Welcome back to The Bootleg. On behalf of all the men out there, I think it’s time for the women in my audience to come clean about the clitoral congregation of their kind, commonly called”¦The Bachelorette Party.
Now, I’m not talking about those vapid viewing parties where white folk gather to see if “Staci” (isn’t it always with an I?) picks Nicholas or Joseph. I’m talking about the pre-marriage ritual that usually involves five or more females, a night on the town and some tomfoolery sponsored by Tom Collins.
Last Saturday, a friend and I came across one of these girl gatherings while enjoying the obnoxious opulence of Dick’s Last Resort in downtown San Diego.
We sat down at a table next to about eight women of varying beauty, body shapes and BACs. I peered over the head of my frosty adult beverage to notice a buxom “blonde” with about two dozen LifeSavers candies stitched to her one-size-too-small cotton top.
Most of you probably know that these bachelorette outings involve some semblance of audience participation by the patrons of whatever pub they end up at. Usually, it’s some sexually themed shenanigans that involve the future bride whoring herself out for a few bucks to kiss her on the cheek.
Look for the plethora of penis-shaped party favors the next time you’re at your favorite bar and you’ll have found your bachelorette bash.
Anyways”¦the LifeSavers girl isn’t hard to miss, but it’s her very loud friend (and maid of honor) who made the first move to our table. You all know the type”¦she was probably in her late 30s, but dressed like she was in her early 20s. That’s not to say that daddy didn’t like or anything”¦I’m just setting the mood, here.
The friend explains the rules of the evening, as if we needed instructions to figure out why the LifeSavers girl had faintly colored circular stains where previously suckled sweets had been on her bosom.
Basically, you pay”¦you play.
Since I have “23 months” in the “How Long Will Aaron’s Marriage Last?” pool, I figured it was time to assure myself at least a share of the winnings. I promptly plunked down some coin and proceeded to perform oral surgery for the removal of a red Lifesaver from the bride-to-be’s breast.
Where are the pink ribbons for this tragic affliction?
Now, this isn’t the first bachelorette party that I’ve taken upon myself to invade. But, it is the first time that I’ve openly wondered what the hell my wife did during her bachelorette party, which was held in Las Vegas.
I mean”¦what if her night ended like mine?
As the bars began to close and let us loose on San Diego’s roads and highways, I found Lifesaver girl coming from inside. I walked up to her and slurred:
“If I give you my last forty bucks, can I have a real taste of your candy?”
She giggled like they always do, before they cry date rape 12 hours later, but all that was left on her were grape and lemon Lifesavers. Not my favorites, but I got my $40 worth of lecherous lemon and groping grape, then stealthily slid two bills into the back of her pants.
As my friend and I hurriedly left the bar, in search of our car, I turned to him and said, “Best two dollars I ever spent.”
And if her future husband is out there reading this, remember: The Goodness had her first”¦
And Janet Loves Him for His Looks
Jermaine Dupri, Hip Hop’s original hedgehog is seeking to expand the brand of his music label, So So Def Entertainment.
On the horizon is the “Def Café”, which is slated to be a 24-hour eatery in Atlanta. Also in the works is a Dupri-produced television pilot that’s described as an urban version of Lifestyles of the Rich & Famous. Finally, Dupri is hoping to break into the toy industry with replica dolls figures of himself and some of his artists.
Well, I see no reason why we can’t take these in order. Now, the concept of a Black-owned restaurant catering to Atlanta’s large African-American population is certainly intriguing.
Although, if I know my people, there’ll be a perpetual 20 minute wait for a table (“C.P. Seating”) and an additional 20 minutes on the back end for parties of two or more to divide up the bill and leave a 5% tip.
As for Dupri’s venture into TV, I know there’s nothing I’d like to see more than an even stronger marriage of materialism and my favorite rappers. And make sure there are copious camera shots of each MCs posse playing pool in the background, next to the poster of Scarface and surround sound Playstation system.
