What If Godzilla Was One Of Us

With Godzilla stomping the box office and once again scorching everything in his path with his radioactive breath, we decided to honor the King of the Monsters by rewriting Joan Osborne’s 1990s hit “(What If God Was ) One of Us.” With all apologies to Ms. Osborne, here goes:


If Godzilla had shame, because of his breath 
Would you offer him a mint even if it meant your death
If you were faced with him and his atomic halitosis
That could turn you to ash with just one kiss
And yeah, yeah, Godzilla’s breath stinks
Yeah, yeah, Godzilla’s breath reeks
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
What if Godzilla was one of us?
Just a slob like one of us?
He’d be all cramped riding on the bus
Trying to make his way home
From his job answering phones
At the call center in Nome

If Godzilla had to sneeze
He’d accidentally fry some guy
Who just happened to be
Sitting in a seat nearby, and then he would be
Feeling stupid and remorseful and filled with self-loathing
And all apologies
And yeah, yeah, Godzilla’s life stinks
Yeah, yeah, Godzilla’s life reeks
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
What if Godzilla was one of us?
Just a slob like one of us?
He’d be all cramped riding on the bus
Trying to make his way home
From his job answering phones
At a call center in Nome
Back to the ocean all alone
Nobody callin' on the phone
'Cept for the Pope, maybe, in Rome
Or someone else who randomly rhymes with phone
Like maybe this Osborne singer Joan
Or our old friend Fred Flintstone
Or maybe even Sharon Stone
Or someone from The Game of Thrones

And yeah, yeah, Godzilla’s breath stinks
Yeah, yeah, Godzilla’s breath reeks
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
What if Godzilla was one of us?
Just a slob like one of us?
Instead of eating people on the bus
He has to act all serious
When the boss comes in the room
Hoping lunchtime comes real soon
Just trying to listen to his iTunes
On his little white headphones
Just trying to make his way home
Nobody callin’ on the phone
‘Cept for maybe Franchot Tone

A message from Baby New Year

Boy am I glad it’s New Year’s. Finally, I get to wear something besides this diaper. Just a top hat and sash, but at least it’s something! When I first signed this contract to be Baby New Year, I didn’t really consider the downside. All I thought of was the fame and adulation, the champagne, the party favors, the girls. Everything that goes along with being the symbol of the New Year. I mean, I’m a baby who gets to paaaaaaaarty! How cool is that? Turns out, not so much.

Everyone loves me -- for one night, then bam! It’s back to the crib. No more top hat, no more champagne. They even take my stogie. I ask you – is that fair? Try drinking and smoking up a storm for one night and then going cold turkey the rest of the year. And my parents wonder why I cry.

But the worst part is, I never grow up. I’m just a stupid baby. Forever. I lay here soiling myself while everyone around me gets older. I’ve got no friends. I used to have play dates with Justin Bieber. Now look at him. He’s got a pet monkey and a Fisker. Where’s my monkey? Even Miley Cyrus gets to grow up. Sort of. When do I get to put on a giant foam finger and make an ass of myself? Nobody wants to see Baby New Year twerk. I can doff my top hat till the cows come home and swill champagne like Paris Hilton on a bender. The chicks think that’s cute. But when the clock strikes midnight and I move in for a kiss, they’re disgusted. Hey, I’m 52 years old, I’ve got needs.

I tell you, it’s not easy being me. I can complain all day, but what’s the use? No one wants to listen. All they want to hear from me is goo-goo, ga-ga, and a lot of cooing. I tell you, I’m sick of it. I’ve got ideas, interests beyond the mobile. But as soon as I start talking, they jam that binky in my mouth and that’s it, brother.

And I warn you, if I hear “The Wheels in the Bus Go Round and Round” one more time, I’m going to explode. And not just the usual way, either. This time, it’s going to take more than a diaper change to clean up.

And one more thing – stop stealing my nose!

It's a Wonderful Police Blotter

The movie “It’s a Wonderful Life,” as told in the police log of The Bedford Falls Sentinel:

May 20, 1928

     1:37 p.m. Police were called to the 600 block of Main Street, where a caller said a pedestrian was causing traffic to back up. Violet Bick, 21, was cited for causing a public disturbance.

