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Byrne Ditches Naked Man at MallApril 1, 2002 |
Littlehead City, CA Ansel Evans David Byrne, appearing in a dream near you It was so vivid, I could almost swear it really happened," said Littlehead City resident Wyatt Touchdowne about his recent dream involving prominent musician David Byrne. "I mean, we were hanging out together just like we'd been friends for a long time. It was really cool."
Touchdowne, 32, a systems analyst for a California software firm, admitted that in reality, the two have never met.
"But in this dream I had the other night, not only did I get to meet David Byrne, but we spent what seemed like a whole lot of time together, just talking and doing things and stuff. First, I was just kind of walking along this beach, and I realized there was this guy right beside me, and when I looked, it turned out that it was David Byrne, former leader of the band Talking Heads...
It was so vivid, I could almost swear it really happened," said Littlehead City resident Wyatt Touchdowne about his recent dream involving prominent musician David Byrne. "I mean, we were hanging out together just like we'd been friends for a long time. It was really cool."
Touchdowne, 32, a systems analyst for a California software firm, admitted that in reality, the two have never met.
"But in this dream I had the other night, not only did I get to meet David Byrne, but we spent what seemed like a whole lot of time together, just talking and doing things and stuff. First, I was just kind of walking along this beach, and I realized there was this guy right beside me, and when I looked, it turned out that it was David Byrne, former leader of the band Talking Heads. So we were just walking along, and we were talking and everything, and then pretty soon we were riding in a car together. We got to this house, and I realized in the dream that it was the house I had lived in when I was a teenager. And then David Byrne came into the house with me! He was actually in the house I used to live in!"
"I remember we talked about music and all kinds of stuff, and he was really friendly, just very low-key and casual, and it was just a really very pleasant encounter. At one point I told him that sometimes when I listened to his music, either the things he said or the way he said them just made me laugh. I couldn't help it, I said, I just laughed. He thought that was pretty funny, and he told me in the dream about this part of one song that he sang by calling over the phone and then holding the receiver up to the microphone. That part was really amazing, you know? I mean, how many people get musical tips like that in their dreams from someone like David Byrne?"
"Anyway, so there we were in the living room, and then my mom and my sister came in the room, and then I think they asked me to go to the store or something, because the next thing I knew, the dream kind of shifted, and I realized I was at the mall, but I was standing there naked in front of the Hickory Farms store, and everyone was looking at me. So of course David Byrne was gone by then, but still, it was pretty cool that we got to hang out together."
Asked if it was common for him to have dreams about celebrities, Touchdowne admitted that he had also had dreams involving personalities such as Mick Jagger, Bruce Springsteen, Richard Nixon and Cameron Diaz, among others.
"One of the strangest ones was where I was hanging out with Harry Nilsson," Touchdowne said. "Harry was really cool and everything, but I kept remembering in the dream that he's really dead in real life. So in the dream, I kept saying, 'But aren't you dead? You're dead, aren't you?' He never answered me, but that particular dream never seemed as real as most of the others. Because how can you hang out with a dead guy, you know?"
When this reporter pointed out that Richard Nixon is also dead, Touchdowne replied, "He is? Really? Wow, when did that happen?"
Despite repeated calls to his publicist regarding Touchdowne's dream, Mr. Byrne was not available for comment. Here at the commune, we all dream of Bludney Plud, or whatever it is he's calling himself this week, just leaving us all the hell alone. Is that so much to ask?
 | Teen still missing in Aruba, Jamaica, oh-woo I wanna take ya
Amazing new cell phone shows respect for moviegoers
 Duke Prosecutor Disbarred, Accepts New Position as National Scapegoat Miami DJs: Castro confirms refrigerator is running
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Bush’s MySpace Page Traffic Way Down Plans for Tallest Ferris Wheel Scrapped; Yao-Ming Too Busy to Turn It Entwistle Pleads Not Guilty of Murder, Last Several Who Albums Condi Rice Hates the Way She Smiles in Pictures |
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 August 5, 2002
Wearning to Pway GuitahSo Conan O'Brien's people have yet to call me back. As you might know, or will by the end of completing this sentence, I used to have a sweet gig on that show doing a "walk on." Conan's gang thought it was hilarious when I came on and ate corn flakes, in any kind of setting or with any weak premise to. During a sketch, a fake commercial, one of those long sessions where the band plays. They thought it was a laugh riot, though the audience never agreed with them.
