Friends Cast Members Change Legal Names

n a move labeled practical by some, good business by others, the cast members of NBC's hit Friends have saved years of fruitless optimism and professional disappointment by changing their legal names to the monikers they're known by on the popular show.

Series stars Jennifer Aniston, Courtney Cox-Arquette, Lisa Kudrow, Matt LeBlanc, Matthew Perry, and David Schwimmer, will here by be known in future professional projects, and their personal lives as, respectively, Rachel, Monica, Phoebe, Joey, Chandler, and Ross. The declaration by a judge made the decision legally binding Friday.

"Why waste years that could be spent getting used to your typecasting denying the inevitable outcome?" said a spokesperson of the William Morris Agency, whose name we didn't bother to get. "Kim Fields wasted valuable years before changing her name to Tootie. And most people assume Todd Bridges changed his name to Willis long ago. It just makes it easier on everybody, and you can capitalize on that fame without needing to remind people, 'Do you know who I am? I used to get a million-plus an episode!'"

"It will make it a lot easier to do the last season of Friends at any rate," said NBC executive Brian Norris. "We spent a bundle a few years ago just on the typeface to 'Courtney Cox-Arquette' alone. Now we can just say starring Rachel, Monica, Phoebe, Joey, Chandler and Ross. Now people will have more brain space to remember which one is Will and which one is Grace."

Of course, according to various reports, all members of the Friends cast are hopeful about future projects in film and other series after the show's finale next year. But seriously, with their legal names at last intricately linked to their characters, the serious money for commercials, infomercials, state fair and car show appearances, and other forms of necessary income will be much easier while searching for elusive post-Friends success.

With luck, according to some insiders, Matt LeBlanc will be free of his Friends obligation in time to secure a spot on the fifth installment of Fox's Celebrity Boxing program.

Even with the name change, some members of the cast are adamant about making the jump from television to movies.

"It's not easy, no one's saying that, but it has been done before by quite a few popular actors," said Matthew Perry in a recent interview. "George Clooney is one example. Johnny Depp, another successful film actor. And Michael J. Fox, before he returned to television with Spin City. Don't forget Tom Hanks. Although Bosom Buddies was never really a big hit or anything… hmm… Will Smith, the Fresh Prince himself. I guess, uh… Alan Alda? Shit. Why can't I think of more people?"

Some fellow actors are not applauding the Friends cast's decision.

"You can't simply give up your humanity, who you are, to what people perceive you as. In the end it's not going to improve your success, you're just grasping to retain what had once been the peak of your fame," said Mallory from Family Ties.

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Goddammit! I'm tired of America taking away my rights.

Add "cooking" to the ever-increasing list of things you're not allowed to do in this country anymore. I was having another fun weekend night off from my job, and had everything all planned out: A lot of drinking, some cruel prank phone calls, and smoke-cooking whatever I could find leftover in the freezer. Well, you can see where this is going, even if you graduated from public schools. The cops knock on my door, mine, and tell me I can't cook.

I don't think it was meant as a critique, once minutes of arguing straightened it out. Apparently, now get this, it's illegal for you to cook in your own house. This is bullshit of colossal proportions.

Don't get me wrong, all y'all. I'm not some bleeding heart queer doing it pro bono for the ACLU, or as I like to call them, Domestic Al-Qaeda. I voted for the Patriot Act, and since I wasn't a congressman it took a lot of deception on my part and I eventually got out of it with a fine, but that should tell you how committed I am to upholding law and order. Except for those dreadful spin-offs. I figured I was white and voted Republican, there was no way my rights would be infringed upon.

But, Oh Contrary. That's the French saying for bullshit, and those French are on to something. If the government wants to know what books I buy, I'm perfectly okay with that—I like to write to Dennis Miller himself sometimes just to let him know I'm putting money in his pocket. If the government wants to know what websites I go to, fine, I don't care; as long as they know occasionally Ramon Nootles borrows my computer to surf for some really freaky weird sex shit—I'm the one surfing turkey-hunting sites and entertainment news. I've let the government so far in they can tell me if I've got bowel obstructions. But here's where I draw the line.

A man's home is his castle. It doesn't matter if his castle looks like a trailer on the outside or not. Keep fucking with me, I'll stow every one of you all in the dungeon. I'm not shitting around here, guys. I'm small, but I'm spry. Just test me. I'm a good American, I always vote, I pay most of my taxes, and now I want to be left alone so I can do whatever the hell I want behind closed doors. If that means I want to start a bonfire and blacken fish in the privacy of my living room, there's not a damn thing you can do about it. In a fair and just America. The America I grew up with.