     11:28 p.m. A caller reported a male and female singing loudly and throwing rocks at the windows of an abandoned building in the 300 block of Sycamore Street. When police arrived, they found only a female, naked and hiding in some hydrangea bushes. Mary Hatch, 18, was arrested and charged with indecent exposure.

June 1, 1932

     9:16 p.m. A caller reported an intoxicated man creating a loud disturbance on New England Street. Officers investigated and found William Bailey, 60, passed out next to some garbage cans. Bailey was arrested and charged with public drunkenness.

     10:01 p.m. A caller reported a large crowd gathered in the 200 block of Genesee Street. Violet Bick, 25, was cited for causing a public disturbance. 

October 25, 1932

     11:25 a.m.  Police responded to a report of an unruly mob gathering at the bank. The mob was dispersed with tear gas. No arrests were made.

     8:37 p.m. A caller reported trespassers in the Old Granville House, 320 Sycamore Street. Police arrived to find a newly married couple, George and Mary Bailey, had taken up residence in the building, which had been condemned in 1925. The couple were cited for trespassing and warned to vacate the premises immediately. 

December 24, 1945

     5:12 p.m. A woman in the 300 block of Sycamore Street called police and reported that her husband was being verbally abusive to her and her children.

     6:02 p.m. Henry F. Potter, President of the Bank, swore out a warrant for the arrest of George Bailey on charges of misappropriation of funds, manipulation and malfeasance in connection with $8000 in missing funds from the Bailey Bros. Building & Loan.

     7:15 p.m. Nick, the bartender at Martini’s Bar, called police to report a fight. An arrest warrant was issued for Mr. Welch on charges of assault and battery.

     7:23 p.m. A caller reported that an intoxicated man had crashed his car into a tree which his grandfather had planted, on Bridge Street, and then fled on foot in the direction of the toll bridge.

     7:29 p.m. A woman in the 300 block of Sycamore Street called police and reported that her husband was missing.

     7:45 p.m. A caller reported seeing two men jump into the canal from the toll bridge.

     9:02 p.m. Police were called to a disturbance at the Dreamland Dance Club. Violet Bick, 38, was arrested and charged with soliciting.

     9:21 p.m. A cab driver, Ernie Bishop, reported that a man “who was bats” and claimed he had gotten some bad liquor had run off without paying his fare in the 300 block of Sycamore Street. Bert the Cop responded and followed the man into an abandoned building. An altercation ensued, during which a second suspect, who claimed he was “an angel, second class,” bit the officer on the wrist. The two suspects escaped on foot.

     9:39 p.m. A caller reported that a “loony” had come to her residence on New England Street  and claimed that she was his mother. The woman told the man to leave.

     9:50 p.m. A caller reported that a disturbed man, possibly intoxicated, had accosted an old maid outside the public library. The man had claimed that the old maid was his wife, then chased her down Genesee Street and into a nearby establishment, where she fainted. Bert the Cop responded and attempted to apprehend the suspect, but the man punched the officer and fled on foot. The officer then fired several shots across the crowded street at the fleeing suspect, wounding two bystanders before pursuing the suspect in his squad car. 

     10:20 p.m. Several business owners reported a man running down Main Street cheering and yelling, “Merry Christmas” at various buildings.

     10:22 p.m. Henry F. Potter reported seeing fugitive George Bailey running past his office at the bank. He said that Bailey yelled “Merry Christmas” to him before running off in the direction of Sycamore Street.

An open letter from the Ty-D-Bol Man

It's World Toilet Day, and we found this letter in a bottle from the Ty-D-Bol man...

Ahoy there! Remember me? No? Of course you don’t. It is I, the Ty-D-Bol man. You probably don’t recognize me in these filthy rags and long, scraggly hair and beard. No, I’m not the handsome nautical hero I used to be, lo those many years ago, before you closed the lid on me and left me here, abandoned, floating alone on my dinghy in your toilet tank. Marooned.

I used to have a motorboat, though God knows why. So I could get from one end of your toilet to the other faster? Please. It’s not like it’s the vast Pacific in here. It’s a toilet, fercryinoutloud! I can row it in like, two seconds. Or I could, if I hadn’t used my oars for firewood a long time ago. I chopped them up and poured what was left of the gasoline on them and burned them for warmth. That was around the same time I spelled out the word H-E-L-P on the inside of your toilet tank with Scrubbing Bubbles, hoping someone would see it and rescue me. But then you just flushed and whoosh! It was gone. Leaving me floating here, alone in a sea of sparkling blue toilet water, with nothing to do but think of what a waste my life has been.

