They’re the same fanboys who pretty much ruined Jake Lloyd’s life. I guess they have to compensate for wasting so many hours of their childhoods by sitting on their asses to watch Star Wars movies.

That’s a better story than my experience of watching the Schwarzenegger bomb, “The Last Action Hero” - the projector’s film got jammed and so the picture was cut in half during the movie’s last 10 minutes. A moviegoer with a thick Noo Yawk accent lost his shit and screamed, “Fix the motherfucking picture, ya fuck…

I was going to say, fondue pots were more of a 70's thang, while dusty fondue pots left in the pantry for years were an 80's thang.

“Any home chef knows that bay leaves are yard garbage that are used primarily to put into soups so that you have to fish them out later.”

My Filipina aunties would like to have a word with you. You might wanna wear a cup.

I’ve long been curious about those things; I have to snag one.

A bouquet garni sachet or a spice bag also does the job.

And an epic lush.

Should be interesting - Uncle Shel was a dirty old man who wrote many of his famous children’s poems while hammered on wine. One of his blue classics:

The Beasties’ “Licensed to Ill” shtick was actually a parody of Brooklyn meatheads. Unfortunately, they became what they spoofed until they snapped out of it when they loved to LA to produce, “Paul’s Boutique.”

Aw c’mon, you need to hear the bass again.

Radio personalities are usually not oil paintings (i.e. Howard Stern, Adam Carolla).

Macca’s “Christmastime” usually triggers childhood memories of suffering from a nasty flu while sitting at a Payless drugstore’s pharmacy.

Zappa had the opposite appeal to me - I preferred his music much more than his smug, misanthropic persona in interviews. From what I understand, his jadedness came from being arrested in a bizarre sting operation where detectives fooled him into producing a record for stag parties.

As for other recommendations: Burnt…

Indeed, “Money” was one of my favorite records when I was at San Francisco State, (in “the town where phony hippies meet/psychedelic dungeons popping up on every street”). I do admit that parts of try too hard to be “eccentric,” but the record’s a fine document of late 60's cynicism toward American society.

SPOILER ALERT: The monsters quickly shrink into embarrassed, naked humans after the Rock defeats them.  

Yep, much of the reviews said very little about the instrumentation. It was all about being an armchair psychiatrist and probing an album’s Deep Meaning.

Indeed, he could have done this five years ago after Gawker broke the story about the allegations.

And Stalin loved to goof off:

I still get a kick out of the coach’s unhelpful advice for a black and blue Mac:

I had a “You gotta be fucking kidding me” moment during the battle against Jared Fogle: