2004 ALF CUP PLAYOFFS
It's on! The ALF Cup playoffs are officially underway. Here's a look at the matchups:
First Round--Feb 29-Mar 6
16-WKRP In Cincinnati vs 17-Nova
9-An American In Canada vs 24-Most Extreme Elimination Challenge
13-Boohbah vs 20-Futurama
12-South Park vs 21-TV Funhouse
15-Beavis & Butt-head vs 18-The Ernie Kovacs Show
10-The Kids In The Hall vs 23-Sportscentury
14-The Shield vs 19-Monk
11-Family Guy vs 22-Fawlty Towers
Second Round--Mar 7-13
1-Royal Canadian Air Farce vs 16/17 winner
8-Rick Mercer's Monday Report vs 9/24 winner
4-Queer Eye For The Straight Guy vs 13/20 winner
5-The Red Green Show vs 12/21 winner
2-This Hour Has 22 Minutes vs 15/18 winner
7-The Newsroom vs 10/23 winner
3-Survivor vs 14/19 winner
6-The Simpsons vs 11/22 winner
Quarterfinals--Mar 14-20
Semifinals--Mar 21-27
2004 ALF Cup Grand Final--Mar 28-Apr 3
PS: Starting Monday, I'll be announcing the "Elite 8" year-end awards, one per day thru the 8th. Find out 2003's best website, music video, commercial, movie, album, catch phrase, rookie, and last but not least, the winner of what has been the most competitive Song Of The Year tournament EVER!
Friday, February 27, 2004
BEST BAND NAMES PLAYING THE TOLEDO AREA THIS WEEK (FEB 27-MAR 5)
(Had to re-format the concept. Doesn't have to be ten anymore, could be more or less, and they're no longer ranked.)
Buck 69--Wednesday at Bronze Boar
Knee Deep Shag--tonight at Magic Bag
Local Anesthetic--Saturday at Sports Zone
The Penetration--Thursday at Mickey Finn's Pub
Trunk Monkeys--tonight at Game Time Sports
(Had to re-format the concept. Doesn't have to be ten anymore, could be more or less, and they're no longer ranked.)
Buck 69--Wednesday at Bronze Boar
Knee Deep Shag--tonight at Magic Bag
Local Anesthetic--Saturday at Sports Zone
The Penetration--Thursday at Mickey Finn's Pub
Trunk Monkeys--tonight at Game Time Sports
Monday, February 23, 2004
Friday, February 13, 2004
AND SPEAKING OF CHUBBY GALS WITH MORE BODACIOUS TA-TA'S THAN JANET JACKSON...
Meanwhile...
DUCKSOUP'S TOP TEN BEST BAND NAMES PLAYING THE TOLEDO AREA THIS WEEK (FEB 13-19)
10. 40 Below Summer--Sunday at Headliners
9. Saturn-nine Hello--Saturday at Headliners
8. Rib--Saturday at Magic Bag
7. Mushroom-Head--Wednesday at Headliners
6. Glass Bead Game--Thursday at Mickey Finn's Pub
5. Unbanded Brothers--Saturday at Mainstreet Roadhouse
4. The Killer Flamingos--tonight at Magic Bag
3. Grip Shifter--Saturday at Sports Zone
2. Jill in the Box--tonight at Headliners
And the number one best band name playing the Toledo area this week...
1. Here Come the Robots--Saturday at Headliners
Meanwhile...
DUCKSOUP'S TOP TEN BEST BAND NAMES PLAYING THE TOLEDO AREA THIS WEEK (FEB 13-19)
10. 40 Below Summer--Sunday at Headliners
9. Saturn-nine Hello--Saturday at Headliners
8. Rib--Saturday at Magic Bag
7. Mushroom-Head--Wednesday at Headliners
6. Glass Bead Game--Thursday at Mickey Finn's Pub
5. Unbanded Brothers--Saturday at Mainstreet Roadhouse
4. The Killer Flamingos--tonight at Magic Bag
3. Grip Shifter--Saturday at Sports Zone
2. Jill in the Box--tonight at Headliners
And the number one best band name playing the Toledo area this week...
1. Here Come the Robots--Saturday at Headliners
Tuesday, February 10, 2004
A QUICKIE
Okay, don't hold your breath waiting for my Super Sunday recap, there's not much to say that hasn't already been said elsewhere. Also there was another dearth of interesting band names this past week, except for Gopherbroke.
Screw it, here's my belated Super Sunday recap, Reader's Digest version...
Game: Panthers coach John Fox should be fired. If it weren't for all that 2-point conversion nonsense the game would have gone into OT 31-31. NFL coaches just don't understand 2-point conversions. Yet another reason the CFL is way better.
