
We Suck: POV Tag-Team Suck-Off
Slam-It! In a Young Whore
The Most Intriguing:
Seinfeld: A XXX Parody
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
I'm sure there are more than a few contenders out there for Most Scathing Movie Review Ever, but I think Rex Reed's Funny People bitchfest has got to have a place near the top (near a few others of his, I'm sure).
Not that I'm trying to defend the movie (haven't seen it, probably never will), but how many movie critics are getting fired these days and this 70 year-old hack still has a job?
If Rex hates Adam Sandler, Seth Rogen, Jason Schwartzman, and Judd Apatow so much...why did he see this movie? Why did his employers let such an overwhelmingly biased person review this movie? Why not send him to see that cuddly G-Force turd instead?
And send these guys to Funny People:
At least their negativity and sarcasm would be funny!
Still not sure who Rex Reed is? Well, here are a few more photos to clue you in:
This guy hates smut and John Waters? Wha? Why? I mean, I ain't no John Waters fan, for sure, but I like the fact that he makes movies, because there is a definite audience for his work. And don't get me started on smut...I live for it.
I guess ole Rex only has enough love for himself, as proved by this self-indulgent photo from 1969, in Malibu...
Maybe if Apatow wants more favorable reviews, he should put Mr. Reed up at a beach house for the summer and send him a steady supply of LaBeoufs. Play the game, dig?
Apatow at the bat: updates to follow...
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Pull out your special glasses, Club Members!
Quoth the Oracle:
The 45-year-old is reported to have moved into a separate two-bedroom house from the rented family home he was sharing with Angelina Jolie and their six children in Beverly Hills.
He is said to be having problems in his relationship with actress Angelina.
A neighbour of his lodge-style home told Grazia magazine: 'He only moved in quite recently. There have been a couple of nights when we've heard him playing Nick Drake quite loudly.'
Item #1: You mean to tell me Angelina will be unescorted in her boudoir seven nights a week? Does Berlusconi know about this yet? Might be worth abdicating for...
Item #2: Uh-oh...Nick Drake? Complete this puzzle:
1. Heath Ledger
2. Michael Jackson
Good luck, Brad! We're rooting for you (but we don't share the same fervor for your latest flop)!
Monday, July 27, 2009
Judge Jury: "Welcome to this week's installment of Judge Jury...and Executioner!"
[Applause from studio audience bussed in from Skid Row after being promised a cookie and Kool-Aid]
Judge Jury: "Alright, let's get started on the case--The People v. Michael Cera. Michael Cera, young, impressionable comic talent extraordinaire, beloved veteran of the unfortunately-assassinated Arrested Development and coming-of-age supergem Superbad, how do you plead to the charge of Making People Who Like You Cringe Every Time They See Your Mug on a Movie Poster?"
Michael Cera: "Not guilty, Your Honor."
His Agent: "Your Honor, my client is clearly doing nothing more harmless than carefully building a solid, reputable career--and a sizable bank account--by playing the lovable dork everyone loves to root for, and who usually has a cutesy romance with some cutesy alternagirl. It works--he would be a sucker to portray a different character until it stops working."
Me: "Your Honor, may I first remind you of my brilliance and handsomeness before I proceed?"
Judge Jury: "I am well-aware and delighted to find myself in your presence, Lord Charlie."
Me: "Thank you. Now, before I proceed with my case, I would like to remind the court of past precedent--The People v. Will Ferrell, The People v. Ben Stiller, and The People v. Seth Rogen. While in these particular cases it is worth noting the bottomless egos of said defendants--combined with the rubber stamp Hollywood eagerly applies to the randomly-generated, unformed ideas hitmakers pitch to talentless, greedy studio executives, no matter how vile or useless--are to blame for the bad taste we all feel in our mouths whenever their names are mentioned, they are important to note because if we are not careful, Mr. Cera will no doubt soon suffer the same fate."
[Applause from studio audience]
His Agent: "Objection, Your Honor--hearsay."
Judge Jury: "Sustained. Be specific, Lord Charlie."
