James Brown's Last Will and Testament

I, James Brown HAH! being of sound UH! mind and body, do OWWW! HIT ME! Get up, get on up; get down, into the ground! HUH! HIT ME!

I hereby bequeath my SEX MACHINE! OWWW! to the citizens of New Orleans (New Orleans!), Detroit City (Detroit City!), Dallas (Dallas!), Pittsburgh P.A. (Pittsburgh P.A.), New York City (New York City), Kansas City (Kansas City), Atlanta (Atlanta), Chicago, and L.A.!

I no longer FEEL GOOD! HAH! HIT THIS! Thusly, on the occasion of my passing, I would like to establish a financial trust to COUNT IT OFF! ONE! TWO! THREE! HIT ME! HUH! OWW! OPEN CASKET! GET UP!

IN THE SOIL! DIG IT! ROCK TO ROCK! ASHES TO ASHES! DUST TO DUST! LEMME HEAR IT NOW! OK fellas, when I count down, let the undertaker GET FUNKY! Super highways, coast to coast, easy to get anywhere on the transcontinental overload. OW! HUH!

Smokestack, fatback, many miles of railroad track HAH! UHH! HIT ME! Rolled-up ham and various COLD-CUTS at my wake! OWWW! AHHH! GET BACK NOW! My wishes are such that I require two days of public viewing in ATLANTA! HEAR IT NOW! BREAK IT DOWN FOR ME! EYE TO EYE! COAST TO COAST!

In summary, my estate retains proper remuneration to provide for all known heirs and we're gonna HAVE A BALL sure as you're born. I'M GONNA DANCE, DANCE, DANCE DO THE POPCORN!

Signed, witnessed, and legally attested to,
James Joseph Brown, Jr.

Just about the funniest damn thing I've ever seen

This is Charlie Callas, an American master, telling a joke whose punchline doesn't really matter by the time you get there.

I lost my shit on the pantomime rotary dialing, and never found it again.

Last minute gift ideas

With any respectable person celebrating Christmas in a matter of days (sorry Jews!), I'm sure that many are looking for late scores when shopping for gifts at increasingly-stripped mall racks. Looking for a cashmere muffler? Go fucketh oneself. Interested in a Nintendo DS? SsssssssSUCKA! Shoulda got here a fortnight ago, Michael Richards!

What is one to do? Well, I asked myself that same question, thinking about all the poor bastards out there facing shoddy Christmas present options. That's why I decided to do something about it.

In the course of my research (read: a superfluous glossy circular that fell out of my morning paper), I have discerned that the most heavily hawked items this Christmas season turn out to be celebrity fragrances.


Take Sarah Jessica Parker's "Horseface," for instance. I mean, the list of themed scents goes on and on, but what that list tells us is that middling cable actors want Macy's shoppers to smell like they're married to a barely closeted man-boy.

Rather than adopt an adversarial tack this year, I've decided to give in to the pressure and license out the Bill Scurry/AmericanCaesar brand vis-a-vis a delightfully cromulent new cologne for men.

I like to call it... FEET.


Now don't sweat it, it doesn't actually smell like feet... although it doesn't smell much better than feet. In working with ConHugeCo, my go-to multinational conglomerate that handles all fossil fuel-based transactions for AmericanCaesar Enterprises, we decided to go down any number of alternative routes that "Big Aroma" dares not tread. ACE's "FEET" contains the following scents/smells/noxious fumes:

-Notes of bacon
-Hints of goldfish
-A sour, penny-like taste
-Basil... I guess
-A tincture of Dristan
-Wesson
-Matchheads (spent)
-Envelope glue
-Oh yeah, and feet.

The MSRP on this bitch is $89.95 (yanqui dollars), but you do score a three-quart paper carton of the stuff for your money, in a container not altogether unlike what you buy 2% milk in. In fact, we're experimenting with running photos of missing children on the side. Only as a joke -- the kids will be making funny faces. It's all good, we're not heartless here.

Dick in a Box

This is the new shit from the guys who cooked up "Lazy Sunday," Lonely Island. This time, Justin Timberlake plays along, and I have to say that this kid has a great sense of humor. The two best SNLs in recent memory were the ones he's hosted.

I deny lunch

I just got back from Tehran a few days ago, where I was a keynote speaker at the two-day conference on refuting the Holocaust. In addition to bringing up the fact that we just don't know what those gas chambers in Poland were actually used for, I also asserted that perhaps all Hitler and the German army were really interested in was delivering bundles of pretty, aromatic flowers throughout Europe. But, that's not what I want to talk about today. There is something much more serious that begs discussion, something most of the so-called "intellectual West" won't even begin to touch with their "enlightened viewpoint" and supposed allowance for equal time on all subjects.

