I’m seriously considering cancelling my cable subscription and spending $120 a month exclusively on whippits, because I’m pretty sure the net brain cell loss would be about the same. If not less.

I say this because last night was the premiere of MTV’s new show “Celebrity Rap Superstar.” The show is superb and probably my new favorite, but I’m pretty sure I forgot at least 8 state capitals just by watching it. The premise is simple: celebrities (a gossip blogger, Kevin Federline’s black ex-girlfriend, a retired football player, etc.) perform rap-karaoke with the help and guidance of their very own washed up rap superstar mentor. In other words, it’s all you could ever want or need from a television show.

There were two performances in particular that were utterly mind-blowing. The first was when Jason Wahler from Laguna Beachhad a full-blown PLIPPS attack while performing his rendition of the hip-hop classic “Ridin’” by Chamillionaire.

I think the problem was Jason Wahler thought he was cast for a show called “Celebrity Act Like an Out of Touch Camp Counselor Superstar.” Because, in that case, he nailed it.

By the way, Da Brat is a ZING MACHINE. (That’s a term I use for “stoned lesbian.”)

Here’s Pedro from Napoleon Dynamite doing a 50 Cent song:

It might have sounded really bad, but that’s only because this was the lyric sheet they gave him:

“In Da Club”
by: Fiddy Cent (not Fifty Cents)

You can find me in the club, body full of bub.
Mama, I got what you need if you need to feel a buzz.
I’m into having sex, not into making love.
So come give me a hug if you’re into ruh-muh-a-ruh.
If I pull up on funny, you see the bend on dup.
If I row twenty deep, it’s always jumping in the club.
When I roll with Dre, everybody show me love.
When I throw Eminem, you better ehhhhhm’love.
Zuh-muh-nuh-ma-nuh, … Jesus.

(Stop and squint eyes.)

If I got Shamu: L, M, N, O, Pimp.
Eh-guh…ha-choo, ch…guh…hassah hit.
If….ung-uh in LA, esta 50 is hot.
If I like me and I love me, but they love pot.
But holla in New York and Joe tell me I’m loco.
But holla in New York…en-summa-nuh choke-oh.

The voters should at least take that into consideration. Also, the fact that he seems to be a mentally retarded foreign person.

Prediction: This contest is Sebastian Bach’s to lose. He pwned it.

Hey, have you heard the new hot jam of the summer? It’s Will.I.Am’s “I Got It From My Mama”? Check it out, it’s dope!

Got it from my mama? LOL! That is classic Will.I.Am, right there! Boy, I’ll tell ya. That guy is something else. He’s maybe the most original voice we have in mainstream hip-hop today. An unparalled talent.

(Joe sets time machine back to 2002.)

Hey, have you heard the new hot jam of the summer? It’s Juvenile’s “Mama Got Ass (She Get it From Her Mama)”? Check it out, it’s the bomb!

Got it from her mama? LOL! That is too much! This Juvenile guy is something else. He’s on a whole other plane. A rap song about ass genetics? Forget about it. No one is even close to doing what he’s doing. NOR WILL ANYONE EVER COME CLOSE. That’s my prediction.

Marijuana makes you go coo-coo! Look!

Yo! Dr. Sanjay Gupta iz on dat ILL SHIT, son! 

What did they ‘analyze’ for this study? The ‘weedjamz’  playlist on my ipod?

I mean, it sure looks like it. Check out the report:

“Our findings suggest that the source of most marijuana-induced psychosis comes from smoking that Bin Laden weed (a strain of ’straight killah’ weed from Chicago, said to be comprised of three different kinds of weed all grown together). It can cause one to panic, become disorientated, and have holograms to begin flashing in front of one’s face (and shit).
These symptoms should not be confused with those of Blueberry Yum Yum, which is known to make one start singing melodies one never thought one wooooooouuuuuuuld, as well as make one skeet, skeet, skeet, skeet, skeet, and eat snacks, snacks, snacks, snacks, snacks. 
Finally, there is Sex Weed. As we all know, this is weed that is so potent, smoking it makes one feel as though one is having sex. (It may also mean sex that is so good it reminds one of smoking weed. Maybe? I dont know. I still can’t figure that one out at all.)”

Yeah, that’s right, that medical report had hilarious youtube hyperlinks (and way to many parentheticals) in it. So what? Just chill out and enjoy it. Chill out!

(Look, I’m sorry. I’m still really upset about Bear lying to me. I should be back to normal next week.)

