Friday, April 12, 2013

Of Toil, Trouble, and Troll Dolls

UPDATED BELOW with Special Guest Villain

Just wanted to check in and say that I'm not dead -- I just wish I was -- and to thank everyone for the very kind well-wishes.  They lifted my spirits considerably, which is good because physically, things have gone all to hell. I've had to cut my intake of painkillers below the recommended dosage because they were making me ill, and if there's one thing that could take this condition from mere Agony to Martyrdom, it would be suffering the paroxysms of reverse peristalsis while bent over the toilet.  Not that I'd be likely to even reach the bathroom in time, given my current top landspeed (although Riley -- an aficionado of recreational vomit who's turned three-quarters of the carpet into museum quality pieces of abstract expressionism, considers this a plus; but I'd still face a race against time to find a clean spot before hurling, lest I be accused of disrespecting a fellow tagger's work).

Rather than indulge myself with yet another lurid paean to pain, I'll simply quote, in part, Chris Vosburg's comment to the post below, which offers an apt description of my routine:
I think I'm familiar with the "getting out of bed" deal from my bicycle v car crash days: a complicated combination of rolling, momentum, clutching at tabletops and then lamps, and finally, maybe, upright (well, almost!), with clenched teeth.
And then okay, now what, you say, 'cause it's not really any better from there, as you hug a wall across the room.
In fact, this description is so eerily precise that Mary wondered if he'd been watching some reality show of which we were the unwitting stars -- America's Next Top Hunchback, perhaps, or, So You Think You Can Hobble?

On the bright side, in order to pick up anything sitting on a desk or table or other low surface I've been forced to perfect the Bunny Dip, bringing me one degree of separation closer to Gloria Steinem.

On the not so bright side, they're making a Troll Dolls movie:
With an animated film based on the Troll doll toy franchise already in development, DreamWorks Animation has gone one step further and bought the entire brand... 
Deal with the Dam Family and Dam Things of Denmark now makes DreamWorks Animation the exclusive worldwide licensor of merchandise rights for the Trolls, except for Scandanavia, the birthplace of the characters, where Dam Things will remain the licensor.
I'm sure DreamWorks knows what it's doing, but I wouldn't be so quick to discard the products Scandinavian origins.  Personally, I can't think of a better way to describe these dolls than "Dam Things."

Unfortunately, after that news I can't possibly achieve a lower opinion of my fellow creatures, so there's really no point in seeing what Dr. Mike is up to this week.  Instead, let's check the referrer logs and answer our Top Ten Google Queries (although I don't know how much longer I can stay in this chair, so I don't promise to make it all the way to ten):

1.  Anal secretrye:  It's the rye whiskey that's strong enough for a man, but made for a Rick Santorum fan.

2.  the most scariest phiranna in the world:  "Eats my candy, drinks my brandy, gnaws my face off..."

3.  vaginal exam hidden cam: I should have expected something like this when Dateline NBC first announced they'd hired Annie Sprinkle as a correspondent.

4.  please don't poke the ymir:  In this episode of the 1965-67 NBC sitcom Please Don't Eat the Daisies, identical twins Trevor and Tracy find a steel capsule containing an embryonic bipedal lizard from Venus.  The boys try to raise the creature in the rumpus room without their parents' knowledge, but comic hijinks ensue when it grows unexpectedly large and devours them, forcing Mom (Patricia "Pat" Crowley) to gut the creature the way Zeus disemboweled his father Cronos in order to free his siblings, whom Cronos had swallowed -- probably because he was on Jenny Craig and experiencing food cravings.  That happens a lot.

5.  thomas kincaide full of shit: Well, I suppose it's a more accurate byline than "painter of light."
5a.  Thomas kinkade painter of shite:  ibid.

6.  josef mengele savior:  Following the heady success of Jesus Christ Superstar and Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, Tim Rice and Andrew Lloyd Webber took a slight misstep with this overly ambitious follow-up.

7.  the bench thinker Kevin mccullough:  Okay, this actually seems more of a misnomer than "painter of light," since I seriously doubt that Kevin McCullough could out-think a bench, or virtually anything you'd find a wino sleeping on.
7a.  Kevin mccullough is full of shit: ibid.
7b.  Kevin McCullough sex slavery:
"Yes, Mistress, I have been a naughty, disgusting little worm.  Say, does this shirt look okay? I've got to appear on Hannity later, and I don't want the dog collar to show..." 

8.  oh crap exorcism: said the Devil in Mercedes McCambridge's voice. 

9.  what does amniotic fluid smell and look like: I'm guessing this query represents the initial R&D efforts for a new impostor fragrance ("If you like Gee, Your Hair Smells Terrific, you'll love Hey, I Think Your Water Just Broke!").

10.  swiss guard penis:  Clearly, someone thinks the Pope is a dick.

Bonus Query (since you guys have been so patient with me):

11. clown bomb:  Disgusted by President Johnson's refusal to drop the Bomb on Hanoi, General Curtis LeMay spearheaded a project to develop kinetic weapons which would produce similar devastation, but without the resulting fallout, and asked for volunteers to crawl inside a shell casing.  Quickly discovering that the weight of one man was insufficient, he theorized that a bomb no larger than a Volkswagon Beetle could contain a near limitless number of clowns, and demanded the Pentagon establish an ROTC program at Clown College in Sarasota, FL.  He was later sedated. 

And with that, I'm going to go lie down and time how long it takes before I'm upholstered in cat ass.

