Marc

200 posts is no laughing matter. And not laughing is exactly what you, dear readers, have done at least 200 times (we understand that you’re all LOL’ed -out after looking at grainy pics of housecats butchering the English language). The only audience who’s waited this patiently for a chuckle without it coming is Jay Leno’s. It seems like just yesterday that we were at 100, but, then again, I have no sense of time and thought yesterday was March 11, 2009. To emphasize the magnitude of this achievement, I thought I’d turn to one of the most significant speeches in our nation’s history for help, revising it slightly to suit our tastes. Four high scores and seven beers ago…

I’ll admit I didn’t travel to Gettysburg, PA to deliver the address, but I did stand in front of an abandoned Getty gas station and I think that’s close enough. Like a spoon, I was stirring. Those hobos clapped so hard the part of their gloves covering their fingers fell clean off. You haven’t truly been honored until a pack of vagrants gives you an ovation and a half-crushed cigarette out of respect. I may not have grown up in a log cabin, but if home is where you feel most at ease, then the internet is my home (Lady Foot Locker being a close second) and Will and I have built an impressive blog cabin with our bare, dirty hands and minds. What’s more, our abode is impenetrable to termites (stick that in your stovepipe hat and smoke it, Abe). It’s no coincidence that we sometimes receive a penny for our disjointed thoughts, the very coin that bears Lincoln’s face. With so many similarities to our 16th President, it’s no wonder I’m paranoid that Powers Boothe is planning to assassinate me (fitting, that a man from Tombstone will be responsible for my death, although ironic because I want to be cremated).

200 posts means it's "Go" time.

The point is, 200 posts in, we’re still not responsible for a civil war. We haven’t even caused a flame war. However, we are responsible for the Food Network’s Cupcake Wars (we’re so sorry). But now is not the time to wallow in disappointment. Instead, we must bask in our success…the overwhelming success of our breathtaking failure. Failure to attract an audience or advertisers or investors, failure to turn a profit, failure to produce any material of quality or value, failure to come to a complete stop at an intersection (I can’t help it that I’m red-green-yellow colorblind). In a medium rife with pointless distractions, we’re still striving to be the most pointless. If I have one regret about Concentrated Awesome (besides not writing every post three sheets to the wind), it’s that when you Google search the site, the engine helpfully suggests “concentration camps.” Good to know that Google would rather direct its users to read about heinous acts of genocide than our latest paean to JCVD. Yes, the only ‘hit’ we’re associated with is “Hitler.” Being wrong never felt so Reich.

Readers, I stand before you today, seated in a chair, which I had hoped to be a jewel-encrusted throne, for our goal was to be kings of the internet by now. Yet, we’re no closer to royalty than that mysterious Minnesotan musician, Prince, who declared the internet dead.  If that’s true, we’re going to attempt to resurrect it — like Mickey Rourke’s career — and command it to feast on your grey matter or whatever’s left of it after reading 200 of our posts. We’d be doing a disservice to you and, more importantly, ourselves if we didn’t try to zombie all that we can zombie. After all, we’re still looking for someone to be the brains of this operation.

Will

They said we’d never get this far. Well, ok, no one said that. They, being an audience that knows who we are, don’t exist. So I suppose I said we’d never get this far. Well you’re wrong, brain. DEAD wrong. Hm, my head feels funny…

Whew, ok, I just climbed off the floor. You obviously didn’t see it, but my brain just threw me into a full body seizure for 5 minutes and I peed my pants. I guess we know who runs the show. Well played, noodle. Just be wary the next time I stick a Q-tip in my ear…

What have we learned in 100 posts since our last state of the blog? Very little, which means we’re right there with the rest of the country, except of course we know that Obama wasn’t born in Kenya. He was born on Mars (which does actually make him socialist, being from the “red” planet and all).

We did get sued earlier this year. That’s kinda like getting published, if said publication is run by assholes. I guess I can see how we fit in. Totally caving in to the demands of Hollywood makes us like the rest of the sell outs, except we didn’t get paid. Half way there!

