You may or may not have heard about this yet.
But the Cliff Notes’ version is that Mel Gibson was arrested for driving almost double the speed limit over the weekend in Malibu, CA while intoxicated — and while being carted away for his DWI, he decided it would be the perfect time to try and escape, start hurling anti-semetic comments at officers and even say sexually-explicit comments to female officers at the police station. Above all, not the smartest thing for a Hollywood actor skating on the thin-ice of the star-system.
But there’s more to the story that even the papers have yet to report (which was leaked to me late last night from a close friend who lives in Malibu) which has convinced me that the massive Mel Gibson cover-up continues…
“And then I saw it. Sherri Nakasawa always brought me something special before the meal began. That’s why I kept going back to the restaurant. Sometimes it was soup. Other days, a fried confection of some kind. But today, she revealed a fluffy ball of bread with (as she whispered quietly into my left ear), ‘a surprise inside.’
I looked to her with a look of confusion and a look of surprise all at the same time. It was more surprise than confusion but if you didn’t know me you might say, ‘Hey that guy looks sort of half confused and half surprised all at the same time.’ Then again, if you did know me you might say, ‘Hey there he goes again with his more surprised and less confused look that he normally gives when he’s really surprised in the first place.’
But none of that mattered as I dug my fork into the center of this luxurious fluffy ball of white yeast. White like the burning whites of some guy’s burning eyes (but not really burning, more like a mad/angry kind of burning) but transformed into a huge oversized fluffy and misshapen ball of bread. And as my fork passed through the center of the newfound delicacy my eyes went wide with wonder as I saw the edible paydirt before me…
It was sausage! Or it may have been beef. Or really dark chicken. Or maybe duck. Actually it could have potentially been a vegetarian tofu mix of some kind. Or styro-foam with soy sauce drenched over it. Or those little pellets you put on frozen yogurt but all chocolate flavored. Or fish eggs. Or something…
The possibilities, it seemed, were endless…”
You may or may not know Jessica Stover.
But more important than who she is, her book or even the trailer for her book is the fact that she has got to be the whitest, most vanilla, most jazz-less, soul-less caucasian female on the face of the Earth.
Which means, without question, that I am blacker than Jessica Stover.
Before any of you get all up in arms over this post and tell me I’m a racist or something, or break down each of my upcoming points and throw them into the “stereotype column” let’s just remember that this isn’t about you. This is about me. And how I’m blacker than Jessica Stover. About how, if Jessica and I were both standing in the front row of a Black Eyed Peas concert and Fergie started singing the song ‘Where Is The Love” — I would be singing the lyrics word for word while Stover would be wondering aloud, “But doesn’t Justin Timberlake sing this song?”
It seems that American Express wants to speak to the owner or financial decision maker. It seems that I’m up for the challenge. Are you? Listen to it here.
Oh, and don’t forget to ask about the apples.
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No, this isn’t a post about Lost.
Instead, today’s post will serve to announce that my still-new book The Lost Blogs has done so well out there in the real world that it looks as if we’ll be moving into the land of “Second Printing.” Which is a good thing. Which makes me happy. Which makes me want to give away free First Edition signed copies of the book.
So today, for your enjoyment, that’s just what we’re going to do. But with a twist.
But instead of sending you off on a scavenger hunt throughout the Blogosphere and instead of asking you to be the first person to be lightning-quick e-mailer amaze-a-tron, I will instead ask you to read the following paragraph: