Sunday, April 30, 2006

Meretriciousness, depicted pictorally

What's wrong with this picture?

"New York City was the only city attacked on 9/11" is the new "Saddam Hussein was behind the attacks on 9/11."

Friday, April 28, 2006

"Documented with a silenced note, / That's only heard from far far away."

This weekend=more excellent chances to see A Bright Room Called Day at Rorschach.

Details on how can be found
here, and mostly here

Nelson Pressley creamed his pants over the show, and said we were "burning with ideological fire." Maybe so. I'll admit only that we at Rorschach enjoy playing with matches, and these are times that would make arsonists of anyone with their eyes open.

But the point is to enjoy the play, and it is very enjoyable and entertaining. Come stalk me at tonight's performance. It is also rumored that DC's version of Mo Rocca, Kriston Capps, will be there,
keeping himself apart from the children.

Save The Date: 7/11/06


And, for all you DCeiverites holding it down in Brooklyn, they'll be at Northsix on Saturday. Lucky ducks.

Thursday, April 27, 2006

The End Has No End

I've been working very hard at getting up to speed with all the new and wonderful things I'm doing on a 9-to-5 basis lately. The good news--and it's pretty fucking good news--is that I can now say that there is almost never a time during my typical day where I'm doing anything I hate doing. It doesn't mean that I'll never have a tough or exhausting day again, but somehow or another, I have quite literally managed to banish any remnant of day-to-day sucking from my life. That's what the Project For A New DCeiver Century is about. Contrast that with the Project for a New American Century--currently going down in flames--why dontcha?

But, I've not gotten into a full groove yet, so content's been on the lightish side this week. Tonight, I saw the Strokes at DARCH, and they really kicked ass. Though, it should be noted, that handful of songs from First Impressions Of Earth that are meant to mark a stylistic shift (and that I don't care for) don't sound any better live than they do on record. That said, they played a generous amount of songs from Is This It, including personal faves "Soma" and "Take It Or Leave It" and "Barely Legal"--all of which rocked. Plus, Julian sang "Reptilia" from the middle of the audience and people were going straight up apeshit. Information Leafblower filled in for Wife of DCeiver at the last minute, and we wound up having pretty decent seats in the back section of the orchestra, which were made much better when Julian and his long, long mic cord made his way back to us.

Very worth it. I've been having a lot of concert luck this year--with the exception of the New Pornographers. Stars set the standard, and while they're still my fave show of 2006 so far, I've come away thrilled to have finally seen Franz Ferdinand and the Strokes (insane that I haven't seen them before, but my luck with them had previously always been bad), witnessed another fantastic outing from Neko Case, and was totally surprised by how much I loved Belle and Sebastian.

Side note: Neko seems to be best suited live when she gets to sing with Kelly Hogan. Their two voices were made for each other--Kelly's the sugar to Neko's absinthe. I heartily recommend her 2001 release Because It Feel Good and Beneath the Country Underdog, with the Pine Valley Cosmonauts.

All the shizz you need to know about the Strokes show will be up on DCist sometime tomorrow. In the meantime, enjoy my DCist post from today.

Monday, April 24, 2006

Here's what I predict you'll be hearing in the coming days.

That when I told you to see A BRIGHT ROOM CALLED DAY because it's pants-crappingly awesome, I was not lying.

We'll see. But I think the show is drop dead HOT.

Friday, April 21, 2006

Decider House Rules

By now you all know that President Bush responded to the serious-minded call to justify Donald Rumsfeld's continued employment as the Secretary of Defense by telling the world: "I hear the voices and I read the front page and I hear the speculation. But I'm the decider, and I decide what's best. And what's best is for Don Rumsfeld to remain as the secretary of defense."

No real surprise here. Our ersatz Commander in Chief is given the opportunity to provide a deserving nation of adults with his well-founded rationale, and, just like always, he responds as if the American people were a bunch of children. He could have said, "You guys don't get dessert until you've finished your lima beans" and it would have sounded more nuanced.

But let's take a look at the President's statement in a larger context.

You might suggest, Mr. President, that the public outcry over Rumsfeld gives aid and comfort to our enemies. I would conversely submit to you that when a bunch of experienced military professionals question the ability of Mr. Rumsfeld, it serves as a reminder to our enemies that there exist able Americans who could replace the Secretary of Defense who's driven us into a ditch and thus defeat those enemies, but you might suggest it, all the same.

Similarly, you might suggest that publicly opposing your program of warrantless wiretapping of American citizens gives aid and comfort to our enemies. I would conversely submit to you that it actually greatly comforts our enemies to know that the limited resources of the NSA are being diverted to the WARRANTLESS investigation of American citizens instead of the WARRANTED investigation of terrorists, but you might suggest it, all the same.

And heck, you might suggest that every time the media reports that something bad has happened in Iraq, it gives aid and comfort to our enemies. I would conversely submit that the insurgent forces in Iraq have no need for media reports on their activities because they have first-hand knowledge of their successes, but you might suggest it, all the same.

However, I would suggest to you that every time you are seen in public addressing the American people in a manner that reflects your OBVIOUS lack of respect for us, treating the people who pay out of pocket to support this nation and from whom you derive your political power as little more than two-year olds, it doesn't so much give aid and comfort to our enemies as much as it bakes our enemies a cake, tuck our enemies into beddy-bye, reads our enemies Goodnight Moon, and then, after a quick little kiss on their cheeks, leaves our enemies' nightlight on so they aren't afraid.

I'd love for you to dispute me on this regard, Mr. President, if only because I would make damn sure you used your adult voice when you are speaking to me.

You see--it's not that I begrudge you the opportunity to parent us. I just wished you loved us as much as you loved our enemies.

DCeptette: You can't get to heaven with a three chord song version.

  1. On the matter of how to win the fight for choice, William Saletan gets a whole lot right. Especially trenchant is this: "Real ambition isn't about fortifying the territory you've won. It's about moving on so that the territory behind you no longer needs defending." Exactly. Though personally speaking, I don't think the pro-choice movement did that great a job safeguarding the territory won in Roe. There was a whole lot of high-minded rhetoric shouted from the extreme edge of the law's penumbra, sure. But all the while, the anti-choice forces were digging massive holes right through the unguarded center, picking away at the rights that were won--and doing so creatively, I might add, using zoning restrictions and building codes to hobble the work of abortion providers. When it comes to the capital "L" law, the aforementioned zoning restrictions and building codes are tiny, grotty, little utilitarian devices--clearly they were beneath Roe's defenders, who thought high-falutin rhetorical flourishes on Really Deep Thoughts would hold down the fort. These tactics weren't beneath the anti-Roes, and they used their primitive instruments to great effect. Even now, when supporters of abortion rights are telling you that the potential loss of South Dakota's one abortion clinic is tantamount to disaster, they have it completely wrong--the disaster is that for many years leading up to South Dakota's recent turn into Dark Ages style legislative skullduggery, THERE WAS ONLY ONE ABORTION CLINIC IN SOUTH DAKOTA! But for a statistical anomaly, abortion has basically been banned in South Dakota for quite some time! And that indisputable fact is prima facie proof that Roe was never a silver bullet that guaranteed any rights for anyone. Saletan embraces technological innovation as the saving grace--over time, that's true, but in the intermediary he's got no answer for the class divide that affects the efficacy of new technology as a force for social change. However, I think the force of the electoral backlash, coupled with the limited appeal of the rest of the radical right's agenda (an end to contraception, women's health care, workplace protection, etc), the battle can be won decisively in favor of choice--especially if a cogent strategy to specifically fight the battle in the state and local trenches, where politics have the most thunderous force, is embarked upon, and embarked upon now. TETS. [Washington Post]
  2. On to more fun items. First: you don't need to tell me that a new branded column in DCist called "Drunk Amanda..." would kick ass--I already know! Seriously, who could not be behind this idea? I'm a little embarrassed that we didn't come up with it ages ago. [Blog s t r e t c h]
  3. Second, Sommer Mathis is Sommer Mathis everywhere in the DC area--except for at IKEA! There, if you ask for Sommer Mathis, you run the risk of being given a two-dollar plant pot and an ugly looking desk that'll probably break within a year. Caveat blogger!
  4. You have to love Mayor Tony Williams glib and oily way of copping out on finally putting his foot down where Logan Circle Parking is concerned. Here's the line of reasoning he got the dutiful Department of Public Works to parrot: "However, officials with the D.C. Department of Public Works (DPW) last month told The Times that parking laws must be enforced equally throughout a city and a policy dictating otherwise, such as the city's plan to enforce first in Logan Circle and then citywide, would be illegal." Wow. That's like having your house burn down and being told by the fire department: "It wouldn't have been right for us to put out YOUR fire when we have an ENTIRE CITY to protect!" [DCist]
  5. But when it comes to all the unfolding drama and strife between the city churches and their neighbors, this is the best line, regarding the churches' continued resistance to the gay-oriented Be Bar: "Honey, please! Get off the cross, girl. We gays need to get nailed, too." That's right, friend--and while Lawrence v. Texas equates your right to get nailed with anyone's right to worship, at least you are ambitiously moving beyond the territory you've won, one cocktail hour at a time. William Saletan salutes you. [Vividblurry]

Thursday, April 20, 2006

Also, we're guessing that this might be the best time to sell Gretchen's camisole on eBay.