I really miss my Conan gig. It was a way to stay in the public eye and get a free bowl of corn flakes, plus sometimes I would sneak into the green room and meet A-list celebrities like the girl from Law & Order: Misread Miranda and the little girl starring in Daddy All That. Take it from one child star to another, you've got the goods, kid, you're here to stay. But that was before the phone stopped ringing. So I've got to get back on top as the novelty former celebrity of the week.
Which has led me to take guitar lessons. Nothing leaves an audience in awe more than seeing an actor or actress who can do one other thing moderately well. With that in mind, plus my secret fantasy of some day becoming a rock star, or sleeping with one, guitar lessons seem like the best option.
I didn't need a guitar, fortunately, since they let me keep the props from the Who's Your Daddy? show years ago. Or if not let me keep them, at least didn't check my bags very well when I left the set. It's a...
º Last Column: I Return Wiser from the Sci-Fi Convention º more columns
So Conan O'Brien's people have yet to call me back. As you might know, or will by the end of completing this sentence, I used to have a sweet gig on that show doing a "walk on." Conan's gang thought it was hilarious when I came on and ate corn flakes, in any kind of setting or with any weak premise to. During a sketch, a fake commercial, one of those long sessions where the band plays. They thought it was a laugh riot, though the audience never agreed with them.
I really miss my Conan gig. It was a way to stay in the public eye and get a free bowl of corn flakes, plus sometimes I would sneak into the green room and meet A-list celebrities like the girl from Law & Order: Misread Miranda and the little girl starring in Daddy All That. Take it from one child star to another, you've got the goods, kid, you're here to stay. But that was before the phone stopped ringing. So I've got to get back on top as the novelty former celebrity of the week.
Which has led me to take guitar lessons. Nothing leaves an audience in awe more than seeing an actor or actress who can do one other thing moderately well. With that in mind, plus my secret fantasy of some day becoming a rock star, or sleeping with one, guitar lessons seem like the best option.
I didn't need a guitar, fortunately, since they let me keep the props from the Who's Your Daddy? show years ago. Or if not let me keep them, at least didn't check my bags very well when I left the set. It's a little small, sure, and the Fisher Price logo is sort of garish, but it works perfectly fine. At least as much as I know about guitars. So I saved a bundle there. Some guitars in pawn shops cost up to $50 or more. Not for me, sucker!
But if they haven't stuck it to you on the guitar, they plan on raking you over the coals with the lesson cost. The guitar teacher Lemmy at Music Barn wanted $40 a month to teach me lessons, or failing that, a good meal before each one or maybe trade for livestock or something. Not out of me, buddy. Clarissa Coleman has been self-educated all her life, why stop now? I'm teaching myself to play guitar.
Far as I can tell, you can save a lot of money by not buying any of those expensive "teach yourself guitar" books. You can learn a little just by reading the books in store until the clerk comes over and physically forces you out. I've skimmed every book by a well-known guitar teachers like Hal Leonard, Kevin Bacon, and Mel Bay, but they're all a little pricey for me. Which is when I realized those chumps at the library give out free books!
I went to the library and, let me tell you, it was better than I thought. They even give out free books on tape! Hot damn, no reading for me! So I checked out a couple of tapes on learning to play the guitar. They were out of the Mel Bay ones, but I got the Mel Blanc guitar method, so that was cool, I guess.
Well, it's not the best guitar lesson tape I could have gotten, I guess, if I wanted to spend money. It's been three hours and so far I've only learned the A chord, what with all his stuttering. And it doesn't inspire you to keep listening when he keeps calling you a varmint and saying your strumming is despicable. But I'm not giving up. I have a genuine passion for learning to play, or at least getting back on the Conan O'Brien show.
Now if you'll excuse me, the tape wants me to practice on "Michaew, Wow Youh Boat Ashoah." º Last Column: I Return Wiser from the Sci-Fi Conventionº more columns
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|  November 11, 2002
Volume 29Dear commune:
Just writing in to make you privy to the word, dudes. I just rocked the vote today by voting for that righteous fucker Red Bagel for State Assemblyman. True, I'm not exactly sure what a State Assemblyman is supposed to do, but whatever it is, I'm sure my man Bagel will do the fuck out of it. Whether it's putting shit together that the state needs, like futons and bookcases and all that, or if it's talking in front of a bunch of kids crammed together in a cafeteria, whatever kind of assembly it means I know Bagel's gonna tear it a new asshole, commune style. Shit yeah.
