Since 1999, I have been a part of a secret tribunal that very few people know anything about. Today, I am here to give you a glimpse of this underground world. Myself, and five others (whose names I cannot give), decide whether or not celebrities are banished to the D-List.
When we're deciding on initial banishment for the celebrity in question, my services are needed in person at a small Chinese food restaurant in North Hollywood, where we decide on his or her fate. In cases of reinstatement to the C-List, I can usually get away with a yes or no over the phone.
One individual that I can tell you about simply due to the public nature of her D-Listing is Tara Reid. You may have seen the images on the Internet or on VH-1 of Miss Tara being denied access to a popular night club, while B-Lister Paris Hilton and her boy for that evening shot right through the doors. That's one of the cruel realities of D-Listing: we don't inform the person involved when the decision has been made. The hope is that he or she will be informed by an agent or whatnot; but as you see in cases like Tara, sometimes the message doesn't get there, or simply goes unheeded.
I can't tell you anymore about what we do for fear of being expelled from my position, but the next time you wonder where some of your favorite celebrities are, remember: they may have been D-Listed…
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
Mayor McCheese: Wake-up Call
I was sitting on my couch in my underwear rolling a joint, watching reruns of The Rockford Files on TV, when someone burst through my door. It was Officer Big Mac. He took my mirror covered in coke and smashed it against the wall. Then he flipped my coffee table over and got right in my face.
"Man, you need to get it together. Can't you see you're throwing your life away with this… this… bullshit?"
"Yes, I think I can see that."
"Man, I can't bear to see a good friend of mine drop so low."
"Well, don't look."
I lit my joint, and put it to my lips, only to have Officer Big Mac take it from me and stomp it out on the ground.
"You'll thank me for that later."
I was pissed. I lifted him off his feet with a double-leg take-down, and was ready to punch him, when I was felled by this awesome shock. The bastard had hit me with his taser. I decided my best bet would be to humor him until he left, and that's what I did. I snorted an 8-Ball later that night with the Hamburglar.
"Man, you need to get it together. Can't you see you're throwing your life away with this… this… bullshit?"
"Yes, I think I can see that."
"Man, I can't bear to see a good friend of mine drop so low."
"Well, don't look."
I lit my joint, and put it to my lips, only to have Officer Big Mac take it from me and stomp it out on the ground.
"You'll thank me for that later."
I was pissed. I lifted him off his feet with a double-leg take-down, and was ready to punch him, when I was felled by this awesome shock. The bastard had hit me with his taser. I decided my best bet would be to humor him until he left, and that's what I did. I snorted an 8-Ball later that night with the Hamburglar.
Kurasawage
I had this sinking premonition that the Pats game wasn't going to go so well, and as such, I felt I needed to be away from my TV for that entire weekend. I went through a bunch of old invitations to see what I could do instead. I found an interesting one in George Lucas' Kurosawa fest at his big Star Wars themed ranch. I decided to RSVP and grab me a plane ticket to LAX.
Now you may be wondering why I would get an invite to so exclusive an event. First off, you should never wonder why I get invited to exclusive events, considering I'm me; and second, I actually am the foremost Caucasian expert on Iranian cinema here in North America, and I generally receive invites to these types of international film celebrations.
I can't lie, the festival was rather entertaining. He started Friday night with two greats: The Seven Samurai and The Hidden Fortress. Of course, after the second film, Lucas spent two and a half hours telling us how much it inspired his Star Wars series. Saturday gave us three films: Rashomon, and then Yojimbo, and its sequel, Sanjuro. The question was posed to me, in the discussion period after the last movie, is there anything like these coming out of Iran?
"No."
And that was that. He finished the weekend on Sunday with three more great movies: Ran, Throne of Blood, and Kagemusha. Many of you probably know that Ran and Throne of Blood are based on Shakespeare's King Lear and Macbeth respectively.
Normally I expect a film festival to go on a 2-3-2 schedule, and was ready to leave after the second film on Sunday. I should've. Kagemusha was a film brought to the US through money from Lucas and his homeboy Francis Ford Coppola. That meant about another 2 and a half hours of self-congratulatory back-patting and reminiscing after the film was over. I'd had enough, so I stood to leave.
"It's okay," Lucas yelled to me, "the Patriots have already lost, you can stay here with us."
"Yeah, the Pats may have lost, but I need to save what's left of my soul."
