Saturday, November 28, 2015

That Time When We Got Trapped In The Basement

Hi, World O Crappers! It's me! MaryC! (Y'all remember me, right?)

I know posting has been sparse and light, but there's a good reason for that!

Good Reason #1- Scott has been working on an animated movie program related activity, which has been consuming what little time per day he can stomach sitting at the computer (and when I say "stomach" I actually mean his back, which is why I don't teach anatomy).

Good Reason #2- My mom (now known as MaryC's Mom) is in very ill health. When I'm not working, I'm out in my hometown visiting my mom while she is in a rehabilitation center. (She had been in a hospital with pneumonia, but she got better)

So, to make up for the sparse posting, I'm going to be posting the best, most topical posts World O' Crap has ever had.

But, not to fear! We will have more current posts coming soon! Plus! Keep a look out for our annual "Better Living Through Bad Christmas Movie" post!

Until then, enjoy this post, won't  you? Thank You!

Thursday, November 24, 2011

And from Mary, Riley, Moondoggie, and me...Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

Sunday, November 15, 2015

King of the Wild Frontier Airlines

If you've read any of the many film reviews our friend Hank Parmer has written for World O' Crap, you know he has a delightfully jaundiced eye for bad movies. But he also has a rather painterly eye for scenery, and during a recently holiday to the Smokies he snapped some breathtaking photographs. (Click to embiggen.)

Cherohala Skyway - Brushy Ridge Overlook

I'm a city boy by nature, and when I vacation I stick to the Non-Smokies Section, but I do enjoy the russet hues of autumn, enough so that I used to make regular pilgrimages from Avenue C to Central Park just to gawk at them.  Unfortunately, the pygmy dates and Mexican fan palms that line Hollywood Boulevard are persistently duo-chromatic, so Hank's pictures are as close as I can get nowadays.

Cherohala Skyway - East of Brushy Ridge

Citico Creek

The word "Citico" is presumably of Native American origin, but after years of crassly titled stadia, I leaped to the conclusion that some oil company had bought the naming rights to this creek.

Like Davey Crockett, Hank is also from the greenest state in the land of the free, also knows every tree, and also saw a b'ar on this trip. But he didn't kilt a b'ar, because he isn't three, and that's the sort of thing that only a toddler with poor impulse control would do. Also, Hank's theme song is considerably less racist.

Tuesday, November 10, 2015


By Keith

Poor Dr. Carson. He's written an autobiography that doesn't pass the muster of fact-checking from the bean-counters in corporate media.

I, Keith, haven't written an autobiography, partly because Mary advised Scott not to ghostwrite at the rate that I offered to pay. But there are many instances in my history on the planet where I have demonstrated outrageous or courageous behavior. And no one believes me either. Let's enumerate the good times.

Keith Originated The “War on Christmas”

The “War” began Dec. 2, 2006, at a Barnes & Noble near you. I'm not sure why but most likely James Taylor's shitty “holiday-themed” CD being in constant rotation throughout the store was the trigger event.

After listening to the awful cover of Baby, It's Cold Outside for 40 or so times I snapped. I took the CD out of the machine, wrote “Death to Baby Jesus” on the play side with a sharpie then threw it into the return bin on top of John Legend.

A pregnant silence descended over the store to be followed by cheers of relief and gratitude from shoppers on all floors. It really happened, honest. I got a quarter raise as a result.

Keith Destroyed Chris Rock's Crummy Career

Yes, it's true. I never liked that A-Hole. This occurred at the same Barnes & Noble store near you. He came in late one night and tried to be funny. You know, “funny.” I said “Hey, bro, aren't you my man Chappelle?” End of story.

Keith Killed Pier Paolo Pasolini

This one is very hard to live up to. I was looking forward to Salo: 120 Days of Sodom but after viewing thought it was his worst film ever. It wasn't up to the artistic or even the technical standards he showed us in Teorema or Mama Rosa. After we had sex on the beach, I ran over him with the Fiat he had rented. There was some damage to the car and some sand between the seats, so I had to pay extra on return but it was worth it, I'll tell you. Don't believe it? I kept his American Express card as a trophy!

Keith Owns Gram Parson's Remains

Don't believe the hype about the cremation in the desert. He's in my basement freezer. He looks great after wiping off the frost accumulation. I check him out about twice a year.

You see, even ordinary folk like myself are capable of doing things that leave one open to scrutiny in later life. And here's a presidential candidate trying to convey some sense of himself and yet is treated to obvious disdain and ridicule. I'm stopping here because no one will believe I murdered Laura Palmer. It was so long ago …

Friday, November 6, 2015

Speed Birthdating!

Crap, I better post something before this blog turns into Brigadoon.

First, a seriously belated thanks to Sheri for the lovely birthday post, with its glimpse into the dark mind of Jimmy and his psycho-sexual fixation on MOR, the meat so thrifty it won't even spring for an "E". I'd never heard of this poor man's SPAM and certainly can't vouch for its flavor, but based on the image in the post below, it's apparently an effective prophylaxis against puppy love.

And thanks for the many kind and thoughtful birthday wishes in the comments, especially because I've been so criminally dilatory this month about celebrating everyone else's birthday. My only excuse is that I'm in a lot of pain, and while that's nothing new, my reaction to it is.

