Given that it’s the holiday season, what better way to celebrate than to post one of my favorite “celebrity” interviews of all-time. Although the Michael Jackson one will always be my Opus, this one comes in a close second. So enjoy and hopefully I’ll start writing again sometime before I die – which, considering the way I feel at the moment – may be any minute now…
******************************************
Well, it may be Christmas Eve, but don’t think that will stop your favorite internet moron (um . . . me) from working hard to bring you the highest quality of entertainment when the chance presents itself.
I have done the impossible and secured an interview with quite possibly the hardest working man in the world – especially tonight. He has turned down all the major networks, CNN, Fox and everyone else – although he did almost relent to the WB, when they offered him his own sitcom alongside Steve Harvey.
Regardless, I was able to get him – albeit briefly – for a quick one-on-one chat, and suffice it to say – I was not disappointed. I don’t believe you will be, either.
Therefore, without any further ado, The New Empire Lounge presents to you, our exclusive one-on-one interview with the man of the hour, jolly old St. Nicholas himself . . . Santa Claus.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
NEW EMPIRE LOUNGE: This is truly an honor – especially given your limited time schedule tonight. Thank you so much for taking the time to speak with us, Santa.
SANTA CLAUS (groggy): Wh . . . what the . . . where . . . where am I?
NEL: You’re at my house, Santa.
SC (still groggy): Um . . . what . . . what happened?
NEL: Oh, I found some old roofies from back when I was still single, so I spiked your milk and cookies. Hope you don’t mind – but you’re so quick, I wanted to make sure I got the chance to speak with you.
SC: Um . . . well that’s not very nice, you know. I have a lot of deliveries to make tonight.
NEL: Look, Santa – cut me some slack. This is the most prestigious interview a reporter could hope for – and this is coming from someone that has had exclusive interviews with Michael Jackson and Saddam Hussein in successive weeks. Did you read those, by the way?
SC: Um . . . not really. I’ve been somewhat busy lately.
NEL: Oh, well you should really check those out. Regardless, listen – I’m a little nobody working on a fledgling website, just trying to make a name for myself. Certainly, you wouldn’t begrudge me a few moments of your time to help a fella out in the spirit of the holidays, now would you?
SC: I don’t know . . . I really am on a tight timeframe.
NEL: Come on! Besides, don’t think Brokaw or that goofy looking guy from Telemundo won’t try the same thing. In fact, I have it on pretty good authority that Wolf Blitzer put some horse tranquilizers in the carrots he left for the reindeer. So, either way you probably want to watch yourself.
SC (getting less jolly): Okay, okay – fine! You can have your interview. Just make it fast.
NEL: Wow, thanks Santa. You’re the best.
SC: Yeah, whatever. Like I said, just make it quick.
NEL: Okay, so first question – exactly how DO you know who’s been naughty and who’s been nice? I mean, that’s a whole lot of people to check up on. You have to have some sort of help, right? What is it, spies? In-house surveillance? Are you a warlock?
SC: Oh no, it’s nothing like that. Unfortunately, I can’t tell you exactly how it’s done – there’s an upstart group on the other side of the North Pole that is trying to move in on my operations and for them to find out how I keep track of these things would ruin me. Suffice it to say, our method works great – in fact, it’s nearly fool proof.
NEL: Okay, but what about the kids in some of the more impoverished neighborhoods – not all those kids are bad, but still they’re left without presents. Your response to this, sir?
SC: Are you kidding? What kind of question is that? Look – have you seen some of these neighborhoods? Like I need to worry about getting hit by a stray bullet from some drug deal gone bad down on the street. I try and get to as many of those houses as I can, but man – those dealers are using armor piercing bullets these days – you can’t do anything to protect yourself.
NEL: But, aren’t you magical or immune to stuff like that or something?
SC: Nope. I’m just a normal man like you.
NEL: Normal? Pardon me, Santa – but I’ve never ridden around on a sleigh pulled by flying reindeer, going to every house in the world in the span of one night. Though, now that I think about it, there was that one time, after a Dead concert – I think I got the brown acid or something . . . but, um . . . that’s a story for another time. You know what I’m saying, right Santa?
SC (nervously): Um . . . ha, ha – right.
NEL: Okay – so, what’s the deal with these reindeer, anyhow? How in the heck to you get them to fly so quick – or, at all for that matter? Are there cattle-prods involved?
SC: Oh, no – nothing like that! My goodness, where would you ever get such an idea? I would never do something so inhumane.
NEL: I don’t know – I’ve never seen a deer fly before, so I figured there must be some sort of trickery or electro-shocking involved.
SC: My heavens, I would never treat another living creature so cruelly.
NEL: Come on, now – don’t pull that crap on me. You’ve got them harnessed to a sleigh, pulling your tubby ass and enough toys for all the kids in the world – I can’t imagine that’s really a major improvement from prancing around in the forest. Not to mention, it looks like you had to whack a cow or two to get those nice, shiny boots, eh? I’d also bet that that’s not all milk and cookies floating around in that belly of yours . . . I’m sure there’s a steak or a burger mixed in somewhere, no?
SC (more nervously): Um . . . well, perhaps . . . um . . . regardless, I treat the reindeer very well. As for the flying, this is another of my secrets that I’d rather not divulge. Aside from the previously mentioned corporation, I’ve heard that Sony is now working on throwing a plant up my way as well. If that happens, forget it – there’s just no way I can keep up with the Japanese in terms of pure productivity. The elves are good – but they’re not that good.
NEL: Come on, man – work with me here. You’re not giving me anything good – just a bunch of fluff. I’m not Diane Sawyer, you know. Give me something to work with.
SC: Well, okay – I’ve actually been dying to tell this to someone anyhow: you know, Mrs. Claus really likes it when I put my finger in her...
NEL: Whoa! Whoa! Whoa there, big fella! Take it easy now. That’s one vision I don’t think any of us need to have to try to erase from our memory banks, thank you. I guess that falls under the category of “Be careful what you wish for” eh?
SC: Hey – you asked. NEL: Point taken.
SC (looking at his watch and becoming even less jolly): Look, um . . . are we about done here? I really need to get on with this thing.
NEL: Hold your horses, round boy, just a couple more questions. Okay – what’s the deal with Rudolph? I mean, so the poor thing had a red nose – you really think it was fair to ostracize him for it?
SC: Hey now, I’ve admitted that I messed up that one. I mean, look at it from my perspective: I have to keep these reindeer happy – this night isn’t easy on any of us. A couple of them – I won’t mention any names – were a little uncomfortable with the idea of a red-nosed reindeer on the squad. I had to look at the big picture: hurt the feelings of one reindeer, or risk losing several other reindeer from the team and potentially ruin Christmas for millions of children everywhere. At the time, it seemed like the obvious thing to do.
NEL: And now?
SC: Now, it’s quite obvious that I – that we all – made a mistake. Rudolph really came through for us that foggy Christmas Eve. He ignored the slights that the other reindeer made towards him – and believe me, there were some really bad, ugly things happening there – and proved that he was the bigger man, er . . . reindeer. Plus, the other reindeer realized we were in a pinch and put their prejudices aside for the betterment of the team. I think it was a growing experience for all involved.
NEL: Wow, that’s touching.
SC: Trust me – you don’t know the half of it . . . nor do you want to.
NEL: Fair enough. Final question – where in the hell are my presents, fat man?
SC: Well, I did receive your list, and unfortunately it left me with quite the conundrum. The elves haven’t quite gotten down the art of mass producing those little blow-up dolls, so we may need to contract out for that. By the way – exactly why do you need so many, anyhow?
NEL: Uh . . . um . . . research.
SC: Sure – whatever you say.
NEL: Great. Well, thanks for stopping by to visit with us tonight, Santa. Any messages you would like to send to the boys and girls eagerly awaiting your arrival tonight?
SC: Yes – get your butts to bed. It’s far too late for you to be up reading this. Besides, don’t bother waiting – this little fiasco here is going to have me horribly behind schedule, so I don’t know when I’ll be there anyhow. Best you all get some sleep and prepare for the big day tomorrow.
For the rest of you, please continue to visit this very fine website. I now have access to his referrer sheet and will know if you’ve been naughty and not read it. If that’s the case, rest assured you’ll be dealt with accordingly. These reindeer leave a lot of nasty stuff behind and I can make sure it ends up in your stockings – so keep reading.
Um . . . oh yeah, Merry Christmas, too!
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Married White Dork seeks...
[AUTHOR'S NOTE: Today’s post contains subject matter of a frank and sexual nature. If you are easily offended by such discussion - well, you probably shouldn’t be reading this in the first place, so deal with it.
Moreover, if you are under the age of 18 - get your ass in school where you belong and leave the grown ups alone to talk like the filthy, disgusting pigs that we are.
Thank you for your cooperation.]
Back in my young, swinging single days, I was a bit of a player.
Sure, by “player” I really mean, “playing with myself” - but I was a player nonetheless.
Actually, I did alright for myself - especially given the fact that I looked like a cancer victim with lots of hair for most of my early 20’s. As freaky as some people in the world are, there are apparently even few kind hearted souls that are into skinny, dark-haired dorks with bad breath and a penchant for crying incessantly.
Personally, I’m a fairly open-minded person when it comes to sex. There’s not much that I either haven’t tried - or wouldn’t consider trying in the future. I mean, hey - variety is the spice of life, and just because I’m married doesn’t mean that there aren’t plenty of options out there for a young, healthy married couple like My Baby's Mama and me to give a try.
Back when I was single, on the other hand, I tried my fair share of things. One thing I never did, however, is answer a personal ad. Of course, by personal ad I’m not talking about the sweet, little matchmaker type ads on Match.com or eHarmony.com, but instead the “horny, kinky little freak looking for some horny, kinky action,” type of ads that you generally find in your city’s free weekly newspapers (for example, back in Cleveland, where I’m from originally, they have “Scene” and in Boston, where I also used to live, you had “The Phoenix”).
Its not that I never had the desire to answer one of these ads - I mean, what horny 20-something wouldn’t like to spend a little time with a “busty 40-year old woman who likes giving oral and wants to teach you the meaning of discipline?”
Exactly.
It’s just that - and maybe this is a byproduct of my reading one too many true crime novels as a younger fella - but I was always convinced that if I had answered an ad like that, “busty 40-something” would have actually been “overweight 50-something” and “woman” would have actually been “post-op serial killer.”
Thus, I never answered one.
However, that never stops me from reading them from time to time. Granted, I don’t pick up the free weekly papers much any more, since my nightlife pretty much consists of … well, I don’t really have what you would refer to as an actual “nightlife” anymore, but regardless, when I do grab one, I always get a kick out of looking at the personal ads. If anything, they make a much more entertaining read than the majority of drivel that’s printed in some of these rags.
So, after picking one up last week, the wheels in my head went round and round and thus, you’re left with this.
* THE PERSONAL ADS OF THE WEEK *
- GWM, 45, seeks clean, hung men, straight/gay/bi, that enjoy receiving great oral. No reciprocation necessary. I have a place in the Dilworth area.
[…which is perfect for hiding bodies]
- 29-year old Portuguese playmate for you. I’m flirty, hot, kinky and lots of trouble.
[In other words: I will bang you so good, you won’t even realize I’m robbing you blind]
- Barely legal, fiery stunning red-head, 5’6’”, into bondage, oral, toys, swapping, much more. Wants to rock with smart, intellectual woman. Willing to try new things.
[Like learning simple English? I mean, do you know many dumb, intellectual women?]
- Woman in 30’s looking for a playmate from 18-29 for fun and exotic times. I have been bad and need to be spanked.
[Haven’t we all?]
- Spastic semi-goddess, intense, creative, visual hedonist, seeking similarly hip, uninhibited, intelligent, sexy woman for occasional city trysts. Seduce with sexual creativity, strawberries, chocolate or Portishead.
[…or overuse of adjectives]
- Voluptuous attractive woman, 40’s, shapely, busty 38DD, seeks woman for Bi-love, lasting friendship desired, also 3somes with MY attractive hubby. Let’s get together.
[I love you . . .]
- Attractive, well endowed Bi-male seeks couple man & woman or dominant female or man for safe, adventurous erotic fun.
[“Safe, adventurous, erotic fun”… sounds like the tagline for any random Skinemax movie…]
- Blindfolded WF with arms harnessed, loves men touching and cuming on me. Seeking Bi-sexual male who’s kinky in a fun way to please me and my partner.
[“Kinky in a fun way”… i.e. no serial killers]
- House parties held weekends. Relaxed, non-pushy fun and entertaining. New, curious couples and single females welcome. Meet new, swinging friends this weekend.
[Why are there never any of these ads that say couples or single MEN, you wonder? Because if they did these parties would be one huge sausage fest, with 50 nasty-looking, horny losers and the wife of the guy hosting it.]
- Caught on film. Lickable, sleek aerodynamic white couple.
[Aerodynamic? What is this, an ad for sex or to get members for the Jamaican bobsled team?]
- Looking for sly, witty, seductive, artistic partner for photo/video shoots, homemade pornography, playing with toys.
[In other words: I want to become a porn producer, so I’ll let you bang my wife so long as you don’t mind me selling the film on the internet and not cutting you in on the profits.]
- MWM interested in servicing your female partner. Good size and stamina. Call if this service excites you.
[I’m horny and want to nail your wife.]
- Relax and enjoy. Sensual couple, early 40’s with desirable attributes seeking honest, sensual, attractive partners for group sex.
