Jonny's Enemies List

My current fantasy lover
Sarah McLachlan

1. Jaz Davison, who annoyed me by posting a series of images on my Facebook wall of my ex-fantasy lover Anne Hathaway yammering on about gay rights. Ms. Davison obviously didn’t read the issue of my weekly fan newsletter that disclosed that I had dumped Anne after she announced that she was engaged to some muscle-bound yahoo who she had apparently dated in so-called “real life” for decades. But lest any of you are worried that I might be lonely in my imagination, as soon as my mind realized that I was available, a cavalcade of A-list actresses, superstar female athletes and hot chicks I spotted in cosmetic ads in copies of Glamour Magazine that I read in the dentist’s office ascended on my brain to woo me as my new fantasy main squeeze. My mind is presently dating singer Sarah McLachlan, who has had a crush on me ever since I saw her at the Hollywood Bowl last year. But after the debacle of Ms. Hathaway, I have decided not to be exclusive and I am willing to permit an open door that even Anne may slip in from time-to-time. For instance, after I read Ms. Davison’s post yesterday, I allowed Anne a booty call to my brain for a three-way with myself and circa 1975 Loni Anderson from WKRP in Cincinnati. After all, when a hot chick announces that she’s into gay rights, you want to give her an opportunity to prove it.

[click to continue…]

1. Jeebus Burbano, who reacted to a do-gooder piece of cyber chain mail on the Social Network with “Why would a baby’s heart-transplant-burn-lung-liver-operation be free if you like a picture on Facebook? Please people, use logic! I don’t know why, but this irritates the crap out of me. And I’ve hidden it from the most recent culprit so I’m not a TOTAL bitch.” Ms. Burbano didn’t extrapolate on what her bitch percentage currently stood at, but she obviously hasn’t taken into account that not everyone is as smoking hot as she is. I haven’t seen the photo which set off her rant, but I’m guessing that it’s a portrait of some unfortunate soul with a hair lip and a skin condition who has some disposable income and thought “I’m a little insecure about my looks, so if I can get a million people to say that they like my picture, I’m going to pony up the dough for some low-income infant to get a desperately needed heart transplant, skin graft and lung & liver operation. I’ll feel good about myself and save a life doing it. Who could possibly complain about that?” Ms. Burbano, that’s who. With her creamy skin, velvet-like hair and sixteen year-old cheerleader physique, she’s never suffered such self image problems. So to bring the issue to the forefront, I am going to post the worst photo ever taken of me on the Social Network and if one million people click that they “like” it, I will provide erotic gratification to Jeebus Burbano in at least two bodily orifices of her choosing. I’ll feel good about myself, a million people on the Internet will have united for a single purpose, and she’ll finally have exorcised the sexual tension between us that has tortured her for years. And once she’s gotten all that stress out of her system, she just might stop acting like a total bitch.

[click to continue…]

1. My beloved Pug Winston. My mother paid us a visit this weekend and, being a good host, I insisted that Mom sleep in my bedroom while Winston and I sacked out on the couch in my home office. Winston is not allowed on my bed (he usually sleeps on a massive doggy cushion in the adjacent walk-in closet) but the couch is another matter and since I didn’t want to confuse him by suddenly changing the rules of what he is and is not permitted to park his massive ass on, he cuddled up with me on the sofa. The problem is that the incontrovertible laws of physics teach us that a 6 foot tall man and an obese Pug sharing a piece of furniture that was purchased when the man lived in a tiny studio apartment and bought furnishings so that they took up the least amount of space possible is not going to result in a restful night’s sleep. At least not for the man, who has to put up with the fact that the Pug spends 10-12 hours on the sofa every day and considers it his personal domain and he may sleep on whatever portion of the thing appeals to him. This results in the man, after spending three hours realizing that trying to be the alpha male and ordering the Pug to sleep in the one area of the sofa which would allow man and dog to both fit in a reasonable fashion was futile, finally surrendering to bending himself like a contortionist at a Chinese circus on both Friday and Saturday night so that the Pug could sleep wherever on the sofa he damned well pleased. The upshot was that I enjoyed a total of twenty minutes of sleep over the 48 hour period and the left side of my body now has all the flexibility and feeling of a recent stroke victim. Mom went home on Sunday so I was able to reclaim my bed last night as Winston returned to the walk-in closet, so I’m hoping to regain some movement in my extremities just in time for her next visit.