I gripe about our audience, but there’s value in obscurity. Conan hosted the Tonight Show and, despite being really funny, still got fired. Until El Maestro Del Internet finds us, I suppose we’re safe in our tiny island of ambiguity. And hey, Jersey Shore got renewed. If that’s your idea of fame, you can keep it (except for Marc’s rock hard abs – I saw him out crush a garbage compactor with them once!).

We don’t do this for the glory – or the money or power, for that matter. Sure, the girls are nice (we don’t mean women sleep with us, we mean our moms pack us lunches with notes inside), but we have a higher calling than that. At least, I’d like to think detailing events from The Expendables is the Lord’s work. It’s like that part in the Bible where Jesus fights the three headed snake, then surfed at the Sunnyvale competition to raise money for the teen center. Billy Zabka would totally make an awesome Satan. There’s no doubt he went to Duke, so he’s already got the Blue Devil thing going for him.

My shaky grasp of Catholicism notwithstanding, we tell ourselves we do it for you. We do it for the craft. We do it because talking to the void in a blog post comes off as less crazy than muttering about it on the subway and cheaper than paying a psychiatrist. Besides, if there’s a drug to cure preparation for a zombie apocalypse, I don’t want it.

Tell Chris Berman to put on one of his hundreds of hideous blazers and rub some smelling salts under Al Michaels’ nose because the NFL season is nearly here — and not a moment too soon because baseball is clearly the Charlie O’Connell to pro football’s Jerry (although we’re still disappointed that Crossing Jordan wasn’t about players who dared challenge a certain Chicago Bulls legend). Since no kneecaps were shattered following last year’s predictions (we owe you one, mafia), we’re providing them again for 2010. Who better to handicap the teams than people who’ve been accused of being handicapped? Either way, helmets are involved. Since the Madden bus isn’t running anymore, climb aboard the short bus with us as we make our picks.

New York Jets: Expectations are high for the team HBO’s Hard Knocks — which it turns out isn’t about door-to-door salesmen — followed in training camp. Disgruntled cornerback Darrelle Revis will continue his holdout. To have an income in the interim, he will accept a reality show offer, Survivor: Revis Island. It will be lowest-rated CBS show ever, indicating that the network should’ve cast him in a scripted drama instead, CSI: Meadowlands (tagline: You’re on his turf now — astroturf.).

Minnesota: Brett Favre will take his indecisiveness to another level, alternating between calling it a career and coming back every quarter. His teammates will become so fed up that they’ll dump him at the Canadian border, thereby forcing him to “retire” to the CFL. The grey beard will stay up north — at his age, he could use the free health care — and win the Grey Cup.

Washington: Donovan McNabb’s first year will resemble that of President Obama: hope will be high and a lot will be expected of the new leader, but nothing of note will be accomplished. Sulking tackle Albert Haynesworth won’t be in shape enough to contribute and will continue to believe that conditioning is only done after shampooing.

New Orleans: The defending Super Bowl champs will have an underwhelming season, which they’ll blame on still being hungover from celebrating. Hey, it’s only been seven months, you can’t expect Drew Brees to have recovered yet from all those Sea Breezes. Their fans will both forgive and console these po’ boys, even offering to buy them a drink.

Oakland: Eccentric owner Al Davis said new QB Jason Campbell is reminds him of Hall of Famer Jim Plunkett. That’s the craziest thing uttered on tape in California since the last time Mel Gibson spoke (if the Raiders struggle, let’s hope a frustrated Davis doesn’t wind up screaming, “I spent more than 5 million dollars on you!”)

Drew Brees needs a fishbowl Margarita "this" big.

San Francisco/Houston: 49ers standout running back Frank Gore will leave football midway through the season after being convinced by a Hollywood agent that, based on his name alone, he is qualified to be an action hero. Following the same name dictates profession trend, Texans quarterback Matt Schaub will depart to become an insurance salesman.

Indianapolis: This will be the first year that perpetual Pro Bowler Peyton Manning’s number of endorsements exceed his team’s wins. In hindsight, he probably should’ve passed on promoting Colt 45.