[Desirable attributes = plenty of Ecstasy]
- Think it’d be sexy to see your wife be sexual? Think we’d enjoy sharing her? Would she enjoy double stimulation? Let’s talk, gentlemen.
[I just got released after a 12 month stint in County Jail and need sex so badly, I’m even willing to have my twig and berries in the same general vicinity as yours just to get a little.]
- Have beers, watch XXX videos while an attractive WM strokes you for pleasure.
[Um… unless WM is code for “hot female porn star” I think I’ll pass.]
- Dad seeks son. South Park area GWM, 52, seeks nice guy under 25 for mutually rewarding relationship.
[I’m an unappealing rich man who will pay you immensely to have sex with me.]
- Masculine WM looking to help you with your household jobs BIG or small, around your home in the nude. All welcome. If it’s broke or unhung, I can take care of it.
[Unhung… like, say… your husband?]
- 40-year old WM in open relationship seeks open, safe sane consensual d/d free man or woman for body worship, nipple play, cross dressing, bondage. I love to receive anal. Open to many things.
[No shit.]
- Kinky gay boys submit to straight/Bi sex. Handsome, tall, lanky BiAM, 37, seeks tall thin blond experimental GM or couples for bi threesome and foursomes. Contact Rob.
[I… um, uh… no comment.]
Moreover, if you are under the age of 18 - get your ass in school where you belong and leave the grown ups alone to talk like the filthy, disgusting pigs that we are.
Thank you for your cooperation.]
Back in my young, swinging single days, I was a bit of a player.
Sure, by “player” I really mean, “playing with myself” - but I was a player nonetheless.
Actually, I did alright for myself - especially given the fact that I looked like a cancer victim with lots of hair for most of my early 20’s. As freaky as some people in the world are, there are apparently even few kind hearted souls that are into skinny, dark-haired dorks with bad breath and a penchant for crying incessantly.
Personally, I’m a fairly open-minded person when it comes to sex. There’s not much that I either haven’t tried - or wouldn’t consider trying in the future. I mean, hey - variety is the spice of life, and just because I’m married doesn’t mean that there aren’t plenty of options out there for a young, healthy married couple like My Baby's Mama and me to give a try.
Back when I was single, on the other hand, I tried my fair share of things. One thing I never did, however, is answer a personal ad. Of course, by personal ad I’m not talking about the sweet, little matchmaker type ads on Match.com or eHarmony.com, but instead the “horny, kinky little freak looking for some horny, kinky action,” type of ads that you generally find in your city’s free weekly newspapers (for example, back in Cleveland, where I’m from originally, they have “Scene” and in Boston, where I also used to live, you had “The Phoenix”).
Its not that I never had the desire to answer one of these ads - I mean, what horny 20-something wouldn’t like to spend a little time with a “busty 40-year old woman who likes giving oral and wants to teach you the meaning of discipline?”
Exactly.
It’s just that - and maybe this is a byproduct of my reading one too many true crime novels as a younger fella - but I was always convinced that if I had answered an ad like that, “busty 40-something” would have actually been “overweight 50-something” and “woman” would have actually been “post-op serial killer.”
Thus, I never answered one.
However, that never stops me from reading them from time to time. Granted, I don’t pick up the free weekly papers much any more, since my nightlife pretty much consists of … well, I don’t really have what you would refer to as an actual “nightlife” anymore, but regardless, when I do grab one, I always get a kick out of looking at the personal ads. If anything, they make a much more entertaining read than the majority of drivel that’s printed in some of these rags.
So, after picking one up last week, the wheels in my head went round and round and thus, you’re left with this.
* THE PERSONAL ADS OF THE WEEK *
- GWM, 45, seeks clean, hung men, straight/gay/bi, that enjoy receiving great oral. No reciprocation necessary. I have a place in the Dilworth area.
[…which is perfect for hiding bodies]
- 29-year old Portuguese playmate for you. I’m flirty, hot, kinky and lots of trouble.
[In other words: I will bang you so good, you won’t even realize I’m robbing you blind]
- Barely legal, fiery stunning red-head, 5’6’”, into bondage, oral, toys, swapping, much more. Wants to rock with smart, intellectual woman. Willing to try new things.
[Like learning simple English? I mean, do you know many dumb, intellectual women?]
- Woman in 30’s looking for a playmate from 18-29 for fun and exotic times. I have been bad and need to be spanked.
[Haven’t we all?]
- Spastic semi-goddess, intense, creative, visual hedonist, seeking similarly hip, uninhibited, intelligent, sexy woman for occasional city trysts. Seduce with sexual creativity, strawberries, chocolate or Portishead.
[…or overuse of adjectives]
- Voluptuous attractive woman, 40’s, shapely, busty 38DD, seeks woman for Bi-love, lasting friendship desired, also 3somes with MY attractive hubby. Let’s get together.
[I love you . . .]
- Attractive, well endowed Bi-male seeks couple man & woman or dominant female or man for safe, adventurous erotic fun.
[“Safe, adventurous, erotic fun”… sounds like the tagline for any random Skinemax movie…]
- Blindfolded WF with arms harnessed, loves men touching and cuming on me. Seeking Bi-sexual male who’s kinky in a fun way to please me and my partner.
[“Kinky in a fun way”… i.e. no serial killers]
- House parties held weekends. Relaxed, non-pushy fun and entertaining. New, curious couples and single females welcome. Meet new, swinging friends this weekend.
[Why are there never any of these ads that say couples or single MEN, you wonder? Because if they did these parties would be one huge sausage fest, with 50 nasty-looking, horny losers and the wife of the guy hosting it.]
- Caught on film. Lickable, sleek aerodynamic white couple.
[Aerodynamic? What is this, an ad for sex or to get members for the Jamaican bobsled team?]
- Looking for sly, witty, seductive, artistic partner for photo/video shoots, homemade pornography, playing with toys.
[In other words: I want to become a porn producer, so I’ll let you bang my wife so long as you don’t mind me selling the film on the internet and not cutting you in on the profits.]
- MWM interested in servicing your female partner. Good size and stamina. Call if this service excites you.
[I’m horny and want to nail your wife.]
- Relax and enjoy. Sensual couple, early 40’s with desirable attributes seeking honest, sensual, attractive partners for group sex.
[Desirable attributes = plenty of Ecstasy]
- Think it’d be sexy to see your wife be sexual? Think we’d enjoy sharing her? Would she enjoy double stimulation? Let’s talk, gentlemen.
[I just got released after a 12 month stint in County Jail and need sex so badly, I’m even willing to have my twig and berries in the same general vicinity as yours just to get a little.]
- Have beers, watch XXX videos while an attractive WM strokes you for pleasure.
[Um… unless WM is code for “hot female porn star” I think I’ll pass.]
- Dad seeks son. South Park area GWM, 52, seeks nice guy under 25 for mutually rewarding relationship.
[I’m an unappealing rich man who will pay you immensely to have sex with me.]
- Masculine WM looking to help you with your household jobs BIG or small, around your home in the nude. All welcome. If it’s broke or unhung, I can take care of it.
[Unhung… like, say… your husband?]
- 40-year old WM in open relationship seeks open, safe sane consensual d/d free man or woman for body worship, nipple play, cross dressing, bondage. I love to receive anal. Open to many things.
[No shit.]
- Kinky gay boys submit to straight/Bi sex. Handsome, tall, lanky BiAM, 37, seeks tall thin blond experimental GM or couples for bi threesome and foursomes. Contact Rob.
[I… um, uh… no comment.]
Saturday, September 20, 2008
We Are A Part of The Rhythm Nation...
Well, talk about a lucky find.
I thought I had used up all my celebrity interviews. However, I was going through some old posts the other day and low and behold – I find this.
I’m still holding out on one more from the archives – plus I may be trying to wrangle a brand new interview… but we’re still trying to put the final touches on that one.
Anyhow – it will pretty much explain itself below. So, have some fun with it.
_____________________________________
Once again, dear readers – the machine that is the New Empire Lounge has come through once again, securing an interview with only the biggest of newsmakers around today – the nasty girl, herself – Janet Jackson.
We here at the Lounge have been able to secure the most extensive interview with the Queen of Pop since the now-infamous nip-slip during the Halftime show at last Sunday’s Super Bowl.
The funny thing about this interview was that, much like the well-publicized interview I had with her brother a few months ago – she comes across much different than her public persona would indicate, with a much harder, almost street-like presence about her. It was eerily similar to my interview with Michael. In fact, it was almost like I was interviewing the same person.
Regardless, I found Janet to be fairly open about the incident, as well as several others that we discussed during our near-three hour session. She did seem a bit faraway at times – and almost a little like she was a completely different personality. However, despite her constant attempts to get some of my “sweet white ass,” as she referred to it, I was able to come away fairly unscathed physically, if not completely so emotionally.
Anyhow, please take a moment to sit down and enjoy as the New Empire Lounge talks with Janet Jackson:
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
NEW EMPIRE LOUNGE: Thank you for taking the time to sit down with us today, Janet. I know things have been a little hectic for you as of late.
JANET JACKSON: Damn! They didn’t tell me you was such a fine lookin’ white boy.
NEL (embarrassed): Oh . . . um, thank you.
JJ: Hey, you know – it’s all good. I’m surprised though – Mike didn’t tell me how fine you was. He’s usually pretty good about letting me know about some good lookin’ boys.
NEL: So, I’ve heard.
JJ: What you mean by that?
NEL: Nothing. Anyhow, obviously everyone wants to know about the Super Bowl. What happened?
JJ: That was just plain old messed up. That fine little Justin Timberlake was supposed to pull off the top of my shirt – you see, I had a little sign on my bra that said “Free MJ”, you know what I’m saying?
NEL: Holla.
JJ: Right. See, I didn’t tell anyone we was gonna do that, cause they don’t want to go near the whole thing with Mike. So, anyhow – that silly little cracker goes and reaches down and pulls the whole thing right off. Before I knew what happened, my damn tittie was just hanging out there for everyone to see.
NEL: It sure was.
JJ: Yeah. You liked that, didn’t you?
NEL: Um . . . I guess so.
JJ: You want your own private showing baby?
NEL: Um . . . maybe later.
JJ: You sure? You know, after the thing at the Super Bowl, I really haven’t had much time to take care of myself, and, you know, Janet wants to get her freak on.
NEL: Well, like I said, we’ll think about it.
JJ: I’m gonna hold you to that, baby.
NEL: I’ll keep that in mind. Anyhow, so what was the reasoning behind the move in the first place? It seemed kind of out of place for the Halftime Show at the Super Bowl, don’t you think?
JJ: Well, see baby – it’s like this: I ain’t had a hit song in over 10 years, so I was surprised that they even bothered to call me in the first place. I guess they figure they can’t have MJ, they might as well get the next best thing.
NEL: Belie’ dat.
JJ: Oh, yeah – you know where I’m coming from. Anyhow, then they tell me they want me to sing these old songs of mine, and I’m all like, “What the f*** is up with that? You want me to perform on the god damn Super Bowl and you ain’t even gonna have me do a new song? What the f*** is wrong with you people?” So, I figure that I’d put that little message on my bra, you know – to kinda support MJ and maybe take a little heat off him. Plus, it’s always nice to cause a little buzz around Miss Nasty, you know what I’m saying?
NEL: I hear ya. Well, you definitely succeeded with that part, at least. There’s more people talking about Janet Jackson now than there were back in the 80’s when you were still popular.
JJ: What you saying – Janet ain’t popular no more?
NEL: Well, like you said – you haven’t had a hit song since Clinton was in office – first term even.
JJ: Yeah, I guess you right.
NEL: So, anyhow – are you surprised about all the attention you’ve gotten thanks to this little “mishap?”
JJ: Kinda. I mean, when you get right down to it – it’s just a tit. What’s the big problem? If you a woman – you got ‘em. I just don’t see what the big deal is. Hell – you ever see one of my dance routines? That’s a hell of a lot more obscene that just seeing a tit. If I was one of those prissy “what about the children” types, I’d be more pissed off about that then seeing a tit. That’s the problem with people these days – they’re all way too sensitive and most of them are sensitive about the wrong things.
NEL: True dat. However, not everyone is sensitive about it – according to TiVo, that nip slip was the most replayed moment ever on their system. How or why they can know that is beyond me, but apparently it’s a fact.
JJ: Yeah, that’s crazy. I guess there are still some people out there that love, Janet after all. Besides, you know what they say, “Any publicity is good publicity.”
NEL: Especially where you’re concerned.
JJ: Right. Um . . . what was that?
NEL: Nothing. So, let’s see – you’ve posed for magazine covers with a man’s hand covering your bare chest, you’ve had almost as much plastic surgery as your brother and now you’ve bared your right tit for the whole world – and then some – to see. Will you be making the full plunge and posing for Playboy anytime soon?
JJ: Aw – I don’t know about that, yo. The family wasn’t too happy about it when LaToya posed – she was in the dog house with them for a long time. Though, now that I think about it – I don’t think she really ever figured it out. I mean, she came around the house and no one would talk to her, but that’s like any other time Toya comes by.
NEL: Intriguing. So, they got mad at LaToya for posing in nude in Playboy, but showing one of your hooters to a stadium full off drunken football fans is acceptable?
JJ: Well, like I said, that was an accident.
NEL: Oh, that’ right – I forgot . . . an “accident.”
JJ: Yeah. One thing I would like to do is get back into acting a little more.