If you find yourself with a little time to kill this weekend, Wife of DCeiver's college roommate has apparently landed what I'm told is a pretty big role in this here movie.

At Landmark E Street Cinemas. 555 11th Street, NW

DCeptette: He's never heard the song before, but he still gets the metaphor version

  1. We wish a fond farewell to Scott McClellan, who smartly abandons the foundering ship. We can't wait for your book. If there's one thing you can be thankful for, it's at least you were never namechecked in a commercial for Dr. Scholl's gel inserts.
  2. Off-Topic: Can you not see the significance of TomKat's baby and Brooke Shields' baby being born on the same day? Clearly, these two children will one day battle each other to decide the fate of mankind! Deep down, didn't you kinda know it was all going to end this way?
  3. Wow. There's really no love out there for turning RFK stadium into a dog track? Man, I loves me some area dens of iniquity. We gotta run grift somewhere. How about we turn it into a track for suburban-based Logan Circle churchgoers to race each other for some parking spaces? Thunderdome stizz? [DCist]
  4. You need my talents for Jesus? Gosh. I'd love to help, but what if I can only play the Jew Harp? [Craigslist]
  5. Uhm...did Jessica Burgess' nomination get lost in the mail? Just sayin'. [CityDesk]

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

Yeah, well, to hell with you.

Just watched Caitlin Flanagan on The Colbert Report, and one thing's for sure: there's nothing quite like a smug, self-important, facile little tripe spewer to make me want to start tossing Molotovs, be they of any political persuasion, abstraction or distraction.

One is led to believe that Flanagan is glib enough to cause one to enter some sort of mental fugue state over women's roles in society. That's funny. From where I sit, she deserves to be dismissed out of hand and never again heard from.
In the first place, she's a fraud.

Still, the peeks into Flanagan's home are worse. "Paloma, Patrick is throwing up!" Flanagan used to tell her son's nanny. "She would literally run to his room, clean the sheets, change the pajamas, spread a clean towel on his pillow," Flanagan recalls. "I would stand in the doorway, concerned, making funny faces at Patrick to cheer him up." I put my kids in day care and I can't iron. But I've never stood in a doorway when my child was puking, and I resent being lectured to by someone who has.
That's Entertainment Weekly's Jennifer Reese (if this was Ben Domenech's blog, that wouldn't have been disclosed!), and she's making a whole lot of sense to me. See, I can tell you first hand what it's like to be raised by a stay-at-home mom, and Flanagan sounds like stay-at-home SUCK to me too.

But beyond that, Flanagan's fraudulence can be seen as smoothly blended with stupidity. When Colbert quipped about her being like a "wayback machine" to the 1950s, Flanagan gaily quipped that "at [her] house, it's the today machine."

Ahh, yes. Namechecking the 50s. That old canard. I don't know what it was like to live in the 50s--but I have a feeling that Craig Finn's dad once told him: "The 50s nearly killed me, let's not recall them quite so fondly."

But as little as I know about life in the fitties, Flanagan knows even less. It's pretty clear that she's uniquely positioned in the American caste system to rock it like the millieu de siecle style. Don't believe me? Paloma--the dutiful puke cleaner who came vacuum sealed inside Flanagan's little world.

But that's not the point.
This is: Caitlinn, sweetie, the 1950s are never coming back. I mean never. I think we can all admit that all those neat little nukeyewlar families with their single wage-earner dads were totally pretty. But that shizz has gone the way of the dinosaur. Whaa happen? Well, sure, everyone basically agreed that times were ripe in the post-war period to enjoy the sweet life and give birth to the most self-indulgent generation of Americans ever. But a funny thing happened: while the top one percent of the nation's wealthiest looked upon their work and deemed it good, they nevertheless decided that they wanted to keep right on stackin' that cheddar. And so they went right along, upturning our friends and families, shaking every little piece of loose change outta their pockets. Welcome to 2006, Caitie. America can't afford your world anymore.

See, darling, you got played, probably by the very people you hold up as paragons. Nowadays, for normal Americans to even survive, you have to come to an understanding, similar to the one we have at my house: I gots to get paid AND Wife of DCeiver gots to get paid. And even then, I gots to clean up my own puke. If your household could get the switch on,
Freaky Friday steez, you'd be documenting more corrections than Johnny Franzen. Despite what you've heard, it's actually REALLY EASY OUT THERE for pimps like you.

Aww. Don't feel bad, Caitlinn. It's just that I'm smarter and I'm better at this than you. There, there. Now, why don't you shut up and go bake me some cookies.

The Next Big Thing

It's sort of hard to describe how excited we are that A Bright Room Called Day will be opening this weekend. A great play, by a great playwright, directed by one of the best everest people in this or any other life. You simply must come. Pay what you can previews are happening tonight and Friday, with the official opening on Saturday Night. You'll catch me there both Friday and Saturday nights this week because folks, this is going to be TEH HOTTNESS.

All your relevant details are found right here.

For fun, I'm including a picture of cast member Liz Chomko, who also appeared in our reading of The Taking of Orange Line 1-2-3 looking FRIGHTENINGLY like the sister of a high school friend of mine. This gave me the 1980's whiplash flashback seizures.

Tuesday, April 18, 2006

Suri With the Fringe Religious Wacko on Top

Chicks and ducks and geese better hurry! When they hear about the birth of Suri! Because they'll want to avoid the coming end of days nightmare brought on by the coming of the Cruisebrood. For real. Take a moment and call your mom. Just to tell her that you love her and that you repent your evil, wicked ways. There is still time. And don't forget to join the DCeiver as he liveblogs the river running red with the blood of the woodland creatures and the sun turning black forevermore (pending wifi availability).

Logan Circle Parking Folderol Is About To Drop! And Guess Who's Involved?

Over in Logan Circle, the feud between the autochthonous religious communities who doublepark with Terminator-like impunity and the residents who are sick of having their cars blocked in every Sunday is about to come to a hellacious boot-up-the-ass head, with District police warning everybody that they are finally going to start enforcing the parking rules for those neighborhoods.

As you might imagine, for the church officials, this is the fucking APOCALYPSE.

But, as we read
DCist's (typically AWESOME) article about the matter, our eyebrows arched in cartoon recognition of a nemesis we faced down earlier this month. See if you can guess who we're talking about!

"It is not fair for the city or newcomers to conspire to force our worship communities out of the District of Columbia into neighboring jurisdictions - and our houses of worship will not go without a fight."

Thus spake the Rev. Steve Tucker, of the New Commandment Baptist Church. I'm presuming, of course, that this "new commandment" is number eleven--"Thou shalt make with the mad screaming 'VOID WHERE PROHIBITED' yells wherever and whenever you don't feel like complying with the settled rules and laws of the land."

But that's not the point. This is the point: I cannot recall anyone from the city or any newcomer who has stated that their intent is "to force our worship communities out of the District of Columbia into neighboring jurisdictions." You see, it's a simple equation.

Enforcing Parking Restrictions
"to force our worship communities out of the District of Columbia into neighboring jurisdictions."

So, we have to wonder: Who are these people who want "to force our worship communities out of the District of Columbia into neighboring jurisdictions?"

I think you know! Yes: They are back!


