Friday, September 4, 2015

Happy (Belated) Birthday, AnnPW!

Sorry guys, but yesterday was a bear, and not the fun, Pendleton-wearing kind that'll take you to a Lady Gaga concert at LA Live, then buy you a round of artisanal mojitos in West Hollywood and let you groom him for nits. No, it was more the driving-to-the-Valley-for-meetings type, and when it was all over I just didn't have enough surplus vim to throw a birthday bash, so I missed the natal anniversary of charter Crapper AnnPW. Sorry, Ann! (Or as the guy who played Gilbert in Anne of Green Gables used to say it, "Sore-ry, Anne").

But one day late, that's not so bad, is it? There must be some grace period, I mean they give you a whole year to send someone a wedding gift, right? (They do, right? Otherwise I'm in kind of a lot of trouble...)

So let's just pretend that instead of a surprise party last night, we brought Ann breakfast in bed this morning!

"What's that sizzling sound I hear?" the husband asks.  Any rational person would assume the answer is "Bacon!", and wonder why he even bothered to ask. But Hubby clearly knows his wife, and I suspect the question is posed more in a tone of dread than anticipation. The best possible reply he can hope for is, "A grease fire. RUN!"  But no, she says eight little words which, if they must be spoken, should never be shouted out with glee:  "Get up! It's SPAM and eggs, my dear!"

Sensibly, they choose not to show us Hubby's response (I can only imagine he turned over with a muttered, "I thought I left a wake-up call for half past divorce," but by this point the odor of unfertilized poultry ova and fried swine jowls must be impregnating the knotty pine paneling, so he might as well get up and try to dull his olfactory sense by lighting up the first of many Old Golds.

But enough of his problems! What about the known side effects of SPAM, such as homicide, and involuntary rhyming? Look at that woman in the middle left box. She asks a leading, but reasonable question, "How can I cook without much fuss?" To which her husband screams the atypical rejoinder, "SPAM bake would tickle all of us!" At first, you might just assume her husband was insane, and move on with your life. But if you have no life, you might do one of those "enlarge and enhance" things they do on TV procedurals, and reveal that the mouths of Hubby and the children are all frozen in mirthless grins, like Conrad Veidt in The Man Who Laughs. The son appears to be screaming in terror, but his dead eyes, gazing listlessly into the void, suggests that he accepted the inevitability of death a millisecond before the cleaver struck him down. Sister's eyes, popped wide and rolled to the side, suggest Mother was listening to Eddie Cantor on the radio as she taxidermied her daughter, while Father's fixed look of agonized servility is perfect for a corpse whose killer imagines him so eager to ingratiate himself that he seconds her menu-related musings in rhyme.  But a crappy rhyme, of course, because he's no better as a dead poet than he was as a husband and provider, which is why Mother keeps her cutlery collection buried in his back. Oh, a bit of sawdust trickles out when she withdraws the butcher knife, but at least the bastard is finally helping around the kitchen.

The ladies in the middle right box appear to be alive at least, but not only are they also speaking in rhyme, they're speaking in code as well. Lady #1 says, "Here's a lunch that's good and quick..." to which Lady #2 replies, "Hot cheese SPAMwich does the trick!" Which clearly it does not. But despite their effort to throw gossips off the trail by randomly inserting nonsense words like "cheese SPAMwich," it's obvious from the context, i.e., the words "lunch", "quick", and "trick", that one of these ladies had a nooner at the Mayflower Hotel with Roger Sterling.

Finally, we're left with the main message of the ad: "Look at all the fun you can have with SPAM, the Hormel meat of many uses." Just imagine if Joseph, instead of his storied coat of many colors, had sported outerwear fashioned from reprocessed pork remnants. While it probably wouldn't have hindered his ability to interpret Pharaoh's dreams, I bet he would have spent a lot more of his time getting treed by jackals.

Everybody full? Nobody wants seconds? Okay then, let's bring on dessert!
Today's birthday beefcake features Cary Grant and Randolph Scott (in living color!, posing outside the Spanish-style home they shared in Santa Monica), mostly because -- if memory serves -- the whole SBL tradition first came about as a consolation prize when Ann balked at Cary's chin divot.

