Rehab Diaries

I don't know how she found my email address because we haven't hung out together in years. I'm guessing she's got way too much time on her hands. Here's what she had to say:

T2ed:

What's up my beottch? How r u? U probly know that I'm in Wonderlnd for a bit. I rilly don't need this but my Publicyst tolde me I better go b4 a judge made me. I don't know what the biggy is. Just cuz I wanted a bloody Mary to three after my appendix out everyone threw a big spaz. There's nothing better than a bloody witha vikodann. Mmmmm. It just helps me get a liddle mello.

Because I'm a star I get to cum and goe as I want. I'm still filiming my movie I No Who Killd Me. So I'm have to take media calls on my fone and they won't leaf me alone. Luckily, I still get to goe shopping on Rodea when I'm not filimng. You'd like it here we have gots trainers, akkuupuncture, serfing and sailing and even horseridin. I just got done with a mazzage and hit the juice bar but they wouldn't give me any Belvedears so I had to sneak back to my room to party.

It's pretty cool here because they have all these people in wite coates who have to listen to me talk all the time. Theyre asking lots of silly things like why do I like to party. Duh. I just try to enjoy my mimoza and ramble a bit. It's not like they can tell me to shut the hell up or anything.

It's nothign like when we I did Meen GirlZ because I'm not getting anny sexx at all. Theres nothing but old crusty dudez in this joint. Courtney dropped by and told me to just chill. She's dunn this a couple a times and said it just gets way easy after you learn to tune out a bit.

I just mist Keith Urbin so I was rilly bummd. I don't know his music at all but he's so cute and I'd like to where that cowboy hat and nothing else as I rode him like a cowboy. Hee,

Well I gotta go. Were having a ping pong tournament between the boozzers and the pillheads versus the bulleemiks and the shopahaulics. The gamblers are putting it on and I hope we win all the mac and cheeze from teh dieters. Some guy named Washington is in here for rehab because he told some guy he was a homoe or something. He jsut better stay the hell away from my chef.

I just got my Cosmo sent to me. All these pix make me look really grwn up. Dina is going to have sucha cow. HA!

Luv,

LL

Cognitive Dissonance

It's that time of the year. Yup, Idle Americans is subjecting us to truly awful singers. I have a slight confession to make. I never watched until last year and I only watch the auditions. That's probably because I don't care who wins as I am not a major purchaser of karaoke music. I'll stick with rock and roll, thankyouverymuch.

So I'm always amazed at the outrageous indignation of people who truly suck. Last night I really enjoyed the girl who knew she was tone deaf and couldn't sing and then cried when after she demonstrated she indeed couldn't sing was surprised none of the judges wanted to select her for a singing

competition. The logic seemed to have been that if you select someone who can't sing for this singing competition, you can make it the best signing competition ever.

Now, I don't truly have unfulfilled dreams. (Oh sure, there's that one about me and Maddie Hayes and a case of baby oil, but that's not the point). Let us take, for example, a scenario in which I had decided to quit my job and become a member of the French Lumberjack Competition circuit. I am fairly confident that I know what my friends would do. They would dissuade me from such a course of action.

They would say, "T2ed, you don't speak French. You are not, in fact, a lumberjack. You don't own your own ax. You don't drive a pick up truck. You don't own a big blue ox. And you don't even really care for flannel." Of course this would occur after the peals of laughter had dissipated and they were done kicking me in the ass. In fact, given the size of my town, I'm quite certain complete strangers would come up to me and tell me French Lumberjacking is never going to work out.

So I'm astounded when people who seem supremely confident are quite shitty at what they profess to be aspiring professionals in. (This applies to the Detroit Lions as well by the way).
People who couldn't carry a tune with two handles routinely tell people who have been in the music profession for years (even subtracting the time spent in duets with MC Skat Kat) that they don't know what they're talking about.

Even more sublime are the folks who have just been told they can't sing so their response is to start another song. Hello... is this on? Earth to McFly. I read somewhere that most plane crashes occur because the pilot sees on the instruments that a crash is imminent and instead of making the adjustment that would save the plane, the pilot instead refuses to accept what the instrument says and misses the chance to take corrective action. I think it's the same thing with shitty singers.

So I've got a question. Is there something that you think you're really good at and no one knows about? And have you never demonstrated this talent to anyone else? Is it your secret special skill? Or is your Mom the only one who tells you how good you are at it? Maybe what makes it such a secret special skill is that it's secret. Maybe if it's public, it's not special. Maybe it somehow gets changed and warped and ruined if it's not secret.

Or at least that should be something we tell folks who are waiting in line for the audition.

Either I don't have that kind of outrageous confidence in my special skill that no one knows about and I've never demonstrated publicly or I'm not motarded. Please note that it is completely inappropriate for you to be thinking "Yeah assbag, your secret special skill which should be kept private is your writing!"

Now where's that axe I just bought....

Can You Hear the Kitties Crying?

I'm shocked, shocked I say, to learn that this swell relationship isn't working out.

Yup, Marilyn Manson and Dita Von Teese are splittsville. Who had just over a year in the break up pool? I hope you kept your receipt for those margarita glasses.