NEL: That’s right. Everyone remembers you as the young cute girlfriend of Willis on “Diff’rent Strokes.”
JJ: Yeah, that was a mother f**king blast. Todd Bridges and I spent a lot of time together, both on and off the set.
NEL: And now he’s an armed felon. Go figure.
JJ: Yeah.
NEL: So, do you have any projects lined up for your grand return to the big screen?
JJ: Um, no not yet. I’ve gotten a few things, but nothing that really excites me. I still need to get ahold of the people over at Cinemax. Someone over there is real anxious to talk to me. Those mother f***ers are leaving three, four messages a day for me, talking about something called, “Miss Nasty.” Sounds pretty cool.
NEL: You know – that’s probably the least shocking thing I’ve heard all day. So, any last words for your fans out there?
JJ: Yo, yo - I just want to give a shout out to all my fans – to let them know that I love them and that I will be back and bigger than ever real soon. The exposure I’ll be getting will just blow you all away. Belie’ dat. And for all the haters out there . . . go f*** yourselves.
NEL: Well spoken. Thanks for your time once again, Janet.
JJ: That’s Miss Jackson if you’re nasty.
NEL: Ha. Very funny.
JJ: Damn straight. Yo, yo - FREE MJ!!
I thought I had used up all my celebrity interviews. However, I was going through some old posts the other day and low and behold – I find this.
I’m still holding out on one more from the archives – plus I may be trying to wrangle a brand new interview… but we’re still trying to put the final touches on that one.
Anyhow – it will pretty much explain itself below. So, have some fun with it.
_____________________________________
Once again, dear readers – the machine that is the New Empire Lounge has come through once again, securing an interview with only the biggest of newsmakers around today – the nasty girl, herself – Janet Jackson.
We here at the Lounge have been able to secure the most extensive interview with the Queen of Pop since the now-infamous nip-slip during the Halftime show at last Sunday’s Super Bowl.
The funny thing about this interview was that, much like the well-publicized interview I had with her brother a few months ago – she comes across much different than her public persona would indicate, with a much harder, almost street-like presence about her. It was eerily similar to my interview with Michael. In fact, it was almost like I was interviewing the same person.
Regardless, I found Janet to be fairly open about the incident, as well as several others that we discussed during our near-three hour session. She did seem a bit faraway at times – and almost a little like she was a completely different personality. However, despite her constant attempts to get some of my “sweet white ass,” as she referred to it, I was able to come away fairly unscathed physically, if not completely so emotionally.
Anyhow, please take a moment to sit down and enjoy as the New Empire Lounge talks with Janet Jackson:
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
NEW EMPIRE LOUNGE: Thank you for taking the time to sit down with us today, Janet. I know things have been a little hectic for you as of late.
JANET JACKSON: Damn! They didn’t tell me you was such a fine lookin’ white boy.
NEL (embarrassed): Oh . . . um, thank you.
JJ: Hey, you know – it’s all good. I’m surprised though – Mike didn’t tell me how fine you was. He’s usually pretty good about letting me know about some good lookin’ boys.
NEL: So, I’ve heard.
JJ: What you mean by that?
NEL: Nothing. Anyhow, obviously everyone wants to know about the Super Bowl. What happened?
JJ: That was just plain old messed up. That fine little Justin Timberlake was supposed to pull off the top of my shirt – you see, I had a little sign on my bra that said “Free MJ”, you know what I’m saying?
NEL: Holla.
JJ: Right. See, I didn’t tell anyone we was gonna do that, cause they don’t want to go near the whole thing with Mike. So, anyhow – that silly little cracker goes and reaches down and pulls the whole thing right off. Before I knew what happened, my damn tittie was just hanging out there for everyone to see.
NEL: It sure was.
JJ: Yeah. You liked that, didn’t you?
NEL: Um . . . I guess so.
JJ: You want your own private showing baby?
NEL: Um . . . maybe later.
JJ: You sure? You know, after the thing at the Super Bowl, I really haven’t had much time to take care of myself, and, you know, Janet wants to get her freak on.
NEL: Well, like I said, we’ll think about it.
JJ: I’m gonna hold you to that, baby.
NEL: I’ll keep that in mind. Anyhow, so what was the reasoning behind the move in the first place? It seemed kind of out of place for the Halftime Show at the Super Bowl, don’t you think?
JJ: Well, see baby – it’s like this: I ain’t had a hit song in over 10 years, so I was surprised that they even bothered to call me in the first place. I guess they figure they can’t have MJ, they might as well get the next best thing.
NEL: Belie’ dat.
JJ: Oh, yeah – you know where I’m coming from. Anyhow, then they tell me they want me to sing these old songs of mine, and I’m all like, “What the f*** is up with that? You want me to perform on the god damn Super Bowl and you ain’t even gonna have me do a new song? What the f*** is wrong with you people?” So, I figure that I’d put that little message on my bra, you know – to kinda support MJ and maybe take a little heat off him. Plus, it’s always nice to cause a little buzz around Miss Nasty, you know what I’m saying?
NEL: I hear ya. Well, you definitely succeeded with that part, at least. There’s more people talking about Janet Jackson now than there were back in the 80’s when you were still popular.
JJ: What you saying – Janet ain’t popular no more?
NEL: Well, like you said – you haven’t had a hit song since Clinton was in office – first term even.
JJ: Yeah, I guess you right.
NEL: So, anyhow – are you surprised about all the attention you’ve gotten thanks to this little “mishap?”
JJ: Kinda. I mean, when you get right down to it – it’s just a tit. What’s the big problem? If you a woman – you got ‘em. I just don’t see what the big deal is. Hell – you ever see one of my dance routines? That’s a hell of a lot more obscene that just seeing a tit. If I was one of those prissy “what about the children” types, I’d be more pissed off about that then seeing a tit. That’s the problem with people these days – they’re all way too sensitive and most of them are sensitive about the wrong things.
NEL: True dat. However, not everyone is sensitive about it – according to TiVo, that nip slip was the most replayed moment ever on their system. How or why they can know that is beyond me, but apparently it’s a fact.
JJ: Yeah, that’s crazy. I guess there are still some people out there that love, Janet after all. Besides, you know what they say, “Any publicity is good publicity.”
NEL: Especially where you’re concerned.
JJ: Right. Um . . . what was that?
NEL: Nothing. So, let’s see – you’ve posed for magazine covers with a man’s hand covering your bare chest, you’ve had almost as much plastic surgery as your brother and now you’ve bared your right tit for the whole world – and then some – to see. Will you be making the full plunge and posing for Playboy anytime soon?
JJ: Aw – I don’t know about that, yo. The family wasn’t too happy about it when LaToya posed – she was in the dog house with them for a long time. Though, now that I think about it – I don’t think she really ever figured it out. I mean, she came around the house and no one would talk to her, but that’s like any other time Toya comes by.
NEL: Intriguing. So, they got mad at LaToya for posing in nude in Playboy, but showing one of your hooters to a stadium full off drunken football fans is acceptable?
JJ: Well, like I said, that was an accident.
NEL: Oh, that’ right – I forgot . . . an “accident.”
JJ: Yeah. One thing I would like to do is get back into acting a little more.
NEL: That’s right. Everyone remembers you as the young cute girlfriend of Willis on “Diff’rent Strokes.”
JJ: Yeah, that was a mother f**king blast. Todd Bridges and I spent a lot of time together, both on and off the set.
NEL: And now he’s an armed felon. Go figure.
JJ: Yeah.
NEL: So, do you have any projects lined up for your grand return to the big screen?
JJ: Um, no not yet. I’ve gotten a few things, but nothing that really excites me. I still need to get ahold of the people over at Cinemax. Someone over there is real anxious to talk to me. Those mother f***ers are leaving three, four messages a day for me, talking about something called, “Miss Nasty.” Sounds pretty cool.
NEL: You know – that’s probably the least shocking thing I’ve heard all day. So, any last words for your fans out there?
JJ: Yo, yo - I just want to give a shout out to all my fans – to let them know that I love them and that I will be back and bigger than ever real soon. The exposure I’ll be getting will just blow you all away. Belie’ dat. And for all the haters out there . . . go f*** yourselves.
NEL: Well spoken. Thanks for your time once again, Janet.
JJ: That’s Miss Jackson if you’re nasty.
NEL: Ha. Very funny.
JJ: Damn straight. Yo, yo - FREE MJ!!
Monday, September 15, 2008
More Fun With Old Girlfriends...
This is a follow-up to the first letter from Amy. Actually, its not so much a follow-up as it is a second, sordid chapter in our tale - but whatever... you get the point.
************************************
I was sitting around last night, pondering on whether to write about wet dreams or rant on all of the stupidity in the world today, when I came across an unexpected little surprise . . .
Yup . . . it’s another Amy letter.
Obviously, everything else gets put on hold, since the last Amy letter was such a smashing success (and by “smashing success” I mean that at least one person actually liked it).
I actually didn’t even remember I had this letter. I was finally getting around to cleaning out the old letter box, and found it buried in another envelope. It’s dated September 8, but I don’t know what year it was. I’m guessing this is September 1992, since I was back in Columbus in Sept. 1991 and I don’t think it was then – but those days are mostly a blur, so anything’s possible.
Now, for those of you that missed the original Amy letter, you can get all caught up by reading the entry below. That should pretty much explain where we’ve been so far. This would be the letter that precipitated that last meeting between us – the one that ended with me driving 45 minutes out of my way for nothing.
Anyhow, like before, I’ll caption my comments randomly throughout the letter, since I think I’m really funny and smartass comments in the middle of crazy rambling letters amuse me. It’s kind of like my own little literary version of Mystery Science Theater 3000. And believe me, this is as bad a cinema as anything they’ve ever shown.
By the way, this letter is typed exactly how she wrote it – I would never let something with so many blatant grammatical errors ever be attributed to me. Assuming I wasn’t drunk, of course.
Dear Bob –
Hello! Well, I just got off the phone with you and I decided to sit down and write you a little letter telling you the things I didn’t tell you on the phone.
[What? That you’re insane?]
First of all, this letter Is not going to be like all the other letters I’ve ever written you [which would be one] saying I’m sorry for all the things I’ve done to you and that I hope you can forgive me – this letter won’t say that – ok?
[Um . . . it just did . . . ]
However, I do have to bring up this one “past” thing concerning you and I (sorry).
[I thought you weren’t going to say “sorry.” Psycho.]
The kiss that you and I shared in my garage that one very snowy night, was the best I’ve ever had.
[Heh. Yeah, baby.]
There are still times I find myself lost in that one moment with and frankly it scares me.
[Now you know how I feel . . .]
Now I know you know me probably better than any of my other friends and you know I’ve gone out with my share of guys and yes even kissed them (oh my God are you serious!!!).
[Obviously, her sarcasm at the end of that sentence shows that she too realizes that she’s a bit on the easy side. Granted, I never got anywhere with her, so I can only imagine what that says about me. Actually, I know exactly what it means – that even she could be disgusted by someone who makes starving Africans look like Marlon Brando.]
But never, and I mean never, did I feel the way I did that night. I always remember Gina telling us you made her see fireworks when you first started going out . . .
[Those weren’t fireworks. They were the tracers I used to disorient her. It made things a lot easier for me back then.]
. . . and of course, being the goofy, immature high school girls that we were, we always laughed and giggled – but I know what she meant and that’s what my problem seems to be.
[You mean, aside from the schizophrenia?]
I don’t mean to come and go in your life, it just seems to be the easiest way to keep from falling for you. I love having you as a friend, you’ve always been my best friend no matter how long we go without talking, it’s like no time has past between us, we just pick up where we left off, but in all honesty I don’t know how long I can go on lying to myself and you.
[That would be for another couple days at least.]
My feelings for you have always been strong, even when you and Gina were going out I liked you. That’s why when I called you earlier tonight I was so glad you weren’t home, because in all honesty I was hoping you wouldn’t call back and then I could begin getting over you – but NO!!
[Duh. I was 21 and just got an unexpected call from a chick. Like I’m going to let a potential chance to get laid go by the wayside. Please.]
Is this an omen from God or is he trying to play a constant, horrible game with me and my emotions – I just don’t know.
[Um, I do. It’s not God playing the games, honey.]
Ok, now that I’ve gotten that off my chest I will leave it up to you. Please call or write when you get this letter. Take care.
Love, Amy.
If you read the previous letter, you know what happened next. I called, met her for a quick slobbering session in her dorm room, planned to see her the next day and she was nowhere to be found when I got there. I kind of figured it would happen, but like I said – I was 21 and full of the hormones. I figured if I could keep her sane long enough to get some, it would’ve been worth the effort.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t meant to be and truthfully, that’s probably for the best. Lord knows what types of emotional trauma I would have been in for had I made it to the promised land with her. I can only imagine it would have left one of us in an asylum of some sort . . . though, as I mentioned before, I’m not so sure she didn’t end up there anyhow.
If anything, I think I’ll keep these letters around, so that when my little girl grows up, she can learn to differentiate between the right way to treat a nice, honorable young man and how to act like a complete and utter mental patient.
Of course, living with my genes in her body, she’ll get a crash course for that sooner than any of us would expect, but that’s a story for another time.
************************************
I was sitting around last night, pondering on whether to write about wet dreams or rant on all of the stupidity in the world today, when I came across an unexpected little surprise . . .
Yup . . . it’s another Amy letter.
Obviously, everything else gets put on hold, since the last Amy letter was such a smashing success (and by “smashing success” I mean that at least one person actually liked it).