True, I hated assemblies myself when I was a kid, but that was mostly because there wasn't some nut up there talking about Vietnam and doing magic tricks and shit. That's some madness that would have been worth missing a smoke break for. And, come to think of it, I hate putting shit together too, so I'd probably make a pretty lousy Assemblyman myself. But if Bagel gets elected, I've got a coffee table still in the box out in my garage that I could use some help with. Don't even think about welching, dude. I got you elected!
Truth be told, if I'd had my druthers I probably would have voted for my homestyle, Omar Bricks, for State Assemblydude. But unless you wanted to vote for one of those gay-asses they had preprinted on the menu, you had to write in your choice, and I can never remember how many o's there are in Omar. Just in case there was some uptight dick out...
º Last Column: Volume 28 º more columns
Dear commune: Just writing in to make you privy to the word, dudes. I just rocked the vote today by voting for that righteous fucker Red Bagel for State Assemblyman. True, I'm not exactly sure what a State Assemblyman is supposed to do, but whatever it is, I'm sure my man Bagel will do the fuck out of it. Whether it's putting shit together that the state needs, like futons and bookcases and all that, or if it's talking in front of a bunch of kids crammed together in a cafeteria, whatever kind of assembly it means I know Bagel's gonna tear it a new asshole, commune style. Shit yeah. True, I hated assemblies myself when I was a kid, but that was mostly because there wasn't some nut up there talking about Vietnam and doing magic tricks and shit. That's some madness that would have been worth missing a smoke break for. And, come to think of it, I hate putting shit together too, so I'd probably make a pretty lousy Assemblyman myself. But if Bagel gets elected, I've got a coffee table still in the box out in my garage that I could use some help with. Don't even think about welching, dude. I got you elected! Truth be told, if I'd had my druthers I probably would have voted for my homestyle, Omar Bricks, for State Assemblydude. But unless you wanted to vote for one of those gay-asses they had preprinted on the menu, you had to write in your choice, and I can never remember how many o's there are in Omar. Just in case there was some uptight dick out there named Oomar Bricks, I thought I'd play it safe and vote for the dude named after my breakfast. Sucks, yeah, but that's politics. Peace Out. Brian Delaney Santa Monica, CADear Brian:
Thanks for the word, dude. Red Bagel appreciates your vote and if he voted, we're sure he voted for you, too. And by that we mean that we're sure he didn't vote, since he's scared shitless of those optical scanning machines and the soul maps they can chart using your electromagnetic field, making it possible for the government to tax you again in your dreams.
the commune Editor's Note: the commune is not responsible, and the ladies find that irresistible. Don't blame us, it's apparently some kind of self-esteem issue.º Last Column: Volume 28º more columns
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Quote of the Day“The day destroys the night, the night divides the day, carry the four, times the weekend, round up from seven, and: Presto! 14. Not sure what that means, I'll get back to you next album.”
-Gin OrbisonFortune 500 CookieMonkeys and live electrical wire are a bad combo for you this week. Try combing your hair with a rake—hey, maybe those jokers were right. You will quit smoking this week, and upgrade to the syringe. Don't take any shit from the crippled, elderly, or the extremely weak: pretty much anybody you can get your girlfriend to beat up. This week's lucky burritos: Refried Revenge, Chock-Full- O-Olives, The Grand Mal, Nuthin-But-Sour- Cream, El Sleeping Bag, Someone Beaned My Ass Tonight.
Try again later.Top 5 Ways for a Fantatic to Honor Favorite Musician| 1. | Break into house; masturbate in the bathtub. | | 2. | Nothing says "I love you" like your name in scar tissue | | 3. | Dress like Hootie. Talk like Hootie. Be Hootie. | | 4. | What the fuck—kill him so he can never make any more wonderful music. | | 5. | Talk loudly at parties about how much better his early work was. | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 6/23/2003 Crock 'a shitty-shit, America. Welcome back to Entertainment Police as we continue our wincing appraisal of this summer's ball-busting Hollywood lineup. Why the glum look? Have you been to the movies lately? This is the time of the year when the big Hollywood chicken is supposed to be taking a big golden shit on our faces, and instead we're getting a grunt and a shrug. Where's the summer love? Sure, X2 was an emancipating good time, but I've already forgotten everything that happened in that movie. The Matrix Rebooted? Yeah, I'll admit I loved it at first. That was before I realized it was the exact same movie as Cannonball Run 2. Nice try guys, you almost had us fooled there. But that bit of excitement went sour like egg salad left in the trunk all weekend. Now what...
