That is the only possible explanation for NBC officially naming Jimmy Fallon as the heir to the Late Show with Conan O’Brien. I understand, promote from within. The guy works at NBC…if you count being a completely average member of arguably the weakest cast in SNL history. We’re not even comparing apples to apples here, people. It’s like comparing apples to unlubricated anal rape. How dare you, NBC. How dare you take hilarious Conan and replace him with Jimmy fucking Fallon. If I were the head of late night programming at NBC and you walked into my office and told me that Conan wanted out and we had to find a replacement, I would put my thumbs in my $100 suspenders and turn to the floor-to-ceiling window behind me for a moment, then turn back around to you and say, “Get me Jimmy Fallon.” Then we would both laugh hysterically and I’d pour us some 12-year-old Scotch. Seriously, I cannot think of anyone worse for this job than Fallon.

Rather than blab on and on about how incredibly unfunny Fallon is, I would like to offer an brief analysis of his resume. He is, of course, taking a new job, and as with any applicant, deserves scrutiny.

2004 - Taxi - Plays protagonist opposite Queen…Latifah. Well, shit. Below is a comment from the IMDB viewer reviews that I think sums it up.

“If you were able to see the whole movie in 5 minutes, it wouldn’t be worth the time. “

2005 - Fever Pitch - Plays douchey love interest of Drew…Barrymore. Jimmy! Come on! Like Sox fans haven’t had it hard enough. They just won the Series the year before and you have to immediately shit on their parade with this awful movie.

These are the only movies in his repertoire you would recognize, but Fallon truly is the total package. No great job goes unnoticed and Jimmy has the award (nominations) to prove it. He has been nominated for 11, count them, 11 Teen Choice awards. He has won zero. I couldn’t make a joke like that up. It’s a fact. Even teens know he sucks. They may huff pressurized air from a can to get high or even sniff a jar of sun-fermented shit and pee, but they know to steer clear of a tool like Fallon

Unfortunately, it seems like the days of random Chuck Norris clips and great characters like the Coked-Up Werewolf, Vomiting Kermit, and the Masturbating Bear are behind us. Don’t even get me started on the Max Weinberg Seven. NBC, buy promoting Fallon, you have may not have guaranteed success at the late night time slot, but you have guaranteed that nearly everyone in your target demographic will be tuning into something other than dipshit Jimmy Fallon, laughing at his own jokes for a hour.

Hold the phone. Daniel Smith? Son of Anna Nicole Smith? Drug use? I swear to God. You think you know someone from what you see on Access Hollywood and then this happens. I mean, one minute he’s a totally normal guy with a blossoming perscription drug habit, dealing with a junkie mom who would probably sell one of his kidneys for a handful of Vicodin and two KFC Snackers, and the next minute he’s dead from a possible drug overdose. What are the odds?

It was pretty obvious to anyone who doesn’t live in the Bahamas that this kid probably OD’d, whether it be accidentally or on purpose. We’ve all been there, right? “Oh, man, did I already take two or did I eat one? Fuck it.” The you wake up choking on your own vomit; the guy who sat next you at the Phish show pounding on your chest. No harm , no foul. It took the Bahemians six months to come to a ruling of death by ‘nondependent use of drugs’ Anti-depressants, methadone, and sleeping pills. These are not what your parents would call ‘gateway drugs’. This is not the stuff you buy from the guy who washes dishes at the restaurant where you work. Six months. I think we’re way past sneaking beers from dad’s garage fridge and smoking a bowl before you see Soul Plane.

Their options for a verdict were ‘Accidental overdose’, ‘Nondependent drug use’, ‘Misadventure’, and ‘Open Verdict’. When given the choices of “Oops, he OD’d”, “Well, he was sort of into that shit anyway”, “He probably fell off of something”, and “Oh, this is courtroom 12B? I’m trying to register my boat”, they really did choose the best option. Maybe they felt they were doing him a favor. Having Anna Nicole as a mom for the last 20 years was probably pretty rough. It would be like sharing a house with a tranq’d rhino. I mean, you know her vision in based on movement, so you could sneak around, but sooner or later, you’re going to trip over a empty can of beef broth or slip on a Slim Jim wrapper or something and rouse her. At least the Bahemians did the respectable thing and posthumously cut the kid a break. Sort of like if you died from autoerotic asphyxiation, you’d want your roommate to make it look like you washed down a mouthful of Loritabs with vodka, rather than accidentally hung yourself while wacking it to tranny porn.