Me: "Your Honor, I present Exhibits A, B, and C:
A. Juno (2007)
B. Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist (2008)
C. Paper Heart (2009)
For the sake of common decency, Your Honor, I have intentionally refrained from mentioning a certain Harold Ramis turd that never made so much as a splash in the toilet-bowl of today's moviegoers, yet whose billboards ceaselessly plague them to this day."
His Agent: "Objection, Your Honor--irrelevant."
Judge Jury: "Sustained--get to the point, Lord Charlie."
Me: "Very well: I submit that it is beyond a shadow of a doubt that the young, impressionable, Canadian Mr. Cera is being led down the path of irrelevance by a team of Hollywood pricks intent to use him up and spit him out after taking their 35 percent. The people of this fine country would prefer this did not happen and therefore wish to obtain custody for his own protection--and to ensure the oft-filibustered release of Arrested Development (the movie) as soon as possible."
Judge Jury: "I agree. The court rules in favor of the prosecution. Executioner--you may proceed."
[Michael Cera's Agent's head is immediately lopped off by the Flying Guillotine]
Me: "OMG!!! I almost forgot, Your Honor--I might feel ill when I think about the movie, but I can't wait for the soundtrack to drop at my local ShitMart!!! LOL!!!! It's true!!!! So many quirky indie tunes to fall in love to!!!! Michael and his girlfriend--who was the co-writer, co-producer, co-composer, puppeteer, and lead actress in Paper Turd--wrote all the songs themselves!!! Awwwwwww!!! And it's only $19 on Amazon!!!"
Judge Jury: "Aye, well, burn me a CD when you get it and we'll see if such saccharine pleases the court while riding in the backseat on family vacations this summer..."
Wow. Wish I coulda been there--they sound like my kinda people when they have an easy target and a green light. Even Brad Garrett.
I saw Joan Rivers walking through Beverly Hills a few months ago, followed by a camera crew taping some kind of program nobody watches ("Beverly Hills Alzheimer's Alligators Alive, Well, and Walking In Circles")--the woman could barely walk and resembled a loosely-formed ball of off-white Play-Doh, yet it seems her sense of humor and thick skin (or deafness/dementia?) are still faithfully at her service.
Hats off to Joan Rivers--for being the butt of jokes and whatever else it is that she does.
Friday, July 24, 2009
I didn't think $10,000 could buy that much these days, but I guess I was wrong.
Troopergate et al in Wasila, Blagojevich gets caught selling a Senate seat, Sanford is busted hypocritically lying about an affair, California goes bankrupt trying to please every special interest around, now it's New Jersey's turn for a black eye.
The surprising thing is not that several mayors and state officials were guilty of rampant corruption--I'm no babe in the suburbs here--and not even that they had the rare luck to get caught and indicted for it, but rather that we are talking about such paltry sums.
Ten grand? I know those piles start to add up (I hear), but still...bold. And stupid. Congratulations, assholes!
My two favorite parts of the story:
Levy-Izhak Rosenbaum of Brooklyn, was accused of enticing vulnerable people to give up a kidney for $10,000 and then selling the organ for $160,000.Is 'ten grand' some kind of religious hocus pocus that gets people to do anything a rabbi wants him to? Who the hell would sell a kidney for $10,000? How often did this work? Why am I not in this line of work?
The timing of the investigation dovetails with the timing of bank fraud charges against Solomon Dwek, son of the founders of the Deal Yeshiva, a religious school that teaches children in the Sephardic Jewish tradition. Mr. Dwek passed a $25 million bad check at a PNC Bank branch in 2006, according to The Asbury Park Press.What? Who the hell tries to pass off a bad check for TWENTY-FIVE MILLION dollars? How does one find the courage to attempt such a daring feat?
"No, don't worry about it--it's reverse psychology, man--it's SO much money that they will be LESS suspicious than if it's just for some little skidmark like $10,000. Cuz, like, who would ever have the balls for such a thing? Right? Trust me."Ha, ha, ha--what an idiot, right? It's good to laugh.
"Well, okay--but we should definitely have the rabbi take it in, just to be safe, so we can have religion on our side..."
"Oh, of course--I was thinking the same thing."The next day, at a PNC Bank in the ghetto..."Alright, I just need to call in to check on this and then we'll be all set."
"Oh, you don't need to call it in--it's real."
"We're talking about $25 million here--I need to check with the account holder."
