FFWD Weekly
Copyright © 1998 All Rights Reserved.
| MR. SMUTTY I knew Tom Jones was hot stuff 'cuz he helped save the planet in Mars Attacks!, but I wuz totally ignorant re: his arise-and-walk powers of healing. Not just a pretty voice, this guy is Lourdes water in tight pants, echinacea w/ a bulging crotch. The deal: a woman went suddenly, inexplicably mute at age 18. Twenty-eight years later, she's watching fave-rave Tom Jones on TV and her pal up-and-changes the channel. So the outraged woman breaks her silence by yelling something to the effect of "Whaddaya think yer doing? I love Tom Jones! Flip back to Tom Jones right now! You wouldn't deny a mute such a simple request, wouldja? Wait a sec, guess I'm not mu... awww, shit." Now she's a veritable chatterbox and Tom Jones is to thank. Huzzah, huzzah. (There's another Tom Jones "miracle" making the rounds, but it's kinda shaky. A Florida woman credits the swinging sounds of Tom Jones w/ helping her cope w/ her blindness. Not curing her, just helping her cope. Sheesh, if that constitutes a miracle, maybe I can in'erest ya in buying a piece of the Cross - real cheap, hardly used, bears a remarkable resemblance to an Ikea table leg. Serious offers only, puh-lease.) (Miracle, schmiracle. But I am curious as to how ToJo went about this whole "helping me cope" beeswax. Perhaps a showstopping medley of Thomas Dolby's "She Blinded Me With Science," Hootie-Four-Forty's "I Go Blind" and Talking Heads' "Blind"? A sexy pelvic thrust and some kinda inspirational shout-out, like "Baby yer blind, yeah! Can't see a thing, whooo! Thank-you and goodnight!"? Flowers and a Braille note? Dunno.) Speeding along toward my inevitable, insightful point, the findings of a University of Ulster study indicate we (Earthlings) may very well be getting stoopider by the minute. I couldn't follow the argument, but it sounds right to me. Everytime I warm up a cuppa paint-thinner in the microwave, I get the queasy feeling I'm dumbing down. I'm not only unable to tie my shoes, but I can't even beat 'em at chess anymore. True confession: I'm dumb as a sackfulla microscopes. But w/ my remaining milligrams of grey matter (alas, even w/ generous applications of lead-based Grecian Formula, I still can't get my matter back to its nat'l color), I've done a bit of thinking. OK, maybe it's only a few dorks who're bringing down the world's average IQ, kinda like the one junior high snoteater who skews the class average. Using a numskull-to-rest-of-class ratio of 1:35, and estimating the world population at a conservative, errrrr, 915, I'm guessing that it's me and about 8 other idjits who are capsizing the Earth's report card. I can't account for 7 of 'em just yet, but one of those guys has gotta be Nicholas Christenfeld of the University of California at San Diego. Nick claims, after pouring over 27 years of California death certifs, that people whose names form "positive" monograms (A.C.E., H.U.G., W.I.N., W.O.W.) live longer than losers w/ "negative" monograms (A.S.S., B.U.M., D.U.D.). So yeah: instead of saddling yer kid w/ an early-grave albatross like Douglas Igor Edward Norton O'Woeisme (D.I.E.N.O.W.), go for something positive like Hemlock Anusol Putrid Pukeface Yurfukt (H.A.P.P.Y.). Success is just a well-chosen moniker away. It's that easy! (Consumer alert: Christenfeld admits his results are kinda vague and inconclusive. That makes him a world class A.S.S.B.U.M., and I'm proud to call him friend.) Anyway, only the loving touch of Mister Tom Jones can restore my brain to its original lustre. Lay those healing hands on me, Welshman. I'm a believer! |