Denver: When highly-touted rookie Tim Tebow scores his first touchdown, he will set a Guinness World Record for the most number of people to orgasm simultaneously. However, all his conservative Christian fans will deny receiving any pleasure from the act.

Miami: The Dolphins will host a LeBron James Night, intending to welcome him to the city, but fans will misinterpret the meaning, casting aside their loyalty to the home team in favor of one with better players (and better weather). As a result, 50,000 people will show up to the stadium wearing San Diego Chargers apparel.

Tennessee: Chris Johnson, who last year became one of only a handful of players to rush for over 2,000 yards in a season, will surpass that mark, running even faster and harder. After the seasons, he will reveal the secret to his success: drinking a mixture of gasoline and Gatorade.

Philadelphia: Passionate but stupid Eagles fans will fall so madly in love with the team’s new quarterback that appreciation groups, dubbed Kevin Kolb Klubs, will spring up all over the region. The KKK will hold regular meetings to discuss why he is superior to Donovan McNabb and burn crossing patterns in yards.

Cleveland: The lone Cleveland sports fan not on suicide watch will be placed on the list by week 3.

Dallas: Indulgent owner Jerry Jones, not content to have a cathedral of a stadium, which will host this season’s Super Bowl, will ruin his team’s chances of contending by dipping his most precious players in a most precious metal: gold.

Pittsburgh: Not a single female fan will use the restroom at the stadium this year for fear of Ben Roethlisberger following them in. Several bladders will burst (which will be re-purposed to make footballs), but the “Steel Can Ban” will remain in effect.

Cincinnati: Brash Bengals wide receiver Chad Ochocinco will make a spectacular one-handed catch for a touchdown. It’ll have to be with a single mitt because his other hand will be busy tweeting about the grab in real time. His relationship with Carson Palmer will sour, but his bond with his Palm Pre will blossom (teammate Terrell Owens will be so jealous he’ll buy an enV).

New York Giants: The Giants will discover the only thing worse than sharing a new stadium with another football team (the Jets), is sharing a room with your sibling, a pain Eli Manning will be forced to relive when Peyton calls the bottom bunk before the brothers’ matchup in week 2 (Eli will throw no touchdowns in the game, but at least two tantrums).

With Will off to California to secure financing for our Muslim zombie movie, Ramadan of the Dead* (tagline: When the sun goes down, the feeding begins.), it’s up to me to hold down the fort, which has been secured — as most sturdy forts are — with an extra set of pillows. Lest you worry, these are quality pillows. Goose feather, in fact. I’m not leaving anything to chance.

*If Hollywood doesn’t like our horror idea, we’ve got a comedy pitch prepared: The Mosque. It’s a re-make with a twist. Jim Carrey stars as a banker who is under pressure to decide whether to approve or reject the loan to build the unpopular Islamic Cultural Center in New York City. He finds this fake, long beard floating in the East River that gives him magical powers to persuade people that it’s a good idea to build the center (tagline: Once he puts on the beard, things get weird!). Not to give the whole plot away, but it turns out that James Carville wore the beard as part of a Halloween costume, thus explaining Carrey’s newfound oratorical abilities.  It’s going to put the ‘ha’ back in “jihad.”

Ditch the figure of speech: Since April, President Obama has been repeating a metaphor about the Republicans driving a car (the economy) off the road and into a hole, leaving the Democrats to figure a way out of the situation. The car changed manufacturers while it was stuck, which makes the Republicans a Toyota (couldn’t stop) and the Democrats a Mazda.

Deafinite answer: A new study has found that 1 in 5 teenagers in the U.S. suffers from slight hearing loss. Finally, an explanation for the Jonas Brothers’ success.

Doe not attempt: Ted Nugent plead no contest to baiting a deer in California, which is illegal. Even worse was how he baited it: by buying it shots of Jager until the deer agreed to come with him.

This brings new meaning to the word "buckshot."

That was also the name of the all-boys prep school in my area: In Germany, the Sausage Academy allows students to earn a diploma in studying various wursts. Over 1,300 people have completed the program, meaning it’s easy to meat the graduation requirements.

