Posts tagged ‘Richard Wentz’

September 3, 2011

Song Challenge 19: Adult-Contemporary Guilty Pleasures

edited by ANDREW HICKS

Chicago's "Look Away" video: Hot chick. Fiery explosion. Still somehow boring.

ANDREW HICKS
Okay, I’ll go first. One of my guiltiest of guilty pleasures is Chicago‘s “Look Away.” It’s a Diane Warren song, even (that lady has written some of the worst pop ballads of all-time and become a billionaire in the process), and I love its maudlin gaudiness. The video, on the other hand, looks like an awful version of the depressing first half of a Folgers commercial with pyrotechnics tossed in.

ANNE GARDNER
What does “adult contemporary” mean exactly? Music that appeals to adults or music made by adults? Or both?

ERIC DOHMAN
Any music where you can replace the word “baby” with “Jesus” and it still sounds like it fits.

T. ALLAN CHRISTOPHER
The narrowed-down definition would be: music by people our age for people our age. However, you can look at “past adult contemporary” music as well, which was music for peers in that time period. Think of softer, more R+B-driven non-bubblegum pop. Michael Bolton, Kenny G, Amy Grant‘s secular stuff, Elton John, Billy Joel, etc.”

ERIC DOHMAN
“Look away, Jesus, look away…

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July 26, 2011

Famous Last Words

by ERIC DOHMAN, WOO and WNF STAFF WRITERS
edited by ANDREW HICKS

"Hurry! Call 911! Act now! Call 911" -Billy Mays

  • “Is that Bubbles?” “No.” “I meant in the syringe.” –Michael Jackson
  • ‎”What the fuck, Brutus?” –Julius Caesar
  • ‎”Maybe I shoulda just eaten that donut.” –Karen Carpenter
  • “Always left, left, left. Let’s see what happens if I go right for a change.” – Dale Earnhardt
  • ‎”Delete all my texts from that black chick.” –Thomas Jefferson
  • ‎”Fuck, I forgot the eyebrows.” –Leonardo DaVinci
  • ‎”I’m on a horse!” –Christopher Reeve
  • “Maybe I was TOO easy?” -Eazy E
  • “Birds. I dedicated my life to a bunch of fucking birds.” –J.J. Audubon
  • ‎”A Tyson fight? I am SO there! Just let me finish this 827 hours of recording time, that’ll in no way fuel rumors that I faked my death by continuing to release CDs posthumously. -Tupac Shakur
  • ‎”If the casket fit… oh… oh shit.” -Johnnie L. Cochran Jr.
  • “O.J., that knife is too big to cut up veggies.” –Nicole Brown Simpson
  • “That white light’s way too small for me to fit through.” –Andre the Giant
  • ‎”I’m still alive, FUCKER!” –Betty White
June 29, 2011

Intolerance is Genetic

by RICHARD WENTZ
edited by ANDREW HICKS
 

Everett recounts the events of his trip to San Francisco via cordless phone.

I don’t make the following statement lightly — intolerance is genetic. Submitted for your approval, my supporting life experience:

It had been a couple of years since my mother married her sixth (yes, sixth) husband. This new guy, Everett, was exactly what my my mother wanted: someone whom she could physically overpower and be intellectually superior to. She got what she wanted, clearly.

My mom and Everett came to visit my wife and me a couple years back. We planned a day trip to San Francisco, spending the entire drive explaining to my new backwoods stepdad that the city was teeming with people who had different beliefs and lifestyles than his.
 
In the course of conversation, Everett was dealt fair warning that San Fran was, in his words, “infested with the gays.” He made it clear he wouldn’t start a fight, “as long as no guy tries to touch my cooter or my pooper.” This seemed unlikely to happen unless we ran into a relocated hillbilly with an inbred-papa fetish. Or just some hyper-liberal with a fetish for forbidden fruit. Once this was settled, we addressed my apparent lifelong misunderstanding of what exactly constituted a cooter.
 
We arrived in town, and took a walk along the wharf. About seven minutes in, Everett exploded in emotion: “OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD, LOIS ANN! DID YOU SEE THAT?” Everett had spun around and was vigorously pointing at a biracial couple who stood just a few yards away. Needless to say, they heard his exclamation.
 
“What?!” my mom asked, clearly alarmed.“Those two fellers just kissed!”

So over walked Marcus and Darren, the biracial gay couple. Marcus was an extremely well-defined black man — 6 feet, 4 inches of pure muscle. His main concern was figuring out why this scrawny Howdy Doody doppelganger was wagging his hate finger at him and his partner.

Marcus, my wife and I addressed Everett in overlapping phrases.
MARCUS: What exactly is the problem?
MY WIFE: What is your problem? (Her first words to him since the trip began, by the way.)
ME: Dude, calm down. (I was personally hoping to avoid getting my ass kicked by Ebony and Ivory.)

That guy just kissed that guy,” said Everett, balancing his hate finger between the two like a metronome.“Everett,” I began calmly again, “we told you that could happen. This is the most gay-friendly city in the world.”“Oh, I’ve got no problem with the HOMOsexuals.” Everett replied.

“Then what’s the issue?” My mother was clearly bothered.

“I don’t mind if one feller wants to kiss another feller, but that feller’s BLACK.” Everett’s finger had landed on Marcus, clearly for the last time.

Mixed-race ass beating, here we come…

Marcus spoke again, in a voice that showed more control than his throbbing neck and forehead veins. “You are okay with two men kissing, but not if one of them is black?” He turned to me and said, “Tell me you aren’t related to this guy.”“No, this is my mother’s husband.” I spun around to implicate my mom in her poor choice of men, but she and my wife were nowhere to be found. They must’ve made the quick decision to do some bargain shopping somewhere more peaceful.
 
I quickly explained our visit to him, emphasizing the fact that you can take the hillbilly out of the holler, but you can’t eliminate the brain-drain of many generations of inbreeding. Everett stood there nodding his head in agreement, not knowing exactly what my multisyllabic words meant but certainly realizing I was insulting him for the sake of saving his ass.
 
In the end, Ebony and Ivory decided it wasn’t worth it and strolled off toward a more tolerant corner of the wharf. Had we been trapped in a sitcom, they would’ve each given Everett a sloppy kiss before their departure, but in real life, no one wants to kiss that dude but my mom.
 
She’s still married to Everett, and there’s still plenty of pictures from our San Francisco trip. In the background of just about every picture, there’s an attractive biracial gay couple in the background, holding hands, kissing or otherwise clearly indicating they’re there, queer and proud of it. Everett, for all his prejudice, can’t stop progress.
June 21, 2011

Broken News, June 20, 2011

by WE’RE NOT FUNNY
edited by WOO

Cows churn out “human breast milk”

The Chinese playing god with my breast milk? I don’t think so. Just another way for that damn Nazi Obama, the socialist bastard,  to piss on Lady Liberty’s udders, and I will not stand for it! America used to mean something! This and more tonight with me, Glenn Beck.

What will they call it, “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Breast Milk”?

Bono’s “Spider-Man” musical still weak, critics say

Perhaps Bono should go back to making world peace, rather than giving the world pieces of crap?

On the positive side of reviews, Former President Bill Clinton is quoted as saying, “It was so good I needed a cigar and a fat girl afterwards. Not necessarily in that order.”

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