This Week in Rage – 4/5/15

Hey Kiddies,


Been a little hectic lately, I’m back to shooting Catch a Contractor, still mopping up the release of Road Hard (thanks again for all the kind Tweets about that) and putting the new book, Daddy Stop Talking to bed. So since I owe you a couple blogs from the last few week here’s a extended dance mix.


Beets: I wrote in this blog previously about my idea for the Beet Bracelet. In case you missed it here it is…


I had a revelation the other day. When I was up in Napa with Kimmel, birthday boy and Bosstone Dickie Barrett, our friend Daniel and all of our families I had a nice beet salad. Huge slabs of hearty beets. And then something dawned on me. So I called the waiter over and said, “When you serve up these gigantic chunks of beets you should give guys a little bracelet as a reminder.” For those of you who aren’t into the beet salad here’s the thing, somewhere around 10:30 that night after you eat your beets you’re going to use the commode, look back in the bowl and scream “Take me, dear lord. My colon has come out. Forget the doctor, just call the coroner.” Then a minute into your panic attack you’ll remember, “Oh, yeah. I had that huge red beet salad” and all will be right again.


That’s where the bracelet comes in. I’m not talking about anything big and shiny. Just one of those clip on things like when you go to a club and you’re over twenty one or a concert and you have priority seats. It could just be purple to remind you, or it could have a nice phrase like “I Beat Beets” or “Beet Prepared.” The waiter would just snap it on you and then you wouldn’t freak out. It might be fun too if you ran into another guy at the mall wearing one. You could give him a little “I had beets too” knowing nod or even start up a new friendship, “Did you get the goat cheese and arugula or just the strait beet salad?” If you can get one of those “I gave blood” or “I voted” stickers to prove you’re better than everyone at the office why not this? It could be the new Livestrong.


Well, ever the innovator, when I was on Kimmel the other night I revealed not only the name for this and a few new additions. First the name…Beets by Ace. Solid, right? And I’ve now expanded it to the Golden Beets so you don’t look down in the can and think you’re King Midas or the Golden Goose. I don’t want people shouting from the commode, “Honey, call the boss and tell him I quit. I’m crapping gold.”

Not only that but I’ve expanded it to the Asparagus hat. This is like a party hat you’d get at a kids birthday with a stalk of asparagus on it so that people can avoid sidling up next to you at the urinal and getting a waft of your asparagus stink. I haven’t quite figured out the ladies version of this since they’d be in stalls and you wouldn’t be able to see it but don’t worry, I’ve got my R&D guys on it.


White Cab Drivers: I’ve traveled the length and breadth of this land. Everywhere I go I get the foreign cab driver. I can go to Minneapolis, San Antonio, Boston or Seattle and still get the cabbie from Mozambique. But there is one hold out – Vegas. Las Vegas is last bastion of white cab drivers.  I don’t know why. They’re always crazy old prospector types that smell like nicotine and have beard dander flying all over the place when they talk through their missing teeth. But I don’t know why. Was there some sort of exchange program? I’m not saying it’s a good or bad thing, you hate to be in their cab as much the smelly foreign cab drivers but for some reason Las Vegas is a museum to that endangered species – the white cab driver.


Starbucks #racetogether Campaign: I’m tired off all these corporations doing feel good, awareness campaigns. Like the NFL with the pink ribbons or McDonald’s recent “pay with love” promotion.  Hell, even Coke is putting your name on the cans. Remember when companies used to just make products and sell them to you? Corporations now have to pretend they care about everyone because we’re all desperate douchebags.  They have to hug it out with you and make you feel good and ask you if you’ve lost weight. Nationally we’ve become that needy girlfriend that craves constant validation. Why does everyone need to feel great? Remember McDonald’s old campaign, the original Big Mac jingle? They just broke down the product – two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions, on a sesame seed bun. They literally just described what they sold. Are we all such colossal pussies that every time we go to McDonald’s we need to sing Kumbaya? Get over it. Just eat a burger and go home and hug your kids. And Starbucks, I don’t need you to create a dialogue about race with me, I need you to create a coffee for me. The only black and white issue I want you focused on putting white cream in my black coffee.


Confusing Massage: I’ve had a very stressful month as you all know. So I went in last weekend and got myself a nice soothing massage. I recommend it highly. There was only one problem. The Asian broad who was giving said soothing massage was trying to work out the many knots that have gathered in my back with her elbow. Have you had that thing where there’s a golf ball sized knot in between your shoulder blades and the chick goes at it like she’s mining diamonds? I know why she’s doing what she’s doing but I can’t deal with the juxtaposition. How about turning down the Enya and blowing out lavender candle because you are essentially waterboarding me with your elbow while I’m supposed to be drifting off with the new age music and aromatherapy. It should match up. If you’re going to put me in pain and pull some Abu Ghraib shit why not just play GWAR and light a truck tire?


A Hypothetical Question: Give this one some thought. Who has had less sex in the past ten years – Hilary and Bill Clinton or Oprah and Steadman? When I asked my friends Kevin and Bean on their morning show about this they thought it was an even 0-0 tie. How pathetic is that? They are doing a horrible job of faking affection with each other. And if it is true I wonder what this means for Hillary’s chances in the 2016 campaign. Can we elect a president that hasn’t been laid in a decade? If I got elected president and I hadn’t had sex in ten years my first order of business would be to bomb China, France and then maybe Utah. I would just have some aggression to get out. I’d have red white and blue balls.


Speaking of blue balls…here’s one about blue balls for your taste buds or as I call them blue buds…


San Diego McDonalds Egg McMuffin Trial: I’ve long complained that McDonald’s does not serve the egg McMuffin sandwich after 10:30. But my complaints were finally heard…sort of. They’ve decided to do this, but only as a trial in the San Diego area. Why do I have to make a run to the border to get my McMuffin fix? Why not here in L.A.? And do we need a trial? I was making Egg McMuffins at the Studio City McDonald’s 30 years ago. I think the jury is in on this one. Prime hangover hours extend until at least noon. All the evidence you need is the line of people at the drive through at 10:45 begging, “If you can just make me an Egg McMuffin I’ll perform oral on you.”