I actually didn’t even remember I had this letter. I was finally getting around to cleaning out the old letter box, and found it buried in another envelope. It’s dated September 8, but I don’t know what year it was. I’m guessing this is September 1992, since I was back in Columbus in Sept. 1991 and I don’t think it was then – but those days are mostly a blur, so anything’s possible.
Now, for those of you that missed the original Amy letter, you can get all caught up by reading the entry below. That should pretty much explain where we’ve been so far. This would be the letter that precipitated that last meeting between us – the one that ended with me driving 45 minutes out of my way for nothing.
Anyhow, like before, I’ll caption my comments randomly throughout the letter, since I think I’m really funny and smartass comments in the middle of crazy rambling letters amuse me. It’s kind of like my own little literary version of Mystery Science Theater 3000. And believe me, this is as bad a cinema as anything they’ve ever shown.
By the way, this letter is typed exactly how she wrote it – I would never let something with so many blatant grammatical errors ever be attributed to me. Assuming I wasn’t drunk, of course.
Dear Bob –
Hello! Well, I just got off the phone with you and I decided to sit down and write you a little letter telling you the things I didn’t tell you on the phone.
[What? That you’re insane?]
First of all, this letter Is not going to be like all the other letters I’ve ever written you [which would be one] saying I’m sorry for all the things I’ve done to you and that I hope you can forgive me – this letter won’t say that – ok?
[Um . . . it just did . . . ]
However, I do have to bring up this one “past” thing concerning you and I (sorry).
[I thought you weren’t going to say “sorry.” Psycho.]
The kiss that you and I shared in my garage that one very snowy night, was the best I’ve ever had.
[Heh. Yeah, baby.]
There are still times I find myself lost in that one moment with and frankly it scares me.
[Now you know how I feel . . .]
Now I know you know me probably better than any of my other friends and you know I’ve gone out with my share of guys and yes even kissed them (oh my God are you serious!!!).
[Obviously, her sarcasm at the end of that sentence shows that she too realizes that she’s a bit on the easy side. Granted, I never got anywhere with her, so I can only imagine what that says about me. Actually, I know exactly what it means – that even she could be disgusted by someone who makes starving Africans look like Marlon Brando.]
But never, and I mean never, did I feel the way I did that night. I always remember Gina telling us you made her see fireworks when you first started going out . . .
[Those weren’t fireworks. They were the tracers I used to disorient her. It made things a lot easier for me back then.]
. . . and of course, being the goofy, immature high school girls that we were, we always laughed and giggled – but I know what she meant and that’s what my problem seems to be.
[You mean, aside from the schizophrenia?]
I don’t mean to come and go in your life, it just seems to be the easiest way to keep from falling for you. I love having you as a friend, you’ve always been my best friend no matter how long we go without talking, it’s like no time has past between us, we just pick up where we left off, but in all honesty I don’t know how long I can go on lying to myself and you.
[That would be for another couple days at least.]
My feelings for you have always been strong, even when you and Gina were going out I liked you. That’s why when I called you earlier tonight I was so glad you weren’t home, because in all honesty I was hoping you wouldn’t call back and then I could begin getting over you – but NO!!
[Duh. I was 21 and just got an unexpected call from a chick. Like I’m going to let a potential chance to get laid go by the wayside. Please.]
Is this an omen from God or is he trying to play a constant, horrible game with me and my emotions – I just don’t know.
[Um, I do. It’s not God playing the games, honey.]
Ok, now that I’ve gotten that off my chest I will leave it up to you. Please call or write when you get this letter. Take care.
Love, Amy.
If you read the previous letter, you know what happened next. I called, met her for a quick slobbering session in her dorm room, planned to see her the next day and she was nowhere to be found when I got there. I kind of figured it would happen, but like I said – I was 21 and full of the hormones. I figured if I could keep her sane long enough to get some, it would’ve been worth the effort.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t meant to be and truthfully, that’s probably for the best. Lord knows what types of emotional trauma I would have been in for had I made it to the promised land with her. I can only imagine it would have left one of us in an asylum of some sort . . . though, as I mentioned before, I’m not so sure she didn’t end up there anyhow.
If anything, I think I’ll keep these letters around, so that when my little girl grows up, she can learn to differentiate between the right way to treat a nice, honorable young man and how to act like a complete and utter mental patient.
Of course, living with my genes in her body, she’ll get a crash course for that sooner than any of us would expect, but that’s a story for another time.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Another Blast From The Past
This is another classic from the archives. I'll just let it go from here:
The great thing about moving (and believe me, there aren’t many) is that you occasionally find things that for some dumbass reason or another, you should have tossed away years ago, but manage to keep around just for the sake of reminding you how truly stupid you used to be.
Case in point, while unpacking some of our remaining boxes left over from the big move, I came across a box of old pictures and letters from some of the young ladies I happened to frequent back in the day. The pictures – which I’ll share eventually – I keep around just to take a look back at how freakishly malnourished I looked when I was in my late teens, so I can understand why I wasn’t getting laid as much as my friends were. Well, that and the fact that I had the social skills of a tree stump.
The letters, on the other hand, I used to keep around for other, more nefarious reasons. While decorum and humility prohibits me from going into too much detail, let’s just say that I was single for most of my early 20’s and some of the letters were really, really good.
Regardless, having now been happily married for almost the last three years, I’ve made the command decision that I’ll be getting rid of these letters. Despite how it may look, the Mrs. had no part in my making this decision – and in fact will probably be finding out about it for the first time when she reads this post. I just figured that it could be potentially awkward to have my daughter come across these letters some day and wonder who this person is that isn’t her mommy, writing about riding me like a racehorse.
However, that doesn’t mean that we can’t have some fun with them before they meet their fiery demise, right?
So, in the interest of making myself look far cooler than I actually was at the time, I picked this letter out of the bunch to share with you all. While it isn’t as “intimate” as some of the others, I found it a fine choice in that it shows a girl, obviously looking for penance after shamelessly and callously disrespecting your hero. And, if there is anything better that a woman begging for your forgiveness – I don’t want to know what that is.
I’ll throw in some added commentary to boot – for no other reason than I think it will be really funny. Besides, she wrote the thing in one huge paragraph, so it will help to break it up a bit and make it an easier read. See how I take care of you?
I suppose I should offer a quick back-story, to help you all understand what’s going on here. The year is 1991. I, a surly, dorky 20-year old stallion had just returned back to his apartment on the campus of The Ohio State University, where he was busy studying the fine points of playing Euchre and Asshole, and learning various methods of stealth puking at keg parties.
During our Christmas break, I had started up a minor romantic-type situation with Amy, a girl who was close friends with my first long-term girlfriend, Gina. She also at one point had dated Mike (no relation) who was a good friend on mine at the time. He had broken up with her several months prior to this – but still became angered at me when he found out the situation. This confused me, since like I said – he had broken up with her months before, and from what I was told – had lost interest in her even before that. But that’s a story for another time.
Anyhow, Amy and I had chatted a couple times during that fall and things seemed to be progressing to the point of something major happening during said break. What instead happened was a day’s worth of playing around the issue, about 20 minutes of actual action and another day’s worth of me expecting us to go out on a date, but instead waiting around for a phone call that never came.
(Insert violins and shot of me with a single tear running down my cheek here).
So I went back to Columbus, confused and a little bit (okay, a lot) irritated, but eventually after a week of heavy drinking and patronizing sorority houses – I got over it. Then, one snowy day in February, I received this:
I know you are probably thinking, “Why is this bitch writing me after all this time, what does she want now?”
[Actually, that wasn’t the case at all. At that point in my life, I was happy to hear from anyone – even a heartless shrew that left me confused and bitter.]
Well, the reason I’m writing you is for 1) to see how you’re doing, 2) to tell you I’m sorry and 3) to tell you that I miss you and I miss our friendship. Everything bad that could have happened over Christmas Vacation happened and everything I didn’t want to feel, I felt. You confused me, I confused you, I felt I was being pressured so I shut you out.
[Now, I’ll be the first to admit that I was a tad, um, shall we say “needy” back then, but not even I could have done anything to make someone feel pressured in only two days. It usually took me at least five, if I really liked the girl.]
If there was one thing about us that I loved the most, was we could always communicate to one another. You were my best friend in the whole wide world Bobbie and believe it or not I still consider you to be that. You helped me get over Mike, and I hope I helped you understand Gina a little better. But when it came down to it, I couldn’t handle it. I always felt like you weren’t going to be happy, that something was bothering you. I wanted you to be happy and I felt like all I could give you was sadness.
[Oy, where do I begin? First of all, I don’t know how we could have been best friends, since prior to that we talked sparingly at best. I don’t recall ever helping the other get over our respective better halves, but it was over 10 years ago, so I could be mistaken. As for the bothering me part, sure something was bothering me – I was 20, not getting laid and being led around like an idiot by a schizophrenic lunatic. What would you expect?]
I never, ever meant to hurt you and I swear that on a stack of bibles, but I felt like I was backed into a corner and I didn’t know what to do. That night in my garage, is one that I will never forget, and I mean never. I felt something so strange when you kissed me that I thought I was going to faint.
[That would have been my tongue. Heh.]
Every time we kissed I liked you more, but I had a “boyfriend.”
[Yeah, like that mattered. This chick was a nice girl, but fidelity was never a strong suit. Believe me, her messing around on a boyfriend wasn’t anything unusual. Besides, the night in the garage was the only time we kissed anyhow, so I’m not sure what the hell she was talking about.]
There were times when I wished that he would just be gone and then everything would be ok. But suddenly I realized that to start a relationship with you wouldn’t be right. I believe that if things are meant to be that they will be and when they do come back their meant to last forever.
[Oh really?]
Maybe that’s you and I, maybe not, but either way I would still love to be friends. I’m still going out with Jason and I am happy with him, even though he is basically everything I never wanted in a guy, but I’m happy now & I hope you are too.
I hope everything is going well for you. Please write if you get a chance. I do miss you.
Love, Amy
Touching, eh? Given that I was less than enthralled with her at this point and figured I had nothing to lose anyhow, I replied to her with one of the most scathing letters I had ever written anyone. I was so proud of myself. I never got out of hand or called her names, but instead was concise and to the point, just like the Godfather. In fact, I think I even stole a line from the book about not wanting to thrust my friendship on someone who values it so little, or something like that. It was great.
However, a couple years after the fact our paths crossed again. Sure enough, the old spark got the best of me and we tried again – with the exact same result. I met her over at her dorm room for an evening of wonderful conversation and heavy petting. We arranged to meet up the next day for lunch and perhaps another afternoon of fine conversation and heavy petting.
Instead, I took the 45 minute drive from my parents’ house to her college for our planned meeting, only to find out that she had ‘left with some friends about 15 minutes earlier.” This was a lie, since I heard the girl at the front desk talk to someone in her room – and she didn’t have a roommate – but I decided not to bother and simply left.
I don’t know what ever became of her, but I’d guess that a stay in a sanitarium was probably in order at some point. Doesn’t much matter, since I’m far better off now anyhow, but it’s still fun to ponder.
The great thing about moving (and believe me, there aren’t many) is that you occasionally find things that for some dumbass reason or another, you should have tossed away years ago, but manage to keep around just for the sake of reminding you how truly stupid you used to be.
Case in point, while unpacking some of our remaining boxes left over from the big move, I came across a box of old pictures and letters from some of the young ladies I happened to frequent back in the day. The pictures – which I’ll share eventually – I keep around just to take a look back at how freakishly malnourished I looked when I was in my late teens, so I can understand why I wasn’t getting laid as much as my friends were. Well, that and the fact that I had the social skills of a tree stump.
The letters, on the other hand, I used to keep around for other, more nefarious reasons. While decorum and humility prohibits me from going into too much detail, let’s just say that I was single for most of my early 20’s and some of the letters were really, really good.
Regardless, having now been happily married for almost the last three years, I’ve made the command decision that I’ll be getting rid of these letters. Despite how it may look, the Mrs. had no part in my making this decision – and in fact will probably be finding out about it for the first time when she reads this post. I just figured that it could be potentially awkward to have my daughter come across these letters some day and wonder who this person is that isn’t her mommy, writing about riding me like a racehorse.
However, that doesn’t mean that we can’t have some fun with them before they meet their fiery demise, right?
So, in the interest of making myself look far cooler than I actually was at the time, I picked this letter out of the bunch to share with you all. While it isn’t as “intimate” as some of the others, I found it a fine choice in that it shows a girl, obviously looking for penance after shamelessly and callously disrespecting your hero. And, if there is anything better that a woman begging for your forgiveness – I don’t want to know what that is.
I’ll throw in some added commentary to boot – for no other reason than I think it will be really funny. Besides, she wrote the thing in one huge paragraph, so it will help to break it up a bit and make it an easier read. See how I take care of you?
I suppose I should offer a quick back-story, to help you all understand what’s going on here. The year is 1991. I, a surly, dorky 20-year old stallion had just returned back to his apartment on the campus of The Ohio State University, where he was busy studying the fine points of playing Euchre and Asshole, and learning various methods of stealth puking at keg parties.
During our Christmas break, I had started up a minor romantic-type situation with Amy, a girl who was close friends with my first long-term girlfriend, Gina. She also at one point had dated Mike (no relation) who was a good friend on mine at the time. He had broken up with her several months prior to this – but still became angered at me when he found out the situation. This confused me, since like I said – he had broken up with her months before, and from what I was told – had lost interest in her even before that. But that’s a story for another time.