You think I’m proud to be the Captain of a toilet dinghy? It’s humiliating! I come from a long line of famous maritime heroes. My great-grandfather was Cap’n Crunch, sailing the high seas, doing battle with Jean LaFoote, the barefoot pirate. My grandfather? The Gorton’s Fisherman. What a provider! Every night, he brought home the fish sticks. And my father, the Old Spice Sailor. He wanted me to join the navy, like my brother, Sailor Jack. He’s rich now, rolling in Cracker Jack prizes. But I got an offer from Ty-D-Bol, and I took it. Now look at me. Useless. Sure, I’m a captain. I’ve still got my captain’s hat, and my dinghy. I could perform a wedding, but who wants to get married in a toilet? No one, that’s who. I’ll die alone in your tank, and no one will ever know. Unless, by some miracle, someone finds this note I’m putting in this bottle. If you do, tell my wife and kids I love them. And tell them, don’t drink the Ty-D-Bol water. Sure, it looks great – beautiful Caribbean blue – but it’s full of chemicals.

Farewell, ungrateful person with a sparkling, clean toilet! Tell the world my story!

Dumpty: a hard-boiled cop with a past, and other bad ideas for TV shows

With all the classic literature being “reimagined” for TV these days – from Grimm to Sleepy Hollow – it’s just a matter of time before the networks go back to the library for more. Well, when they do, we’ll be ready with a few really bad ideas. Observe:

Moby-Dick Dynasty – (Reality) In the town of New Bedford, Mass., the bearded ancestors of Captain Ahab operate a burgeoning peg leg business.

Dumpty – (Drama) Hard-boiled New Orleans detective Dan Dumpty, a brilliant but troubled modern-day ancestor of Humpty Dumpty, learns he is descended from a line of tough-yet-fragile fighters who must do battle against an assortment of dangerous fairy tale characters come to life, while also dealing with his crippling fear of heights. In the pilot, “The Big Over Easy,” Dumpty investigates the mysterious death of George Porgie. The investigation leads Dumpty to Muffet, a beautiful but troubled young woman with a tuffet and an affinity for curds and whey who had filed a restraining order against Porgie, whose unwanted advances had made her cry. Can Dumpty crack the case before it cracks him?     

Beans – (Drama) Beautiful, brilliant but troubled Portland Homicide Detective Jackie “Beans” Beanstalk, who has somehow risen to the rank of Homicide Detective at the age of 22 despite suffering from severe Tourettes Syndrome, learns from her mother on her deathbed that she is the last remaining direct descendent of Jack, the brave lad from the fairy tale “Jack and the Beanstalk.” With her last breath, her mother gives her a handful of “magic beans” -- which hold the key to the universe -- to guard from an “evil giant.” In the pilot, Jackie meets a brilliant but troubled young man named Goose who lays “golden eggs” in his pants. 

Don QuixHottie – (Reality) A group of crazy Spaniards move in to an abandoned windmill where they vie to be Spain’s next top male model.

Shaqula – (Horror) A new take on Bram Stoker’s classic novel. Shaquille O’Neal stars as the NBA’s newest sensation – an ageless, 7-foot-tall Romanian who mesmerizes America with his seemingly unstoppable moves, yet he still can’t make a free-throw.

The Bridezilla of Frankenstein – (Reality) The reanimated beehived beauty is getting married, and the wedding is spiraling out of control.

Little Women, Big World – (Reality) The trials and tribulations of a widowed dwarf and her three undersized daughters.

Crime & Punishment: SVU – (Drama) Dick Wolf’s new police procedural follows the exploits of Russian Detective Porfiry of the Moscow PD, who investigates cases in the show's first half hour, followed in the second half hour by the criminals -- tormented by guilt -- confessing and being sent to Siberia.