Commercials: IMHO, best ad was the American Legacy Foundation (A.L.F.)'s "Shards-O-Glass Freeze Pops". Dale Jr.'s ad was very good, other Budweiser ads: yeah, whatever. Why does the very first ad always win the Ad Meter? Pepsi and Spike Lee gave props to us chubby chasers. There were too damn many movie trailers. Where's the props for Homer Simpson's ad? And oh yeah, Mike Ditka MUST DIE!
Halftime incident #1: Kid Rock caught shit for his flag pancho. If I had been there I REALLY would have caught some shit: I would've set it on fire. What, that's what you're supposed to do with a torn or damaged flag, isn't it?
Halftime incident #2: Janet's tit...WHO CARES?! I've seen better lumps in oatmeal! She's got nothing on the bodacious ta-ta's possessed by some recent chubby female friends of mine. Janet, get back to me when you're around 200# or so, k?
Halftime incident #3: The streaker just prior to the second half kickoff was actually promoting some stupid online gambling site. Lord of the Dance? I don't think so. Let's just call him Lord of No Pants!
The ensuing fallout from the Janet incident: Steve Dahl said it best...It was 2004, then Janet's breast flops out, next thing you know it's 1954 and Joe McCarthy is running around.
I'm sleepy, so I'm done for now.
Okay, don't hold your breath waiting for my Super Sunday recap, there's not much to say that hasn't already been said elsewhere. Also there was another dearth of interesting band names this past week, except for Gopherbroke.
Screw it, here's my belated Super Sunday recap, Reader's Digest version...
Game: Panthers coach John Fox should be fired. If it weren't for all that 2-point conversion nonsense the game would have gone into OT 31-31. NFL coaches just don't understand 2-point conversions. Yet another reason the CFL is way better.
Commercials: IMHO, best ad was the American Legacy Foundation (A.L.F.)'s "Shards-O-Glass Freeze Pops". Dale Jr.'s ad was very good, other Budweiser ads: yeah, whatever. Why does the very first ad always win the Ad Meter? Pepsi and Spike Lee gave props to us chubby chasers. There were too damn many movie trailers. Where's the props for Homer Simpson's ad? And oh yeah, Mike Ditka MUST DIE!
Halftime incident #1: Kid Rock caught shit for his flag pancho. If I had been there I REALLY would have caught some shit: I would've set it on fire. What, that's what you're supposed to do with a torn or damaged flag, isn't it?
Halftime incident #2: Janet's tit...WHO CARES?! I've seen better lumps in oatmeal! She's got nothing on the bodacious ta-ta's possessed by some recent chubby female friends of mine. Janet, get back to me when you're around 200# or so, k?
Halftime incident #3: The streaker just prior to the second half kickoff was actually promoting some stupid online gambling site. Lord of the Dance? I don't think so. Let's just call him Lord of No Pants!
The ensuing fallout from the Janet incident: Steve Dahl said it best...It was 2004, then Janet's breast flops out, next thing you know it's 1954 and Joe McCarthy is running around.
I'm sleepy, so I'm done for now.
Thursday, February 05, 2004
(I was planning to write something about the whole Janet Jackson thang, but my friend, NWOPC colleague, and absolute freakin' genius Terry Lodge sums it up far better than I could ever hope to. In fact, so does Mark Morford. [In factual fact, I'm just being lazy.] These two guys, they're no boobs! Enjoy.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
LODGE'S RANT-O'-THE-DAY: To the FCC, a request from the Boobs and Body Parts Fairness Campaign
From: "Terry Lodge"
Subject: To the FCC: A request from the Boobs and Body Parts Fairness Campaign
To: mpowell@fcc.gov, kabernat@fcc.gov, mcopps@fcc.gov, kjmweb@fcc.gov, jadelste@fcc.gov
To the Members of the Federal Communications Commission:
I wholly agree that an inquiry into the carefully-rehearsed, staged exposure of Janet Jackson's surgically-enhanced cleavage is of the highest priority for the FCC. In fact, the bluenoses at the Justice Department should impose a heightened alert setting - perhaps Code Red - over this catastrophe.
The horrifying principal evidence in this priority investigation should be played, replayed, and yes, replayed again on all networks for weeks to come, so that the public will know fully of this threat to our grave national insecurity over sex. I certainly wish the Federal Communications Commission well in its quest to finally cleanse our privatized, media-concentrated airwaves of every disgusting hint at the existence of warmth, intimacy and the nonviolent exchange of love between the genders.