There was some uncomfortable laughing at first, and then an old guy stood and cheered. I have no idea who he was, but he was important, and the whole place joined him. Before I knew it, everyone was tossing verbal grenades at the two on stage about how horrible the last three Star Wars movies and The Godfather III were. I felt like a man again. Kurosawa and Abbas Kiarostami would have been proud.
I came home to find out the Pats had lost on a bad offensive pass interference call on Troy Brown in the second quarter, a call that was made in an attempt to keep the game close and the advertisers happy. Good Riddance.
Now you may be wondering why I would get an invite to so exclusive an event. First off, you should never wonder why I get invited to exclusive events, considering I'm me; and second, I actually am the foremost Caucasian expert on Iranian cinema here in North America, and I generally receive invites to these types of international film celebrations.
I can't lie, the festival was rather entertaining. He started Friday night with two greats: The Seven Samurai and The Hidden Fortress. Of course, after the second film, Lucas spent two and a half hours telling us how much it inspired his Star Wars series. Saturday gave us three films: Rashomon, and then Yojimbo, and its sequel, Sanjuro. The question was posed to me, in the discussion period after the last movie, is there anything like these coming out of Iran?
"No."
And that was that. He finished the weekend on Sunday with three more great movies: Ran, Throne of Blood, and Kagemusha. Many of you probably know that Ran and Throne of Blood are based on Shakespeare's King Lear and Macbeth respectively.
Normally I expect a film festival to go on a 2-3-2 schedule, and was ready to leave after the second film on Sunday. I should've. Kagemusha was a film brought to the US through money from Lucas and his homeboy Francis Ford Coppola. That meant about another 2 and a half hours of self-congratulatory back-patting and reminiscing after the film was over. I'd had enough, so I stood to leave.
"It's okay," Lucas yelled to me, "the Patriots have already lost, you can stay here with us."
"Yeah, the Pats may have lost, but I need to save what's left of my soul."
There was some uncomfortable laughing at first, and then an old guy stood and cheered. I have no idea who he was, but he was important, and the whole place joined him. Before I knew it, everyone was tossing verbal grenades at the two on stage about how horrible the last three Star Wars movies and The Godfather III were. I felt like a man again. Kurosawa and Abbas Kiarostami would have been proud.
I came home to find out the Pats had lost on a bad offensive pass interference call on Troy Brown in the second quarter, a call that was made in an attempt to keep the game close and the advertisers happy. Good Riddance.
Mayor McCheese: Why I Couldn't Give a Shit Less About the Chicago Bears
People always ask me if I root for the Bears, being that I'm from Chicago. The answer, of course, is no. Absolutely not.
The truth is, here in McDonaldland, no one cares who wins the games, because as long as they're close, we as major corporations win. Just look at last night's Pats/Colts game. Looked like a possible blow out for the Pats, no? And maybe I shouldn't be telling you this, but as long as you don't tell anyone else, I don't see any harm. You'll notice after the Manning pick-six, the Colts went three-and-out, giving the Pats excellent field position. We needed to stop the bleeding, so someone put a call into commissioner Roger Goodell, who in turn put through a message to the head referee: we needed to kill that Pats drive: no more points. Next thing you know, questionable offensive pass interference call on Troy Brown, the drive stalls, and the pendulum shifts back in the other direction. It didn't take long before you got a tie game, and tons of people watching Dollar Menunaire commercials.
Sound cynical? Well it isn't. My favorite athlete, Michael Jordan, once said "Republicans buy sneakers too." The difference between the NBA and the NFL, is that the NBA placed all their eggs in the basket of a player, while the NFL placed it in the basket of a game. We as corporate sponsors don't like shelling out seven figures for an ad that no one's going to see in the fourth quarter of a 44-13 game, and you wouldn't have a football if it wasn't for us. As such, it's important to keep us happy, and that's done with a close game. Maybe we went too far with the Pittsburgh game last year, but we couldn't trust Bill Cower's game plan. I think we made the right decision.
Just imagine, Bears fan, what would you think of Ditka if we'd been on the job back in Super Bowl XX? Ask the 2001 St. Louis Rams, they'll tell you.