"Come on, you can trust me--I'm a rabbi!"
"I don't trust anybody--I'm a banker. Excuse me."
And it's okay, too, because--as the article notes three times--the Jews involved were not the average, everyday Jews you know and love, the kind that only go to temple for high holidays and often remind you of the Holocaust neither of you were around for, but never of the fact that their unnecessary (and not universally beloved) land theft to create Israel is one of the main reasons the United States/Nations is involved in an endless war on terrorism; the kind that it is NOT okay to have a laugh at, ever, in light of their eternal suffering, yadda yadda.
These were Syrian Jews, so, you know, they might as well be straight-up towelheads, right? Where is Syria on a map, right? No big surprise to John Q. Public that they are a corrupt and devious fringe branch of the Jewish faith--the shock is the absence of a sensational, Rove/Cheney/Murdoch-planted mention of a potential link to Al-Qaeda in the article.
In other news, a Catholic priest just confessed to raping 1000 little boys over the last 40 years and repeatedly lying about it in court. He was sentenced to ten Hail Marys and transferred to a different parish to end his days in peace and pleasure.
Thank God for confession, right? Heaven will be so sweet...
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
My freshman year of high school I decided to run for class president.
I'm not sure why I had this desire--I came from a small primary/junior high combo school and was unfamiliar with the vast majority of my classmates, I had maybe three friends (only one of whom would probably vote for me), I hated public speaking, and I was a great big dork--but I did and so I threw myself face-first into the shit.
I collected the necessary signatures to get on the ballot from people in my honors classes who couldn't care less. I filed the paperwork. I made ugly little posters in anticipation of the day we were allowed to plaster the hallways, in the home stretch of the campaign.
That day finally arrived and my mom dropped me off at school early. I started hanging posters at one end of the large, three-floor school, planning to zig-zag my way through, weaving up and down the multiple staircases, strategically choosing my placements along some vaguely scientific lines.
Not long after I started taping up posters that probably said things like "Charlie is the best!!!" and "Vote for Charlie!" surrounded by shiny colored stars, my doting guidance counselor spotted me in the hallway and insisted on helping out--"Together we can do it in half the time!"
As we chit-chatted awkwardly--I hate chit-chat; she was my guidance counselor--the halls began to fill with students arriving for the school day. We made our way up the main hallway, doubling back over some covered ground to hit one section of the second floor we missed earlier.
As if pulled from an afterschool special, two big, loud football players grunted, shouted something about how my rival ruled, and tore down all my posters we hung ten minutes ago, oblivious to who I was, what I looked like, or the fact that I was standing right behind them.
It was pretty humiliating.
It would have been bad enough had I witnessed the offense alone, but the presence of my no-doubt-stricken guidance counselor only made matters worse. What was she thinking about me now? What was she thinking I was thinking about me? What was she thinking were her options as far as what to say to me, immediately, in an 'awesome guidance counselor' way? What should I have said to her?
I don't recall what was said; my hunch is that neither of us said anything.
From there, things only got worse.
On Election Day, I was required to participate in four or five debates, held during the four or five different lunch periods at our school during the middle of the day.
The good thing was I was excused from most of my classes for the day. The bad thing was I had to debate a really popular girl from a huge feeder school whose confidence and constituency dwarfed mine as a giant would a fly.
I had prepared myself for all matters of policy, chosen my stance on all potential issues, prioritized the bullet points of my platform...and faced a barrage of questions like so:
"If you were a candy...what kind of candy would you be?"By the third round, I didn't give a shit about anything anymore. It didn't matter whether I went first or second--her answer was always better. I'd already been embarrassed in front of my older brother, my teachers, most of my classmates, my friends, my enemies...for what more had I to live?
Her answer: "M&Ms--I melt in your mouth, not in your hand."
Cue Senor Palacio, my Honors Spanish teacher and the head of the Freshman Cabinet, who stepped in to watch this round. The pressure should have been on, bigtime, but it wasn't. I had already surrendered, was already defeated before I even stepped on the platform two hours ago, before I hung my first poster.
This girl was from a huge junior high, she was popular, she wanted it badly, and once the debate started, it seemed as though she had practiced for this exact situation. It would be one thing to be beaten in a pure game of numbers--this girl had me flat-out out-played, as well.