It is a widely accepted fact that baseball is America’s national pastime. From a very early age boys are indoctrinated to love the sport in much the same way that pavlov’s dogs were taught to salivate at the sound of the dinner bell. Every time I hear the voice of Joe Buck, or Jon Miller, or Tim McCarver, or even the dulcet tones and sage wisdom of Joe Morgan, my ears perk up like Amy Winehouse after her morning “cup of coffee”. My focus is instantly drawn to the television or radio, and I am powerless against it. This is the strength of the national pastime in a typical man’s life. I love almost everything about baseball; in fact, there are only two things about it that I don’t love. First, I don’t like the fact that it ends. I know, ESPN will keep beating us up with offseason happenings until the first of April when the next season starts, but it isn’t really good enough. Second, I dislike the fact that everyone isn’t able to participate. Though I love the sport, I was never very good at it, and I am physically unable to play it now.

A national pastime is nothing to be taken lightly. It is your national identity through sport. It lets the world know a little bit about the character of your people. That is why, as of today, my new favorite people are the Scottish. Those brilliant, hard working Scots have come up with a national pastime that can please everyone, from the crustiest, most cirrhosis ridden sea dog to the most innocent 8 year old, sneaking his first sip of gin from grandma’s liquor cabinet. Thats right, Scotland’s Government Minister has declared drinking Scotland’s National Sport. Now, unfortunately, he also says its a problem, but then, our government said steroids are a problem and major league ball parks have never been fuller. I, for one, am tipping my glass to the entire country of Scotland tonight. At least Scotland has a national sport that even the very crippled and retarded can play.
So you just keep drinking it like they are going to stop making it, Scotland. Remember, everybody has to die of something, so you may as well die doing something you love. If that happens to be binge drinking like a sorority girl at her first frat party, then more power to you.

This old German guy gets my vote for Hardass of the Year.  I don’t like the airport security rules any more than you do, but this dude really sticks it to the man.  “Pour out my vodka?  Fuck you, I’ll chug it!”  Well played, sir.  I’m wondering how long it took for this guy to pound a liter of vodka.  I mean, even to chug a liter of water would give security enough time to knock it out of his hand or intervene or something.  Those Germans do love their hooch.  Did security just stare at him, mouths agape in shock and awe?  Did they encourage him by chanting the German equivalent of “Chug”?  Did they persecute him for his religious beliefs, imprison him for years without trial, and execute him shortly before he starved to death?  Eh?  Too soon?  Sorry, Germany.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen plenty of people chug vodka.  But to really up the ante and and chug it in an airport, in front of security, after being told that you had to throw it away takes a huge, saggy pair of balls.  Kudos to, you old man.  Remember, friends, nothing says “Happy Holidays” like, and I quote,  possibly life-threatening alcohol poisoning.

Happy Christmas.

Dammit, CNN.  What happened to you?  You used to be the beacon of hope in a dark world of sensational journalism.  Others shot from the hip and created pandemonium about nothing; just to sell ads.  You took careful aim and reported the facts on issues that mattered.  Then you go and do this. 

I know you didn’t report it first.  I know you got it from Reuter’s.  That doesn’t make it any better.  That’s like giving your wife the herp you got from a Thai hooker and blaming the hooker.  There are so many things wrong with this article; I’m not sure where to begin.  First things first.  Admittedly, dinosaurs do fucking rule, but there hasn’t been a dinosaur movie out since 2001; and that’s if you want to count Jurassic Park III.  Hence, America doesn’t care.  Secondly, soccer sucks a whole bag of dicks.  A.  Whole.  Bag.  Therefore, soccer players…you get the idea.  Plus, he’s British.  Now, I don’t watch much TV, but I understand that apparently this 150 pound metrosexual is some sort of deity to soccer fans, especially the Brits.  This skinny bastard and his plastic wife make the move across the pond to the land of apple pie, baseball, and Affirmative Action and the media goes ape shit.  ‘Beckham Parties With Diddy’.  ‘Beckham Dances With Angelina’.  ‘Beckham Gets Outrun By Dinosaurs’.  When will it end?  Beckham plays for the Galaxy and is supposed to be the spark that ignites the soccer sensation in America.  Californians are weird, but they aren’t stupid.  It would have to rain cocaine and blow jobs for people in LA to fill the Home Depot Center and watch these fools run around for two hours and culminate in an exciting full-time score of 1-0.