Anyhow, Amy and I had chatted a couple times during that fall and things seemed to be progressing to the point of something major happening during said break. What instead happened was a day’s worth of playing around the issue, about 20 minutes of actual action and another day’s worth of me expecting us to go out on a date, but instead waiting around for a phone call that never came.
(Insert violins and shot of me with a single tear running down my cheek here).
So I went back to Columbus, confused and a little bit (okay, a lot) irritated, but eventually after a week of heavy drinking and patronizing sorority houses – I got over it. Then, one snowy day in February, I received this:
I know you are probably thinking, “Why is this bitch writing me after all this time, what does she want now?”
[Actually, that wasn’t the case at all. At that point in my life, I was happy to hear from anyone – even a heartless shrew that left me confused and bitter.]
Well, the reason I’m writing you is for 1) to see how you’re doing, 2) to tell you I’m sorry and 3) to tell you that I miss you and I miss our friendship. Everything bad that could have happened over Christmas Vacation happened and everything I didn’t want to feel, I felt. You confused me, I confused you, I felt I was being pressured so I shut you out.
[Now, I’ll be the first to admit that I was a tad, um, shall we say “needy” back then, but not even I could have done anything to make someone feel pressured in only two days. It usually took me at least five, if I really liked the girl.]
If there was one thing about us that I loved the most, was we could always communicate to one another. You were my best friend in the whole wide world Bobbie and believe it or not I still consider you to be that. You helped me get over Mike, and I hope I helped you understand Gina a little better. But when it came down to it, I couldn’t handle it. I always felt like you weren’t going to be happy, that something was bothering you. I wanted you to be happy and I felt like all I could give you was sadness.
[Oy, where do I begin? First of all, I don’t know how we could have been best friends, since prior to that we talked sparingly at best. I don’t recall ever helping the other get over our respective better halves, but it was over 10 years ago, so I could be mistaken. As for the bothering me part, sure something was bothering me – I was 20, not getting laid and being led around like an idiot by a schizophrenic lunatic. What would you expect?]
I never, ever meant to hurt you and I swear that on a stack of bibles, but I felt like I was backed into a corner and I didn’t know what to do. That night in my garage, is one that I will never forget, and I mean never. I felt something so strange when you kissed me that I thought I was going to faint.
[That would have been my tongue. Heh.]
Every time we kissed I liked you more, but I had a “boyfriend.”
[Yeah, like that mattered. This chick was a nice girl, but fidelity was never a strong suit. Believe me, her messing around on a boyfriend wasn’t anything unusual. Besides, the night in the garage was the only time we kissed anyhow, so I’m not sure what the hell she was talking about.]
There were times when I wished that he would just be gone and then everything would be ok. But suddenly I realized that to start a relationship with you wouldn’t be right. I believe that if things are meant to be that they will be and when they do come back their meant to last forever.
[Oh really?]
Maybe that’s you and I, maybe not, but either way I would still love to be friends. I’m still going out with Jason and I am happy with him, even though he is basically everything I never wanted in a guy, but I’m happy now & I hope you are too.
I hope everything is going well for you. Please write if you get a chance. I do miss you.
Love, Amy
Touching, eh? Given that I was less than enthralled with her at this point and figured I had nothing to lose anyhow, I replied to her with one of the most scathing letters I had ever written anyone. I was so proud of myself. I never got out of hand or called her names, but instead was concise and to the point, just like the Godfather. In fact, I think I even stole a line from the book about not wanting to thrust my friendship on someone who values it so little, or something like that. It was great.
However, a couple years after the fact our paths crossed again. Sure enough, the old spark got the best of me and we tried again – with the exact same result. I met her over at her dorm room for an evening of wonderful conversation and heavy petting. We arranged to meet up the next day for lunch and perhaps another afternoon of fine conversation and heavy petting.
Instead, I took the 45 minute drive from my parents’ house to her college for our planned meeting, only to find out that she had ‘left with some friends about 15 minutes earlier.” This was a lie, since I heard the girl at the front desk talk to someone in her room – and she didn’t have a roommate – but I decided not to bother and simply left.
I don’t know what ever became of her, but I’d guess that a stay in a sanitarium was probably in order at some point. Doesn’t much matter, since I’m far better off now anyhow, but it’s still fun to ponder.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
One Step Away From The Old Folks Home...
I came to an incredibly sad realization the other evening.
I’ve become my father.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to change the batteries in my hearing aid, sit in my rocking chair and listen to my Tony Bennett records.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Oops I Did It Again...
Well, if this isn't just about great timing...
I was looking through some more of my old articles, and I found a celebrity interview that I completely forgot I even did. I thought I only had three - and was going to post the third one up here tonight - but found this one instead.
The timing is great, because the subject of this interview just made a major splash at last evening's MTV Video Music Awards (which I admit to having watched - and will follow up with a post on that shortly).
Anyhow, I just found it and didn't bother to re-read it, so if it sucks - I apologize.
Regardless - here you go...
*************************************************************************
If there’s one thing I’ve come to learn in my short time here at the Lounge, it’s that there’s no short supply of people willing to make asses of themselves in this world. Be it in Hollywood or on the goddamned T ride into work, rest assured that somewhere – there’s some ass clown doing something stupid that’s eventually going to get them splattered all over the front pages of tabloids everywhere.
And, when they do – I’ll be there to get the exclusive story.
Case in point: today I have for you – my loving, caring, loyal readers – an exclusive one-on-one interview with the newly divorced queen of pop, Britney Spears. Thanks to a call to a friend of a friend of a friend – and the promise of a few more slightly unorthodox sexual favors – I was able to procure the first interview with the 22-year old diva since her wedding to George Costanza was annulled on Monday.
Spears was upbeat and at ease throughout the entire interview, possibly due to the five apple martinis she consumed during the 45-minute session. She also kept making reference to “that filthy slut Cameron” but refused to elaborate any further.
Here now – in its entirety – The New Empire Lounge interviews Britney Spears
NEW EMPIRE LOUNGE: Thanks for taking the time to sit down with us, Britney.
BRITNEY SPEARS: Oh, you stop that now, Rob – you know I’ll do anything for you.
NEL (embarrassed): Yeah, well . . .
BS: So, have you given any more thought to what I asked you before?
NEL: Yeah, you know – it’s really nice of you to offer, but I’m a happily married man and it just wouldn’t be right.
BS: Well, just know that the offer is still standing.
NEL: Um . . . well, thanks.
BS: You got it, sugar.
NEL: Anyhow, the big question on everybody’s mind is – what happened in Vegas?
BS: You know, Hon, it was just one of those crazy things. We were all out drinking and having a good time and all of a sudden I was starting to feel a little bad, thinking about Justin and that whole fiasco with Ryan Perry and so Jason came out to cheer me up. We were talking and goofing around and one of us – I can’t remember who because I was SO wasted – said, “Hey, let’s run over and get married,” kind of like little kids do when they’re, you know, little. So we did.
NEL: And then?
BS: Well, when I came to the next morning I had this pounding headache and the runs like you would not believe. All the shades were closed in the hotel room – and if you’ve ever stayed in a hotel room you know that it can be the middle of the day and if those things are closed it is still pitch black in the room – so I didn’t even realize that Jason was there. After about a good 45 minutes in the crapper, I stumbled back into bed and fell right on him. He jumped, which scared the shit out of me so bad, I literally threw up right on his face.
NEL: Bet he appreciated that.
BS: You know, now that I look back on it, he really didn’t seem all that bothered by it. Hmm, that’s weird.
NEL: Well, you know what they say: “Different strokes . . .”
BS: Yeah, I guess.
NEL: So, are you surprised by all the media attention this has received?
BS: I suppose I should be, but to be honest with you, sugar – I’m really not. Anymore it seems like the littlest things I do become plastered all over the place. I guess its just like you always say with people and their fascination with celebrities. I just don’t understand it. I mean, so I got drunk and married someone on a whim? People do that all the time, yet when I do it, Entertainment Tonight dedicates a week’s worth of shows to it.
Same thing with the whole Madonna incident. Women open-mouth kiss other women all the time, yet I kiss Madonna and I can’t get a moment’s rest.
NEL: Ooh, yeah, what about that – what was that like?
BS: It really wasn’t that big of a deal. I mean, it’s not like I’ve never kissed anyone before. I’ve kissed plenty of people, just never a washed up pop icon trying to latch on to whatever shred of mainstream popularity she can get a hold of.
NEL: Yeah, that was pretty pathetic.
BS: I mean, don’t get me wrong – I love Madonna and what she’s done for all of us as female pop icons/sex symbols. But, let’s be honest, it really was sad. I mean, she came up to me literally minutes before we were supposed to go on, and was all like, “Oh, Britney please do this with me. Just think of all the press we’ll get for it. We can be the biggest story ever. We’ll be huge.” And, I’m all like, “Whatever, grandma – I don’t know what this ‘we’ crap is. I’m already huge, I don’t need to make out with your old ass to be a big hit.” After a while, I just started to feel bad for her, so I said yes just to get her to stop bugging me.
NEL: Man, that really is pathetic. But it was still hot.
BS: Eh – truthfully, Hon, it didn’t do anything for me.
NEL: Yeah, that’s understandable. I can only imagine what she must smell like. I just get the impression that she really reeks. Don’t ask me why, I just do.
BS: You’re not far off with that.
NEL: Besides, I think most everyone would have much rather seen you kiss Christina anyhow. That would have really blown people’s minds.
BS: That’s the thing that kills me about this whole issue. It’s not like I was the only one there, you know. Christina was there and she kissed Madonna too, but you’d never know it because the cameramen at the VMA’s were too concerned with Justin’s reaction to me, rather than shooting her. I mean – what the hell is THAT about?
NEL: I don’t think you’ll find too many people disagreeing with that sentiment. I’m surprised someone didn’t lose their job over that one. Lord knows if I were in charge over there, heads would’ve rolled.
BS: Truthfully, I would have rather kissed Christina anyhow. She is just so hot, don’t you think?
NEL: Well, I don’t want My Baby’s Mama beating me, so I’m going to respectfully decline that one. Suffice it to say, I think you’ve just helped a good portion of the male population between the ages of 13-16 sleep much, much better tonight with that one.
BS (blushing): Oh, stop that. You’re embarrassing me.
NEL: Oh come on, now – what do you think all those boys are doing with those calendars? Astronomy homework?
BS: Truthfully, I try not to think about it.
NEL: I don’t blame you – that’s pretty sick. So, anyhow – what’s next for you? You’ve climbed the top of the pop charts, made fans of millions of teeny-boppers and oversexed young men, starred in a movie that approximately 16 people went to see, made out with a washed up old hag with a Peter Pan complex and had a quickie Vegas marriage annulled faster than most people take to purchase a car. How can you possibly top any of that?
BS: Well, that’s a really good question. Honestly, part of me wants to stay out of the spotlight and keep my personal life separate from my business life, but I’ve found that anytime I’m away from a camera for more than 36 to 48 hours, I start to get this really weird twitch. At first I just thought it was nerves or from not drinking, so I started drinking more. However, when I was getting hammered and still getting that twitch, I started to worry. Then, one night someone came over and asked to get a picture with me and all of a sudden, the twitching stopped. Sure enough, the next time the twitching started, I went up to a fan to see if she wanted get a picture taken with me – but she got all freaked out so I had to wait until a group of teenage boys came by – but sure enough, we took the picture and the twitching stopped again.
NEL: Wow. That’s just fascinating.
BS: I know, isn’t it? So, now I just keep a portable camera with me in case the twitching starts. Sometimes I scare people, coming at them, twitching like crazy and asking them to take pictures with me, so I usually try to find teenaged boys. They could care less about the twitching – especially if I’m wearing a low-cut blouse.
NEL: Yup, they sure are a resilient bunch.
BS: But, still I’d really like to take some time off and just be Britney. No touring, no video shoots, no paparazzi . . . well, maybe one, just so I don’t have to keep buying these portable cameras all the time – just me and my friends – hanging out, drinking, partying and having a good old time, just relaxing on a beach somewhere.
NEL: Sounds like a major scene.
BS: Well, you know how it is . . . all work and no play makes Brit a dull girl.
NEL: So I’ve heard.
BS: So – you sure you don’t want to take me up on my offer?
NEL: Really, Britney – I appreciate it, but I just can’t. It just wouldn’t look right.
BS: Well, like I said – the offer is always open.
NEL: Thanks. You’re a doll.
I was looking through some more of my old articles, and I found a celebrity interview that I completely forgot I even did. I thought I only had three - and was going to post the third one up here tonight - but found this one instead.
The timing is great, because the subject of this interview just made a major splash at last evening's MTV Video Music Awards (which I admit to having watched - and will follow up with a post on that shortly).
Anyhow, I just found it and didn't bother to re-read it, so if it sucks - I apologize.
Regardless - here you go...
*************************************************************************
If there’s one thing I’ve come to learn in my short time here at the Lounge, it’s that there’s no short supply of people willing to make asses of themselves in this world. Be it in Hollywood or on the goddamned T ride into work, rest assured that somewhere – there’s some ass clown doing something stupid that’s eventually going to get them splattered all over the front pages of tabloids everywhere.
And, when they do – I’ll be there to get the exclusive story.