But your efforts must go farther, and that's why I'm writing. I'm making a plea on behalf of increased TV coverage for other parts of the body - specifically, the shredded, mangled, pulped, bloodied, detached limbs and heads of U.S. troops that continue to spew from the dozens of bloody bombings, mortar and rocket attacks in Iraq. These violent detachments and decapitations are never aired. Perhaps a concerted FCC effort toward the showing of fewer tits and more body bits would help address the FCC's twin goals of affording the media-consuming American public more choices, even as it diverts their minds from acting upon their dirty-minded sexual proclivities.
And so, I'm demanding as urgent an investigation into the chronic absence of gaping, bloody, hamburgerized limbs and skulls from our TV screens, as has been undertaken into the presence of Janet Jackson's boob on those same screens. To assist the FCC, I'm placing the full resources of my "Boobs and Body Parts Fairness Campaign" at your disposal so that we might get to the bottom (oops, apologies, no sexual innuendo intended) of this remarkable discrepancy.
Please help; a Red Alert may hang in the balance.
Terry Lodge
P.S. Yes, I really did send this.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Curse Words For Janet Jackson
Daddy, why does that f--ing politician hate women's breasts? Because he's a s-- and a hypocrite, honey
(By Mark Morford)
Jaws were clenched. Brows were furrowed. Scowls were scowled. Fake sanctimony was hissed. Pasty cellulitic butts were scrunched. This is what happened.
Just last week, well before Janet Jackson reignited her limp career in the most nipple-riffic PR stunt in months, uptight members of Congress from all corners squeezed their narrow ideologies into little fiery balls and decided to berate, as they so often do, radio and TV for being "vile, crude, disgusting, and awful," yo hey pot kettle black. And, lo, lightning did not strike them dead on the spot.
Why the outburst? Because Bono said the delicious f-word during the Golden Globes, and it wasn't edited out. Because a few of the country's crude 'n' obnoxious Clear Channel shock-radio stations you would never listen to because you have taste and a brain aired one of those vapid sexist gag radio bits that appeal only to semicatatonic homophobic frat boys.
Oh, and because S.F.'s own KRON-TV dared to accidentally flash a shot of a real penis during a segment about the very much not-all-that-funny "Puppetry of the Penis" theater show. Shocking. Appalling. Honey cover your eyes.
And thus did the sanctimonious pseudo-Christian cry go out, powerful and time tested by politicians worldwide, guaranteed to induce fear and ignorance and allow them to paint themselves as all self-righteous and ethical and pretend they're not a corporate shill raping the environment from the back pocket of an oil lobbyist: Who -- pray, who -- will protect the children?
So the politicians, they hissed, they derided, they wrapped themselves in cloaks of hypocrisy and righteousness and proposed a bill to quintuple the Federal Communication Commission's powers to punish "crude, vile" media violators -- i.e., anyone who broadcasts certain "forbidden" swear words or exposes genitalia or offers up crude schlock-radio pap, as if these are the true demons of society, the true leeches sucking the souls of the virtuous and the young. Wrong again, pols.
Which leads us, naturally, straight to Janet Jackson's nipple. To the instantly infamous fully intentional breast-exposing PR stunt wherein Justin Timberlake "accidentally" ripped off one of Janet's breast plates, exposing one actually quite cool silver sunburst nipple shield, just before a panicky NBC cut to a much more morally virtuous Pepsi commercial.
Once again, America was shocked and appalled. Families were horrified. Civilizations trembled. Churches crumbled. Eighty-nine million viewers gasped and made the sign of the cross and realized just how desperate Janet's career must've been that she had to try to pull that one off. So to speak.
And oh yes, children were traumatized, too. Deeply scarred. Forever and ever. So very sad.
Because children are always traumatized by such events, aren't they? The wee ones simply can't handle sex and nudity and swearing and it's a wonder the damn little things can get out of bed in the morning, what with all the f-words and exposed nipples and penises flopping around out there. Right, senator? The poor dears. Thank god for Spongebob.
So outraged was the populace that Michael Powell, sanctimonious head of the FCC, he of the flagrant corporate whoring who recently tried to cram through new rules that would've allowed a handful of media giants to own almost every media outlet in the nation, is actually launching a probe into the Janet episode. How cute.
This is the message: A woman's bare breast is a horrific and disturbing thing, completely inappropriate for an afternoon of wholesome macho homoerotic skull-bashing NFL violence and endless hours of nauseating commercial crassness -- unless the woman is, you know, a cheerleader. Now rush off to bed kids, and read your Bibles while Mommy and Daddy pop some Zoloft and Levitra and crack a few Bud Lights and head off to the fetish dungeon to lick our new Ford GT. Got it.