I’ve even got a name for it”¦MTV Cribs.
Oh, and anyone who pays money for a Jermaine Dupri action figure should know that the actual template was made 25 years ago. They just gave him an inexplicably hot girlfriend.
In Brightest Day, In Blackest Night”¦
The likeness of Wu-Tang Clan’s The RZA will appear in a three-minute animated short as a DVD addition to the soundtrack for the upcoming Blade: Trinity movie. The soundtrack drops on November 23, while the movie hits the screen on December 10.
On a related note, the current over/under for the number of reviews of the third Blade film posted to the main page of a certain wrestling-entertainment site is seven.
And, just appearing on the Vegas boards within the last hour is your chance to place a bet on how many of these reviews will spend more time talking about Triple H’s cameo than Wesley Snipes’ continued descent into the darkness of double-feature drive-in theater obscurity.
Although, admittedly, any trip “into the darkness” is a pretty short one for Wesley’s black ass. And he might get there even quicker if Bernie Mac didn’t have to pull over for a bathroom break every 10 miles.
The good news is that they’re not that far away. Look, aren’t those Whoopi Goldberg’s and Tom Jackson’s lips on the horizon?
West Goes South”¦White Goes Black
In about 90 days, music writers will all start falling over themselves to crown Kanye West’s College Dropout CD as the album of the year. Now, I happen to be in violent disagreement with my journalistic brethren on this one, as it’s not even the best rap album of the year.
Fortunately, salvation comes in the form of The Stellar Gospel Awards committee who have deservedly pulled West’s nomination for his insufferably self-serving Jesus Walks joint. Kanye is as much “gospel” as he is “ghetto”. And, yes, I know that’s supposed to be part of his appeal, but I just can’t get down with “middle class rap”.
That is, unless it involves m’man B-Rad from Malibu’s Most Wanted. And, am I the only one who’s torn on Jaime Kennedy? He’s really walking a fine line between “breakout star” and Barry Sobel.
Oh, come on”¦I know you haven’t forgotten Barry Sobel? He played the oppressed bellboy who rapped with Robert Carradine in Revenge of the Nerds 2: Nerds in Paradise. He played the lone white character during the final season of 227.
As you can see, he was another white man who embraced Black entertainment (think Darius Rucker in reverse) and he hasn’t been heard from in years. Come to think of it”¦Jackee did get pretty heavy towards the end of 227’s run”¦you don’t think she ate”¦nah.
The Fall of Foxxy Cleopatra
During a Destiny Child’s dance rehearsal, Beyonce felt a “pop” in one of her luxurious legs and collapsed in a heavenly heap. She rushed to a Los Angeles area hospital where it was determined that she had torn her right hamstring.
Now, I’m thinking that Ms. Knowles might want to seek a second opinion. It’s not that L.A. doctors have a questionable track record, but I hear that they mistakenly diagnosed Biggie Smalls with the same thing when his lifeless body was beached against the shores of their automatic double doors back in March of 1997.
For the first few hours, B.I.G.’s bullet wounds were written off as “nooks and crannies””¦like those commonly found in a Thomas’ English Muffin. It didn’t help that the brutha was literally bleeding butter, either.
Oh, come on”¦everyone gets one free fat joke at a dead man’s expense. If anything, I should be commended for avoiding the easy targets of Nell Carter and Jerry Lewis. (Yeah, yeah, I know”¦Lewis isn’t dead and Nell Carter isn’t”¦oh, wait, he is dead. Carry on.)
It’s From 4F01: Lisa’s Date With Density
Britney Spears has announced that she plans to post a “life-changing” letter to her fans on her website today. She claims that she’ll be setting the record straight on all the rumors that surround her, as well.
Ah, but here’s the kicker”¦it’s gonna cost you $25 to view the letter. Now, as everyone knows, I’m all about my readers. So, at the stroke of midnight”¦as yesterday became today”¦I pulled out the credit card and made the ultimate sacrifice.