The truth is, here in McDonaldland, no one cares who wins the games, because as long as they're close, we as major corporations win. Just look at last night's Pats/Colts game. Looked like a possible blow out for the Pats, no? And maybe I shouldn't be telling you this, but as long as you don't tell anyone else, I don't see any harm. You'll notice after the Manning pick-six, the Colts went three-and-out, giving the Pats excellent field position. We needed to stop the bleeding, so someone put a call into commissioner Roger Goodell, who in turn put through a message to the head referee: we needed to kill that Pats drive: no more points. Next thing you know, questionable offensive pass interference call on Troy Brown, the drive stalls, and the pendulum shifts back in the other direction. It didn't take long before you got a tie game, and tons of people watching Dollar Menunaire commercials.
Sound cynical? Well it isn't. My favorite athlete, Michael Jordan, once said "Republicans buy sneakers too." The difference between the NBA and the NFL, is that the NBA placed all their eggs in the basket of a player, while the NFL placed it in the basket of a game. We as corporate sponsors don't like shelling out seven figures for an ad that no one's going to see in the fourth quarter of a 44-13 game, and you wouldn't have a football if it wasn't for us. As such, it's important to keep us happy, and that's done with a close game. Maybe we went too far with the Pittsburgh game last year, but we couldn't trust Bill Cower's game plan. I think we made the right decision.
Just imagine, Bears fan, what would you think of Ditka if we'd been on the job back in Super Bowl XX? Ask the 2001 St. Louis Rams, they'll tell you.
When Going to Belize, It's Better to Fly than Drive
I woke up in my cell in a Mexican prison in a small town just outside of Monterrey. I knew I probably wouldn't make that party in Belize City, and to be quite honest, I didn't really care: my main concern was getting released and going back to the States.
Many of you are probably familiar with the great country of Belize through the TV show Flavor of Love. It's a tiny patch of land in the south eastern portion of the Yucatan Peninsula. I knew people that owned resorts down there that threw huge parties. It was to one of those parties where I was headed before I was waylaid with my travelling companion.
A one Mr. Roderick Buck jr., heir to a massive oil fortune, was also invited to the party, and he and I were the only people still in the States that were going. So I met him in San Antonio, his home town, on Wednesday night, and we took in the Spurs-Lakers game. That's when things went bad.
He insisted on driving the roughly 2000 miles from there to Belize City, because he had business to attend to in Mexico City. I was skeptical, but I relented, mostly because I'd never really seen Mexico to that extent.
We stopped in a little town outside of Monterrey to grab some food and take a load off. Roddy also wanted to get laid, and he had his eyes on our hot little waitress. Little did he or I know that that waitress was the sheriff's wife. A scuffle ensued, and I hit my head on a table in our restaurant, which rendered me unconscious. I woke up in my cell.
I had to wire a hefty sum from my bank account to pay my "fine" in order to be released. I then had to wait for the bus back to Monterrey so I could fly home. It was one of those broken down mini-bus things, filled with a whole host of unsavory characters.
I never saw Mr. Buck jr. again while I was in Mexico, but a day after I got back to Boston, I received a telegram:
Hey you nasty son of a bitch stop
Sorry about the little mishap stop
Have to do it again sometime stop
Many of you are probably familiar with the great country of Belize through the TV show Flavor of Love. It's a tiny patch of land in the south eastern portion of the Yucatan Peninsula. I knew people that owned resorts down there that threw huge parties. It was to one of those parties where I was headed before I was waylaid with my travelling companion.
A one Mr. Roderick Buck jr., heir to a massive oil fortune, was also invited to the party, and he and I were the only people still in the States that were going. So I met him in San Antonio, his home town, on Wednesday night, and we took in the Spurs-Lakers game. That's when things went bad.
He insisted on driving the roughly 2000 miles from there to Belize City, because he had business to attend to in Mexico City. I was skeptical, but I relented, mostly because I'd never really seen Mexico to that extent.
We stopped in a little town outside of Monterrey to grab some food and take a load off. Roddy also wanted to get laid, and he had his eyes on our hot little waitress. Little did he or I know that that waitress was the sheriff's wife. A scuffle ensued, and I hit my head on a table in our restaurant, which rendered me unconscious. I woke up in my cell.
I had to wire a hefty sum from my bank account to pay my "fine" in order to be released. I then had to wait for the bus back to Monterrey so I could fly home. It was one of those broken down mini-bus things, filled with a whole host of unsavory characters.