"Raawwr! We can't wait until all the urban churches are forced to move to Maryland! That'll teach them for loving Jesus so damn much! Rooowwwr!"

Once again, we have to say, LOOK AT THAT STRAW MAN HOLY SHIT THAT IS TERRIFYING! Could you imagine how badly you'd wet your own pants if you bumped into that motherfucker behind Bar Pilar?

I'd imagine that if you were to see one, you just might go so crazy mental with fear that you might say something as BRACINGLY STUPIDO as the Reverend Graylan Hagler, pastor of Plymouth Congregational United Church of Christ, who said and I quote:

"Since many of our religious institutions have been operating for years, and some for a century or more, and many have had to improvise for years when it comes to parishioners parking in an urban environment, why has the [city] administration chosen to enforce already existing regulations at this time and not before?"

Yeah, dude! Like, we were here before CARS WERE EVEN INVENTED! Fuck the March of Human Ingenuity! Your world of autogyros and hydrogen-powered dirigibles makes us religious folk all a-scurred! Demons! Demons!

You also have to love anyone who demands to be exempt from the law because they haven't been previously subject to the enforcement of said law. It all goes back to that little known Constitutional Amendment, reading, "Yeah...or, you know...whatever. I mean, who really gives a fuck" that George Mason slipped in there on a Saturday night at the Continental Congress while no one was looking.

I'm sorry, church people, but I have it straight from Jesus. He says, "Follow the fucking rules." See, it's written in red, just like the Bible!

Blogversations with the PIABS. Part 34 in a series.

We're a lot like you, in that we like to think of the Nabob and the Governess as DC's version of Will Arnett and Amy Poehler and we get to go on pony rides together every weekend. Long and hilarious pony rides.

read this.

I can't wait for them to finish transcribing "What It Must Be Like to Go Through Pirate Family Therapy," because when it is done I will stage it. And I'll totally be casting Sommer Mathis again, and I absolutely will not stop doing so until she breaks out of her writers block and dispenses her own FW Thomas goodness into the world, because you know it will be so best.

"What It Must Be Like to Go Through Pirate Family Therapy" has got to be at least 7.2 times as funny as the "Pirate Convention" sketch they ran on SNL, where the only joke was saying Peter Sarsgaard's name like "Peeeterrr SAAAHHRRRSgaaaahhhrd."

Though Peter Sarsgaard has a hilarious name, and I hope that he and Maggie change their last name to "Gyllgaardsarsenhaal." That's the sound made by a Welsh person and a Scandinavian person copulating.

There's precedent for the name change. I once knew a T_____ Lovaas who married a T____ Hoffman who changed their last name to "Loveman". They were the Lovemans. Or, if you prefer, the "Lovemen." When I heard they were doing this, I thought to myself: "My word. Please gag me with a million billion Semtex nerve gas spoons, right away please."

The sad news is the Lovemans (or Lovemen) got DIVORCED. Do you remember a day when your innocence died? That happened on the day the Lovemans (cf. Lovemen) got DIVORCED. THEY WERE THE FUCKING LOVEMANS! (Ibid!) How do you go on living in a world where there is no room for the Lovemans to love? I don't know how. You just muddle on, a little bit sadder, a little bit wiser.

We may never know how the end of the Lovemans love came about. Because I am not friends with them anymore. Because I apparently thought their last name was too "hilarious." Well, the joke's on them! Except it's no joke.

Ou sont de Lovemans d'antan? Golly, Yossarian. We may never have an answer for that.

The 24gasm: 12-1am

  1. So they showed some extended scene from Kiefer's upcoming movie The Sentinel. Kiefer makes us mildly interested in this movie. And it has one thing going for it: it in no way reminds us that Katie Holmes is the Church of Scientology's official New Millennium Brood Mare and her fake baby is coming, coming very soon, to devour the sun. But, sadly, The Sentinel involves neither snakes and or planes and or potential live blogging opportunities with the Governess. Also, we took a household straw poll over whether Eva Longoria is even in the least tiny way believable as a Secret Service Agent. 50% of respondents said "Hell no!" while the other 50% said "Hell fucking no." Though the good news is that 100% of respondents thought she could successfully play a piece of furniture with an earpiece.
  2. Logan kvetches as the media totally hates on the martial law. Just like the media. They never report on the good news when it comes to the unilateral revocation of civil rights!
  3. Henderson seems a bit shocked that Bauer was able to escape by triggering the bank alarm. I thought that Henderson was supposed to be all covert-crazy genius, always prepared with the taser standing inside the door and knowing Jack like the back of his hand. "It's crazy! Who knew that the bank had an alarm that would summon the cops! It was crazy I tell you!"
  4. So, we think he's in on the crazy treasony badness, or is he just a slime magnet jerk off who unerringly and purely coincidentally supports decisions that turn out to compound the awfulness with stupidity?
  5. It's so awesome that Jack and Wayne hooked up with the disgraced Bill Buchanan! Yay! Make Bill feel useful! He's a nice guy and deserves to be in the Super Best Terror President Fighting Friends Club. And poo-poo on Logan and his DHS goons for not putting some Jack Trackers on Buchanan!
  6. With all the hullabaloo over the importance of this tape, why the fuck didn't Jack and Wayne like, stop to dupe a copy of it? Upload that shit to iTunes, man. Put it in your jambox and hold it over your head outside CTU like Cusack, baby! Have Casey Kasem do one of his long-distance dedications to a time, many years ago when America would have just flat-out rejected out of hand the notion that our President could ever possibly be the sine qua non of abject fuckupery and mortal danger inducing nincompoopism.
  7. Sometimes, the "real time" convention makes the dialogue a little stilted. Secretary Heller asks Audrey what's up like, seven times. Then Jack pulls in and, having nothing to do, asks her what's up yet again! Audrey basically says: "I'll tell you dad. But right now, I need to make with some idle chit-chat to fill the time it takes to walk across the parking lot."
  8. Dude: Secretary Heller TOTALLY throatpunched Jack! Just like FoD Elissa Ewalt can teach you! She's like the John Basedow of throatpunching. She has a successful video series on tactical throatpunching. Catherine should do the same with her special brand of punching. But, man, I won't watch those videos.
  9. Hey, I have another opinion on the 9-11 movie! I read that the producers "secured the blessings of the families" involved in Flight 93. So fucking what? Let me tell you something: The only time you need to go get the blessings of someone's family is when you know in advance that you are going to exploit the hell out of someone's memory.
  10. Mike Novick shows off some skillz, calling the military to find out about apprehending Bauer. Then he just gets stupid trying to face down Logan. Logan is so crazy slimy as he twists and lies his way through these scenes that he makes those creatures in Slither look more and more like delicious sun-dried tomatoes.
  11. Still, you can see just how shitty the showdown between William Sweaty Cheese Head Devane and President Pasty Eyes Logan is going to play out.
  12. Martha comes in to summon her husband to bed for like, the NINTH time in the past two hours. Damn! She's gotta have it, I guess! This is one of the lessons we learned in the aftermath of 9-11 that you can be damn sure that Paul Greengrass doesn't have the guts or the vision to tackle in his 9-11 movie: post-terror attack sex is pretty hot. Oh well. It's the President's loss: Secret Service Agent Aaron Pierce is going to totally hit that.
  13. Speak of the devil! At 19 minutes till the hour, Martha and Secret Service Agent Aaron Pierce rekindle their furtive, forbidden love.
  14. Dude. William Sweaty Cheese Head Devane so totally FROSTED Logan with that non-handshake! I'm going to remember that for those occasions where I run into the non-profit dicks of my past.
  15. Logan is all: "How dare you judge me!" Uhm. You are the president. You are basically all about being judged. You gave up the right to expect people to reserve judgement when you became president. So shut the fuck up. The snap judgement is a quintessential American tradition.
  16. WTF? So, Logan's rationale for all of this was to gain control of the Caspian oil supply? He's really worried about the price of oil increasing to another $100 a barrel on top of where it is now during his four year term? Does he not understand that the price of oil is set by international cartels and that as even as shithouse as the situation is right now that there's little chance of that kind of increase happening unless every single one of the fears of the peak oil crowd went down next week, and for that matter the cost of the massive cover up he's going to have to pull in any event will offset the minimal gains provided by the Caspian oil states which are all crazy ass troubled regimes run by total madmen? This guy is REALLY stupid.
  17. This is the second episode where they've used this kinda hilarious but also kinda best James Bondian surf guitar music on the soundtrack as the good guys are pulling schemes. Whoever does the music definitely studied at the Joel Surnow School of Magnificent Bastardry.
  18. Chloe comes over to Bill's house. That's where the Super Best Terror President Fighting Friends Club are going to set up shop. Maybe after all is said and done, Bill Buchanan and Chloe can set up some home-based security business to carry on the important private-sector work that Tony Almeida and Michelle Dessler were doing before they were, from this mortal firmament, untimely ripp'd.
  19. Oooh! Better yet! Maybe Bill Buchanan and Chloe will fuck each other! That would be so best.
  20. Okay. I am so not worrying about Secret Service Agent Aaron Motherfucking Pierce. He is so not dead. Everything is going to be okay.
  21. OMG! As Jack and Secretary Heller's hapless security detail guy were trying to fight off Henderson and his goons, did you happen to see what was parked on the emergency runway of the Van Nuys Airport? Hand to God: THAT WAS THE EFFING STAIRCAR FROM ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT AND I AM SO NOT EVEN KIDDING FOR REAL AND TRUE. What a shout-out!
  22. Okay. Watching Audrey slowly trickle blood down her left arm was not my idea of a good time. But they did warn me about the graphic violence right up front, and, at the time, Wife of DCeiver and I did high-five at the announcement.
  23. "Our government has no integrity!" Gosh, where do the writers get their ideas from, I wonder?
  24. Wow. Did you see how many squares the screen got divided into at the end of the episode? That was like a 24 record! I swear, I was waiting for the big reveal that Ann B. Davis was in on the plot, too.