In the past, I've been able to slog through most of these episodes with a sparing use of painkillers, a liberal application of corticosteroids, and a daily refrain of "This too shall pass." But this time -- maybe because I'm getting older and my bony infrastructure isn't bouncing back as fast as it once did -- the bum disc was accompanied by depression, exhaustion, and a pervading sense of What's The Point?  I probably should have fessed up about this earlier, rather than just leaving the blog out to rust in the yard, but I know so many people, many from the Wo'C community, who are dealing with so much worse -- chronic fatigue, constant pain, even homelessness -- that I felt like an insufferable wuss for whining about this in public (rather than in private, to Mary, who probably, now that I think of it, would have appreciated you guys taking her shift for once).

Anyway, I had an epiphany on my birthday, realizing that such an occasion, especially at my age, should be a time for reflection, frank self-assessment, and a renewal of purpose. And if I am as honest with myself as I strive -- however imperfectly -- to be, I must further acknowledge that I'm not likely to enjoy the results of any of that, so I should just gorge myself on Zebra Cakes and Meister BraĆ¼ instead.

Unfortunately, the Dollar Tree was out of both, so I've no option but to make up for lost time with a mass birthday bacchanalia, retroactively recognizing all the unremarked natal days in reverse order, starting with...

November 5: Li'l Innocent!  Graceful wordsmith.  Gifted illustrator. Two discrete skills that don't often go together. But while Li'l may have perfected this unlikely union, she didn't invent it, because Chef Boy-ar-dee® beat her to it:

You can make German Pizza by adding sliced knockwurst and sauerkraut (rinsed and drained). Then sprinkle generously with caraway seeds.
That's the key, people. Everyone knows about the rinsed and dried sauerkraut (I like to blow dry mine, then tease it with a rattail comb to give my German Pizzas more loft and bounce), but don't be stingy with the caraway seeds!

November 1: Chris Vosburg!

"Engineer" Vosburg, as he's known around these parts, is a longtime member of the commentariat and an occasional field reporter for Wo'C.  He's a font of Hollywood trivia -- both the locus and the metonym -- and a rich source of fiber and anecdotes about Catalina Island, baseball, Dutch rock bands, print-making, and many other fields of dark and mysterious magic.  He also knows his Star Trek (which I know because he was kind enough to listen to the Star Trek podcast I was on, and live-blog it in the comments), so I think this would be an appropriate entree for his personal feast day:

You will be charmed with these dainty little puddings--
I imagine Russell Crowe as Maximus in Gladiator holding up a fistful of glistening suet to the crowd in the Coliseum and bellowing, "Are you not charmed?"

But frankly, the Atora looks less like a pudding to me, and more like the Horta from the TOS episode Devil in the Dark.

I realize it's a nerdy comparison to draw, but Chris will get it.

October 18: KWillow!  Not only is K a delightfully smart and snarky commenter, she's also one of the nicest people I've ever had the privilege to know, kind to cats and people, and an all around good soul.  I almost feel bad, knowing what's coming out of the kitchen for her...

There's a famous soul food joint in Hollywood called Roscoe's House of Chicken 'n Waffles, which I'm ashamed to say I've never gone to, because whenever I've walked by there's always a huge line (also why I've never had a frankfurter from local institution Pink's Hot Dogs) and because Chicken and Waffles has never struck me as a particularly harmonious pairing. But Waffles and Mushroom Soup?  That's a classic. Waffles and Pimento-stuffed Olives? Who didn't grow up gorging on that every Sunday morning after church? Add drained, flaked tuna, and you've got a dish that'll throw a birthday party on your tongue. Or, if not, at least the cat will eat it.

October 11: Anntichrist S. Coulter!

What can we say about Annti that hasn't been said over the past 13 years? In fact, I believe it was she who inspired the whole birthday party tradition at Wo'C (certainly it was her nic that "inspired" [if that's the word I want and I'm pretty sure it's not] Sheri to celebrate each natal anniversary with an increasingly scary photo of Ann Coulter; probably because Annti's birthdate is hard by Halloween).

Annti is a rara avis, unfailingly empathetic and generous on the one hand, fluent in fifty different dialects of paint-stripping profanity on the other.  The kind of person you only meet once in a lifetime, if that, and one who deserves a tasty and decadent treat in honor of this, the anniversary of the day when she slid through the proscenium arch that is the cervix and began to strut and fret her hour upon the stage.  But since she's going through some particularly hard times at the moment, I think I'll spare her the gorge-hoisting fare and just make do with a Florida Green Anole, because we've gotta have at least one...
Sexy Birthday Lizard!

And, oh, what the heck, let's toss in some Charlize Theron while we're at it...

And finally, we come to the last but not least of the missed birthdays, not least because I missed it first:

October 4: Dr. BDH!

In addition to cracking wise in the comments, Dr. BDH is Wo'C Chief Medical Officer, and as such keeps things bustling at the House of Pain.  So who, I ask you, would be better equipped to whip up an antidote to this:

A Thaw and Serve Salad! And since Doc no doubt spent many a nerve-wracking hour in medical school removing wrenched ankles from bulb-nosed cadavers, I'm sure he can extract this handy fruit salad tray without touching the sides and making that horrible buzzing sound.

And with that, I think we're back on track. So please join me in wishing a very happy (and in most cases, very belated) birthday to Li'l Innocent, Chris V., KWillow, Annti, and Doc.