Beloved bird flew the coop.
Waves of grief are gripping the globe at the news of the death of Flappy Wings Birdie-Boo, a beloved bird known, respected and revered for its ability to “fly in the sky, way up high.”
“The body was discovered this morning,” said Capt. Brian Ferriswheel of the Atlanta Police Department. “Until the autopsy report is completed, we cannot rule out fowl play.”
Calls into the morgue were met with equal parts anger and bitterness. “Leave me alone,” shouted an irate Kenneth Tiltawhirl, the county medical examiner, “I’m only one man and last time I checked I haven’t received a pay raise in seven years. And this morning, my toaster crapped out and I spilled coffee on these new off-white linen slacks. How you like them apples, mister smartypants?”
Meanwhile, many mourned the tragic news.
“Flappy Wings Birdie-Boo was a very popular birdie-poo,” said Rex The Talking Dog. “He had over 3,200 Facebook friends, over 460,000 followers on Twitter and a very robust Google+ account. It’s a real loss. Wish I could talk more, but I have to go to elocution class.”
If you’ve seen the trailer for We’re The Millers, you’ve seen the best bits. There’s a couple more laughs in the full-length film, but not many. Which is a damn shame because the trailer is pretty funny, but it’s only a couple minutes long. The movie runs a flabby 110 minutes.
This movie’s loaded with comedic talent: Jennifer Aniston, Jason Sudeikis, Nick Offerman, Will Poulter, Ed Helm, Kathryn Hahn, Ken Marino and on and on. But, it suffers the curse of a meandering script by four writers.
Siskel & Ebert stated that more than two writers is usually a warning sign–– and I believe they nailed it. The script doesn’t live up to the talent or its full potential. Yet, we’re so starved for laughs, it’ll do good business and probably encourage a sequel: I Said, ‘We’re The Millers‘
or We’re The Millers, Again.
It’s Millers’ Time?
It’s just too bad this particular movie isn’t better. I suspect that Ross, Chandler, Phoebe, Joey and Monica would have expected more for Rachel to prance about in her lacy things.
Congressional weasels take a well-deserved break from screwing America
“It’s tiring doing nothing to help the American people,” said an anonymous congressman as he headed off for the five-week Summer break Congress that began on Monday.
“If I had one more day of obstructing progress, I think I’d die,” said another lawmaker. “People have no idea how hard it is to try and bring the country to its knees and grind our economy into the ground.”
“I came here with one stated purpose,” said a Senator who demanded his name not be disclosed, “and that was to prove that government doesn’t work. I wanted to be elected so I could wreck the political system from the inside. It’s a noble goal I have, like strangling a kitten to prove it doesn’t really need lungs. Of course, cats have eight more lives.”
“My arms are exhausted,” said another congress member,” from acting as a puppet to special interest groups. The strings are killing me!”
Congress people scattered across the country to enjoy their well-earned break. “We’ve got to come back in five weeks,” said a congresswoman, “and we’ll have to be in great shape to endure what lobbyists do to bend our ears: endless rich dinners, expensive booze and getting our pockets stuffed with contribution checks It’s tough work, but it’s what I came to Washington to do! And when I decide to get off this gravy train, I want to be a lobbyist. Why not? I’ll have a great healthcare and pension plan for life.”
“Hitch” could be persuasive when he asked actors to dinner.
Alfred Hitchcock once described actors as cattle, which explains why he was arrested for cannibalism so often.
There is an art to casting the perfect actor for your commercial or project. I want to show you the kind of detailed casting specs I give when I’m looking to fill roles.
Samuel Dunkirker, The Doctor:
He is tall and surrounds himself with children furniture to appear even taller. He likes to grab his belly when he laughs, as if he were a giant.
The doctor wears his framed medical degree around his neck, like a medallion.
His bedside manner is calm yet manic. He has a soothing voice and says comforting things like, “Well, I don’t give you much time to live…” He will then shift gears and shout to the floor, “Damn you disease! Damn you straight to hell!!!” He’ll sob, regain composure and continue speaking in a reassuring voice to the patient, “How about that Jell-O salad on the menu today? Wasn’t that some kind of jiggle-i-cious?”
He has a rash in a secret place.
Celia, The Patient
She is a woman 34, maybe 34-and-a-half. No, scratch that. She’s 34, no more, no less. 34 exactly. In fact, today’s her birthday. That’s right, her birthday!
She has birthday cake icing on her lips and nose.
She walks left foot in front of right in a manner that results in forward locomotion. It’s quite remarkable, really, how she does this.
Celia is in love with Paul but he doesn’t know it. How would he? Paul is such a selfish egotistical bastard, it’s amazing he notices anything. I swear, he’s so high and mighty we all hope that one day he’ll dismount that high horse and get to know us– and especially get to know Celia and how much she loves him!
Celia has blue eyes, the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen.
Paul, the invisible intern
Paul is pretty high on himself, he’s also left-handed. Oh, and he’s invisible so we’ll need a special kind of actor to pull this role off…
Yancy, the pirate
He’s got an eyepatch, pegleg and parrot on his shoulder. He’s a real fish out of water in Memorial Hope & Cheery Redemption Hospital.
Unlike most pirates, Yancy mumbles. Weird, no one can appreciate his pirate-speak.
Yancy loves Celia for her blue eyes and her 2012 Toyota Camry. Yancy prefers even numbers to odd, this should be telegraphed and apparent in his performance.
National Security Agency leaker Edward Snowden is a man without a country, and a man without many fans at the Moscow Airport he has been holed-up in for weeks now.
“The guy’s a bum,” said Aleksey Tangomir who operates a newsstand at the airport. “Every day he comes by here stinking like a dead sewer rat who doesn’t use deodorant. He thumbs through the magazines and plays with the souvenir Putin stuffed dolls or the secret police keychains with the retractable 6″ serrated blade and pop-up Makarov pistol, but the cheap bastard never buys anything. I’m sick of him. Yankee go home!”
Nikodim Driscoll, manages the chain restaurant Borscht-A-Teria in the airport. He wants Snowden out. “He comes around here saying he will swap secrets for Borscht. Wants to tell me how American big brother is watching Americans. Who cares? My big brother works for KGB, I know he watches us. My sister was disappeared last year! I tell Snowden, ‘No borscht for you!’ but he never laughs. Must not be a Seinfeld fan. Who needs him?”