DCeptette: I've Got You Under My Penumbra Version.

  1. Laws of unintended consequences: What is the over/under on the number of weeks it takes the Information Leafblower to realize that the DCeiver is only fun in small doses? I'll optimistically guess three, but the rest of you should be finding out whether over/unders can be expressed in fractions.
  2. Let me reiterate: Shayna is my personal retainer, now and forever. But I think she'll agree that whenever we need amicus briefs or opposing counsel to sit in on our colossally hott moot court sessions, these song parodies have all but ensured that we'll be turning to Loop first [Thrown For a Loop, also here.]
  3. Dude. Chief Moose is so fuckin' Moosilicious that I cannot even stand it. After saving the District from the sniper, he gave MoCo the Heisman after they wouldn't let him write a book, laughed all the way to the bank, and was the subject of at least one totally awesome video game parody. Now he's moving to Hawaii to basically walk the beat in the style of Family Guy's Gumbel To Gumbel. That, my friends, is hot. And even better, my lifelong dream of co-hosting a variety show called Gettin' Shitfaced in Oahu With Chief Moose is one step closer to being a reality. So best. Chief Moose, you rule! [The Reliable Source]
  4. Speaking of The Reliables, Wife of DCeiver totes wants to watch Roxy dazzle the people on Wait Wait Don't Tell Me, but we're about a month away from the taller dollars needed to get those tickets. I'll totally escalate shit with Media Matters, thus providing you with several days of made to order grafs if y'all could hook a blogga up! Wife totally thinks that Roxy gives the best sell of the fake news stories, too. She's always saying that!
  5. "Spooning, fondling, groping, making out, fingering, showering, going for a jog and washing up afterwards -- anything can be a lot of fun." Yes, this Hill Staffer is prepared to unleash some serious kink on the Craigslist community if only you answer his call. But don't worry--it'll be totally wholesome! He is, after all "start[ing] Easter early!" Awww. You just know Jesus appreciates that. [Craigslist]

Monday, April 17, 2006

Faking a 24gasm: 10-midnight.

  1. So, the Project for a New DCeiver Century took up a lot of time and energy. Even more than I thought when I first apologized for it. But here's what you get for the efforts: I have more income, a new couch, better coworkers, the express license to mail out a whole bunch of "Dear Schmuckface, you are cordially invited to kiss my motherfucking ass" cards as soon as they are released by the Boynton Greeting Card company (because nothing says "Kiss my motherfucking ass" like a bunch of cute kitties and bunnies). Actually, I guess it's not so much that YOU get something as much as it is I get EVERYTHING. But, I think we'll all soon agree that I'm ever so much more inspiring and in a better mood now that to touch me is to feel the hope of the ages pulsing through your body. That, and $2.50, will get you a latte. Now, let's keep faking the 24gasm.
  2. Okay. You knew two weeks ago that Jack Bauer was so not dead. So not dead! You think Jack Bauer's gonna die in a fire? Motherfucking Jack Bauer was BORN IN FIRE.
  3. You know what else? Aaron Goddamned Pierce. Baddest Secret Service Agent in the land. He has total immunity and you know he is going to having some post-24 coitus with the First Lady when this is all over.
  4. The Department of Homeland Security. Joel Surnow is a magnificent bastard the way he depicts them as bumbling, conniving, coattail riding jerks. Just like in REAL LIFE except they also employ pedophiles!
  5. I thought Evelyn was the worst character but it's totally Evelyn's daughter that's the worst character! She totally raised that girl to have high standards in worstness. "I just wanted a better life for my daughter, DCeiver. I wanted her to avoid making my mistakes and instead make a whole bunch of her own."
  6. Miles. I hate him. Hate him hate him hate him. He practically oozes. I bet you that the character is just CGI, animated by Andy Serkis. He's THAT oozy and evil.
  7. I think that Audrey has without a doubt become the only woman for Jack. She has got so much sack, so much brio. She feels bad about having to appear to cut Bill Buchanan in the ass over that form she signed selling him out, but she's got that Jack-esque confidence that she's going to see it through and make it right and Bill had better learn to not give in to his mushy-ass emotions in the meantime. The way Audrey has stepped up this season, definitely puts her on par with Bauer. Jack and Audrey are like the Astaire and Garland in the CTU company performance of Easter Parade.
  8. I just realized I dropped an Easter Parade reference in a 24 article. There goes my Kinsey scale rating.
  9. Wayne Palmer, while your brother was alive, his was a voice that could be counted on to help talk you out of all your crazy-ass tactical decisions. But now that he's gone, Wayne Palmer, you are free to make the most of your awesomely crazed unilateral choices. Good on you, Wayne Palmer. But, still, you NEED TO STOP MAKING THAT ADAM MORRISON FACE. There's no crying in 24. Unless you are Shohreh Agdashloo. Then you are allowed.
  10. Deep in our hearts, this is what we want to happen: Curtis and Jack storm CTU, capping every last one of those DHS bitches, while at the same time, Agent Pierce rounds up a posse of especially touchy Secret Service guys to open up a can of Cream of Coup D'Etat. Isn't it funny that Joel Surnow, magnificent bastard, is making me think that?
  11. I have no time for Bill Buchanan's mushy feelings, but I will say that it really wasn't necessary for Miles to, like, totally call him out on the floor of CTU in front of everyone, and to do it snarling like a landlord from some 19th century melodrama: "Give me the rent! I must have the rent! Pennies dimes and nickels! I need them all right now!"
  12. A favorite scene: They DHS fucks ask Chloe to work with Audrey after Chloe basically is led to believe that Audrey betrayed Bill and CTU. I figured that Audrey would eventually be able to explain what was going on to Chloe--but nobody has a better "I am so not prepared to listen to you right now--just judge and judge some more" face than Chloe.
  13. Hopefully Tom Lee can offer me some gadgety information. Tom: these bomb-ass PDA's all the CTU guys have--with unlimited range and connectivity and satellite uplink shizz and thermal detection overlays for evading hostiles in "real time"--are they commercially available? BECAUSE ME WANT.
  14. WE COMMENT ON THAT UPCOMING PAUL GREENGRASS 9-11 MOVIE, PART ONE: Okay, like, this movie is totally tanking in DC and NYC, isn't it?
  15. WE COMMENT ON THAT UPCOMING PAUL GREENGRASS 9-11 MOVIE, PART TWO: Everyone is asking, "Is it too soon to make a movie about 9-11?" Well, look at it this way--we made a movie about Pearl Harbor 50 years after the fact. We thought enough time had passed in that case. Well, from what I saw of that movie, a) nobody smoked in the whole movie and b) they cast Ben Affleck. Clearly, we hadn't learned enough about THAT national tragedy. So, yeah: it's TOO SOON to make a movie about 9-11.
  16. WE COMMENT ON THAT UPCOMING PAUL GREENGRASS 9-11 MOVIE, PART THREE: Unless, of course, it's a comedy. Comedy helps us heal because the essence of comedy is juxtaposing the ideal with that which is not ideal, understanding it intellectually, and using our big brains to remember afterwards that there are things in the world we recognize and nice and good. I maintain that if Seinfeld had still been on the air after 9-11, they would have done an episode where some second-tier friend of Jerry and George was all over NYC, milking other people's compassion because their spouse died on 9-11. "It's been so hard. He died on 9-11, you know." And Jerry and George would kvetch about it because, yeah, this friend's spouse died on THAT DAY but they died of like--really bad gas or something--something not related to the attacks. And the show's climactic moment would be them finally calling out the insincere friend but, of course, it would backfire somehow. Well, I would have laughed.
  17. Karen from DHS is like Michael Brown. She's been appointed to the position after doing, like, a really good job styling Martha Logan's hair.
  18. And like, that Martha Logan hairstyle got written up in the 24verse by the 24verse's version of Robin Givhan and the 24verse's version of Ana Marie Cox snarked about it on the 24verse's version of Wonkette. Can you believe Robin Givhan won a FUCKING PULITZER? OMG x megaINFINITIES = WTF!
  19. I think I was the one who actually was the first to tell the vacationing Ana that news and let me tell you: amused she was not. She was pretty fucking far removed from amused. How far removed? Google Map the distance between Sri Lanka and the center of the fucking sun. That's how far removed.
  20. I love how the President was able to revive the arrest order for Jack without having to reveal any evidence. He only had to tell people about it. "Wow, Karen. I am looking at the evidence against Jack right, oh man. This is good stuff. This is some real good evidence, yo."
  21. The day is totally going to be saved by William Devane and his giant, sweaty cheese head.
  22. The bank manager deserved better. He's a hero. They should mark the day of his birth with a holiday--Bank Managermas--and they should sing carols.
  23. Ace Young and his reedy, stupid-ass falsetto have to die.
  24. Okay, I'm getting off topic.

