Extreme Makeover: TV Edition

To: Phinel.petitfrere@abc.com, extremehomes@hotmail.com
Subject: Some Free Advice

I read your memo for EMHE. You are really not thinking outside the box when it comes to some of the available tribulations. How about looking for some families dealing with:

Necrotizing fasciitis, the "flesh-eating bacteria."

Leprosy.

Halitosis... really, really bad breath.

The whole spectrum of dependency: not just drugs and alcohol, but Internet/porn/sex addictions as well.

Excessive earwax.

An "ugly duckling"... a beautiful family with one child who is ugly as sin, but otherwise healthy.

Finally, I know you have made several unsuccessful attempts at this in the past, but can you put some effort behind having a terminally ill family member actually die during the week? This is clearly something to save for sweeps.

Yours,
B.V.

The Valentine Audio Archives

I signed up for the Google Page Creator, and now have 100 megs of space to play with. I initially set up a homepage, but I realized the primary purpose was to have a place for the random audio files in my archives that I've wanted to post, but could not. I can post images in the blog, and video files on video.google.com, but there was no place for audio files.

I'm not starting a podcast, mind you. I have played around with audio as a hobby, and have things I sometimes want to share.

In the end, I think I'll kill any actual published website, and just use the space to house the audio files which I'll link to here. Until then, you can find links to an old ad I cut from my college radio days in the mid-90s, as well as a fake political radio ad I made in 2000.

My Biography of L. Ron Hubbard

These are all actual images taken from the Church of Scientology's official website biography of Hubbard. The words are my own interpretation of the images.

While I cannot be certain that these events happened, they certainly would explain a lot...


The Biography of L. Ron Hubbard - Part 1

For the first ten years of his life, L. Ron Hubbard was raised in a windowless room. His only source of entertainment was an old worn copy of Samuel Taylor Coleridge poems.

At the age of 12, L. Ron Hubbard made the aquaintance of a man he only ever knew as "Cap'n Lance."

Cap'n Lance explained to the young man much of life's mysteries: about the lonesomeness of a man's life aboard ship. He also taught Hubbard quite a bit about seamen.

Accounts conflict as to whether "Cap'n" Lance was actually affiliated with any of the armed services, or if he had ever actually been on a boat.

However, the young Hubbard grew fond of his mentor, although their occassional tussle left him, in his own words, "awful sore."

Shortly after his 13th birthday, L. Ron was sent on a long educational overseas trip by his parents to, in his father's words "try to stop being such a candy-ass."

Upon arrival, he was quickly kidnapped and sold to people he believed were Buddhist monks, for whom he worked as a piece of furniture.

After several months, the monks took pity on him and told him they would teach him the secrets of the Shaolin Temple. Of course, they were not in the Shaolin Temple, and had no training in martial arts. They were, however, accomplished puppeteers.

Hubbard found himself under the tutelage of Master Fuque, a 12-level black-belt puppeteer.

Fuque had such advanced mastery in the marionette arts, he had abandoned traditional puppets, and was only interested in dangling a ball from a string on a stick.

Hubbard was amazed and awestruck by how the Master made the ball dance. He did nothing but watch the orb flit around the Master's head for hours on end, for many months.

Of course, he learned nothing during that time, but it was an experience he would never forget.

Eventually, the insane asylum was shut down on health code violations, and Chinese government officials were surprised to discover Hubbard living with the inmates. Confiscating his beret, they issued him a pith helmet and cast him adrift in a lifeboat in the South Seas.

His boat came ashore on an uncharted Polynesian island. L. Ron befriended a young native boy, whom he affectionately called Boo-Boo.

Boo-Boo set Hubbard up in a small cave, and each day would bring him a handful of what smelled like poi. In exchange, L. Ron would launder Boo-Boo's skirts, which were easily soiled.



Here ends part 1 of the my imagined biography of L. Ron Hubbard. There are still plenty of terrible images on their website for a part 2, including Hubbard's time spent at Hogwarts:








Don't blame me, its the Body Thetans.




By the way, if you want to watch the South Park episode explaining all you need to know about Scientology,you can watch it here.

Warning Signs

If any or all of the following symptons appear, discontinue use and contact a physician:

Blurred Vision

Nausea

Headache

Everyone assumes (however incorrectly) that the barf in the bathtub is yours.

Cramps

Bloating

Frequent Urination

The forced consumption of one and only one fried cheesestick at 2AM followed by uncontrollable moaning.