And speaking of Sexy Birthday Lizards!...
...we have a lovely Tokay Gecko which appears to be tasting its own eyeball, because it's gotta be better than SPAM.

Please join me in wishing AnnPW a very happy (belated) birthday!

P.S.  As a resident of Hollywood, I'm naturally concerned about anything SPAM-related happened here, so I'm hoping Ivan will drop by and explain just what the hell Hormel's new idea in radio entertainment was, and how I can kill it.

Wednesday, September 2, 2015

Happy Birthday, Ivan!

This is an unusually busy week for me, involving a lot of non-blog writin' an' thinkin' and wishin' and hopin'. But it's also a week with an unusually high Birthday Index (as longtime Crappers know, the first week of September signals the beginning of Peak Nativity Season around here, because something about wingnuts and bad movies attracts the kind of people whose parents liked to get randy in the bleak midwinter), so I hope you'll forgive me if the celebrations aren't quite so elaborate as they've been in years past. Rest assured, we still have the saucy mammals, the sexy reptiles, and the disgusting food, because apparently that's now a thing (don't ask me how these traditions get started, I just work here, and my manager's already making me stay late and help with inventory, so I can't even...).

Today's celebrant is both a classic movie maven par excellence and a historian of Golden Age television nonpareil, an eminence grise of noir et blanc, an authority on Old Time Radio (and the kind benefactor who made it possible for me to know more than I ever hoped, expected, or believed possible about Mr. Keen, Tracer of Lost Persons), the sort of vacuum-tubed human ENIAC who will respond to a Facebook friend's querulous queries about what the hell's the deal with "Rio Grande 'Cracked' Gasoline" by calmly explaining that Rio Grande was the sponsor for Calling All Cars, a 1933-39 police drama that aired on the West Coast over the Columbia Broadcasting System. It doesn't help, but you feel smarter for knowing it.

And by now you've probably guessed (from the title, if not the above description) that today is the natal anniversary of Ivan G. Shreve, Jr., proprietor of Thrilling Days of Yesteryear. So let's get this party started!

See what delicious things happen when A.1. Sauce lends its flavor blessing to cold dishes!
Bless me A.1. for I have sinned...against flavor!
You can keep cool while you're making this attractive tuna mold--and you're sure to collect compliments when you serve it. 
When they taste it, however, you're sure to collect knife and shrimp fork wounds, so serve it quick, and maybe leave the motor running...
In fact, A.1. Sauce is about the easiest possible way to add a flavor flourish anytime . . . both when it's used as a table pour-on sauce and when it's an ingredient in cooking.
I agree, pouring A.1. sauce on the table would probably be tastier. Nevertheless, we're in no position to be choosy about our sponsors, so let's just swallow our gorge and gather around the Philco, because the show's about to begin!

The A-1 Tuna Mold Hour brings you the exciting adventures of Ivan Shreve, Master Blogger!

(Cue Dramatic Theme Music: The Yodeling Chinaman, played in a minor key on the Hammond organ)

Oops! Sorry guys, we won't have time for this week's episode. Sadly, while Ivan stars in a taut, weekly suspense drama, I'm in one of those daily 15-minute sitcoms like The Goldbergs, and as usually happens, my wacky neighbor Seymour Fingerhood just walked in. And seeing as he's played by Arnold Stang, I really need to concentrate on getting him back out as quickly as possible.

Also, and I hate to say this, but I liked the early episodes of the show better, when it was Ivan and his Doc Savage-like companions, "the 'rents", solving crimes in the gritty big city of Athens, GA. Once they moved the action to Winterville ("the City of Marigolds"), the pace suffered, and it began to feel like The Doris Day Show, but in reverse.

So let's just get straight to the cheesecake, shall we? Here's a rare photo of TDOY goddess Jane Greer actually smiling, because it's a beautiful sunny day and she's just finished burying the sap she double-crossed, and smothering his body in quicklime.

And of course, no birthday would be complete without a...
Sexy Birthday Lizard!

(I believe this is a Green Carolina Anole, which can supposedly be found in Georgia, but I make no guarantees because this is the Internet, and the Internet means never having to say "I fact checked.")

So please join me in wishing Ivan the very happiest of birthdays! Now if you'll excuse me, I've gotta go see if I can foist Arnold off on the cast of That Brewster Boy, or The Horn and Hardart Children's Hour.