What do you expect me to do? I've given this country all I can, short of military service or volunteer work. I'm a hard worker, I make my opinion known, sometimes three blocks over in the dead of night, and I salute that goddamn flag every time you run it up the pole. You want my blood, too? Or do you want me to turn informant? Rat out all my red-loving friends at the commune just so I can cook anytime of the day or night, despite EPA emissions standards, and be left in peace and quiet? Because in spite of our differences, these people at the commune are my friends. That's what America is about, in my book: Freaks and normal people, no matter how different, can put aside their differences to be friends, and really rake in the dough.

Not that I'm saying I won't do it, mind you. Some of these whack-jobs can stand to have the fear of G.W. put into them. I think Lil Duncan has committed an obscene act with every object on or in her desk. And Bludney Pludd, I don't think the DSM-IV even has names for the kind of perversions he's capable of. Call me up. We'll chat. You dish your dirt and I'll dish mine. But don't send anymore uniforms to my door—I certainly rate higher than that.

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I hate to sound like a party pooper, or even worse, like I've grown cynical, but I have to admit that this year will be known for me as the year I stopped believing in Santa Claus.

It wasn't any one particular thing, just a series of things that built up until I said, "You know what? I'm fed up. Every year I keep asking for stuff I never get and there's too much proof. There is no Santa Claus."

Kids line up around the block to sit on my lap and tell me what they want for Christmas. And this isn't any one place, it's every town and every city everywhere all over the world. How is Santa supposed to be in all those places at once, you tell me that? It's just physically impossible. Some of them don't even look like me, they'll be Asian guys or black guys or occasionally a woman or something. Nothing wrong with that, of course, I just think it's obvious most of them—oh, let's face it, all of them—are guys in suits pretending to be me. Well, there goes Christmas, kids. You just told some minimum wage former stockboy what you want for Christmas. That helps.

This thing about the flying reindeer, too, it's complete baloney. Reindeer? Flying? Now if the story was that Santa had magical kid-loving dragons whose back he rode on, that would be pretty cool and believable. But you can see reindeer anywhere. Go ahead, push one off a roof, tie one to the back of your Cadillac and pull it five hundred yards at 60 mph, of all the things it will do it won't fly. If there's ever a time to go ahead and fly, that would be it, and they don't.

Who makes all these friggin' toys, too? Sure, in the days of the wooden rocking horse and the worthless rag doll with buttons for eyes, I could see that being the product of some elfin workforce laboring away in freezing conditions, but what about these cell phones, Playstation 2 consoles, Casio keyboards, and computers these kids are getting these days? Forget the difficulty in building toys that require high-tech skill, let's just ask about Star Wars figures or Pokemon cards or something. Not that elves couldn't make that stuff, but they'd be in violation of serious international copyright laws. You're talking about one bad-ass criminal St. Nick there.

He must be trained in some shady business to infiltrate houses all over the world. How many houses have chimneys these days? Santa's out there squeezing down air ventilation pipes, under locked doors, through keyholes, through sealed windows, all sorts of unimaginable stuff. Forget laughing with a "Ho, ho, ho," the Santa they're talking about must be a scary Eugene Tooms X-Files motherfucker.

And how many kids throughout the world? How many houses, how many presents? One guy doing all this stuff in one night? Even including time zones and expanding it out to a full 24 hours to get all this done, one guy, I don't care how mystical his ass is, will be finishing that job. Forget it. Not in one year, certainly not in one day.

I'm not even leaving the house this Christmas. It's too confounding to think about. I'll probably just stay in with Mrs. Claus, sit around the fireplace and lick candycanes, maybe watch that Charlie Brown Christmas special on DVD or something, catch It's A Wonderful Life if it's even playing and just take it easy this year. Get a good night's sleep for once and check out the Day After Christmas sales if I get up early enough on the 26th. The only person I'm going to be asking for anything from is Mrs. Claus. If Santa can do all this other amazing crap he can read minds as well, so maybe he'll bring me that Palm V I've been eyeing in the Office Depot newspaper supplements. But he probably won't be happy because all I'm thinking this year is there is no Santa Claus, sorry if that pisses off the time-bending B&E reindeer pilot himself.

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