Just as Summer begins, today I read about some guy in Florida getting hit by ”dry lightning.”

With no rain or even clouds to warn him of the danger, death came literally out of the blue Thursday to a self-employed landscaper. The killer was a powerful bolt of lightning that cracked through perfectly clear skies.

[He] was killed by a weather phenomenon fittingly called a ”bolt from the blue” or ”dry lightning” because it falls from clear, blue skies.

LOL! Get it? “Out of the blue.” Because it came out of nowhere and killed that dude! 

Wait…lightning? Lightning can strike you on a sunny day? I’ve never even considered worrying about that. And I worry about everything.

But, I mean, at least it’s not some kind of super-deadly form of lightning, right? It’s normal, run-of-the-mill lightning, that just so happens to come out of nowhere. I think I can deal with that. That’s not that scary.

The fair-weather bolts pack a bigger, deadlier punch and form differently.

Fuck me.

Most lightning bolts carry a negative charge, but ”bolts from the blue” have a positive charge, carry as much as 10 times the current, are hotter and last longer.

AAAAH! Of course! Why wouldn’t lightning that comes out of nowhere on a sunny day be ten times stronger, hotter, and longer-lasting than regular lightning? That’s rational. 

The bolts normally travel horizontally away from the storm and reach farther than typical lightning, then curve to the ground.

So, basically, they go out of their way to kill you? Awesome.

Have a good weekend, everyone. I just checked the forecast, it’s going to be beautiful out there.

I’m staying in my apartment forever.

Page Six is reporting that John Travolta’s son, Jett, most likely has autism.

Which would normally be a whatever story in my book. But, apparently, Scientologists don’t believe in autism (because they’re too busy believing in psychotic bullshit), so the Travoltas have been hiding their disabled son from the public for last few years, like a boy in a plastic bubble, waiting for him to snap out of it.

According to the Church of Scientology, people with mental illnesses are “degraded” and capable of curing themselves by working harder on the church’s teachings.

That’s it. He just needs to work harder.

I don’t have any problem with people converting to Scientology. They just shouldn’t be allowed to reproduce. Or make 20 mill a movie.

Here’s an interesting tidbit from Travolta’s IMBD trivia section:

“Jett was conceived during a weekend at the home of Demi Moore and Bruce Willis.”

No wonder that kid is fucked up. If being conceived by a dispicable celebrity power couple in the bed belonging to another dispicabl celebrity power couple didn’t give a kid autism, then having that information published on the Internet might just do it.

Or maybe he got autism the moment his dad named him “Jett.”

John Travolta named his son after his favorite toy. Jett. How gross is that? If my dad did that when I was born, my name would have been “Shortwave Radio Mande.”

Hey! Want to see something that will make you want to kill yourself? Check this out:

=$191,500,000.00 (+Profit Points)

That’s how much money John Travolta has made from every movie he’s been in since Pulp Fiction. And that doesn’t even include Wild Hogs!

AAAAAAAAH! I’m so upset!

I wish there was some way of gauging how stressed out I get thinking about John Travolta.

When it comes to people constantly dissing France, I’d have to agree with Bill Maher:

But sometimes France actually deserves it.

Like when they give Nick Cannon the “Breakthrough Actor” award at the Cannes Film Festival. You know, for his powerful and memorable portrayal of some black dude in the powerful and memorable Emilio Estevez biopic Bobby. Remember that? When Nick Cannon totally broke through after that movie Bobby came out? Everyone was talking about it.

Nick Cannon? France, seriously, this is inexcusable. Even in a country full of pompous, frog-eating, chain-smoking cowards who take aspirin with their butt holes, this shouldn’t happen.

Don’t they have IMDB in France? Don’t they know Nick Cannon has already had a handful of breakthrough performances? Who could forget Roll Bounce? How about Drumline, people? Or his masterful voice work in 2004’s animated hit Garfield? Not to mention how he’s earned the title “the new king of improv.”

Every single day, I look up to the sky and thank God that Nick Cannon wasn’t aborted. Because, if his mother was French, he so would have been RU486′ed. No question.

This is Nick Cannon’s entire bio on Wikipedia:

They forgot “France thinks he’s amazing.”

Fantastique!

A 77 year-old grandmother in China finally went to a doctor last week, after spending the last 63 years with a nagging headache.

So, she goes to the hospital, and…

Doctors sent the woman for an x-ray to find out the cause and were amazed to find…a rusty bullet lodged in her brain.

[She] recalled she was shot in 1943 during World War Two by the invading Japanese army.

