As most of you know, we here at Food Court Lunch devote most of our considerable free time to the “sport of queens” - cricket. We’re often seen in the parking lot at lunch time squeezing in a few “overs”, or waxing our wickets on smoke breaks. That is why we were devastated to learn that members of Pakistan’s cricket squad are (allegedly) embroiled in a match-fixing scandal. This is just another in a long line of scandals that have rocked the sport that is supposedly eponymous for fair play. Needless to say, we took the day off.
However, there is always a silver lining. For from this latest cricket disaster have emerged some instructive lessons from Pakistan on how to properly protest scandal in sports. In particular, the protestors in Lahore provided the following protest guidance:
Find some random animals that have seemingly nothing to do with the sport in question (donkeys apparently work just fine);
Assign the animals the names of the targeted players - it’s like Watership Down, only classier;
Pelt said animals with rotten vegetables (after all, the animals brought this on themselves);
Beat (or pretend to beat) the vegetable-laden animals with your shoes in a display of seemingly insane rage; and
Act shocked and surprised when the world (i.e., ignorant North America audiences) continues not to take your sport seriously.
Blue Menu and I are off to Chinese Tai Pei in order to stage a protest over the treatment of Canadian little leaguers. Taking a page from the cricket protesters’ playbook, we intend to repeatedly roger three-toed sloths with cucumbers until our cause gets the recognition it deserves…
August 25 - a defining date in our collective history. Why, you ask? Wonder no more…
1814 – Washington, D.C. is burned and White House is destroyed by British forces (from “British North America”) during the War of 1812. Canada 1, U.S.A. 0…
1944 – World War II: Paris is liberated by the Allies. Just for good measure, and to maintain their international reputation, France surrenders.
1970 - Claudia Schiffer is born, giving new meaning to my adolescent years.
1980 – Zimbabwe joins the United Nations, finally laying to rest those pesky rumours that the UN is an ineffectual international body.
1981 - Rachel Bilson is born. The world briefly stops in her honour (please return my calls…)
1987 - Blake Lively is born, rounding out the “Claudia, Rachel, Blake” triumvirate of hotness…
1987 - Whitney Stevens is born. I had no idea who Whitney Stevens was before this post, but I will not rest in my continuing quest to inform our readership until I have carefully scrutinized her entire body of work and reported back to you, our readers.
So apparently all of my co-”writers” for this web-based masterpiece have all decided to go on vacation during the same week. I have been left back to man the phones at the FCL head office, and to feed the cat. In an effort to improve workplace efficiency, the cat is now in charge of answering the phones and is on a fasting diet. But enough about our pussy.
Since I have full creative control, I have decided to take this blog in a new direction (i.e., other than down). I am not entirely certain what that direction will be, but I will likely have it sorted out by Friday. In the interim, here is a collection of Mr. Show skits that get me through the day:
We here at Food Court Lunch are nothing if not lazy responsive to our readers. And so when our legion of fans asked for a sequel to our riveting “What is the greatest Def Leppard album of all time?” debate (definitive answer: “Hysteria”), we listened. And so, as promised, we present our second of the “Great Debates”:
Who is the hottest Jessica?
First off, we have to define the field. The choices are obvious:
A. Jessica Alba - the star of “Into the Blue“, “Honey“ and some other lesser-known works is the clear frontrunner (due in large measure to the author’s shameless bias…)
B. Jessica Biel - obviously a fan favourite, notwithstanding her decision to be in “Stealth”
C. Jessica Simpson-functionally retarded? Perhaps. Retardedly hot? Yes.
D. Jessica Fox - You may remember her from “The Muppet Christmas Carol“. You may not. Her name is Jessica, so she makes the cut.
E. Jessica Tandy - Who hasn’t dreamed of driving Miss Daisy?
F. Jessica Fletcher - She is old, saucy and she solves crimes. Enough said.
G. Uncle Jesse - which one, you ask? The portly moonshine runner from Hazard County or the dreamy uncle from Full House? Why choose just one?! The more Jesse the better…
And the winner, based on no analysis or thought whatsoever, is Jessica Fletcher. She is the hotty from Cabot Cove, Maine, who solved crimes like a motherf*cker (her words, not mine). If she dies in an unfortunate fishing trawler accident or is otherwise unable to fulfil her duties as “FCL Hot Jessica”, Jessica Alba has been nominated as runner-up. Please return my calls to sort out the details.
As sage pundits of life advice who shape the blogosphere with our every word, we here at FCL are often the recipients of requests for moral guidance in these troubled times in which we live. Peoples of all faith turn to us to answer the “big questions” in their lives: “Is it alright to find the daughter from Modern Family attractive?” (yes, she’s 19); “Are the Irish genetically deficient, or just incredibly lazy?” (yes); “Does God exist?” (yes - see below)
(a pre-emptive proof for our next great debate, “Which is the hottest Jessica?”)