[click to continue…]

1. Cady Haas, who made a statement about gay rights by posting a picture of a tee-shirt with the slogan “If the fetus you save is gay, will you still fight for its rights?” What Ms. Haas fails to take into account is that the people she’s speaking to believe that fetuses choose to be gay. Keep in mind that the fetus is trapped incubating in the womb for nine months. If I’m locked up in a tight spot for any amount of time, the only thing I have to do is think of poon tang and with as many variants thrown in as possible to keep things interesting. With nine months to kill, it’s inevitable that the fetal bundle of joy growing in Mommy’s tummy is going to spend some time considering sweet man-on-man (or, if it’s a darling little girl, hot woman-on-woman) freaky sex. That is why it is essential for the God-fearing mother to be to make same-sex relationships as unappealing as possible during her pregnancy. As soon as she knows what her child’s physical gender is, she should make it repugnant to the kid so that he or she will run to its opposite. So, if you learn that you’re carrying a little boy, you should begin jabbing your stomach with blunt instruments so that he’ll have an aversion to being poked. If you have a baby girl, drink a daily cocktail of Tabasco sauce and vinegar mixed in with some clippings of your own public hair so that she’ll develop an unpleasant association with the taste of the female genital area. It’s all covered in my new book Jonny’s Guide to Delivering a Heterosexual Baby published by Insane Christians Press. To be honest with you, the last 100 pages are stick figures I doodled during commercials while I was watching The Big Bang Theory. I figured that anybody stupid enough to worry about something like that would lack the mental capacity to read an entire book, anyway.

[click to continue…]

1. My buddy Justin Levine, who provided a thoughtful analysis of the recent court decision striking down California’s Proposition 8 banning gay marriage as unconstitutional. Among his many other talents, Mr. Levine is an attorney who opined “the 9th Circuit ruling was rather narrow and really only applies to the unique circumstances on how the issue played out in this state” and went on to predict that the U.S. Supreme Court may elect not to hear an appeal of the ruling. This would result in gay marriage retaining its legality in California but the issue would remain in constitutional limbo for the rest of the country. Mr. Levine explained that his statement was primarily geared to his “legal-geek friends,” which made me realize that it’s important to remember that such legislation is written by lawyers for lawyers, and any impact that trickles its way down to us is only because of their wheeling and dealing. We like to think that our houses of government are packed with statesmen from various walks of life who are concerned with what we are concerned with. But the reality is that except for the periods when the office was filled by a former military man, there has never been a President of the United States whose professional background wasn’t in law. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad and if it would make a difference if we had someone in power who made his money as a newspaperman or a painter or an electrician (which sounds preposterous, but anyone who recognizes the name Lech Wałęsa will remember that it happened in Poland). After all, whenever someone ran for the office who made his fortune as a pizza magnate or a real estate baron/reality TV host, the results were usually pretty embarrassing. I guess we’re stuck with the legal geeks for now but at least after the decision made by the 9th Circuit Court of Appeals, it seems like we have a few intelligent ones on the job.

[click to continue…]

1. Hal Holbrook, who I saw perform his one-man show Mark Twain Tonight! at the Valley Performing Arts Center on Saturday. The first thing I noticed when I took my seat was that I had paid eighty bucks for a ticket to a show which had the same simple set – a chair on one side of the stage, a podium on the other – which decorated every other one-man show I had seen at libraries and church back rooms. That scarcely mattered when Mr. Holbrook took the stage as Mark Twain, a role he has been playing for over 50 years and which I had seen in a superlative 1967 ABC television presentation that is available on DVD. Alas, Mr. Holbrook is now 86 years old and many of the lapses in memory and confused pauses he displayed onstage seemed to be coming from the actor rather than the characterization. Even Mr. Holbrook seemed to feel that he needed a safety net, frequently referring to note cards while he stood at the podium. But there was no denying that we were seeing a legend at work, and any of the (surprisingly high number of) audience members who left at intermission missed the point that the experience didn’t come from watching the show itself, but in the priceless opportunity of getting one of the last chances to see the man who invented the genre in action. He went on for too long (the program indicated that Mr. Holbrook chose the material he performed as he went, and on Saturday night he chose to go on for almost two and a half hours), especially when he performed an interminable and often indecipherable monologue from Huckleberry Finn in the second half. But when he was at the top of his game (which he decidedly was for most of the evening), I had a smile plastered on my face that nothing short of an interminable and often indecipherable monologue from Huckleberry Finn could remove. And when Mr. Holbrook/Twain finally called it a night (explaining that his “teeth were loose”),  everyone in attendance gave him an enthusiastic and heartfelt standing ovation. Not only for the performance we had just seen, but for the fifty years of performances that preceded it.