From now on, only cold calls: An answering machine was to blame for starting a house fire in Seattle. The caller did leave a message after the beep…of the fire alarm.

He was so angry, he was seeing Redman: Method Man was attacked on stage at the same festival as Tila Tequila. Contrary to popular belief, Wu Tag Clan is something to fuck with.

We’re app-athetic about it: Facebook launched Places on Wednesday, which lets users tell others their current location via the GPS on their phone. Now, while we’re not caring about what you’re doing, we can also not care about where you’re doing it.

All parasites except Nic Cage removed: Bed bugs were found in the Times Square AMC, forcing it to close for a day this week. Even more disturbing was the discovery the theater was still playing The Sorcerer’s Apprentice.

Not available in black: Rumors are circulating that Apple will release a tinier version of the iPad. Tech experts believe the smaller 7″ screen should cut down on iPad envy.

Sorry, you’ve Lost us: J.J. Abrams is developing a thriller based on the teen party game Seven Minutes in Heaven (we’ll brace ourselves for an inevitable Jerry Bruckheimer action-adventure pic inspired by spin the bottle). Here’s our tagline for it: Sometimes, it’s a bad idea to come out of the closet (alternate one: What if Heaven’s gates were actually a door?).

ACT the fool: Overall scores on the ACT college entrance exam have hit a five-year low. I hope all you parents of high schoolers SAT down before reading that.

This past weekend saw what may be the greatest movie of our generation (if you just said Eat, Pray, Love I might have to beat you with the nearest baby I find, which hopefully poops on you as I bludgeon you with it). The movie I’m referring to is of course The Expendables.

Granted, I haven’t seen this movie yet, but the “plot” is less than difficult to guess. In fact, I’m pretty sure the entire script was created one night in Vegas by several out of work drunkards after a Dave Matthews Band concert. Quick recap:

Frat guy #1: “Dude, imagine if Rambo was in Predator. That would be the greatest movie ever!”
Frat guy #2: “No way, they’d still need at least a Jason Statham in there.”
Frat guy #3: “Yeah totally! Man, did you see that scene in The Transporter where he gets all oiled up? So slippery…so slick…”
Frat guy #1: “Uh…this is going to a weird place. Oh sweet, an Ed Hardy shop!”

Ok, maybe that’s not word for word, but you get the idea. Some genius said why not throw together as many bad asses from action movies as you can to create one super movie. I personally think they dropped the ball by not calling it “Blowin’ Shit Up”, because then you know exactly what’s going down. Until I see it, I’ll just have to take my best guess as to how they may be “expended”, of course with hilarious results:

Sly Stallone – He could go out a number of ways. In a series of attempts to master the three seashells, he could become increasingly frustrated and slash his wrists, or he could be at the unfortunate end of irony when he fails to stop and his mom shoots him. My best guess though is that after so many Rocky movies, zombie Apollo Creed comes back and finishes off what he started in the first one.

Jet Li – After being compared to every other famous Asian martial artist, he finally challenges them all in a no-holds-barred fight. Despite being dead for nearly four decades, Bruce Lee kicks the crap out of him. Why? Because he’s Bruce Lee, that’s why.

Jason Statham – Performing in several movies where his signature move is to contort his face in confusion, Statham finally makes one too many Uwe Boll movies and twists it so far he snaps his own neck in the process.

This is what several bottles of tequila, a terrible/awesome idea, and $80 million gets you.

Dolph Lundgren – Xenophobic sentiment at another historic high takes its unfortunate toll on him when the nation lynches him, believing him to be Ivan Drago from Rocky IV and therefore a Commie Russian spy.

Eric Roberts – I thought he was smothered by his sister Julia’s career long, long ago. Is he still alive!? Three to one odds that he has a small dwarf inside him working him like a marionette.

Randy Couture – I actually had to look him up. He’s an MMA fighter? Sure why not, throw him in the movie. I’m guessing he dies from obscurity.