Sunday, August 30, 2015

Happy Birthday, Doc Logan! The Ticking Clock Edition!

Okay, it's 11:54 here on the west coast, which gives me six minutes to post these birthday greetings and claim they're not technically belated. First, a quick apology for the tardiness: my disc is bulging like Belgium in 1944, and I'm down to my last Hydrocodone pill, which I've been saving for a pitch meeting in Burbank on Thursday, so I'm currently reduced to laying immobile on the floor or bed, because whenever I attempt to move I emit a screaming noise like a howler monkey who's just slammed his prehensile tail in the car door, and that seems to disturb Mary as she goes about her lesson planning.

Even more disturbing are the persistent, yet fading wails of agony that follow, and seem to suggest the motorist was blithely unaware of the tail stuck in the door and drove away, dragging the monkey behind the car like Aunt Edna's dog in National Lampoon's Vacation.

Doctor Logan, artist's conception

I've been trying to watch a bad zombie movie, and as a sign of respect for Doc's nic de blog, gift him with a typically disrespectful review, but I can only sit at the computer for about ten minutes at a time, so I'm afraid this sucker's gonna have to be published in serial form (hey, it was good enough for Dickens!)

In the meantime, Moondoggie has seized control of my iPhone and is sexting the crap out of Doc with these sultry selfies.  (They're naughty, sure, yet dispatched with a sense of innocent fun which I just know is gonna boomerang, and all these shots are gonna show up on TMZ by tomorrow morning.)

Anyway, Doc is an old and valued member of the commentariat, and I didn't want to shortchange him on his special day, so we spent the extra $4.80 at Sears, and for the first time in Wo'C history, the cake itself is decorated with Sexy Birthday Lizards!

And as for the cheesecake portion of the festivities, we've secured the precode services of Frances Dee, from I Walked With a Zombie, who's here to give the seduction-by-selfie types another Master Class in the art of Bedroom Eyes:

I don't know what kind of filter she's using on her phone there, but...rrrrower!

Okay, let's see...cake, check. Lizards, check. Hollywood glamour, check.  Yep, I think I'm good to go and ready to make another attempt at The Dead and the Damned. But I can't promise it'll be done by tomorrow, so Doc, I'm afraid I'll have to pull the old Wimpy scam: I'll gladly pay you a Better Living Through Bad Movies-style review on Tuesday for a birthday wish today.

Hope it was a great one, and I ask all my more punctual friends to please feel free to hogpile on Doc with some appropriate felicitations of your own.

Friday, August 21, 2015

The Boss is Out of Town, and We've Gone CRAZY!

"Look gals, I know it ain't The Fleischmann's Yeast Hour, or Texaco Town, but podcasting's still in its infancy as a medium -- it'll get better. In the meantime, we can listen to these two jerks..."

Yes, it's time for another All Star Summer Jamboree, but this week things are a little different in the studio, since my co-host Jeff went to see a...let's call it a movie...and is now in a coma. As it happens, I went to see the same..."movie," let's say...but I'm fine, because I've seen so much Hollywood crap that I've developed a protective blister like the Martian war machines in War of the Worlds, except my blister is made out of futility, despair, and whatever actual blisters are made of.  Skin, I guess.  Or maybe I've developed giant protective corns.  Anyway, the point is that no crappy summer blockbuster can harm me, because I'm encased in a full-body Plantar's wart, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna take it lying down. And since I'm running the show this week, I called up the bullpen and asked them to send in a veteran fireballer to serve up a little chin music.

So if you have a little time, please click the link below, and listen to me talk with a guy about a thing (and about a thing without a thing).
AssJam Episode 64: "Late to the Party" 
Starring Scott Clevenger and ? 
Music by Josiah Yareff and Ralph Raymond Hayes 
Join our esteemed Mr. Clevenger and a special surprise guest for a discussion of the most important film of 2015

Thursday, August 20, 2015

Happy Anniversary, You Pile O' Crap!