Wednesday, April 12, 2006

Station ID

Hey, folks. The whole "Sorry I haven't posted in a while" meta-posts are the bane of your existence and mine, but in this case, I am sorry I haven't had the time recently to keep up to speed. Over the past seven days, I've primarily consumed with a) getting ready for the FW Thomas Performances and b) completing work on what I'll simply and somewhat erroneously call the Project For a New DCeiver Century.

The PNDC has basically taken about eight months to complete, but the extent to which it banished shitty people, places and things while simultaneously ushering in an age of potential superific besteverness has made all the time worth it. Thanks to everyone who supported the PNDC. Especial thanks go to DCisters past and present, Kyle Gustafson, Paul Hashemi, and Ana Marie Cox, as well as all the generous grants from the Abe Foundation.

Anyway, thanks. Things are pretty awesome. We now resume our regularly scheduled programming.

Sunday, April 09, 2006

The Chimp Hamlet

In about a day, I will be joined by some trusted colleagues to read The Taking of Orange Line 1-2-3. It is, of course, nerve wracking, but necessary. In the meantime, to whet your appetite, I bring to you another drama that, in its day, achieved great acclaim.


It is often theorized that an infinite number of monkeys, banging away at an infinite number of typewriters, will eventually produce Hamlet. Back in 1954, family member who correctly anticipated my hope of proving this theorem true, commissioned just such a menagerie of monkeys and outfitted them with whatever typewriters all of Bush's National Guard records would have been typed on. Some years ago, our experiment at last bore fruit. This is, then, Hamlet, as composed by a roomful of chimpanzees who have been banging away at typewriters since 1954.

Act I, scene i -- a guard post at Elsinore





Act I, scene ii -- Interior




Weee-ohh-ohh. Eeeeeh oohhh.


Sree! Sree!



(Gertrude and Claudius toss Hamlet into a bramble bush.)



Act I, scene iii -- Interior, five minutes later

(Horatio and Guards enter, help Hamlet out of bush.)


Oooo oooo ooo oooo ooo.


Oooo ooo? Oooo oooo ooo!


Wheeee! Wheee!

(The Ghost of Hamlet?s father is lowered quickly. He is shown wearing a diaper and is covered in baby powder.)


Skreee! Skreee!

(they run out)


Raaahhhyeee! Rahhyeee! Gerp! (Gurgles)

(the Ghost hangs himself on the rigging)



(Horatio bats at Ghost)

Act II, scene i -- Ophelia and Laertes are discovered onstage


(holds drawing of Hamlet)

Oooooooo. Oooooo. Hee-hee.


Brap! (takes drawing of Hamlet, smears it with waste)

(Enter Polonius)


Blah blah blah blah. Blah, blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah? Blah! Blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah. Blah, blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah. Blah blah blah blah. Blah, blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah? Blah! Blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah. Blah, blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah. Blah blah blah blah. Blah, blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah? Blah! Blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah. Blah, blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah.

(Laertes and Ophelia run from room)

(Voltemand enters)


Ooo oooo ooo-ooo.

(Polonius pelts Voltemand with pebbles.)

Act II, scene ii -- Another room in the castle. Gertrude, Polonius and Claudius enter.


Oooo-weee, oo oooo ooo?


Blah blah blah blah. Blah, blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah? Blah! Blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah. Blah, blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah. Blah blah blah blah. Blah, blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah? Blah! Blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah. Blah, blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah. Blah blah blah blah. Blah, blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah? Blah! Blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah. Blah, blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah.

(Gertrude and Claudius run from room. Hamlet enters with book.)


Oooo, ooo ooo ooooo-oo. Oooo-wee-ooo-weee?


Wooo, wooo, wooo.


Blah blah blah blah. Blah, blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah? Blah! Blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah. Blah, blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah. Blah blah blah blah. Blah, blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah? Blah! Blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah. Blah, blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah. Blah blah blah blah. Blah, blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah? Blah! Blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah. Blah, blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah.


Reeeee! Reeee!

(strikes Polonius on head with book, Polonius runs from room)

(A band of players enter.)


OOOOOH! Ooooh, ooo-weee-ohhh. Skreee!

(The Players look at each other and shrug. They commence rutting.)



Reeee! Reeee!

(Hamlet gets his freak on.)

ACT III, scene i -- Later. Hamlet enters


Ooo oooo, ooo oooo ooo oooo. Oooo oooo ooo ooooo-oooo. Ooooo ooo oooo ooo ooo, ooo ooooo ooo ooo. Oooooo ooo oooo oo oooo. Ooo ooo oo o oooo oooo. Ooooo ooo oo ooooo oo ooooo ooo ooo. Ooo oo oooo ooo ooooo ooo ooo. Ooo ooo oo oooo oo ooo oooo-oooo. Oooo oo oo ooo oooo ooo. Ooo oo oooooo oo oo o oooo. Ooooo oo oo ooo ooo oooo. Ooo oooo, ooo oooo ooo oooo. Oooo oooo ooo ooooo-oooo. Ooooo ooo oooo ooo ooo, ooo ooooo ooo ooo. Oooooo ooo oooo oo oooo. Ooo ooo oo o oooo oooo. Ooooo ooo oo ooooo oo ooooo ooo ooo. Ooo oo oooo ooo ooooo ooo ooo. Ooo ooo oo oooo oo ooo oooo-oooo. Oooo oo oo ooo oooo ooo. Ooo oo oooooo oo oo o oooo. Ooooo oo oo ooo ooo oooo. Ooo oooo, ooo oooo ooo oooo. Oooo oooo ooo ooooo-oooo. Ooooo ooo oooo ooo ooo, ooo ooooo ooo ooo. Oooooo ooo oooo oo oooo. Ooo ooo oo o oooo oooo. Ooooo ooo oo ooooo oo ooooo ooo ooo. Ooo oo oooo ooo ooooo ooo ooo. Ooo ooo oo oooo oo ooo oooo-oooo. Oooo oo oo ooo oooo ooo. Ooo oo oooooo oo oo o oooo. Ooooo oo oo ooo ooo oooo. Ooo oooo, ooo oooo ooo oooo. Oooo oooo ooo ooooo-oooo. Ooooo ooo oooo ooo ooo, ooo ooooo ooo ooo. Oooooo ooo oooo oo oooo. Ooo ooo oo o oooo oooo. Ooooo ooo oo ooooo oo ooooo ooo ooo. Ooo oo oooo ooo ooooo ooo ooo. Ooo ooo oo oooo oo ooo oooo-oooo. Oooo oo oo ooo oooo ooo. Ooo oo oooooo oo oo o oooo. Ooooo oo oo ooo ooo oooo. Ooo oooo, ooo oooo ooo oooo. Oooo oooo ooo ooooo-oooo. Ooooo ooo oooo ooo ooo, ooo ooooo ooo ooo. Oooooo ooo oooo oo oooo. Ooo ooo oo o oooo oooo. Ooooo ooo oo ooooo oo ooooo ooo ooo. Ooo oo oooo ooo ooooo ooo ooo. Ooo ooo oo oooo oo ooo oooo-oooo. Oooo oo oo ooo oooo ooo. Ooo oo oooooo oo oo o oooo. Ooooo oo oo ooo ooo oooo.