I never saw Mr. Buck jr. again while I was in Mexico, but a day after I got back to Boston, I received a telegram:
Hey you nasty son of a bitch stop
Sorry about the little mishap stop
Have to do it again sometime stop
Mayor McCheese: I Have no Beef With McDonald's
People often ask me if I'm bitter about the way things went down with McDonald's. In short, absolutely not. It's not their fault those rat bastards Sid and Marty Croft sued them. I'd'a like to throttle that H.R. Puffenstuff if I ever got half the chance. The truth is, the Hamburglar and I made a little trip down to his little brownstone apartment, and threw a fucking brick through his window. Attached to the brick was a coupon for a free large French fry with an order of a Big Mac or Quarter Pounder. This was of course in the days before the Value Meal. It should go without saying that this information doesn't go any further than here.
I stayed on with McDonald's as a consultant afterwards. The McRib, McDLT, and the McJordan are just a few of my more stellar contributions. It was hard to watch Ronald emerge from behind my shadow to become the face of the franchise, but I learned over time to understand that it's all just part of God's plan. It's probably more difficult now knowing that with the King becoming some kind of underground marketing success for Burger King, that we can't cash in on my fame post my Conan O'Brian appearences.
I stayed on with McDonald's as a consultant afterwards. The McRib, McDLT, and the McJordan are just a few of my more stellar contributions. It was hard to watch Ronald emerge from behind my shadow to become the face of the franchise, but I learned over time to understand that it's all just part of God's plan. It's probably more difficult now knowing that with the King becoming some kind of underground marketing success for Burger King, that we can't cash in on my fame post my Conan O'Brian appearences.
The Match Game vs. The Street Luge
I had been having problems with my peripheral vision, and made an appointment to have it checked out. Unfortunately, I was lost in the building where I was supposed to see the eye doctor. I decided to try a random room to ask for directions. Bad idea.
The room I was in was straight out of the 70s. In fact, it was straight out of The Match Game. There were six actors dressed as celebrities, like Nipsey Russell, Richard Dawson, and Charles Nelson Riley. I went to turn and leave, but a man playing Gene Rayburn stopped me and pointed with his skinny microphone for me to sit down.
I did as he instructed, and found my body couldn't move with the ease I was used to. I looked down, and saw that I was wearing a polyester plaid suit that was very tight. I went to wipe the sweat from under my lips, and found a moustache there. Not only that, but my hair had turned into a curly Jew-fro. I was scared.
And that fear impaired my judgement. I did horribly on the show. When I got the question: "Farmer Brown was very mad at the doctor, because he told him his wife's head hurt, he examined her [blank]" I said "Cat". I also had the sinking suspicion that Richard Dawson was mailing it in on my turn. Either way, I had to accept the consequences of my loss: the street luge.
The wall behind the celebrities gave way to a huge downhill road. I found myself dressed now in a Red, White, and Blue leather jump suit, with the same hair and moustache. I was given the skinny board with wheels, and Gene motioned for me to ride it down the hill. I did, and the last thing I remembered was crashing into a pile of rubber tires.
I woke up on a bench in Chinatown. Was it all a dream? I looked at my reflection in the window of a nearby shop: the moustache was still there!
The room I was in was straight out of the 70s. In fact, it was straight out of The Match Game. There were six actors dressed as celebrities, like Nipsey Russell, Richard Dawson, and Charles Nelson Riley. I went to turn and leave, but a man playing Gene Rayburn stopped me and pointed with his skinny microphone for me to sit down.
I did as he instructed, and found my body couldn't move with the ease I was used to. I looked down, and saw that I was wearing a polyester plaid suit that was very tight. I went to wipe the sweat from under my lips, and found a moustache there. Not only that, but my hair had turned into a curly Jew-fro. I was scared.
And that fear impaired my judgement. I did horribly on the show. When I got the question: "Farmer Brown was very mad at the doctor, because he told him his wife's head hurt, he examined her [blank]" I said "Cat". I also had the sinking suspicion that Richard Dawson was mailing it in on my turn. Either way, I had to accept the consequences of my loss: the street luge.
The wall behind the celebrities gave way to a huge downhill road. I found myself dressed now in a Red, White, and Blue leather jump suit, with the same hair and moustache. I was given the skinny board with wheels, and Gene motioned for me to ride it down the hill. I did, and the last thing I remembered was crashing into a pile of rubber tires.
I woke up on a bench in Chinatown. Was it all a dream? I looked at my reflection in the window of a nearby shop: the moustache was still there!
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