Michael Krogmann

An Introduction To Rory Bumpers

2006-01-08T23:36:00.000-08:00

So over the weekend, I was going through some of my old files and came across the long lost Rory Bumpers columns. In 2000, my friend Max and I worked at a place called SportsPage.com. We didn't have any sports reporters, we didn't go to games and yet somehow, we still lost out to cbsportsline and espn.com. What can you do?

Anyway, Max and I created a character called Rory Bumpers, who was basically an old school super celebrity. As the story goes, he was huge between '51 and '78, then disappeared for about 22 years, only to make a triumphant return at SportsPage.com.

Now - for only the second time online! - I offer you the entire Rory Bumpers catalog. Sixty-some daily columns written between March 30 and June 26, when SportsPage.com went kaput.

And again, this was in 2000, so the sports news is, um, somewhat dated.

March 30th

2006-01-08T23:34:00.001-08:00

Greetings, amigos! Bumpers here. I’m on a bus right now heading back to L.A. from my weekend getaway at the Betty Ford Clinic. I don’t care who you are, where you’re from, or what you do. If you want to get away and forget the stress of this workaday world, or if you’re battling a crippling addiction, nothing beats the serenity of the West Wing of the BFC. Which reminds me, Chevy Chase says hello.

Give me a second here to think about what I want to do with my first column. This is a big one. Sets the stage and whatnot. Of course, with that radio show, I hope I’m not spreading myself too thin. Okay, I’ve got it! Let’s talk basketball. College basketball.

After the regular season and three more weeks, we’re down to just two teams. The Michigan State Tigers, and the kids from Florida. My God, let me think who will win this game. I missed Saturday’s games because it was arts and crafts day at the Betty. I hear Wisconsin played a hell of a game.

While the popsicle stick house I made on Saturday is charming, it doesn’t tell me anything about who’s going to win tonight. Let me consult my good friend Johnnie Walker, who always has the answers. It’ll take a while because the bottle’s pretty full, but by the time I reach the bottom, old Johnnie will have told me who will win. That’s a little trick I learned when I was still knocking’ em dead in Carson City. Worked in a little joint called the "Yellow Nugget".

Speaking of Carson City, I ran into that young pup Carson Daly. I don’t know about you, but if you ask The Showman, this kid has the charisma of an old brown shoe. I’ve been more entertained by long division. In my day, you had to earn your way on television. What’s that? Oh, I’m sorry, my friend Johnnie is telling me not to bitch.

Okay, I’m back. Sorry about that. I dozed off for the past four hours. Ever wake up with your forehead in a TV dinner? I’m here to tell you it ain’t pretty.

Vasco de Gama did the devil’s work. You can’t trusst Portugale. Peach pie is tasty. So is Bernadette Peters. I tried to jump in her britches once, but she sprayed me in the eyes with Channel number five. Getting so tired.
ggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggsdgnhjdfhsgrsdghtrh45#.
I’m sorry about that, I’m drunk. Drunk like a fox! Until tomorrow, this is The Showman reminding you, don’t accept wooden nickels.

April 3rd

2006-01-08T23:34:00.000-08:00

Good day, people! The Showman here. Holy crap, was I wrong about last night’s game! Not at all what I thought it would be like. Turned out completely different. I had no idea. But what a game! I haven’t seen such excitement since that time Bing Crosby and I beat Jimmy Demaret and Uncle Miltie in a three-legged race at the Binger’s annual clambake. Yes, that sure was some game. I don’t think I’ll ever see anything like that ever again.

All right, I can’t lie to you. I didn’t watch last night’s game. Forgot all about it. Oh well, there’s always next year…I guess.

I read in the paper this morning that Opening Day for baseball was yesterday. Sports Illustrated picked Boston to win it all. Then yesterday Larry King picked the Red Sox to win it all, too. Memo to Larry: Reading something somewhere and then writing it down in your column does not make for good reading. I think it’s over, buddy.

Which reminds me, I read that NBC cancelled God, the Devil and Bob. I don’t know what that means, but it sure sounds interesting.

A friend told me Carson Daly mentioned me by name on his little music television program there yesterday. Said I was a washed up old coot, or something to that effect. I didn’t see it, but if he did say something, I like his moxie. I’ll make sure he gets a case of Chivas courtesy of The Showman.

But this column is about sports, not those bright lights of Hollywood that burnt me up so severely. So let’s see what’s going on in the sports world. Well, there was that basketball game last night. And baseball is underway. Just think, in only six months we’ll be talking about the World Series, the Fall Classic. It really makes you think, doesn’t it?

Let’s get back to the American pastime. A lot of people out there are carping because the Yankees and Braves keep buying championship teams. It’s not fair, they say. Let me tell you something. This is America! And we love capitalism! If somebody has the money to buy themselves a nice ballclub, I say God bless ‘em. If money was a bad thing, we’d all hate the Vanderbilts.

Man, those Lakers are something else, huh? I don’t know what it is, but they keep winning.
I think that’s about enough for today. I gotta do one of these five times a week for the next who knows how many weeks, and I don’t want to burn myself out too fast. Lord knows I did that the first time around. So until tomorrow, this is The Showman saying good night, and you know I love you.

April 5th

2006-01-08T23:33:00.000-08:00

Good day, sportsfans. The Showman here. Let me grab the sports section of my local rag and see what’s going on in the world today…

How about the stock market? Down 600 points yesterday. Thank God I don’t have any money to invest. But if I did have money, I’d throw it all into beta video. VCRs are going to be huge one day, baby. That’s a little tip from The Showman to you.

Around the NFL now. The new schedules came out yesterday for the 2000 season. Because there’s an odd number of teams these days, at least one team has a bye each week. Including the first and last week of the season. That makes about as much sense as Joan and Melissa Rivers’ Oscar show. Which reminds me, when I walked into the Shrine Auditorium last Sunday for the annual glitzy Oscarcast, Joan asked me who I was wearing and Melissa asked me how much it cost. What ever happened to tact, folks? Damn nepotism.

Let’s talk a look into Rory’s foggy crystal ball now, whaddaya say?

Baseball: I like the Yankees and the Braves. What more do you want from me? Of course, my sleeper pick is the Twin Cities darlings, the Twins. Which is far and away the best Triple-A team out there.

Basketball: The Lakers and Knicks. Those are two basketball teams.

Hockey: I haven’t followed the pucks much since the North Stars left town, but I hear good things about that Detroit team.

On a personal note, Happy Birthday today to television’s Tracey Gold. Here’s hoping for another fabulous year, sweetheart. Even though we all go through some "growing pains", I’d love to have you as my "daughter".

Short article today. But you know the old show biz rule, always leave ‘em wanting more.

I’m winkin’ at ya and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman,

Aloha From Augusta

2006-01-08T23:32:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans. The Showman here. Today I’m coming to you from the cozy confines of Magnolia Lane. The good folks at SportsPage.com were kind enough to let me borrow the company biplane to fly down to Augusta National, one of my many stomping grounds back in the late ‘50s.

I remember the very first time I steered my Caddy off of Washington Road onto Magnolia Lane. It’s an amazing feeling, and one some players will experience for the first time this week. Coming up that tree-lined path, I got a feeling I can only describe as warm. A feeling I’ve only experienced on stage at the Copa…and in saunas…and on really hot days.

The first round I ever played at Augusta featured myself and Ike Eisenhower versus Sam Snead and Bob Hope in a $50 Nassau. Now, the Slammer hates to lose more than anybody I ever met, but somehow the ex-Commander in Chief and I managed to get three strokes a side.
I shot a 35 on the front, but spent a little too much time in the halfway house at the turn and carded a 48 on the back. If you know Ike, you know that we pressed the hell out of Snead and Hope down the stretch, but the sun wasn’t shining on us that day. And when you’re trying to putt with the shakes, it ain’t pretty.

Our biggest problem came on 17. As usual, Dwight hooked his drive smack into the big ol’ tree that sits off the left edge of the fairway. I’ve seen the General knock that tree so many times, I told Mamie after the round they should just call it Eisenhower’s Oak. Well, one of the members overheard me, and said it’s actually an elm, not an oak. That irked me something good. I was about to give the guy the old 1–2 when he said it was actually a pretty clever nickname. A week later, the board passed a resolution, and next thing you know, the members are advising each other to avoid Eisenhower’s Tree on 17.

That wasn’t the only thing I named at Augusta, though. The little place where they try on those green sportcoats used to be called Bumpers Cabin. One night Grantland Rice put away a little too much rye whiskey while writing his newspaper story and misstyped it as Butler Cabin. Unfortunately for The Showman, the name stuck. But those are stories for another day. I tell you what folks, when I look back on the life The Showman has led, all I can say is "wow" and "ouch".

Yes, I’ve had some great moments at The Masters over the past 40 years, and I expect the great moments to continue in 2001. Everybody’s saying Tiger this and Tiger that, but if you ask me, watch out for Parnevik this week. That Swede may wear some funny pants, but he’s got a swing smoother than cold buttermilk.

Oh, I almost forget. In 1962, I wrote a Masters haiku for a Japanese fan of mine that came over to watch the tournament. I don’t know what it is about the Island of the Moon, but those cats love my act. The haiku goes a little something like this:

Watch Amen Corner.
Avoid water on the left.
Green jackets? Yes, please.

Here’s a little tip from Uncle Rory. Find yourself a television, grab some Cutty Sark with ice and watch as much of the coverage as you can. See if you can spot The Showman. I’ll be the handsome fella in the blue shirt.

On a final note, for those of you that say The Showman’s best days are behind him, I just wrapped up a voice over session. It’s for an animated show called Castoway, and it debuts in a few weeks. Keep an eye out for my name in the credits.

I’m winkin’ at ya, and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

Let's Trade That Little Cuban Boy For Some Pitching Prospects

2006-01-08T23:31:00.001-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. Another day, another column. But at least it’s Friday, so I’m starting to wind down in preparation for my big weekend. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I’m sure it’ll be grand. I’m also sure it’ll involve some heavy drinking. Then again, most days do.

Just a few quick notes from down here at Augusta. Tiger three-putted for the first time in a while and also scored his first double bogey in a while. When he was done with that, he made a triple on the 12th. I don’t care what these commercials say, no one person can tame golf. On a personal note, I have a tough time golfing myself. Of course, I’m playing with brass balls. Ha! That’s a little Friday humor from your pal Rory.

I’m looking at the top of the leaderboard, and staring back at me is the name Dennis Paulson. The question on most people’s minds is "Who is this guy?" Then again, they said the same thing the first time I was on the Sullivan show. I knocked ‘em dead, and after that they knew me as The Showman.

The Lakers won again Wednesday night. Man, is Shaq good or what? Let’s give that cross-eyed giant the trophy for MVP, declare the Lakers champs and save ourselves some time. I can’t think of a single team in the East that could give the Lakers a game. Maybe the old Fort Wayne Pistons, but it’s been a long time since they’ve taken the court. Which reminds me, what ever happened to short shorts?

In baseball, Pittsburgh’s Francisco Cordova almost threw the season’s first no-no yesterday, but lost it on an Astro double in the eighth. Oh well, maybe next time, kid.

I pick myself up a newspaper about every three days, and it seems like whenever I do, that little Elliott kid is on the front page. I say we send the tot back to Cuba in exchange for a couple of pitching prospects and forget about the whole damn thing. I don’t want to get much into politics on a Friday, but I remember playing some cabanas in Cuba in the ‘50s before the Reds stormed in. They had a beautiful island there once.

So that’s it fans. I’m getting an early start to the weekend. I suggest you do the same.

I’m winkin’ at ya and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

When She Was 17, I Had A Very Good Year

2006-01-08T23:31:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. So it’s prom night in Pewaukee. That’s in Wisconsin for those of you that don’t know. Just outside of Milwaukee. What’s the prom theme this year? Packer tight ends. If you were a gal coming of age on the biggest night of your young life, and you found yourself in a hot tub with a man named Chewy, what would you do?

Folks, take it from me. It ain’t easy when everybody wants a piece of you. I remember back in ’62 when I was on the tail end of a grueling midwest tour. I was in Minnesota doing a fundraiser for Hubert H. Humphrey. So I was doing my act, and the whole time there’s a little filly in the front row giving me a look that said, "I want to rub your arms, Showman."

After the show, I was in my dressing room enjoying my usual post-show Dagwood sandwich when I heard a gentle rapping on my chamber door. I wrapped a robe around my naked body and went to see who it was. Wouldn’t you know it? It was that little filly from the front row. The stars aligned and so did our eyes, so we decided to go for a drive in my brand new Caddy.

I awoke the next morning with a pounding headache and the steering wheel in my hands. Lying next to me was the gal from the night before, looking younger than ever in the morning sunlight. I had a bad taste in my mouth, so I rooted through her purse looking for some spearmint gum. I didn’t find any Wrigley’s, but I did find her identification. As it turns out, my new friend was only 17! The Showman had a spot of trouble on his hands.

Well, the next thing I know, there’s a fierce pounding on my door. I wrapped a robe around my naked body and went to see who it was. Bad news, sportfans. It was John Law himself. Thinking quickly, I told the officers that she never told me her age, and if she was 17, she was 17 going on 25, wink wink.

The officer explained that the law in Minnesota was "16 and a day, she’s okay". But that wasn’t why he was here. He wanted to know why there was a Cadillac with no steering wheel wrapped around the oak tree in my front yard. I told him it was probably just some teenagers out joyriding last night. He had no idea how right I was. They thanked me for my time, asked for a few autographs and got back to their beat. People, I’ve never been happier to see my tax dollars at work.

All I’m trying to say folks, is that I know where Marty Chmura’s coming from. When you’re in the limelight, everybody wants a piece of you. And when you’ve downed a few cocktails, well, all bets are off.

I’m winkin’ at ya and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

Famous People I Know

2006-01-08T23:30:00.000-08:00

Hey sportsfans. Bumpers here. I’m trying not to type too loudly this morning. My head feels as if it was smashed in a car door. Repeatedly. Ohhhhhhhhhhh. Long night last night. I’ll tell ya what, Dustin Diamond is a good time waiting to happen. He’s the talented little scamp that played Screech on that show Saved by the Whatever, and let me tell you, he’s that funny in real life too.

Dustin and I were out at one of those trendy hotspots on Sunset here in Hollywood. We ran into Rhea Perlman, who was making out in a corner with Anthony Michael Hall. Aw hell, wait a minute, I wasn’t supposed to mention that because she’s married. Forget I said anything about it. Damn this spinning head of mine. I guess I could back up and erase that, but I just want to get this thing over with.

So me, Dustin, Rhea and Tony Hall are elbow deep in a pitcher of Bud Ice when somebody says "Let’s go bowling, Showman!" We hit the Hollywood Lanes on Santa Monica, and the celebrity sightings didn’t stop there. We ran into C. Thomas Howell. Apparently, he got himself a job as a pin monkey. And just between you and The Showman, this kid has really let himself go.

Well, one beer led to another, and the next thing I know, I’m making out with Rhea. We stopped the smooching because it was my turn to bowl. So I stand up, look to the side, and there’s Emilio Estevez, Gheorge Muresan and Picabo Street bowling in the lane next to us. I don’t know how the hell those three hooked up, but they looked to be having the time of their lives. And I’ll tell you what else, that eight-foot guy is a damn fine bowler.

I don’t remember the scores, or really anything else about last night, but I do know I woke up at the bowling alley this morning face down in the gutter. It was the first time I woke up in a bowling alley, but not the first time I woke up in a gutter. The morning janitor, Pedro Perez, nudged me awake with his lane waxer and sent me on my way.

So that’s what I did last night. I know this column is supposed to be about sports and all, but let’s be honest, Tony Mike Hall did a fantastic job in Johnny Be Good. Very believable.
Keep the faith, sportsfans. Hopefully I’ll have something good to say tomorrow.

I’m winkin’ at ya, and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

Ever Been Traded For A Chimp? Try To Avoid It.

2006-01-08T23:29:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! The Showman here. Lots of news swirling around the sports world today. Lots of news swirling around The Showman’s world too, but they don’t pay me to talk about myself.

I see that Keyshawn Johnson is getting around $63 million to play football in Tampa. In my best year, I only netted $75,000. Man, how times have changed. If I were still on top today, I’d be making enough money to buy Canada. I should’ve bought it when it was on sale back in 1958. But my manager told me it would only go down in value. Who knew spring water could prove to be so profitable?

I think the Keyshawn trade is great for both parties. The Bucs get a big star for their offense, and the Jets get to control the first round. You know, The Showman’s made a few deals in his lifetime. I remember one time I did a command performance for Jack Kennedy at the White House. After the show, JFK and I were a little into our cups, and we worked out a deal. I would give him two gold records, my manager’s pet chinchilla Rex and two months in my beach house for one of Jackie’s pearl necklaces and three Secret Service agents. Needless to say, we nixed the deal the next morning after we sobered up, but I really could’ve used those G-men on my next tour.

Then there was time Bobby Darin and I almost swapped wives. Man, that was a bad scene.
Of course, the most degrading trade I’ve ever been involved in came toward the twilight of my career. My record label, Columbia, traded me to a small independent label in Missouri for an organ grinder’s chimp. Let me tell you people, when you find out you’ve been traded for a monkey, you might as well break out the Dewar’s. Because you have some long, sad days in front of you.

Anyways, it seems like Tampa Bay and Washington are having a little battle to see who can buy the Super Bowl first. But they’re forgetting one little thing. Chemistry. If you don’t think chemistry is important, go rent Blown Away. The dynamic bond between Corey Haim and Corey Feldman saved what could have been a disastrous picture.

So to sum up today’s article, chemistry is good and people make trades. And being traded for a dancing chimp in a bellhop’s uniform really makes you question your place in the world.

I’m winkin’ at ya, and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

And With The Fourth Pick, The Cincinnati Bengals Take...Harrison Ford

2006-01-08T23:28:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. Today’s column is going to be short and sweet because my neighbor and good friend, Jm. J. Bullock, has invited me to a clambake at his weekend retreat in Monterey. And if you know Jm. J. like I do, you know his clambakes are always a wild shindig. Not many women there, but fun nonetheless. If I remember the last one correctly, Loni Anderson took on David Crosby in an oyster eating contest. And Loni won! God, she is really put together, people.

But let’s get to the sports. Everybody is getting all hyped up for the draft this weekend. Who’s going number one is the question on everybody’s mind. Will Cleveland take Courtney Brown or Lavar Arrington? Will the Jets trade their four first-round picks for Cleveland’s number one? Well, if you want my opinion, we’ll just have to wait until tomorrow to find out. Here’s a little tip to Cincinnati. Draft Harry Ford with that fourth pick. He may not be a great football player, but he sure can put fans back in the seats.

I was almost drafted once. Uncle Sam wanted to stop the Reds from taking over Korea. Which presented a problem for The Showman. I was 18 and my career was just getting underway. My first agent, Benny Schwartzsteinberg, advised me that being sent to bomb the 33rd parallel wouldn’t be a great career move. Fortunately, he was the cousin of the head of the Minnesota draft board. So I went into my local draft office, crooned a few bars and was declared 4F faster then you can say "Kim Il Sung". The official reason? Flat feet. But it was really because Uncle Sam knew I could serve my country better behind a microphone than a machine gun turret.

Baseball fans may have noticed that the Kansas City Royals swept the Baltimore Orioles in a three game series this week. Nothing out of the ordinary until you consider the payroll of the Orioles is about three times that of the boys from the Dairy State. Which just goes to show you, money isn’t everything. They say money can’t buy happiness, but try telling that to a guy with $100,000 and a three-day weekend in Vegas. If that guy ain’t having fun by Monday, check him for a pulse.

The hockey playoffs are underway. I tried to watch a little of the games last night, but the only thing I like on ice is Johnnie Walker Red.

Well, I’m outta here. I have to go pack for this weekend. On the way up to Jm. J’s wingding, I’m playing at Pebble with my regular foursome. Me, Andy Richter, Nancy Sinatra and Liz Taylor’s fourth husband. We’ll put a little money down on the match, as long The Showman gets three strokes a side. But let me warn you folks, if you ever catch yourself in a foursome with Nancy, she’s a hell of a sandbagger. And if you catch yourself in a threesome with her, you’re a luckier man than I.

I’m winkin’ at ya, and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

Rory Told You So

2006-01-08T23:27:00.000-08:00

The NFL Draft has come and gone. Now that the excitement has died down, I guess we just have to wait for the regular season. Not many surprises in the first round. Cleveland didn’t shock anybody when they took Courtney Brown. The Browns took a guy named Brown. Am I the only one that gets a kick out of that?

I couldn’t help but noticed that the Cincinati Bengals ignored The Showman’s advice and drafted Peter Warrick with the fourth overall pick. Fans of this column will recall that on Friday, I advised the Bengals to draft consummate leading man Harrison Ford, knowing that having Ford in the lineup equals a sellout every week. Not to mention the legions of female fans he’ll bring to each game.

But for whatever reason, Cincinnati did their own thing. If you ask me, they’ll pay the price for it when they’re playing to half-sold venues in week eight. Which got me to thinking. I’ve given all kinds of advice over the years. Some good, some bad. Let’s take a look at some of my best tips, and decide how it turned out.

Nancy Sinatra is working on an record called "These Sandals Are Made For Walking." I brought a sack of Montecristo sandwiches by for lunch, and Nancy played me the cut. On the spot, I said, "Nancy, great riff, but it needs more punch. Try ‘boots’ instead of ‘sandals’ dollface." RORY’S CALL – GOOD ADVICE
Jack Kennedy and I are playing golf in Hyannis Port. JFK double-bogeys 17 and 18 to lose the match, and comes off the course hotter than hell. To make things worse, brother Bobby meets us at the 19th hole and tells Jack that the Russkies are starting to aim missiles at us from Cuba. Well, Jack just about hits the roof. He strategized a plan to bomb Moscow back to the Stone Age. Knowing that a nuclear fallout would really cramp my style, I said to Jack, "Let’s get Nikita Krushchev on the phone right now, and straighten this whole mess out." We tried to dial up Moscow for nearly two hours, but we got a busy signal every time. I said, "What are you, kidding me? You guys should have a direct line right to Nikita!" The next week, they installed the red phone. RORY’S CALL – GOOD ADVICE
More with Jack. We’re enjoying cocktails out in the Rose Garden one night, and he’s staring at the moon like he’s half werewolf. I asked him what’s up, and he guaranteed to me that a man would be trotting around on the moon before 1970. I told him to forget it, it’s impossible. The moon is billions of miles away, and besides, what the hell do you need to go up there for anyway? It’s just rocks. Eight years later, that cat Neil Armstrong changed the course of human history. RORY’S CALL – BAD ADVICE
I run out for a case of scotch, and for whatever reason, I bump into Chevy Chase. I told him how I just watched Caddyshack and loved it. He asked me what he should work on next, and I advised him to get production rolling on Caddyshack 2 as soon as possible. But this time, add Jackie Mason to the mix. He made some calls and got it made. It bombed horribly. But let’s not forget, I was drunk off my ass when I gave that advice. RORY’S CALL – PUSH
In the ‘80s this time. Coming off a wicked bender, I pop into my local McDonald’s for a Big Mac because greasy food always helps my hangover. For whatever reason, I get home and forget about the burger. A few hours later, I came back to soggy mess. In a rage, I fired off a letter to McDonald’s saying that they need to keep the hot side hot, and the cool side cool. A few months later, I tried the new McDLT. Jesus, that sucked. But I will admit that the hot side was hot and the cool side was cool. RORY’S CALL - ?

So that just goes to show you, folks. When The Showman gives you some advice, you’d better listen up. Unless it’s bad advice. Then you’re on your own.

I’m winkin’ at ya, and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

Rory Talks To His Fans - Clean Version

2006-01-08T23:25:00.001-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. It’s another roly-poly Tuesday, and you know what that means. First off, let get something out of the way. I lost a bet to my good friend and car pool buddy Lorzenzo Lamas over the weekend, and so I promised him I would mention him in an article this week. There! You happy now, Street Hawk?

Moving on, it’s time for a little Q and A session with The Showman. I’ve been bombarded with questions since posting my email address yesterday, so I chose a select few to answer in person. To the rest of you, you’ll be receiving an autographed headshot of The Showman in 8–10 weeks.