(Ophelia enters)


Oooo-ohhh. Weee-oooh. Oooo. (Strokes Hamlet?s face)


Brap. (Smacks Ophelia across the face.)


Sreeeeeee! Skreeeeeeee! (she runs out).

(Hamlet touches himself vigorously)

Act III, scene ii -- a great hall

(Hamlet, Gertrude, Polonius, Claudius and the Players enter)


(to players)

Ooohh! Weeee! Kie-eee-eye-eee! (claps hands)

(The Players commence a frenzied orgy.)


Rahhhh! Reeee-ooooo! (slaps Gertrude)


Skreee! Skreee! (bites Claudius and Gertrude)

(Gertrude runs out, Hamlet and Polonius follow)

Act III, scene iii -- Gertrude?s chamber. Gertrude is onstage, weeping. Polonius is tucked behind an arras

HAMLET (entering)

Keeee! Keeeee!

(Hamlet screws Gertrude from behind)




Blah blah blah blah. Blah, blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah? Blah! Blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah. Blah, blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah. Blah blah blah blah. Blah, blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah? Blah! Blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah. Blah, blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah. Blah blah blah blah. Blah, blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah? Blah! Blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah. Blah, blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah.

(Hamlet beats Polonius to a bloody, unrecognizable pulp. This takes about twenty minutes)

Act IV, scene i -- Downstairs

(Hamlet enters, dragging Polonius? carcass. Enter Claudius, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and Horatio)


Oooo oooo-weee! Weeee. Weeeee!


(appoaches Hamlet)

Oooo oooo ooo. Ooo oooo oooo, oooo ooo. (extends arm in friendship)


Skreee! Skreee-eee-eeeeee!

(Hamlet kills Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. The gravedigger enters with skull of Yorick)


Oooo ooo oooo. Oooo ooo ooooo.

HAMLET (takes skull and shows Horatio)

Ohhhh. Oooo ooo ooooo. Oooo ooo oooooo.


Oooo. (nods)

(Hamlet strikes the Gravedigger with the skull of Yorick. Voltemand enters. Horatio and Hamlet attack Voltemand and kill him. Laertes enters. He and Hamlet tussle. At this point, several trainers enter, carrying cattle prods and tranquilizers. Hamlet, Horatio and Laertes attack the trainers. Horatio tears a trainer?s throat out. Hamlet seizes a cattle prod and electrocutes two other trainers, as Laertes administers fatal doses of horse tranquilizers to the other two trainers.)


There is more to heaven and earth, Horatio, than is dreamt of in your philosophy.

(A curtain is raised to reveal the Statue of Liberty, buried up to its neck. Hamlet, Horatio and Laertes invent a complicated written language, which they master and use to prove the Unified Field Theorem. With this in hand, Hamlet creates three powerful cold-fusion guns. Horatio, Hamlet and Laertes fire these guns at the audience, vaporizing various audience members. Chaos ensues, and tragedy is narrowly averted when the New York Times review come out, soundly panning the production, referring to it as "Ghastly?an utterly implausible take on the Hamlet story. These poor players should definitely be heard no more." The shows backers withdraw their funding, and the Chimpanzee Hamlet closes after only fourteen performances. Horatio, Hamlet and Laertes join the SAG/AFTRA strike, where they fling their own feces at scab, non-union commercial actors. The theatre is dark for two weeks, after which it hosts the opening of Andrew Lloyd Webber?s new musical Bombastic A-Holes Singing Goopy Songs About Love, which wins every major Tony Award that year, excepting Best Choreography, which is won by Contact II: Bullshit Boogaloo. Bombastic Assholes, however, goes on to play the Nederlander Theatre for the next fourteen years, closing only after the sun goes supernova and destroys the Earth in a painful rain of white-hot liquid flame.)


Saturday, April 08, 2006

DCeptette: Neko was the case that they gave me version.

  1. Doubleplus-ugh. From the Annals of All-Time and Unbelievable WTFery. Making fun of bums: Bad karma thing to do. When I detrained at McPherson Square this afternoon, I knew I detected the fragrance of pompous asshole. [Metblogs]
  2. Call it a error by macro, but I think it'd be a great name for the BB&T classic. Hell, I'd go so far as to say we should call them Ruben Boumtje-Boumtke guns! You'll shoot your eye out! [Pygmalion In A Blanket]
  3. Hoping that this will keep everybody in the mood for Metro humor at least through Monday night. [Craigslist]
  4. The first time a City Desk reader suggested comment moderation to stem the tide of He Who Must Not Be Named and his comment stream spam, the Powers That Be over at City Desk said: "Here's the deal: The guy's a pain in your ass because you keep responding to him. Ignore him and he will go away." Reading that, we couldn't suppress a knowing chuckle. Naivete can be so gollydarned cute. Well, it's safe to say after scrolling through this comment stream, they are all a little bit wiser, and maybe won't be as quick to toss around "Here's the deal" to people who've known what the deal is for a long time. [City Desk]
  5. I still say that this is the one of the worst restaurant recommendation articles of all time. I mean, when you lead with Alero--locus majoris of U Street Lame--that's sort of getting behind in the count right off the bat (f'real: you can get a better meal at freaking El Paraiso!). You compound the matter with the following sins: acting blown away by calamari (I guess Kellie Pickler made that cool), repeatedly lauding restaurants for the way their chairs are constructed, failing to realize that while you can get chicken and waffles at Creme it probably priced out another establishment that sold tastier versions of both for a quarter of the cost, strangely referring to Duke's as "the corridor's uptown jazz club" instead of "one of the corridor's..." (uhhhh...Boho Caverns, maybe? Duh much?), being AT ALL enthusiastic about the existence of a Thai restaurant (didn't L'Enfant draw up DC with the intention of having a Thai fusion restaurant every three blocks?), and this sentence--"This place could easily be known as the land where wood meets metal." Could it? Could it easily be known as that? Also, what the fuck does "nouveau surrounding" mean? [The Hill]

Wednesday, April 05, 2006

The Pompatus of Lost: 2.17--Metaphysical Graffiti

Previously on Lost: Locke lost his kidney. Then he nearly lost Leela. Then the Mistrustables went looking for a lost balloon. Gale acted all shady. And ABC spilled the beans with the balloon reveal, clearing up any doubt we had that the Mistrustables would not be ambushed by others a full week before it was necessary.

So, I swore I remember the narrator of last week's tease saying that there would be FIVE. BIG. REVEALS! this week, but, in retrospect, I'm not sure if that was even true. Wife of DCeiver can't remember anything like that. It's probable that I just made it up. Still preferable to plagiarizing. Anyway, I'm not sure if I've got the Five Easy Pieces, but for people who likes them some big gaspy moments, the episode was full of them.