Understand that I could get in a lot of trouble for this, but here, in its entirety, is Britney Spears’ letter to her fans:
Greetings, friends. Do you wish to look as happy as me? Well, you’ve got the power inside you right now. So, use it, and send twenty-five dollars to Happy Dude, 742 Evergreen Terrace, Springfield. Don’t delay, eternal happiness is just twenty-five dollars away!
You’re welcome.
Sometimes The News Just Writes Itself
Namco America has filed suit against Houston rapper Lil’ Flip for his unauthorized use of Pac-Man and Ms. Pac-Man video game sound bites in his hit single Game Over. The quarters-craving conglomerate cited the song’s use of profanity and numerous references to guns and drugs as detrimental to the company’s “family friendly” image.
And, who amongst us doesn’t have sweet memories of their Dads trying to defeat Donkey Kong or their Moms maneuvering Millipede’s track ball. I tells ya”¦those things f*cked up more fingertips than a dozen diabetics.
Getting back to quarters for a minute”¦you know you’re getting old when you no longer have any use for them. For example, in my pre-teen days, I’d stick my entire allowance into the change machine, just to ensure hours of exclusive play on Star Wars or Sinistar.
A decade later, quarters doubled as a means to clean my clothes in college”¦after getting in way over my head during a round of the drinking game of the same name. On the plus side, I did learn how bums get their smell.
Ah, but these days, video games and laundry machines are under the same roof of Stately Bootleg Manor. And you know how married men (with children) are obligated to use their excess quarters in this day and age.
Why spend ’em, when you can collect ’em”¦collect ’em all!
Nick’a Please
conceptualized by Nick Salemi
Last week, I visited my local movie theater and saw the trailer for National Treasure starring Nicolas Cage. I can’t remember being more insulted by a movie trailer in my life. (OK, it happens all the time! Shaun of the Dead“¦I mean are they kidding?)
Trust me, I’m no movie snob, I own How High on DVD, so take that how you will. I guess I secretly admire the total lack of regard for the intelligence of the viewer. Clearly I’m no critic, but luckily, giving opinions without a shred credibility has never been a problem for me.
Cage appears to be in his “blockbuster movie character” mode. Expect a lot of monotone, smarmy one-liners and no attempt to make you believe this could ever be a real person. Since it’s also a Jerry Bruckheimer movie, you can be sure it’s short on anything of substance anyway, but hey, shiny things will go “boom”!
In the trailer alone, I’ve already spotted the following cliches:
1. The “doubting/scared/sarcastic sidekick buddy”. (With possible technical skills, since he does have glasses”¦he must be a “computer whiz”.)
2. Cage yelling “Get down!” followed by an explosion and his sidekick yelling, “Get out of there now!” I think the Governator may have patented those lines. He may want to check with his lawyers.
3. The non-humorous line, “I’m gonna steal the Declaration of Independence”, sounds uncannily like when his character from The Rock said “Honey, do you want to know who really killed JFK?”
4. You may recognize the bad guy in this movie. That’s because he’s already played the same evil Euro-terrorist role in 50 previous movies.
5. The now required in-joke of mocking the action/horror movie staple of entering some dark, scary room with the line, “Who wants to go down the creepy tunnel inside the tomb first?”
When dialogue brings to mind The Mummy Returns, you may have a problem.
This Thanksgiving”¦National Treasure. Experience a movie that you’ve already seen several times…again.
General Haberdashery
As the calendar turns to October, I’m reminded that today begins the final three months of my reign as 2003 Music Staffer of the Year. In just 90 days, I’ll cede the throne and adjustable cardboard crown to someone eminently more deserving than I.
Oh, I figure I’ll be on the ballot for the ’04 award, but let’s face it”¦I relied on a lot of ballot box stuffing last year and word on the streets of (sigh) “New Eazy” is that the libraries will be cutting back on public computer usage time this winter. And, I’m nothing without that East Coast homeless and unemployed demographic.