That's right ladies, this handsome young, devil may care, freak-about-town, is back on the market! Just ignore those rumors about him dating 19 year old Evan Rachel Wood.

It's probably only a matter of time before Mr. M gets a sports car and hair plugs.

And it's so contentious that they're arguing over spousal support, who will pay for her lawyers and even the kitties.

I hate when Devil Dad and Trash Mommy fight.

As usual the court papers give us nothing and claim the split is just due to irreconcilable differences. I know better. Here are the real reasons, they're breaking up:

• He still scares her every morning without his makeup
• She once yelled out "Alice" during sex
• Fights over the eyeliner
• Her refusal to sleep in his coffin
• Whenever he says, "It's all about the music," she yells "Bullshit" at the top of her lungs
• Endless arguments about who is the pretty one and who is the ugly one
• He still hates the pet name Milky
• She caught him one time, once dammit, trying on one of her corsets and just won't get over it. Geez!
• His family? Crazier than he is.
• She has never forgiven him for making her give up her promising pole dancing career.
• At home he always listens to smooth jazz

What chance do any of us have if these two crazy kids can't make it?

Bad Re-Habits

I wish I could say that I planned this. But you no me better than that. It's just got to be karma, kismet, luck o' the Irish and plain old dumb luck that I heard this right after Lindsay Ho-han (thank you Reigning Frog) took a month off the party circuit.

From the genius that is Heywood Banks:

If you have a
Problem with alcohol,
There are people
That can help you.
And it's the same
With cigarettes and cocaine.

But it's unfortunate
What you're addicted to,
Has no funding for a hotline.
No, there is no
Twelve Step for Stupid.

Stupid has no intervention.
Stupid has no Friend of Bill.
Stupid has no Dumbassaholics Anonymous.
There's no patch to wean an ignoramus.
No Betty Ford for the moronic famous
No, there is no 12 Step for Stupid.

Now if you find yourself
Watching a tv show
That involves dating
Or eating bugs,
You should look at that
As a warning sign.

But if you find yourself
On a tv show
That involves dating
Or eating bugs,
That ends the argument
For intelligent design.

Stupid has no intervention.
Stupid has no Friend of Bill.
Stupid has no Dumbassaholics Anonymous.
There's no patch to wean an ignoramus.
No Betty Ford for the moronic famous
No, there is no 12 Step for Stupid.

Yes, Heywood is the same genius who brought us Big Butter Jesus.

Fully Loaded Indeed

This news comes in from Mr. Obvious.

Hang onto your chairs, kids, but Lindsay Lohan has checked into rehab. Also just in, water is wet and the sun is hot.

And by rehab, we mean being pampered for a month at the Wonderland Center. Let's face it, if you can afford a place to "recuperate" with views of Laurel Canyon and private rooms, you don't really have a problem.

They say that art imitates life. And whomever the marketing genius who named the last Herbie movie "Fully Loaded" is probably getting a bonus right now. That weasel had to have known old LL was going to have to check into somewhere for "exhaustion" and they'd be able to ride that news into another sweet wave of DVD sales for the studio.

According to MSNBC, LL arrived at Wonderland "clutching a Jamba Juice." Ah, one last vodka laced treat, then it's off to the spa. Apparently no one parties like a post appendectomy patient parties.

Best part of the story? The self-contradictory quote:

“I'm not even legal to [drink], so why would I? I don't drink when I go to clubs. I drink with my friends at home, but there's no need to. I feel better not drinking. It's more fun."

Suuuuure you don't drink anymore, Lindsay. And people drink Jager because they like the taste of Nyquil.

No word on whether LL will still want to kick Michelle Trachtenberg's ass after rehab.

Hear Ye, Hear Ye

My friend and I were recently in his car and headed to the store. As we waited for a parking spot, the car in front of us began to back up.

Being alert, he honked his horn.

The car continued to slowly back up. He honked his horn a little longer.

The car loomed closer.

He really layed on the horn for a long time. Think of that asshole honk you hear every now and then. No one in the lot can miss this honking.

Whack. A slight jolt as the car in front of us backed into us.

My buddy got out and walked up to the car. He started to yell, "You dumb son of a bitch! You just backed into me you stupid shit."

I sat in the car as he stomped back to his car and examined the front bumper.

He walked back up to the car which hit us and said between clenched teeth, "You're lucky you didn't do any fucking damage."

He got back in our car as I saw hands gesticulating in the car in front of us. Something about that looked familiar. Comprehension slowly dawned.

"You know you've just been honking and yelling at deaf people," I calmly said. "Hope they're not too good at reading lips. Especially profanity."

Yeah, we got out of there pretty quickly after that.

Doesn't This Suck

I'm sorry I'm late to the party because this wonderful product has been out for a month.

It's the Shoover or vacuum cleaner shoes.

Yeah, those are pretty happenin' aren't they? Weren't those the original Cosmo Kramer's?

I don't know if they're really calling it that or it's just the best made up name in the world, but here are some other suggestions for the fine marketing weasels at Electrolux.

