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"Taste of Home" Restaurant a Creepy HitDecember 13, 2004 |
Houston, Texas Truman Prudy Don’t pester robot father while he’s carving the turkey, if you want to keep your hidden camera footage
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ollowing the unexpected and largely unwelcome success of the country’s first cereal-only restaurant in Philadelphia, in which patrons can curl up in their pajamas and dine on a wide array of breakfast cereals while watching television and reading the paper, a troubling assortment of novelty theme restaurants have popped up across the country over the last year. From Albany’s “Nothing But Napkins” to Baton Rouge’s “Leftovers, Inc.”, theme restaurants are the current toast of the town, and not just Albuquerque’s “Toast Town.” Perhaps the most disturbing of these is Houston, Texas’ “Taste of Home,” an existential crisis of a theme restaurant that recreates the experience of sharing a meal with your apathetic, abusive parents using the magic of animatronics.
Inside the restaurant, patrons sit at a single huge, oversized table on giant chairs, recreating the experience of childhood dining, while a giant animatronic robot mother and father bicker bitterly over family finances. The food is, true to form, largely tasteless and occasionally burnt, depending on whether or not that night’s “show” includes one of the robot mother’s trademark boozy crying jags while food burns on the stove.
Though the restaurant’s menu is starkly limited—you’ll eat what you get and like it, according to the robot father’s genuinely menacing aside—patrons can plan their visits around their favorite entrees, since a strict meal rotation is in place due to the “family’s” tight finances and father’s inability to humble himself by asking for a raise at work. Sunday nights, diners can thrill to pork chops and apple sauce, while Monday nights are for Spam on toast and Tuesdays feature baked chicken. Wednesday is casserole night; Thursday is fish, and Friday night the restaurant orders in pizza from a local pizzeria. Saturday nights the animatronic parents are often absent, and diners have to fend for themselves among the half-empty cereal boxes and bags of flour left over in the kitchen. For that reason, the commune cannot recommend visiting “Taste of Home” on a Saturday, unless both you and your date are on a diet.
Though the experience might sound grim to some, it does serve as a strange sort of childhood therapy to others, not unlike a trip to Arby’s. And a strange sort of camaraderie does develop at the restaurant’s one large table, as patrons compare notes on what might be in the casserole and provide each other comfort when father flies into one of his dramatic, table-shaking rages. The restaurant also features the world’s only black and white big screen TV, though patrons are advised not to attempt changing the channel or questioning father’s viewing choices. But the warm, conversation-killing glow of television (usually tuned to auto racing or a boxing match) does serve to masterfully complete the restaurant’s ambiance.
Regardless of these positives, however, the commune must recommend skipping out before the meal’s dessert course, lest you find yourself stuck there half the night washing the restaurant’s giant, oversized dishes.
Readers interested in experiencing the restaurant for themselves while visiting the Houston area can call 1-555-EAT-HOME to let them know when you’ll be home for dinner, though we do strongly recommend against calling collect. the commune news treasures its own childhood memories of meal time, thanks only to a recent psychotic break that left us unable to differentiate between real life and The Wonder Years. Truman Prudy is the commune’s on-again, off-again reporter extraordinaire and occasional food critic, though he usually only criticizes food out loud and on the way back from the drive-thru.
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 January 21, 2002
Conundrums Along the MohawkAll right, listen up, we haven't got all day here. This is some important stuff, so pay attention. Being the philosophical sort of sonofabitch that I am, a lot of folks have asked me over the years, "Reed, what's the meaning of life?" and many other stupid and useless philosophical questions. Usually I just tell them all to go piss up a rope, but today I'm feeling magnanimous, so I'm going to answer a few of those questions for you, the inquisitive reader.
One of the questions I've heard over the course of my many years on the planet is this one: "If a tree falls in the forest, and there is no one around to hear it, does it make a noise?"