Yes, a woman's flesh is unspeakable evil. However, umpteen erectile-dysfunction commercials and crotch-biting pisswater Bud Light commercials and toxic-junk-food commercials and faux-macho truck commercials and the ad featuring two old people beating each other up over a bag of greasy potato chips, why, that's just tasteful, healthy capitalism. Is that it, Mike? Politicians? Just want to be clear.
Because there is no outcry. There are no snide FCC honchos or uptight politicians hurling the terms "vile," "disgusting" and "crude" at the true poisons of the culture, like those above -- not to mention politicians' own oil cronyism or easy lies about war, or the decimation of our foreign policy. You want to talk vile and disgusting, senator? Have you seen the new BushCo budget?
Most telling side note: Bono, of U2, was barred from performing a song about AIDS awareness at the Super Bowl because he is "too political," given how he fights for those horrible un-American causes of peace and Third World debt relief.
But pseudo-gangsta P. Diddy can pimp like a talentless thug and Kid Rock can, well, be Kid Rock and NFL players can kneel in smarmy bogus prayer rituals, praying fervently to crush the other team's vertebrae and win a shiny trophy. My God but we are so beautifully, deeply screwed.
Mind, this is no impassioned defense of vulgar radio or tacky overblown halftime stunts, which are, by American tradition, inane and insulting on 157 levels. After all, a nation gets exactly the type of schlock entertainment it deserves. And, as for the children, well, if you let your 5-year-old listen to Howard Stern, you get exactly the kind of kid you deserve, too.
But in the final analysis, which is more harmful to your innocent unsoiled perfect child? Hearing Bono say "this is really fucking brilliant" during the Golden Globes and ogling Janet Jackson's PR-happy breast for all of 1.7 seconds, or the endless stream of blood-soaked images of BushCo's bogus war machine interspersed with never-ending commercials featuring misogyny, bestiality, cheap beer and toxic sodas, along with arrays of pneumatic bleached-toothed cheerleaders doing the splits while sweaty 300-pound men in tights pulverize each other like gorillas on meth?
Verily, congressman, and truly, Mr. Powell, why are you not out there screaming and clenching your fists and protecting our innocent children from the endless array of sociocultural lies and abuses and corporate whorings you yourselves support and help perpetuate?
Why are you not, in short, ranting about the need to protect our children from the likes of, well, you?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
LODGE'S RANT-O'-THE-DAY: To the FCC, a request from the Boobs and Body Parts Fairness Campaign
From: "Terry Lodge"
Subject: To the FCC: A request from the Boobs and Body Parts Fairness Campaign
To: mpowell@fcc.gov, kabernat@fcc.gov, mcopps@fcc.gov, kjmweb@fcc.gov, jadelste@fcc.gov
To the Members of the Federal Communications Commission:
I wholly agree that an inquiry into the carefully-rehearsed, staged exposure of Janet Jackson's surgically-enhanced cleavage is of the highest priority for the FCC. In fact, the bluenoses at the Justice Department should impose a heightened alert setting - perhaps Code Red - over this catastrophe.
The horrifying principal evidence in this priority investigation should be played, replayed, and yes, replayed again on all networks for weeks to come, so that the public will know fully of this threat to our grave national insecurity over sex. I certainly wish the Federal Communications Commission well in its quest to finally cleanse our privatized, media-concentrated airwaves of every disgusting hint at the existence of warmth, intimacy and the nonviolent exchange of love between the genders.
But your efforts must go farther, and that's why I'm writing. I'm making a plea on behalf of increased TV coverage for other parts of the body - specifically, the shredded, mangled, pulped, bloodied, detached limbs and heads of U.S. troops that continue to spew from the dozens of bloody bombings, mortar and rocket attacks in Iraq. These violent detachments and decapitations are never aired. Perhaps a concerted FCC effort toward the showing of fewer tits and more body bits would help address the FCC's twin goals of affording the media-consuming American public more choices, even as it diverts their minds from acting upon their dirty-minded sexual proclivities.
And so, I'm demanding as urgent an investigation into the chronic absence of gaping, bloody, hamburgerized limbs and skulls from our TV screens, as has been undertaken into the presence of Janet Jackson's boob on those same screens. To assist the FCC, I'm placing the full resources of my "Boobs and Body Parts Fairness Campaign" at your disposal so that we might get to the bottom (oops, apologies, no sexual innuendo intended) of this remarkable discrepancy.
Please help; a Red Alert may hang in the balance.