Case in point: today I have for you – my loving, caring, loyal readers – an exclusive one-on-one interview with the newly divorced queen of pop, Britney Spears. Thanks to a call to a friend of a friend of a friend – and the promise of a few more slightly unorthodox sexual favors – I was able to procure the first interview with the 22-year old diva since her wedding to George Costanza was annulled on Monday.
Spears was upbeat and at ease throughout the entire interview, possibly due to the five apple martinis she consumed during the 45-minute session. She also kept making reference to “that filthy slut Cameron” but refused to elaborate any further.
Here now – in its entirety – The New Empire Lounge interviews Britney Spears
NEW EMPIRE LOUNGE: Thanks for taking the time to sit down with us, Britney.
BRITNEY SPEARS: Oh, you stop that now, Rob – you know I’ll do anything for you.
NEL (embarrassed): Yeah, well . . .
BS: So, have you given any more thought to what I asked you before?
NEL: Yeah, you know – it’s really nice of you to offer, but I’m a happily married man and it just wouldn’t be right.
BS: Well, just know that the offer is still standing.
NEL: Um . . . well, thanks.
BS: You got it, sugar.
NEL: Anyhow, the big question on everybody’s mind is – what happened in Vegas?
BS: You know, Hon, it was just one of those crazy things. We were all out drinking and having a good time and all of a sudden I was starting to feel a little bad, thinking about Justin and that whole fiasco with Ryan Perry and so Jason came out to cheer me up. We were talking and goofing around and one of us – I can’t remember who because I was SO wasted – said, “Hey, let’s run over and get married,” kind of like little kids do when they’re, you know, little. So we did.
NEL: And then?
BS: Well, when I came to the next morning I had this pounding headache and the runs like you would not believe. All the shades were closed in the hotel room – and if you’ve ever stayed in a hotel room you know that it can be the middle of the day and if those things are closed it is still pitch black in the room – so I didn’t even realize that Jason was there. After about a good 45 minutes in the crapper, I stumbled back into bed and fell right on him. He jumped, which scared the shit out of me so bad, I literally threw up right on his face.
NEL: Bet he appreciated that.
BS: You know, now that I look back on it, he really didn’t seem all that bothered by it. Hmm, that’s weird.
NEL: Well, you know what they say: “Different strokes . . .”
BS: Yeah, I guess.
NEL: So, are you surprised by all the media attention this has received?
BS: I suppose I should be, but to be honest with you, sugar – I’m really not. Anymore it seems like the littlest things I do become plastered all over the place. I guess its just like you always say with people and their fascination with celebrities. I just don’t understand it. I mean, so I got drunk and married someone on a whim? People do that all the time, yet when I do it, Entertainment Tonight dedicates a week’s worth of shows to it.
Same thing with the whole Madonna incident. Women open-mouth kiss other women all the time, yet I kiss Madonna and I can’t get a moment’s rest.
NEL: Ooh, yeah, what about that – what was that like?
BS: It really wasn’t that big of a deal. I mean, it’s not like I’ve never kissed anyone before. I’ve kissed plenty of people, just never a washed up pop icon trying to latch on to whatever shred of mainstream popularity she can get a hold of.
NEL: Yeah, that was pretty pathetic.
BS: I mean, don’t get me wrong – I love Madonna and what she’s done for all of us as female pop icons/sex symbols. But, let’s be honest, it really was sad. I mean, she came up to me literally minutes before we were supposed to go on, and was all like, “Oh, Britney please do this with me. Just think of all the press we’ll get for it. We can be the biggest story ever. We’ll be huge.” And, I’m all like, “Whatever, grandma – I don’t know what this ‘we’ crap is. I’m already huge, I don’t need to make out with your old ass to be a big hit.” After a while, I just started to feel bad for her, so I said yes just to get her to stop bugging me.
NEL: Man, that really is pathetic. But it was still hot.
BS: Eh – truthfully, Hon, it didn’t do anything for me.
NEL: Yeah, that’s understandable. I can only imagine what she must smell like. I just get the impression that she really reeks. Don’t ask me why, I just do.
BS: You’re not far off with that.
NEL: Besides, I think most everyone would have much rather seen you kiss Christina anyhow. That would have really blown people’s minds.
BS: That’s the thing that kills me about this whole issue. It’s not like I was the only one there, you know. Christina was there and she kissed Madonna too, but you’d never know it because the cameramen at the VMA’s were too concerned with Justin’s reaction to me, rather than shooting her. I mean – what the hell is THAT about?
NEL: I don’t think you’ll find too many people disagreeing with that sentiment. I’m surprised someone didn’t lose their job over that one. Lord knows if I were in charge over there, heads would’ve rolled.
BS: Truthfully, I would have rather kissed Christina anyhow. She is just so hot, don’t you think?
NEL: Well, I don’t want My Baby’s Mama beating me, so I’m going to respectfully decline that one. Suffice it to say, I think you’ve just helped a good portion of the male population between the ages of 13-16 sleep much, much better tonight with that one.
BS (blushing): Oh, stop that. You’re embarrassing me.
NEL: Oh come on, now – what do you think all those boys are doing with those calendars? Astronomy homework?
BS: Truthfully, I try not to think about it.
NEL: I don’t blame you – that’s pretty sick. So, anyhow – what’s next for you? You’ve climbed the top of the pop charts, made fans of millions of teeny-boppers and oversexed young men, starred in a movie that approximately 16 people went to see, made out with a washed up old hag with a Peter Pan complex and had a quickie Vegas marriage annulled faster than most people take to purchase a car. How can you possibly top any of that?
BS: Well, that’s a really good question. Honestly, part of me wants to stay out of the spotlight and keep my personal life separate from my business life, but I’ve found that anytime I’m away from a camera for more than 36 to 48 hours, I start to get this really weird twitch. At first I just thought it was nerves or from not drinking, so I started drinking more. However, when I was getting hammered and still getting that twitch, I started to worry. Then, one night someone came over and asked to get a picture with me and all of a sudden, the twitching stopped. Sure enough, the next time the twitching started, I went up to a fan to see if she wanted get a picture taken with me – but she got all freaked out so I had to wait until a group of teenage boys came by – but sure enough, we took the picture and the twitching stopped again.
NEL: Wow. That’s just fascinating.
BS: I know, isn’t it? So, now I just keep a portable camera with me in case the twitching starts. Sometimes I scare people, coming at them, twitching like crazy and asking them to take pictures with me, so I usually try to find teenaged boys. They could care less about the twitching – especially if I’m wearing a low-cut blouse.
NEL: Yup, they sure are a resilient bunch.
BS: But, still I’d really like to take some time off and just be Britney. No touring, no video shoots, no paparazzi . . . well, maybe one, just so I don’t have to keep buying these portable cameras all the time – just me and my friends – hanging out, drinking, partying and having a good old time, just relaxing on a beach somewhere.
NEL: Sounds like a major scene.
BS: Well, you know how it is . . . all work and no play makes Brit a dull girl.
NEL: So I’ve heard.
BS: So – you sure you don’t want to take me up on my offer?
NEL: Really, Britney – I appreciate it, but I just can’t. It just wouldn’t look right.
BS: Well, like I said – the offer is always open.
NEL: Thanks. You’re a doll.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Prepare to be disappointed...
This is my first new post since I started this thing. Feel free to alert the media - I'll wait.
Okay then...
Okay – so let me give you all a little back story on this one:
One of the message boards I frequent has had in recent months a couple of all-star trolls on there. For those not familiar (read: aren’t as big of a geek as I am) the term “troll” in the message board community refers to someone who only posts for the sole purpose of getting a rise out of people; either by being a keyboard tough guy; pretending to be someone they aren’t (ie: a dude pretending to be a hot chick); or constantly posting outlandish stories, claiming them to be true.
Anyhow, two of the trolls on this particular board referred to themselves as TapOutMaster, or TOM for short; and Jack McVitie. TOM’s big post on the board was that he developed a special hybrid form of jiu jitsu, which he called Spanish Jiu Jitsu. He claimed to teach this “deadly form of jiu jitsu” in his garage to whomever wanted to join him. And, if they didn’t have enough money to pay him, he would accept services or other things in trade. One of his students was a 16 year old boy, who just so happened to be in a bar with him, when he got in a fight with a large African-American man who called him a “Fat Mexican” and subdued him with a move he called the "bare naked choke."
(For those of you unaware, the move is called "rear naked choke" which - admittedtly - isn't much better, but it makes a big difference).
Jack’s claim to fame was that he took out five different guys, after they started to pick on him for wearing an Affliction t-shirt as he was coming out of the movie, “Never Back Down” which is about mixed martial arts fighting. He claims to have shouted out, “Who wants some more of Hollywood Jack?” after supposedly taking out the last of his attackers. He even went so far as to take pictures of himself wearing his two Affliction shirts… and a mouth piece that he allegedly kept with him at all times, since – as he put it, “You never know what’s around the corner, man.”
So, after the TOM post, I theorized that his mysterious 16-year old student was none other than Jack McVitie himself. Subsequently, I then began to envision the scenario that may have actually occurred on the night that TOM was allegedly attacked.
(For the record – yes, I do realize how much of an utter geek this whole thing makes me appear – but look, I’m two years away from turning 40 and I’m a married father of two in a go-nowhere job that I can’t stand – what sort of dignity am I clinging to at this point?)
In any event – my little version of the events goes something like this:
The scene: a grimy bar, somewhere in southern California. An unassuming looking middle-aged man and his young apprentice take a seat at a table and pontificate over the day’s events . . .
THE MASTER: You know, Jackie – I do so love our times following a day in the gara . . . um, I mean the gym. It is such an exhilarating feeling to spend these moments together.
HOLLYWOOD JACK: [mumbles]
TM: Jack, its okay – we are in the bar now . . . you can take out your mouthpiece.
HJ: I agree, Sensei. But Sensei, I must ask . . . why do you insist I rub down with this baby oil before we roll?
TM: Do not question your Master, Jackie. In time, all will be understood. And for the last time – stop calling me Sensei.
HJ: Yes, Sensei.
Just then – an African-American patron of the bar leans in to their table . . .
BAR PATRON: Excuse me, could I borrow your ketchup, please?
TM: My Lord, look at the size of this specimen. You are a monster – what are you, 6’8”? 6’10”?
BP: Uh . . . I’m 5’11”.
TM: How dare you take that tone with me, Sir! What have I done to provoke this tirade? Yes, I may be a little overweight, but to call me ‘fat” is simply unacceptable. I do not care to fight you, kind sir – but, if you do not leave at once, I will be forced to thrash you.
BP [looking confused]: Um . . . all I wanted was the ketchup, dude. Nevermind.
TM: That is it! [stands up from the table] You have tarnished the good name of The Master and humiliated me in front of my young protégé. Let us step outside and I will commence upon giving you the beating you so richly deserve.
BP: Man, you’re f***ing nuts. I’ll just eat at home.
TM [following the bar patron outside]: Stand back, Jackie and watch how your master throttles this hooligan.
HJ [putting in his mouth piece]: Yes, Sensei.
The Master follows the bar patron out to the parking lot. Before the bar patron can get to his car, The Master swoops in front of him.
TM: Do not try to run now, you scoundrel. Your fate has been sealed. I shall have you know that I am a Master of 163 different variations of jiu jitsu, a quadruple black belt in Joo Go Now Karate and have a very special bunny rabbit belt in Moo Goo Judo. I will now give you one last opportunity to make penance for your transgressions – otherwise I will have no other option than to beat you unmerciful.
BP: Now you’re starting to piss me off. Get away from me, weirdo.
The bar patron starts to step past The Master, but as he does, The Master throws a weak punch, which the bar patron barely feels. However, upon following through, The Master’s arm knocks the bar patron’s dinner out of his hand and it spills all over the ground.
BP [pushing up his sleeves]: That’s it. You’re a dead man.
The bar patron grabs The Master and proceeds to reign blows down on The Master’s head. Seeing his master in peril, young Jack stands up and mumbles something. After realizing he still has his mouth piece in, he removes it and tries again.
HJ: Sensei, I can’t believe this man attacked you in such a cowardly way. Let me help you!
TM [in between blows to the head]: No . . . Jackie . . . I . . . have . . . him . . . just . . . where . . . I . . . want . . . him.
HJ: Give him the Bare Naked Choke, Sensei!
TM [still getting hit]: I . . . said . . . don’t . . . call . . . me . . . Sensei.
HJ: NEVER BACK DOWN, SENSEI!! NEVER BACK DOWN!!
The Master goes to say something else, but loses consciousness. Jack runs over and tries to kick the bar patron, but completely misses and lands on his back – much like Charlie Brown when Lucy pulls the football away – and knocks himself unconscious as well. Two hours later, the two of them regain consciousness and gingerly walk back towards their car.
HJ: Boy, you really showed that guy a thing or two, Sensei!
TM: Shut up, Jackie.
Okay then...
Okay – so let me give you all a little back story on this one:
One of the message boards I frequent has had in recent months a couple of all-star trolls on there. For those not familiar (read: aren’t as big of a geek as I am) the term “troll” in the message board community refers to someone who only posts for the sole purpose of getting a rise out of people; either by being a keyboard tough guy; pretending to be someone they aren’t (ie: a dude pretending to be a hot chick); or constantly posting outlandish stories, claiming them to be true.