Okay, first off, let me say that I believe that may be one of the all-time stupidest questions anyone has ever asked. Why it keeps getting asked is beyond me. But, as I said, I'm here today to give you some answers, so let's go to town on this one. Of course it makes a noise. The bigger the tree, the bigger the noise it makes. Have you ever seen a tree fall in the forest, even on TV or in the movies? It makes a big old sound, doesn't it? Crash! Bam! Loud, you know what I'm saying? Just imagine, all that timber hitting the ground, the branches crashing through the undergrowth, scaring hell out of all the animals, the dust billowing up and leaves and splinters flying every which way. Trust me, it makes a sound, all right. I don't want to have to tell you yahoos again. Okay, next question.
Another one...
º Last Column: I Was Real Funny Before Everybody Got Politically Correct
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All right, listen up, we haven't got all day here. This is some important stuff, so pay attention. Being the philosophical sort of sonofabitch that I am, a lot of folks have asked me over the years, "Reed, what's the meaning of life?" and many other stupid and useless philosophical questions. Usually I just tell them all to go piss up a rope, but today I'm feeling magnanimous, so I'm going to answer a few of those questions for you, the inquisitive reader.
One of the questions I've heard over the course of my many years on the planet is this one: "If a tree falls in the forest, and there is no one around to hear it, does it make a noise?"
Okay, first off, let me say that I believe that may be one of the all-time stupidest questions anyone has ever asked. Why it keeps getting asked is beyond me. But, as I said, I'm here today to give you some answers, so let's go to town on this one. Of course it makes a noise. The bigger the tree, the bigger the noise it makes. Have you ever seen a tree fall in the forest, even on TV or in the movies? It makes a big old sound, doesn't it? Crash! Bam! Loud, you know what I'm saying? Just imagine, all that timber hitting the ground, the branches crashing through the undergrowth, scaring hell out of all the animals, the dust billowing up and leaves and splinters flying every which way. Trust me, it makes a sound, all right. I don't want to have to tell you yahoos again. Okay, next question.
Another one I've heard a lot is this ridiculous query: "What is the sound of one hand clapping?"
They don't get much easier than that, do they? I'll tell you what, unless your face or your ass cheek happens to be in the path of that one hand, the sound of one hand clapping is exactly nothing. Silence. You ever see a one-armed man try to clap? He waves his hand sideways in the air in front of him, and it's just pathetic. The only sound you could possibly get out of that is the whooshing of the air around him, and that hardly makes any noise at all. I don't know why anyone ever worried about such a dumb idea anyway.
Okay, let's sum up what we've learned so far: If a tree falls, there's noise. One hand clapping, no noise. Are you keeping up with me here? This isn't rocket surgery, people.
Now this last one may seem a little bit trickier to some of you out there, but really it's just as simple as the others. Remember how I said at the beginning of the column that people were always asking me, "Reed, what's the meaning of life?" If you don't remember, I want you to go back and read the first paragraph again. Go on, I'll wait.
All right now, are we all on the same page? Good. Let's get right down to it, then. What is the meaning of life? Think about this in your tiny brains for one second, will you? What is it that keeps this world spinning, that drives people everywhere, that fuels our desires, our needs and our wants, and is responsible for virtually every major world event, good and bad, since time immemorial? That's right, booze and pussy. Booze and pussy! How much simpler could it be? I'm telling you people, the easy answers are always the best.
So there you have it. The answers to some of the most overblown, overhyped philosophical questions of man's existence, just like that. In a nutshell, what I'm saying is noise, no noise, booze and pussy. Simple as that. Now get out of here and become one with everything before I enlighten your ass with my foot. º Last Column: I Was Real Funny Before Everybody Got Politically Correctº more columns
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|  July 7, 2003
Doctor Kiwani"I won't join any club that would penetrate me with a member."
I've never been much of a joiner, on account I've never been let into a group. But I haven't given up on the idea of being part of an organization of some kind, especially the kind that makes me money or friends.
When I was a kid my mom tried to sign me up for everything, from 4-H to the Cub Scouts, but I kept failing the entrance exams. I was in some other youth organization my dad got me into for about a week, but my hand kept cramping up trying to do the sign. I think they were extra hard on me because of it when it came time to run the gauntlet, I didn't even get past the first sixty guys.