Today, August 20th, 2015, is the twelfth blogiversary of World O' Crap, with all the infamy that implies. Readers who've boned up on their Emily Post know that silk and linen are the traditional gifts for a year twelve anniversary, but don't just go to Mood and then heave a bolt of fabric at us -- that doesn't make it seem special! -- add some closures and notions; jute-covered buttons, say, or a Knit Picker. But since none of us here sew (well, s.z. might, but I doubt she has time; with all the animals she's constantly rescuing and nursing and fostering, every day of her life is like Noah's worst day on the Ark), allow me to pass on some ideas for making these materials useful to the modern consumer. lists not only the Traditional Gifts (silk, linen), but the Alternate Traditional (pearl) and the Alternate Jewelry Materials (opal, jade). More important, it provides helpful, expert-endorsed suggestions and sources for putting a contemporary twist on these ancient consolation prizes, and I've compiled our favorites into the Official World O' Crap Twelfth Anniversary Wish List:

Silk Gifts:

High quality realistic silk flower arrangements:  This actually seems like something more appropriate for a 60th anniversary, along with "adult diapers" and "one hard candy wrapped in a Kleenex and forgotten at the bottom of Grandma's purse," but as blogs go, we're gettin' up there, so why not?

Teddy bear holding a silk flower:  Again, this seems more like something you'd give to a terminally-ill child, since it doesn't seem to say "Happy Anniversary!" so much as "No, I can't hit a home run for you, please stop asking."

Silky Lingerie:

Heh, heh! Now we're talking...!

Spicy silky lingerie:  Huh. Well...okay, although that sounds less like erotic undergarments and more like an entree at a Chinese restaurant.

Plus-size lingerie recommended by Oprah:  All I need to do is shimmy into my cotton-poly blend boxer briefs with the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval and it's gonna be a hot time in the old town tonight!

Linen Gifts:

Pillows and throws in international designs: Nothing says "It's been twelve wonderful years" quite like a cushion in the distinctive shape of Moldova.

You know, I didn't see "corn silk" anywhere on that list, and that struck me as an obvious oversight. Admittedly, I didn't know exactly what "corn silk" was, and heydave wasn't around to ask, but I looked it up and apparently it's "[T]he styles and stigmas that appear as a silky tuft or tassel at the tip of an ear of corn." Well that certainly sounds sexy, what with the tassels and the tips and all, and goodness knows we could use a little more style around here. Plus, I long ago learned to live with the stigma. And best of all? It's "used as a diuretic in herbal medicine."

I think we've found our winner! (Especially since I also looked up "corn smut" and that wasn't at all what I thought it was going to be.)

So on behalf of s.z. and Mary, thanks for all your hilarious and thoughtful comments over the years, and for making World O' Crap one of your choices for blogs with the word "crap" in the url.  Happy anniversary to us, one and all!

Monday, August 17, 2015

Me and Mr. Jones

By Keith

I'm grateful to Scott C. for allowing me to announce an exciting new feature exclusively for World O' Crappers. Dropping in early September.

From here, to there, to hospital and perhaps beyond, your correspondent will cover exquisitely-constructed and recursively-linked bat-shit and bait-click conspiracy theories promoted by the One and Only Alex Jones, native of Austin, TX.

If you've not previously encountered Mr. Jones, he has a website titled Infowars and a daily podcast you can sample here. But why bother when I'll do the grunt work? You and your loved ones shall never trouble yourselves in the least.

August is never the best time for a product debut, but just to give a teaser, behold the "Alex Jones Conspiracy Convolution Matrix." It's based on a Chinese restaurant menu technique used by 60's print pornographers (also the editors at Fox Cable News). Mix and match ... it's easy. Create your own scenarios ... we'll merge them into a user database on github.

Thursday, August 13, 2015

Tissue? I Barely Know You.

Things have been going relatively well for Republican presidential candidate Ben Carson. He performed respectably at the recent debate, he's been rising in the polls, and unlike Donald Trump he can enter his house justified, since he doesn't pay an esthetician to hose him down each day with a proprietary mixture of mineral oil and finely ground Cheetos. However, all that may change, after the Washington Post reported that Dr. Carson was a receiver of those bootlegged baby parts that seem to tumble out of Planned Parenthood the way color TVs fall off the backs of trucks in New Jersey.