[click to continue…]

1. The evil genius Lars Fargo, with whom Bro Joe and I dined last night. When the three of us get together, Mr. Fargo loves nothing more than to live vicariously through Joe’s and my tales of our adventures with the fairer sex. The only problem with that is while Joe’s stories always depict his hooking up with a nymphomaniacal lingerie model climaxing with a scenario that’s usually only found between the pages of Penthouse Forum, my anecdotes describe my encounters with some yammering yenta which conclude with my returning home alone to angrily masturbate. Fargo’s favorite of my romantic disasters occurred when I met a young lady for dinner at an outdoor mall and we ducked into a toy store afterwards because I was under the mistaken conclusion that they carried genital-shaped cushions which would provide leverage for what I intended to be doing with her later that evening. Instead, it turned out to be a conventional toy store where she saw a doll that she so wanted to have that she immediately got on her cell phone and spent the next twenty minutes trying to talk her mother into giving her permission to purchase it. Alas, Mommy refused to grant the young lady (who, for the sake of your being able to picture this nightmare in your foggy imaginations, was about 30 at the time) authorization to add the doll to what I assume was her already massive collection, so we both exited the toy store in a much fouler mood than when we entered it. To cut to the chase, we terminated the date shortly afterwards and repaired to each of our respective doll collections, where she enjoyed a midnight tea party atop her lace canopy bed with the Powerpuff Girls bedspread and I inflated one of my many love toys which never had to call up its mother in order to get consent to experience some earthly pleasures.

[click to continue…]

1. “Crispy” Bacon, who has been rolling out a line of products like Diet Coke and dental floss “with Bacon.” Like most of you, I had assumed this meant that both the Coca Cola Company and Johnson & Johnson had come up with the idea of increasing sales by infusing their products with the delicious taste of fried pig strips and had approached Mr. Bacon’s publicist to attach his name to the marketing campaign for enhanced visibility. I soon discovered that Mr. Bacon’s association with the products is far more personal. With the dental floss, you don’t just get something that tastes like bacon; you get something that’s been used by Bacon. Every morning, a Johnson & Johnson truck rolls up to the Bacon estate and collects the miles of dental floss that he uses on a daily basis to keep his perfect smile so immaculately white. Then, it is taken to the company’s packaging plant in New Jersey and re-spooled into packets with the Bacon brand and rushed to his legions of waiting fans. The Diet Coke is a bit more problematic since the packers have to wait until Mr. Bacon has drank the soda and then allowed it to pass through nature’s usual course before it can be expelled and collected in easy-to-ship plastic bags. Then, caramel dye is added to restore the familiar Coke hue and it is pumped into the attractive Bacon cans. The only problem for Bacon fans who long to drink his caramel-colored urine is that Diet Coke with Bacon isn’t currently approved for sale in the United Stated by the FDA, but it can be purchased in mass quantity in Mexico. Coming soon: Packed Fudge with Bacon.

[click to continue…]

Ken Howard disclosing to the audience at the SAG Awards that he never had sex with his mother

1. The Screen Actors Guild, which continued its storied tradition of gathering the most illustrious names in show business for the SAG Awards telecast in order to create the most boring and poorly organized awards show on television. It’s difficult to narrow down the lowest point in the program with so many pathetic moments to choose from. Possibly it was Alec Baldwin winning his sixth consecutive “Actor” (surely the lamest name for an award ever concocted), who gave a gracious speech but after six consecutive wins I guess he’s had plenty of practice at it. Perhaps it was the obnoxious kids who were allowed to give the acceptance speech on behalf of the cast of Modern Family (acting is the only profession I am aware of in which pre-teens frequently wins its highest honors; which says a lot about how pretentious actors are when they speak of the “difficulty” of their craft). We might consider Jean Dujardin winning the Best Actor in a Leading Role Award for The Artist; a nice job on his part but it’s hard to get too emotional over it when I still don’t know anybody who refers to him as anything but “the guy from The Artist.” It may have been Mary Tyler Moore’s acceptance of a lifetime achievement award which was so awkwardly staged that the audience wasn’t clear on when it was beginning or when it ended. My own choice would be the appearance of SAG president Ken Howard, who looked like Jabba the Hut in formal wear and made a disconcertingly inappropriate remark about how he had never gone to bed with either his mother or the woman he was working with to complete a merger with SAG and AFTRA. I only hope that when AFTRA does join SAG that they inject it with somebody who knows how to put on a decent awards show, because apparently there’s nobody currently in the union who has the faintest clue of how to pull that off.

[click to continue…]