In school I tried to get into all the clubs, but they all had special requirements. You had to be good at something or popular or something, it was all rigged. I did find a group of kids to hang out with and everything, but they said I couldn't get into their group without a doctor's note saying I had a learning disability. Which really sucked, 'cause my doctor said I did have a learning disability, but he wouldn't write me a note since he was pissed about me eating all his tongue depressors. I say don't stick anything in my mouth if you don't want me to eat it.
I got out of high school and thought all my chances to be in a club were over, then I heard about the Kiwanis Club. They're some sort of charity or something, who cares, really, if they all get together in a...
º Last Column: RC Dice
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"I won't join any club that would penetrate me with a member."
I've never been much of a joiner, on account I've never been let into a group. But I haven't given up on the idea of being part of an organization of some kind, especially the kind that makes me money or friends.
When I was a kid my mom tried to sign me up for everything, from 4-H to the Cub Scouts, but I kept failing the entrance exams. I was in some other youth organization my dad got me into for about a week, but my hand kept cramping up trying to do the sign. I think they were extra hard on me because of it when it came time to run the gauntlet, I didn't even get past the first sixty guys.
In school I tried to get into all the clubs, but they all had special requirements. You had to be good at something or popular or something, it was all rigged. I did find a group of kids to hang out with and everything, but they said I couldn't get into their group without a doctor's note saying I had a learning disability. Which really sucked, 'cause my doctor said I did have a learning disability, but he wouldn't write me a note since he was pissed about me eating all his tongue depressors. I say don't stick anything in my mouth if you don't want me to eat it.
I got out of high school and thought all my chances to be in a club were over, then I heard about the Kiwanis Club. They're some sort of charity or something, who cares, really, if they all get together in a building. I don't care if they worshipped goats by sticking thumbs up their asses, as long as they were a club and I could join, showing that guidance counselor once and for all who was right.
The Kiwanis were not as cool as they sounded, though. I showed up in my Kiwanis suit, complete with a little pouch on the front, and I pulled leaves out and ate them and everything, trying to fit in. Not one person in that place was dressed like a Kiwani except me, and some people even asked me what I was supposed to be, like they'd never seen a Kiwani before. Even talking with an Australian accent didn't make them any smarter. You'd think these jackasses would know the animal they named their club after. Next time I'll show up dressed as a jackass, just to embarrass them.
It probably doesn't need saying I didn't make the Kiwanis Club, but I did make bail, so everything works out alright in the end. I've had it with trying to get into a club, I'll tell you that. I've always wanted to be a part of a group of people, the kind of joes I could make friends with and share a real sense of community and shit. But I suppose I'll have to do that by starting my own club, with me as president and founder and everything. And I won't let any of those assholes in. º Last Column: RC Diceº more columns
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Quote of the Day“Fight back, men! It's not the size of the boat, it's the motion of the ocean!”
-Capt. William Thomas Turner of the LusitaniaFortune 500 CookieLooks like your lawyers have kept those topless photos out of the magazine; that and the fact you're 89 years old. Tonight, conquer life's mystery: Find out what that Alpo tastes like. Today is great week to give the gift of peanut brittle. Shaved or unshaved? Your dogs will love you either way. Today's lucky charms: Pink hearts, blue moons, green clovers, virtually any of them.
Try again later.Least Effective SARS Protective Efforts| 1. | Stop breathing | | 2. | Fire handgun blindly at coughs | | 3. | Smoking deceased SARS victims | | 4. | Wave hand, say "Don't go in Toronto! Whew!" | | 5. | Drinking imported Hong Kong bathwater | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 12/24/2001 Ho ho ho, America! Season's greetings and welcome to a special Christmas edition of "Entertainment Police". What makes it special, you ask? I'm not sure, but it's Christmas Eve so why the hell don't you step off my balls, alright? Damn. If I'd known you were going to be like this I wouldn't have worn my new shirt. Why don't we just skip straight ahead to the "Ask Roland" before somebody blows a snot rocket in my eggnog, alright?
Q. Hey Roland, man, what have you been smoking? They must have some powerful drugs up there in commune land, because you forgot to review the greatest movie of all time: Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone! You been living under a rock or something, man? This thing's bigger than Mama Cass retaining water! They should send some Magicals and...