Crock 'a shitty-shit, America. Welcome back to Entertainment Police as we continue our wincing appraisal of this summer's ball-busting Hollywood lineup. Why the glum look? Have you been to the movies lately? This is the time of the year when the big Hollywood chicken is supposed to be taking a big golden shit on our faces, and instead we're getting a grunt and a shrug. Where's the summer love? Sure, X2 was an emancipating good time, but I've already forgotten everything that happened in that movie. The Matrix Rebooted? Yeah, I'll admit I loved it at first. That was before I realized it was the exact same movie as Cannonball Run 2. Nice try guys, you almost had us fooled there. But that bit of excitement went sour like egg salad left in the trunk all weekend. Now what have we got to wax filmic about? And where the hell is Bruce Willis hiding these days? Somebody fire up the bat signal, we need some bald fury over here pronto!
In Theaters
28 Days Later
Finally somebody's had the balls to make a movie about what a major pain in the ass it is to get a rebate check when you buy something at an electronics store. You buy a printer or some floppy disks or Barbie Dress-Up software or something you don't really need because with the seven rebates together the thing ends up being free or they even owe you five bucks for hauling that crap away. Then you get all the junk home and you've got to write your whole life story fifteen times on pieces of paper each the size of a postage stamp, provide fourteen original receipts postmarked by October of 1982, then put several dozen stickers in the right boxes, find in the picture where they hid the teapot and the pair of scissors, bake a shrinky-dink and send the whole shebang to Guam. Then if you did everything perfect, six months later they cut you check or mail you a roll of pennies, whatever it is. I wouldn't know, I always screw up and draw the pirate instead of the turtle and they reject my application. Understandably they had to Hollywoodize the whole thing and make it twenty-eight days instead of six months, but that's understandable since nobody wants to go to the movies to be reminded of just how much their lives suck. Foreigners, maybe, but not Americans.
Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle
Leave it to Hollywood to take the sweet natured Peanuts gang and turn them into violent ass-kicking crime fighters. Now I love action as much as anybody, well maybe less than the president, but still more than most people, and I still thought it was weird to see Lucy, Sally and Peppermint Patty putting the smackdown on rogue blockheads left and right. Just didn't feel right, kind of like seeing Big Bird break a dude's neck. Plus there's the believability factor. I know girls are supposed to be tough and all these days, but how can you avoid getting your face punched in during a fight when your head's the size of a medicine ball? You'd think the bad guys could just tip them over and roll them down the street, their undersized Peanutsland bodies flopping helplessly to one side like the stem of a balloon. But whatever, the stunts and wirework were pretty good, and the Moby remix of the Peanuts theme was pretty righteous, I have to say.
Jet Lag
To tell the truth I'm getting kind of tired of Jet Li. He needs to kick an elephant's ass or something at this point to get my attention. Trying to pull off an unlikely romantic comedy with Helen Hunt definitely is not what Dr. Roland ordered. As a result this is one of those ironic film titles that is all too fitting, like Knock-Off or Waste of Money. Maybe the ladies know something I don't, and Lee's actually Brad Pitt or Luis Guzman-level good-looking or something, but for me he's only as good as the number of guys he can fold into a suitcase in 90 minutes. And even if you try to sneak that stuff into a romantic comedy, it's hard to justify after you've ass-kicked a few rude bellhops and stuffed a redneck truck driver into a pizza oven.
When Harry Met Lloyd: Dumb and Dumberer
Everybody knows Harry Houdini and Lloyd Bridges were great childhood friends; now that they've both kicked the toilet their story can finally be told without having to pretend like they were a couple of astrophysicists. While the title may be a little over the top, most eyewitness accounts confirm that these two were about as bright as the moon glare of off of Houdini's hairy ass. Unfortunately for viewers, the truth isn't always pretty, or particularly funny, and the film has one too many "I ate a King Don out of your ass while you were sleeping" jokes for its own good. And the fact that they went to the trouble to grow a freakish Jim Carrey clone in a petri dish to play Lloyd Bridges is just plain creepy.
We hope you enjoyed this trip down future-memory lane, I'm your host Roland McShyster and on behalf of Entertainment Police I'd like to wish you an enjoyable rest of your vacation and ask that you not fall into the water like a big idiot when you're getting off the boat. Ta ta!   |