Terry Lodge
P.S. Yes, I really did send this.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Curse Words For Janet Jackson
Daddy, why does that f--ing politician hate women's breasts? Because he's a s-- and a hypocrite, honey
(By Mark Morford)
Jaws were clenched. Brows were furrowed. Scowls were scowled. Fake sanctimony was hissed. Pasty cellulitic butts were scrunched. This is what happened.
Just last week, well before Janet Jackson reignited her limp career in the most nipple-riffic PR stunt in months, uptight members of Congress from all corners squeezed their narrow ideologies into little fiery balls and decided to berate, as they so often do, radio and TV for being "vile, crude, disgusting, and awful," yo hey pot kettle black. And, lo, lightning did not strike them dead on the spot.
Why the outburst? Because Bono said the delicious f-word during the Golden Globes, and it wasn't edited out. Because a few of the country's crude 'n' obnoxious Clear Channel shock-radio stations you would never listen to because you have taste and a brain aired one of those vapid sexist gag radio bits that appeal only to semicatatonic homophobic frat boys.
Oh, and because S.F.'s own KRON-TV dared to accidentally flash a shot of a real penis during a segment about the very much not-all-that-funny "Puppetry of the Penis" theater show. Shocking. Appalling. Honey cover your eyes.
And thus did the sanctimonious pseudo-Christian cry go out, powerful and time tested by politicians worldwide, guaranteed to induce fear and ignorance and allow them to paint themselves as all self-righteous and ethical and pretend they're not a corporate shill raping the environment from the back pocket of an oil lobbyist: Who -- pray, who -- will protect the children?
So the politicians, they hissed, they derided, they wrapped themselves in cloaks of hypocrisy and righteousness and proposed a bill to quintuple the Federal Communication Commission's powers to punish "crude, vile" media violators -- i.e., anyone who broadcasts certain "forbidden" swear words or exposes genitalia or offers up crude schlock-radio pap, as if these are the true demons of society, the true leeches sucking the souls of the virtuous and the young. Wrong again, pols.
Which leads us, naturally, straight to Janet Jackson's nipple. To the instantly infamous fully intentional breast-exposing PR stunt wherein Justin Timberlake "accidentally" ripped off one of Janet's breast plates, exposing one actually quite cool silver sunburst nipple shield, just before a panicky NBC cut to a much more morally virtuous Pepsi commercial.
Once again, America was shocked and appalled. Families were horrified. Civilizations trembled. Churches crumbled. Eighty-nine million viewers gasped and made the sign of the cross and realized just how desperate Janet's career must've been that she had to try to pull that one off. So to speak.
And oh yes, children were traumatized, too. Deeply scarred. Forever and ever. So very sad.
Because children are always traumatized by such events, aren't they? The wee ones simply can't handle sex and nudity and swearing and it's a wonder the damn little things can get out of bed in the morning, what with all the f-words and exposed nipples and penises flopping around out there. Right, senator? The poor dears. Thank god for Spongebob.
So outraged was the populace that Michael Powell, sanctimonious head of the FCC, he of the flagrant corporate whoring who recently tried to cram through new rules that would've allowed a handful of media giants to own almost every media outlet in the nation, is actually launching a probe into the Janet episode. How cute.
This is the message: A woman's bare breast is a horrific and disturbing thing, completely inappropriate for an afternoon of wholesome macho homoerotic skull-bashing NFL violence and endless hours of nauseating commercial crassness -- unless the woman is, you know, a cheerleader. Now rush off to bed kids, and read your Bibles while Mommy and Daddy pop some Zoloft and Levitra and crack a few Bud Lights and head off to the fetish dungeon to lick our new Ford GT. Got it.
Yes, a woman's flesh is unspeakable evil. However, umpteen erectile-dysfunction commercials and crotch-biting pisswater Bud Light commercials and toxic-junk-food commercials and faux-macho truck commercials and the ad featuring two old people beating each other up over a bag of greasy potato chips, why, that's just tasteful, healthy capitalism. Is that it, Mike? Politicians? Just want to be clear.
Because there is no outcry. There are no snide FCC honchos or uptight politicians hurling the terms "vile," "disgusting" and "crude" at the true poisons of the culture, like those above -- not to mention politicians' own oil cronyism or easy lies about war, or the decimation of our foreign policy. You want to talk vile and disgusting, senator? Have you seen the new BushCo budget?
Most telling side note: Bono, of U2, was barred from performing a song about AIDS awareness at the Super Bowl because he is "too political," given how he fights for those horrible un-American causes of peace and Third World debt relief.