Dear Rory,
I join my husband and our two children, ages 13 and 9, for family movie night every Thursday. I was wondering if you had any recommendations on what we should watch this week.
- Carol B.
Worcester, MA

Carol,
I have many favorite movies in all different genres. I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention my Oscar-nominated hit, Eggs For Breakfast, Eggs For Dinner, in which I played the down and out card sharp, Jimmy Eggs. But that picture can be hard to find in most video stores. If it’s a rainy Saturday and you have all day, I recommend renting the Porky’s trilogy. You and your husband will love the offbeat, homespun humor of young boys coming of age, and there’s no better way to teach your young ones about the birds and the bees than with ample servings of gratuitous nudity and underage drinking.

Dear Rory,
I’m an 18-year old high school senior whose parents are pressuring her to go to college. But I was thinking about taking a year off to work, or maybe going to Beautician’s School. What should I do?
- Ashley J.
Plano, TX

Ashley,
When I look at all of options available to kids in your shoes, I realize how overwhelming life can be. My advice would be to get a job as a professional athlete. Not only do you make a lot of money, but you only have to work for about six months a year. And on top of that, you’re always in good shape. Which is really important for a teenage girl. Now, I realize that it can be tough to break into professional sports, so I would have something to fall back on, like acting or singing. You can make lots of money in those, too.

Dear Rory,
I’ve always been a big fan of yours, but I’ve been wondering about something for a while. Where were you between 1964 and 1999?
- Chet S.
Philadelphia, PA

Chet,
The Good Lord only knows.

Dear Rory,
My regular golf partners and I were playing for our usual $10 Nassau this weekend, when I saw my partner cheating on 17. His tee shot was stuck behind a tree until he kicked it out into the rough. He then hit his approach onto the green, made the putt and we closed out the match. I didn’t say anything at the time because I wanted to win, but now I feel terrible about it. What should I do?
- Reggie W.
Tallahassee, FL

Reggie,
No need to feel bad, my friend. People cheat all the time. For instance, I once watched Sammy Davis pick up his ball and throw it fifty yards down the fairway. So I ran up to his ball and smacked it into the woods with my 5-iron. I guess we were both guilty of cheating. It wasn’t the end of the world, although it was the end of our friendship. What I’m trying to say, Reggie, is that if you accepted the money after the round, you’re just as guilty as your buddy with the foot wedge. Perhaps even more guilty in some countries.

I’m winkin’ at ya, and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman,

Finally Talking Sports

2006-01-08T23:25:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. And I hope everybody is doing well on this fine hump day. My assistant informed me this morning over our breakfast of egg sandwiches that my last few articles haven’t been that sports-oriented. I didn’t like his tone, so I smashed his sandwich into his face and jammed some bacon in his ear.

To calm down, I mixed myself a Bloody Mary. Then I started thinking that maybe my assistant was right. So I fixed myself a second Bloody Mary, grabbed a pen and fixed myself a third Bloody Mary.

On the ice, the NHL playoffs are underway. A couple of upsets are brewing in the first round. The Pittsburgh Penguins are up three games to none on the apparently not-so-good Washington Capitals. The Capitals were heavily favored going into this series, but you gotta watch out for underdogs. I once boxed Paul Anka in a charity bout for hemophiliacs, and he came in as a 10-1 favorite. Well, I bashed his face good. Which reminds me, it’s time for another Bloody Mary. Oh, Proud Mary, keep on burnin’.

On the hardwood, the regular season is just about finished. My good friend Chuck Barkley is going to make a one game comeback. I tell you, The Showman knows a thing or two about comebacks. Let me warn you now, Chuck. It tastes great.

Today is Passover, which reminds me. Now that Danny Schayes is retired, Scottie Pippen is the only Jewish player left in the NBA. Scottie, to you and the other people of Moses, I say "Geshundheit!"

Baseball now. John Rocker returned from his suspension last night to a bizarre mix of boos and cheers. For those of you that don’t know, Rocker was suspended for sharing his political worldview with a writer from Sports Illustrated. I tell ya, I can relate to this kid’s problems. One time in the ‘50s, I was doing the old Sullivan show. My assistant forgot to buff my top hat, and I laid in to him something fierce. Unbeknownst to The Showman, I was on camera at the time, and a live national television audience heard me repeatedly calling my assistant a "dumb Mick bastard". Of course, in the 1950s, insulting the Irish was not only acceptable, but was actually encouraged. I guess my point is that you should be free to say whatever you want in the USA, even if it is wrong. I still hate those potato-eating Irish, though.

By the way, if you’re wondering how many golf balls you can fit in your mouth, the answer is five!

I’m winkin’ at ya, and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

Get The Hell Out Of My Way!

2006-01-08T23:24:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. I got a few things burning up my craw, and now’s the time to get them off my chest.

First of all, I noticed Oprah has a new magazine. Which gave me an idea. Keep your eyes peeled for Bumpers, a tri-annual publication. I have no clue as to what the magazine will be about. However, I do know this: pictorials will be involved, and our first issue hits newsstands in November.

Second of all, I have absolutely nothing to talk about today. I’m bone dry. Fresh out of ideas. I had no idea how much writing a daily article would take out of me. I thought all of my years on this Earth would give me a wealth of knowledge to use, but unfortunately, that’s just not the case.

I went over to my good friend Michael Robinson’s place the other day. If you don’t recognize the name, he used to be a writer on the show L.A. Heat. If you’ve never seen the show, it’s just like Renegade, except not as good. But then again, L.A. Heat doesn’t have Lorenzo Lamas. It’s too bad there’s only one of him to go around. Anyway, when I walked into Mike’s place, he had some candles lit and he was sitting on a loveseat with Willie Ames as they shared a blue raspberry sno-cone. They both saw me and began shouting "Willie Ames sno-cone! Willie Ames sno-cone!" over and over. Let me tell you, I got out of that place in a hurry.

The NBA has finally wrapped up the regular season.

That’s all for today. I can’t take this anymore.

I’m winkin’ at ya, and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

The Showman Shows He's Human

2006-01-08T23:23:00.001-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. Folks, I gotta confess something to you. Yesterday’s article was a piece of garbage. Of course, you probably already noticed that. And for that, I am sorry. I know that you, my fans, admirers and hangers-on deserve more from The Showman than a mailed-in effort. As a star and friend, I have a responsibility to deliver on your dreams. I was in a bit of a foul mood when I was writing the column in question, and I took my frustration out on you. So I apologize for yesterday, but I think, and I hope, that after I explain myself, you’ll understand.

I’m scheduled to play in the Alan Thicke Celebrity Golf Invitational this weekend. It’s a great weekend where a bunch of us famous types get together to play some golf, have some drinks and talk about how great it is to be famous. Whatever money we find lying around after the tournament ends gets donated to some charity. This year’s good cause is Recycle The Homeless. It’s an organization that helps move the homeless out of Los Angeles to the city of their choice. Granted, they’re still homeless after they move, but at least they’re not crowding these sunny sidewalks.

Anyway, for as long as I’ve been going to this thing, my foursome has been me, Alan Thicke himself, Kirk Cameron and Tracey Gold. Sort of a Growing Pains meets Uncle Rory kinda thing. We were a fantastic team, too. We won low net two out of the past three years. Which didn’t make Jack Wagner all that happy.

However, our team’s bliss was shattered last year on the 14th hole. We needed Alan to hole a five-footer for birdie to hold onto the lead. Well, "Alice" Thicke left the putt a foot short. In a flash of rage, I called him "a no-talent jackass." I may have thrown my putter at him as well. I apologized repeatedly, but was met with stony silence for the rest of the round. For whatever it’s worth, we ended up coming in fourth.

But after a few cocktails and the silent auction, Alan and I were back to chummy chummy. We had a few laughs and told a few show biz war stories. I even bid $500 on an autographed headshot of Alan just to say I’m sorry. We parted on good terms….or so I thought.

I opened my invitation this year, only to discover that my foursome is now myself, Rick Dees, Emmanuel Lewis and the bassist from The Alan Parsons Project. As it turns out, Alan had dropped me from his group and added Joanna Kearns in my place. Sort of a Growing Pains Forgets Uncle Rory kinda thing.

I tell you what, you give a guy ten great years, and for what? To be placed in the all-time worst foursome in tournament history? The Dees/Lewis/bassist combo has finished dead last, at least twelve strokes behind the field, for as long as I can remember. Most tournament veterans figured this team would just drop out after their fourth member, Stanley Kubrick, passed away last year. But I guess not, now that The Showman has saved the day.

What the hell am I going to do with these three losers? I once watched Dees four-putt from six feet. And if I have to be in a group with a stinkin’ musician, it sure as hell better be a lead singer. I mean, a bassist? Why don’t you just have the roadie play with me and call it a day?

I can’t carry this team all by myself. Maybe I’ll just tell the tournament committee my gout is acting up. Although I really want to go so I can throw a drink in Thicke’s face and tell him Animal Crack-Ups was an awful show. Damn. How do I get myself into these situations?

I’ll let you know how it goes on Monday. If I’m not in jail or the hospital.

I’m winkin’ at ya, and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

Sitting In A Safe House With The Cart Girl

2006-01-08T23:23:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. What a wild weekend it was, my friends. The NBA playoffs are officially underway…round one of the NHL playoffs is almost finished…and there’s talk of a professional women’s hockey league! But I know everybody is wondering if what happened at the Alan Thicke Celebrity Golf Invitational is true…and if it is, where am I hiding?

As you all found out on Friday, I was stuck with a group of absolute losers for this weekend’s charity tournament. All I had to look forward to was a day of carrying those slouches on my back, and trying to avoid getting trapped in a conversation with Rick Dees. I thought, what better balm for the pain of a bad day than my old buddy alcohol? And when the drink cart girl is wearing short shorts and likes your early work, what more reason do you need?

So we’re on the eighth tee, and Dees has been trying out material for his radio show on me all day. I think he had some bit about airplane food or women shopping or some mud like that. I mean, the guy would not shut up. Anyway, we’re on the eighth tee, and after watching my three partners hit their shots into the trees, I knew I had to stripe one down the middle for us to even have a chance at par.

I get the club to the top of my backswing, and Dees starts laughing at his own joke about bad women drivers. That punk Emmanuel Lewis started laughing like it was the funniest thing since Webster. I hate little kids. With my concentration shattered, I slice my ball over the trees and into the next fairway. I turned around to shove my driver my down Dees’ throat when we heard agonized screams from the adjacent fairway. The same fairway that my tee shot had just flown into.

I ran over to the scene to make sure I didn’t hit somebody important like Jackie Mason. A crowd was surrounding a man lying on the ground writhing in agony, so I parted the people to take a look for myself. Wouldn’t you know it? It was Alan Thicke. My ball was sitting on the ground next to him, and he was bleeding from his temple. Color me guilty.

Despite the obvious pain he was in, Thicke managed to point me out as the culprit. I tried to deny it, but the fact that the ball next to Thicke’s head had "Bumpers" written on it didn’t help my case. So I kicked him in the shin to shut him up and started looking for a way out of the mess. As luck would have it, the drink cart girl was motoring by at the time. I flagged her down, and she darted right over. Just another benefit of being a good tipper.

I hopped in the cart, told her to step on it, and we took off as fast as that cart would let us. I explained the situation to her during the drive, and she told me she knew of a safe house just off the course – her folks’ time share. We made it there safe and sound. And we’ve been making love ever since. Not a bad weekend after all.

By the way, if you’re concerned for Alan Thicke, you can send flowers to room 417 at Cedars Sinai hospital. He’ll be there for the next week or so. He’s pretty banged up from what I hear, but don’t worry ladies, his hair will be just fine.

I’m winkin’ at ya, and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

Rory's Helpful Hints

2006-01-08T23:21:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. It’s that time of week again. The time when a few fortunate fans get to receive advice directly from me, The Showman, Rory Bumpers. I’ve given lots of advice of over the years. Some where they’ve listened to me, like when I told Leslie Nielsen to try comedy instead of drama. Nobody should get that many laughs playing Romeo. And some where they shouldn’t have listened to me at all, like when I told Leslie Nielsen to make Spy Hard! Without much more ado, here’s my tips for this week:

Dear Rory,
I coach a tenth grade girls’ basketball team. I try to give everybody equal playing time, but with our recent losing streak, I’m starting to question the wisdom of that decision. What should I do?
- Bert "Scratch" T.
White Plains, NY

Scratch,
I know how tough it can be to deal with teenage girls. I raised two and married a third. At one point in their lives, these girls are going to learn that some people have got what it takes and others don’t. You have the chance to teach them this valuable lesson, and I suggest you take advantage of that great opportunity. Because everybody knows, there’s no better place to teach girls about the real world than on the basketball court.

Dear Rorey,
You’re a pretty old-fashioned guy it seems. Do you use a computer when you write, or are you still using a pad and pen?
- Kurt V.
Phoenix, AZ

Kurt,
If I were you, and I thank God every day that I’m not, I would do my homework a bit before I ask such a useless question. My name is spelled R-O-R-Y. I don’t know where the hell you got R-O-R-E-Y from. As far as your question goes, I don’t have an answer because I stopped reading your letter as soon as I saw my name misspelled. Go to hell!

Dear Rory,
I’m heading to college in the fall, and I’m pretty nervous. I want to walk on to the football team, but I don’t know if I can make it. Do you have any suggestions as to how I should prepare myself?
- Brad G.
Laramie, WY

Brad,
I skipped college, and not a day goes by that I don’t regret it. Then again, if I had gone to college, today I might be a regional sales manager rather than an international sensation with a stable of starlets. But good luck to you anyway. First and foremost, I would work on your abs. It’ll help you with football tryouts, but more importantly, with those pretty young coeds. Secondly, I would get yourself a fake ID as soon as possible. You can try to make one yourself, but if you do a shoddy job, it’ll be easily recognized by even the dumbest bouncer. The best route is to use the ID of somebody that looks like you. If you have an older brother, you’ve just scored yourself a touchdown, junior!

Dear Rory,
I heard you mention in your live chat session the other day that you ballooned up to 320 pounds in the ‘70s. What did you do to lose all that weight?
- Brenda L.
Lodi, WI

Brenda,
I’ll be honest with you, it takes some deep pockets. I bought myself a chef to prepare only the healthiest of meals, a nutritionist to make sure the chef wasn’t forgetting anything and, being in a position of relative power, a food tester to make sure nobody was trying to cut The Showman’s life short. My next move came when I remodeled my home to make every room into either a sauna or steam room. The idea was to constantly sweat off pounds, whether I was sitting around watching television, reading on the porch or just using the bathroom. And it worked, baby! However, I don’t recommend that method for everybody. As I mentioned earlier, it’s expensive, and I nearly died of dehydration a number of times. Then again, I did lose the weight, and I suppose the end justifies the means.

Thanks for the great questions, kids! Except for you, Kurt. And don’t ever waste my time again.

I’m winkin’ at ya, and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

I Went To Miami And I Didn't Party With Frank Stallone

2006-01-08T23:20:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. I’m flying back to Los Angeles as I write this. When I’m finished, I’ll just electrically zap it to the boys at SportsPage.com, and bang! There it is. I remember the days when it took a reverse press seven hours just to print the promotional posters for my latest show. I’ll tell you one thing about technology – I like it!

The reason I’m soaring over flyover country right now is that SportsPage.com let me take the company biplane to Miami to take in the Heat/Pistons playoff game. I must admit how scary it can be for myself and other singers to take to the skies. Everybody knows the sad history of superstars going down in plane crashes; Buddy Holly, the Big Bopper, Richie Valens, Jim Croce, and more recently, Bob Denver. Bob, if you can hear me, I’m feeling a little "Rocky Mountain High" myself right now.

Anyway, getting to the game itself was no piece of cake in the park. When I hopped into the biplane at Burbank Airport here in the City of Angels, I told the pilot to take me to the Motor City, which as we all know, is Miami. Well, I don’t know what this guy had for breakfast, because he flew me to Detroit. When the flight crew greeted me and said "Welcome to Detroit, Mr. Bumpers," I nearly went Vietnam on those jokers. After a stern lecture on respect and geography, we were back in the air and on our way to Miami.

No thanks to my pilot, I arrived a quarter late for the game. I didn’t mind so much, because I knew how when stars arrive late to games, they make a big to-do and put their face on the scoreboard along with a welcome message. I’ll just say I got neither and leave it at that.
They escorted me to my front row seat, where I discovered I was lumped in with Frank Stallone, Gloria Estefan and the Miami Sound Machine. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the whole Sound Machine wasn’t even on hand. Tito, the conga player, was nowhere to be found. I kept asking, "Where’s Tito?" until Ms. Estefan told me that his wife was having a baby that night. This whole time I thought he was as gay as a colorful parrot in leather pants. That just goes to show that you never know.

Now on to the game. It featured multiple lead-changes, jaw-dropping plays and a key injury to Grant Hill. Yes, it had all the drama of a Bewitched episode and then some. Somehow, Miami was able to hold on to the lead at the end of the game to win 84 – 82 and take a 2 – 0 lead in the series.

After the game, Gloria and Frank invited me to a party at Frank’s brother’s place in Key Biscayne. I told them I couldn’t go because I had an early flight the next morning. After they left, I went down to South Beach to check out the club action. I bumped into Ricky Martin at the Cha-Cha Lounge. For about an hour straight, he asked me for pointers on singing and kept offering to buy me banana daiquiris. Finally, I punched him right in his pretty nose and told him to beat it. I expect the lawsuit to arrive any day now. I crushed his nose good.

Since I didn’t get back to my hotel pad until 5 a.m. and had a 6:30 flight, I decided to just stay awake all night and think. When I arrived at the airfield at 6 a.m., I wrote down on a piece of paper that I wanted to go to Los Angeles and handed it to the pilot to avoid any further screw ups.

I think I’m over Missouri by about now. The pilot keeps spitting and it keeps hitting me in the face. I think he’s doing it on purpose. If I find out that’s the case, I know of one hotshot flyboy that’s going to be grounded for awhile. And I don’t mean Val Kilmer.

I’m winkin’ at ya, and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

Dick Belzer Wears Sunglasses At Night

2006-01-08T23:19:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. I got into town late last night, and I’m feeling a little sluggish. The reason I didn’t arrive in Los Angeles on time is because of my prima donna pilot again. Apparently, he got a little tired of my constant criticizing of his lack of flying skills. So he put the plane down in Salt Lake City and refused to fly me one foot further. A $1,000 cab ride later, and The Showman is back in town, baby!

The brass has been on my jock lately saying that I’m not talking enough sports in my column. And while I know people love my brand of Hollywood-speak, I guess I can throw the suits a bone and talk sports today. Man, I can’t believe The Showman is taking orders. What is this? The freakin’ army?

In hockey, the Avalanche and the Red Wings are battling it out yet again. This marks the third time in four years that these two squads are going at it. And let me tell you, they don’t like each other. Hell, these two teams hate each other more than a hippie hates bathing. This series reminds of one of the marriages between Dick Burton and Beth Taylor. It’s a lot of fun, as long as you’re not the one getting repeatedly smashed on the head.

The Minnesota Timberwolves lost another close battle with the Portland TrailBlazers last night, to fall behind 2 – 0 in the best of five series. I don’t know where the hell these two franchises got their nicknames from, but my best guess is an L.L. Bean catalog. I mean, Bruce Willis and Demi Moore did a better job of naming their kids.

A lot of people are complaining these days about the amount of home runs being hit in these fancy new ballparks. They say that many home runs takes away from the spirit of the game. I say that’s nonsense. Home runs are what people want. I like to think that my ventriloquism bit was my home run, and I wouldn’t hesitate to use it on a hostile crowd. And it always brought them around to The Showman’s side. The point is, if people didn’t like home runs, they wouldn’t have made a movie about Babe Ruth.

A couple weeks back, I was enjoying a fancy coffee drink with Dick Belzer on Melrose Avenue. I asked him why he always wears sunglasses, even when he’s indoors at night. He didn’t have an answer I liked, so I knocked the shades off his face with an open palm. Turns out, the Belz has one blue eye and one brown eye. And the brown eye is lazier than a Southerner on Quaaludes. After I saw that, I told Dick he should wear a welder’s helmet to make sure nobody has to see that again.

There I go with the show biz blah blah again. Just goes to show you that the old saying is true. You can take the boy out of Hollywood, but you can’t take the Hollywood out of the boy.

I’m winkin’ at ya, and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

Rory Likes You, Rory Likes You Not

2006-01-08T23:18:00.001-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. Another crazy day in the life of The Showman. I’m hosting "The Showman’s Magical Spring Days" pool party at my estate this weekend. My assistants are running around like mad tidying up the place, making sure there’s enough booze and pretzel sticks for everybody, and doing my laundry. Unfortunately, they keep getting in my way as I’m trying to watch The Parent Trap.

The hardest part of getting ready for my party, as always, will be figuring out who to invite and who to snuff. To streamline the process, I usually just consult my friends and enemies lists.

Here’s the deal, folks. Those of you that were invited last year are invited once again this year. Except for Burt Reynolds. Next time you have to puke Bandit, do it on your own pool table. And those of you that weren’t invited last year, are of course, not welcome again this year. The dogs will be prowling the grounds, so don’t bother trying to sneak in.

I have tweaked each list just a hair in the past twelve months. Below, you can find the new additions, or in Corey Feldman’s case, subtractions.

Congratulations! You’re Invited!
Corey Haim – Thanks for letting me borrow $10 last month. I really needed that table dance.
Justine Bateman – Thanks for the table dance.
Estelle Getty – It could hardly be called a party without your dead-on impressions of Gerald Ford and Spiro T. Agnew.
Michael Gross – Oh, wait a minute. I meant Alan Alda. I can’t keep those cats straight.
Mary Kate Olsen – You really made Full House come alive.
Brian Austin Green – Hey, you always need a DJ.

Stay The Hell Away!
Corey Feldman – This ain’t one of your drugged-out hippie parties, longhair.
Jm. J. Bullock – Just because I went to your party doesn’t mean you can come to mine.
Ashley Olsen – You almost single-handedly ruined Full House.
The paparazzi – Enough with the pictures, okay boys?
Bob Hope – I’ll never forget what you did to me in Paris in ’62. I don’t care if everybody in Europe does it or not.

So that’s it, faithful readers. I’m sorry I couldn’t invite you all. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to run out to the store now to pick up some extra french onion dip. Last year, I watched Bryant Gumbel eat a whole tub by himself – with his fingers. Man, that guy can party.

I’m winkin’ at ya, and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

The Passing Of The Torch

2006-01-08T23:18:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. Whoa! What a weekend! As you all know, my big pool party was this past Saturday, and a wild time was had by all. I woke up Sunday morning with my shoes on the wrong feet, Daisy Fuentes’ driver’s license in my wallet and a different haircut. I have no idea how any of those things happened, but I do know it was a good time.

It was quite a weekend in the NBA as well. The Sacramento Kings stunned the Lakers and the Minnesota Timberwolves shocked the TrailBlazers. But the really special event occurred in that Minnesota / Portland game when European star Arvydas Sabonis passed the torch of serviceable foreign center to the rangy Slovenian, Radoslav Nesterovic. And that got me to thinking. I’ve had the good pleasure of witnessing many torch passings in my day, and a few come to mind now.

k.d. lang to Melissa Etheridge – For years, k.d. was the only girl-loving girl playing packed coffee bars on the folk rock circuit. But on March 12, 1997 during a Lilith Fair concert in Seattle, Melissa grabbed the torch from k.d. and gently rocked a mass of butch followers with her harmonious guitar strumming and wild blond hair. Man, chick rock gets me sweaty.

Nick Nolte to Gary Busey – In the ‘80s, when Hollywood needed an angry blond guy with a gravelly voice, they called up Nick Nolte. But after Busey’s brilliant performance as the cunning Angelo Pappas in Point Break, many Hollywood insiders felt the torch had officially been passed. Although Leonard Maltin staunchly argued there was no such torch to begin with.