Now, this study was conducted in England, at the University of Manchester.  If the British would take five minutes away from sucking each other’s dicks about how great nationalized healthcare is, I think they’d be pretty pissed that some Paleontologist jerk offs at a major university blew time and money researching how fast dinosaurs could run… 65 million years ago.  I’m not sure how many pounds it costs to work through the scientific method and arrive at the conclusion that an an animal that is 15 feet tall could outrun a human male.  Honestly, as far as the animal kingdom is concerned, humans aren’t exactly the most fleet of foot.  But, the British are a headstrong breed and will spare no expense to discover the answers to the planet Earth’s most legendary mysteries.  Look, England, you really used to kick ass.  The world’s most powerful navy.  An empire that extended into Africa the Indian subcontinent.  Elizabeth Hurley.  But, since about 1939 it’s been a slippery slope.  You were months away from speaking German and drinking piss-warm Warsteiner for the rest of your days.  You got a bit haughty with the whole tea trade/rape the native land operation.  And Elizabeth Hurley starred in a goddamn Benden Fraser movie.  Kiss of death, man. 

So, CNN, please don’t bring this weak shit.  You’re better than that.  Focus on the hard-hitting stuff.  The secret wars,  rising gas prices, political strife in countries I’ve never heard of.  No more fluff.  But, so help me, if I’m not the first to know when Monkey Bone 2 is in production…it’s your ass.

Most people have heard, seen or read about David Munis, a National Guard sergeant who was wanted in the sniping death of his singer wife, who was shot on stage over the weekend in Cheyenne, Wyoming. He and his wife Robin were in the middle of divorce proceedings, and apparently David was going batshit insane with obsessive, stalking behavior.

One of Robin’s performing partners, commenting on her death said, “This part of her head was just, was absolute — was gone.” The shot was carefully executed from quite a distance, and Mr. Munis had extensive sniper training in the military. Why is it, then, that he executed his wife with a headshot, but died at the hospital after shooting himself in the chest? It’s because when it comes down to it, he’s a bleeding, gaping, roast beef curtain vagina. If you’re going to have the stones to murder your soon-to-be ex-wife in cold blood, and then decide to take the pussy’s way out and take your own life, at least sack up and do it efficiently. Use a well-tied noose and snap your neck, or wrap your lips around one of your prized firearms, mumble “goodbye, cruel world” (which sounds like “good guy, cool Earl”) and suck-start the business end of your rifle all the way to Hell.

I’m glad I’m not an EMT, because putting in the effort to save this shmuck’s existence would not have received my best effort.

While I can nearly guarantee that this will be a brief first entry, it truly has the possibility of being a lengthy one. There are phrases and words we hear on a daily basis that were cool or hip for all of 20 minutes before they, like any successful music single, become played out faster than you can say “That’s hot”. Most of these can be traced back to some overpaid celebrity or a tv show developing a cult-like following. Below is a brief sampling, beginning with probably the most infuriating quote of all.

• “I’m Rick James, bitch!” No. You’re not. You’re Jeffrey Thomas. You’re white and overweight. You’re not funny, and most importantly, you’re still alive (for the time being). If you gave anybody’s titties two thumbs down, you would soon receive 1 broken jaw from her boyfriend. The only person more sick of hearing these words nearly 3 years after the fact is Dave Chappelle.
• “That’s hot.” Thank you, Paris Hilton, for using your extensive spoiled whore vocabulary to provide the world with such pearls of wisdom. Emulating you is easier than getting in your pants, which is apparently so easy a caveman could do it. The only less profound statement that could resonate from your mouth is “I swallow”.
• “Is that your final answer?” Yes, that’s my final answer. And this is the blunt end of a Smith & Wesson. Is that the final time you’re going to say that?
• “I heart _____” I heart to penis some vagina, but I prefer not to sound like a functional retard when talking about it, so I refrain from using faux verbs that make me sound like a 3rd grader.
• “We’re bff.” It’s frowned upon but acceptable in Instant Messaging and even E-mails, but using acronyms like this (along with LOL, BRB and dozens of others) orally should warrant oral sexual assault as punishment.
• “That’s how I roll.” If you don’t have an entourage and a bulletproof Escalade, then you don’t roll. What it is is your opinion/lifestyle, and the fact that you just spewed this shit from your mouth means that nobody takes it seriously.

I’ve blown my load on this rant a little quicker than I anticipated, though I’m sure there are dozens of other catchphrases that make me want to punt a kitten. More to come soon, I’m sure.