Ho ho ho, America! Season's greetings and welcome to a special Christmas edition of "Entertainment Police". What makes it special, you ask? I'm not sure, but it's Christmas Eve so why the hell don't you step off my balls, alright? Damn. If I'd known you were going to be like this I wouldn't have worn my new shirt. Why don't we just skip straight ahead to the "Ask Roland" before somebody blows a snot rocket in my eggnog, alright?
Q. Hey Roland, man, what have you been smoking? They must have some powerful drugs up there in commune land, because you forgot to review the greatest movie of all time: Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone! You been living under a rock or something, man? This thing's bigger than Mama Cass retaining water! They should send some Magicals and Muggles and some shit over to your place to give you a wake-up call. Fuck you, dude!
Marty Ramart, Luger, Oregon
A. Nice try, Marty. This reminds me of that "You should review E.T." joke that was going around several years back. Right, like they'd name a big-shot movie "E.T." What's that supposed to stand for? Evil Turkeys? Sounds like a bomb to me. If that was going to be a hit it would have to stand for "Enormous Tits" and it's not like we're in Europe here. Here in America we like our sex classy, like in "Bram Stoker's Dracula" or "Showgirls". I give you points for creativity in making up a title though, what's your movie supposed to be about? A wizard trying to pass his gallstones? Bombs away, Marty!
Q. Hey Roland. I just got done watching the second season of The Sopranos on DVD and I have to admit that I was surprised by the death of Salvatore "Big Pussy" Bompensiero. But even more than that, I'm curious as to how you get to be a big mob guy with a nickname like "Big Pussy". The last time I checked, that wasn't a compliment. I called an Italian guy "Big Pussy" at a bar one time and he hit me with a table. Is this just bad writing or is this some La Cosa Nostra secret that I don't know about?
Mersh Lauben, Ripe Grove, Wisconsin
A. Good question, Mersh. While many of us have watched this show faithfully, riveted by the exploits of these big fat singing Italians, few know the behind-the-scenes stories of how the characters came to be. Everyone knows that the lead character of Tony Soprano is based on rough-and-tumble opera bad-boy Lucky Pavoratti, who once beat up a small child for a candy bar during a layover at a train station in Europe. But what few know is that the character of "Big Pussy" Bompensiero is based on real-life opera fatass Flaccid "Big Pussy" Domino, who opens his mouth so wide when he sings that a cat once jumped down his throat after the tuna sandwich he'd eaten for lunch. Hence the nickname, and the occasional weak meows while he's singing. Personally, I can't wait for them to base a Soprano character on the third member of their trio, the certifiably hot Tia Carerra, who sings pretty good for a skinny chick.
Now that that's out of the way, let's talk movies!
In Theaters Now:
ALI
Listen, I looked the other way when the religious right got fed up with the current state of insipid, bumbling, amoral Hollywood movies and started making their own insipid, bumbling, moral films. Apparently "Super Jesus Christ Brothers" and "The Last Temptation Island of Christ" weren't enough for them, but that's fine, let them throw their money into making films that only the heavily stoned or alarmingly elderly will pay to see. But now that lawyers nationwide have decided that they should cut out the middleman and make courtroom dramas themselves, I have to ask: Where do you draw the line? Who's going to want their own movies next? Women? Black people? Fatties? Anyway, that's all beside the point, since whoever thought the American Law Institute was a good subject for a movie needs to be held in contempt of entertainment.
Jimmy Nimrod, Boy Genius
Okay, now I'll be the first one to admit that this, and any other, comedy about a retarded kid who thinks he's an inventor and super-spy is in bad taste. But you can punch my one-way Amtrak ticket to hell because this is the funniest movie of the year. You'll laugh until you need head restraints and a drool cup yourself when Jimmy unveils inventions like the dumpling gun and the magic "poop-to-pudding beam", or when Jimmy's secret spy pictures of the Russian operatives turn out to be just out-of-focus shots of his privates. I only hope the massive karmic debt wracked up by this film falls on the filmmakers themselves for making it, and not us for laughing because I plan on seeing it twice more this weekend.