Warren Littlefield to Garth Ancier – As the head of programming for NBC, Littlefield set the bar high when it came to unfunny comedy with brilliant programming like Suddenly Susan, The Single Guy and Union Square. After receiving the torch from Littlefield in 1999, Ancier certainly had his work cut out for him. But by roaring out of the gate with edgy fare such as The Mike O’Malley Show, Battery Park and God, the Devil and Bob, Ancier assured fans that NBC would be boring them with half-rate comedies for years to come.

And let’s not forget the time that I passed the torch to Rod Stewart in the early ‘70s. But that’s a sexy story for another time.

I’m winkin’ at ya, and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

Get Back To Not Working!

2006-01-08T23:16:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. I see that it’s Tuesday yet again. I’ve never really liked Tuesday. Always rubbed me the wrong way. But what can a guy like me do? Besides singing, dancing, telling jokes, doing ventriloquism and making a mean patty melt, that is.

And of course Tuesday means question and answer day here, but before I get to that, I want to talk about something. Apparently a bunch of commercial actors are on strike here in sunny L.A. because they either don’t get paid enough, or get paid too much, or something. I don’t know, I didn’t read the paper.

I mean, what the hell do actors do when they go on strike? Not work? Call in the National Guard, Billy. We need to find somebody else to star in our soda pop commercials. Let me tell you beautiful punks something: the Hollywood dream machine has an endless supply of attractive people to star in mediocre sitcoms, lowbrow movies and car commercials. So you go walking down the boulevard complaining about how tough life is when you work five days a month, and Tinseltown will pluck another starry-eyed cutie from Waukesha to take your place.

I could see if they were film actors, but it doesn’t take much acting chops to sell Kodak moments. To tell you the truth, I’m just wondering if these cats are really on strike, or if they’re just actors playing actors on strike.

What’s that, cutey? You’re on strike? Great. Yeah, can I get that without mustard? And I’ll take a Bloody Mary as well. Thanks, toots.

On to the questions.

Dear Rory,
What is the most lavish gift you’ve ever given anyone?
Lisa M.
Syracuse, NY

Lisa,
Well, when I married that bitch Tippi Hedren, I tried to buy her Scotland, but they were asking way too much for it. I haggled them all the way down to $45 million, but just as I was writing the check, Tippi decided she wasn’t interested in owning Scotland. That led to our first fight, and it was a real humdinger. The most lavish gift I ever actually gave somebody was a 40-carat gold bust of The Showman that had rubies for eyes and diamonds for teeth. I commissioned Tiffany’s here on Rodeo Drive to put it together as a gag gift for Don Rickles’ birthday. Rickles had a good laugh and immediately donated the jewelly bust to Caesar’s Palace in Vegas. It still sits in their main foyer today if you’d like to admire it.

Dear Rory,
What is the cruelest thing you’ve ever done to someone?
Rosarita C.
Tijuana, Mexico

Rosarita,
Oh, that’s a hell of a question. You in your fancy border town. Most of my acquaintances say that my cruelest prank came during a USO show in Hanoi in 1964. I was doing a killer ventriloquist bit where Sergeant Sock Puppet was really laying into the buffoonish Private Bumpers because he made his bed with the sheets on top and the blanket on the bottom. I even had the noncoms rolling in the aisles. At the height of the show, as a little joke, I told everybody that the war was over and they would all be shipping out tomorrow. The crowd roared with approval and started making plans for to see their best gal when they got home. Ironically, only a few moments later, Charlie got the drop on us and strafed the hell out of the auditorium. Thankfully, Miss December and I were safely spirited away in a chopper.

Dear Rory,
Do you have any stock tips that you would like to share with us?
Lance R
New York, NY

Lance,
First of all, hell of a name kid. You sound like a winner. I don’t really hang in the best of circles for stock tips, but I do know quite a few people who have played stockbrokers in the movies. The most successful of which has to be Michael Douglas. I ran into Kirk’s son on the golf course in Palm Springs a couple of weeks ago, and he told me that Beta video is going to make a comeback. I think his exact quote was, "VHS won the battle, but Beta is going to win the war!" He also told me to always invest in things that you use in everyday life. I’ve been looking like crazy, but unfortunately, I don’t see any Johnnie Walker Red or mink coats on the ol’ NASDAQ.
Well, that’s all for today folks. I hope I was able to help some of you out by telling you a little more about myself. Heck, I think we all learned something today.

I’m winkin’ at ya and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

You Don't Say. The Showman And Dre?

2006-01-08T23:15:00.000-08:00

Greetings sportsfans! Bumpers here. I’m writing this poolside from the Bellagio in Vegas. I know what you’re thinking. "Showman, weren’t you in happy LA yesterday?" I sure was friend. And now I have an interesting story to tell you.

I was sitting around the pad yesterday reading my biography At The Top, At The Bottom, when the phone rang. It was ex-Surgeon General C. Everett Koop. Now, I haven’t heard from Koopy in over eight months, so I knew something was up. He told me that he was leaving for Vegas in a half-hour and he had an extra spot. I hung up the phone, thought for about five seconds and packed an overnight bag.

Koopy swung by place and I jumped in front seat of his sky blue ’68 Oldsmobile convertible. He loves that car. After reminding me to buckle my seat belt about a thousand times, we were on our way.

At about 10:30, we rolled up to the Mirage. Koop tossed the keys to the valet and told him to put out his cigarette. As soon as we got inside, I started thinking of a way to ditch C. Everett because, frankly, he’s a bit straight-laced for me. I only went with him because The Showman never passes up a free trip to Vegas. I told him I was going to the bathroom and walked right back out the front door.

I bribed the valet with a $20, and he let me "borrow" Koop’s car. I steered that boat all the way over to the MGM Grand, knowing that place has the loosest baccarat table in town. As soon as I got there, the staff quickly ushered me up to one of those fancy suites they reserve for celebs and big time Asian gamblers. The bellhop told me the last person to use the room was Margret Cho – apparently she’s a big Asian time gambler.

After a few hours of baccarat and keno, The Showman was hanging kind of low. I was shuffling back to my suite when two fellows stopped me and introduced themselves as Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg. I didn’t know these two from Adam, but they said they grew up singing along with my records, and that inspired them to get into the music biz. They begged me to join them in a game of Haitian Three-Man, but I told them The Showman was a little low on luck. The guy named Dre pulled out a wad of cash the size of my head and offered me a few thousand. I tried to refuse it, but Dre said he owed it to me because without The Showman, he’d be nothing. I told him that if we were going to play, we might as well do it right, so the three of us climbed in Koop’s ride and headed over back over to the Bellagio. You know, that’s the cool thing about celebs – we’re all in this together.

Dre got himself a spot at craps table in the high stakes room and his stack of chips grew faster than a young Gheorghe Muresan. Snoop kept holding out these funny looking hand-rolled cigarettes and asking me if I wanted to join him and the ladies for a smoke out, whatever that is. Somehow he ended up convincing me, and after that, everything is a little foggy.

All I know is that I spent some time in the pool, some time at the blackjack table, a lot of time at the bar, and an obnoxious amount of time at the buffet. I have to say, the Bellagio does quite a job with their buffets. You can scoop T-bones on to your plate like they were mashed potatoes. Like I said, everything was kind of foggy, but I do know that I was asked to remove my lips from the soft serve ice cream machine. And my pockets were filled to the brim with chocolate sauce and sprinkles.

I have finally calmed down enough to dictate to the cute little number sitting here what exactly I want her to write for my article. And I think she’s done a fine job. I’m not sure what I should do today. I should probably find the Surgeon General, but I think I’ll pick up a racing form and just chill instead. Actually, I feel a little younger and a little more in touch with the world after hanging out with Snoop and that lyrical surgeon, Dr. Dre. In fact, I’m enjoying a 40 oz. right now and yes, I did pour some out for my homies - Eisenhower and JFK. Oh jeez, here comes Snoop now and he looks to be carrying another one of them "cigars". I shouldn’t get involved in that, but then again…

I’m winkin’ at ya and thinking’of ya.
The Showman,

Today's Column Is By Rory's Assistant, Steve

2006-01-08T23:14:00.001-08:00

Hello, I’m Steve. I’ve been Rory’s assistant for almost seven months now. I’ve seen some freaky stuff, heard some long stories about people I’ve never heard of and repeatedly removed bloodstains from the carpet. But this is the first column I’ve had to write for Rory.

I was woken up at 4:30 this morning by a call from Rory on his cell phone. He said he was playing craps in the parking lot of a casino in Old Vegas with Dr. Dre, Snoop Dogg, C. Everett Koop and some old Vegas hustlers all night. Rory said he needed to win enough money to get Koop’s car out of hock. Apparently, Koop was desperate for cash after doubling down on a pair of threes, so he pawned his car. I told Rory that story sounded kind of odd, because every time Koop comes by the house he talks about how much he loves that car. Finally, Rory admitted that he and Dre pawned Koop’s car, and now Rory needed to win enough money to get the car back before Koop realized it was gone.

Rory said he had no way to get back to Los Angeles without a car, so it was up to me to write his column for today or else he wouldn’t get paid for it. I don’t think he gets paid for it anyway, but whatever. I asked him why he didn’t just take an airplane home, and he mumbled something about the ghost of Frank Sinatra and hung up. I’ve been trying to call back for hours, but nobody answers. Maybe he lost his phone after rolling boxcars.

I have no idea what to talk about in this thing. On top of that, I’ve got Michael McKean, Vanna White and Vera Wang sitting in the living room. Vanna told me that they’re scheduled to play mixed doubles paddle tennis with Rory today. I’ve been trying to stall them, but I don’t know what the heck to say. I offered to fill in for Rory, but they said the game is for celebrities only. Maybe I’ll see if they’re willing to sit around for about 30 hours until Rory comes back.

He’s always pulling this kind of stuff, too. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to make up some excuse about why Rory is late or not coming at all even. And of course, these people are always getting mad at me like it’s my fault. What do you want me to do? I’m just an assistant. I mean, I’m also a screenwriter, but until I sell something, I’m just an assistant. I took this job because I thought Rory’s connections could get me into the door. Rory said he would help me get a job, but the only person he’s pitched me to so far is Barbera from Hanna-Barbera. Or maybe it was Hanna. Either way, the guy wasn’t interested in my screenplay. I think he was too old school for it. It’s inspired by Tarantino. This band of smooth-talking robbers knocks off jewelry stores to help fund their edgy independent films. It’s full of jump cuts, pop culture references and non-linear action, and I think it confused the old guy. It’ll blow Hollywood away though, if I ever get it made.

Rory’s full of crazy quirks too, but I think he makes them all up to seem more like a celebrity. Like the time he heard that John Tesh will only drink imported bottled water. So Rory made me go out and buy fifteen cases of Perrier. Which, of course, he hasn’t touched yet. It doesn’t stop there. If his toothbrush isn’t turned to the left when he goes to brush his teeth in the morning, he completely freaks on me and throws the toothbrush away. So of course I have to rush right out and buy a new one for him. I mean, who thinks about a guy’s toothbrush every day? Oh, and he demands that his coffee be served at 162 degrees Fahrenheit. He makes me use a meat thermometer to check. Seriously, what does it matter?

I mean, working for Rory isn’t all bad. I do get to meet a lot of interesting people. Although Jacqueline Bisset nearly talked my ear off telling me how cute her new puppy was. And there was the time Rory and I flew to Tahiti because he was in the mood for a banana daiquiri. Those things are nice, but sometimes I wonder if it’s all worth it. I’ll tell you this. When I hit it big, you’d better believe I’ll be super cool to my assistant because I know what it’s like to be on the other end.

Anyway, Rory should be back tomorrow, I hope. I know he has another big golf tournament coming up this weekend that he’s been talking about for months, and I can’t imagine he’ll miss that.

Goodbye,
Steve

My Life Is Great

2006-01-08T23:14:00.000-08:00

Not much time to talk today. I’m playing in a big celebrity golf tournament this afternoon at a course called The Cascades here in Los Angeles. It’s a brand new public course that opened this year. My good friend and personal trainer Dolph Lundgren has played a couple of rounds there and says it’s a fantastic layout.

I’ll have a review of the course for you on my radio show next week. I’ll discuss the holes, tell you how I played and which celebrity got the drunkest. My early favorite is Alan King. I just hope he doesn’t relieve himself on the fourth green again this year.

By the way, if you read my column yesterday, I hope my assistant Steve didn’t disappoint you too much. He says he wants to be a screenwriter, but frankly, I don’t think he’s talented enough to write out my grocery list. He’s a good kid though, even with those quirks.

And if you’re wondering what happened to me in Vegas, let’s just say that I’m glad to be back in town, and I don’t think C. Everett Koop will be calling me for a while. Lucky for me though, Dr. Dre was kind enough to give me a ride home in his car. I believe he called it a "hoopty" – whatever that means. I think he may want get his shocks looked at though, because half the time we were riding on two wheels.

So that’s it. I know it’s a short effort today, but I have to hit some range balls to warm up. If Tim Allen beats me again this year, I may just sell my clubs.

I’m winkin’ at ya, and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

A Name Says A Lot

2006-01-08T23:13:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans. Bumpers here. How is everybody doing on this fine Monday? Me? I’m doing all right. We had a pretty exciting weekend in sports, mostly in the NBA with the second round of the playoffs beginning. I think something else happened as well, but I’m not sure. Look, when you’re busy breaking the world hot tub record with a few young lovelies, you don’t have much time for the out of town scoreboard – even if I am a "sports columnist".

However, I did notice that big Shaquille O’Neal did quite a number on the Phoenix Suns and led his Lakers to an impressive win. Shaq is the clear favorite for the MVP award this year, and that got me to thinking. There’s a lot in a name. It’s true. Shaquille O’Neal just sounds like the biggest, baddest guy in the NBA, and by gum, he is! Another one of my favorite names in the NBA belongs to Bo Outlaw. Is there a scarier name around? How would you like to be getting close with his girlfriend only to hear, "Uh oh, my boyfriend’s home. He’s Bo Outlaw." I’ll tell you one thing, I’d get out of there quicker than Christ left the Jews.

Many names stand out in the history of football as well. Ol’ Bronko Nagurski was a hell of a player. He had to be with a name like that. How about Terrell Davis? The best running back in the game has the initials T.D. You can’t make up stuff that good. Not to mention guys like Dick Butkus, Franco Harris, Ray Nitschke and a bunch of other guys I can’t think of now.

Out here in Hollywood there are many great names as well. When you hear names like Woody Long, Peter North, Long Dan Stryker, Savannah and Misty Rains, you know you’re going to see some quality adult action. On the legitimate side, the local ABC affiliate out here has two weathermen named Johnny Mountain and Dallas Raines. How made up is that? Why don’t you just call yourself Burt Sunshine and get it over with?

But the best Tinseltown names are the ones that you can’t tell are fake. Allow me to let you folks in on a few industry secrets here.

Sandra Bullock – This button-cute actress won over countless fans with the runaway hit Speed. Then she lost most of those fans with the runaway bomb Speed 2. You can’t help but wonder if her career would be as stellar if she stuck with her real name – Sandra Bullcoch.

Kurt Russell – Known by most H-wood insiders as Kurt Hustle for his willingness to do whatever it takes around the set just to get a gig. Another insider note is that he wears that eye patch in real life! Although Kurt sounds like a tough guy, he might have had some trouble landing tough guy roles with his birth name – Morty Roundpie.

Brad Pitt – Adored by women and gay men, and linked romantically with Friends star Jennifer Aniston (real name Jennifer Anistopadopolous), the man of hunk is that cool in real life. I met him at a party last weekend and found out some classified information on him. He asked me not to tell anybody, so if you see him, tell him you read it in Larry King’s weekly claptrap. Anyway, Brad is actually a diminutive 4’7", and his real name is Tom Cruise. Unfortunately for Tom, Tom Cruise had already registered his name with the Screen Actors Guild, so Tom Cruise had to change his name to Brad Pitt. Oh, how Hollywood works.

Jimmy Smits – This handsome chap is a favorite of bored housewives across the country. His legions of fans were heartbroken when the Latin heartthrob quit his job on NYPD Blue. But many say he wouldn’t have had nearly as much success if he had stuck with his real name – Pollo Loco.

Well, that’s about it for today. I gotta run to another lunch date with Loni Anderson. God, she wants to get at my goody bag.

I’m winkin’ at ya, and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman,

No Name Mail Bag

2006-01-08T23:12:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. It’s Tuesday and that can only mean one thing: dinner at Spago with Ivan Reitman. But before I do that, I’m going to take some time out to answer a few questions from my fans.

And remember folks, if you’re not lucky enough to ever see The Showman in person, you can always send me questions through this e-mail I have. Maybe I’ll answer it. Maybe I won’t, but you never know.

On to the questions!

Dear Rory,
During your wild and out of control downward spiral, did you ever have any run-ins with the law?
- 8556902-B
Riker’s Island, NY

Dear Prisoner,
I learned early on the value of being friendly with the police department. I used to tip my hat to the boys in blue at the end of every performance and in exchange they used to look the other way when I would wrap my Caddy around a tree. Soon my career took a turn for the worse and in 1977, I was arrested for larceny, mail fraud, public nudity, public drunkenness, destruction of public property, arson, grand theft auto, extortion, public discrepancy, speeding, possession of a controlled substance, inciting a riot, cruelty to animals, spying for the hated British, treason, domestic abuse and assaulting Bea Arthur. And that was just in February. Now that I’m back in the limelight I want to right this ship by taking the time to thank Johnny Law. Johnny Law, if you’re listening, why don’t you do your part and drop those charges?

Dear Rory,
I’m trying to break into Hollywood as a television writer. Do you have any suggestions for a show?
- Kathy G.
Los Angeles, CA

Dear Kathy,
The number one rule of television comedy is: always have a wacky neighbor. Somebody the main characters can lean on as the butt of their jokes. Full House took this rule a step further and had the wacky neighbors actually living in the house together. Of course, that show could afford to take risks due to all of the talent they had. When you have the Olson twins and Stamos working on the same show you can get away with a lot. The best shows today requires getting a cast of between four and six attractive twenty-something with great jobs they never go to, fantastic apartments and anxiety issues. Also, a male and female character should trade sarcastic barbs in order to hide their undeniable attraction to one another. Finally, add a talking dog and throw on a clever title like Let’s Chill! You put that show after Frasier, and the Emmys will start rolling in.

Dear Rory,
Do you have any traditional recipes in your family?
- Jeff S.
New Orleans, LA

Dear Jeff,
Being a single man about town these days, I don’t have much time to cook my own meals. But when I was a young pup growing up on a dirt farm in Minnesota, my family and I shared many traditional dishes, most of which descended from our Scandinavian ancestors. But most of those dishes involved raw fish and that’s not my bag. Another yearly treat was my dad’s patented Christmas Scotch Balls. He would pour scotch into an ice cube tray, let it freeze and we would all suck on the cubes until we were red in the face with Christmas cheer. I still whip up a batch of Scotch Balls every now and again. Some traditions are just too special to let go.

Dear Rory,
Before you made it big, did you have any odd jobs?
- Maria D.
Topeka, KS

Dear Maria,
Before I answer your question, keep in mind that technically I made it big twice. Once in the ‘50s, and again last year. I think everybody has heard that before I struck gold in the ‘50s, I worked as a busboy and a barback at Doc Barnsworth’s Supper Club. Nothing really happened there, expect for the day I spilled an Irish Coffee on ol’ Doc himself. But my most interesting odd job had to be the one I had in early 1972. I was working crowd control and singing the national anthem at the dolphin show at the San Diego Zoo. My job was basically to keep the rugrats from jumping into the dolphin pool, and making sure the parents didn’t take any flash photography. Dolphins will bite your head off if you use flash photography. I lost that job after a little incident one day. One little boy was dying to stick his hand in the dolphin pool. I must’ve sent him away at least eight times. He came back once more, and finally Isnapped. I picked him up, shouted "You want to see what’s in the pool? Fine!" and tossed him in. Apparently, he hadn’t learned to swim yet, and we almost had a real problem on our hands. Thankfully, I was able to calm the crowd with a jazzy rendition of "Mac The Knife" and all was quickly forgotten.

That’s all the questions for today, friends. If you have something you’re dying to ask The Showman, you can email me at rorybumpers@sportspage.com. I’ll try to get to it before the end of the year.

I’m winkin’ at ya, and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

My Man Puppet Regimes

2006-01-08T23:10:00.001-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. I don’t know how things are going for you right now, but life is pretty sweet over here at Rancho de Bumpers. I’m feeling damn happy about my triumphant comeback and my fans are even more pleased, as they should be. Heck, I have assistants to do all of my dirty work, celebs asking me to do lunch every other day and a standing Thursday morning tee time at Riviera with James Woods, James Caan and James Brolin. And you know what? It feels good.

So I sit here on my patio looking across my plush and perfectly manicured lawn gazing at Madonna’s pad and holding out hope that the pale bird will change her stance on making love to The Showman. But enough about that. I have some things I need to finally let out in the open. You see, throughout my life I’ve been secretly running operations with different front men in charge. I know my bio says that I disappeared from ’64 to ’99, but throughout the ‘80s I was simply hiding under the cover of sneakiness and pulling the levers for various organizations throughout the world. And I’ve finally decided to let you cats in on a few details about my puppet regimes.

Jell-o
If you’re like most Americans, you probably think that Bill Cosby is calling the shots for Jell-o. Well, the truth is, I started making the decisions in 1982. That’s right. America’s favorite dessert is run by The Showman. When Jell-o needed a spokesman to remind the country of its many offerings, I knew I needed somebody who had earned the trust of the American public. When Ron Reagan, Jr. wouldn’t commit, I called in the Cos. I handed the reins of Jell-o over to RJR Nabisco in 1989 after a disastrous experiment with bourbon-flavored Jell-o. I thought it tasted great, but America didn’t much go for the idea of drunken pre-schoolers.

Oakland Raiders
Sports fans everywhere point the finger at Al Davis for moving the Raiders from Oakland to Los Angeles, and then back to Oakland. In truth, that move had The Showman’s fingerprints all over it. I became a big fan of the Raiders in the ‘70s because I liked they way they gouged people’s eyes. But I couldn’t stand commuting between L.A. and the Bay each Sunday for home games. So I moved the team to L.A. After a few good years, the Raiders started playing some lousy football, and I got sick of them. So I moved them back to Oakland. I’m still pretty upset about their poor performance, and that’s why to this day I refuse to allow an NFL team in Los Angeles.

North Vietnam
After the fall of Saigon, the Reds handed control of North Vietnam over to Bumpers, Inc. I haven’t paid much attention to the place since they gave it to me, but I told them to go capitalist in 1981. Maybe I should follow up on that to see what’s going on over there. Ah, I’m sure everything’s okay.

Michael Jordan
One of my life-long goals was to win an NBA championship. But since the NBA isn’t keen on 5’10" white guys that can’t shoot, I needed somebody that had tremendous athletic ability, and was also willing to let me pull the strings. Enter Michael Jordan. With me calling the shots and Jordan carrying out the duties, we were a perfect match. After three successive championships, I had enough trophies cluttering up my rec room and decided to hang it up. MJ wanted to prove that he didn’t need me, so he took a shot at baseball. After a couple of years in the minors, he got bored and gave me a call. It took some cajoling, but I decided I could use some more championships. I can still remember the last time we worked together. I said, "Hey you! Pull up at the free throw line and get this thing over with!" He listened well, and I took home my sixth and final trophy.

That’s just scratching the surface, folks. If you’ve lived in this country for more than five years, chances are you’ve been affected by one of The Showman’s decisions without even realizing it. And that’s the way I like it.

I’m winkin’ at ya, and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

I'm Stuck In A Damn Well

2006-01-08T23:10:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. Umm, I’m in a bit of a pickle here and I don’t know how to explain it, so I guess I’ll just come right out and say it. I’m stuck in a well fifty feet deep.

It all started when I got invited to Anson Williams’ wine tasting party at his ranch in Sonoma. Everybody was drinking California Cabernet, Anson was singing songs around a roaring fire and we were all enjoying happy days, indeed.

The trouble started when I got a call on my cell phone from Buddy Hackett. I didn’t want to discuss business in front of a group of strangers, so I went out into the backyard to take the call. Being out in the country, it was pitch black outside, but I was a little too soused to notice.