Lights up in Flashbackistan. We're going to have Locke flashes this week, and once again, this is the Locke who lived a simpler, sadder life. Duped, but in love, he's got himself a wedding ring. He and Leela are going on a picnic. And there's no reason to believe that any of the food Locke's packing up was something he killed with his bare hands while following the guidelines of a metric ton of self-empowerment babbledygook or cereal box renditions of major world philosophies. He's got hair, he's got a lady, he's got his legs--he aint got time to waste.

Leela is scanning the obituaries in whatever newspaper he reads in whatever town is hosting Flashbackistan this week. We'll soon learn that wherever it is, it's a major hub for Oceanic Air. All of the sudden, Leela perks up and asks about Anthony Cooper. I think: fuck. Who is Anthony Cooper? Anthony Ashley-Cooper was the name of all ten Earls of Shaftesbury...but before I can get all anagrammatical, we're told: he's Locke's father and he's dead. Like the Earl, he shafted Locke and now he's gonna get buried. Phew! Well, that's good he's dead. Man, I'm telling you, if we were to find out he was alive, that would be a PRETTY BIG REVEAL!

Back at the Hatch, Jack and Locke sit with Gale, and they pick up from where they left off last week. Jack wants Gale to redraw the map to his beautiful balloon. Well, Gale's done being the Losties go-to cartographer-for-torture. Locke eases into full island-happy bliss-out mode. "What's done is done," he says, smirking with the serenity of a man who's totally happy hanging out in a dank hatch on a mysterious and dangerous island because La Isla Encanta has always been totes nice to him. It makes you think, maybe if his beloved Hatch and/or Island were to turn on him in some way, it would be a PRETTY BIG REVEAL!

Jack snaps at Locke to toss Gale into the armory, where he can think long and hard about refusing to break out his Amerigo Vespucci act. Locke complies, and Gale snarks about whether he always does what Jack tells him to. It's total meowsville, and Locke aint happy about the zing, tossing him forcefully into the armory.

Meanwhile, out in the jungle, the Mistrustables search the clearing in a rainstorm. They happen upon a grave, which is one of the things that Gale said they'd find--the grave where he'd buried his wife. I guess if it turned out that the grave contained something other than Gale's wife it would be a PRETTY BIG REVEAL! Anyway, the actors playing Sayid, Charlie and Tequila then perform one of the most unbelievable and complicatedly unnecessary bits of staging in which they notice about five minutes too late that rain is no longer falling on them, look stupidly at one another as if this is the strangest fucking phenommena they'd ever encounter, slowly allow their minds to turn slowly in their heads:

"Hmmm...rain was falling on no rain...but me see rain in other's almost as if--follow me here, brain, because this is a groundbreaking conclusion I've's almost was if there were something...ABOVE US. Something that was somehow between the falling rain and our heads, and by virtue of it being both ABOVE US and yet somehow impermeable to falling water, was preventing the raindrops from keeping falling on our heads. Hmmm. Look at Sayid--doesn't it look to you like his dull, dimwitted look was giving way to a similar revelation! Okay. Brace yourself. I'm looking up. HOLY FUCKING MOTHERFUCKING MAN STANDING ON THE MOON EATING AN ICE CREAM SANDWICH! It's the balloon! My god, it seems to acting as some sort of canopy! Oh me, oh my! If only a thin layer of fabric could somehow be stretched upon a framework of horizontal spokes and kept aloft over our heads by some sort of long handle! Why, such a device could afford the individual user the same sort of protection from the rain and could be carried by hand!"

So balloon, grave. Gale's story checks out. Unless of course there's some other piece of readily available information that could be found to prove he was a liar. But that would be a PRETTY BIG REVEAL!

Back on the beach, Jack asks Hurley about Ana Lucia and is told that she took off the day before for points unknown. Jack kvetches, and Hurley repeats over and over again that he wants to be kept in the loop. "Loop," he says, adding, "Loop." Hopefully, this is not some sort of viral suggestion that you watch the FOX sitcom of the same name, because I have seen it and it's excrement. Jack has to tend to Aaron and Libby. Libby's got the need for some neosporin, and Jack laments that the exchange rates on medicine are so onerous that the only way to qualify for the necessary currency is to make a deep and vigorous tongue deposit into the well-kissed ass of Sawyer. If only there was some gentlemanly way Jack could obtain what he needed from Sawyer...but if there was that would be a PRETTY BIG--err...relatively minor plot contrivance.

Back at the Hatch, you can't help noticing how Desmond-like Locke is acting, listening to tunes and riding the stationary bike--totally lording his awesome legginess over his someday-to-be-jacked-up Flashbackistan counterpart. Of course, all the while, Locke is stewing over Gale's well-played manipulations. Suddenly, he hears strange metallic whining and microphone feedback. Locke dashes from room to room, finally arriving at a loudspeaker, out of which comes more feedback and what sounds like terrible IDM. Oh great. The Hatch is picking up some pretentious electronica blogger's bad podcast. Gale calls out, "WTF!" Ah, WTF, indeed. I think when we find out exactly W the TF is, it's going to be a PRETTY BIG REVEAL!

Meanwhile, back in Flashbackistan, Leela and Locke go to his father's funeral. Too bad they found out about his death in the obits, otherwise, I guess he could have reharvested his kidney while it was still viable. One more reason teh interwebs are going to change your life. One day, maybe we'll get to sign up for News Alerts that are died to people we know that allow us to be notified the instant they die. I think it will be used more for the purposes of schadenfreude than anything else--but you know me: I've got a long list of graves I plan to lustily piss on during my life. I'd love to hit 'em while they're fresh.

There aren't many people at the funeral. In fact, at first I think that maybe only Locke and Leela bothered to show up. But there are others--and I mean lowercase others, not capitalized Others--at least I think. First of all there are two shady looking motherfuckers who look like they've crawled directly out of some midnight movie on the FX channel. There is also a mysterious white Benz, which pulls out immediately after the funeral ends. Sounds like we'll be finding out about these people in some PRETTY BIG REVEALS!

Meanwhile, back at the Hatch, it finally becomes clear what is coming out of the loudspeakers: it's a countdown. The countdown hits zero and all of the sudden, huge blast doors begin closing throughout the Hatch and Locke is making his Holy Fuck Face. Locke, showing some real baserunning skillz, manages to slide into home just in time and get a crowbar under one of the doors before it crashes shut.

Okay, so, despite being far away from civilization, apparently an ill wind blows across La Isla Encanta, and on every single breeze, that wind whispers subliminally in the ears of the Losties, bringing news of every played-out trend and fascination to their far off shores. They've already devoured the Hatch grub in one final Atkins orgy, metrosexuality and extreme religiosity have come combined in Eko's awesome beard-nubby plucking, and any minute now, Charlie's going to start an electroclash band. On this episode, Texas Hold'em Poker gets the Lost treatment. Hurley and Kate and Sawyer are down the beach, playing for papayas, when Jack wanders over and whips out some bomb-ass zen poker knowledge like he stayed up all night both watching and fetishizing the movie Rounders. Jack's smack piques Sawyer's interest, and before long, Jack takes a place at the table.

Back at the Hatch, lights are blinky, but all seems calm. Nevertheless, Locke and Gale are freaked.

We head back to Flashbackistan, where Locke is doing a home inspection. And look who it's for! Nadia! Sayid's twue wuv! But this is not the PRETTY BIG REVEAL! No, the big reveal is that the mysterious Benz is parked on the street, and guess who's inside? HOLY SHIT, COULD IT BE? It is! Daddy Kidney Stealer! REVEAL NUMBER ONE.

Locke and DKS go to a local watering hole to talk. DKS tells his son that two shady looking motherfuckers, perhaps even the shady looking motherfuckers who were at his funeral, may or may not be looking for him because they may or may not be convinced he's actually dead and in the case of the former, are hoping to whack him personally because DKS took them for $700,000 and they are pissed. DKS gives Locke a key and directs him to a safety deposit box that contains the money. He tells him to go get it, to take $200,000 for himself, and if he's still not completely pissed off, to bring the rest to a room at a hotel near the edge of town whose Zagats rating has suffered ever since Oceanic Air decided to send their planes about ten feet over the roof.