Rash and/or hives

Dropping your wallet in a urinal.

The spins.

Enthusiastically performing "The Time Warp," including lyrics and motions, at a piano bar.

Discussing the all-you-can-eat porn option on the hotel Spectravision for $29.99, versus the single title for $12.99, you comment to your WIFE, "Call down to the front desk and ask them how much for just five or ten minutes."

Learning that the local CVS Pharmacy is also a liquour store sounds like a good idea, because if you are thinking of mixing your prescription meds with high proof alcohol, you really don't want to have to make two trips.

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Kentucky's distilleries thank you for your continued support and remind you to: Know when to say "make my next one a double."
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Sent from my wireless

Tgifridyas

Chickn tenders and stuff

Don't think I'll be conScious to enjoy.

Hey shakira is on SNL. 

This is a bad idea.

Perjaps I'Ll hold on to remember the wiisdom that sometimes clarity springs from obfuscation.

That's total bullshit.  I don't know what I'm talkking about.

Bourbon Sucks.
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Sent from my wireless

World baeseball

The wrold baseball classic will save mankind.   Mark my words.

God am I drunk.
 Fc

C sometimes oh jesus I think the world wiLl end wihtout knowing....


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Sent from my wireless

Thingd that broke my shit up

Ok I'm drunk, at fourth dtreet live in lousivellie.

So what?  What are you doing toinght?

My mother-in -law sang "I'm proud to be an american" by lee greenwood at a high school talent show.

My wife's uncle is blowing chunks in a hotel room.

I'm discussing the avdantages of qwerty keyoboards with the groom's father.

So what?

Who are you to judge me?
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Sent from my wireless

The Voice of Reason

Following Isaac Hayes' departure from the cast of South Park, the Scientologists have been putting pressure on Comedy Central about the "Trapped in the Closet" episode. Comedy Central recently decided to pull a re-air of the episode.

Daily Variety covers this skirmish, including the amusing press release Parker and Stone put out, in response:

"So, Scientology, you may have won THIS battle, but the million-year war for earth has just begun! Temporarily anozinizing our episode will NOT stop us from keeping Thetans forever trapped in your pitiful man-bodies. Curses and drat! You have obstructed us for now, but your feeble bid to save humanity will fail! Hail Xenu!!!"

The duo signed the statement "Trey Parker and Matt Stone, servants of the dark lord Xenu."











This just about confirms their status as our nation's top satirists.

The Scum and The Furry

Warning: the following account is not for the squeamish.

Two days ago, I pulled a slimy, hairy smelly rat by its tail, out of my shower drain.

Hooked?  OK, it wasn't really a rat, but all of the other descriptors apply, and it had roughly the same proportions as one.

The water had been draining much too slowly in our shower for a few days, and Sunday was my first opportunity to do a little fishing. 

Going after a clog with a drain-snake is a lot like fishing, actually:  You get really drunk, keep casting a line into the water, and reel in too quickly a couple times thinking you have a nibble.  And when you finally do catch something, you call your fishing partner (wife in this case) over to examine your catch and heap accolades upon you.

In this case, the praise I was given consisted of, "Oh, that's disgusting," "That makes me want to throw up," and "Why do you think I would want to see that?"  Frankly, I am used to these phrases from other interactions with Mrs. Valentine.

Anyway, I tossed the mucky blob into the trash, and smugly thought that was the end.  Surely that gray/black sac of rot was the cause of the slow drainage, and our shower will empty quickly for years to come.  How wrong I was.

The shower was no better yesterday morning.  Not worse, but not better.  Another decaying tangle of follicles, perhaps?  Tonight, I went back in to investigate.

For those of you still hanging in there and reading this at lunch time, put down you greasy pork sandwich for a moment.  Its about to get really gross.

Several thorough attempts at snaking produced nothing, not even the sort of "nibble" or trace evidence suggesting I was on the right track.

Then I produced a plunger, with the thought I could blast down whatever it was I seemed incapable of dragging up.  I ran the shower for a minute to let the drain back-up and given me a half-inch of standing water.  Then I started plunging down vigorously.

Here's an interesting physics lesson I had forgotten since high school: while I increased the pressure in the pipe when I pushed down, I created a vacuum in the pipe when I pulled up.  Specifically, the lesson is that nature abhors a vacuum, and when it spots one, it fills the vacuum with gray fetid water and brownish flakes of pure slime.  All of which started to come out of the drain and into the shower stall.