The Lords of the Ring: The Fellowship in the Ring
I don't think I'm going too far out on a limb when I say this has got to be the most heavily anticipated gay boxing movie, ever. Finally a filmmaker has the cajones to address the obvious sexual tension that ensues when two men in their shorts pound each other's asses for an hour in front of thousands of spectators. Most boxing films to date (except the notable lesbian opus "Raging Bull") have drawn the line at hugging in the ring, but this brave film shatters that barrier with passionate open-mouth kissing during the fight's dramatic climax. Certainly more satisfying than the usual "beat 'em up" ending. Sensitive direction, fabulous costumes and Hector "Macho" Camacho's first inside-the-ring kiss make this a gay boxing film for the ages.
Now on Video:
Mule in Rouge
Scoot over Francis, there's a new mule in the spotlight! Loveable Moonie Margot Kidder stars in this hilarious farce produced by hubby, Mr. "Mission: Important" himself, Tom Cruise. Margot's brother Vlasik from Croatia needs a green card to stay in the country, so with the help of a farmer with a heart of gold, they dress up a mule like a woman to fool the immigration officials and pose as Vlasik's wife. The only thing is, Vlasik doesn't realize she's a mule! You can just imagine the comedy that comes shooting out that hole.
The Center of the World
Once again, those megalomaniacs in Omaha, Nebraska have tipped their hand and wildly overstated their case for tourism for yet another year. To hear these people talk you'd think that Omaha was the fashion, culture and banking capital of the free world. Every year they put out a new movie trying to rope suckers into visiting the Cornhusker state. This one is about on par with last year's "Omaha Spring Break" and "Nebraska: The Wet T-Shirt State" from the year before, but none can compare with their audacious 1992 entry: "Omaha: Everyone Gets a Blowjob".
Scary Movie 2
Generic-brand movies are all the rage this year, and why not? Their plain-text posters are easy to read, the admissions are cheap, and who's to say that once you get inside, they're not the same as the more expensive brand-name pictures? Who wants to pay for all of that expensive packaging and advertising anyway?
Television:
The Amazing Racist (CBS)
The network that brought you hilarious bigot Archie Bunker is hoping lightning strikes twice with this hour-long drama about a loveable Louisiana state legislator who always says the wrong thing, to the horror of his politcally correct spin doctors.
The Tick (Fox)
The terrifying Edgar Allen Poe story about a clock that won't let its owner forget the murder he committed doesn't exactly make for hit sitcom material. The star power of Tom Wopat is wasted and the show is neither funny nor scary. What a huge disappointment from the network that shook things up with groundbreaking shows like Married to Children and The Tex-Mex Files.
The Garbageman (CBS)
CBS turns to the tried and true formula for success again with this show about an amateur sleuth. In this case, a smart trash-talking garbage man (James Earl Jones) finds a dead body in a dumpster every week which leads him on a brand new mystery to find out whodunnit. Predictable? Maybe. Successful? Sure 'nuff! I'm predicting the biggest hit for CBS since Murder She Dead.
Video Games:
Forever Kingdom (PS2)
This game is, of course, based on that syndicated show about a guy who's a cop by day and a king of a small mediterranean country by night. Not bad, some fun moments, but the fact the show was canceled years ago doesn't get me very excited to play it. Just shows how long it takes to program stuff for that Playstation 2.
Blood Wake (XB)
Nauseating game where you're a teen-ager trying to find out why there's so much blood in your nocturnal emissions. I've never been into that zombie-fighting role player game crap in the first place, but this one hit a little too close to home for me. Trust me, dude, just cut down to three or four times a week and everything ought to be fine.
NBA Inside Driver 2002 (XB)
For all of you people who say there's never been a successful game playing as Shaquille O'Neil's chauffeur… you keep on saying it. This dillhole game is as boring as driving games get. Where to next, Mr. O'Neil? Nike endorsement deal? Kazaam sequel negotiations? Recording studio for another rap album? Yessir, your 10-foot-tall holiness. What a biter.
Okay, America. May you sleep tight tonight with visions of sugarbeets dancing in your head, and I hope Santa brings you everything you've ever dreamed of. Unless you've been dreaming of writing entertainment reviews for the commune. If that's the case, then fuck right off. And Merry Christmas.   |