Steve Austin – Having heard Stone Cold quote “Austin 3:16″ one too many times, J.C. comes down to give him “The People’s Elbow” drop all the way from heaven (that’s a hell of a lot higher than a turn buckle). That’s right, Jesus is a fan of the Rock. Oh…you didn’t know?

Terry Crews – Considering he’s the only black guy, movie law dictates he be the first to go. I say he gets crushed by the opening credits, which would set a record for longest living black dude in an action flick.

Mickey Rourke – If it’s not drugs, I don’t think the man can be killed. I just don’t know if there is enough narcotics, alcohol, and poisons left in the world to bring him down.

Arnold Schwarzenegger – The Terminator finally runs out of battery power after travelling back in time 26 years ago. California, being completely bankrupt and in the middle of an energy crisis, has no more money to power him back up, and instead replaces him with a wind up monkey with cymbals, which it turns out isn’t the worst governor they’ve ever had.

Bruce Willis – Realizes that he lost Demi Moore to that jackass from That 70′s Show and the camera commercials. Pulls a Nakatomi Plaza and blows up a rooftop party held by Kutcher. Hollywood, having seen this coming, unfreezes another one of his clones and continues on its way.

Bonus Round (not included in the movie, but should have been):
Jean-Claude Van Damme – Is dismayed when he finally watches a video of himself dancing. He roundhouse kicks so hard it unmakes the universe.

Mr. T – Like a modern day Dorian Gray, Mr. T looks in the mirror one morning and pities the fool he sees in the reflection, causing him to disintegrate into a pile of nothing more than gold jewelery and a mohawk.

Steven Seagal – Hell, what couldn’t kill an overweight Seagal at this point? Could probably slip on a banana peel and that would take him out.

Chuck Norris – Is mauled to death by a legion of nerds from the internet who read one too many “Chuck Norris Facts” and don’t realize that he’s actually a 70+ year old dude.

Those who want a natural birth do it without a dock: Frankly, we find the whole anchor baby idea to be despicable. What kind of person uses an infant to keep a ship in place? Toddlers are much better equipped for the task (they’re heavier).

Yellow journalism: Not to sound all Seinfeldian, but what’s all the fuss about over Wikileaks? Why does the U.S. government perceive a site where users can add and edit their history of urination as a threat? (founder: R. Kelly)

Don’t data your students: University of South Alabama professor Peter Jonason has conducted a study on booty calls. To those that question his findings, Jonason contends his examination was extensive and that he was very anal about it.

It’s all Ben done before: Dan Quayle’s son Ben, in a TV ad about his candidacy for the House in Arizona, calls Barack Obama the “worst President in history.” Asked to elaborate, Quayle said, “Do you need me to spell it out for you? Worst. W-u-r-s-t.”

Finally, he can finish that load of laundry: A 2,200-year-old gold coin was unearthed in Israel this week by a team of researchers. Abe Vigoda has already laid claim to it and expressed hope that the group can also uncover the 2,200-year-old couch he lost it in.

A very cold case: The body of a famous retired French chef who had been missing for two years was found in the freezer of the apartment he shared with his girlfriend. Police plan to Zip-Lock her up.

We never thought there'd be a more popular Slater than A.C.

He didn’t hike the ball, just taxes: A Maryland politician who claimed to have been a member of the Dallas Cowboys was determined to be lying. Neither the team nor the league has any record of Michael Vaughn ever playing in the NFL. With his fib, Vaughn has truly taken fantasy football to another level.

She was Anistunned: Bill O’Reilly called Jennifer Aniston’s opinions “destructive to society,” after the actress commented that a father isn’t necessary to raise a family. Coincidentally, he used the same phrase to describe her movies.

Putting the ‘rot’ in “carrot”: For the third time since May, Fresh Express is recalling another line of bagged salads. We can’t believe the company lettuce down again.

Fly off the handle: JetBlue has not yet decided the fate of steward Steve Slater. Some speculate that the attention the airline has received is good for business, so the company might be willing to let Slater’s surly send-off slide. Not to diminish his rage-filled resignation, but we don’t think publicly swearing at people and swiping beers is all that uncommon. In fact, for us, it’s a lifestyle.