The next time any of you happen to pass one of these guys outside a Dunkin’ Donuts, splash some Chocolate Raspberry coffee or throw a cruller at ’em. Dehumanization has never been more delicious!
Anyways, in order, here are the leaders at the three-quarters mark for 2004 Music Staffer of the Year.
Sorry, guys, but it’s Gloomchen’s award to lose this year. The self-professed “super-white-Midwesterner” even managed to connect with my Black ass on her melancholy mosey down memory lane this week. Ah, who am I kidding”¦you’ll all vote for her based on the nude picture she has floating around the net.
Mathan’s latest include tons of Radiohead (not to be confused with Waynehead which appeared on Kids WB in the late ’90s). He’ll be the first to tell you there’s no shame in the silver medal”¦just anonymity. Read it, then read it again. As Widro says: “Sponsors likey hits.”
Fernandez is so subliminally brilliant that he can begin his column with hot sauce and end with Sinead O’Connor. I’m told it’s one of those “Hispanic-Irish” things”¦kind of like “Maria” in that West Side Story movie. Not to be confused with her on-screen Sister, Peter Marie.
Hey, by the way”¦have y’all been reading Mathan’s TV column? Last week, he riffed on the evils of Dave Chappelle.
I mention this for two reasons: One, I unknowingly said some of the same things in last week’s Bootleg (give ’em both a look to find out how eerily close to the same wavelength we were on”¦right down to the Pootie Tang references!) and two, Mathan uses his column to christen the new 3 Tha Friday supergroup!
OK, so it’s only me, him and T.J. Houshmandzadeh from 411’s Movie News Happy Hour, but hey we do what we can.
Of course, the “J” stands for Joe Reid and the official Movies Correspondent of the Bootleg is in fine form, as always. Included are jokes about the East German Swim Team, Children of the Corn and Edie McClurg. It’s like he saw my column and put it right up on screen!
And, if you haven’t already, go read Tayo for his grown-up take on music and a short-form synopsis of the new TV season. (Although, he’s gonna need a lot more triple-spacing before he’s ever considered a legit TV writer. A lot more.)
Life With the Bootleg Family
Next weekend could, quite simply, be the biggest weekend in the history of my hometown. Bootleg correspondent and my own personal Connecticut Connection, Nick Salemi is traveling west for a stop in Las Vega$, then out to California.
Long Beach, California.
Home of Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles, birthplace of Billie Jean King, 213 and, me”¦ajc.
Perhaps remembering the last time Nick and I hooked up, the wife was understandably unenthusiastic about an encore”¦especially since it would mean an entire evening without having someone to watch her pass out on the couch, after putting the kid down five seconds earlier.
Mrs. Bootleg’s first response to this eventual encounter was to ask if I planned to be gone all weekend.
Even after almost two years of marriage, I still can’t tell when she’s being serious or sarcastic. I mean, I wasn’t planning on being gone all weekend, but was she open to the possibility or just waiting for the wrong answer from me, sparking her to leave forever?
Either way, I’d be getting three wife-free days in Long Beach, for only the cost of a bar tab, food, gas and possibly some alimony. Remember, it’s not a guarantee that she’d leave me.
Still, I took the high road and compromised by suggesting just one Saturday evening out. She was cool”¦or so I thought. The very next day, she informed me that I’d have to baby-sit Jalen on Saturday, October 9, because she was attending a baby shower that day.
The shower starts at 2:00 PM and the drinking (even factoring in my 90 minute drive) wouldn’t start until several hours later.
Now, I thought women were supposed to be the “slick” ones of the species? The only thing more despicable than pulling the “something suddenly came up” card is to use our own son as part of the subterfuge.
And, I better not find no rainbow-colored circles of stickiness on your top when you come home, either.
Ah, like I care”¦Nick, I’ll see you next Friday.
Tired of mid-week Ebonics and Ivory? We fix what’s Broken (along with Broke-Ass Writers) Every Week! Get at me on AOL or Yahoo IM: ajcameron13