I was initially taken aback by this development, but in a Malcom-Gladwellian "blink," quickly decided that a half-inch of putrescence must be a sign of progress. 

Continuing my intense plunging action, I drew more of the flabby slices of goo out of the drain, occasionally pausing to scoop a few of the bigger ones out so they wouldn't go back down.  In the bathroom, the other open lines to the sewer (bath tub drain, two sinks, and toilet), all gurgled a demonic chorus in response to the rite of the plumber-exorcist.

And like Linda Blair's pea soup vomit on Von Sydow's face, a little of the liquid evil I was attacking hit me in the kisser.  It tasted like death and Clairol conditioner.

I needed a moment to regroup.  Despite having pulled up a fair amount of the plaque, the water was not draining when I stopped plunging, not even slowly as it had before.

It was time for chemical warfare.  While I have had mixed success with drain purging supplements, I thought a visit to the store was appropriate.

Spitting compulsively, as I would for the next 30 minutes, I drove to the store and perused the cleaning aisle.  Concerned that a simple lye-based product would not work, because whatever this blockage was it was not simply hair that I could chemicially transform into soap, I was willing to try something more radical.

Then I saw it: Liquid Plumber Power Jet.  A pressurized canister containing a weaponized grade of gook-fighting foam, that you place directly over the drain and allow the ENTIRE contents to expode out in a matter of seconds.

They might as well call it a Can of Whoop-Ass.

Returning home, I sealed the drain to the bath tub, and positioned the Can of W.A. over the shower drain and pushed down, as directed.  The Can emptied immediately.

"Is that it?," Mrs. Valentine inquired from a safe distance (sadly also a phrase I am used to).  I withdrew the can and peered into murky, chunky water over the drain.  A few white bubbles rose to the surface, but otherwise nothing.

Despite a lack of evidence, I sensed victory was close and gave the pipe a tentative plunge.  I didn't apply a lot of pressure, because having foul fluids fling in your face is one thing, having corrosive chemicals cling to your kisser is another.

Then the miracle happened.  A deep gurgle could be heard from the pipes, a watery death-rattle, then it all just drained away.

Well, most of it.  I ran the shower to help rinse away the stuff that had clung, then gave the whole area a good bleachy cleaning.  Sometimes cleaning with bleach stings my nose, but tonight it smelled like Jesus.

So there you have it.  Besides waves of nausea and a ringing product endorsement, I'm not sure you got anything out of this.  I feel better, though.


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Sent from my wireless

Real-Time Oscar Thoughts

Opening film- Good call on Jon Stewart's part, let Billy Crystal make the first Brokeback joke of the night. Billy is a favorite of the Academy, and if he can make the joke, then its OK for Jon to make the joke. Maybe it even takes the pressure off of Jon. Pretty funny, although, I was kind of waiting for someone at Johnny Carson's grave, bending over the headstone asking "Are you sure you're not available?" The humor petered out when Stewart actually appeared.

The monologue has a bit of a rough beginning. "Death to Smootchie" reference, making fun of 3rd world adoption... yikes. Got to soften up the Hollywood elite with some ass-kissing or some better self-referential humor. Does better interacting with Clooney, and while touching on the nominees and their movies.

OK, the shouting at the audience has to go, Jon. That's a comedian's act of desperation on stage.

Gay cowboy montage- easy laughs, but well-done and short.

Best supporting actor. Effing George Clooney? Paul Giamatti needs to be recognized by the Acadamy. Ah, but the speech did not disappoint. One year, Clooney will send a Native American to accept an award in his place, mark my words.

Thanks Tom Hanks. Mildly amusing take on the Acceptance Speech That Will Not End. No thanks Ben Stiller. One unfunny gag drawn out for 2 minutes. If I wanted that, I'd watch SNL. If I wanted to stretch out 2 hours, I'd watch Zoolander.

Uh oh, Stewart already falling HEAVILY back on the Jewish jokes, another sign of trouble.

A very shiny Naomi Watts, dressed in a torn looking dress, introduces Dolly Parton. Watts looks like she put on a foundation of Wesson oil and wrestled with Kong before she came out.

As for Dolly, that corset's girders are cold-riveted with a core of pure Selenium. Whoever designed that outfit is either a certified genius or an authentic wacko. (Apologies to Dr. Ray Stantz).