But pseudo-gangsta P. Diddy can pimp like a talentless thug and Kid Rock can, well, be Kid Rock and NFL players can kneel in smarmy bogus prayer rituals, praying fervently to crush the other team's vertebrae and win a shiny trophy. My God but we are so beautifully, deeply screwed.
Mind, this is no impassioned defense of vulgar radio or tacky overblown halftime stunts, which are, by American tradition, inane and insulting on 157 levels. After all, a nation gets exactly the type of schlock entertainment it deserves. And, as for the children, well, if you let your 5-year-old listen to Howard Stern, you get exactly the kind of kid you deserve, too.
But in the final analysis, which is more harmful to your innocent unsoiled perfect child? Hearing Bono say "this is really fucking brilliant" during the Golden Globes and ogling Janet Jackson's PR-happy breast for all of 1.7 seconds, or the endless stream of blood-soaked images of BushCo's bogus war machine interspersed with never-ending commercials featuring misogyny, bestiality, cheap beer and toxic sodas, along with arrays of pneumatic bleached-toothed cheerleaders doing the splits while sweaty 300-pound men in tights pulverize each other like gorillas on meth?
Verily, congressman, and truly, Mr. Powell, why are you not out there screaming and clenching your fists and protecting our innocent children from the endless array of sociocultural lies and abuses and corporate whorings you yourselves support and help perpetuate?
Why are you not, in short, ranting about the need to protect our children from the likes of, well, you?
Monday, February 02, 2004
ATTENTION, TINKY-WINKY: YOUR 15 MINUTES OF FAME ARE NOW OFFICIALLY OVER. PLEASE CLEAR OUT YOUR WORKSTATION AND TURN IN YOUR SWIPE CARD AT THE SECURITY DESK.
Think of it as Teletubbies: The Next Generation.
Boohbah! has arrived on the PBS airwaves. And with that, the 'Tubbies days of cultural significance have been shortened tenfold. They now seem rather quaint in comparison to their tricked-out successors.
For starters, in a street fight, the Boohbahs have the Tubbies outnumbered 5-4. And they seem to have a weight advantage. Most importantly, whereas the Tubbies have TV sets in their stomachs, the Boohbahs have the ability to fly. And the best part: They seem to be propelled by...yes, you guessed it, FLATULENCE!
I'm sure you all have the 'Tubbies memorized by now, so allow me to bring you up to speed on the Boohbahs. Pay attention, there WILL be a short quiz later.
Yellow--Humbah
Blue--Jumbah
Purple--Zumbah
Pink--Jingbah
Orange (my personal fave)--Zing Zing Zingbah
Now, if you count the pink one as representing red, all that's missing for a complete rainbow color set is a green one. (Maybe they'll add that one next season. They could name it "Goombah"!) Which brings us to the inevitable rumors, and in order to save time, and since someone has to start them, I might as well take the initiative:
The Boohbahs are gay.
Not just one. All five of them. I can't say for sure any of them have dated Tinky-Winky, but there. I've said it and I feel better for having said it. How else do you explain the frequent rainbow motifs throughout the show? Plus, they like to dance. A lot. And they're damn good at it (at least in the eyes of the target audience, ages 3-6, I would imagine). Hey, it's simple math: Rainbows + dancing = Butt pirates. And I hope I'm not out of line, but I would also postulate that their frequent flatulence may be the result of flaccid bowel muscles, brought on by...well, like I gotta draw you a map, folks.
Now, for those I haven't yet offended, let me take things a step further:
The Boohbahs are also Satan worshippers.
See, they do this thing a few times during the show where they hover in the air and join hands and form what sort of resembles a pentagram. Satanic ass rammers, weekdays at 10am on your local PBS station! Tune in, won't you?
[2010 P.S.: Satanic Ass Rammers. Now there's a band name!]
Okay, okay. I'm just pulling your socks. But I wouldn't be one bit surprised to hear Pat Robertson or another of his ilk alleging the same kinds of shit in the not-too-distant future.
But while I'm at it, perhaps I should backtrack just a bit. In nearly two weeks of watching, I can't really tell which Boohbahs are male and which are female. Maybe they're hermaphrodites? Asexual? Well, they all interact with each other at various times, so if they are of specific genders, I suppose they could be bi.
So, there you have it. The Boohbahs are chubby flatulent bisexual Satan worshippers. (And yes, I can hear you right now saying "Well Duck, it takes one to know one!" Ha ha. Very funny. Now shut the fuck up, smartass, and read on.)
There are other segments in the show that are Boohbah-less, but they are almost not worth even mentioning. But I will anyway.