Buddy and I started crunching some numbers on our latest project, and I started pacing back and forth, which is a habit of mine when I’m closing a deal. Unfortunately for me, I couldn’t see Anson’s water well in the darkness. I stumbled over something, cursed my rotten luck and all of a sudden felt like I was falling off the edge of the Earth.

I landed hard on my shoulder and didn’t know what the hell was going on. I told Buddy I would have to call him back and began screaming at the top of my lungs. Of course, since Anson was still inside playing the role of Potsy the Troubadour, my cries for help went unheeded.

Making the most of my situation, I decided to catch some sleep and wait for daylight, figuring something good was bound to happen to The Showman, as it usually does.

If you’re wondering how I could be so calm and cool in the face of such a situation, maybe it’s time I let you in on something. This isn’t the first time I fell down a well. I guess you could say I was Baby Jessica before it was cool to be stuck in a well.

Flashback to when I was a cute little 8-year old on my father’s dirt farm in Thief River Falls, Minnesota. I was shooting squirrels when disaster struck. Not paying attention to where I was going, I tripped and fell right into my daddy’s well. It was a few days before my parents noticed I was missing, but when they finally found me down there, they rang up the local constable and he rescued me after a good bit of digging. It’s funny how life can go full circle like that. Here I am, back in a well so many years later.

Anyway, I was enjoying a little sleep when I was rudely awakened by a bucket repeatedly smashing me in the head. It seems that Anson goes out every morning to fetch some fresh well-water for his coffee. I yelled up to him that I needed some help, and he took off a-runnin’. Now the well is surrounded by firemen, policemen, television reporters and fans of The Showman as everybody prays for my speedy recovery. Anson tells me there’s quite a vigil going on up there on the surface. In fact, that hippie Neil Young is supposed to come by and sing me some songs of encouragement. I just hope he doesn’t bring Crosby.

Knowing that I had time to kill, I got out my cell phone and rang up my pea-brained assistant, Steve, and am dictating today’s column to him over the phone. I just hope he spells all the words write.

(Note: I am not stupid! – Steve)

So that’s it for today. There’s not much I can do besides sit here and wait for them to dig me out. I don’t mind so much, except my neck is bent at a 45-degree angle, my left arm is jammed between two big rocks and somehow I’m staring at the bottom of my foot. Other than that, I should be okay.

I’m winkin’ at ya, and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

I'm Stuck In A Damn Well - Day 2

2006-01-08T23:09:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans. Bumpers here. Unfortunately for The Showman, it’s been about 35 hours since I fell down Anson Williams’ well, and there hasn’t been much progress made toward getting me out of here and into my favorite chair with a tall glass of Jameson’s. Apparently, before they can start digging, they have to locate the original blueprints of the property to check for power lines, gas lines and that sort of thing. Personally, I think they should start digging away, consequences be damned, but they don’t let me call the shots from way down here.

Like I said yesterday, it’s not all bad down here. I’ve been stuck in a well before, so I pretty much know the drill by now. And the volunteer rescue staff was kind enough to lower down a bottle of Wild Turkey in a bucket. Of course, I polished that baby off in about 10 minutes and I’ve yet to see another bottle. And it’s nearly impossible to light a cigarette with my left arm wedged between two rocks.

The early reports from the surface indicate that they’ll have me out sometime Sunday night. Which is kind of a drag, because I had huge plans for this weekend. I won’t go into details, but I will say that they involved Dyan Cannon, Chevy Chase, Glenn Close, a rental car, three pounds of unsalted butter and a chimp named Boots.

Well, I think I’m going to wrap it up for today. I know you’re probably thinking it’s not fair that it’s such a short column on a Friday, but hey, I’m stuck in a well. So cut me some slack.

I’m winkin’ at ya, and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

Out Of The Well And Into A Dry Martini

2006-01-08T23:08:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. Well, they finally dug The Showman out of Anson Williams’ well. It took 10 stout men, four Clydesdales, a 10-gallon drum of grease and about 58 man-hours, but I’m back home safe and sound and wearing my favorite robe.

I tell you what, friends, when you’re trapped in a well over a weekend, you have a lot of time to think.

By the way, kudos to Adrian Zmed of T.J. Hooker fame. He was clearly the lead celebrity in the evacuation effort. Apparently, Anson and Adrian spend quite a bit of time together at Anson’s ranch. Adrian showed up as usual for their Saturday morning shirtless horseback ride, when he found out there was a situation at hand. Adrian quickly put on his signature lime green headband, oiled himself up with a little help from Anson, and dug, dug, dug until he couldn’t dig anymore.

I guess I can extend my thanks to all of the non-celebrity volunteers that helped me get out of that damn well. Even though you guys aren’t famous, it doesn’t mean you’re not important! Thanks again and keep up the good work.

And Anson? Next year, let’s do the wine tasting at my place. You won’t be invited, but tell all of your friends. And while we’re at it, let’s forget the wine and do some single-malt tasting instead.

I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to have my full range of motion back. It felt good to grab hold of the newspaper with both hands when I handed it to my assistant, Steve, so he could read me the top headlines. It was a bit of a surprise to find out the NBA playoffs went on as scheduled over the weekend. I thought for sure that the network would’ve pre-empted the games to air around the clock coverage of Rory’s Rescue 2000.

So, the Blazers and the Lakers blew their chance to sweep their series, and the Knicks got a great effort from that Heisman Trophy winner to even the series at two apiece.

The Sixers are down 3 – 1, and I see that they had a little scuffle on Saturday. Apparently, the guy from the Sixers got suspended for two games and the Pacer guy is suspended for one. Plus, the Sixers are being fined $50,000. I know that life isn’t always fair, but what the hell is that?

That’s about it for today, kids. I’m going to take a bath in Epsom salts for a few hours and then get ripped for a few more. After that it’s time to catch up on my sleep. Man, there’s something about coming out of a well that makes me finally feel alive!

I’m winkin’ at ya and thinkin’ of ya,
The Showman

Ask Me A Question And I'll Tell You No Lies

2006-01-08T23:07:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. How is everybody doing on this fine Tuesday? Super. Me? I’m walking through my well-manicured grounds and sipping on a cocktail while I look for mistakes so I can yell at my gardeners. So far I haven’t found anything wrong. All the weeds are pulled, the lawn is mowed to 5/8th of an inch as requested, and they did an excellent job of carving the hedges to resemble me.

Well, since my grounds are as I want them, I suppose it’s time for me to go through my mail and see if I can answer any reader questions.

Dear Rory,
Have you ever had to stand up and defend your woman’s honor?
- Brenda B.
St. Paul, MN

Brenda,
First of all, excellent question! Second of all, no. However, there have been plenty of women that have fought for my honor. One instance that comes to mind involved French sex kitten Brigitte Bardot. We were shooting a film about a renegade park ranger in Tasmania called Deadly Picnic Basket. Anyway, Brigitte and I were in the middle of a steamy sex scene when there was a knock on my trailer door. One of the gaffers was seeking my autograph. Of course, I refused and told him to get lost, so this cat started calling me all sorts of names. I was about to step outside and give him a nose job when Brigitte came flying out of nowhere, tackled this chap to the ground and proceeded to beat him into submission. God, that was sexy.

Dear Rory,
Being in the spotlight for so many years, did you ever find yourself using unhealthy dieting methods?
- Gary T.
Benting, ID

Gary,
What the hell kind of question is that? Of course I’ve used unhealthy dieting techniques! That’s how we become stars, chubby! One of my favorites is called the Dublin Gut Buster. Basically, you eat whatever the hell you want, then wash it down with Irish Whiskey until you "recycle" the meal. That’s a great one. Another one I’m partial to is called the Portuguese Helper. Rather than stick your own finger down your throat and get it all slimy to regurgitate a meal, you hire a Portuguese boy off the street for about $1 a day and have him stick his hand down your throat after you eat. It’s a real time saver. But stars don’t have to resort to such drastic measures these days thanks to plastic surgery. And with plastic surgery costs at an all-time low, you don’t have to be famous to get in on the action!

Dear Rory,
If you had the opportunity to go back in time and change something, what would it be?
- Don L.
Dallas, TX

Don,
If I had some sort of new-fangled time machine, I would definitely travel back to 1964 and advise myself not to write, direct, produce, star in and promote the film A Monkey Could Do That. One of the suits over at Paramount took his daughter to the zoo one day, and she loved the monkeys. So of course she begged Daddy to make a movie starring a monkey. Unfortunately for me, I was under the haze of some imported substances, so I took the ball and ran with it. The film ended up being just me and Rip Torn sitting in a studio apartment and watching a spider monkey trash the joint for 85 minutes. There wasn’t a single piece of dialogue in it. It even bombed overseas, and they’ll watch anything over there.

That’s all the mail for today. Well, I shouldn’t lie. I have a huge stack of letters here next to me, but I just don’t feel like reading anymore.

I’m winkin’ at ya, and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

Find The Showman On eBay

2006-01-08T23:06:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. I hope Wednesday finds you well, and if it doesn’t, I hope the sun starts shining on you soon.

I didn’t have much going on yesterday, so I decided to have Steve clean out the attic. I hate the idea of having that kid just sitting around all day admiring me. When he came down from the attic five hours later, his hair was full of dust, he had cobwebs in his pockets and he needed a tetanus shot.

But all of his hard work should pay off for me. Steve uncovered boxes and boxes of old crap that I had completely forgotten about. Valuable crap. And after seeing this vast load of Hollywood memorabilia, the ol’ light bulb went off in The Showman’s noggin. A garage sale would not only clear out my attic, it would also put some gambling money into my pocket.

So this Saturday morning, stop by The Showman’s First Annual Garage Sale. We’re holding it at Steve’s house because, frankly, I don’t want a bunch of weirdos and hangers-on trampling my petunias. If you’re wondering, Steve’s address is 746 Centinela Avenue here in Los Angeles.
Here are some of the highlighted items that I’ll have on sale this weekend.

Steve Allen’s First Hairpiece - $1
Steve-o started going thin on top in 1952 when he was a mere 31 years of age. Knowing that America hates a bald comedian, he ran out to the nearest taxidermy shop and got this birds nest to hide his dome. I won it off of him in a game of Texas Hold ‘Em in ’58, and I’ve haven’t figured out what the hell to do with it since.

The Showman™ Action Figure Doll - $25
In 1960, Mattel put out a doll of yours truly. Unfortunately, it was taken off the market in 1961after 10 kids choked to death on the miniature scotch bottle that came with it. C’est la vie, I guess. Steve says that if we sold this on Ebay, we could get some primo cash because geeks love old stuff. I don’t know what Ebay is, but I do know that the last time I took Steve’s advice I ended up in the back of a pickup with a band of migrant workers and a crate of berries.

The "Rory Sings On a Beach in Hawaii" Album - $3
I laid down this wax back when I was the tops. Man, how I could croon back then. If you listen closely to the song titled "Conch Shell", you can hear my ex-wife Tippi Hedren regurgitating tequila in the background.

My Assistant, Steve - $5
You want him, you got him.

Promotional Poster From the 1950s Anti-Homosexuality Propaganda Film No Parking In The Rear -$7
When scientific studies funded by the Army proved that communism and homosexuality went hand in hand, Uncle Sam released this bittersweet melodrama to set confused teens straight. Starring an adolescent Dennis Hopper, the film centered around Billy Davis, a boy who had to make a difficult decision on what was more important to him: his nation’s freedom, or his sexual urges.

I think it’s safe to say you can find some major deals if you swing by Steve’s place this weekend. This is just a smattering of the terrific things I’m making available to the public. You won’t even believe some of the things I have for sale. Which reminds me, let’s try not to get the cops involved.

I’m winkin’ at ya, and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

Bumpers And Grinding

2006-01-08T23:05:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. I hope everyone is doing well on this fine day. I know I sure as hell am. Of course, when you have an assistant that does all your dirty work for you, life can be pretty damn good.

In sports, game one of the Western Conference finals between the Lakers and the Blazers is this Saturday. Everyone is looking for a thrilling and exciting series and I think they’ll get it. Both teams are loaded with talented players. In fact, there hasn’t been a collection of talent like this since the suits took, "Three’s Company" off the air.

Speaking of which, am I the only guy around who wishes he had a neighbor/buddy like Larry? That cat lined up more bush than my landscapers. And it wasn’t just about quantity, with Larry, it was always about quality. Like quality stewardess twins from Sweden.

Over in the Eastern Conference, both series are coming down to the wire. The Heat went up by a game over the Knicks, 3-2 in this best of 7 series. And Spike Lee took a much needed break from making movies about basketball to watch his favorite team play basketball. And hopefully, when the Knicks are done playing, he’ll be able to get back to work and make a movie about basketball.

And the Sixers are making a series out of the other match-up in the East. The Indian state bird, Larry Bird, is in his last season as a coach where he is making a push for another ring. He has shot at getting to the finals with the help of the handsome Rick Smits and Cheryl Miller’s brother. If you ask me, Rick Smits has a career in the movies waiting for him when he’s done with the round ball.

It’s Thursday night, which means it’s Disco Bowling night down in my basement. Last week Jaleel White was the big winner, when he got to make out with the lovely and talented, Tina Yothers. Could you imagine if those two beautiful people had a baby? It wouldn’t be fair to have a child with that much talent. Speaking of talent, I sure hope Denise Richards stops by. I don’t know how the hell she can bowl wearing that tight of an outfit, but it works for me.

Well, heck, if you can’t tell already, I’m completely out of things to talk about. And besides, it’s time for another one of my three martini lunches with Joe Piscopo. I hope he doesn’t try out his "new" material again on me today. I’m not the actor I once was and it is getting increasingly hard for me to pretend I am floored by his Letterman bit. Of course, that’s where the martinis come in handy.

I’m thinkin’ of ya and winkin’ at ya,
The Showman

Friday Night And The Showman Is Feelin' All Right

2006-01-08T23:04:00.001-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. Man, there is nothing I like better than a weekend. A chance to get away and not work. Of course, 1964 to 1999 was basically a 12,775-day weekend for me. But now that I’m back in the workaday world, weekends mean something to me again. Funny how life works like that.

I know what you’re thinking. Showman, why so deep today? Why so philosophical? Well, the truth is, I’m flying to Madison, Wisconsin to give a commencement address to a group of Badger grads, and it kind of has got me to thinking. What should I tell these young pups as they head out into the big, scary world? I’ve learned a lot in my day, mostly through trial and error, but I don’t know if everything The Showman has learned is all that helpful.

I can tell them that not all of the friendly women in Tijuana are actually women. Or that you should never score your blow from a stranger in an alley. But is a commencement speech the right place to tell kids "know your dealer"?

I could regale them with some great behind the scenes Hollywood stories. Like the time I watched Phyllis Diller and Bea Arthur get married on a yacht in international waters at the urging of Don Rickles. Or how Nick Nolte and Gary Busey are actually the same person. But will these stories help them in life? I just don’t know.

The good thing is, I’ll be surrounded by dozens of young, star-struck coeds that love to drink. Hell, I order a vodka tonic with lemon, and I look like James Bond next to some meathead from Alpha Pi pounding Natural Light. Don’t get me wrong, being a star out here in L.A. is great, but in a way, we’re a dime a dozen out here. Hell, I ran into Jonathan Silverman the other day at the car wash. And let me tell you, the kid still takes pride in his work. He got the whitewalls on my Benz shining like the day my driver drove it off the lot. But in a place like the Cheese State, star sightings are rare, and as a result, appreciated like they should be.

Being from the Midwest, God’s country, I’ve spent a decent amount of time in Madison. The streets there are lined with bars and young hippies. It’s like France, without the art. I just hope I don’t end up sloshy before I have to give the speech. Maybe I’ll do my patented Amazing Grace/America The Beautiful/Rocky Raccoon medley. That’s been knocking the kids dead for a long time now.

Well, thanks for letting me work out my thoughts in this article. Of course, you didn’t have much choice, so whatever. Now I gotta go hit the bi-plane with a shot of WD-40. I don’t want the propeller falling off that thing over Topeka.

I’m winkin’ at ya, and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

Leading By Example

2006-01-08T23:04:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. I’m back from my trip to God’s country and the University of Wisconsin graduation ceremony. Wow! What a fun time, and what young, young girls. The commencement speech went great, and everybody loved me!

If you’re still reading, I have to admit that I lied a bit in that first paragraph. Oh, the girls were young, but I haven’t seen a speech go so poorly since I did a rather blue roast of Mother Theresa at her wake in Calcutta. And, once again, it wasn’t me that was to blame, but the alcohol.

About an hour after my arrival in Madison, I met up with some friends of mine, and they alerted me to the fact that the town was teeming with sauce joints. I brought my own supply because I wasn’t sure if Madison was still a dry town, but I was pleasantly surprised to discover it wasn’t.
Now, apparently, college kids are busier than ever. Everything is hurry, hurry, hurry. Drinking is no different. These kids put away the brew like a meteor is racing toward Earth and they have to get as much down as possible before zero hour. Normally, I would’ve drunk these kids under the table, but I hadn’t eaten anything in a day and a half.

My limo was attracting a big crowd, too. I guess today’s kids are still impressed by wealth and power. Good to know. One straggler we picked up was named Josh. This kid likes to party. Hell, he makes Peter Tosh look like Nancy Reagan.

So I woke up on the hood of my limo at 1:30 Sunday afternoon. Nothing unusual, except that the graduation began at 1:00.

I rolled onto stage 90 minutes late and shirtless. Not the first time that’s happened, but this audience was out for blood. If I had a decent opening act it wouldn’t have been a problem, but I think Dean Jerry McGee, head of the chemistry department, got his material off of a Bazooka Joe wrapper. Bor – ing!

I took a little from my pocket flask for courage, and that set the audience off even further. I was in some serious trouble, so I went to my "A" material – Mr. Socko, my puppet act. Mr. Socko explained the harsh realities of succeeding in Hollywood, but I guess chemistry students aren’t interested in showbiz.

Realizing that these kids didn’t want to be entertained, although who the hell knows why, I went into my speech. I’m sure they were expecting some dynamite advice and my secrets to life, but hell. It took me 55 years to figure this world out. You think I’m going to tell some punk kids what to do so they can skip right to dessert? Well, The Showman don’t work like that.

The hissing and catcalls were louder than ever, so I cut my speech short. I told the kids that at least 75% of them would grow up to be worthless failures, and only the attractive students had even an outside shot at success and happiness. That set off a rush toward the stage, and I hightailed it out of there.

Thankfully, I made it to my limo safe and sound. The driver pulled away, but not before a brick shattered the rear window. Who the hell brings a brick to a commencement ceremony anyway? Man, what a weekend. I think that’s the last time I venture out of the celebrity-receptive confines of Los Angeles for a while.

I’m winkin’ at ya, and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

I Just Don't Care Anymore

2006-01-08T23:02:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. I tell you what, I shouldn’t have put that exclamation point in my salutation, because I am really not that excited right now. This daily column is taking a lot out of me, and I don’t know how much of an effort I can keep putting into this thing day in and day out. I’m likely to walk at any minute now.

It’s Tuesday, and if you’ve been here before, you know it’s question day. Let’s not waste any more time.

Dear Rory, My wife and I are building a new house. I was wondering if your house had any interesting features or decorations we could incorporate into our place. I love you, man!
- Barry T.
Topeka, KS

Dear Barry, My house is a one-of-a-kind architect’s nightmare, and Aaron Spelling’s sexy fantasy. It’s got more bells and whistles than Liberace’s outfits. But I guess there’s a few things I can share with you without giving away my style secrets. First off, since you’re married, I would consider installing a Xanadu Pleasure Swing in the hallway off the master bedroom. With one of those babies and an oscillating fan, you can keep a woman happy for three days. But I would guess the best part of my estate is the shooting range in the basement. It’s great for letting off steam after a tough day. It’s also great for keeping the kids occupied. Send the rugrats down there with a .22, and they’ll be out of your hair for the rest of the day.

Dear Rory, What kind of music do you listen to?
- Jeff M.
Boston, MA

Dear Jeff, It depends on where I am, and what I’m doing. If I’m driving around town on a sunny day, I usually throw on some ‘50s doo-wop. Those old tunes can’t help but bring a smile to my face. Whenever I start getting all misty-eyed for my drugged-out ‘70s days, I throw on some Creedence, Skynyrd or Zep and the scary memories come flooding back. Those were some lonely, lonely, lonely days. And when I’m making sweet love to a woman, or deflowering a young starlet, I always listen to my own records. God, I know how to set the mood.

Dear Rory, Do you think television needs more diversity in its shows?
- Angie D.
Sacramento, CA

Dear Angie, There’s no doubt that if you’re white and beautiful, you’ll probably end up on television at some point in your life. If you’re black, Asian or Latino and beautiful, you still have a chance. But if you’re ugly, it doesn’t matter what color you are. So yes, I agree with you Angie. Television definitely needs more roles for ugly people. By the way, speaking of diversity in television, every time I get Lisa Ling from The View confused with Lucy Liu from Ally McBeal, I think: whatever happened to Ming Na Wen?

On another note, I was having dinner the other night at a tony Santa Monica eatery when I accidentally spilled a glass of red wine on Bob Barker. I told him I would mention him in my article as retribution. So there. Personally, I think the guy’s a cut-rate Wink Martindale, and just to spite him, I never get my pets spayed or neutered. But whatever.

I’m winkin’ at ya, and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

I Occasionally Have Superhuman Strength

2006-01-08T22:59:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. What a beautiful day it is. I’m sitting in a little villa on Catalina, enjoying a short stack of pancakes and a pedicure. It’s so weird to look at this lady working on my feet as I sit writing and eating. I wonder what she does when she’s not working. Does she give herself pedicures to stay on top of her game? Is she in love? Will an extra $20 get me anywhere?

Say, I have to apologize for my cranky attitude yesterday. It’s just that I read another article on these dotcom kids and all the green they’re making. I started thinking that maybe The Showman is missing out by only having one stock option. But I soon realized that the good people here at SportsPage.com are giving me a second shot. And hell, I still get a residual check every time Eggs For Breakfast, Eggs For Dinner runs on late night cable. That should keep me going for a while.

So enough about that nonsense. I have some serious stuff to talk about. You know how you hear about people getting incredible strength from adrenaline in times of crisis, like a car crash? Well, I’m here to tell you it’s true.

Much to my surprise, Dom DeLuise stopped by the villa last night for dinner. I thought he had brought his long-lost twin, but it turned out to be Paul Prudhomme. Paul whipped us up a traditional Sudanese feast for dinner. Afterwards, I realized why those cats are so thin – the food was crap. But Prudhomme had to show off that he can cook more than burgers and franks. I don’t know what was worse: the main course of grass and egg shells, or the jokes DeLuise kept firing at us. See, I didn’t mind Paul stopping by, but DeLuise? I just don’t know. The only fun thing is to keep asking Dom what it’s like to be French, because that really sets him off.

Anyway, we were well into our fifth after-dinner drink when things got a little weird. You should know that for being such big guys, that really can’t hold their hooch. And before I knew it, they were swaying like a Massachusetts Democrat, drunk off their fat arses. Now, don’t ask me why, but we decided it was time to try some reckless stunts.

See, Dom has always said that if he falls off the celebrity radar, he would make an Evel Knievel-type comeback to get the world’s attention. Basically, he’s been flirting with the idea since Cannonball Run. As for Prudhomme, he’ll go along with anything after a big meal. We decided a good stunt would be for them jump over my pool in my golf cart. To increase the drama, I duct-taped them to the cart.

So there they were, fifty feet from the pool and strapped into the cart like two chubby mummies. I fired a starting gun into the air, and Dom punched it. Of course, golf carts aren’t particularly fast to begin with, and when they’re bearing 700 pounds of cargo, it hardly moves. You would think Dom would have been bright enough to hit the brakes when he realized they didn’t have enough speed, but he really misses the limelight.

The cart barely made it up the ramp, and I thought DeLuise would stop for sure. But for whatever reason, he put the pedal through the floor, and they just barely tumbled over the ramp and into the pool. It was the shallow end, but they landed upside down. I didn’t know what to do! I thought about running into the house and getting some scissors or a knife to cut them loose. But my assistants have handled all of the cutting since ’62, and on top of that, I had no idea where they kept such things. The only thing I could was dive in and do it myself.