Another Uh oh for Stewart, making fun of Scientology. Alienates a third of the audience. Making fun of the Baldwins, that alienates another third. Take my advice, friend, stay away from Kabbalah.

Luke Wilson looks like he is going to burst. Step back, Owen!!!

Did "Chicken LIttle" really make it that big this year? I thought it was a flop. Oh right, it was a Disney flick, and this is ABC. This, in the lingo, is called synergy, my friends.

I am waiting for Jennifer Aniston to radically change the hairdo. Having a hard time making a job transition, relationship troubles, kissing Vince Vaughn: warning signs all. Go the Nicole Kidman, Charlize Theron route, and uglify yourself for a gritty and/or arty flick. Just once, then you can go back to romantic comedies. This will push off having to show your breasts on camera to land a roll back by at least five years.

Actors' portrayal of historic figures overlooked in their montage: John Wayne as Ghengis Khan and Gary Oldman as Sid Vicious.

Is Will Ferrell in blackface? And you couldn't make out the problem with Steve Carrell's make-up until the close-up. Weak, they should have had zits and a scar or something distinct.

Hour one ends.

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Someone get Morgan Freeman a tie for cryin' out loud. Oh, forget it, his voice makes up for it. Funny that one of our most accomplished actors who does a great deal of voiceover work makes the first flub of the evening with the teleprompter. Although I would consider Ben Stiller's entire thing a flub, so maybe it wasn't the first.

The hot chick from The Mummy is going to be a Mommy!

Lauren Bacall decided not to wear her glasses to come out and read the lines, it would appeal... er appear. The "film noir" montage she introduced makes me think they should have had gay sub-text montages for all film genre's.

OK, the political ads for the "Best Actress" category were strong. Jon Stewart bringing in the old Daily Show alums, first Steve Carell, then Stephen Colbert here to do the voiceover. Best leave it at that, Jon. If Rob Corddry shows up to do a bit, that might be going a little far.

Charlize Theron's dress looks like something a "Project Runway" loser might have slapped together. The fit is so important, people. Make it work!

"Hi, my name is Jennifer Lopez, star of Gigli. Here's a lady singing in front of a flaming car with a bunch of shadowy people doing what appears to be really bad Tai Chi in the smoke behind her. Enjoy"

So much shouting, Jon. They hear English well, my friend, no need to yell.

Do you think Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves have even seen each other since Speed premiered? It's been like 25 years. Why put them together? By the same logic, why isn't John Travolta up there with Samuel L. Jackson?

Thank you Salma Hayek... for being.

And Itzhak Perlman is my cue to take the dog for her last walk of the night. And I'm back just in time to see Jon poke a little fun at him. Perfect.

Does anyone sense the irony of showing a montage of clips highlighting how great movies look on the "big screen," to millions of people watching at home on their TV sets? I would have shown a few clips full screen, then shown little tiny postage stamp version in the corner of an otherwise black screen: representing the difference in size between the average movie screen and TV screen.

One last thought for this hour. I thought Jessica Alba looked hot on the red carpet tonight until I saw Salma moments ago. Salma makes Jessica look like a scrawnly little boy who was given breast implants.

Hour two all wrapped up.

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My new theme song: "Its Hard Out Here For A Pimp.". Jordan, Cedric and Paul, you have penned a classic.

I am now going to say words that may have never before been uttered by man. "Thank you, Ben Affleck." Thank you for providing a way to enlarge Jennifer Garner's breasts without surgery.

"Oh yeah..." moments in the "Dead Reel": Pat Morita, Shelley Winters, Eddie Albert, Richard Pryor. Great injustice: Pat Morita got to make four Karate Kid movies, Richard Prynor could never get "The Toy 2" or "Brewster's Millions 2: Brewster's Billions" greenlighted.

Tonight marks the first time Jamie Foxx has been onstage at an awards show and NOT done a Ray Charles impression.

Finally, the Academy corrects the great injustice of having failed to nominate Reese Witherspoon for her performance in "Legally Blond."

Larry McMurtry is so wasted! Dude.

They should have handed Ang Lee the Oscar for "Brokeback Mountain," then immediately taken it back for "The Incredible Hulk."

Few people know this, but Jack Nicholson wears those sunglasses to prevent the laser beams that shoot from his ocular sockets from destroying everything he lays eyes on.

OK, the "Crash" folks are wrapping up, so it looks like my work here is just about done.