The opening credits are, as with most shows for viewers 3-6, deeply disturbing, deeply annoying and deeply repetitive. The theme song goes something like this: "Booh-bah, booh-bah, booh-bah, booh...booh-bah, booh-bah, booh-bah, booh..." Even those who prefer to get stoned prior to viewing shows like this and the 'Tubbies will have their patience taxed. But if you can get past all of this and drop acid just in time for the psychedelic spinning color show shortly thereafter, it's worth the price of admission.
After the opening dance routine, a group of kids appears, and there's lots of "shush"-ing. Then they carry...something...on my first viewing it looked as though they were laying a wreath at the Tomb of the Unknown Boohbah (perhaps Goombah, the missing green one?). But it turns out it's "a present for the Storypeople!" Actually, it's uh, kind of a link.
The "Storypeople" (aka the "Stupidpeople", as I prefer to call them) persist in inane activities only amusing to preschoolers, such as hopping around in giant pairs of socks or running back and forth between curtained windows suspended in midair. It's sort of like a Benny Hill bit, only twice as retarded.
There's Grandmamma (aka Hideously Ugly Old Broad), Grandpappa (aka Fake Old Guy In Cheap Makeup), Mrs. Lady (aka Insert Your Own Jerry Lewis Imitation Here), Mr. Man (aka Insert Your Own Kathy Bates In The Movie "Misery" Imitation Here), Brother & Sister, who are together at all times (aka Don't Ask, I Think They're From The South), an aunt whose name I can't discern (but it sounds sort of like Aunt Titty, so I'll go with that), and last but not least, Little Dog Fido (Oh, shut up, I was cleared of those charges!).
According to the credits, the "Storypeople" narrator is Chris Langham. If this is the same Chris Langham who is known for his stand-up act featuring bottle rockets up his ass, how sad that this is where he is now. Listening to his narration, he sounds incredibly bored and about to nip off and shoot himself. He always ends the segment with "Goodbye." Sometimes I fear he means it. Poor guy.
After a second Boohbah dance segment comes the most torturous portion of the show, "Look What I Can Do", in which kids in the target age demographic do various pointless physical activities such as hopping around on one leg, touching their knees to their elbows, etc., for roughly 2 long, agonizing minutes that seem more like 20.
About 30 seconds in you'll likely find yourself yelling at the screen "Okay, you can do cartwheels, we get the fucking point already! Stop it! ENOUGH! MY LACK OF GOD MAKE IT STOP! I WANT TO GOUGE MY EYEBALLS OUT!" And there are usually 3 or 4 of these bits in a row. It's a challenge to resist your suicidal urges at this point, but it can be done. I advise a bathroom or snack break during this portion of the show. That or double-down on your drug of choice.
Then there's sort of a Boohbah encore with a few brief dance routines, all very simple, and all throughout the show meant to get the target audience to imitate the movements they see. This is never outright solicited, but odds are there are few kids that age who can resist copying the Boohbahs or the annoying "Look What I Can Do" kids. The potential for evil here is obvious, but the Boohbahs seem harmless enough.
But I guarantee that across the studio lot, the Teletubbies are quaking in their fuzzy little boots.
Meet the Boohbahs...same as the old boss.
Think of it as Teletubbies: The Next Generation.
Boohbah! has arrived on the PBS airwaves. And with that, the 'Tubbies days of cultural significance have been shortened tenfold. They now seem rather quaint in comparison to their tricked-out successors.
For starters, in a street fight, the Boohbahs have the Tubbies outnumbered 5-4. And they seem to have a weight advantage. Most importantly, whereas the Tubbies have TV sets in their stomachs, the Boohbahs have the ability to fly. And the best part: They seem to be propelled by...yes, you guessed it, FLATULENCE!
I'm sure you all have the 'Tubbies memorized by now, so allow me to bring you up to speed on the Boohbahs. Pay attention, there WILL be a short quiz later.
Yellow--Humbah
Blue--Jumbah
Purple--Zumbah
Pink--Jingbah
Orange (my personal fave)--Zing Zing Zingbah
Now, if you count the pink one as representing red, all that's missing for a complete rainbow color set is a green one. (Maybe they'll add that one next season. They could name it "Goombah"!) Which brings us to the inevitable rumors, and in order to save time, and since someone has to start them, I might as well take the initiative:
The Boohbahs are gay.
Not just one. All five of them. I can't say for sure any of them have dated Tinky-Winky, but there. I've said it and I feel better for having said it. How else do you explain the frequent rainbow motifs throughout the show? Plus, they like to dance. A lot. And they're damn good at it (at least in the eyes of the target audience, ages 3-6, I would imagine). Hey, it's simple math: Rainbows + dancing = Butt pirates. And I hope I'm not out of line, but I would also postulate that their frequent flatulence may be the result of flaccid bowel muscles, brought on by...well, like I gotta draw you a map, folks.
