FFWD Weekly
Copyright © 1998 All Rights Reserved.
| MR. SMUTTY A typical day? Thought you'd never ask. I rise well before dawn, grab a hot cuppa joe, then sit out on the curb to eagerly await the early edition. The paperboy (somewhat of a misnomer since he's a 45-year-old on a rusty 10-speed) often takes his Missus Butterworth, so I bide my time by flipping thru the dictionary, on the lookout for in'eresting words w/ which to create my art (much in the way that ragamuffins root thru BFI bins looking for acrylic paints and elephant tusks). Last Tuesday, for e.g., I lucked upon "glaikit." Anyway, with the newspaper bunched up in one clawlike hand and a fluorescent hi-liter scotch-taped to the other, I soak up the world. I'm not unlike Mel Gibson in Conspiracy Theory, except at no time have I been a trained assassin dispatched to off Julia Roberts' dad. (April Fool's Day '93 notwithstanding. Hey: a joke's a flippin' joke, Jules.) As a mush-headed sap, I believe everything I read. The other nite I stayed up (waging battle w/ those delicious, mischievous NeoCitron sleep fairies every step of the way) to watch South Park 'cuz I'd read it's the funniest thing ever. I was glaikit as a schoolgirl w/ anticipation, but - even tho I applaud the sheer laziness of South Park's lo-end animation (speaking of sloth, if yer swept up in déjà vu, it's only cuz this same article also ran last week, so relax), and even tho it's good to see Isaac Hayes working again after going toe-toe-toe w/ Mr. Taxman, Mr. Thief (Praise L. Ron Hubbard and his career-resuscitating powers! Praise him!), and even tho the premise of a Mountie stationed Stateside is kinda clever - I must come clean & admit South Park is el shitto. In, uh, a "best TV show ever" kinda way, I mean. Forget about how ya can't barely make out what the fat kid ("Cartman," but it sounds like they're saying "Carmen") is saying, let alone whether it's dirty/funny. Forget about the fact that Primus ("Your wacky zaniness is in my bass solo! Your bass solo is in my wacky zaniness!") do the theme song. Forget about how the idea of killing Kenny every episode seems hi-larious when ya read about it in Rolling Stone/Newsweek/Bargain Finder, but isn't really that funny execution-wise (the pun, my friend, is not only intentional, but the result of 25 minutes o' brainbusting hard labor). Rid yer mind of all negative energy: South Park is the best thing on TV. I also read (and bought hookah-lime-and-stinker) 'bout a buncha Polish farmers who got all tanked up, then decided to get naked and pummel one another w/ frozen turnips as a test of their (wink!) masculinity. (This is highly reminiscent of "Brick," the fun-for-all game favored by acid-casualty-turned-Earth-mother Julian Cope & pals, in which you throw a brick at yer opponent and they return fire, assuming they're not too dead.) The good-natured game of "Turnip" took a bizarre turn, however, when one of the farmers upped the ante by cutting off his foot w/ a chainsaw. Not one to ignore a gauntlet when it lands w/ a sickening squish, Krystof Azinski (age 30) grabbed the chainsaw, yelled "Watch this then!" and cut off his head. The article is vague on a lot of details. It does not say whether Azinski won the game, which I'd say is a pretty important part of the story. No specifics are given as to how he managed to saw off his own head, but I'd guess he'd have to be double-jointed or something - unless he threw the chainsaw into the air and caught it w/ his neck, kinda like people do w/ peanuts. Nor is there any indication as to whether Azinski's head kept on drinking (likely), or whether his buddies resumed the game using his severed head (also quite likely). (A forcefully-flung turnip can really sting, but bloody noggins stain.) Was Azinski's head successfully reattached? Dunno. Was the other farmer's severed foot successfully grafted to Azinski's neck and vice versa? If so, would it affect either guy's on-the-job performance? Dunno on both counts. Was it one of those ginsu chainsaws that can cut thru pig iron but still slice a spinal cord like butter? Dunno, dunno, dunno - but I'm a believer all the same. Anyway, gotta run: the neighbor's dog just started barking secret messages and I'd be a durn fool not to listen. |