I was watching television the other day when a commercial for a new KFC product came on. The spot was for something called New KFC Famous Bowls.

Now, how a new product could achieve fame before it was released is beyond me. But all that aside, this was quite a big idea. You start with KFC’s world famous soupy mashed potatoes, top that with gravy, top that with overcooked corn, top that with pieces of greasy fried chicken, top that with even more of that questionable gravy and cover it all with a three-cheese blend. Wow. I don’t know about you, but I just threw up a little. Which is the very same reaction I had when I saw this product advertised on TV. I actually felt sick to my stomach. Hey, I think that’s a first in advertising. I mean, usually, you try to make the product look as appetizing as possible. But when you start with shite, you end up with shite.

Then again, my opinion shouldn’t matter much. I’m one of those weird people who only eats fish. So please, enlighten me. Explain to me why these Famous Bowls are so appetizing. I just don’t get it. As far as I’m concerned, anything that makes me want to blow, sucks.

Update: It seems that Pip actually had the nerve to try one of these things. Incidentally, he didn’t read this blog entry before he wrote his review, so any similarities are completely coincidental. At least that’s what he says. Mm hm.

As I was getting ready to do the laundry this evening, I happened upon this odd looking coin in my pocket. “What country is this from?” I thought to myself. And then I took a closer look. It was a nickel. Some kind of new nickel. Not only that, it was an ugly nickel. The distinguished, soft profile of Thomas Jefferson was gone. In its place was a more chiseled image of the man, staring at me with his beady eyes. He no longer looked like the author of the Declaration of Independence. He looked like a guy who owned 400 slaves (For the record, it was only about 200, and he inherited them). See for yourself:

OK, I couldn’t quite capture the creepy stare he has, but you get the idea. And what’s with that hair? Did they not have combs back then? Maybe this is supposed to be a hipper, more modern Jefferson. If that’s the case, just go for it and show him on a skateboard holding an iPod.

Come to think of it, who decided that we needed a new nickel in the first place? Sure, they recently redesigned our paper currency, but that’s because anyone with a decent inkjet printer could counterfeit the bills. Are people starting to counterfeit nickels? And if they are, who really gives a rat’s ass?

Let’s compare, shall we?

On the left, we have the classic nickel. On the right . . . what the fuck? Honestly, with all this new currency we have, it’s getting to the point where I don’t know what country I’m living in anymore. That said, there is still one thing that remains unchanged: embossed into the top edge of the coin are the words “In God We Trust.” But if you ask me, what it really should say is “The New Nickel Sucks.”

im sorry but if ur one of these people who writes emails without using any capitalization or any punctuation ur an idiot i mean do you expect people to spend the time to decipher your messages or are you just so fucking busy that you cant take the time to use a damn comma or an apostrophe or a fucking period you might think it is cute but it really is not it is annoying and frankly it makes you look pretty foolish so just stop it OK got it good

Yeah, I listen to NPR. But I’m not telling you that to impress you. It’s just a way to lead into today’s topic. And what is that topic? Jeeze, would ya give me a fucking break? I’m barely into one paragraph. Have some patience, will ya?

Sorry. Where was I? Oh right. NPR. Yeah, I listen to it a lot. They have some great programs, and I enjoy almost all of them. Almost all of them. There is one feature I just cannot stand. Oddly enough, it has to do with writers.

Basically, here’s how it works: Someone sends in some clever essay they wrote, and if it’s chosen, they’re invited into the studio to read it on the air. The essays are on different topics, and yet I always hear them exactly the same way. It goes something like this:

I can’t believe how clever I am. The way I craft a sentence should be studied by all who yearn to write. I am a literary virtuoso. Not only that, I’m funny.

Listen to the way I read my words, enunciating every fucking syllable, emphasizing certain words. It’s all in the inflection, you see.

God, I love to hear my own voice. The only thing I love to hear more than my own voice is my own voice reading my own words. Yes, my words. Words I spent hours agonizing over, and finally, finally, someone has recognized my genius.

You all want to be me. You wish you could enunciate and inflect the way i do. You wish you were as witty as I am. But you are all fools. You aren’t worthy of my time. Do you have any idea how funny and clever I am?

I hate pretentious writers. Especially when they recite their own words. And don’t even get me started with poets.

Hey, have you seen this new HBO show called Entourage? Well, if you haven’t, you have got to check it out. See it’s about this guy who becomes famous and lives with all his friends in a big house. Crazy.

The first episode was insane. Get this: All the guys hook up with these really hot chicks and then their celebrity friend buys a bunch of expensive stuff. Wicked, I know. But in the second episode, it really got crazy. See, this time, the celebrity guy buys a Bentley and then they all end up having sex with some really attractive women.

But the third episode is where things really start picking up. See, this time, it looks like the celebrity guy’s new movie is going to bomb. But everything turns out okay. Then he goes on a talk show and ends up shtuping his ex-girlfriend in her dressing room.

Well, it’s only a few hours now until I get to find out what happens in the next episode. I can’t wait. From what I understand, he buys some expensive stuff, and they meet some cute girls. But I have no idea what they’re going to do with them. I’m putting my money on the humping. But you never know.