• Dust Buster Browns
• Marc Sucko
• Adidabsorbers
• Doc Maartensuction
• Sucking Air Jordans
• Birkensucks
• The I'm Going to Get You Dirt Suckers
• Dr. Schollshiners
• Grasshoovers
• Steve Maidden
• Candie's Cleaners

Feel free to submit your own, kids.

Actually, this isn't that crazy of an idea. But if they're smart, they'll sell them in sets of four and make them in sizes that fit dogs.

Let My People Go

Charlton Heston's neighbors are suing him because of a mudslide.

Unless he was holding up his arms and a staff when the mudslide happened, I'm not sure how it could be his fault. It was probably an Earthquake.

It's probably going to be very uncomfortable at the neighborhood get togethers when the dish he brings to pass is Soylent Green and he calls his neighbors "Damn dirty apes!"

And I'll bet Chuck tries to resolve the suit by blowing the hill all to hell or challenging the neighbors to a chariot race.

Never pick a fight with the former head of the NRA. He'll bust a semi-automatic cap in your ass.

(and if anyone knows wtf is up with Blogger and inserting random spacing into any post with an image, give me a yell please)

This Just In

I have some disturbing news, kids.

Britney Spears Promises To Be Bigger And Better In 2007

Consider yourself warned.

“I look forward to coming back this year bigger and better than ever, and to also reaching out to my fans on a more personal level. I know I've been far from perfect and the media has had a lot of fun exaggerating my every move..."

Brit, going commando is hardly an exaggeration when your hoo hah pictures are all over the web. And let's face it, when you choose to take a nap in a bar, it's called "passing out" not "exhaustion." Oh, and tell me it's all about the music again.

Marrying an a old friend for a weekend while in Vegas? Marrying a talentless couch monkey who is this generation's Eddie Fischer? Oh yes, just exaggerations by the media.

If you are truly going to "reach out" to me, please keep your hands to yourself.

World Hypmotism Day

It's World Hypnotism Day kids.


You know what that means don't you. You're getting very sleepy. Like most time when you read this blog. Now Sleep!

You will celebrate... you Will celebrate....you WILL CELEBRATE.

Oh, and cluck like a chicken of course. Can't forget that one. It's a classic.

But seriously kids, I was actually hyp-mo-tized (that's the correct pronunciation) once. It was at country fair when I was in high school. Seriously, who could make this stuff up. My buddy Mac and I both went and got picked to be on stage with about 15 other people.

The hypmotist (whose name escapes me but who had one of those really cheesy faux hypmotist voices you've seen in every bad movie) had us fold our hands together and then told us we couldn't get them apart. That one really worked.

But when he told us to SLEEP, it never really worked. In fact a couple of us got the giggles.

He also had me lay down on the stage and said that I couldn't move anything but my head. And when he talked to me, I yelled "I Been Hy Mo Tized." He didn't like that I got a bigger laughs than his weak shtick, so that was the end for me. For the rest of the big show, I just had to sit on a chair and pretend to be asleep.

I always try that SLEEP voice on my friends' kids when they won't shut up. It never works, but I figure it's worth a try. You never know.

A Steely Resolve

All the cool kids are doing it. Of course, I'm talking about making foolish New Year's Resolutions. Which makes no sense at all. I'm mean, we're perfect aren't we? But the most annoying thing about perfection is the other people who think they're perfect and just ruin it for the rest of us, faithful readers.

The way to really do this is to make resolutions for other people. I like to write down some life improvement lessons instructions orders on a 3x5 card and hand them out. People always warmly welcome these helpful instructions so much. So here are my orders for the coming year.

Britney Spears: Wear some underwears, trampy. Or at least a skirt long enough to cover your sausage wallet when you're getting in and out of limos whilst on a bender.

Mel Gibson: Keep your racist pie-hole shut. And cough up for a cab.

Al Sharpton: Don't bring a corpse (no matter how nicely he's dressed) to a concert. And is there anywhere you won't go to be on camera. Learn to say no.

Rose Bowl Majorettes: That wasn't marching in the Rose Bowl Parade, young ladies. That was shaking it as hard as you possibly could. It's not a club, it's a parade. You probably pulled a muscle trying to do that for five and a half miles.

Rosie O'Donnell: Shut the hell up.

Donald Trump: Shut the fuck up.

Madonna: You can't take him back even if you kept the receipt. And stop it with that fake accent. You're from Bay City, poser.

Oprah: It's not charity if you take a camera crew.

Kevin Federline: Just go quietly. It's pathetic really.

Paula Abdul: Do not fill the Coke glass with vodka. And don't take it so personally. You're no MC Skat Cat after all.

Harrison Ford: Let it go, you're not up for a 4th time as Indiana Jones. Just try to stay away from any movie with Josh Hartnett.

Kathy Griffin: I love you. Even your reality show. But Alka Seltzer commercials? Please say no just this one time.

Tom Cruise: See Donald Trump.

Vince Vaughan: Next time you hook up with a soho, tell her not to email the entire sorority. Discretion, baby, discretion.

Feel free to submit your own "instructions for others."