UPDATE:   Speaking of trolls...Man, you make one joke about exorcism, and the next thing you know, Jim Treacher is manifesting in your comments (below, and here).  Clearly, I need to send the Pope one of those FTD "I'm Sorry" bouquets ("I'm Sorry flowers from FTD can speak louder than words. No matter the offense, flowers are a great first step toward forgiveness. You can choose from gerbera daisies, lilies and many other great apology flowers.").

But which one?  Since I'd like credit for taking a great first step toward forgiveness without actually having to move, I'm partial to FTD's GOP BFD Bouquet, which doesn't say "I'm sorry I offended you," but rather, "I'm sorry you're offended," thereby evading any admission of liability, while implying that the injured party is a bit of a puss.  If this doesn't work, however, I'm going to need an old priest and a young priest, a piece of string, and a picture of Eve Arden.

And after rereading Jim's comment to the previous post ("Oh no. You're in pain? I guess I should show you as much sympathy as you've shown me...Just kidding. I wish you well"), I guess I also owe him a floral mea culpa.  Fortunately, FTD offers a nice "Apology Flowers for Algernon" Bouquet.

15 comments:

Jim Treacher said...

No comments. Well, here's one! :)

Dark Avenger said...

But Obama ate dog once, amirite?

Chris Vosburg said...

As a last add to the "getting out of bed" deal, on more than one occasion, after finally achieving upright status, I'd find that I'd forgotten why I wanted to get out of bed in the first place.

Also, medical tip:

Vicodin should never be taken with alcohol, says so right there on the label.

See, that's just plain wrong. I found that although a coupla Vikes dulled the pain, if I mixed 'em with a few shots of Vodka, it'd put me in the fucking happy place.

And one last tale re the bicycle v car crash. When following up on the injuries a coupla months later, my primary care guy asked if I needed a renewal on the Vicodin scrip, and I said naw, I'm good, and he looked at me in wonder and said:

"Wow, that's the first time I've heard a patient turn it down, I think."

I figure I musta been high or something.

Anntichrist S. Coulter said...

SONOFABITCH CHROME SUXXORS AS A BROWSER, AND IT'S EVEN ERASED MY FUCKING COMMENT THAT I CLIPPED & SAVED TO THE FUCKING CLIPBOARD, SO I'LL HAVE TO COME BACK LATER AND TRY AGAIN!!!!

BEST WISHES, SCOTT, FEEL BETTER SOON, AND GOOD WORK WITH THOSE INFERNAL FUGLY DAMNED DOLLS *AND* THE PAPIST STALKER!!!

Stacia said...

Holy shit, Scott. I hope you feel better soon! Surely you have some of those ceiling-mounted pulleys and ropes and bondage things to help you out of bed oooh wait I said too much already.

It's been a week since your injury and I just now found out about it. Scott, I suck, and I'm sorry.

Weird Dave said...

Is it just me, or are your Google queries getting less weird?

zombie rotten mcdonald said...

Weird, I think Goofle is just getting boring in its old age. I titled a couple of posts "Fuck Jenny McCarthy" and "Fuck Robots" and my Goofle hits barely BUDGED.

Li'l Innocent said...

Well, dear man, you are still funny and smart as Heaven and Hell rolled into one cosmik ball. If that's any comfort.

How about a really good therapeutic masseuse? (Note the gender specificity.)

Carl said...

Vicodin should never be taken with alcohol, says so right there on the label.

They come with labels?

Oh god, it's Mr. "Can't Get Out Of The Way Of An SUV" Treacher! Hullo, Jimmy! Still as pig-ignorant as ever or have you decided to stop blogging?

Scott, I found that lead diving boots worn to bed helped get me out in the morning. For one thing, leg lifts built my abs and for another, once they were rock hard, I was able to pull a "Klaus Nosferatu" getting out of bed using them as counterweights. My alternative was to build a sling into my bedding then attach those to a trebuchet. My landlady preferred the clunking sound.

Carl said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Chris Vosburg said...

Cross-commented from Ivan's Thrilling Days of Yesteryear because I suspect that there may well be some Walken fans among the readers here:

The mention of TCM's showing of "The Naked City" provides an excellent opportunity to point out that there was also a television series of that name, which MeTV provides reruns of each week at 1AM Monday (or think of it as late night Sunday if you like).

The reason I bring it up now is because this week's episode-- "Robin Hood and Clarence Darrow, They Went Out and Shot an Arrow"-- will feature a young Christopher Walken in one of his earliest roles, and I've been patiently awaiting this for over a year now, carefully counting the episode numbers and such.

He was Ronnie Walken then, and sort of a pretty boy-- not the slightly scary character he evolved into (Walken: I don't need to be made to look evil, I can do that on my own) but it's a great chance to get a look at the early days. He was twenty, and Walken fans, don't expect to see any dancing.

Carl said...

Chris, be jealous.

I used to shop at Walken's Bake Shop in Astoria. That's right, his parents, Scots to the bone, owned a bakery just a block away from my apartment. And yes, he would come in.

Doc Logan said...

I was recently prescribes vicodin following a molar extraction. It helped me sleep, and also gave me a deeper appreciation of the late night programming on the Cartoon Network.

Hope you feel better soon, Scott!

Woodrowfan said...

"You can choose from gerbera daisies..."

For some reason I read that as "gerbil daisies" and I thought you were making a Richard Gere joke about the Pope.

Yastreblyansky said...

I just wanted to note that a bench thinker is one of your thinkers that you have to put in when a starter thinker is injured or fouls out. They include a team's rookies, has-beens, and eccentrics. Kevin McCullough became a bench thinker by accident, when the Daily Caller traded him to Townhall for an actual bench, the one where the authors sit as they put the final rivets in their posts.

Get well soon if you have not done so already!