Scale model: Not long ago, Jessica Simpson gained a few pounds was given grief by the tabloids for being too fat. Now, she’s lost that weight and is being bashed for being too thin. At least she can take comfort in knowing she’ll never be criticized for being too talented.

Potato philosophy has taught us “I think, therefore I yam.” In truth, I’ve never know the difference between Descartes and a la carte*, which reveals that I’m more hungry for pudding than knowledge. My parents might not be proud, but at least Bill Cosby is (I assume all those strange noises and gibberish is his way of showing approval, although I suppose he could be having a stroke). Speaking of disappointing my folks, here are some more moronic musings.

*What I do possess a profound understanding of is Mario Kart — even the logic behind why someone would choose to play as Toad.

When I hear about Drake, I’ll always think of a snack cake, not a Canadian rapper (I’m more about Ring Dings than bling bling). Besides, there’s only room in my heart for one Canuck emcee and we can all figure out who that is without using an “Informer”: Snow.

Until recently, I thought Doctors Without Borders was a program where physicians help patients in countries so underprivileged, they don’t have bookstores (or even malls to build bookstores near; as a New Jersey native, I shudder to think of such a desolate place).

I also thought Full House was a sitcom about three guys who lost their wives in a high-stakes poker game and consequently had to care for a bunch of girls by themselves (tagline: if they didn’t raise the bet, they wouldn’t have had to raise the kids.)

Earlier this week, Sarah Palin said she though President Obama was “in over his head.” That’s a case of the pot calling the kettle black and unqualified.

Sure, double rainbows are cool, but they don’t compare to double Rambos (“what does it mean?!” millions at the box office).

Isn't it time we clone Stallone?

Even if you thought LeBron’s special was egocentric, at least we got a new euphemism for cunnilingus out of it: “Taking my talents to South Beach.”

The Situation is going to have a guest spot on Bones. That means it won’t be long until Snookie has a cameo on Seasame Street — presumably the only street she hasn’t done the walk of shame on — as the Snookie Monster, belting out a tribute to being trashed, “C is for cocktail, that’s good enough for me”(L is for Long Island, Long Island iced tea) and trying to tickle Elmo in places he’s not comfortable with.

Speaking of Bones, here are some other TV shows that sound like porn titles: The Big Bang Theory, Touched by an Angel, Leave it to Beaver, Three’s Company, Malcolm in the Middle, Different Strokes, Small Wonder, The Suite Life of Zack & Cody…wait, it’s not about two gay guys who go hotel hopping having anonymous sex?

A new study found that women who are at their fertile peak tend to buy more revealing clothes in order to attract a mate. The tactic’s effectiveness is in doubt . Some guys fallopian for it, but researchers caution that results may ovary.

Yes, Elena Kagan is qualified for the position, but if any woman should be appointed to the Supreme Court, it’s Diana Ross.

A nephew of singer John Legend accidentally broke the Grammy he won for 2005′s “Get Lfted. Inspired by the misfortune, he’s hard at work on a follow-up, “Get Lifted by the Seat of Your Pants and Spanked.” (or a movie, Legend of the Fall… from a Shelf)

“Ready or Not,” he he comes: Wyclef Jean just announced that he plans to run for President in Haiti. Experts agree that, should he win, this will set back the suffering country even more than the January earthquake.

Based on the last three jokes, you’d think I read nothing but Vibe. Well, for your information, I also subscribe to Cat Fancy.

We plan to give the site a face lift soon — and probably a boob job while we’re at it (for once, you’ll be asked to stare and also invite your friends to have a look).

Our dearest (drunkest) Snooki,

I’m not going to beat around the bush. I think I speak for everyone when I say we, as a society, are disappointed in you. When the nation awoke on Saturday to a picture of you being hauled off by police, we held our breath deep and immediately plunged in to page 3 of our newspapers, TMZ hot links, and RSS readers, respectively, with our worst fears being realized: You were in and out of jail in less than 2 hours.