Back at the Hatch, Locke has sussed out that he and Gale are trapped in their part of the hatch. Locke, while he may be many things, is not a self-aggranizing r&b singer who likes to pee on young girls faces, so Locke successfully resists the urge to turn his plight into a seven hundred part hip-hopera. But, he concedes that he needs Gale's help to get out of the fix they are in. Gale won't budge unless Locke gives him his word that he'll protect him from everybody. Strangely, he seems to no longer believe that Locke's promises simply won't get trumped big time by Jack--he's already made careful note of their whole permanently-enjoined-in-an-epic-pissmatch dynamic, so it's weird he's got a shred of faith in Locke's word. Nevertheless, Locke agrees, and soon prisoner and...uhm--prisonee are vying for freedom.

Meanwhile, Jack is too busy kicking Sawyer's ass at poker to bother with returning to his Hatchy duties. So fierce is their competition that Kate suggests the two ought to settle their differences with a ruler. Hee. Yeah. Wouldn't she like to know? That would potentially be a PRETTY BIG REVEAL. Unfortch, this is Lost not OZ. The joke's on her, though, because you just know that Sawyer has already squirrelled away all the rulers on the plane...along with the compasses and protractors as well. Maybe Sawyer's got--*ahem*--something to hide?

Back at the Hatch, Locke and Gale lift and lift. They stick a long metal pole under the door and lift it upwards. Sniff. I guess they've never heard of a lever. It's a simple machine that utilizes a fulcrum to maximize the force exerted on an object. Silly, silly, Locke. But, after considerable, and unnecessary effort, they get the door a little ways up. Locke calls out for Gale to stick the toolbox under the door, which he manages to do. Locke drops the door, and the toolbox more or less holds. There's a momentary pause. Then suddenly, stupidly, bafflingly, Locke is on the ground, flinging his legs under the door. And of course, the tool box being a Dharma Initiative toolbox designed by evil hippie supergeniuses, naturally and predictably crumples, letting the door fall on Locke's regenerated legs. Smooth move, Dharma Initiative Brand Laxative.

The pain in his legs sends Locke on an endorphin rush back into the wilds of Flashbackistan. He goes to the bank to check on the safety deposit box, and sure enough, it contains a heaping ton of mad green. Locke bounds for home, probably bounding and skipping, lustily singing the refrain from "Just You, Just Me" Groove Tube stizz. We see him pop through his front door, but before he can holler about the money and tie a lover's know around wonderful Leela, his attention is directed by Leela to the pair of shady looking motherfuckers standing in the kitchen, sipping some of Leela's awesome coffee.

Oozing the oily menace of the skilled beatdown dispensers, the shady looking motherfuckers sweat Locke on the whereabouts and whenabouts of his dad in their own shady, motherfuckery way. One of the two of them is apparently named Jimmy V., which I guess is a shout out to the deceased NC State coach. I don't know. Locke holds up under interrogation and was even smart (or lucky) enough to not walk in with all the moolah in the bag he was carrying. The shady looking mofeaux depart, but they've succeeded at least in being a massive buzzkill. And, portentiously, Leela asks Locke if he was lying to the shadies when he told them that his dad was most definitely dead. Locke responds by lying to her.

Back at the Palms, Jack and Sawyer are sitting down for some high-stakes, mano-a-mano, scrote dangling, POKAH. Sawyer tells Jack that he learned to play poker in Phuket. He says that as if travelling to Phuket was some big ass proof of Sawyer's intellectual worldiness, but from what we've been told, all you need in life to bring you to Phuket is some hard currency, an eye for opportunity, and a yen for underage tail. Nevertheless, this is a shout out to me because every day, at least one person comes to this blog searching for news as to whether Fitness Made Simple Freakaoidy John Basedow perished in the tsunami while vacationing in Phuket. For the record, he did not. His dye-burnt hair and extraterrestrial abs haunt the unbought national ad time to this day.

Back at the Hatch, Locke is trapped and trying to give Gale the breakdown on how to enter the numbers and reset the computer thingy. To do what needs to be done, Gale's gotta climb up a shelving unit and crawl through a duct and drop into the computer room. Gale, who seems to be taking the crazy-ass numbers stuff in stride, makes a first attempt, but falls and is knocked unconscious. And that's when the Really bad Timer begins the Four Minute Warning to the Threatdown.

Meanwhile, Jack and Sawyer bluff each other's ass off for all the amoxicillin. Jack wins the hand on a pair of nines. Not too shabby. Sawyer tries to give Jack the old, "You've won this round" business, but Jack calmly turns back to Sawyer and says, "When I want the guns, I'll get the guns." DAMN. That's some STONES! And so, the second BIG REVEAL of the episode: Jack grows his balls back.

Back at the Hatch, Gale is conscious and is making another attempt to shimmy up to the computer room. The alarm is about to shift from warning to imminent threatdown tone.

Back in Flashbackistan, Locke runs out to the Best Western, and lucky for him the shady looking MFs weren't smart enough to, you know, lie in wait and follow him to the very next place he went five minutes after giving him the business in his kitchen. He gives his father the money, refuses to take his cut, tells him he's going to propose to Leela and is no doubt building to some really cloying Dr. Phil moment when there's a knock at the door. It's not the shadies, who obviously don't want the money all that bad. Instead it's Leela, and he's pissed off that Locke lied to her. She slaps Locke and then tells his dad that he's, you know, an awful father, which one can't imagine is among his paramount concerns.

Locke follows Leela to the parking lot, trying to explain. It is sort of an idiot plot--if Locke were allowed to explain sufficiently he could have his life-changing closure moment and make it sound all hunkydory for Leela. Instead, he resorts to getting down on his knee and asking Leela to marry him. Leela refuses and leaves. Then Locke's dad leaves. Then another Oceanic plane flies directly overhead.

Back in the Hatch, the timer alarm is losing its mind. We hear the noise shift from the "hurry the fuck up with the numbers, already" sound to the dulcet tones of "well you've done it now, asshole, enjoy crazy bananas land." We hear the sound of the timer cards flipping and flopping. Locke is calling out to Gale. And then, all of the sudden it get's quiet and the lights go out, save for a blacklight that--in another PRETTY BIG REVEAL--allows Locke to see that some insane graf tag has been written on the blastwall. It looks like this:

And it has so much crap on it that all of Google's shareholders just came in their own pants.

The image is seen only for a second, and then it's gone. The door reopen.

Locke drags his bloody and possibly broken self up the stairs, calling out for Gale. In the computer room, the timer is ticking back down from 108 as if nothing happened. Gale finally reveals himself. Seeing Locke struggle, Gale helps him to his feet. Awww. Unlike Leela and Dads, Gale didn't abandon Locke. Maybe they'll get married now.

Meanwhile, Jack and Kate are in the woods. Kate wants to go to the Hatch, feigning the need to take a shower. Jack, thinking about how he doesn't want to offer up the PRETTY BIG REVEAL that he's got a prisoner, facilely offers an excuse as to why she shouldn't bother coming to the Hatch. Kate seems to brush it away, then tries another tack by saying she's glad Jack beat Sawyer in poker. Yum. Sexual tension is back, my chickadees. However, just as the milliong strong legion of Jater-loving shippers can make a million revisions to their latest fanfic offering, the pair notice a light strobing in the distance. In a PRETTY BIG REVEAL, it turns out to be a parachute, which has fallen out of the sky with a motherlode from the Dharma Initiative Duty Free.

That's when the Mistrustables show up with the impeccable timing of the plot-contrived.

Everyone heads for the Hatch, natch. And when Jack discovers Locke all fucked up and Gale running free, he makes for Gale with a quickness. Locke tries to interject by saying that Gale was helping, but what Sayid knows is enough to get Gale's diplomatic immunity pulled. Sayid tells Gale that he found the grave and the balloon, just like he said, but he adds, "I am a sad and death-obsessed man. I am practically a walking Cure album. Right now, I am totally at home reaching into graves and mingling with the stinky remains of just about anyone. What made you think I wouldn't dig up that grave? Hell, I couldn't wait to dig up that grave." And in it, he found...not a wife, but some dude--as it turns out--in a PRETTY BIG REVEAL, the real Henry Gale!

Ruh-roh. Holy shit! Gale is totally in for it now. They'll be lining up to torture him for information. This is going to change everything. It's certainly going to improve Ana Lucia's standing. And Charlie's gonna be jealous he missed out on the torture, seeing as he perfected his own technique playing for Driveshaft. And, come to think of it, it also means--


Sigh. You all are still thinking about the effing blacklight map, aren't you?