I was driving down the road, exceeding the speed limit, when my progress was suddenly retarded. The car in front of me was travelling at an excruciatingly slow pace. And when I say slow, I mean slowwwwww. I wasn’t even sure this vehicle was actually moving. But by using the parked cars on the side of the road as a measure of speed, I was able to determine the velocity of the vehicle at somewhere between .18 and 2 MPH.

As a concerned citizen, I immediately wanted to know what might be troubling this driver, and I expressed this by exclaiming, “What the fuck’s your problem?” That’s when I noticed a familar permanently-seated stick figure hanging from her rearview mirror: the handicapped parking pass.

Well, that explained it. Or did it? I mean, let’s say this person actually was handicapped. Does that give her the right to drive like a moron? Don’t handicapped people have to take a driving test like everybody else?

Come to think of it, what does the handicapped parking pass really mean? Is it just for people who can’t walk very well? This one seemed to be for someone who couldn’t drive. Either that or she was mentally handicapped.

Then I started to wonder about how she became handicapped. Was she born that way? Was it a tragic rollerblading incident? Did she defer on her loan payments to Louie “Meat Cleaver” Vinzini? Or pehaps her life was changed in a more obvious way: by driving like an idiot.

I just finished watching “Shower.” It’s a Chinese film about a father who runs a traditional bath house. The older, more successful son returns home, thinking that his father has passed away. But it turns out it was just a misunderstanding based on a picture his mentally-challenged brother sent to him.

Which brings me to the subject of this week’s blog entry: What’s with the Special Haircut? The slow bro in this film sports the standard issue mentally-challenged hairdo–shaved on the sides, long on the top. There is no subtle blending between the two lengths. It’s just short, then long. This particular cut included an even more disturbing feature: a lone patch of hair on the back of his head, sitting just above his neck, like some kind of undiscovered island.

I guess this is supposed to be the visual cue that he’s the retarded guy. But do they have to be so blatant about it? I mean, sure, he might be special, but does that mean his barber is, too? Surely, they’re not suggesting that this man actually attempted to cut his own locks? I mean, would they even let him near a pair of scissors unsupervised?

There are less obvious ways to let us know that a character has a faulty hard drive. How ’bout picking one that doesn’t insult our intelligence?

I’ve just discovered the most amazing food product ever created: The Trader Joe’s Egg-White Broccoli Cheddar Quiche. As you might assume, using egg whites instead of whole eggs in this flaky-crusted entree helps lower its fat content and cholesterol levels significantly. But it doesn’t lower the taste.

Unfortunately, it’s not a very good taste. Actually, it’s extremely foul. So foul, in fact, that I spat out the small portion I placed into my mouth seconds after it made its entrance. It didn’t taste so much like quiche as it did a sweaty sock. Fortunately, since I did not actually digest any of this so-called food, it didn’t cost me any Weight Watchers points or interfere with my Pritikin, Atkins and Zone diets.

For years, manufacturers of diet foods have been trying to make their food taste better, which only makes people want to eat more of it. But Trader Joe came up with a much better solution: Make the food taste like shit. Here’s to you, Trader Joe, a culinary pioneer.

We interrupt the amusing text to bring you this special bulletin: DVD Previews Suck. Has anyone else experienced these? You just bought a DVD of your favorite film. You pop it into the player and it immediately starts running these previews of movies coming out in the future. You try to hit the DVD Menu button, but it’s been disabled. You try to hit the Chapter Forward button. It’s also been disabled. The only way to get through all the damn previews is to Fast Forward through them. What the fuck? I mean, I can maybe understand having the mandatory previews on a DVD that you’re renting, but to have to go through them every time you want to watch a movie that you actually own? Well, that just fucking sucks.

This lighthearted blog has been interrupted so that I can do a little venting before my fucking heart explodes. Excuse the big block of text. It’s kind of how I’m feeling right now. Thanks for your patience.

Okay, so I’m driving home today in the fucking rain and I’m taking this new shortcut. I’m making good time, too, not hitting too much traffic, and I think to myself, I might even get home early. Then all of the sudden, WHAM! A fucking sea of cars appears in front of me. Where the fuck did they come from? And what the hell are they doing using my goddamn shortcut? I mean, I’ve never seen it that bad before. There was this incredibly long wait just to get through the intersection. And all of these cars were gridlocked, making it difficult to get by them. It was SO GODDAMN FRUSTRATING! I kept making turns, trying to get around the traffic, only to find myself running right into yet another ocean of sheet metal. To make an already-too-fucking-long story short, it took me an hour and half to get home today. An hour and a goddamn half. What the fuck? I was trying call everyone I knew just so I could vent, but my stupid LG phone was malfunctioning and when it finally did start working, nobody was answering their fucking phone! To make matters worse, my friend called me back five minutes after I got home to say that she couldn’t really talk because she wanted to concentrate on her driving. I was still pretty wound up from my drive through the Hollywood parking lot that I guess I said some things that didn’t quite come out right. Even though I was totally sincere when I said “I understand. Have a safe drive home.” It came out sounding rather sarcastic and mean. Not a good thing. Fuck, I hate Hollywood. I’m in desperate need of a hug or a bullet to the head.

Have a nice day.

Love,

Smivey