Bro, what are you doing? Bro, what are you doing? Bro, what are you doing? Bro, what are you doing? Bro, what are you doing? Bro, what are you doing? Bro, what are you doing? Bro, what are you doing? Bro, what are you doing? Bro, what are you doing? Bro, what are you doing? Bro, what are you doing? Bro, what are you doing?
Bro!
(Thanks to regular reader and regular guy Charles Schneider for sending that one along)
Now that’s what I call mucus — er — music. Whisky Coca Cola is the best thing to happen to popular music since Elvis discovered that teenage girls are really into guys who play the guitar and sing. I can’t wait to see Whisky Coca Cola performed live at Coachella and Lollapalooza. These guys are going to bring the proverbial house down and steal all the ashtrays. The only thing left for them to play after that is the Superbowl halftime show, but they aren’t nearly washed up enough to play there. You have to be at least ten years past your prime and you can’t be any good to begin with.
This band is in the perfect position. If at least one member dies in a mysterious gardening accident they’ll be on the top of the charts in no time.
Ah, George of the Jungle. For readers of the BSBFB of a certain age, George of the Jungle will always be an amusing cartoon. For some reason, chicks prefer the live-action movie with Brendan Fraser in a buttflap. Chicks are weird, ain’t they? And what is it with chicks and horses, anyway?
At any rate, it may be time for a new version of George of the Jungle. I hereby nominate George of the Cliff Face here. Of course the theme song will require a rewrite:
George, George, George of the cliff face
Soaring like a hawk
Ahhh
Watch out for that rock!
George, George, George of the cliff face
Destined for the doc
Ahhh!
Watch out for that rock!
When he gets in a scrape
He makes his escape
And pays for the hospital
With this videotape
Then away he’ll schlep
With his internet rep
While YouTube and Instagram
Stay in step with
George, George, George of the cliff face
Next time check the wind sock
Ahhh!
Watch out for that (Ahhh) (Oooh) rock!
(Thanks to longtime reader Charles Schneider for sending that one along)
I like hanging from the ceiling as much as the next guy, but he really needs a better system.
Suction cups were all the rage for quite a while, but like everything else I adore, they seem to have gone out of style. I assume the sickening fart and pop every time you moved a limb was just too much for people, but I didn’t mind at all. Suction cups were effective, darn it. Just because you turn into a giant, annoying, raspberry machine doesn’t mean the cups weren’t working. On the contrary, the juicier the sound the suction cups made, the more securely you were fastened to the wall.
The real question is: how am I supposed to fly to Las Vegas, scale the side of the Fontainebleau building, break in through a side window using only a piece of string and a slice of lemon, evade security using only my wits, deactivate several silent alarms, hack into the mainframe for poops and giggles and plant a virus in their computer system, abseil into the main gallery to avoid a thin layer of laser traps across the floor, steal the world’s third largest crystal geode, escape, and romance several down-and-out super models using magnets? I’d be shot on sight trying to get through airport security wearing those silly magnet shoes. At least with suction cups you can lie and say there’s something wrong with you, and you need to apply suction to various parts of you body or you’ll die. Try doing that with magnets, smart guy.