The war wound was forgotten until surgeons plucked the rusty bullet from her skull.

The black stuff is rust. Iron oxide-hydroxide. From the antique bullet lodged in her brain. 

I now bring you:

Part 1: The Apartment

“Someone help me. Please. My head hurts so much.”
“Where does it hurt, Grandma?”
“Right about where the bullet hole in my head is.”
“Seriously, maybe you should go to the doc–”
“As I’ve told you for 63 years, I’m not going to the doctor. This pain isn’t anything that a little rhino horn or shark penis can’t fix.”
“Get in the car, Grandma.”
“Car?”

Part 2: The Hospital

“Mrs. Guangying. Before I begin your examination, I just need to know a few things.”
“OK.”
“Do you have any family history of heart disease or stroke?”
“No.”
“How about high cholesterol?”
“No.”
“Any allergies at all?”
“No.”
“Do you have a hard time sleeping at night?”
“A little.”
“Have you ever been…shot in the head?”
“Only once. But that was years ago.”

The End.

Here’s her son:

For every major American tragedy, there is an artist who steps up and writes a song that captures the moment, helping us all cope with the profound feelings of loss and devastation. 9-11 had Bruce Springsteen, Hurricane Katrina had U2 & Green Day, and now Virginia Tech has R&B superstar R. Kelly.

R. Kelly, who is an alleged (alleged=video taped) child-molester (molester=used as a toilet), felt moved to compose his tribute after watching the terrible events unfold on TV two weeks ago.

You can listen to the “inspirational” song here: 

My mistake. That’s a different song he wrote called “Sex Weed,” which is about having sex that is so good it’s exactly like smoking weed!!! Sex weed. You know, when the sex is like weed and the weed is like sex?

Sex give me the munchies
And now I wanna eat it up, oh!

Best lyric of all time? (Answer: yes.)

Least appropriate person in the world to write a tribute song to a school shooting? (Also: yes.)

Nooooo, Kellz. You’re the one who wasn’t convicted of a sex crime, remember? How soon we forget. Lay off the sex weed, buddy. 

(more…)

This just in!

Dateline, Japan: Lambs are not poodles.

A company on the internet sold thousands of lambs to unsuspecting Japanese people thinking they were buying poodles.

“Look at all the puppiez!!!”

From Metro.co.uk:

The scam was only spotted after a leading Japanese actress said her ‘poodle’ didn’t bark and refused to eat dog food.

The actress hasn’t worked in months, she says, because her dog gave her foot and mouth disease.

Poodles are famously used by the rich and glamorous on the continent but are extremely rare in Japan, with many people having little idea what they look like.

I’m working on my own Japanese e-commerce website as we speak.

AND IN OTHER NEWS…

Ever wonder what Steven Hawking would look like in zero gravity? (Spoiler alert: Like a big floppy mess!) Check the video for some guilt-ridden LOLz!

Because Cam’Ron is going to be on 60 Minutes this Sunday!

Anderson Cooper (America’s favorite closeted gay) is interviewing Cam’Ron (my favorite borderline-retarded millionaire) on the topic of hip-hop’s animosity towards the police. This, to me, is on par with the Super Bowl.

I can’t wait.

Tonight on 60 Minutes: Anderson Cooper’s report on how rappers don’t like police officers. Also, Leslie Stahl discovers that chocolate milk is delicious. And don’t miss Andy Rooney as he tries to describe the beauty of a slide-rule before falling asleep in a puddle of his own drool.

Direct quote from Cam’Ron: “There’s not really to talk about with the police…I mean…for what?” [sic][sic][sic][so fucking sic].

Did you notice the restraint right there? For Cam’Ron to be talking about serial killers on national television and not bust out with something ridiculous like “Cam be a loony rebel, a serial killa/ I eat Fruity Pebbles at yo burial, n*gga,” that takes poise.

Cam’Ron is a hero. Watch it again. Just look at him. He’s stoned out of his mind. Those diamonds are so heavy his earlobes are sinking.

He got a 7 on his SAT’s and makes MILLION$ OF DOLLAR$.

I got a sneak preview of the rest of the Cam’Ron interview, unfortunately it’s only audio. I know, it sucks, but it’s kind of crazy how much Anderson Cooper’s voice sounds exactly like mine. I’d go so far as to say it sounds like a terrible attempt at an impersonation. Click below to listen.

<– Cam’Ron on 60 Minutes.

I am so tight at Garageband & iTunes.