Anyhow, two of the trolls on this particular board referred to themselves as TapOutMaster, or TOM for short; and Jack McVitie. TOM’s big post on the board was that he developed a special hybrid form of jiu jitsu, which he called Spanish Jiu Jitsu. He claimed to teach this “deadly form of jiu jitsu” in his garage to whomever wanted to join him. And, if they didn’t have enough money to pay him, he would accept services or other things in trade. One of his students was a 16 year old boy, who just so happened to be in a bar with him, when he got in a fight with a large African-American man who called him a “Fat Mexican” and subdued him with a move he called the "bare naked choke."
(For those of you unaware, the move is called "rear naked choke" which - admittedtly - isn't much better, but it makes a big difference).
Jack’s claim to fame was that he took out five different guys, after they started to pick on him for wearing an Affliction t-shirt as he was coming out of the movie, “Never Back Down” which is about mixed martial arts fighting. He claims to have shouted out, “Who wants some more of Hollywood Jack?” after supposedly taking out the last of his attackers. He even went so far as to take pictures of himself wearing his two Affliction shirts… and a mouth piece that he allegedly kept with him at all times, since – as he put it, “You never know what’s around the corner, man.”
So, after the TOM post, I theorized that his mysterious 16-year old student was none other than Jack McVitie himself. Subsequently, I then began to envision the scenario that may have actually occurred on the night that TOM was allegedly attacked.
(For the record – yes, I do realize how much of an utter geek this whole thing makes me appear – but look, I’m two years away from turning 40 and I’m a married father of two in a go-nowhere job that I can’t stand – what sort of dignity am I clinging to at this point?)
In any event – my little version of the events goes something like this:
The scene: a grimy bar, somewhere in southern California. An unassuming looking middle-aged man and his young apprentice take a seat at a table and pontificate over the day’s events . . .
THE MASTER: You know, Jackie – I do so love our times following a day in the gara . . . um, I mean the gym. It is such an exhilarating feeling to spend these moments together.
HOLLYWOOD JACK: [mumbles]
TM: Jack, its okay – we are in the bar now . . . you can take out your mouthpiece.
HJ: I agree, Sensei. But Sensei, I must ask . . . why do you insist I rub down with this baby oil before we roll?
TM: Do not question your Master, Jackie. In time, all will be understood. And for the last time – stop calling me Sensei.
HJ: Yes, Sensei.
Just then – an African-American patron of the bar leans in to their table . . .
BAR PATRON: Excuse me, could I borrow your ketchup, please?
TM: My Lord, look at the size of this specimen. You are a monster – what are you, 6’8”? 6’10”?
BP: Uh . . . I’m 5’11”.
TM: How dare you take that tone with me, Sir! What have I done to provoke this tirade? Yes, I may be a little overweight, but to call me ‘fat” is simply unacceptable. I do not care to fight you, kind sir – but, if you do not leave at once, I will be forced to thrash you.
BP [looking confused]: Um . . . all I wanted was the ketchup, dude. Nevermind.
TM: That is it! [stands up from the table] You have tarnished the good name of The Master and humiliated me in front of my young protégé. Let us step outside and I will commence upon giving you the beating you so richly deserve.
BP: Man, you’re f***ing nuts. I’ll just eat at home.
TM [following the bar patron outside]: Stand back, Jackie and watch how your master throttles this hooligan.
HJ [putting in his mouth piece]: Yes, Sensei.
The Master follows the bar patron out to the parking lot. Before the bar patron can get to his car, The Master swoops in front of him.
TM: Do not try to run now, you scoundrel. Your fate has been sealed. I shall have you know that I am a Master of 163 different variations of jiu jitsu, a quadruple black belt in Joo Go Now Karate and have a very special bunny rabbit belt in Moo Goo Judo. I will now give you one last opportunity to make penance for your transgressions – otherwise I will have no other option than to beat you unmerciful.
BP: Now you’re starting to piss me off. Get away from me, weirdo.
The bar patron starts to step past The Master, but as he does, The Master throws a weak punch, which the bar patron barely feels. However, upon following through, The Master’s arm knocks the bar patron’s dinner out of his hand and it spills all over the ground.
BP [pushing up his sleeves]: That’s it. You’re a dead man.
The bar patron grabs The Master and proceeds to reign blows down on The Master’s head. Seeing his master in peril, young Jack stands up and mumbles something. After realizing he still has his mouth piece in, he removes it and tries again.
HJ: Sensei, I can’t believe this man attacked you in such a cowardly way. Let me help you!
TM [in between blows to the head]: No . . . Jackie . . . I . . . have . . . him . . . just . . . where . . . I . . . want . . . him.
HJ: Give him the Bare Naked Choke, Sensei!
TM [still getting hit]: I . . . said . . . don’t . . . call . . . me . . . Sensei.
HJ: NEVER BACK DOWN, SENSEI!! NEVER BACK DOWN!!
The Master goes to say something else, but loses consciousness. Jack runs over and tries to kick the bar patron, but completely misses and lands on his back – much like Charlie Brown when Lucy pulls the football away – and knocks himself unconscious as well. Two hours later, the two of them regain consciousness and gingerly walk back towards their car.
HJ: Boy, you really showed that guy a thing or two, Sensei!
TM: Shut up, Jackie.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
I Wanna Rock With You . . .
Here's another of the oldies-but-goodies from my old site. This was the first in a series of "Celebrity Interviews" I conducted. Suffice it to say - they never got quite as good as this one . . .
There comes a time in every man’s life where he needs to make a big decision. He needs to take a situation, weigh the positives and the negatives and eventually decide whether or not the reward outweighs the risk. It’s making the right call in these sorts of situations that separates the men from the boys, can make or break a career (or potential career) and can lead to either fame and fortune . . . or gloom and poverty.
It was with that in mind that I weighed out the scenario that was laid out in front of me the other night.
I had received a phone call from an old friend. After making some small talk and catching up on old times, I was given a proposal, along with an opening – albeit a miniscule one. At the end of it was the chance to make time with a legend.
It would take some work – and a bit of creativity on my part – but I knew what I needed to do to get the job done.
Therefore, thanks – in part – to my old newspaper connections, the promise of a few, slightly unorthodox sexual favors and a couple Lincolns given to the right people – I was able to secure a one-on-one interview with none other than The King of Pop himself . . . Michael Jackson*.
The interview took place in the span of one evening – at his home base (yes, the Ranch) in southern California. I was flown out there in a private jet, blindfolded and taken, via limousine to the ranch. I was led inside, where the blindfold was removed and sure enough, there he was – sitting across from me on a lavish couch that probably cost more than my house, my wedding and my extensive bestiality video collection – all in one.
Several times during the nearly four-hour session, Jackson made mention of wanting to show off “the real MJ.” Despite what many people have said about him, I – like many others that have come out recently – didn’t notice anything overly unusual about Jackson – though, there was the overpowering scent of marijuana smoke lingering around the room. Plus, at one point as I’m being led in, he did remark about how I “have a mighty fine looking ass.”
The bottom line is that I walked into this interview not knowing what to expect – and I walked out not believing what I had seen and heard. During this interview, I felt many things: fear, remorse, his hand on my legs – but mostly pity. Pity for what once was – and pity for what could have been.
I really don’t know what that means . . . so let’s just get on with the interview:
NEW EMPIRE LOUNGE: First of all, I’d like to personally thank you for taking the time to sit down with us today, Michael. I know this has been a very trying time for you.
MICHAEL JACKSON: It’s all good, G. I just hope I can set the motherf***ing record straight once and for all.
NEL: Okay, then – let’s get right to the point then, did you molest that little boy?
MJ: Shit, no! Let me ask you something - is my motherf***ing name R. Kelly? Hell no – it’s Michael-F***ing-Jackson! I’m the goddamned King of Pop – you think I need to be molesting little boys? I’m in here working three bitches at a time every damn night, why the hell am I gonna be messing with some little boys?
NEL: So, you deny everything, then?
MJ: What the f*** did I just say, motherf***er? Look – I’ve been inside the pen and I’ve seen what they do to motherf***ers that rape little kids. I don’t want no part of that shit, you dig? Besides, like I said – I’m in this shit working three, four bitches at a time. Every motherf***ing night. Even if I wanted to rape me some little kids, I ain’t got the time or energy for it.
NEL: Fair enough. However, a lot of people would wonder, then – why settle out of court, as you did with the family of the small boy that made similar accusations against you in 1993?
MJ: Shit, man – sometimes it’s just a hell of a lot easier to pay the motherf***ers and get them off your case, then to go to court with ‘em. That court shit takes forever, and to be honest, I ain’t got that kind of time. Besides, MJ ain’t all that crazy about the inside of a courtroom; you know what I’m sayin’?
NEL: Belie’ dat, playa. One thing that seemed to convince a lot of people of your guilt in that first instance was the claim that the boy could describe your penis. How do you respond to that?
MJ (laughing): Shit, heh, heh . . . well, it ain’t too hard to describe that monster. 13 inches of limp dick don’t come around every day. You know how they call me the King of Pop? Well, this here is the motherf***ing Prince.
NEL: So, you don’t deny that the boy could have described it accurately?
MJ: Like I told your cracker ass, the shit’s 13 inches long - ain’t too hard to describe it. Kid probably saw me unraveling it so I could take a leak. What the hell you want from me?
NEL: All right, then. So – onto other things: over the years, you have morphed from a relatively normal looking, fairly attractive African-American man, into some sort of plasticized, half-man/half-alien humanoid. Your comments about that?
MJ: Man, what can I tell you other than I got some bad advice? Back in the day, I didn’t know no better and my agent told me that it would make me more marketable if we tried a little plastic surgery. Next thing you know, I’m in every couple months, damn nose job gets botched and this dumb ass skin bleaching got me looking whiter than your cracker ass. Been trying to fix it ever since, but my damn nasal passages are about to cave in, so I’m stuck with this motherf***ing outer-space alien looking shit for a nose. Tell you what, though – that stupid motherf***er of an agent won’t be pulling that shit again.
NEL: Obviously, you’ve fired him?
MJ (takes drink from a 40oz. bottle of Colt 45): Fired? Yeah, I guess you could say that – I fired a couple caps in that motherf***er’s dome is what I did. God damn tell me to bleach my motherf***ing skin – I’ll motherf***ing punk your ass out.
NEL: What about the voice? Obviously, this voice that you’re speaking to us with is a lot different than the public is accustomed to from you.
MJ: Again, that was the agent’s idea. My natural voice is a little harsh and too deep for what we were trying to accomplish. Imagine someone that sounds like this trying to hit some of those high notes. At first, I was able to do some of that shit on my own and they were just changing what they needed to in the studio. But once the shit got really hot, my natural voice couldn’t take it. I can do the voice fine for interviews and shit, but the singing . . . that shit takes a toll after a while; you know what I’m saying? So, now I just lip-synch the shit. Saves my voice in the long run and none of them f***ers know the difference.
NEL: Then, of course, there was the much-publicized incident with your infant son, whom you hung out of the window of your German hotel room as throngs of fans looked on below.
MJ (lights up and takes long hit from a Phillies Blunt): Yeah, that was some f***ed up shit. The thing about that is, I was really trying to drop the little f***er out the window. I mean, these kids are fine for my public image and all that, but it’s really f***ing hard when I’m trying to get my freak on with my bitches and one of them little bastards starts to cry. Talk about a f***ing mood killer.
So, I was gonna toss him out and pretend it was an accident – like what happened with that Eric Clapton’s kid. But, then I opened up that window and all them people was down there. So, I just pretended I was showing his ass off, to make it look good.
NEL: My God . . .
MJ: Yeah, I know. I feel bad about it, now. I got used to having the little f***ers around and shit. My Baby’s Mama – I kicked her ass to the curb, ‘cause her dumb ass just used to piss me off. But, I got a full-time nanny looking after them when I’m performing, or when I got my bitches with me. You know, I got to have me my time with my bitches, ‘cause MJ got to get his freak on. However, I have the kids the rest of the time.
NEL: Remarkable. And, how has your family supported you through these trying times?
MJ: Man, those greedy motherf***ers will do anything as long as I keep them paid. Motherf***ing Tito – that bitch WILL do anything. Hell, I pay his ass just to walk around singing “I’m A Little Tea Pot” wearing a diaper and some high heels; just for a goddamned laugh. LaToya, she just a crazy bitch. You motherf***ers think I got some problems? Heh . . . you just wait until some of the shit she’s done gets out. You’ll all think I’m the motherf***ing Pope himself, once you hear some of the crazy, f***ed up shit that little ho has done.
NEL: Well, we’ll all be waiting for that.
MJ: Goddamned right you will be. You motherf***ers in the media just can’t stand to see MJ living large, can you? Every damn time MJ gets himself a little something-something, you goddamned media f***ers have to go out and find something to f*** with me about. Why you have to f*** with MJ? What the hell did I ever do to you motherf***ers? [Getting angrier] If you goddamned sons of bitches would just let MJ live his life, everything would be cool. But no, you can’t do that, can you? You got to f*** with MJ, don’t you? [Gets up and pull out 9mm Glock from his waistband and points it at interviewer’s head] Well, why don’t you f*** with MJ now? F*** with me, motherf***er! F*** with me and I’ll blow your goddamned head to Kingdom-motherf***ing-Come!!!
NEL (shitting his pants): Um . . . oh my God . . . um . . . look, I’d rather just continue the interview, if that’s all right with you.
MJ (laughing): Yeah, that’s right – you MJ’s bitch too – ain’t you, cracker? [Puts gun away] All right, then – what the hell else you want to know?
NEL: Okay then, Michael . . .