By the time the moderator offered up "What is your favorite part of your body?" I had nothing left. The two guys who made fun of me relentlessly for four years, for fifteen minutes every morning, were sitting in the front row and made a suggestion: "Your dick! Your dick!"
"My dick."The microphone and speakers performed excellently--I thought the word would bring the walls down. The audience was aghast--even my tormentors were speechless, didn't think I would actually say it--and Senor Palacio turned his head, disappointed.
Did I have any regrets? No. I could never have won that election and, thus, it didn't matter what I said out there.
Did I wish I would have devised a more successful campaign? No. Once I realized what the actual duties of the President were, I was relieved they were not of my concern.
I was right where I wanted to be, it turned out--I was the nerdy guy who said 'Dick' into a microphone in front of 250 people at school and got away with it.
Friday, July 17, 2009
If I were ever attacked by a mountain lion while camping with my wife and our two toddlers--and survived--what would I do next?
Well, since we're all about honesty here at GTC Headquarters, I would probably pack everybody in the car and cruise by the nearest whiskey vendor on my way to the hospital.
Were I some sort of fantastic moron, I would instead spend the night at the attack site, in a flimsy pop-up camper, with my helpless children marinating in a crib filled with gravy.
Okay, so this guy wasn't that dumb, but he was close!
Question of the day: What kind of asshole brings a chainsaw camping?
Extry! Extry! Read all aboat it!
This just in:
Some law enforcement officers look at pornography, gamble on sporting events, sleep on the job, and are generally successful at avoiding any real work.
Oh--and they can be so dumb that they invest $196,000 in a bogus scam run by a fellow officer. As awful as it is that John Q. Law got took, how many fucking times in this day and age do we need to re-learn that you never invest money you can't afford to lose, much less invest all your money in one place.
Although their supervisors are aware of their officers' counterproductive and illegal behavior--and are often complicit--they refuse to investigate such claims, even when made by their own men in a court of law.
Hmm. I guess that makes...no sense...unless maybe they just don't want to look bad, which...makes sense...
Scotland Yard said there had been no other disciplinary hearings in relation to the allegations and admissions made in the Page trial.
Detective Superintendent Tony Evans, head of specialist investigation at the Met's directorate of professional standards, said he would not be making any further inquiries into the culture within the royal protection unit. He said the allegations were "historic" and "unsubstantiated".
"I took the decision that [the allegations] would not be investigated. Following the verdict I don't think I will revisit that decision," Evans said.
(courtesy The Guardian)
Wise up, world--you cain't trust your cops any more than your neighbors, priests, bosses, or bankers. And mattresses, FDIC-insured savings accounts, Van Goghs, gold bricks, and tangible real estate in a desirable location are the only good investments around. Until the revolution.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Lassie, 101 Dalmations, Benji, Beethoven, Snow Dogs, Cats & Dogs, Must Love Dogs, Hotel for Dogs, Marley & Me...can we stop this inane shit already? Is anything with a dog in it automatically greenlit?
Seems like it:
"The book is driven by the reminiscences of Enzo, a family dog with a near-human soul and a philosopher's mind, who evaluates his life through the lessons learned by his human owner, the race-car driver Denny Swift."If this doesn't sound like the stupidest idea ever, then I'll eat my own sock. And yours, too. I can hear the chatter at Harper during the editing process for Garth 'Turd Conductor' Stein right now in my cavernous cranium...
"Hmmmm it's readable...but you know what this story is missing? A dog narrator. Wait, no--a smart dog narrator."Patrick Dempsey? Has that guy carried a movie yet? He can't even carry a prime time soap!
"Brilliant--that's why you're the boss, Boss."
"That's right. Now rewrite it--we'll publish on Monday. [presses intercom] Cristina--get me Oprah on the horn. That big ole bitch is gonna love this shit..."
What's next--will Drew Barrymore voice the dog? Or will it be animation staple Cliff Clavin from Cheers? At least Diablo Cody hasn't been tapped to adapt this fetid turd. Yet.
