Wednesday, November 16, 2011

J Lo Dislodges G-Spot



(fabricated news inspired by the pop icon) 

Jennifer Lopez suffered what doctors described as a severe dislocation of the vagina while on location filming her latest music video at the Acropolis in Athens. According to eyewitnesses, during a particularly challenging set of high-speed abdominal undulations something appeared to go awry, and the sexy singer/dancer/kind-of-actress/retailer/talent judge dropped to the ground writhing in what was later interpreted as agony.

A crewperson in charge of the wind machine had a clear view of the mishap from nearby. “One minute she’s going at it like a Jack Russell in heat. The next she’s in a ball on the ground holding her whatsit. After a while we start to think something’s up, so I go over to see if I can help out and she clocks me! At which point she’s on her own as far as I’m concerned.”

A medevac unit airlifted Lopez to a private airport, where she was then transported by chartered military stealth bomber to the Hospital For Special Patients in Manhattan. There Dr. Herman Hyman, chief admitting surgeon, was the first to observe her condition.

“Vaginal lateral percussive dysplasia. That’s what I’m calling it. Never seen anything like it. Everybody pretty much knows where a vagina goes. Hers wasn’t anywhere near there. Never seen anything like it before. I might’ve said that already.” He made the decision to call in a specialist group from the Mayo Clinic headed by Dr. Harold Kuntner.

“I’m not sure why we were brought in, actually. This isn’t usually our sort of thing, though Dr. Hyman and I were fraternity brothers in med school. When we heard of the unusual circumstances, the team and I agreed to come have a look-see.”

The surgical team requested copies of the video to aid in their diagnosis. “We were told the incident had been photographed by three separate high-speed, ultra-high-definition cameras, and we were anxious to get our hands on the footage. In fact the hospital conference room was packed for the screening, as there were a lot of staff members hoping to gain some insight into this rare condition.”

A hospital administrator who requested anonymity described the sequence. “It was stunning.  The patient wore a shear gold lamé toga hemmed just below the crotch. Gorgeous. A satin ruby sash was cinched at the waist. Nice Detail. Period-style sandals with braided leather straps rising above the knee. Absolutely to die for…"

Dr. Kuntner interjected, “Technically the traumatized area was covered, but we got a pretty good peek at what was going on. We continued to review the footage until we heard the nursing staff was waiting for us with the patient in the OR. I’m not sure we learned anything from the screening, but I feel it was the right decision to make an effort."

“I’ll never forget what I saw up on that screen,” commented maintenance worker Herbie Hind, who’d happened by the open door of the SRO conference room. “I had to be by myself for a while after that. I used the room where we store all the mops, by the slop sink.”

Lopez had been attempting to nail a particularly demanding section of the eagerly awaited companion video to the song, “I Got Something I Think You Want Boy, So Come Get It Quick Before It’s Gone.” She’d enlisted the talents of the legendary choreographer Miss B for the project. Miss B, still visibly shaken by what he’d witnessed, agreed to speak with reporters.

“Hon, ain’ nobody shakes it like my sweet Lo. We wanted something super special for this video. I mean it’s the Acrapolis and all, birthplace of love goddesses and whatnot. I went way deep on this one. Anybody on the planet gonna pull this off, gonna be my girl J. I guess she just wanted it too bad. Oh my. To think of the ironicness of the title now.”

Miss Lopez was on the operating table for seven hours as the surgical team worked to relocate internal organs wrenched out of place by what might have been the most physically demanding dance sequence attempted since Beyonce’s “Put A Ring On It”.

Miss Lopez is said to be recuperating at an undisclosed location more fabulous than could be provided by the hospital. Says Dr. Kuntner, “I think the procedure was a success. We’ve never done anything like this before, so we’re playing a wait-and-see game right now. And I'd wait before I took a look if I were you.” He added that what the mega talent needs right now is plenty of R&R. “Obviously any kind of sexual activity either real or theatrical is out of the question.”

“We’re all pulling for a quick recovery so we can finish up the video,” said J Lo’s long-time agent and confidante, Tina Lola. “Naturally, we’ll only let her do moves she’s comfortable with. We’re already reworking the choreography, and the search is on for a body double to handle the more rigorous stuff, which is going to be the real challenge. We might need three or four different bodies to give us a good match for all the featured parts. I don’t know where we’ll find another signature backside like that, though. We’re presently in negotiations with James Cameron's people to see if a computer generated J Lo would be the more cost-effective way to go."

Rumored current boyfriend and back-up dancer Casper Smart, when asked to comment about Miss Lopez’s current condition, had this to say: “Naturally my main concern is for her health and well-being. But if things don’t turn out to line up jus’ right and sh*t, I’ll be needin’ to get me my sumpt’n from somewhere’s else real soon, aw’ight?”

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Reality: What A Concept



It must be really hard for a conscientious TV programmer to come up with the next bright idea, one that blends the poignancy of the human condition with the piquancy of zero-cost production value.

I’m here to help. Here are my ideas for shows that haven’t been tried yet. Nope. Nothing like them that I’ve ever seen. Most of these you could shoot with your iPhone and air by the end of the workday. All you need are maybe two college interns that come with their own cars and petty cash.