Here's the heartbroken, yet gamely tapdancing headline at
Ben Carson on Report He Did Fetal Tissue Research: I Didn’t “Kill Babies and Take Their Tissue”
"I Only Beat Up Babies and Took Their Lunch Money."
Republican presidential candidate Ben Carson addressed reports today that, decades ago, he conducted research using tissue from an aborted baby.
Two aborted fetuses, actually.  Not because Dr. Carson is a monster whose lust for cord blood can never be sated, but because he's a conscientious and thorough researcher, and because Fetus 'R Us was having a two-for-one sale.  Anyway, it was decades ago, and if he hadn't taken that baby's tissue back then, some other doctor would be removing it's prostate about now.
Carson said what he did is entirely different from the scandal at Planned Parenthood — where unborn babies are purposefully killed in order to use their body parts for research purposes.
Oh, that's why those women came to Planned Parenthood -- they weren't patients in need of abortions, they were farmers in need of help with the harvest.  "Cyrus, it's a bumper crop this year, an' we're gonna need us a hired man to help ya thresh mah womb."
Carson has been critical of not only the Planned Parenthood abortion business for selling aborted babies and their body parts for research, but he said defenders of that have oversold the benefits of fetal tissue research.
"So-called scientists have been experimenting with fetal tissue for years without perfecting it. When you blow your nose in it, it still just makes a big mess."

But I'm relieved that you can be critical of people and organizations for things they haven't actually done. Now when I criticize LifeNews reporter Steven Ertelt for putting a tentacle-shaped snood on his penis before he masturbates because he can only achieve a chub by thinking about hentai, I don't feel like I need to get bogged down in tedious minutiae like whether I just totally made that up and where he'd even get a tentacle-shaped dick snood even if it was true.

Hm.  Hang on...

Okay, turns out they're available on Etsy, which makes my criticism slightly more fact-based than Dr. Carson's, and therefore, less newsworthy.
Carson calls the reports that he conducted research with aborted babies “desperate.” He appears to say that there is a difference between what he did and what Planned Parenthood and others are doing and what he did. 
And he appears to say it like a character from an Ed Wood movie.
Carson said that “you have to look at the intent” of using fetal tissue.
This is indeed the crucial distinction. Carson -- and Planned Parenthood, for that matter -- intended the fetal tissue be used to further medical research. Mr. Ertelt intends to use fetal tissue as a renewable source of snood lube.
He appears to say there’s a difference between specifically selling, as in the case of Planned Parenthood, or buying, as in the case of Colorado State University, University of Wisconsin and Oregon Health and Science University, aborted babies for research and using fetal tissue for comparative research along with other tissue samples because the tissue was already available.
I sure hope Mr. Ertelt is available to interpret for Dr. Carson if he ever wins the presidency, or we won't know what the hell is going on.

PRESIDENT CARSON: Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country!

MR. ERTELT:  He appears to say we should go to war with Iran. Also he appears to be angry that the West Wing break room is out of those little cheddar-flavored fish crackers...
“To willfully ignore evidence that you have for some ideological reason is wrong. If you’re killing babies and taking the tissue, that’s a very different thing than taking a dead specimen and keeping a record of it,” Carson said. 
So basically, Ben Carson is the wimpy John Dall character to Planned Parenthood's murderous Peggy Cummins in Gun Crazy. You can almost hear him mutter, "I let you do my killing for me."

Speaking of regrets, our good friend Anntichrist S. Coulter was kind enough to use some of her brief online time at the public library to inform me I screwed up and forgot to write a post in honor of Mentis Fugit, whose birthday was yesterday. Which is a fairly egregious bout of pooch-screwing, as Mentis has been a great friend of the blog, as many an O.G. Crapper can attest. So please join me in wishing him a very happy -- if embarrassingly belated -- birthday.

First, the traditional three-layer cake consisting of fruit triangles and banana Flippers...

Then the obligatory old timey cheesecake photo (how about a bit o' Barely Legal Myrna Loy in a bathing suit?):

And last but not least, the customary Sexy Birthday Lizard!
(Since Myrna is rocking that flat-chested Flapper look, I thought we could go with a curvier lizard for once.)

Happy birthday, Mentis! And Ben? Best of luck at the next debate explaining the nuanced differences between villainous tissue donors and virtuous tissue recipients.