I can only contain my rage so much, so I know I’ll come off harsh when I say: Where do you get off? If we’ve learned anything from your antics on the beaches of the Garden State, it’s that you’ve always exceeded expectations of debauchery and self-degradation. Yet here you are, a little buzzed and back out on the street before you can slur our “check out my rack!” before screeching out incoherent lyrics to a Bon Jovi song.

People have dedicated their lives to your shaolin monk-like teachings of obscenity. Sure, you managed to curse out a few cops, and yes you were thrown in jail wearing a pink and black striped shirt emblazoned with “SLUT” across the chest. Is that really front page material? Don’t we deserve a higher class of classlessness?

How many drinks does it take to get to the bottom of the barrel?

Tough love time – get your shit together. You need to think about Snooki the product in the long term, a gauntlet for today’s modern women trying to break downwards through that glass floor. Sure, you’ve got your Lindsay Lohans, but even she got out of jail in 2 weeks, and Dakota fanning seems like she’s ready for a pill popping spree. The truth is it’s hard living in a man’s world (it’s actually pretty sweet if you are, in fact, a man). Mike Tyson will always be sucker punching dudes. Mel Gibson will always go Mad Max every couple years. Charlie Sheen, our perennial batshit crazy celeb, will be that foundation of shame in which we build our gossip columns. You need to be as off the charts nuts if not more so to stay in the game.

You have friends. The community at large only wants the best (worst) for you. Put yourself on that pedestal and then take a nose dive right off the edge. Crotch shots? Celeb sex tape? Go on a drunken bender and hit a few lamp posts? Perfect. Mr. Daniels, Mr. Beam, and Senor Cuervo are always a hit-and-run away. Reach out to them, before you sober up and know what’s good for you.

Wiping out a deficit: In an attempt to reduce a large shortfall, Newark mayor Cory Booker is slashing the city budget, even eliminating toilet paper. People will probably find this level of penny-pinching less than Charmin.

Gross profit: In an effort to conserve cash, Booker is willing to get his hands dirty.

Pitch(fork)ing a fit: The USDA has offered Shirley Sherrod another position after recently forcing her to resign: overseeing FarmVille. Guess she’s not such a bad seed. If she’s not interested, Russell Simmons might let her run Phat Farm (“Phat” being short for Purposefully hating anglo tillers).

Dude, you’re getting a New Delhi: India has debuted a low-cost computer that will retail for $35. The catch is they’ll have to call America for trouble-shooting. Sample call: Customer: I’m experiencing a situation — Tech support: No way! You’re hanging out with that guy from Jersey Shore? Tell him his abs are killer.  Customer: What? No. My hard drive won’t boot up. Tech support: Have you tried Viagra? Always works for me, bro Montana.

Enterprising spirits: Over the weekend, a homeless man in California re-opened a bar that went out of business and began selling drinks before the cops shut the operation down. Both patrons and police agree the man is (Bud)wiser than the average bum.

Rush to judgment: Rush Limbaugh took some conservative media members to task Thursday on his radio show, calling them “cowards.” We can only hope he was looking in the mirror while doing so.

Marvel at the nerdiness: Comic-Con is underway in San Diego. A record turnout is expected, so Guinness Book of Records is on-hand to count the largest number of virgins together in one place (also achieved: most people in same location wearing homemade capes).

A (Mu)slim chance: Sarah Palin, among others, is protesting the proposal to build a mosque near “Ground Zero” in Manhattan, but for those making the sacred ground argument, we need to point out that there are strip clubs a mere two blocks away. At least none of them are named “Twin Towers.”

Groening’s groaning over this: Are we the only ones who thought The Last Airbender was another Futurama movie about our favorite, foul-mouthed robot learning to fly and training with zen monks and harnessing the power of the Earth’s elements or something (the trailer was convoluted)?