Paul's List of Bona Fide Blockbusters:

All America is Lip-Syncing
Dust Bunny Hunters
Wait, I’m Going To Cry Any Second Now
Real Morticians of Reno
Top Grocery Clerk
Extreme Leisure Addicts
Polka Planet
Fridge Contents Gone Bad
Returns Desk Altercations
Out Of Control Quadriplegics
Jigsaw Puzzle Wars
Mom Is A Cheese-aholic
Thirty Minutes To Waste
Survivor: Akron
Guy Versus Another Guy
Look Who Plays The Kazoo!
Race For Last
Myth Believers
Pimp My Chest Of Drawers
Fattest Man Standing
World’s Most Monotonous Jobs
Laid-Off Lumberjacks
Battle of the Network Has-Beens
Junk Food Chef
Outdated Records Elimination
Undercover Amnesiacs
Library Detective Stories
This Old Condemned Rattrap
Useless Garbage Road Show
Picnic Mayhem
Reptile and Amphibian Whisperer
Celebrity Napping
Skip That Challenge
Emergency Locksmiths
Bad Weather Avoiders
Really Crappy Mechanics
Parking Lot Sagas
Some Couple With No Kids
Following Eric Estrada Around
That’s A Woman’s Job
Tool Shed Tinkerer
Obscure Historical Accidents That Turned Out Okay
Caught On Security Cam Minding Their Own Business


My nod for celebrity judges for any show that needed them would be that stutterer from Iron Chef, the ghost of Farrah Faucett Majors channeled through John Edward wearing the orange swimsuit, and needless to say, anyone who's fabulously gay.

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

The End of Us All



I find myself daily deluged by supporters of the “America Is Awesome” movement. We are, its rabid supporters froth, the most greatest country on the Earth in every which way, and if you don’t think so you’re a commie socialist and should leave forthwith.

This flies in the face of all empirical evidence, not the least of which is the pap we nightly choose to ingest on TV.

The guys who maintain my building (we live in a co-op in NYC), a great bunch, by the way, despite the fact that they are to a man Yankee fans, were filling me in on what passes for awesome entertainment these days. While I consider Louie the pinnacle of fine art (and not just because I draw a paycheck from the production company), I was told that what I really should be watching is The Walking Dead. I tried to explain that neither zombies nor any other iteration of raving preternatural creatures compels me to tune in. This includes all manner of superheros, even those played by Robert Downey Junior while he’s clean and sober.

Nothing in the manner of childish fantasy gore attracts my interest. Aside from their mandatory requirement to feature thick strands of hanging drool, I find it a sad commentary on the American fetish with the sickeningly banal. Dexter? Eat me. Or rather, please don’t.

But no, seriously, this zombie show is way different. It isn’t about zombies so much. It's more about, you know, like,  serious human emotional stuff, when the zombies aren’t hot on the scent of a raw meal. Oh… well then.

After the lecture concluded, I walked outside and was immediately presented with the image of a bus plastered with ads for The Walking Dead. Then another one. The second bus was accompanied by a running commentary from a young couple walking ahead of me. The male was waxing euphoric over what a remarkable series it was. I nearly severed his Achilles tendon to get a clean listen of his review. The female said it was incredible how totally excellent television had gotten in recent years, and to support her argument she had a fine ass.

Perhaps I was missing something. I looked again at the bus, now stopped in traffic. I saw words used to describe the show. Words like “Powerful” and “Provoking” and “Powerfully Provoking.”

The words all had one thing in common: they were cloaked in quotation marks. Here’s another word dressed up the same way: “Bullshit”.

Whose words were these? The words of network flacks, of course. I went home after these visitations and Hulu’d the only show available (zombies rule  Internet streaming), the Season 2 premier. It was an hour of gross hokum dressed in grisly production value. Which didn’t stop me from passing the virus along. My wife was the next victim, and from there it was a wave of genetic retribution.

We ended up watching Tivo’d shows at Deb’s sister’s home. I was amazed we all endured the carnage. A fifteen year-old was allowed to attend, and I was there too. My cheap-seat commentary would normally be enough to clear a room.


We’ve since seen everything that has aired to date. It's all nauseating, to say the least. Not to mention incredibly stupid, which cannot be mentioned enough. Incredibly stupid. It would shame me to say I wrote for this show all the way to the bank.

The atavistic attraction is inexplicable unless you look up the word "atavistic."  I occasionally find myself drawn to closer inspections of road kills, and I'm always sorry for it. There is no respectable reason to watch this show unless you're working on a doctoral list of every way to kill a person from the neck up and wish to check your list off against this benchmark.

What can zombies do? They can do whatever their metrosexual authors desire them to do. If required to be clueless, lethargic lawn ornaments, that is what they will be. If they need legions of bags of protoplasmic ooze to silently materialize out of thin air, loaded to the gills with highly attuned feral senses, they will oblige. They will take just as much time to level a barrier, be it of cinderblock or cellophane, as is required by the featured humans to decide on the worst possible choice of retaliatory action.

And the humans? Their antics are even more noxious to swallow. They manage to incite unfounded empathy in the worst of us even as they act in ways more disturbing than an over-baked Winnebago full of Pennsylvania pigskin coaches.

The show’s first Jump-the-Shark moment (were I a shark I would need a bigger ocean) comes way too soon in Season 1, when a despicable hillbilly (every human in this show is reprehensible enough to deserve a sickening on-camera death, particularly the hillbilly sheriff, who insists on wearing his Dudley Do-Wrong costume no matter how entrail-caked it becomes) who really deserves to die, so he’s left to do so by his compatriots, he handcuffed to a thin rod on the rooftop of an Atlanta building (in this world there is only Atlanta and the woods), with nothing to comfort him but his military training memories and a conveniently placed hacksaw.

Given the choice of hacking through the rod (piece of cake), or perhaps the handcuffs (harder, but doable, a cop friend tells me),  he chooses a third option: the removal of his own hand, thus providing a more compelling visual for us to return to after the station break. 

The hand is all our remorseful rescue team discovers, after having risked their dubiously calculated lives to save the rat-bastard. Which means he’ll show up again down the road, like a bad penny, or Newt Gingrich. Count on it.