Tonya and the Exploding Whale

Today is a very special day in Oregon history. Very special. In fact, we’re going to go out on a limb and say that it’s probably THE most special day in Oregon history. EVER!!! Why? Because on this day, November 12, the two most fantastic things that have ever occurred in the state of Oregon happened, and they happened on the same day: November 12, 1970. A day that will live in infamy. And hilarity. Call it Infalarity. Or Hilaramy. Whatever. But 43 years ago today, on November 12, 1970, at 3:45 p.m., the famous Exploding Whale – yes, THAT exploding whale -- was blown up on the Oregon coast, in Florence. Meanwhile, in Portland, some 132 miles away as the exploding whale blubber flies, Tonya Harding was born.

Think about that for a moment. While the plunger was being pushed in Florence, turning a 45-foot-long dead sperm whale into exploding chum that slimed everything for miles, Tonya, our famous knee-whacking, hubcap hurling, transvestite-wrestling, professional boxing, unintentional sex tape star-slash-Olympic figure skater was being born.

Now, we know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Well, if this doesn’t put the dunce in coincidunce.” And then the second thing you’re thinking is, “Why hasn’t anyone, anyplace, at any time, ever mentioned this amazing coincidence before, and more importantly, where are our Tonya-and-the Exploding Whale limericks?”

Well, our long, local nightmare is over. Here they are, a handful of awful, no-good, very bad Happy Birthday, Tonya and Happy Anniversary, Exploding Whale limericks. Enjoy:

Happy Birthday to our ice-skating hick
A triple axel, you one time did stick
But then your life got unruly
Thanks, in part, to Gillooly
You were born the same day they blew up Moby Dick?

You skated to fame and became a knee-clubber
Fought Paula Jones in the ring and you drubbed her
You threw hubcaps at guys
I guess it would be no surprise
To find, being born, you were hit by a chunk of whale blubber

Tonya, some compared you to trash that is white
And your choices haven’t always been bright
At least you (mostly) stayed out of jail
And made out better than the whale
Hope your birthday is pure Dynomite!

You made Nancy Kerrigan cry
And grab at her knee wailing “Why, why, why?”
From the day you were born
You’ve dodged judgment and scorn
And chunks of dead whale from the sky

Twas the Night Before Halloween

Twas the night before Halloween

At the Wedgester’s apartment

But Wedgie wasn’t saying boo

‘cause he was behind in the rent

So he turned out the lights
And sat in the dark like a dummy

Just sat there all night

As quiet as a mummy

Until the sun came up

On Halloween morn

Still Wedgester just sat there

Eating Tootsie Rolls and Candy Corn

Then from outside his door

There arose such a din

He thought it was the aliens

Come to probe him again

He crept to the door

And peered through his peephole

And what he saw in the hall

Sent a chill through his soul

‘Cross the hallway he spied

Some trick-or-treaters there lurking

One dressed as Miley Cyrus

So painfully twerking

Behind her another  
costumed even stranger

‘twas Anthony Weiner

Dressed as Carlos Danger

A mustachioed guy in a beret
with a gun gave him a jolt

Dressed like a sprinter

With a sash that read: Saddam Hussein Bolt  

There’s the new Pope, Francis
In pointy hat and fancy nighty

And Breaking Bad’s Walter White

In gas mask and tighty-whiteys

Then Silvio Berlusconi
With a blonde and some fettuccine alfredo
And right behind them came a guy
Dressed as a Sharknado

There, of course, was a pirate
Hopping around on a stump
And someone dressed as a pregnant belly --
Kim Kardashian’s baby bump

And two hours late,
Justin Bieber, looking so swank
With a pet monkey on a leash
And a Belieber – Anne Frank

Finally, when all the trick or treaters
Had come and had gone
Wedgester, still at the peephole,
Stifling a yawn

Saw a giant orange head

With a grin that was insaner

Than a barrel of chimps

Wedgester threw open his door and cried out, “John Boehner?”

But it wasn’t the Speaker

‘Twas just his landlord

Carrying a pumpkin he’d carved

Into a decorative gourd

His landlord said, “Ain’t she a beaut?

I hand-carved and hand-picked it.

And then I just dropped by

To say you’re evicted.”

Wedgester gave up the ghost
And shuffled down to the dumpster
Crawled in and went to sleep in a puddle

Of what he hoped was Worcestershire

A little while later he awoke

And knew it was all a bad dream

For his butt was quite sore

And an alien, looking down, said, “Happy Halloween!”