Usually the authors of this fine website of wisdom agree on the correct “answers” to these queries, as we are as intelligent as we are handsome… Recently, however, Mr. Butter Chicken and I have found ourselves at loggerheads over a particularly weighty issue that we have been unable to resolve. Accordingly, we have agreed that we will each present our arguments in support of our respective positions in the form of a brief essay, and let the readers decide (yes, all three of you). The heated topic of the day, as one might expect, relates to the musical stylings of Def Leppard (a topic that has been the direct cause of no less than 3 major wars, 2 political coups, and 1 nascent insurgency in the late 1980s). More specifically, the question is this:
“What is the greatest Def Leppard album of all time?”
To many of you this may seem like an odd question, as the response is seemingly self-evident - Hysteria. And rest assured that I empathize with this reaction, because that is obviously the correct answer. For some reason, however, Butter Chicken (if that is even his real name) labours under the sad misapprehension that Pyromania is the superior offering. Without detracting from the laudible musical accomplishment that is Pyromania, I must disrespectfully disagree with Senor Chicken. Here is why:
At the outset, I should note that I do not intend to bore our readers with hard “science”, like the fact that that Hysteria dominated album charts around the world for three years, going platinum twelve times in the U.S. alone. Or the fact that Hysteria currently sits as the 51st best selling album of all time in the US, and spent a record 96 weeks in the US Top 40 (with more than 20 million copies sold worldwide). Admittedly Pyromania only sold 10 million copies worldwide, but I recognize that it’s not all about the benjamins (after all, 20 million of you could be wrong…). It’s about the music. It’s about the sex, drugs and rock n’ roll. It’s about the unbridled awesomeness that is Hysteria. And the only way to showcase that awesomeness (as compared to the qualified goodness that is Pyromania) is to look at the track list. So let’s start with the runner-up:
Pyromania
The album boasts three solid songs: Photograph, Foolin’ (without a “g”) and Rock of Ages. All great songs. I have played air guitar and (one-arm) air drummed to all of them. Nightly. But as every rap album in history has repeatedly proven, 3 good songs does not make an album. 3 good songs barely make an EP. It’s basically a single, with two kids. Sure, the kids are good looking and seemingly happy, but it’s still a broken home. In essence, Pyromania is nothing more than a pre-emptive collection of B-sides from Hysteria…
Hysteria
Ah, sweet Hysteria. You can do no wrong. That’s why daddy loves you best. Armageddon It, you say? Don’t mind if I do. I would happily pour some sugar all over you, and turn it up to 11 until the break of 10:30. Look at your full complement of tasty offerings: Rocket, Pour Some Sugar on Me, Hysteria, Armageddon It, Love Bites, Animal… I went from 6:00 to midnight just thinking about these gems. It’s a veritable buffet of rock anthems that defined an entire generation of shirtless, angry loners with bad teeth and unwashed hair. It makes Pyromania seem like a sound check gone awry. But why take my word for it? After all, as the old saying goes, a YouTube clip of an 80s hair band music video is worth 10,000 words… So enjoy, good listeners - your day has just been made, courtesy of Steve, Joe, Phil, Rick and, of course, Mutt.
Looking for a song that plucks at the heart-strings of your true love while also providing your favourite stripper with the ideal musical accompaniment? Hysteria has you covered:
In search of a rock anthem that combines political punditry and social awareness with the raw awesomeness of rockets? Look no further than Hysteria, my friend:
Can’t find a song that turns an under-used biblical noun into a kickass verb? Perhaps you should try Hysteria:
How about a sexy instructional song that works in the bedroom as well as at the breakfast table? Hysteria has what you’re looking for:
Not enough circus allegories in your life? I hear you, brother. Thank god for Hysteria:
A couple of months ago I shared with our beloved readership a few excerpts from a Facebook page to which I have indirect access (I am sadly not the author’s “Facebook friend”, though not for a lack of effort on my part - I have pretty much cyber-stalked the Philosopher King (or “DB”, as we have dubbed him) for the last 6 weeks in a desperate attempt to get direct access to his genius). For the record, the “updates” from DB were 100% real. They were not altered or embellished in any way, nor was the douchbaggery amplified…
The same holds true for the following recent “updates” from our friend DB (though our proposed responses have yet to be formally communicated):
Even the occasional vevuvula (or whatever - clearly i just wanted say something tangentially salacious) echoing through the streets at an appropriate point - say the brave Dutch scoring a goal, is annoying. Not every resurrection of cultural past time is benign.”
Please insert your tangentially salacious vevuvula into your own oral orifice and blow (benignly)
“Ryan - you know what i’m sick of? People who quote brecht. And worse than that: in a rhetorical question. While riding camels. horrible. the last thing on earth that a canadian person or society represents is anything VAGUELY Brechtian. (except for that colony just west of that place, north of that 14th province). empty conceit or indolence should not be confused with virtue - which basically also describes all of europe’s foreign policy. note to self: get out of other side of couch tomorrow.”