Now, for those I haven't yet offended, let me take things a step further:
The Boohbahs are also Satan worshippers.
See, they do this thing a few times during the show where they hover in the air and join hands and form what sort of resembles a pentagram. Satanic ass rammers, weekdays at 10am on your local PBS station! Tune in, won't you?
[2010 P.S.: Satanic Ass Rammers. Now there's a band name!]
Okay, okay. I'm just pulling your socks. But I wouldn't be one bit surprised to hear Pat Robertson or another of his ilk alleging the same kinds of shit in the not-too-distant future.
But while I'm at it, perhaps I should backtrack just a bit. In nearly two weeks of watching, I can't really tell which Boohbahs are male and which are female. Maybe they're hermaphrodites? Asexual? Well, they all interact with each other at various times, so if they are of specific genders, I suppose they could be bi.
So, there you have it. The Boohbahs are chubby flatulent bisexual Satan worshippers. (And yes, I can hear you right now saying "Well Duck, it takes one to know one!" Ha ha. Very funny. Now shut the fuck up, smartass, and read on.)
There are other segments in the show that are Boohbah-less, but they are almost not worth even mentioning. But I will anyway.
The opening credits are, as with most shows for viewers 3-6, deeply disturbing, deeply annoying and deeply repetitive. The theme song goes something like this: "Booh-bah, booh-bah, booh-bah, booh...booh-bah, booh-bah, booh-bah, booh..." Even those who prefer to get stoned prior to viewing shows like this and the 'Tubbies will have their patience taxed. But if you can get past all of this and drop acid just in time for the psychedelic spinning color show shortly thereafter, it's worth the price of admission.
After the opening dance routine, a group of kids appears, and there's lots of "shush"-ing. Then they carry...something...on my first viewing it looked as though they were laying a wreath at the Tomb of the Unknown Boohbah (perhaps Goombah, the missing green one?). But it turns out it's "a present for the Storypeople!" Actually, it's uh, kind of a link.
The "Storypeople" (aka the "Stupidpeople", as I prefer to call them) persist in inane activities only amusing to preschoolers, such as hopping around in giant pairs of socks or running back and forth between curtained windows suspended in midair. It's sort of like a Benny Hill bit, only twice as retarded.
There's Grandmamma (aka Hideously Ugly Old Broad), Grandpappa (aka Fake Old Guy In Cheap Makeup), Mrs. Lady (aka Insert Your Own Jerry Lewis Imitation Here), Mr. Man (aka Insert Your Own Kathy Bates In The Movie "Misery" Imitation Here), Brother & Sister, who are together at all times (aka Don't Ask, I Think They're From The South), an aunt whose name I can't discern (but it sounds sort of like Aunt Titty, so I'll go with that), and last but not least, Little Dog Fido (Oh, shut up, I was cleared of those charges!).
According to the credits, the "Storypeople" narrator is Chris Langham. If this is the same Chris Langham who is known for his stand-up act featuring bottle rockets up his ass, how sad that this is where he is now. Listening to his narration, he sounds incredibly bored and about to nip off and shoot himself. He always ends the segment with "Goodbye." Sometimes I fear he means it. Poor guy.
After a second Boohbah dance segment comes the most torturous portion of the show, "Look What I Can Do", in which kids in the target age demographic do various pointless physical activities such as hopping around on one leg, touching their knees to their elbows, etc., for roughly 2 long, agonizing minutes that seem more like 20.
About 30 seconds in you'll likely find yourself yelling at the screen "Okay, you can do cartwheels, we get the fucking point already! Stop it! ENOUGH! MY LACK OF GOD MAKE IT STOP! I WANT TO GOUGE MY EYEBALLS OUT!" And there are usually 3 or 4 of these bits in a row. It's a challenge to resist your suicidal urges at this point, but it can be done. I advise a bathroom or snack break during this portion of the show. That or double-down on your drug of choice.
Then there's sort of a Boohbah encore with a few brief dance routines, all very simple, and all throughout the show meant to get the target audience to imitate the movements they see. This is never outright solicited, but odds are there are few kids that age who can resist copying the Boohbahs or the annoying "Look What I Can Do" kids. The potential for evil here is obvious, but the Boohbahs seem harmless enough.
But I guarantee that across the studio lot, the Teletubbies are quaking in their fuzzy little boots.
Meet the Boohbahs...same as the old boss.
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