Non-Fiction

I Love . . . Part II

Hammer: Is he still wearing those parachute pants below the camera’s view?

C.M.: No, he isn’t. I’ll leave it to scholars to debate whether this means he’s finally no longer too legit to quit.

B.: Can we just lay off the parachute pants for a minute? A guy dances the typewriter in the only pants appropriate to that particular task, and then has to endure a lifetime of jokes about his choice of slacks. It’s unfair and it’s stupid and he’s M.C. Hammer again, by the way.

D.DiC.: This is too much of an easy target. Why are we making fun of M.C. Hammer’s pants when we could be making fun of that fact his music was totally lame and he danced like a tool.

M.T.: You know, Hammer jokes are so stale, I’m actually sitting here trying to figure out how to make fun of the camera.

G.W.: I think we really should be discussing the time that Michael Jackson called Hammer out and challenged him to a dance competition. Is it too late to get that organized? I have a feeling it would change comedy as we know it today.

J.A.: Whatever, I’m glad Hammer’s gainfully employed again. Maybe now that deadbeat bastard can pay me back the forty-five bucks he borrowed.

D.B.:You know who else I am glad got a spot on these shows? Goddamned Michael Bolton with his little “Hotties of So-and-So Year” piece each episode. The Liz Phair segment sucks.

The years haven’t been kind to Wendy the Snapple Lady.

B: I feel like I should remark on how large Wendy the Snapple Lady has become as she’s aged. It’s almost as if she’s eaten something quite big, like a jungle gym. But it’s just as likely she has a fondness for enormous Twinkies since it would be really hard to keep the rope ladder and corkscrew slide down.

N.J.: Nor to the elastic on her pants.

D.DiC.: Christ, what happened to her? She looked so hot on the cover of that new Wilson Phillips album.

J.A.: I bet they feed you well at the Home for Retired Marketing Icons. Have you seen that adorable little girl with the ringlets who sold Pepsi lately? Wow, what a heifer.

C.M.: I think we should just leave the Snapple Lady alone. If she wants to be the Waffle Batter and OxyContin Lady now, then more power to her.

G.W.: Seriously. What happened to her? Her stock fell faster than the guy I pushed out my 16-story window. She hit the wall harder than Dionne Warwick after an 18-year-old bottle of Scotch. I can’t imagine that consuming several sugar-filled, artificially-flavored, mass-produced beverages a day had anything to do with it.

M.T.: She’s at least in better shape than Snapple’s marketing campaign these days. How much coke had to be snorted before someone was like, “Wait, wait, I got it! Two Snapple bottles fucking each other on the beach! Then we can have some boy Snapple bottles jerking off while they watch girl Snapple bottles shower! If that doesn’t triple sales in a month, I’ll eat a light bulb. I swear to God. Give me a light bulb. Are you cold? Jesus, I’m fucking freezing in here. I think it’s these pants. These pants are making me so cold. I gotta get out of these fucking pants. Ah, fuck it, I’ll eat the light bulb right now.”

It’s good to know Dee Snider is off the streets.

B: If 2004 Michael Bolton raped 1992 Michael Bolton, you’d get Dee Snider with more masturbation material than he can reasonably use.

M.T.: I hear Dee Snider and Dee Wallace Stone hang out a lot. Not so much because they’re both named Dee as because they’re working on a time machine that will transport them to their 1983 heydays.

G.W.: More importantly, it’s good to know that he changed his hairstyle and stopped wearing makeup. “We’re Not Gonna Take It.” I remember singing that song when I was 8 years old and loving it. Then, I turned 9 and I realized what lame-ass shit Twisted Sister’s music really is. I think it has to make you reëvaluate the creative choices you’ve made when 9-year-olds are going, “Um, yeah. I’m going to pass on this one.”

C.M.: It’s great that he’s working again. However, it was fun seeing him on the street from time to time in his big hair and scary make-up, urinating on the curb.

J.A.: Nope—I realize this comparison has been made ad infinitum, but in this case, that actually was Xtina popping a squat on the curb. Until she transmogrified into her current glam-skank phase, the surest way to tell them apart was watching Dee/Xtina pee sitting or standing. See, that’s also how I know it was Brittany Murphy, and not Andy Dick, who caused a scene on line at the D.M.V. when they wouldn’t accept an expired CVS card as a valid form of ID. She peed all over the place!

D.DiC.: This might be slightly off topic, but why hasn’t anyone driven a stake into David Lee Roth’s heart yet?