I quickly took off all of my non-waterproof jewelry and dove in. Much to my disappointment, I had taped them up pretty damn good. What the hell was I thinking using four rolls of tape on those two? I had to do something! I started thinking about how bad it would look if those two drowned in my pool after the sheriff let me off with a warning after my last pool incident. I’ll be damned if my good name will be tarnished in the trade rags for the second time this week.
That’s when I got angry, and adrenaline-packed superhuman strength filled my body. Somehow I managed to lift 1000 pounds of golf cart and D-level celebrity, and carried them to the side of the pool and set them down easy.

Unbelievable how that happened.

I’m winkin’ at ya, and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

Don't Go Chasing Waterfalls

2006-01-08T22:58:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. How the hell are you? Fantastic. Me? I’m feelin’ fresh. That’s right, fresh. If you remember a couple weeks back, I met two young gentlemen in the recording industry named Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg. Well, to my surprise, they rang up The Showman and invited me to a barbecue at Dre’s pad in the LBC. That’s Long Beach Community to all you crackers out there. Of course, I had to accept.

So I’m out by the pool drinking a giant, 40 ounce bottle of beer. Personally, I don’t know who needs so much beer in one container. I guess it saves you some trips to the fridge. But Snoop reassured me that everybody drinks them in their neck of the woods. Or ‘hood, as he put it.
Now, I don’t drink malt liquor much these days, and if you’re not ready for it, look out. I was half in the bag when I started putting the moves on this chick named Left Eye. Her boyfriend didn’t take too kindly to that idea, and so he threatened to bust up my bitch ass, whatever that means. Fortunately, Snoop stepped in and defused the situation. I think his exact words were that "we need peace in the streets".

As you can imagine, I was very thankful that Snoop would do that for me, and he said you’re welcome by offering me another of his hand-rolled cigarettes. I don’t know where he gets this stuff, but if they sold it in the stores, somebody could make a fortune. After the smoke cleared, I couldn’t think straight. But I think I put away 14 franks and a bucket of potato salad to win a bet.

Damn what a mess. Oh, I almost forgot. In the name of being a good columnist, I polled people on their picks for the NBA Finals. Here goes nothing.

Snoop Dogg – Lakers vs. Knicks – Lakers in 4

Left Eye – Lakers vs. Pacers – Pacers in 7

Dr. Dre – Trail Blazers vs. Knicks – Blazers in 6

A dude with a big clock around his neck – Lakers vs. Knicks – Knicks in 6, boyyyyyyyyyyyyy!

Slick Rick – Blazers vs. Pacers – Blazers in 7

Fred Berry, aka Rerun – Lakers vs. Knicks – Lakers in 6

Tone Loc – Lakers vs. Knicks – Lakers in 7

Jimmie Walker – Lakers vs. Blazers – Pacers in 6 (He was pretty bombed by the time I got to him)

Chuck D. – Whitey vs. the black man – Whitey, just like always.

That’s about it, folks. Thanks for tuning in.

I’m winkin’ at ya, and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman,

Drugs Are For Losers (And The Showman)

2006-01-08T22:57:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. Folks, I gotta admit something to you all today. Lately, I’ve been thinking that I could use a little more excitement in my life. I haven’t had a really great time since at least 1983 when, probably not coincidentally, I was doing hard drugs at least three times a day.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, "Showman! Didn’t you just party with Snoop Dogg and Dom DeLuise this week alone?" And you’re right. I did do those things.
Yet I still feel a little hollow in some ways. Hobnobbing with the rich and famous can be delightful at times, but it can also get a little old. I really miss the feelings of euphoria and confidence you can only get through regular substance use and abuse.

So I was sitting in my chair last night, drinking a scotch and seriously considering going down to Panama for the three-day weekend and having a relapse to end all relapses. I knew I would eventually end up struggling with my addictions yet again, but at that point, I just didn’t care. I was seconds away from calling up some old friends I haven’t seen in a while, when there was a knock on the door.

The knocking persisted, and that’s when I remembered that I sent my assistant home early. So I trudged over to the door, where I was greeted with a rather pleasant surprise. An absolutely gorgeous young lady was standing before me. What luck! I hadn’t answered my own door since ’76 when the pizza guy was a half-hour late. God, did I beat that guy raw.

Anyway, the young lass before me had a backpack on her, and I asked what she was carrying. She laid the backpack on the floor, opened it up and pulled out an immense bag of Bolivian Novocaine and a jetpack. We quickly took care of the bag, strapped on the jetpack and went flying over Los Angeles to see if we could find some trouble.

We didn’t find any trouble, but we did run into Huey Lewis, sans The News, of course. Huey was driving his patented new heli-car, which he said really helps him beat the traffic. My gal and I waved goodbye and flew away. The next thing you know, we were in outer space. We got a close look at the rings of Saturn, raced Mercury around the Sun (we lost), and collected rocks from Mars to sell on eBay.

After we finished with that, we…

Whoa, wait a minute. What’s going on here? I’m sorry, folks, but I am as high as a freakin’ jetplane right now. These hand-rolled cigarettes Snoop gave me yesterday really pack a punch.

If you’ll excuse me now, I’d better go call my A.A. counselor before something crazy goes down this weekend.

I’m winkin’ at ya, and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

Stuck In A World Of Pain

2006-01-08T22:56:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. And Bumpers ain’t doing well, folks. No, I caught a little something right before the long weekend and suffered mightily as a result. I don’t know how I caught it. Could have been the Santa Ana winds blowing in that pollen from the desert. Could have been those random girls I was making out with at the arcade (don’t ask). But more than likely I caught while I was licking the handrail of the mall’s escalator. Man, I wish I hadn’t lost that bet.

So, I just lounged around my pad all day and watched TV. That’s the one nice thing about being sick - it gives you an excuse to not do a frickin’ thing. For instance, Sam Donaldson was having a little party this weekend. Now, I hate hanging with Sam and his straight-laced buddies, but I’ve never been able to get out of it. See, you can’t lie to Sam, because that cat will see right through it. But with me under the weather, I was able to tell him how sorry I was that I couldn’t attend.

I know everyone gets sick once in a while and we all need things to help us out in those tough times, so I decided that I would give all you lovely people some helpful hints in times of trouble. First and foremost, you are going to need to relax on your couch, and that means you need something to watch. I suggest you have your assistant go out and rent you some movies. What kind of movies you ask?

Anything that stars Kurt Russell and Goldie Hawn will instantly make you feel better. Someone once asked me how many times those two have worked together – the answer – not enough. But be sure that you don’t watch any of their movies in a dry area, because with all those on screen sparks flying, it can be an old-fashioned fire hazard.

You should also try renting some of those "Candid-Candid Camera" flicks – holy smokes are those fun. Allen Funt is a bald genius. He’s a little light in the loafers, but brilliant nonetheless. If you don’t know, "Candid-Candid" is "Candid Camera" with nudity! This fuses all the hilarity of regular "Candid Camera" but adds a plethora of money shots to heighten the overall appeal. And you know what? It works!

Lastly, you should be constantly dabbed on the head with a cool wash cloth. I don’t care if you have a fever or not, if you have a cute little number bending over you all day, you’re bound to feel better. You also need popsicles and soup. I recommend cherry and French Onion respectively.

Well, that’s all for today people. In fact, you’re damn lucky you got this much, because with Overboard playing I can hardly contain myself enough to concentrate on this column. What a movie! I mean Russell and Hawn are from totally different worlds, but somehow, I think it is all going to work out. Go figure.

I’m winkin’ at ya and thinkin’ of ya
The Showman

Q&A, But No T&A

2006-01-08T22:54:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. I was driving down the highway on my motorcycle with a hot piece of tail in the sidecar, and I thought to myself, "Life is good". I was two sheets to the wind and doing some wheelies to impress this filly when I saw a cop’s cherries in my rearview mirror, and thought, "Damn, life sucks". But the cop was familiar with The Showman’s work, so he decided to let me off with a warning. That’s when I thought, "Life fricking rocks".

So John Law gave us a police escort back to my mansion and all was forgotten. Suzy Sweetpie wanted to go for a swim, and I wanted to let her. She begged me to join her for some frivolity, but I told her I worked for a living and I had this damn column to write. After much cajoling, I decided I would do her the good service of writing my column poolside. I just hope I can concentrate because this girl is hot, baby, hot.

Dear Rory, Now that summer is here, I plan on having some barbecues with my friends after I get out this joint. Is there something that I should have around to enhance the overall experience?
- Chuck X
Folsom State Prison

Chuck, First of all, stay strong on the inside, my friend. I know how tough it can be during lockdown. Well, I personally haven’t spent any time in the clinker thanks to a few dirty judges and my fame. But I can imagine that it’s no fun. Anyway, barbecues are America’s way to celebrate life and beef. I could go on and on about the different goodies one should have at a cookout, but only one really stands out – midgets. That’s right, midgets. What you do is hire about five or six of them to work your party. Put oversized novelty sombreros on the short cats, place tortilla chips and salsa around the brim, and have them walk around your yard. Those little troopers will keep your guests entertained – and full!

Dear Rory, I was wondering if you could settle a bet that my frat bro and I have. Which girls are better – hippies or sorority chicks?
- keg69@aol.com
Kent State

Kegger, You sound like a heck of a party guy, but don’t neglect your studies. You can’t get by in this world with just drinking and carousing, unless you got yourself a sweet set of pipes like myself. But on to your question, hippies or pledges? Well, the hippies like to party so you have to like that. They are also enamored by the concept of free love, so let’s just put a +2 in the hippie chick category. Those sorority girls have a damn fine pedigree, and most of them love wearing makeup. I really don’t think you can overlook either type of girl, but you’re forgetting another important breed found on campus – nature chicks. Now, technically nature chicks are a subspecies of hippie chick, but hear me out. See, nature chicks don’t wear bras. I know you’re probably thinking, "Even Jane Goodall?" Well, especially Jane Goodall, partner. You find a chick who’s into apes or the freakin’ environment for all I care, and you’ve got yourself a wild lay. Good luck at your next theme party, fun guy!

Good Lord! I’m sorry, folks, but my assistant just informed me that Markie Post is on her way up the driveway, and with Suzy swimming in the pool, things do not look good for The Showman. In the ‘70s, this wouldn’t have been a problem, but I told Markie that my alleycat days were behind me. Damn, how could I blow it with Markie like this?

Ah, screw it. Hot blondes grow on trees at Rancho de Bumpers. I guess I’ll just pick another one.

I’m winkin’ at ya, and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

June-Tastic!

2006-01-08T22:48:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. June has sprung and summer is almost here! The Showman’s mojo start working overtime in the summer heat, what with all those short shorts and tight little t-shirts the dames like to wear these days.

You know, when I realized today was June 1, I got to thinking. I sure have slept with a lot of women named June in my day. Let me see if I can remember them all.

1.June Ainley 2.June Allen 3.June Allyson 4.June Anderson 5.June Angela 6.June Archer 7.June Ashley 8.June Bardsley 9.June Barr 10.June Barret 11.June Barrett 12.June Barrie 13.June Barry 14.June Benbow 15.June Marie Bennett 16.June Bennett 17.June Berry *(only third base)
18.June Bishop 19.June Black 20.June Blackman 21.June Blair 22.June Bolton 23.June Bolyn
24.June Booth 25.June Borel 26.June Boykins 27.June Brewster 28.June Bright 29.June Brogan
30.June Bronhill 31.June Brooks 32.June Broughton 33.June Brown 34.June Bryde 35.June Bupp 36.Vinnie Burns (aka june daye) 37.Vinnie Burns (aka june daye) 38.June Burt 39.June Buthelezi 40.June Byford 41.June Byron 42.June Cai 43.June Caprice 44.June Carlson 45.June Carlsson (I) 46.June Carr (I) 47.June Carroll 48.June Carter (II) 49.June Carter (III) 50.June Carter Cash 51.June Cate 52.June Chadwick 53.June Chandler 54.June Charlier 55.June Cheong 56.June Christopher 57.June Christy 58.June Claman 59.June Clark 60.June Clayworth 61.June Clyde 62.June Colbourne 63.June Collis 64.June Collyer 65.June Constable 66.June Cooper 67.June Cowell 68.June Creeghe 69.June Crowley 70.June Cuendet 71.June Cunningham 72.June D'Eon 73.June Dale 74.June Dawson 75.June Dayton 76.June De Lisle 77.June De Young 78.June Dinneen 79.June Doyle 80.June Duprez 81.June Ealey 82.June Earle 83.June Eckstine
84.June Eisner 85.June Eldridge 86.June C. Ellis (I) 87.June Ellis 88.June Elvidge 89.June Elvin
90.June Ericson 91.June Evans 92.June Evett 93.June Fairchild * (heavy petting) 94.June Faith
95.June Fenley 96.June Filmer 97.June Foray 98.June Forrester 99.June Francis 100.June Frazer 101.June Fremont 102.June Fujimoto 103.June Fuller 104.June Fulton 105.June Gable
106.June Gale 107.June Garba 108.June Gaver 109.June Gee 110.June Gilbert 111.June Gilmore 112.June Gittleson 113.June Gleason 114.June Glory 115.June Glucksman 116.June Graham 117.June Grey 118.June Gudnitz 119.June Harding 120.June Harris 121.June Harrison (I) 122.June Hart 123.June Haver 124.June Havoc 125.June Hedin 126.June Henry 127.June Hern 128.June Hildreth 129.June Hillman 130.June Holden 131.June Horn 132.June Horne
133.June Howard 134.June Hutchinson 135.June Hutton 136.June Jago 137.June Janin 138.June Jeffery 139.June Jocelyn 140.June Johnson 141.June Jones 142.June Judson
143.June (I) 144.June (II) 145.Katie June 146.Mildred June 147.Miss June 148.Sarah June
149.June Keith 150.June Kelly 151.June Kenny 152.June Kidd 153.June Kim (I) 154.June Y. Kim 155.June Kirby 156.June Knight 157.June LaVere * (just a makeout session) 158.June Lang 159.June Laverick 160.June Lebow 161.June Lee (I) 162.June Leslie 163.June Lewin 164.June Lewis (II) 165.June Lion 166.June Lockhart 167.Lizabeth Lockhart (aka june lockhart jr)
168.June Lomena 169.June Louise 170.June Love 171.June Kyoto Lu 172.June Lufboro
173.June MacCloy 174.June Mack 175.June Maforimbo 176.Peggy Maley (aka peggy june maley) 177.June Marko 178.June Marlow 179.June Marlowe (I) 180.June Marlowe (II) 181.June Marlowe (III) 182.June Martel 183.June Martin 184.June Mathews 185.June Mathis
186.June Maypo * (twice) 187.June McCall 188.June McGruder 189.Bonnie June McNamara
190.June Melby 191.June Millarde 192.June Mishi 193.June Mitchell 194.June Moon 195.Lori June Moore 196.June Murphy 197.June Nagy 198.June Nash 199.June Newbury 200.June Newton * (course, whose list isn’t she on?) 201.Jane Nigh (aka june nigh) 202.June O'Dea
203.June Oliver 204.June Ormond 205.June Page (I) 206.June Page (II) 207.June Palmer
208.June Parr 209.Julia Parton (aka june bauer) 210.Barbara June Patterson 211.June Paul
212.June Pentyliuk 213.June Pickerell 214.June Pointer 215.June Powell 216.June Preisser
217.June Prentis 218.June Preston 219.June Pritchard 220.June Prud'Homme 221.June Purcell 222.June Reynolds 223.June Richmond 224.June Riddols 225.June Ritchie 226.June Robbins
227.June Roberts (II) 228.Nancy June Robinson 229.June Rodgers 230.June Rodney 231.June Rollins 232.June Rowan 233.June Russell 234.June Salter 235.Karen June Sanchez
236.June Sanders 237.June Saruwatari 238.June Saunders 239.June Schafer 240.June Shane
241.June Shaw 242.June Shelley 243.June Sjostrom 244.June Sloane 245.June Smaney
246.June Smavey * (on the same day as June Smaney) 247.June Smith 248.June Squibb * (kinky as hell) 249.June Stein 250.June Storey 251.June Story 252.June Sylvaine 253.June Whitley Taylor 254.June Ellen Terry 255.June Terry 256.June Thompson 257.June Thorburn
258.June Thorne 259.June Tobin 260.June Tolley 261.June Townsend 262.June Travis
263.June Turner 264.June Tyson 265.June Valli 266.June Van Dyke 267.June Vega 268.June Vincent 269.June Vlasek 270.June Von Drueding 271.June Walker 272.June Wallack (I) 273.June Watson 274.June Watts 275.June Weaver 276.June Whipple 277.June Whitaker 278.June Whitfield 279.June Whitley 280.June B. Wilde * (she sure was wild) 281.June Wilkins
282.June Wilkinson 283.June Wood 284.June Wurster 285.Heather Young (II) (aka june meadows) 286.June von Bebenburg

Wow. I forgot just how popular The Showman was. Now, I know you’re probably thinking, "What about the rumors surrounding you and ex-Falcon coach June Jones?" Well, it ain’t true, baby!

Until tomorrow,
I’m winkin’ at ya, and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

The Honorable Reverend Socko

2006-01-08T22:46:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. Hello, and happy Friday to all of you lovely cats. The Showman has been thinking of you and that should make you feel all warm and fuzzy. Speaking of warm and fuzzy, I’m heading to beautiful Sacramento, California this weekend, the fifth-best city in the Golden State, for a wedding.

One lucky couple not only gets to have The Showman sing at their reception and seat people at the church, they also have the good fortune of having yours truly marry them in holy matrimony. During a late night in the ‘70s I saw an infomercial for a three week class to officially became a reverend. So, the Reverend Rory Bumpers will be the Master of Ceremonies, as well as the headline entertainment at this weekend’s festivities.

Now in the past, I always used ol’ Mr. Socko, excuse me, Reverend Socko, to marry the lucky young couple. Something about weddings and ventriloquism that just goes hand in hand, or so I thought. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that all those times I got out Rev. Socko, the ceremony ended in disaster. Of course, I was usually rather drunk and all those memories are a bit foggy, but the ceremonies went a little something like this:

Showman: "You’re the dummy."
Reverend Socko: "No, you’re the dummy."
Showman: "No, you’re the dummy."
Reverend Socko: "Do you take this dummy…"
Showman: "Hey, Rev. That’s not cool, she’s a beautiful bride."
Reverend Socko: "Okay, do you take this bride to be your dummy?"

You get the idea. The whole thing usually turned into a complete farce, but I learned early and often that you can’t please everyone.

The more I think about it, all of the marriages Reverend Socko has performed have ended in divorce. Let me name a few: Michael Jackson and Lisa Marie Presley, Princess Di and Prince Charles (man, the Queen was not happy with Reverend Socko), Madonna and Sean Penn, and of course all the marriages of non-famous people you’ve never heard of.

Well, folks, that’s all for today. Wish me luck at the ceremony. And I hope each and every one of you has a fantastic weekend.

I’m winkin’ at ya and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

That Time Again

2006-01-08T22:45:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. No more worrying, Bumpers is back in town, baby.

I’ll tell you what, if you’re an American you have to like rag time music. I think it is born in each and everyone of Uncle Sam’s kids. That’s why I was so surprised when the wedding party threw that fit when I got out the banjo. I read The Wedding March is totally out in 2000, so I started in on some Dueling Banjos when the beautiful bride started walking down the aisle. That sure didn’t go over well. Oh well, people don’t appreciate raw talent like they used to.

Enough about that. It’s all behind me now. So, on to the questions. Let me reach into this fun bag and see what I find.

Dear Rory,
A lot of famous people endorse all sorts of products. Is there anything you’ve ever endorsed that you now regret?
Jared B.
NY, NY

Jared,
Well, just when I thought I completely buried my mistakes deep in my brain, you’ve helped them to resurface. I can think of two things I endorsed that I shouldn’t have, New Coke and Red China. I thought New Coke was going to be a smash hit and I would ride that gravy train back to the limelight. Unfortunately, it tasted freakin’ awful and it didn’t do a thing for my career. Now, as far as Red China goes, I guess I just wasn’t thinking clearly. The year was 1959 and I was on top of my game. I was demanding the big bucks and if the price was right I would endorse high blood pressure. Anyway, one of Mao’s underlings got to me and for $25,000 I did a 2 minute commercial explaining the ills of democracy and the beauty of a socialist society. At the time we didn’t know what was better, but I guess ol lady Liberty won that battle.

Dear Rory,
I’ve read that society was rather racist in the fifties. Did your race present many obstacles for you during your rise to the top?
Latursha K.
St. Louis, MO

Latursha,
First of all, that’s a beautiful name, sweetie. Secondly, what the hell are you talking about? I’m as white as they come, captain. So, no, my race didn’t affect my rise to the top. However, I feel it was entirely responsible for my crash to the bottom.

Dear Rory,
I know you like your booze and I assume you have a pretty high tolerance. Which of your show biz friends can hang with you when it comes to putting down the sauce?
Ivan V.
Stalingrad, USSR

Ivan,
Sorry it has taken me so long to get back to you. Your letter got lost behind my sofa some years back. Anyway, there aren’t a lot of celebs who can hang with The Showman when it comes to boozing. Johnny Cash can of course. Snoop Dogg is one who has really impressed me as of late. But the one person who can put everyone under the table is that little firecracker Rosie Perez. Holy crap, can she booze.

Dear Rory,
I’ve read your autobiography, but I still can’t get enough of The Showman. Is there any new tidbits of info you can give me that wasn’t mentioned?
Susan Q.
Albert Lea, MN

Dear Susan,
First of all, keep it in your freakin’ pants, lady. Yes, there are a couple things I didn’t mention in my bio. One that comes to mind is, if Indiana Congressman Baron Hill were to die unexpectedly, The Showman takes his place. However, if his death is expected, I don’t. On another note, I was the first person to ever write an unauthorized autobiography. How is that possible? Well, it involves a split personality and a lot of scotch. But we don’t have time to get into that today.

Thanks for sending me your letters, people. I couldn’t do questions and answers without you.

I’m winkin’ at ya and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

Finally, The Finals

2006-01-08T22:44:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportfans! Bumpers here. I hope all of you lovely cats are doing all right. I know I am. So there’s a lot of excitement in the air with the NBA Finals starting tonight. The Indiana State Bird, Larry, will be leading his squad against that hippie Phil Jackson and the Los Angeles Lakers.

I’ll tell you what, the nice thing about the Lakers is that you can always count on stars being at the big games. You look into the stands and you can see Jack, Dustin Hoffman, Denzel, Kato and even Mr. Sutherland. But when the games are in Indiana, they’d be lucky to have Jonathan Silverman sitting in the front row. Good Lord, they have more star power on UPN.

I tell ya, those Pacers must be true professionals, because I don’t know how they are supposed to get up for the games with no stars watching. I would think Reggie would look out at the crowd and say, "What’s the point?" But I guess that’s what makes them pros.

I went to a game at the Staples Center earlier in the year. The suite was catered and as soon as I walked into the place I was handed a plate with prime rib and garlic mashed potatoes! Not exactly the nachos and ball park franks I grew up on. Strange crowd at the Staples too, certainly not a blue collar one. I felt like I was at a private auction.

How about that Kobe O’Bryant I’ve heard so much about. I’ll tell ya what, The Showman knows a thing or two about being that young and having that kind of pressure on you. If you remember, I had to follow Senoir Wences on the Ed Sullivan show – now that’s pressure baby! But I think O’Bryant has what it takes.

I’m sorry, I have to get going folks. It seems The Showman made a bit of a mistake in judgement the other day. See, my neighbor across the way, Tony Danza, has an obnoxious amount of marble at his home. I’m not one to be upstaged, so in a drunken rage I ordered my beautiful lawn to be removed and replaced with marble. I figured that would show him who’s the boss! I had totally forgotten, but when I got back from vacation I saw that my once lush and green lawn was now 14 acres of silver and gold marble. Damn, that booze! And it’s going to cost me a fortune to change it back. And what the hell am I going to do 3 tons of marble?

But don’t worry about poor old me. I’ll just blame it on my assistant, Steve. And if I’m lucky and I stick with the story, maybe over time I’ll come to believe it really was Steve’s fault. I’ve found that’s pretty much the best way to deal with mistakes.