MJ: No more of that “Michael” shit, it’s “MJ” now, got me, motherf***er?
NEL (nervously): Um . . . uh . . . sure . . . no problem. Anyhow, MJ – what’s next for you?
MJ: Well, first of all I need to get rid of this little motherf***er that’s been causing me all these problems. Prolly gonna need to write me another check, but whatever – it ain’t like I don’t got me plenty of Benjamins to throw out there – you know what I’m saying?
NEL: Yes, sir.
MJ: Yeah, that’s right you do . . . anyhow, after that, I’m through with all this bullshit. I think I’m finally going to try and get rid of this dumbass “King of Pop” image, stop hanging around with these little f***ing kids – since they and their goddamn parents are nothing but trouble – and get down to my roots. I think I’ll get ahold of my boy, Dr. Dre and see about cutting a rap album, maybe do a little collaborating with Dre, Snoop, 50-Cent and maybe even that little white boy, Eminem . . . I like that boy. I’ll get a few hundred tracks down and save them, release a new album every couple years, like my man Tupac – rest in peace.
After that, I think you’ll see me slowly start to distance myself from the rest of the family – those motherf***ers just get on my last motherf***ing nerve and I need to get away from them before I start busting some more caps. Maybe I’ll see if J.J. (sister Janet) wants to hook up and cut a track or two with me first, since I think my boys in marketing can probably spin that around and at least get me into the top-3 in pre-sales just on word of mouth alone. After all, that’s what I pay them little f***ers for, right?
Finally, I think that you’ll see me eventually fade into oblivion. I don’t need these constant hassles from all you motherf***ers anymore. I’ll sell this dumb ass, motherf***ing ranch, get about 20 of my best bitches, and move my ass to a remote island somewhere in the south Pacific. All y’all motherf***ers will never see my used-to-be black ass again. I’ll keep my ass on the beach, f*** my bitches and smoke the finest motherf***ing chronic my ass can grow. I’ll only come back once in a while so I can get me some fresh bitches and then I’ll be right back to my island before anyone could figure out what the hell happened.
Then, all y’all are gonna sit back and be wondering, “What the hell ever happened to Michael Jackson?” But, you think I’ll ever let you know? F*** no, I won’t! Y’all just have to suffer – just like y’all motherf***ers made me suffer. Now, get the hell out of my motherf***ing house before I get sick of looking at your cracker ass and bust a cap in it!!
*Author's note: Of course, the Michael Jackson I am referring to is actually a cardboard cutout with Jacko's face plastered on it and not the actual man himself. Should you become confused and think for whatever reason this is the actual Michael Jackson - you are a moron and should immediately bludgeon yourself over the head with a brick.
There comes a time in every man’s life where he needs to make a big decision. He needs to take a situation, weigh the positives and the negatives and eventually decide whether or not the reward outweighs the risk. It’s making the right call in these sorts of situations that separates the men from the boys, can make or break a career (or potential career) and can lead to either fame and fortune . . . or gloom and poverty.
It was with that in mind that I weighed out the scenario that was laid out in front of me the other night.
I had received a phone call from an old friend. After making some small talk and catching up on old times, I was given a proposal, along with an opening – albeit a miniscule one. At the end of it was the chance to make time with a legend.
It would take some work – and a bit of creativity on my part – but I knew what I needed to do to get the job done.
Therefore, thanks – in part – to my old newspaper connections, the promise of a few, slightly unorthodox sexual favors and a couple Lincolns given to the right people – I was able to secure a one-on-one interview with none other than The King of Pop himself . . . Michael Jackson*.
The interview took place in the span of one evening – at his home base (yes, the Ranch) in southern California. I was flown out there in a private jet, blindfolded and taken, via limousine to the ranch. I was led inside, where the blindfold was removed and sure enough, there he was – sitting across from me on a lavish couch that probably cost more than my house, my wedding and my extensive bestiality video collection – all in one.
Several times during the nearly four-hour session, Jackson made mention of wanting to show off “the real MJ.” Despite what many people have said about him, I – like many others that have come out recently – didn’t notice anything overly unusual about Jackson – though, there was the overpowering scent of marijuana smoke lingering around the room. Plus, at one point as I’m being led in, he did remark about how I “have a mighty fine looking ass.”
The bottom line is that I walked into this interview not knowing what to expect – and I walked out not believing what I had seen and heard. During this interview, I felt many things: fear, remorse, his hand on my legs – but mostly pity. Pity for what once was – and pity for what could have been.
I really don’t know what that means . . . so let’s just get on with the interview:
NEW EMPIRE LOUNGE: First of all, I’d like to personally thank you for taking the time to sit down with us today, Michael. I know this has been a very trying time for you.
MICHAEL JACKSON: It’s all good, G. I just hope I can set the motherf***ing record straight once and for all.
NEL: Okay, then – let’s get right to the point then, did you molest that little boy?
MJ: Shit, no! Let me ask you something - is my motherf***ing name R. Kelly? Hell no – it’s Michael-F***ing-Jackson! I’m the goddamned King of Pop – you think I need to be molesting little boys? I’m in here working three bitches at a time every damn night, why the hell am I gonna be messing with some little boys?
NEL: So, you deny everything, then?
MJ: What the f*** did I just say, motherf***er? Look – I’ve been inside the pen and I’ve seen what they do to motherf***ers that rape little kids. I don’t want no part of that shit, you dig? Besides, like I said – I’m in this shit working three, four bitches at a time. Every motherf***ing night. Even if I wanted to rape me some little kids, I ain’t got the time or energy for it.
NEL: Fair enough. However, a lot of people would wonder, then – why settle out of court, as you did with the family of the small boy that made similar accusations against you in 1993?
MJ: Shit, man – sometimes it’s just a hell of a lot easier to pay the motherf***ers and get them off your case, then to go to court with ‘em. That court shit takes forever, and to be honest, I ain’t got that kind of time. Besides, MJ ain’t all that crazy about the inside of a courtroom; you know what I’m sayin’?
NEL: Belie’ dat, playa. One thing that seemed to convince a lot of people of your guilt in that first instance was the claim that the boy could describe your penis. How do you respond to that?
MJ (laughing): Shit, heh, heh . . . well, it ain’t too hard to describe that monster. 13 inches of limp dick don’t come around every day. You know how they call me the King of Pop? Well, this here is the motherf***ing Prince.
NEL: So, you don’t deny that the boy could have described it accurately?
MJ: Like I told your cracker ass, the shit’s 13 inches long - ain’t too hard to describe it. Kid probably saw me unraveling it so I could take a leak. What the hell you want from me?
NEL: All right, then. So – onto other things: over the years, you have morphed from a relatively normal looking, fairly attractive African-American man, into some sort of plasticized, half-man/half-alien humanoid. Your comments about that?
MJ: Man, what can I tell you other than I got some bad advice? Back in the day, I didn’t know no better and my agent told me that it would make me more marketable if we tried a little plastic surgery. Next thing you know, I’m in every couple months, damn nose job gets botched and this dumb ass skin bleaching got me looking whiter than your cracker ass. Been trying to fix it ever since, but my damn nasal passages are about to cave in, so I’m stuck with this motherf***ing outer-space alien looking shit for a nose. Tell you what, though – that stupid motherf***er of an agent won’t be pulling that shit again.
NEL: Obviously, you’ve fired him?
MJ (takes drink from a 40oz. bottle of Colt 45): Fired? Yeah, I guess you could say that – I fired a couple caps in that motherf***er’s dome is what I did. God damn tell me to bleach my motherf***ing skin – I’ll motherf***ing punk your ass out.
NEL: What about the voice? Obviously, this voice that you’re speaking to us with is a lot different than the public is accustomed to from you.
MJ: Again, that was the agent’s idea. My natural voice is a little harsh and too deep for what we were trying to accomplish. Imagine someone that sounds like this trying to hit some of those high notes. At first, I was able to do some of that shit on my own and they were just changing what they needed to in the studio. But once the shit got really hot, my natural voice couldn’t take it. I can do the voice fine for interviews and shit, but the singing . . . that shit takes a toll after a while; you know what I’m saying? So, now I just lip-synch the shit. Saves my voice in the long run and none of them f***ers know the difference.
NEL: Then, of course, there was the much-publicized incident with your infant son, whom you hung out of the window of your German hotel room as throngs of fans looked on below.
MJ (lights up and takes long hit from a Phillies Blunt): Yeah, that was some f***ed up shit. The thing about that is, I was really trying to drop the little f***er out the window. I mean, these kids are fine for my public image and all that, but it’s really f***ing hard when I’m trying to get my freak on with my bitches and one of them little bastards starts to cry. Talk about a f***ing mood killer.
So, I was gonna toss him out and pretend it was an accident – like what happened with that Eric Clapton’s kid. But, then I opened up that window and all them people was down there. So, I just pretended I was showing his ass off, to make it look good.
NEL: My God . . .
MJ: Yeah, I know. I feel bad about it, now. I got used to having the little f***ers around and shit. My Baby’s Mama – I kicked her ass to the curb, ‘cause her dumb ass just used to piss me off. But, I got a full-time nanny looking after them when I’m performing, or when I got my bitches with me. You know, I got to have me my time with my bitches, ‘cause MJ got to get his freak on. However, I have the kids the rest of the time.
NEL: Remarkable. And, how has your family supported you through these trying times?
MJ: Man, those greedy motherf***ers will do anything as long as I keep them paid. Motherf***ing Tito – that bitch WILL do anything. Hell, I pay his ass just to walk around singing “I’m A Little Tea Pot” wearing a diaper and some high heels; just for a goddamned laugh. LaToya, she just a crazy bitch. You motherf***ers think I got some problems? Heh . . . you just wait until some of the shit she’s done gets out. You’ll all think I’m the motherf***ing Pope himself, once you hear some of the crazy, f***ed up shit that little ho has done.
NEL: Well, we’ll all be waiting for that.
MJ: Goddamned right you will be. You motherf***ers in the media just can’t stand to see MJ living large, can you? Every damn time MJ gets himself a little something-something, you goddamned media f***ers have to go out and find something to f*** with me about. Why you have to f*** with MJ? What the hell did I ever do to you motherf***ers? [Getting angrier] If you goddamned sons of bitches would just let MJ live his life, everything would be cool. But no, you can’t do that, can you? You got to f*** with MJ, don’t you? [Gets up and pull out 9mm Glock from his waistband and points it at interviewer’s head] Well, why don’t you f*** with MJ now? F*** with me, motherf***er! F*** with me and I’ll blow your goddamned head to Kingdom-motherf***ing-Come!!!
NEL (shitting his pants): Um . . . oh my God . . . um . . . look, I’d rather just continue the interview, if that’s all right with you.
MJ (laughing): Yeah, that’s right – you MJ’s bitch too – ain’t you, cracker? [Puts gun away] All right, then – what the hell else you want to know?
NEL: Okay then, Michael . . .
MJ: No more of that “Michael” shit, it’s “MJ” now, got me, motherf***er?
NEL (nervously): Um . . . uh . . . sure . . . no problem. Anyhow, MJ – what’s next for you?
MJ: Well, first of all I need to get rid of this little motherf***er that’s been causing me all these problems. Prolly gonna need to write me another check, but whatever – it ain’t like I don’t got me plenty of Benjamins to throw out there – you know what I’m saying?
NEL: Yes, sir.
MJ: Yeah, that’s right you do . . . anyhow, after that, I’m through with all this bullshit. I think I’m finally going to try and get rid of this dumbass “King of Pop” image, stop hanging around with these little f***ing kids – since they and their goddamn parents are nothing but trouble – and get down to my roots. I think I’ll get ahold of my boy, Dr. Dre and see about cutting a rap album, maybe do a little collaborating with Dre, Snoop, 50-Cent and maybe even that little white boy, Eminem . . . I like that boy. I’ll get a few hundred tracks down and save them, release a new album every couple years, like my man Tupac – rest in peace.
After that, I think you’ll see me slowly start to distance myself from the rest of the family – those motherf***ers just get on my last motherf***ing nerve and I need to get away from them before I start busting some more caps. Maybe I’ll see if J.J. (sister Janet) wants to hook up and cut a track or two with me first, since I think my boys in marketing can probably spin that around and at least get me into the top-3 in pre-sales just on word of mouth alone. After all, that’s what I pay them little f***ers for, right?
Finally, I think that you’ll see me eventually fade into oblivion. I don’t need these constant hassles from all you motherf***ers anymore. I’ll sell this dumb ass, motherf***ing ranch, get about 20 of my best bitches, and move my ass to a remote island somewhere in the south Pacific. All y’all motherf***ers will never see my used-to-be black ass again. I’ll keep my ass on the beach, f*** my bitches and smoke the finest motherf***ing chronic my ass can grow. I’ll only come back once in a while so I can get me some fresh bitches and then I’ll be right back to my island before anyone could figure out what the hell happened.
Then, all y’all are gonna sit back and be wondering, “What the hell ever happened to Michael Jackson?” But, you think I’ll ever let you know? F*** no, I won’t! Y’all just have to suffer – just like y’all motherf***ers made me suffer. Now, get the hell out of my motherf***ing house before I get sick of looking at your cracker ass and bust a cap in it!!
*Author's note: Of course, the Michael Jackson I am referring to is actually a cardboard cutout with Jacko's face plastered on it and not the actual man himself. Should you become confused and think for whatever reason this is the actual Michael Jackson - you are a moron and should immediately bludgeon yourself over the head with a brick.
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