This Week in Rage – 4/26/15

This Week in Rage – A blog about the top three things that pissed me off this week.


Got a little behind schedule last week with the Daddy Stop Talking audiobook and the Newman doc premiere so here’s a double dose. Enjoy.


Chicken Sound: I got the zip-line going in my yard again. I had to take it down when we were filming Road Hard back there. Natalia got right back on it and was zipping away. Sonny, not so much. He’s a world class puss. I pulled him up half-way, let him go and he screamed the whole way down. I found him a little later crying in his room.


I don’t think I’ll ever get him back up there. It was at that point I realized what was missing from his childhood that was a big part of mine. The chicken sound. That “buck, buck, b-gock” sound that kids used to make at each other to taunt them into doing stuff. Kids used to put their thumbs in their armpits and flap their elbows like wings and the kid being mocked would always cave and do whatever they wanted. You could make a kid do anything. You could get them to rob a bank, set a hobo on fire, stab their step-dad with a rusty piece of rebar while he was sleeping just by saying “What, are you chicken? Bgock!” I don’t know who to blame for this lost art. I think it’s McDonalds, we only think of chickens as McNuggets now. Please, let’s bring it back.


Smoking in Bars: We need to bring this back too. I know the second hand smoke positive intention was there when they banned it but I think it’s causing more harm that good. I was talking to a caller on the podcast the other day who was saying he went out into the alley to smoke since he couldn’t do it in the bar and ran into a chick out there and basically had alley sex with her. Just leaned her up against the dumpster and had his way with her. And I realized what is going on. We’re taking all the drunk horny people from the bar and sending them out into the poorly lit alleys. They can’t smoke in the bar and if they go out front the bouncer is going to tell them to move twenty feet down the sidewalk. So they sneak out the back into the alley. There’s no way you’re sending a drunk chick and a drunk guy out into the alley to blow a butt without at least some other kind of blowing happen. And it will only escalate from there. Yes, second hand smoke is a first rate killer (I’ve heard the PSAs) but I think we need to keep our eye on the alley rape epidemic we’re heading for.


JFK Jr.’s Funeral Outfit: I was watching the Sinatra documentary on HBO and among all the other fascinating stuff, the thing that really blew my mind was when they were talking about his connection to JFK and they showed the old footage of JFK Jr. saluting the casket. We’ve all seen that picture of a three and an half year old John John.  (If you haven’t, click here.)

What I never really noticed before is that he’s not wearing pants. What the fuck? It’s November in Washington D.C. What’s with the mini-skirt? When he salutes it goes up past his frozen shriveled little nut-sack which has retracted into him like landing gear into a plane. I know you’re grieving Jackie, but focus. You’ll be putting little JFK in the ground too from hypothermia. We saw what happened to his dad when he went out in public uncovered. Just saying.


HOV sticker on Tesla: My wife just got the Tesla S. A beautiful, state of the art vehicle. Nothing like it on the road. But now we have to go through the process of sending the city money and waiting for them to get us stickers, yes, plural, that say we’re allowed to ride in the diamond lane. Because it’s a full electric it can go in the HOV lane.


Which is my point. Why the fuck do I need your stupid stickers? That car is a work of art that is being desecrated by your ugly ass stickers. What part of this is confusing, highway patrol? It’s a Telsa. There are no other cars like it on the road and it has a badge on the back. The sticker is the GIANT CHROME T! That’s how you know it qualifies. Stop making me put crappy stickers on my wife’s $100,000 wheels (Unless they’re cool stickers like “Ass Gas, or Grass, No One Rides for Free” and “No Fat Chicks”)


Croissant Muffin: This is the hottest new food trend in San Francisco. As if the muffin and croissant were broken, like eating either one was a chore. “Frank, why the bad mood this morning?” “I had to eat a muffin.” “Sorry man, but if it makes you feel better, I had to eat a croissant.” “Damn. That’s rough, bro.” We’ve done with food what rock stars did with groupies. It started as just banging 19-year-olds from the last town on the tour, then escalated to doing weird stuff to multiple chicks with a fish. Nowadays we’re stuffing every food with every other food and wrapping it in a third food. It’s gotten ridiculous.


That said it did inspire me. I came up with something that would unite Los Angeles. We’ve got a big Hispanic population in the San Fernando Valley and a huge Armenian population in Hollywood and Glendale. And they don’t always get along. Until now. I present to you the Baklava Churro. Baklava is the greatest desert ever, but it’s too short. It’s like two inches long and you always want more. Meanwhile the churro is a foot long crappy donut. But if you combined the two you’d have the desert of the century. I call it the Baklurro. (I could have gone with Chuklava but it sounds too much like Chupacabra.)


Sweaters from Earners: The government is in constant give-away mode. In L.A. we tried supplying every kid in the school system with an iPad and it was a total disaster. Then there’s just the general methadone drip of welfare and disability that keeps people from getting their shit together.   I’m against all of those hand-out programs. But here’s one I could get behind. I think it would help the economy.


Have you ever been to a funeral or some other formal event and seen the guy who’s dressed in the worst way possible for it? I went to a funeral once and my step-father showed up in a red Member’s Only jacket. I was thinking, “Jesus, man. Don’t you even have a black blazer?” Or you’ll see the guys on People’s Court dressed like Jimmy Buffett. Don’t you have one black sweater that conveys, “I’m serious and somber”? Well if my program gets implemented you will. I call it “Sweaters from Earners.” All the guys like me who pay their taxes will have some of it set aside to purchase a black sweater for those without. $12 from Old Navy gets one of those guys a sweater to go to funerals, hearings or job interviews. Who’s gonna get the job or stay out of the system – the guy in the black sweater or the dude in the gravy stained t-shirt with two ducks fucking in mid-air that says “Fly United”? It’ll be nice for us earners too because we get notes on his progress, like when someone sponsors one of those African kids. I’ll get a picture of him in his V-neck black sweater with a bailiff and a note that says, “Thanks, I got my bail lowered by $2000.”