Bonus: More plot summary/critique
From Publishers Weekly
If you've ever wondered what your dog is thinking, Stein's third novel offers an answer. Enzo is a lab terrier mix plucked from a farm outside Seattle to ride shotgun with race car driver Denny Swift as he pursues success on the track and off. Denny meets and marries Eve, has a daughter, Zoë, and risks his savings and his life to make it on the professional racing circuit. Enzo, frustrated by his inability to speak and his lack of opposable thumbs, watches Denny's old racing videos, coins koanlike aphorisms that apply to both driving and life, and hopes for the day when his life as a dog will be over and he can be reborn a man. When Denny hits an extended rough patch, Enzo remains his most steadfast if silent supporter. Enzo is a reliable companion and a likable enough narrator, though the string of Denny's bad luck stories strains believability. Much like Denny, however, Stein is able to salvage some dignity from the over-the-top drama. (May)
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
"Enzo ultimately teaches Denny and the reader that persistence and joie de vivre will see them through to the checkered flag. Stein...creates a patient, wise, and doggish narrator that is more than just fluff and collar. This should appeal to fans of both dogs and car racing." -- Library Journal
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
How much longer until the phrase 'disgraced Republican' becomes redundant?
Sen. John Ensign (R-NV)--a conservative Christian--not only recently admitted taking a mistress, but also that his rich casino-mogul dad paid $96,000 to help her and her family through "a difficult time."
To add insult to injury, the mistress was not only a former coworker, but a family friend. So was her husband. So, presumably, were their two innocent children.
You might remember Sen. Ensign (Hypocrite-NV) from his public outrage at Clinton's infidelities. Hmmm...well-done all around, Super Prick!
Monday, July 13, 2009
First it was footballer Steve McNair, now a boxer I never heard of until today.
What's a rich, older man-about-town to do? Just wait around til his crazy young minx gets some bright idea when she watches Fox News?
No. That would be a fool's fate.
Instead, Gordon Gekko will never sleep. He will never blink. He will die from it, in a matter of days, patiently waiting for the Zeta to snap, almost hoping she will, to put him out of his pants-shitting, broken-pipe misery, but also willing to strike her dead with his Oscar if she has the balls to think she wears the pants.
Tick tick tick tick tick tick...
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
A new, rival PC operating system is finally in the works, courtesy of Google, whose desire to take over the world will once again make it better. For now...
Did nobody else think they could make a better operating system than noted dinosaur Windows? Really? It can't be that hard--just rip off most of your ideas from Apple, throw in some user-unfriendliness, and voila!
Now can somebody release a secret video of Bill Gates dropping F-bombs while filling his pants please?
Five grueling years of waiting over, I hardly know what to do with myself anymore. So I just stare at it. You should do the same. Come on--try it:
Isn't it the most fucking breathtaking beast you've ever seen? It is exactly what I thought it would be--and more better different at the same time!!! LOL!!!
I can't wait to read an advance copy once my mole at Doubleday earns his keep. But don't worry, secret web police--I would never cut into Mr. Brown's profits. I don't roll like that when the future of high art is on the line.
As soon as it's released on September 15th, I will buy 4 first-edition copies: one to covet, one to store in a vacuum-sealed bag in my safe-deposit box in the Cayman Islands (best investment ever!!), and two to give to all my friends!
Pre-order now from your favorite shit-schlocker.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Oh, bosh--of course you have. But--have you seen this edited video of her rambling resignation speech?
It's fairly priceless.
Why? Well...there's just something deliciously enthralling about watching an idiot end her career--on camera, on her terms--and not even know it.
Update: It seems the story has gotten even funnier.
My favorite line:
"Let me state my reasons in plain English without any sports analogies: I'm resigning because I feel I can be a more effective leader operating from the sidelines. I'm no bench warmer," she added.What a stupid fucking bitch. Can she just leave us all alone already? Before some crazy liberal snaps and kills her with an Uzi (for hunting)? Does the world need another celebrity death on its hands? What will we talk about if they all perish? What?!!!!!
Just when you thought it was safe to be around super religious people...haha...something awful like this happens and reminds you to STAY THE FUCK AWAY.
Can you imagine what it might be like to be "drenched in spit?"