I’m winkin’ at ya and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

A Little Help From Your Friend, The Showman

2006-01-08T22:43:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. I hope all of you are doing well today, I know I sure am. I watched the big game last night from my hot tub. Well, a young lady and I watched it together to be precise. My spa is outside so I had to have Steve stand by and hold the TV for us, but he did a pretty good job of keeping steady even though I’m sure his arms got pretty tired.

After the blowout we decided to watch the rest of the game. After that ended, I sent Steve inside so the lady and I could have some privacy. The first thing I did when we were alone was turn on some music for us. Now, I usually put my own records on when I want to seal the deal, but I wanted the night to last a little while, so I hit random and relaxed in the tub.

As the evening progressed I was amazed at how little this girl understood. Granted, she’s a young little pepper, but still, I thought she would have been a little more with it. Throughout the evening she kept asking me about different lyrics. At that point I realized that perhaps it takes a singer to understand a singer. And being a stand-up guy I figured I would teach you lovely people a thing or two by explaining some famous lyrics to you and saying whether or not those lyrics are true.

Let me start with The Chairman of the Board, Frank Sinatra. First of all, let me clear the air. The Showman and the Chairman never saw eye to eye when it came to women. See, Frankie often degrades women by calling them dames or broads, but I’ve always preferred to use phrases like dollface or toots.

Anyhoo, we were listening to "New York, New York" and when the phrase "if you can make it there you’ll make it anywhere" was heard, the little pepper asked me it that’s true. The answer is: true and false. Yes, it is very true that if you make it in New York you can make it anywhere. However, the same is true about making it in Louisville.

"If you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you’re with" – CSN. Folks, I don’t agree with the hippies that often, but when it comes to free love I sure as hell do. And those hippies couldn’t have been more right on when they came up with this one. This lyric is very true.

"Shower the people you love with love" – James Taylor. Without getting too risqué, Taylor knows what he’s talking about and I’m a big fan of this move. Very true.

"All in all it’s just another brick in the wall" – Pink Floyd. False. The frustration of being a drugged-out hippie really comes through in these lyrics and I don’t buy it. Damnit, we are more than that – at least the famous people of this world are.

"Every rose has its thorn" – Poison. For once young Bret Michaels actually knew what he was talking about. This is very true; every rose does have its thorn. I know this because of a tryst I had in my garden with a fan some years back. The Mrs. came home earlier than expected so we had to duck under the rose bush and we were cut up to high hell. Of course, that didn’t stop us.

Well, I think that should clear the air a bit for everyone. And don’t ever say The Showman doesn’t do his part, because I think this article is really giving back to the people. I’m not above helping others. And hopefully, if I do enough sweet-talking, the time it took me to write this fine piece will be deducted from all those community service hours I owe the state. Thanks for tuning in.

I’m winkin’ at ya and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

Good Lord, I'm Hung...Over

2006-01-08T22:42:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. I’ll tell you what, sometimes it’s good to have your own plane and sometimes you get way too loaded and wake up in Topeka. What the hell was I thinking? And who the hell is this young lady sleeping next to me? Wait a second, I think it’s all starting to come back to me…

I got together with my poker buddies last night. It was me, Jim Nabors, Merv Griffin and Manute Bol. We mainly played the usual stuff, Two Card Texas Munchkin, Vietnamese Three Card and of course, Black Jack. And like all men who play cards, we drank heavily.

In case you ever find yourself in a card game with these guys, let me tell you what to look for. First of all, Nabors is the worst freakin’ card player ever. He has to use a plastic card holder, because he is unable to make a fan with the cards. On top of that, he can’t count for squat. And when he does get a good hand he can’t control that goofy smile of his.

Merv is a whole different story. The problem with playing with Merv is his pockets are too deep. Now I can waste money with the best of them, but Merv is a damn maniac. He’s almost worth a billion dollars and I learned one thing the hard way – you can’t bluff a billionaire. Damn, did I learn that the hard way.

As for Manute, the 7’ 7" ex-NBA star, he is actually a skilled card player. See, we always have the dealer call the game and we rotate the deal. The problem with Manute, is all the freakin’ African games he calls. One hand I’m playing some Mozambique Stud and the next I’m playing Zimbabwe Draw. I can’t keep those games straight as is and when the booze is flowing – Lord help me.

So the game was going well and The Showman was winning his share. But I think somebody slipped a pill into my drink, because before I knew what hit me the room was spinning like crazy, and I’m pretty sure it was upside-down. Now, Merv brought some young starlet with him and after I had some cocktails I started making the moves. The next thing I knew, we were all alone.

She started giving me some sob story about how she misses Kansas and well, The Showman isn’t one to disappoint. I asked her how much it would mean to her if we took my biplane to Topeka so she could visit home. Well, she sure showed me how much it would mean to her. After that, I was ready to fly her to the freakin’ moon if she wanted. And yes, The Showman does have pull at NASA. I could get it done.

So we did it. We flew to Kansas late last night and here I am in a rinky-dink bed and breakfast in the middle of Topeka. Jesus, I’m a sucker. And Guttenberg is going to be so pissed when he realizes I’m not going to be able to make our tee time. But to be perfectly honest with you, I’m kind of happy about that. The guy still does his Officer Mahoney routine and it is absolute dullsville. Ah, but I’m just being cranky. I think me and this bird will have another go at it and then I gotta get myself some lunch.

I’m winkin’ at ya and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

Monday, Monday, So Good To Me

2006-01-08T22:41:00.001-08:00

Greetings, sportfans! Bumpers here. That’s right – the Showman is back! I took the SportsPage biplane to Indianapolis to take in Game 3 of the Finals. Wow, what a game it was. Now, is it just me or does every little boy in America want to be the next Rick Smits? I think we have more future Dutchmen than Holland.

So, after the game I met Shaq for a little dinner at a cute little restaurant that served great Indiana food. Man, the things those Hoosiers can do with corn. And Shaq really put a full court press on the dinner plates. I’ve never seen anyone eat like that in all my years. And if you remember, The Showman ballooned up to 345 lbs in the mid 70s, so I know what eating excessively is all about.

Yeah, the Lakers lost the game yesterday, but you wouldn’t know it by talking to Shaq. What an optimistic young pup he is. So confident. I wasn’t going to do it, but with Shaq sitting right there I had to talk a little shop with him. So, naturally, we started talking about the movies.

After a long talk we decided that the best thing we could do, if we wanted to work together, was to do a remake of the 1999 smash hit, "My Giant". I know I can act circles around Crystal and I felt the same way about Shaq and Gheorghe Muresean. I mean, Shazam can Shaq act. I thought he really was a genie in that movie. So, basically, we are just upping the acting quality a little bit and with that script I think we are sitting on a gold mine.

Well, I have to go meet Andrew Shue for lunch down in Manhattan Beach. He thinks The Showman is going to give him some career advice, but that kid can’t act his way out of a paper bag. The truth is, I’m hoping his beautiful sister, Elisabeth stops by. When she poured that booze over herself in Leaving Las Vegas I knew I had found the woman of my dreams. Someone who could really understand The Showman.

I’m winkin’ at ya and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

The Answer Man

2006-01-08T22:41:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. My lunkhead of a moron of an assistant, Steve, is back in town, fresh off of the vacation I generously gave him last week. I don’t know what happened to him while he was gone, but he has a new haircut and he’s now walking with a limp. I’m sure he has a semi-interesting story about his trip, but once you get him started, he never shuts up, so I’m not even going to ask.

One thing I do know is I have a huge pile of mail sitting here since Steve wasn’t around for a few days. My hardcore fans know that I haven’t handled my own mail since that whole Unabomber thing a few years back, but now that’s Steve here, I can answer some of my fan mail.

Dear Rory,
It seems like the television networks are putting racier and racier stuff on the air every day. What do you think of this trend?
- Jeff P.
Enid, OK

Jeff,
Personally, I love it. I did a brief club tour in Europe in the ‘80s, and I got a chance to take in French television. Wow! They show tons of skin over there. Even in the commercials. It’s fantastic. Also, I like to think that I’m partially responsible for today’s lax standards. For my first appearance on the old Sullivan show, Ed would only show me from the chin up because I was too damn sexy for America’s youth. But by my third appearance, he was showing me from the chest up, which nearly started a riot. Of course nowadays, Dennis Franz can say "ass" on his show, and then show his pasty ample ass. What a wild world we live in!

Dearest Rory,
Please make love to me.
- Ann M.
Pittsburgh, PA

Ann,
Umm, thanks for the request, but I don’t do that kind of thing without seeing the dame first – at least not anymore. I had a pretty bad incident a few years back that I’m still trying to wash from my memory. Send in a picture of yourself, and then we’ll talk.

Dear Rory,
With December 31, 1999 coming up next week, how do you plan to ring in the new millennium?
- Dave G.
Albuquerque, NM

Dave,
As you can see, my assistant is a grade–A dumbass. Why the hell else would he give me this questions six months after the fact? I gotta start searching the classifieds for somebody else.
Well, that’s about it for the questions this week. Steve has a lot of work to catch up on around the estate, and I don’t want to keep him from it for another second.

I’m winkin’ at ya, and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

Having A Pet Monkey Is A Lot Of Work

2006-01-08T22:39:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. As some of my sharper readers will recall, I occasionally harass my assistant, Steve, about his complete inability to ever do anything right. I think I may be softening my stance on Steve-O after a wild day yesterday, though.

The blind have been using dogs for years to help them get through their daily life. Trained dogs are also being used to help the infirmed with routine tasks. And not only can you use dogs these days, trained monkeys are being used as well.

Steve and I were having another discussion about what a dope he is, when I mentioned that a monkey could probably do his job with aplomb. And not even a super-intelligent space chimp. Just a regular trained monkey. To prove my point, I called in a favor at the animal shelter, and they couriered a spider monkey over to the estate.

Well, I’m here to tell you that a trained monkey can definitely not do Steve’s job. The monkey, which I quickly dubbed Blo-Blo, was cute as the dickens, but smart as a post. I started him off easy, commanding him to bring me my mail and then wash my clothes. Instead, Blo-Blo brought me my socks and threw my mail in the washer. Unperturbed, I told Blo-Blo to make reservations at Mr. Chow’s for next Thursday at 8:00 for myself and Kirstie Alley. The best he could do was reservations at 8:30. And he made them with Shelley Long!

Steve was having a pretty good chuckle over this whole fiasco, but I decided I would give Blo-Blo one more chance to prove me right. Of all the things Steve does badly, he makes sandwiches the worst of all. I figured Blo-Blo could nail that one no problem. In fact, Jeff at the animal shelter told me it was Blo-Blo’s specialty.

I told Blo-Blo to make me a reuben, light on the kraut. Not that tall of an order if you ask me. He scrambled out to the kitchen and starting making quite a racket. Dishes clattering, silverware clinking. He even turned on the blender at one point.

After about a half-hour, Blo-Blo emerged from the kitchen with the biggest smile you ever did see on a monkey. He handed me the sandwich, but here’s the beauty part. Blo-Blo put the bread on the inside and the corned beef and kraut on the outside. A reverse sandwich! That sealed the deal. I put Blo-Blo out on his ear. I didn’t give him a ride back to the animal shelter, either. If he’s supposed to be so smart, he can figure out the bus schedule.

So I’m here to say that having a pet monkey isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. And that Steve is definitely smarter than a monkey. Or at least Blo-Blo.

I’m winkin’ at ya, and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

Five Fifths Equal One Good Time

2006-01-08T22:38:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. You know, there’s a couple of common sayings in Hollyweird. One is that Chevy Chase is an ass. Another is that celebs drink like thirsty horses. So I’d like to announce The First Annual Showman’s Gone Drinkin’ Contest.

The rules are simple. The first Hollywood celebrity or insider that can drink me under the table wins an autographed 8x10-foot mural of The Showman in his prime. I know what you’re probably saying. Why the heck would a Hollywood star want an autographed photo of another Hollywood star? Well, if you’ve never been to Hollywood, you don’t know how these things work.

The event will be held this Sunday, starting at 11:00 a.m. at the gazebo on the southwest corner of my estate. Which will be nice, because I haven’t been to that part of my vast property in ages. The contest is a round-robin, double elimination tournament that should be over by around 9:30 that same evening or so.

Tickets go on sale today. Call Ticketmaster or stop by the estate and Steve will straighten you up. And to make you feel good about buying the tickets, whatever money isn’t spent on booze goes straight to charity.

So put on your favorite drinkin’ hat, and come on out to Rancho de Bumpers Sunday afternoon. I’ve drawn Judge Reinhold in the first round, which is a cakewalk for The Showman because Reinhold is half-Mormon. I should be able to conserve liver capacity for the second round, when I take on the winner of the soggy Ted Kennedy/Ted Danson match.

Some of the key first-round matchups include Gary Coleman/Emmanuel Lewis, Sammy Hagar/David Lee Roth, Jesse Helms/Strom Thurmond, and John Paul Mitchell/Gary Nexus.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gotta go drop the kids off at the pool.

I’m winkin’ at ya, and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

The Cream Rises To The Top

2006-01-08T22:37:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportfans. Bumpers here. It’s a BIG night in sports, kids. The Los Angeles Lakers are taking on the Indiana Pacers in game six at the historic Staples Center. What a game it should be. Reggie Miller, Shaq Daddy, Kobe O’Bryant, The Nighthawk – Travis Knight, Stony Sam Perkins, Chris "Time for a new Haircut" Mullin and a whole bunch of other crazy cats.

How about that Tiger Woods? Wow! They ought to let me trade shots with him just to make it fair to everyone else.

It really is amazing to watch someone at the top of their game. When they know they can’t be beat and everyone else knows they can’t beat ‘em. I’m of course, talking about myself and my big celebrity drinking contest this last weekend. Folks, I’m not one to brag, but I was in the zone.

Ted Kennedy absolutely destroyed Ted Danson in the first round. But I think he got a little cocky because although he had the match won, he kept on drinking. I had to face Teddy in the second round after taking down Judge Reinhold and it wasn’t much of a contest. I watch a lot of Leno, so I figured Kennedy was a real boozer. But to be totally honest, Gary Coleman gave me a tougher match in the third. And I ended up using that half-pint to clean up my spills.

So, there I was in the final round. It was a round robin involving The Showman, Red Buttons, Nell Carter, and Dan Marino. Of course, I was the early favorite, but I knew I had my work cut out for me. Now, Red is one hell of a boozer. Nell is damn near unstoppable when she gets on a roll and that red-faced Marino isn’t too shabby himself.

But much to my surprise the drink for the final round was Mint Juleps. And I can drink Mint Juleps. Man, those cats didn’t have a chance, but they did have a good time. Before I knew what happened, Nell and Marino withdrew themselves from the contest so they could make out. I wished they would have gone to a more private place, but I guess they couldn’t wait and they started necking under the table.

So it was down to Red and I. Two old rivals. We actually used to swap a lot of parts in the movies, because we have the same look. It’s a lot like Mark Harmon and John Ritter. See, Hollywood only has so many roles for a chill Cali dude in his mid 30s with sandy blond hair. Mark and John have to trade all of those roles. John got Three’s Company, but Mark landed the blockbuster hit, Summer School. That’s the way it was for Red Buttons and I in the 1950s and early ‘60s.

To make a long story short, The Showman held his own and won the tournament. What a weekend. Tiger Woods wins by 15 strokes and The Showman wins by eight Mint Juleps. Good times.

I’m winkin’ at ya and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

I Think The Lakers Are Good

2006-01-08T22:36:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. Congratulations to Diesel McShaq and the rest of the Laker bunch. Although it was kinda disappointing to see the melee the fans started outside the arena after the game. I haven’t seen such a fuss since I told the crowd at the Tropicana I wouldn’t be singing any Foghat. Vegas burned long and hard that night, my friends.

So once again, question and answer day is upon us. I know it may seem a little formulaic by now, but with the condition my heart is probably in, it’s best to keep the surprises to a minimum.

Dear Rory,
What are you doing to get ready for the Olympics that are coming up in September?
- Ralph D.
Portland, OR

Ralph,
Nothing. I’ve been saying for years that they should get rid of the Olympics, Winter and Summer. Who the hell cares about who can ice skate the prettiest or jump the farthest? Those are just the basic elements of other, more real, sports. For instance, the 100-meter dash. Anybody goofball can run. Hell, I watch Steve run all the time. The challenge is trying to run and throw a ball through a hoop at the same time. Or ice skate while avoiding body checks and putting a small puck in the net. The one thing the Olympic committee could do to make things a little more exciting is to take the average Joe from each country and have them compete. Those guys that train their whole life are not a true representation of our country. But if you had Joe Budweiser running against Jose Tecate, well, then you would have something.

Dear Rory,
Are you getting ready to walk away into the sunset? Or do you have a few more good years left?
- Stacy K.
Bismarck, ND

Stacy,
I think it’s pretty clear that I used up all of my good years in the ‘60s. But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to quit. You see, unlike a mill worker or government official, there’s no pension system for old celebrities. Believe it or not, being recognized in the parking lot doesn’t pay the bills. On the plus side, I can walk into any restaurant in the country and they’ll have a table ready for me in under 5 minutes. So I think I’ll keep this encore going as long as I can.

Dear Rory,
What happened between you and Freddy Fredderson, The Man of 22 Voices? You two had a great act going way back when.

- Fred F.
Los Angeles, CA

Fred,
The name Freddy Fredderson is dead to me.

Well kids, that’s about the last of the questions for today. What’s that? Oh my god! Folks, Steve has just informed that he discovered Ted Danson passed out in the closet of my guest bedroom. Apparently, the rigors of The Showman’s Celebrity Gone Drinkin’ Contest were a bit too much for that bald bastard to handle. If you’ll excuse me, I gotta get Danson off of my property before his people show up and start asking questions.

I’m winkin’ at ya, and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

I Just Shot My Assistant

2006-01-08T22:35:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportfans. Bumpers here. Hello my friends, how the hell are you? The Showman is doing quite well, thank you. I couldn’t say the same about my assistant Steve though.

Let me back up a bit. I took this cute little number to dinner in Santa Barbara. I hear the drive from Los Angeles to Santa Barbara is absolutely beautiful, but I wouldn’t know, because we flew the SportsPage biplane up there instead.

Dinner was fantastic and we washed it down with a few bottles of wine. So, I was half-listening to this girl talk about her dreams of making it big, but in my mind I was thinking how I would like to…well, never mind. Anyway, she thought it would be a good idea to rent a movie after dinner. And knowing that watching a movie is a cheap excuse to hop under a comfortable blanket with a girl, I was more than happy to oblige.

We flew the plane back down to Los Angeles and Steve picked us up at the airport. I had called Steve from the biplane and told him to pick up a movie for us on his way to the airport. When the lady and I hopped in the back seat of the limo, we saw the movie Fight Club was waiting for us. Neither of us had seen it so I had no excuse to chastise Steve.

We got back to my place, popped in the tape and the freakin’ VCR wasn’t working. I tried all my other TVs and it was the same result. The only VCR that worked was the one in my bedroom – Steve had done his job. So the lady and I hopped into bed and watched away.

One hell of a movie that Fight Club. Wow, jam packed with excitement. But in the end, you find out Eddie Norton has a split personality and Brad Pitt (4’ 7" in real life) is actually a figment of his imagination! What a twist! And it got me to thinking; perhaps my assistant Steve is just a figure of my imagination. There was only one way to find out.

I called Steve into my sleeping quarters for some orange juice. When I heard him approaching I reached into my bedside table and got out my gun. I lined that trigger up and was ready to fire. If nothing happened I knew Steve was just a part of my imagination. I pulled the trigger and much to my surprise, the bullet struck Steve in his arm and he bled like crazy.

Wow, did I look like the fool. But don’t worry about the Showman, I was able to convince the police that it was an accident and the gun went off while I was cleaning it. As for Steve, he didn’t get much blood on the carpet so he was able to keep his job.

I’m winkin’ at ya and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

Helpful Tips From The Showman

2006-01-08T22:33:00.001-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans! Bumpers here. You know, I’ve been at this writing gig for a few months now, and I think things are going pretty well. We’ve had some laughs, some good times, a few surprises and even a few tears. Furthermore, I would defy anybody to find a single thing wrong with this column.

But sure enough, in a country this frickin’ big you’re bound to find somebody’s who’s unhappy. I was sitting in one of Hollywood’s trendy gin joints when an absolutely dynamite bird walked by. She was an old-fashioned Hollywood gal with over-sized collagen lips, an augmented chest and a whole lotta "I’m gonna be a star" attitude. Being The Showman, I struck up a conversation, and this lovely lass admitted she was familiar with my work. Cha-ching!

The last time I met a dame that was familiar with my work, well, let’s just say it hurt so good. I moved in for the Showman Shuffle, when this gal put up a red flag. What the hell was she thinking? She must have been drunk, because I don’t know how you can say you want to be a star with one breath and then refuse me the next. Something wasn’t right here. After prying, she said she couldn’t bring herself to sleep with me because my column didn’t help people.

What kind of new age hippie feel-good hoo-hah is this? But, in order to make a good impression on my new favorite woman, here’s a list of helpful hints from The Showman to you.

Peanut butter not only tastes good, but it can also be used as shampoo, toothpaste or deodorant.
If you ever plan on visiting Brussels, try to learn the language first. They hate English over there.
If she says she’s on the pill, she’s not.
Whenever your butler has a little case of the sassmouth, gently remind him that you can revoke his green card at any moment. Then slap him.
If it’s red, wait for it to go away. If it burns, see a doctor.
Try to drink 8 gallons of water a day.
Avoid gay porn as a gift.
Never dare a guy with a gun, especially if that guy is the husband of the lady you’re sleeping with.
No matter how much you don’t want to, try to visit every part of your mansion.
Remember to have one boat for waterskiing, one for entertaining and one cigarette boat in case you need to leave the country in a hurry.
Apple burgers are good for you.
In case you want to buy me a drink, I like my martinis very dry.

With all that I’ve learned over the years, I could go on and on. But what’s the point? I think I’ve done enough good with this column to sway this bird.

I’m winkin’ at ya, and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

I Didn't Come To Bow, I Came To Conquer

2006-01-08T22:33:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportfans. Bumpers here. The weekend is here! And let me be the first to say, cheers! It’s a big weekend for The Showman, people.

I’m flying to Reno for a two-night stay at The Kingsley Resort Motel and Casino. It’s actually on the fringe of Reno, but that’s not the point. Oh, damn, my freakin’ straw keeps flyin’ out of this lowball because of all this wind. I’m starting to think I should have asked SportsPage for a jet instead of this damn biplane. Oh, well.

So this resort I’m flying to kicked me out and told me never to come back after my last performance there in ’76. I would love to tell you what happened, but unfortunately I blacked out. All I know is that I was crappin’ $50 chips for about a week and a half. But, when in Rome…

The Showman first headlined at The Kingsley in 1957 for a three-month stay. I know you thought I was a Vegas guy, and I was, but before that, Reno was my town. And I don’t have to tell you, but to impress this little pepper on the Dictaphone here, I was on top of my game in 1957. Just a young eager pup with the Midas touch and a head stuffed full of fresh family humor. I left The Kingsley on great terms and with an open invitation any time I wanted to come back.

Fast-forward to 1976. I was grossly overweight, weighing nearly 350 pounds, and I needed money to support my Reuben sandwich and cocaine addictions. So I headed back to The Kingsley. The first night went well, after I was able to block out the fat cracks. But the second night, well, I already told you. I can’t remember squat, but I’ve been in showbiz long enough to know that the talent isn’t supposed to wake up with two black eyes and a $4,000 cleaning bill.

But now that I’m back at it, The Kingsley’s come a’knockin’ again. And The Showman is answering the door, baby! I can’t wait. Those blue-haired ladies are going to be throwin’ their giant panties at me when they hear the new lounge versions of "Unskinny Bop" and "Pour Some Sugar On Me" I’ve been working on. And the encore? I gotta feeling Mr. Socko might come out to play.