Kim Jong-Hill: Responding to the presence of U.S. forces off its coast, North Korea has threatened a “physical response.” Translation: Kim Jong-il wants to grope Secretary of State Hillary Clinton. Sadly, our own government is to blame for his twisted logic: George W. Bush taught him it’s not harassment if it’s in the form of a massage, while Al Gore taught him it’s not harassment if it’s to a masseuse.

White whine: Apple has delayed the release of its white iphone 4, originally slated for the end of July, until sometime later this year. Conspiracy theorists are convinced Shirley Sherrod is at the center of this setback.

Like the majority of internet entrepreneurs, such as Mr. Twitter and Craig List, Will and I aren’t exactly sleeping on top of a pile of money (using rolls of pennies for pillows was really uncomfortable), despite the undeniable outstandingness of our website (except to grammar sticklers and Lou Dobbs, who keeps trying to have me deported. Luckily, “somewhere below the equator” doesn’t count as a destination, you xenophobic asshat — or should I say “asssombrero?”) You may recall some of our previous plans and we’re back with more brilliant business ideas. We can only hope that one of these is Candwich-level amazing. Regardless, we won’t stop scheming until we can dive into our wealth Scrooge McDuck-style.

A newspaper about fruit, Currant Events (we promise never to berry the lead)

A singing string toy, Ne-Yo-yo

A courtroom-themed male strip club, Hung Jury

A general goods store for white supremacists, KKK-Mart

An exclusive nightclub, Bar None (or a combo convent/club, Bar Nun)

A supply store for electricians, Socket To Me (it’s an outlet)

A podiatrist/magician’s office, Presstoe!

When we're rich, we won't be wearing pants either.

A chiropractor radio show, Back Talk

An acapella group, A-Minor Problem

A sex toy puzzle, Rubix Pube

A coffee shop/petting zoo, Calfe

A spin-off of Cash Cab, where contestants answer questions while being driven around off-road, Jeepardy

A political group based on pitying fools (and investing in gold chains), the Mr. T. Party

A firearms bartering business, Loan Gunman

A middle eastern clothing store, Turban Outfitters

A poetry and cycling festival, Spoke N Word

A Joe Biden-themed ice cream shop, Cusstard

A snooty security staff, Avant Guard

A zombie service organization, AmeriCorpse

An off-shoot of publisher Random House, Arbitrary Apartment (and if that takes off, Coincidental Condo)

A communist copy shop, Pinko’s

A combination marijuana dispensary and cleaners, High and Dry

A pay-per-session gym, Weight a Minute

More details are slowly being released about the controversial health care reform bill passed (though not as slowly as HMOs, or Horrible Medical Operations, consent to pay for your procedures). For instance, it will be illegal to keep your tonsils and abortions are mandatory. We’ve obtained a copy of the list of physicians citizens are approved to visit under President Obama’s legislation, so turn your head, cough and have a look:

Psychiatrists: Dr. Katz, Dr. Mindbender, Dr. Jekyll, Dr. Marvin Monroe

Homeopathic medicine: Dr. Quinn

Sports medicine: Doc Rivers, Doc Gooden, Dr. J, Dr. Dunkenstein (despite his name and profession, surprisingly not Jewish)

Limbs specialist: Dr. Octopus

Veterinarians: Dr. Doolittle, Dr. Zaius, Dr. Robotnik

Podiatrists: Doc Martens, Dr. Scholl’s

Family physician: Dr. Julius Hibbert (discount family physician/dietitian: Dr. Nick Riviera)

Pediatrician (by default of being a kid): Doogie Howser, M.D.

ENTs (ear, nose and throat): Dr. Horrible, Dr. Demento, Dr. Dre, The Spin Doctors

General practitioner: Rex Morgan, M.D.

Pharmacist: Dr. Feelgood

Dermatologist: Dr. Doom

Good news, everyone! Dr. Zoidberg didn't make the list.

The rest (please note that, like a Roomba or a condom, the doctors from this group are to be used at your own risk and have a good chance of doing nothing):

Doc Brown

Dr. Strangelove

Doc Hollywood

Dr. No

Dr. Wily

Dr. Moreau

Dr. Pepper

Dr. Evil

Doctor Who

Dr. Zhivago