follows is a scattershot bit of random thoughts, links, and images that

showcase the lunacy that exists in the entertainment world and beyond.

Folks who remember my old missives from the old Steady Leak articles

should find this kind of stuff familiar. Folks seemed to get a kick out

of the first installment, and each Wednesday should fall victim to

another installment. Don’t expect anything deep here but something may

tickle your fancy.


1. “Why do we card you? CLIP ART TOLD US TO.”

Photo by Nick Nunziata.

I lived in a town called Alpharetta for over twenty years. I still live there, but the area I am in is technically considered John’s Creek now, though I have not met this John nor have I sampled his trickling bobbybrook and if I had, I’d be considered one of the gays. The jury is out. If John is sexy, I’m in.

I like it here. It’s quiet. It’s well-developed. It’s loaded. Then again, the same could be said for the body of Anna Nicole Smith. In some of the bars in town there’s this horrid little posted item delivering to the citizens the news flash that you have to be 21 or older to drink booze. Worse yet, they feel that we as human beings only respond to the orders of a bear. Worse yet, the bear looks like Jeff Healey drew it (you can choose if that means before or after the sadness of his passing). Worse yet, the sign is older than most of the children of the readers of this site. What my local government is telling me is that I’m dumb, they hate me, they want to arrest me, they feel I don’t deserve to be spoken to by anything that isn’t cartoonish and bestial, and that I’m not worth them updating a horrid sign for.

If you look at this sign with the They Live glasses, I bet it all makes sense.

2. “Pull my hemorrhoids out, Spaniard!

Photo by Nick Nunziata.

I did some research and discovered Ultroid’s secret to painless hemorrorhoid treatment. You sit in a room across from Ultroid and he stares your ass down off the ledge. Ultroid is a 900 pound robot with glowing orange eyes and detachable feet. He doesn’t actually cure the ailment, but it’s painless. I’m personally more fond of BehindBot 2.0, a nihilistic cyborg who rips the hemorrhoids out with sizzling crystal fists. It hurts like hell but the end result is an end result.

3. “And that’s why there aren’t any numbers anymore…”

Photo by Nick Nunziata.

That 6 is a hungry asshole, huh?

4. Asleep at the wheel.

Photo by Nick Nunziata.

While Mazda’s silly advertising motif of “Zoom Zoom” certainly doesn’t ring as some great marketing coup, I’m offended that a Nissan has chosen to adopt the moniker. I’m also offended that a white car tries to defer the boringness of being white with a cute license plate slogan, as if to say “My womb is barren and my husband’s dick needs Herbert West’s help to look skyward but my car has some pep, if only I had the stones to reach 4th gear that is….”.

Problem solved, I rammed this car into a canyon.

5. Your solo album had a horrible snare drum sound.

Photo by Nick Nunziata.

This mental facility makes up for its opressive architecture and looming facade with frank honesty. This is a rehab center that tells us “YOU WILL NOT SURVIVE. YOU WILL NOT LOVE YOURSELF. ALL YOU KNOW IS PAIN. KILL YOUR DAD WITH A PITCHFORK AS HE BUBBLE BATHES.”

6. Paradise, grammar excluded.

Photo by Nick Nunziata.

I’ll take the redneckian apostrophe after the word “fishin” that really isn’t a word at all. I’ll even take the notion that beer is some sort of amazing item in the world, though I disagree. What I will not take, could never take, shall never take… is the word BEACHS. I will not stand for it. Fuck, Larry Flynt won’t stand for it. How can one be truly relaxed if they are the living embodiment of Alabama’s School System?

7. Giggle at the buttfuck hi-jinks!

Photo by Kevin McCarthy.

I believe it was Henny Youngman who said, “The secret to comedy involves fat men in their underwear being obliterated by aluminum bats, grievous Indian casualties, and backdoor tent visitations”.

8. Now we can stop drinking tainted riverjuice!

Photo by Matt Goldberg.

PHSI is as surprised as we are. PHSI failed Middle School but figured “Why the fuck not, I’ll build a reservoir!” even though PHSI knew less about water than the Signs aliens. The first few years were rough, what with the ‘YooHoo spill of ’03’ and the time PHSI was shitfaced and needed to whizz something fierce. Over time something changed for PHSI. He grew determined to make amends and devote his life to something truly pure. He researched. he went to Africa on fact-finding missions about what causes the water supply to be ruined. He even hired a chemist!

Behold! PHSI has unleashed his first vat of truly safe, PURE WATER!

Disregard. PHSI just sneezed HIV into the pure water.

9. SPOILER: Bill & Berniece are the same guy.

Photo by Goc.

Conservation & Research OF WHAT?

These Grewcocks annoy the shit out of me. First they go against the rules of man and science with their experiments in organ harvesting and now they open a place with no focused specialty. I hate the Grewcocks. Whatever wanders in their building, they’re either going to conserve or research it. The ego of these bastards.

In other related news, I got a peek at Sergio Aragones’ erotic sketchbook.


Photo by Will Shulik.

A quick internet search ruined this image for me. It’s some gimmicky bullshit viral marketing bullshit asshole shitface shitstuff. But the image above is glorious when viewed with innocence. I envisioned Yassy Goldie to be an immigrant with a dream, albeit a flawed one. After a rough pilgramage across the sea as the couchboy for a closeted Hollywood producer, taking pained loads in everyplace at night and having to pretend to be an assistant by day, Yassy was kept bouyant by the thought of becoming a disco reggaeton roller boogie kingqueen and the talk of Sherman Oaks. Instead Yassy was discovered by the head of Sony Pictures to be the delicious taster for the studio’s cash cow hotshot and silenced by pain of death and discarded in the city. What no one knew about Yassy was that he had one other friend, one who truly loved Yassy Goldie for what he was, a fucking mutant. Just a fucked up, identity free fucking mutant waste of life piece of detritus with no soul. This friend would hit the streets to find his lost Yassy, first with posted signs and eventually with a makeshift beacon to launch into the skies at night, calling for the safe return of his freakish homonuculous night creep.

11. Scott Baio found religion?

Photo by Matt Lemos.

“Why did you back over my daughter in the parking lot at Hobby Lobby?”

“I couldn’t see her through all that religion.”

12. Shrinkwrapped Euthanasia.

Photo by Dan Cloud.

They say that serial killers are borne from a few common traits:

1. Sexually abused as children.
2. Often had bedwetting issues.
3. Animal cruelty.

I find it odd that Target sells these dog mullets right between the adult diaper section and the fuck a kid section.

13. “Nobody puts Baby in the discount bin!”

Photo by Clifford Killeen.

It’s like a mixture of Guitar Hero and Don Knott’s deathbed confessions.

14. Movie Pitch: It’s The Hurricane meets Meet the Fockers.

Photo by Devin Faraci.

“Should we find a way to help the victims of this tragic event?”

“Nah, I got it covered. I’ll just make a bumper sticker on Cafepress.”

15. So that’s where Gary Cherone came from.

Photo by Katherine Mason.

“My company’s boxes are generic as fuck. We believe that so much,
we called our company GENERIC AS FUCK, INC.”

“Well, well our boxes are generic but EXTREME”.

“What’s your secret, man? How do you do it? Is it the use of paper byproduct in the mixture?”

“I bet you wish you knew…”

“How do you achieve EXTREME GENERIC? I must know! Lives are at stake here!”

“You’re too old. Suffice to say, these cardboard boxes operate on pure adrenalin.”

“God damn the youth of today at their unbelievably fantastic generic boxes.”

By the way:

“Grandmother is always shaking hands!”

Message Board Thread.