I’m winkin’ at ya and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman,

Take This Job and Shove It

2006-01-08T22:31:00.000-08:00

Greetings, sportsfans. Bumpers here. Folks, there comes a time in every man’s life when he has to make a decision. Not a little decision either, like what kind of cocktail should I have or should I take her back home? I’m talking major career decisions, like when Shelly Long quit Cheers. Well, The Showman’s at a crossroads, people.

I’ve been flying all over the country in the SportsPage biplane trying to cover the hot sporting event of the day and it’s starting to wear on me. In the old days, I didn’t think twice about flying from city to city and staying up until the next day. But now, I get tired eating a sandwich.

With this on my brain I decided to call in some friends for and old-fashioned powwow. Steve Guttenberg brought over a bottle of VO and a smoked salmon appetizer. Loni Anderson brought a pot roast and some port. Sophia Lauren came with Chianti and a tiramisu. And Johnny Carson came over with some Oban scotch and a couple of starlets on each arm.

There we were at my mansion. The whole gang together again. Well, the whole gang except for Jackie Gleason and John Denver, but they couldn’t make it for obvious reasons. So I built a raging fire out of the old promotional posters for that government-issued anti-gay propaganda movie I was in, "No Parking in The Rear". We sat around the fire passing bottles and food while talking about life.

I think we each learned a lot that night, and came away better people. Guttenberg is going to finally finish that Police Academy 8 flick, "Alien Cops" that he’s had on his brain. Johnny is going to patch things up with Ed. So I started to think of all of the things I wanted to do; like Loni and Sophia at the same time. I threw that out and after the response was less than well received. I pretended I was joking. But that’s not the point.

The point is, The Showman is 66 years young and it’s time to start acting like it. I’ve had enough of this workaday world. I thought I wanted to get back in the limelight, but after this gig I realize I really don’t. Screw it. I don’t need it. And I sure don’t need the money, as these gold pajamas that I’m wearing will show you. So, to make a long story short – I’m done.

Back to a life of seclusion for Rory Bumpers. Back to battling weight problems and drug addictions in the comfort of my oversized mansion. Back to bridge with The Golden Girls on Tuesday nights. Back to doing the things I want to do. So let me say, take this frickin’ job and shove it.

By the way, I probably should have proofread this, but what the hell do I care? Tell it to the next guy.

One last time – I’m winkin’ at ya and thinkin’ of ya.
The Showman

Bentley's Haiku

2006-01-08T22:30:00.000-08:00

That Cybil Shepherd
I don’t think she’s a real blonde
At least not down there

The Return - Part II

2005-09-26T15:28:00.000-07:00

Yeah, the blog is making another comeback attempt. The Krog Blog, as some in the punditry have dubbed it, will start it's third life off as a food blog, summarizing all the things I've consumed on the American Idol audition tour. Yeah, I'm a food snob now. It fits.

First up! San Francisco!

A devastating observation

2005-06-10T17:50:00.000-07:00

Coldplay is the Goo Goo Dolls of this decade. An "alternative" band that's safe and bland enough for office managers and housewives to listen to. They can feel like they're on the cutting edge without upsetting the car pool.

I mean, they're not terrible or anything, but let's calm the fuck down, shall we? Gwyneth Paltrow could've married Robb Thomas and never noticed the difference.

So go ahead, keep loving Coldplay. Just know that you're a douchebag and we all see right through you.

"Comedy" night

2005-06-10T17:38:00.000-07:00

I recently (not actually recent, but right in the middle of my blog hiatus) attended a comedy show at Miyagi's on Sunset. If you're from Los Angeles, you might recognize Miyagi's everybody goes when they first come to town. Some move on because they realize being on the Strip sucks. And some move on because they realize there are more shallow places farther down the Strip. And some don't go anywhere.

Anyway, it's a comedy night. Allegedly, at least. Next to the stage is "Honest John", who turns out to be about 60, with gray hair and big, bushy gray beard. Oh, he talked like Eminem. Now, this was confusing to me, since the only white people I know that talk this way are my age or younger and grew up listening to hip hop. I know white hipsters in the old days would say "cat" and whatnot, but I can't imagine any white people in the '70s talking like John Shaft, no matter how much they loved Funkadelic. So, at some point in the last 15 years, "Honest John" said to himself, "You know, I think I'm going to start talking black. F'real. Yeahhhh, boyyyyyy!"

So "Honest John" is doing his set, and in his defense, he is pretty honest. For instance, he never once hid his desires to "Fuck some pussy." And if he brought up a particular subject, like Kobe Bryant, say, whereas a less honest person would say, 'Well, you know, he plays hard.", "Honest John" came right at you with, "Mannnnn, fuck Kobe. I ain't playin' either!"

But the clear highlight of the night for me was when this girl behind me said, with complete joyful amazement, as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing, "Damn, this motherfucker's dirty!" It was the only thing I laughed at all set.

Back. Not better than everybody.

2005-06-10T17:37:00.000-07:00

You think YOU can take a hiatus from your blog? Try six fucking months off! Yeah. Yeah.

Merry Retail, everybody!

2004-12-22T13:59:00.000-08:00

Out shopping for the wife, I had a few enjoyable moments. The first came in a packed Tiffany's, where people were so desperate to buy jewelery and baubles that they were lining a glass counter like it was a bar in a crowded nightclub. I was waiting for somebody to start holding out a $100 bill like they were trying to flag down a bartender. Of course, that was nowhere near as good as the guy whose girlfriend pointed out something shiny that caught her eye. The guy asked a salesgal where the nearest Bank of America was, then he asked his girlfriend/wife/mistress if she wanted the jewelry or just the cash instead. (She wanted the jewelry.)

But they couldn't compete with my favorite couple, a guy who looked like he was in a wild band in the '80s and suffered both a drug-induced stroke and crippled ankle on a particularly awesome tour. Plus he had an overbite like Kermit and stringy hair that looked like you could pull off easier than a Post-It note. Naturally, he was with a hot, 20-something Asian chick who seemed to be picking out everything for her stocking.

Having made a sensible, classy purchase, I moved onto Pottery Barn looking for...well, I don't know what actually. As soon as I walked in, I passed a sales associate something a customer something nice for her husband. Then the woman asked, "Do you have anything a little more manly man than that?" I first waited for the associate to show her either a silver tin that is perfect for holding your Red Man chewing tobacco, or a pewter magazine rack that showcases old Playboys. Instead, the associate directed her to a leather journal.

Awesome

2004-12-22T09:39:00.000-08:00

During the presidential campaign, President/God's soldier George W. repeatedly said he was against legalizing importing cheaper prescription drugs from Canada. He said we could never be sure that the drugs actually came from Canada and not some Third World country trying to make a buck. And George W. Bush will never risk the health of Americans! Unless they're in the military or living near a coal mine or factory. But he definitely won't risk our health on potentially fake drugs!

Except now we've learned that the common prescription drugs Vioxx, Celebrex and Aleve all greatly increase users risk of heart problems or attacks. And these drugs, of course, we're rushed through the FDA approval process and given an NIH endorsement thanks to political lobbying, donations and drug companies basically paying off NIH executives to tout their drugs.

Meanwhile, way up in Canada, they're not having any of these problems. I guess because their country isn't controlled by business-loving Republicans.

Aww man

2004-12-21T11:11:00.000-08:00

I had a supreme douche moment on Saturday driving back from Christmas shopping. Heading down Melrose, home of the hot shopping chick, I was stopped and casually observing a semi-hot shopping chick walking down the sidewalk on my street of the street.

Suddenly, somebody in a car on other side of the street looks at this chick and goes "Whooooo!" So she looks in the direction of the noise and sees me staring right at her. And she shook her head in shame, like she's never been more disappointed in her life. After a few seconds, I realized that she thought I was the aggressive Italian.

Damn.

Unintelligent people for intelligent design (UPID)

2004-12-16T11:32:00.000-08:00

It seems that sensible, logical folks want to have creationism - sorry, "Intelligent Design" - taught in schools in Kansas, Pennsylvania and assumedly everywhere else in the universe. You know, because evolution is only a "theory". Surprisingly, these science lovers are sorta confused about what a theory is in scientific parlance. It's just a hypothesis that's regarded to be true, yet hasn't been solidly proven into a law. Gravity is a law. Evolution is a theory. Believe who interpret the Bible literally are morons is a hypothesis. I haven't run the actual tests on that one yet.

Anyway, after adopting my new "I don't care" attitude after Bush's re-election, I honestly don't give a fuck if kids in Kansas and Pennsylvania don't learn until college that evolution is pretty likely. Shit, I don't care if they ever learn it and always believe the Earth is 6,000 years old like the Bible says. It'll be worth it to see the confusion on their faces when a Grand Canyon park ranger explains that the rock layers at the top of the canyon are millions of years old.

But I just want one of these creationists to explain a few holes in their logic to me.

- So, this God of yours has always existed and one day was bored and decided to create the entire universe out of sheer will?

- You're telling me an omnipotent being could create the entire Milky Way in only six days, but that was so exhausting, he needed Sunday off? Superman doesn't get tired, but God does? I guess it can be tiring to throw your hands in the air, say "Whooosh!" and create the oceans.

- Speaking of which, we base our days on one full revolution of the Earth. So...I guess God did the same? "Hmm. I want to create land, but I think I'll wait until that one part spins around to me again."

- God, being bored once again - why not create a great novel, O Lord? - decides to create man. God, in all of his wise omniscience, doesn't realize that Adam will get bored by himself, with only God to talk to. I guess God doesn't have much foresight. God would be a terrible party planner. "Dang. I thought 6 salmon puffs would be enough. Too bad my son isn't here. He could make some more."

- God, in all of his wise omniscience, thinks Adam will be entertained enough by the animals. Creatures that he can't fuck or talk to. Once again, I guess God doesn't have much foresight. He fucking CREATED Adam - loading up his gentials with nerve endings, mind you - and yet he doesn't know what he wants? Hell, my mom can predict my thoughts better than that, and I moved out 6 years ago.

- Finally, God realizes he needs to create a human companion to Adam. Not because he's omniscient, but because ADAM ASKED FOR IT! "Oh, yeah. Hmm. That's a good idea. I should have thought of that myself!" I guess creating male and female birds wasn't enough to tip him off to the idea of a female human. So God, who CREATED THE ENTIRE FUCKING UNIVERSE OUT OF PURE FUCKING WILL, needs to borrow a rib from Adam to create Eve. "Hmm. Seems that I'm out of human clay. I guess I could create more simply by thinking about it, but I think I'll rip Adam's rib out of his flesh. You know, so they have something to talk about."

- Of course, none of this explains why God would create Saturn to be completely gaseous and uninhabitable or make Pluto a frozen rock deep in sapce. Maybe those were just practice. Or maybe it's that lack of foresight again. Shit, I bet if God only created the Earth and focused on that, we'd have a four day week with Thursdays off. Or maybe, you know, THE BIBLE CAN'T BE FUCKING INTERPRETED LITERALLY!

What's most beautiful is that a group that promotes teaching Intelligent Design in school hasn't lost a step over that 18,000 year Indonesian midget archeologists found recently. Sure, the little guy is 12,000 years older than the Bible claims the Earth, but let's not worry about that, the little guy was a hunter! Which shows that evolution isn't likely. Because...uh...later humans hunted too. And also because we have midgets in today's world too. Sounds good to me! Dickheads.

You think you have balls?

2004-12-16T09:41:00.000-08:00

You don't have balls! Bernard Kerik has balls! And compared to Bernard Kerik, you're prepubescent. In the flurry of Bernard Kerik - whose main qualification apparently was that he was from New York - being rejected as Homeland Security Chief, some interesting details have come to life. Details proving that this guy has massive balls and you have have two jujubees!

So when you have a sack like Bernard Kerik, you don't just have an extramarital affair, you have an extramarital affair with one of the stars of New York's literary set. And not just any star of the New York literary set, you have an affair with Judith Regan, who makes her living...publishing celebrity tell all books!

And you don't just bang Judith Regan in some normal Manhattan apartment while your wife makes dinner back in Jersey, you bang Judith Regan in an apartment that you bought right after 9/11 because of its proximity to Ground Zero. But not one within walking distance, one where the bedroom window...OVERLOOKS THE SMOLDERING PIT THAT USED TO BE THE WORLD TRADE CENTER!

That, my good friend, is huge fucking balls.

I would give ANY amount of money to have witnessed Bernard turning off his cell phone so his wife didn't call, fucking Judith Regan, then getting up and - still nude with a half chub - rubbing his sweaty bald head, looking out on the smoky remains and say, "Goddamn fucking Muslims. No fucking decency, that's what's wrong with those people."

Celebrity spokesmen

2004-12-14T14:56:00.000-08:00

Using celebrities in product advertisements in a time-honored tradition. Ordinary, ugly folks want to be like famous, beautiful folks and if that means buying the same brand of soda, so be it.

But with the explosion of commercial air time, products we can waste our disposable income on and the ever-loosening definition of "celebrity", we're starting to see confusing things. Mainly, the sorta celebrity endorsement.

Take the Right Guard cool spray commercial featuring Xhibit and some cracker jumping out of an airplane. The first time I saw this spot I thought, "Hey, Busta Rhymes got an haircut." And the second time I saw it I thought, "Wait, who the fuck is this guy?" Nowadays when theyrun this ad, a helpful little graphic points to Xhibit and shows his name, Xhibit. But that raises a bit of a question. Obviously Right Guard started worrying that not enough people knew Xhibit, so they needed to identify him. But if that's the case, why hire him at all? And now that you've identified him, what does that do? Do you think people out there will think, "This fella is named Xhibit. I don't know who he is or what he does, but if he likes Right Guard, so do I!" And, of course, the 15 people in America that could actually be persuaded by Xhibit to buy aerosol deodorant don't need his name tag. So really, what does this accomplish? Tell me, O mighty gods of Rigth Guard marketing!

But despite the fact that he needs a nametag, Xhibit might still be bigger than Frank from the Ball Park franks commercials. Here's what we know about the character of Frank: he's fat, he voted for Bush twice, he likes meat, his wife is mostly unsastified in bed. But here's the really interesting thing about Frank: he's played by the co-star of According to Jim. Now, usually when you have a character in a series of ads, it's played by some no name actor. But Larry Joe Campbell has maintained such anonymice by starring on an abysmal show, he can still pull off unknown actor for these commercials. And if that's not a sorta celebrity endorsement, I don't know what is.

Then again, both of these ads are better than the Kay Jewlers spot where the most Jewish-looking guy on the face of the Earth asks his girlfriend is she believe in Santa Claus, then pulls out a ringbox while smirking, "He told me to give you this." I don't know if Kay was going for meta-irony with this commercial or if they think this guy can pull off "Italian," but watching a WWII politcal cartoon character give a blond chick a Christmas gift always brightens my holidays.

The dollar bill is trying to tell me something!

2004-11-05T16:13:00.000-08:00

It's saying, "Don't waste me and nine of my pals on another shitty Nicholas Cage movie."

A realization

2004-11-03T16:53:00.000-08:00

Over the past five or six years, I had suspected that I was part of the minority in this country. Yesterday, I was slapped dead in the face with the confirmation. I am indeed part of the minority population that is rational, thinking and informed about reality. And on top of that, I'm part of the secular subset minority of that even. The rest of the country makes gut decisions early on and sticks to their guns no matter how much information or facts they're presented with. Mainly because the mostly ignore or discount those dissonant facts. You may shocked to find out that most of this latter group is religious.

So now our once sensible nation is being run by religious fundamentalists. A president who believes in creationism. Yes, he believes that God was able to create the entire universe with sheer will, but then needed a day off because he was so tuckered out. An Attorney General who believes people can speak in tongues when touched by God. A plethora of administration folks who side with Israel to facilitate the return of Jesus. People who actually believes that once Israel controls the Holy Land again, Jesus will descend from the skies and kick off the End Days. A representative from Oklahoma - Tom Coburn - who believes abortion doctors should get the death penalty. A representative from Kentucky - Jim Bunning - who has openly demonstrated signs of dementia or Alzheimer's over the past month. Of course, considering that GOP voters only watch FOX News, and Brit Hume isn't fond of pointing the shortcomings of Republican politicians, they may not be aware of these problems.

And, whether you like it or not, Bush and company did indeed receive a mandate to run the country their way yesterday. When you receive that many popular and also increase your seats in Congress, there's no other way to spin it. A majority of the country wants more religion in our lives. Then again, so does bin Laden. You say potato, I say Dark Ages nightmare.

The truth is, more than half of this country makes their decisions without any proof whatsoever, then holds firm. Of course, that might partially explain why Ben Affleck is still considered a movie star. Frankly, the only things that can possibly win their hearts and minds is actual life experience. To that end, I'm hoping that all the red staters that voted for Bush lose their jobs and their healthcare and then get sick. I hope their teenage daughters get pregnant and can't get a now-illegal abortion and they have another mouth they can't afford to feed. It'll be okay, though, because a federally-funded religious charity will give them a free turkey on Thanksgiving. I hope the self-regulating oil industry begins drilling in your backyard and pollutes your air, and I hope the coal industry blasts a mountain in your part of the state and sends millions of tons of slags into the streams that supply your drinking water. In other words, I hope you get just what you voted for.

Cynical? Dark? Sure. But I don't really give a fuck anymore. I don't have time to worry about other people. I'm too busy previewing churches in preparation for Congress' Mandatory Church Attendance Act of 2005.

But...

2004-11-03T16:25:00.000-08:00

Now that we've all come to this realization, where does it leave us? Sure, we could make predictions like, "Certain books might be outlawed" or "America will become two entirely separate nations" or "We'll continue to lose jobs" or "I think this means Jeff Foxworthy will be popular for at least another four years." Me, I'm looking at the silver lining. And here are the few positives I think will come out of the next two GOP-dominated years. (VERY optimistically hoping for Democratic advancements in the midterm elections.)

The DNC will be totally obliterated. Thank God Daschle lost, because he's been useless the last few years. Hopefully Terry McAuliffe will be next to go. And hopefully Bob Shrum will never work on a presidential campaign again. He hasn't won one yet, so maybe people will figure it out.
The DNC will also realize that the GOP has been absolutely handing them their nuts since about '97. The GOP has controlled the message and tone in this country since at least the Lewinsky affair. Maybe now the DNC will finally catch on and fight back by co-opted the GOP move of extreme message discipline. GOP talking points trickle down from the White House to the TV pundits to the blogs. Pretty soon, everybody is thinking Kerry is a flip-flopper. It works EVERY time, and guys like McAuliffe and Shrum have yet to catch on. Or at least figured out how to fight back against. Joe Lockhart has it down pretty good. Put him in charge of the DNC from now on.
The religious right will finally be exposed. This group has fought for power for 20 years now. Now that they've finally got it, maybe moderate folks will realize just what they stand for. (Hint: It's not total freedom for citizens.) Average folks are completely unaware of just how extreme their views are. If we're lucky, stem cell advancements in California will expose a lot.
Democrats will have the courage to fight back against the religious right. Pointing out the ridiculousness of not believing in evolution, among other issues. And openly court fiscal Republicans by pointing out that Democrats are the ones who balance the budget and grow the economy.
Liberals will finally an echo chamber to rival the right's. Blogs that can actually question the mainstream media and push uncovered stories into the forefront. A liberal answer to FOX News that actually gets off the ground and presents opposing viewpoints to what the mainstream citizens get.
The next Democratic presidential candidate doesn't cow to GOP charge of class war and just comes right out and says, "Look, we're not overruling abortion. It's not happening. The GOP just uses that as a wedge issue to steal your votes. We're the party that is actually concerned about your welfare, not simply manipulating you."

The Democratic party is at its lowest point. Only by hitting the reset button and finally realizing what they're up against in this country can they be effective again. And if this isn't the wakeup call the DNC needs, you'd better start memorizing the Ten Commandments. Don't worry, you'll have plenty of chances to study them any time you enter a federal building.

For the record...

2004-11-02T17:41:00.000-08:00

Dave's new nickname is Goat. The Baron and I decided that today.

And there's no way Connie can stay with a man whose nickname is Goat. It's all coming together!

I Voted!

2004-11-02T13:00:00.000-08:00

After voting to put Bush on ice this morning (and seeing reality TV legend Toni Ferrari at my polling place), I started thinking about how one could sum up the four years of the Bush regime. You know, if one day a grandkid or something is learning about it in history class and says, "Hey Grandpa, you were around for Bush II. Could you upload your thoughts on his presidency to my hand PC using this mindmeld firewire 3X?"

Of course, my main thought is that the Bush administration continually and consistently fucked up every single thing they touched. It was almost like watching a movie where Pauly Shore was the stepbrother of some respected scientist, and every time Pauly dropped by for a visit, he accidentally destroyed his stepbrother's lab. "Hey bro, what's in this beaker?" "Be very careful! That's ammonium..." "Paulllllyyyy!"

But I think the following two examples - one foreign, one domestic - neatly sum up just how BushCo used ideology and complete ineptness to bungle everything they tried. Let's tackle the simple one first.

THE EPA - For some reason, a few folks thought Bush would be a good steward of the land. I guess they ignored Bush's tenure as governor, when he passed scores of pro-business environmental regs and Houston blew past LA to become the most polluted city in the country. Appointing Gale Norton, a former energy industry lobbyist, to Secretary of the Interior was a terrific start for business. But it only got better. In short time, Bush appointed former energy industry executives and lobbyists to EVERY SINGLE branch of the EPA. I suppose he thinks a former timber company executive is the perfect person to head the forestry department of the EPA. Hey, who knows more about trees than a guy who chops them down for a living? Others might think, you know, a scientist would be good there, but they're crazy! These EPA appointments are a perfectly disturbing example of Bush putting his pro-business ideology (ironic enough, since he never ran a successful business) ahead of all other concerns at all times, no matter the cost.

ABU MUSAB al-ZARQAWI - If you don't know who Zarqawi is, he's the guy responsible for the terrorist insurgency and multiple beheadings in Iraq at the moment. Just a really terrific person. But hey, how is that Bush's fault? Well, in the run-up to the Iraq invasion in 2002, US intelligence was aware of a weapons lab and a terrorist training camp in northern Iraq that was being run by Zarqawi. Northern Iraq is mostly lawless and untied to Baghdad and Hussein. Of course, that didn't stop Bush, Wolfowitz, Cheney and the rest from loudly declaring that Hussein was harboring terrorists and that's part of why we needed to invade Iraq. But then the US caught what should been an intelligence break and the Pentagon drew up a plan to launch missile attacks that would destroy the weapons lab, training camp and possibly kill Zarqawi. But the White House killed it. Months later, a second strike was planned and also killed by the White House. Why would Bush and Cheney shoot down a plan that could've killed a terrorist mastermind? Because they needed the camp in place for Colin Powell's presentation to the UN. In other words, if they destroyed the camp and killed Zarqawi, they would lose a possible rationale for invading Iraq and deposing Hussein. Naturally, when the US later attacked Iraq, Zarqawi escaped, only to return later and orchestrate these insurgent attacks. He's credited as responsible for over 700 deaths at this point. And what's more, he's aligned himself with bin Laden - a former rival - in order to defeat Bush and the US! So, not only did BushCo let a terrorist run free so they could attack Iraq like they planned all along, they actually strengthened his radical association! Nice work.

And those are the two examples of ineptness that I think really perfectly sum up the disaster that was the Bush administration. I say was, because today's record vote turnout is making him a thing of the past. And thank fucking God for that.

Vote GOD. Oh, I mean GOP.

2004-11-01T14:37:00.000-08:00

- Jesus loves the poor, so it's okay to cut welfare and Head Start school programs. Jesus will make it up to them in the afterlife. Besides, poor people are lazy.

- Jesus chased the moneychangers out of the temples. This is why religious organizations should remain tax-exempt.

- Even though he advocated turning the other cheek, Jesus only meant this in your interpersonal relations. He fully endorses the Bush doctrine of preemptive war. Witness Jesus' support of the Roman invasion of Carpathia in Corinthians 1.

- Jesus belives that life begins at conception. Considering that he was immaculately conceived without sex, he's an authority on this matter.

- Jesus does not support government healthcare. He feels that private enterprise and free trade can solve this problem.