I'm talking about lunch. I deny lunch.

There's no factual basis that it ever happened. All we ever hear is that it was served on plates and it was accompanied by a cream soda. Now, this is the narrow view of a select group of people for whom it serves an overrriding interest. In order to maintain a certain, how shall we say, world climate conducive to their aims, these same groups perpetuate the myth that there was a folded napkin wrapped around a knife, fork, and spoon accompanying lunch service.

But we know better than that. We know that there is no record of a knife being present at any lunch, especially one that was not served in the first place. This is base intellectual dishonesty and pure pish-tosh, the worst kind of smokescreen these interests generate to avoid the truth on the issue.

There was no delicious, crispy pickle on the side. The wheat bread was not toasted to perfection. The turkey club sandwich was not served in four sliced wedges, each with a decorative sword toothpick through the top. The scoop of potato salad was not the option over a handful of fresh potato chips, and it was not made with skin-on russet potatoes.

These are all lies that people have been fed for decades.

To whit, there was not a sprig of parsley intended as a garnish on the margin of the dish. Also, we did not remove a packet of Equal sweetener after the meal was finished and fold the rumpled trim into various shapes. And by no means was the waitress tipped in excess of the 15-percent gratuity because she took the time to refill the beverages again and again.

Prevarication. Apocryphal calumnies, all. Why is the world so afraid the stand up to these people, these lunchers, and say We Will No Longer Believe Your Lies? Why do I and my intellectual brethren have to travel to that Denny's off the 405 to be heard? Maybe we're hitting a nerve.

Accordingly, the slice of Reese's Peanut Butter cheesecake was not exquisite, and it wasn't served with a scoop of rum raisin ice cream.

Fun: A work in progress

One hell of a trip to Walt Disney World. Notes along the way...

The big landmark castle was almost constantly being fussed with by a giant crane. I think Mickey has a more concerted rebuilding plan than the morons in charge of the World Trade Center rebuilding effort.

The mirth was obvious and abounding. And so forth. Janice's head looks very funny while adorned this way.

It's a shmoopie sandwich, and Pooh's the meat! We ate at so-called character breakfasts as often as we could rob other families of their reservations, and were usually the only childless folks in the house. That made us the only people in the room who still have sex and piles of that cash we "childless-by-choice" folks use to promulgate abortions on teenagers.

At the same breakfast: this portly dude behind my pumpkin-like cranium was awesome -- he was traveling solo, about 40 years old, with a shock of white hair, and each day we saw him he was wearing a different New Wave tee; first Depeche Mode, then the Smiths, and so on. We named him "Evan."

When I misbehave, I get pilloried for all to see in the center of town. Consequently, I must also put the lotion in the basket, or I get the hose again.

Taking a break with my imaginary improv pipe, waiting for my steamboat to pull in.

Our favorite place, the closest thing there is to church for godless bastards -- Space Mountain.

Taking aim at passers-by outside of Tom Sawyer's fort...

"Oh, hi! You've caught me in the middle of an assassination!"

Things were going great during the meet and greet under the Ewok village until...

I must have said something to tick the Lord of the Sith off, because he got a little frisky with me.

The wife was pulled out of the crowd at Epcot the participate in a little wacky street theatre with the Brits.

The nightly parade was wicked... how do they do this twice a night?

Central Florida isn't a very Jewey place to begin with, I realize, but this was the ONLY bit of recognition that there are other faiths on planet Earth.

The "Fantasmic" show, 25 minutes of special effects like broadcasting movies onto waterfalls and setting a lake on fire. On fire?! It's water for chrissakes... how do that do that?

Hanging out on the roofdeck of the Contemporary, watching fireworks from 20 stories above.

Expedition Everest, a fairly awesome new coaster at the Animal Kingdom. Foreground: the man who rides it.

Janice finally made a monkey out of me.

Why come back home? Life on the dying world is only bearable so long as I have a belly full of Haribo gummies and a Splash Mountain fastpass in my hand. Someone feed me some sleeping pills and applesauce! I'm coming home, Marshall Applewhite! Where are my black Nike high-tops?

I have heard of a kingdom....

There's nothing better in life than doing things at the age of 31 that you were supposed to have done at the age of six. More to come, including me getting choked by Darth Vader.

Stick around folks, we have a great show for you tonight.

Gotta git

Off to the Happiest Swamp On Earth... back 12/10. Stay off my lawn, you kids.