That’s right, “Ryan” - I am about as Brechtian as Kant was a consequentialist. And never confuse my indolence for virtue - my laziness is completely devoid of virtue. Note to self: beat DB (and Ryan, for good measure) with a tack-hammer next time you encounter said DB on the street
You know those days when you’re feeling uninspired? When your creative juices just aren’t flowing? As paragons of creativity, we have no idea what the hell that feels like. Nevertheless, sometimes we take a break from our fresh, insightful, thought-provoking original content and allow the work of lesser media outlets (like “Reuters”) to do our work for us. So on behalf of our staff of lazy, hungover writers, I invite you to enjoy the fruits of our childish humour:
Please note that Gay “tried to bring it home”, but Dix just felt “a little beat up” and “sloppy”. Gay simply couldn’t hold off Dix any longer…
Happy Tuesday. You may have noticed that we haven’t posted anything in a couple of days. Well spotted! The simple fact is that we have been very busy, what with our numerous pending G20 criminal charges, our hectic schedule of World Cup, Wimbeldon and Tour of France watching, and our general apathy. All of these, combined with our lack of work ethic and personal hygiene, make it very difficult to get laid anything done. That said, we are never too busy for some classic sports commercials, featuring the best and brightest athletes demeaning themselves for sub-par consumer products. Let’s take a look, shall we?
In the immortal words of Dick Van Patten, eight is enough… I have no idea how that has any application to the Round of 8 at the World Cup, but I like to work late-seventies sitcom references into my “work” whenever possible. Stop asking so many questions. The point is that all of the good teams have been eliminated from the World Cup (England, Canada*, Honduras, North Korea), leaving the dregs to battle it out for the top 8 spots (Brazil, Spain, the lazy Dutch, and some other Guay countries). For those of you who have missed the excitement thus far, we thought we would bring you up to speed on what’s been happening in South Africa (aside from the race riots):
France - Really? It’s as though the entire French team sat down at the beginning of this tournament and decided to live up to each and every one of their stereotypes. In short, they surrendered before the tournament even began. They got in a pissing match with one another, refused to practice, and lost to Mexico and South Africa. After all, who needs to practice when you already have a 0-0 tie with Uruguay under your belt? It’s not as though you’re on the world stage, with the hopes of an entire nation resting on your diminutive shoulders… Here’s a quick snapshot of their training regimen before the big game last week:
England - Rooney played like he looks (i.e., old, drunk and “special”), and the rest of the team didn’t exactly perform like wunderkinds either. That said, they made it through to the elimination round only to be undone by a bullshit missed goal (and don’t try to tell me that Germany would have won anyway based on the score differential - the missed goal changed the momentum of the game completely, just like the arrival of the Bismarck in the English Channel). Not only that, it was also one of the nicest goals of the tournament.
Here’s the deal, FIFA - you suck. I think we can all agree on that. However, there is no need to flaunt your “suckiness” (it’s a word - look it up) by refusing to adopt even the most basic of technological advances. You can compel an impoverished nation to spend billions of dollars on your tournament, but you cannot shell out a few bucks for goal-line technology? And who the hell are you employing as refs? Your penchant for short, functionally retarded, middle-aged European men is getting a little out of hand. Oh well, at least the opportunity to make amends to the fans is only 4 short years away…
USA - The United States’ brief love affair with soccer is over for another four years, to be relegated back to the fringes with the likes of foxy boxing, slamball and NHL hockey. It was a hell of a run, but they just could not compete with the mighty Ghanaians (with their massive population, their millions of dollars of investment in professional sports and their maganese exports).
Others - 21 other teams were also eliminated. Apparently Italy was briefly over there as well. Who knew?
* technically did not qualify for the World Cup, due to a biased selection process and an unprecedented lack of talent.
As the history buffs among you are well aware, the U.S. national identity is grounded in the young nation’s expression of independence from its British colonial oppressors in the late 18th Century. At the time, many of those who remained loyal to the Crown (cleverly dubbed “Loyalists”) were persecuted and fled to “British North America” (more commonly referred to as “Canada”, or “The 51st State”), whose inhabitants clung to their British roots like a fat kid to a sandwich. The rest of the Loyalists were killed. In hindsight, spending winters in the Hoth-like tundra of the Great White North probably was the better choice…
The Canadian love affair with the UK continues to this day. We still have pictures of the Queen on our currency, we affirm our loyalty to the Queen before the commencement of court proceedings (or at least before the commencement of hearings for male prostitution charges - that’s the extent of my “research” thus far), and we boil our vegetables until they cease to have any taste as a culinary homage to our English forebears. In addition, many of us (myself included) passionately support the English national football (i.e., soccer) team every four years.
This year’s opening match for England at the 2010 World Cup was particularly special for many Anglo-Canadians, as it gave them a chance to watch the re-enactment of the American Revolution on the pitch. But for those who were hoping for a little payback for the murder of their Loyalist ancestors (or at least an English first-round victory), they were sorely disappointed. In short, history repeated itself. Amazingly, the reason for the poor result was exactly the same as the cause of England’s military and political defeat in the late 18th Century - poor netminding. England lost its one goal lead on this glorious shot:
As the announcer clearly points out, Green has the deft touch of an amputee. Well done. I think I speak for an entire nation when I say that I think we may have chosen the wrong side 200 years ago…
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