As you may know, friends, George W. Bush and the Republicans are aligned with Jesus on all of these issues, so if you truly love Jesus, it's almost a sin to vote Democratic. Even if you lose your job and then can't afford private sector healthcare, Jesus will be there for you. If you get sick and die, he will be the first to welcome you into Heaven. And even better, if your teenage daughter is forced to take a part-time job at Little Caesars to aid in the family's finances and she becomes pregnant by a coworker, President Bush will assure that she can never get an abortion. Remember that Jesus will provide for your miracle baby.

Jesus Loves Me!

2004-11-01T13:50:00.000-08:00

It seems that gullibility runs in the family. Former teen chunkthrob Candace Cameron Bure has accepted the miracle of Jesus Christ into her life. So why can't you? Hell, she was even able to get a Russian to buy into Jesus. You know how hard that is?

And I think it's safe to say that Jesus appreciates irony, because the main spot to buy Candace's KREW DVD is at overstock.com. Hard to believe Blockbuster bought too many copies of a straight to video flick about a former CIA operative (former at age 24!) who teaches kids all about safety.

"Okay, kids, remember that if a stranger offers you a candy bar if you get in his car, pull the pin out of your watch and jab it his neck. Then run away and find a helpful police officer."

And I would've paid large sums of money to overhear Candace's conversation with the Olsens at the premiere of New York Minute.

CANDACE - "Ashley, Mary Kate, I'm so glad you're here. Listen, I've seen some of the stuff they're saying about you in the papers, and I wanted to know if you'd accepted Jesus Christ into your life yet."
MARY KATE - "No, but we're"
ASHLEY - "totally thinking about it."
CANDACE - "That's awesome. I should give you this book my brother Kirk gave me and Tracey Gold. It's explains how our sins hurt Jesus, but he loves us anyway and..."
And at this point, Mary Kate starts telepathically talking to Ashley.
MK - "What the fuck is wrong with this bitch?"
ASH - "I dunno. Who cares? You have any cigarettes left?"

What's lost in all of this is what ever happened to Jodie Sweetin? I hope she's okay. And altough I semi-correctly predicted the Olsens would be hot 10 years ago, I really dropped the ball on Kimmy.

We're Here! We're Queer! Give us a Kit Kat!

2004-11-01T13:35:00.000-08:00

Once again, West Hollywood held their annual Halloween street parade. Although straight people are indeed welcome to eat spicy sausage hoagies and kettle corn as the walk the streets, this day is really for the homsexuals. If you like seeing naked man ass as a costume, this is the day for you. Frankly, I don't think going as a leatherman should count as a gay man's costume. It's like somebody in Georgia going as a redneck. But in fairness, some dress up as women. And some get much more inventive than that. I'm apathy! I'm TiVo!

A great time was had by all last night, again proving my theory: Halloween is gay Christmas.

Vote GOD. Oh, I mean GOP.

2004-11-01T13:25:00.000-08:00

Remember citizens, tomorrow is your chance to honor Jesus with your vote. It's more important than ever to vote because the only way we can defeat the religious terrorists is to remove the evil secular element from American society. For your information, I've assembled Jesus' position on a variety of political platforms, all taken directly from the Bible.

- Man should take full advantage of nature. This includes drilling for oil in Alaska. God the Father put the oil there for a reason. Ours is not to question why.
- Jesus loves the poor, so it's okay to cut welfare and Head Start school programs. Jesus will make it up to them in the afterlife. Besides, poor people are lazy.
- Jesus chased the moneychangers out of the temples. This is why religious organizations should remain tax-exempt.
- Even though he advocated turning the other cheek, Jesus only meant this in your interpersonal relations. He fully endorses the Bush doctrine of preemptive war. Witness Jesus' support of the Roman invasion of Carpathia in Corinthians 1.
- Jesus belives that life begins at conception. Considering that he was immaculately conceived without sex, he's an authority on this matter.
- Jesus does not support government healthcare. He feels that private enterprise and free trade can solve this problem.

Wait around! STAT!

2004-11-01T13:16:00.000-08:00

We took a fun little unplanned trip to the emergency room Sunday around 2:30am. The wife is having some side effects from her migraine medicine. While I was sitting around for hours, between arriving and leaving at 8:00am, I made the following observations:

Cedars Sinai sure has a lot of benefactors. While sitting in the Ruth and Harry Roman Emergency Department, I saw signs for the Marcia Israel Trauma Center, the S. Mark Taper Foundation Pediatric Care Center and Anita and Robert Silverstein Reception Center. This is like the NASCAR of hospitals. Naturally, when roaming the halls later, I noticed that every single room is sponsored as well. The Judy and Ron Hammerstein Room 12 Room. Shouldn't the state of California be paying for all of this?
When you're sitting in the emergency room at 3am the night before Halloween, every time the front doors open, you're thinking, "Oh no. I don't want to see what this is."
Two guys and a girl just walked in. The girl has a dog bite on her lip. I don't think this was part of her costume. One of the guys is wearing an orange LA County Jail jumpsuit. This may cause some confusion later.
The magazine selection here is stellar, assuming you were marooned on a desert island for a year before visiting. "Oh good! The March issues of ESPN: The Magazine. Now I can see how the NCAA tourney turned out."
The old guy in the corner is either in the mob or the record industry. Possibly both. He's now regaling a 20-something guy with his stories about Frank and Dean. The younger guy wants to know if Peter Lawford was a dumbass or what. Eventually, another old guy comes out with a bandaged hand. The mob exec suggests "They get the fuck out of here and go get something to eat."
The dog bite trio is shaping up to be fun. The guy in the jumpsuit is completely wasted and making an ass of himself. The sober friend, meanwhile, is starting to offer a suspicious amount of comfort to the drunk guy's canine-wounded girlfriend. This relationship is going to get really interesting in about three weeks.
The dog bite girl just asked her boyfriend for some ice. When he got up to get it, he got distracted by the security guards and started chatting them up. Eventually, the girl got her own ice. The sober friend is looking better all the time.
Drunk guy isn't too drunk to notice his friend giving a suspicious amount of comfort to his girl. He loudly asks his friend why he's got to fuck up his first good relationship.
I had to get validated so parking would only cost $3.50. I'd really like to see the Jane and Thomas Henderson Foundation Parking Fund.

Vote GOD. Oh, I mean GOP.

2004-11-01T13:12:00.000-08:00

Man should take full advantage of nature. This includes drilling for oil in Alaska. God the Father put the oil there for a reason. Ours is not to question why.
Jesus loves the poor, so it's okay to cut welfare and Head Start school programs. Jesus will make it up to them in the afterlife. Besides, poor people are lazy.
Jesus chased the moneychangers out of the temples. This is why religious organizations should remain tax-exempt.
Even though he advocated turning the other cheek, Jesus only meant this in your interpersonal relations. He fully endorses the Bush doctrine of preemptive war. Witness Jesus' support of the Roman invasion of Carpathia in Corinthians 1.
Jesus belives that life begins at conception. Considering that he was immaculately conceived without sex, he's an authority on this matter.
Jesus does not support government healthcare. He feels that private enterprise and free trade can solve this problem.

Reality vs. Bush (Round 1)

2004-10-29T14:33:00.000-07:00

Confused by all of this talk about missing explosives in Iraq? Hey, who can blame you? All of those acronyms - HMX, IAEA, IED, UN, USA, DMX - can get mixed up and Iraq is just so far away. You know it's next to Iran, but that's about it.

So here's a handy chart comparing each facet of this story, the reality-based version and the version that exists only inside the Bush White House. (By the way, I'm doing this all of the top of my head, so if I mix up HMX and REX, save your corrections for talk radio.)

ITEM: 380 tons of highly explosive materiel has been stolen from a cache in Iraq. Expert say 1 pound of this stuff is enough to bring down a jet. 380 tons is 760,000 pounds. That's...well, you get the idea.
REALITY: Before Hussein was dropped, the IAEA had secured this materiel as part of the sanctioned inspections. Some would say this alone is proof that sanctions were working. It is now missing and likely in the hands of terrorists.
BUSH: This proves that Hussein wanted to arm terrorists.

ITEM: After Iraq was overtaken by US forces, our soldiers simply didn't have the manpower to inspect each and every one of these numerous weapons caches in Iraq. Furthermore, it wasn't part of their orders.
REALITY: Many experts - including Gen. Eric Shinseki - said that 300,000-400,000 troops would be needed to secure the peace in Iraq following the war.
BUSH: Deputy Secretary of Defense Paul Wolfowitz declared Shinseki's prediction "wildly off the mark." Donald Rumseld continues to believe a lighter fighting force is best. Bush and associates thought we'd be greeted with candy and flowers, making the securing of sensitive sites unnessary.

ITEM: HMX and some of the other materiel are nearly perfect for constructing a small nuclear bomb. Not only are they pliable, they're strong and sturdy, meaning that they won't detonate if accidentally dropped. Additionally, they don't show up on X-rays or luggage scans.
REALITY: Only a small amount of HMX is required to detonate a small nuke.
BUSH: Although just a week earlier Dick Cheney was reminding us all that terrorists would LOVE to set off a nuke in an American city, this week Cheney is helpfully pointing out that hey, we've secured 400,000 tons of explosives in Iraq besides this, and that's pretty good!

ITEM: Kerry is using the missing explosives as yet another example of the Bush's administration misplanning, poor execution and general lack of thought.
REALITY: This materiel was secure thanks to UN inspections. The US invaded. Now it's missing.
BUSH: Sort of a two-parter here. 1) Kerry shouldn't be denigrating the troops by mentioning this stuff! - G.W. Bush 2) You can't blame Bush for this. Really, it's the troops' fault for not inspecting the places closely enough. - GOP shill Rudy Guiliani. (Expect that to be his last public appearance pre-11/2.)

ITEM: Poor planning and a basic lack of understanding of the realities on the ground created this situation.
REALITY: Yes.
BUSH: After an NBC News report said maybe the explosives were missing before the US invasion (probably not the case, though), Bush said that somebody who jumps to conclusions without knowing the facts isn't fit to be Commander in Chief. No, seriously, he actually said it. Maybe he gets different reports on Iraq than we do. Because, you know, we read the news occasionally.

So there you go. The facts vs. Bush. You decide!

Punny!

2004-10-29T13:58:00.000-07:00

Hayley has shared a little election-related humor with me this week.

"Did you know that November 2 is also National Abstinence Day? Yeah, no Bush and no Dick!"

"Did you hear that Monica Lewinsky is voting for Bush this year? Apparently, the Democrats left a bad taste in her mouth."

ZING!

Hayley Schore, ladies and gentlemen!

Ugh.

Tough choice

2004-10-26T16:20:00.000-07:00

I can't decide whether I would rather watch Christmas With The Krunks or get hit square in the nuts with a hot cast iron skillet.

Maybe if I didn't have to pay to see it.

Although you have to admire Tim Allen's ability to turn a mediocre, 5 minute stand up bit into a really shitty 20 year career. Better than slingin' dem rocks, biyatch!

Holy hell!

2004-10-22T14:08:00.000-07:00

I can't decide which is more ridiculous. Athlete wives that do nothing except have fancy lunches, or athlete wives that use their husband's bankrolls to finance an acting career/designing career/cookie baking company.

But I know for a fact that the most ridiculous thing an athlete's wife has ever done is parlaying a quote from Abraham Lincoln into a pitch for ugly denim jackets.

"You are as happy as you decide to be." - Abraham Lincoln
"I have to decided to be happy! As a matter of fact I've gone Jacket Happy!" - Debbie Clemens

By the way, while we're comparing philosophers, Lincoln can claim the Gettysburg Address, the Emancipation Proclamation, the Lincoln-Douglas debates and holding together a fractured young nation. On the other hand, Debbie Clemens glued rhinestones onto an Astros hat. So let's call it a draw for now. And frankly, her triple jumping for joy does in fact indicate that she is quite Jacket Happy.

Now, perhaps you're of a school that thinks affixing patches and other shit to denim jackets and baseball hats takes creativity and a terrific design eye. If so, you probably live in Texas. Or else you're actually Debbie Clemens.

I really wish Houston could've made it to the World Series this year, if only so some sportswriter could've exposed debbieclemens.com as one of our nation's true treasures. Not just for the jackets, but for the sensible life advice. For instance, did you know you can eat whatever you want as long as you work out? I had no idea! At least, not until Debbie told me! And it's a good plan to stick to, just in case Sports Illustrated ever wants you for a photo shoot with your jock husband. Empower yourselves, ladies!

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to start maximizing my life by hot glue gunning glitter to hockey pucks.

Voat Bush!

2004-10-22T10:08:00.000-07:00

Throughout most of the spring and summer, I walked around thinking, "Man, Bush supporters are really, really dumb. I mean, why don't they understand all of the things that he's done wrong in his tenure? It's so completely obvious." But then I sort of corrected my tack, not wanting to become a shrill Berkeley type, making equally ridiculous statement about Bush and his faults.

Trying to be a good, sensible person given to intelligent thought, I said, "Well, I certainly disagree with them, but it's much too simple to just assume they're dumb. They must have good reasons for supporting Bush's re-election."

But no, they're dumb. As that independent study shows, the clear majority of Bush voters are completely misinformed on current issues, both foreign and domestic. Whether it's still believing that Iraq had WMD despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary, or thinking Bush is popular throughout the world when he actually runs behind Bin Laden in many popularity polls, Bush supporters are basically wrong about all of the issues we face today. Hell, a majority actually believe Bush wants to sign the Kyoto treaty! First off, I can't believe people who think that even know what the Kyoto treaty is. Second off, I have no idea what they think is holding Bush back from signing it. Maybe they feel al Qaeda supports it as well and Bush is standing up to them. You know how terrorists hate climate change.

Of course, since true Bush fans would rather trust the words of a 2,000 year old book written by illiterate fisherman than actual scientific proof, I doubt this survey will have much effect. I think maybe I'll pass out stickers on November 2nd that read, "I voted for Bush! (Because I don't know any better)"

Insider's perspective

2004-10-21T16:28:00.000-07:00

I was chatting with Kyle about my newly-hatched scheme. The IM trail looks a little like this.

Krogmann04: so have you heard about my campaign to break up dave and connie?
acapriccio: yep. it's fucking gold
Krogmann04: i seriously think it might work
acapriccio: i agree
acapriccio: once that seed is planted...
Krogmann04: they both have to think they can do better.
Krogmann04: especially if i can get connie seriously considering it.

If only I put my powers to work on developing alternate fuel sources. But one thing at a time, people.

Progress

2004-10-21T09:42:00.000-07:00

The following conversation took place this morning.

ME - "So did you tell Connie about my nefarious scheming? What did she think?"

DAVE - "She didn't think it was very funny."

ME - "Man, you can't date a girl with no sense of humor! You're Dave!"

DAVE - "I know. I really have some thinking to do."

It's working!

Relationship Troubles

2004-10-20T14:06:00.000-07:00

I have taken it upon myself to decide that it's time for Dave and Connie to break up. I've only been around them once, but I've read a few blog postings and I think the time is right to shake things up. Basically, I'm just exerting a force to stop the mindless inertia of this relationship. This succinct pros and cons list only validates my claim.

PROS

It would be hilarious
Dave doesn't want to get married and have kids
The world doesn't want Dave to have kids
Dave's poor motor skills drag down Connie's dart game
The idea of a drunken Dave angrily trying to pick bar chicks merits its own reality show
The Buckle could finally move in. On either one of them.
Connie would no longer have to deal with goatee burn on her thighs
The race to see who could do better first - with proper handicapping (Connie: -6.5 months) - would be thrilling.

CONS

Los Grande C

2004-10-20T14:01:00.000-07:00

Rolling around the parking garage on the way to lunch, Dave observed the little bench the 4-5 valet guys get to sit on during their 8-hour subterreanean shift. Then we had the following conversation:

M - "Those poor guys are all going to have cancer someday."

D - "Nah, they'll have something even worse than cancer."

M - "Mexican cancer?"

Wow

2004-10-19T10:28:00.000-07:00

You really just have to admire the balls on the GOP sometimes. Sure, maybe they're getting desperate, but it's more likely that they're just completely shameless.

After a weak of Bush pounding Kerry for using "shameless scare tactics" in mentioning a possible draft and privatization of Social Security (something that Bush actually said he's for), Cheney comes out today and says it's fine to vote for Kerry...as long as you don't mind being incinerated by a nuclear bomb as you walk downtown.

Sure, Al Qaeda has no way of launching a tactical nuclear strike from a donkey, and most experts say the the biggest problem from a suitcase nuke attack is people panicking and not actual nuclear fallout, but just keep Cheney's wise words in mind when you head to polls on November 2.

If you make it there alive, that is!

Crossing the line!

2004-10-19T10:00:00.000-07:00

I flipped on Blue Collar Comedy TV or whatever it's called last night because I seem to be unable to resist it. Something about bad comedy just always sucks me in. So the fellers are sitting on a deck like...well, like a bunch of rednecks sitting on a deck drinking beer. Then they start talking about decks.

"I tell you what, Bill, you sure got a nice deck here."
"Yeah, it's a real strong deck. Solid."
"Yup. My wife hates my little deck. Hates to look at it."
"So you're saying you got a tiny deck?"

And at this point, the audience is absolutely dying with laughter. Like this is the greatest thing they've ever heard. I'm just sitting there, baffled.

"You got some discoloration on your deck?"
"Yeah, on the underside."

Then they start talking to their black friend. Which, you know, most rednecks have.

"Hey, is it true that you guys have really big decks?"

Then they start talking about hot dogs, and you can all see where that's going. And if not, just remember that hot dogs are sometimes called weiners.

The audience is still cracking up. And I still don't get it. I mean, what's so funny about decks? Oh. Wait. "Decks" sounds like "dicks"! So every one of those jokes was a double entendre! Like it's four guys complimenting each other on their dicks! Genius!

I just got that.

Perfect timing

2004-10-15T13:22:00.000-07:00

While shopping for various items last night, I saw this month's Reader's Digest in the checkout line. And what's in the top left corner? A little photo of Christopher Reeve. Oh, they must have put out a quick tribute, I thought. Nope.

Turns out, they ran a feature on Christopher Reeve this month about what a brave, courageous hero he is for...uh...I guess not killing himself after he fell off a horse. And how amazing he's been in the last 10 years since the accident. The title of the article? "Going the Distance." Ouch. Meta-irony can be painful at times.

Sphere of influence

2004-10-13T17:18:00.000-07:00

Look at the amazing power I wield!

I said it, then she said it!

Boycott everything!

2004-10-12T09:59:00.000-07:00

Driving to work today, I saw a van sporting a Bush/Cheney '04 bumper sticker and a Boycott France bumper sticker.

Now, I know how GOP voters will parrot party line in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary, or despite how little sense the party line actually makes. The GOP releases a talking point, and pretty soon every righty is passionately arguing for it, no matter what it is. In fact, it reminds me of Triumph of the Will a little bit.

But maybe it's time for them to back off this whole Boycott France thing. Considering that, oh, you know, the Duelfer report basically proved France's contention that Iraq didn't have any WMD. And that, you know, France was dead on about Iraq and Bush was completely wrong about it. You know, maybe considering those facts righties should start guzzling Chateau Neuf de Pape with abandon.

Umm...thumbs...sideways?

2004-10-11T10:55:00.000-07:00

Being a bit of a history buff, particularly l'histoire World War II, I Netflixed Triumph of the Will to see what it was all about. Well, it was basically two hours of soaring imagery and Hitler and friends screaming about how strong Germany will be, and how important it is to fall into complete conformity to the wishes of the state.

The messages were all pretty ridiculous, but then again, I haven't spent the last 20 years of my life living in humiliating poverty and national impotence thanks to the Treaty of Versailles. So I'm not really looking for a guy to yell at me about creating a powerful Germany once again.

But the real question I'm struggling with right now is, what the hell kind of star rating do I give this documentary when Netflix gets it back? It's not poorly made, so 1 star is kinda harsh. Although I can't give it 5 stars just because of soaring imagery. That'd be like giving Independence Day 5 stars, Plus, I don't want the FBI showing up to my place. "So, you like the Nazzies, do ya? Why don't you come talk to us about your movie choices?"

I have The Original Kings of Comedy coming next. I think I'll give that same rating I give Triumph just to keep people off my back.

My personal thanks

2004-10-10T23:00:00.000-07:00

I'd like to offer my thanks to the millions and millions and millions of people who DID NOT go see Raise Your Voice this weekend. After watching this shitfest limp to a $4.6 million opening weekend, perhaps we're on our way to finally eliminating the bubbly scourge that is Hilary Duff.

Perhaps now movie execs will finally realize that casting a girl who can't sing and can't act in a movie about a girl who wants to be a singer isn't a recipe for success. But, you know, maybe they should try it once more with Ashlee Simpson just to make sure. Because maybe that movie would've worked with an ugly chick in it.

Waaaaait. Whaaaaaaat?

2004-10-10T22:54:00.000-07:00

It seems that three dudes that went to high school with Richard Linklater are now suing him for basing some characters in Dazed and Confused on them.

That's all well and good, of course, and I would definitely sue if I ever saw Ben Affleck representing me on screen, but this movie came out in 1993! I can only imagine omebody approaching the real life Wooderson at least once a week and saying, "Man, I keep getting older and they stay the same age!" And he would just look up from a haze of weed smoke and laugh and say "What?"

Finally, I guess after the 5,000th party where Wooderson sat on a couch and somebody joyously said, "Hey, watch the leather, man. Hooo!" Wood popped in the VHS and had an epiphany. "Hey, that's me, mannnnn! Awww, this suuuuuucks. This is what people think of me? Harsh."

Off-roading to hell

2004-10-08T09:34:00.001-07:00

This morning on the way to work, I pulled up behind a big, black H2 at a light. (The visual hilarity of my Mini Cooper S idling behind and sorta under an H2 is for another day.)

So this giant compensator is tricked out with chrome brake light panels and two 4-inch wide chrome exhaust pipes. I imagine if this guy nailed the pedal, I would've been shrouded in a smokescreen. But the most amazing accessory he had was hanging from his rearview. A blue HANDICAP PARKING PLACARD!

Forget the question of how somebody who needs handicapped parking even climbs into an H2, I want to know when having a small cock became a certified handicap. I hope this guy falls out of his H2 one night after driving home wasted and actually become paralyzed.

Kravitz on Kravitz

2004-10-07T11:25:00.000-07:00

I'm in Las Vegas last week and we decide to pop into Le Gap at Caesars because you know the Vegas Gap is a million times better than the hometown Gap. Totally! Anyway, as I'm shopping for plain, sensible clothing, I hear the opening riff to "Do You Wanna Go My Way?" A fine song, and one I enjoyed when it first came out. Then Lenny went pop, man!

Anyway, the riff blasts and I'm getting ready to sing along when the tune suddenly shifts gears into Lenny's new song, "Lady." And the Gap TVs start running that ad with Sarah Jessica Seabiscuit dancing around. Dancing, incidentally, that makes Madonna look coordinated.

The song played ten more times before I left the store, with the same riff starting off "Lady" each time, so it was no fluke. So, apparently, Lenny Kravitz is so creatively tapped after five years he's resorted to sampling himself. Or maybe this is a new branding strategy for inoffensive, corporate rock. Just put that opening riff on every new song so people immediately know it's a Lenny.

A little early maybe

2004-10-06T15:42:00.000-07:00

British magazine (or Britrag, if you will) Empire just released a poll on the sexiest Hollywood stars of all-time. Of...all...time!!!!

So who got top billing? Marilyn Monroe? Sophia Loren? James Dean, if that's your side of the fence? How about Keira Knightley? Keira Knightley! Sure, she's hot, but she's only been in like two movies! I know most "All-time" polls tend to be skewed toward the present day, but aren't getting just a touch ahead of ourselves here? Hell, I don't even know if Keira is the hottest star right now.

Rounding out the top ten are Angelina Jolie, Orlando Bloom, Halle Berry, Johnny Depp, Marilyn Monroe, Jennifer Connolly(!!!!!!), Hugh Jackman, Scarlett Johansson and Uma Thurman. I have a feeling if this poll came out in 1988, the top 5 would've been Sheila E., Tom Cruise, the chick from The Bangles, Mark Harmon and Paula Abdul.

Fucking Brits. Why don't just they release a new poll announcing 3:42:13pm on October 6th, 2004 the Greatest Second of All Time?