Please do because I'd rather not.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
I know the idiots are legion, but this dude Darnell edged them out by a Karl-Malden nose:
A pet Burmese python measuring more than 8 feet long broke out of a terrarium and strangled a 2-year-old girl in her bedroom Wednesday at a central Florida home, authorities said. Shaiunna Hare was already dead when paramedics arrived at about 10 a.m., Lt. Bobby Caruthers of the Sumter County Sheriff's Office said.
Charles Jason Darnell, the snake's owner and the boyfriend of Shaiunna's mother, discovered the snake missing from its terrarium and went to the girl's room, where he found it on the girl and bite marks on her head, Caruthers said. Darnell, 32, stabbed the snake until he was able to pry the child away.
"The baby's dead!" a sobbing caller from the house screamed to a 911 dispatcher in a recording. "Our stupid snake got out in the middle of the night and strangled the baby."
Authorities did not identify the caller and removed the person's name from the recording.
"She got out of the cage last night and got into the baby's crib and strangled her to death," the caller said.
No shit, Darnell. What would you do if you were a fucking 8-ft-long hungry-ass snake cramped up in a cage all day every day, getting contact highs from you and your dropout buddies?
You'd bust outta that shit and get yourself some fresh eats! Baby eats! (they're easier to kill)
Or maybe a sheep:
This is my favorite part of the story, though:
Darnell did not have a permit for the snake, which would be a second-degree misdemeanor, said Joy Hill, a spokeswoman with the. He has not been charged, but Caruthers said investigators were looking into whether there was child neglect or if any other laws were broken.
Hill said the snake will be placed with someone who has a permit, pending an investigation into the girl's death.
A second-degree misdemeanor? Debating whether or not any laws were broken? A foster-parent for the killer snake?
Am I living in the fucking Twilight Zone???
Darnell and his girl belong in jail for having an 8-ft (going on 26ft) Burmese python in the same home as a child--the existence of a snake permit is a non-issue.
This is a breed of snake that EATS CROCODILES!!!! How is it sane to have one around?
Rather than placed in a foster home, the snake should be shot in the face and fed to crocodiles because, let's be honest, even if this snake hadn't killed a baby, snakes are just the worst.
When you're preaching to the deluded choir, all ya gotta do is say something and it is true.
Don't believe me?
Well, try this on for size--the Pope and his posse have found the remains of St. Paul.
How does he know for sure? Easy:
"Vatican experts claim the tomb's position, underneath the epigraph Paulo Apostolo Mart (Paul the Apostle and Martyr), at the base of the main altar is proof that it belongs to the apostle.
The pope said the tomb had not been opened but that a probe inserted through a small hole had revealed traces of purple linen decorated with gold sequins, blue material and red incense grains as well as the remains. 'Small fragments of bone were carbon dated by experts who knew nothing about their provenance and results showed they were from someone who lived between the first and second century,' he said.
'This seems to confirm the unanimous and uncontested tradition that these are the mortal remains of Paul the apostle,' he said, adding that the discovery 'fills our souls with great emotion.'"
(courtesy of guardian.co.uk)
Secretary--take a letter:
The reason this assertion is 'uncontested' is that nobody gives a shit except people who believe anything you say.
While we're on the subject, I wouldn't be surprised if you told me--in confidence, of course--that you never even bothered with the carbon-dating. I mean, why waste the hoarded wealth of centuries-worth of gullible poor people on something as trivial as inconclusive proof when you don't even need to bother proving it at all, right? Right?
By the way--kudos to you, man. You really got it all figured out--only 82 years young and already head of the best racket in the racket business.
Burn In Hell,
ps--Love your new hat! LOL!
"Hopes for a new album were raised in 2006 when Jackson appointed Guy Holmes, the man behind Right Said Fred and Crazy Frog, to spearhead efforts to come up with fresh material. The star found a benefactor in Sheikh Abdullah of Bahrain, who was reportedly prepared to bankroll Jackson's costs if he recorded the sheikh's own compositions. But the deal came to nothing."
Hmmm...the 'world's greatest entertainer' who sold over 500 million albums needed help from the jag-off behind one-hit-wonders Right Said Fred to revitalize his career? On what planet does that make sense? My dear Michael, you would have been better off asking Blanket.
Business/art aside, Michael was already in trouble on the social front.
Why? He was best buddies with this plasticine freak of science since the age of 12: