In Maude We Trust

Falco meets Brigitte Nielsen. Seriously. The song is titled “Body Next To Body.” Seriously. Written and produced by Giorgio Moroder. Seriously.

To CNN’s David Gergen: Enough with the combover. You’re fooling no one with that thing. In fact, it looks downright ridiculous. Stop it before it hurts your credibility further.

I know I said Hurl was the worst show on TV, but that was before I found out this guy had his own show. WTF? This turd is seriously unfunny. Why is he allowed to have a sketch comedy program? Tell me he has photos of a network exec diddling a preteen or something and has blackmailed his way onto the airwaves. That’s the only reasonable explanation. Frank Caliendo, get off my TV. Now! Git! Go on! I’m not going to tell you a second time.

News from Hollywood:

‘Slacker Uprising,’ a feature-length film documenting [Michael] Moore’s tour of swing states during the 2004 presidential election year, was made available for a free download instead of being released in movie theaters.

The maker of the award-winning anti-Iraq war blockbuster ‘Fahrenheit 9/11,’ said in a statement the gesture was “entirely as a gift to my fans.”

In other words, no one wanted to distribute it. Doh!

George Takei and partner Brad Altman were married Sunday in California. Among the wedding guests: Star Trek’s Walter Koenig and Nichelle Nichols, serving as best man and best lady.

Best wishes to the happy couple!

Seriously? Seriously? Wow. I totally did not see that coming. That was totally awesome. Very cool.

Now, what? I have to wait nine months for a new episode? Fuck.

The only thing more gay than showtunes is crystal meth. And that was made even gayer with the invention of the booty bump. I’m not sure whose idea that was, but that guy has nothing on the genius behind this number:

This is the gayest thing ever. It’s like a Guy Maddin film full of flying monkeys. Or a hairdresser on poppers. Or an Erasure song.

Via.

Al Gore

I want him to spank me.

Don’t judge.

Billy Jack by Relaxed Muscle

Remember raves? You know, a bunch of sweaty kids sucking on glow sticks and jerking spasmodically to the latest Fatboy Slim twelve inch? (It’s a testament to E that there was a drug powerful enough to make this tolerable.) But raves are no longer fashionable, and yet the Chemical Brothers continue to release albums.

What about flash mobs? Remember those? That was something born out of the early days of text messaging when some dumbass got it into his or her head that they could con a thousand people to show up at Quizno’s or Glamour Shots or the Monterey Bay Aquarium all at once just by using a cell phone. It was pretty damn stupid, in retrospect, but so was techno music and rave culture. Live and learn.

Not that this stopped a group of English teens (who’ve apparently laid their knives down just long enough to shake their pasty white groove thangs) from descending en masse to a local Ikea for an impromptu rave near the woodchip endtables. And why? Because they’re idiots, obviously. Oh, and the site used to house a discotheque.