“Whatcha Namin’ Dat Babeey”

Spreading Oak Records

Well, Mollie & Greg got murried

up by the Frisco bay

she was a writer and he was an artist

but somehow they both got paid

They took a little trip down the highway,

headed for the town of LA

they rented a joint by the Hubbardites,

and had barbecues all day

One afternoon they was driving,

over by the Franklin Hills

and bought a big house with a raccoon pond

and all the nice fish got killed

(bridge)

Then molli got a secret assignment

They sent her off to ‘Nam

But she took a little trip to the monastery,

And the swami sang her a song

(chorus)

He said, ‘Ladeeey, don’t be

Lazeey,

Go back to california,

Have yourself a

Babeey

He said, ‘Ladeeey, don’t be

Lazeey,

Go back to california,

Have yourself a

Babeey

(verse)

Now greg he couldn’t believe it,

When he heard what the mullah said,

So he hunkered down to paint in the garage,

Listening to ‘love and theft’

He knew just what was coming,

He knew he was in for a chore,

And the next three years they’d be up all night,

Changing diapers and mopping the floor

(bridge)

‘Cause they’d heard when yer growin’ a baby,

You both get mean and weird

But she was doin’ yoga and hiking up mountains,

Greg quit drinkin’ beer

(chorus)

And we said, ‘Ladeey, we’re

Goin’ crazeeey,

Just lay it on down now,

Whatcha namin’ that

Babeey?

And we said, ‘Greggie, we’re

Goin’ crazeeey,

Just lay it on down now,

Whatcha namin’ that

Babeey?

(horrible end)

Is it

Charley or Jar Jar,

Pfeiffer or Thigpen,

Dweezil or Lemur

or Little baby Big Ben

Antonio

Sideshow Joe

Flippy or Ian

please not Russell Crowe

Danny or Sweet Pea,

George W. Picket,

Pablo Picasso

or Lemony Snicket?

Gumby or Theodore

Elvis or Skidmore

Homer or Moses,

Solomon or POTUS,

—

Or could it be Kobe?

Please let it be Kobe

Need a little Kobe

Give Us the Kobe!

KOBE KOBE KOBE KOBE KOBE KOBE

(c) 2002 Name Him Kobe Productions

hi tony, how’s america?

i think america is okay. its somber. sorta feels like theres ghosts everywhere. sorta feels like youre walking through really wimpy quicksand. like you’ll get there, its just gonna take a while.

thats really weird. thats what china feels like.

how did you do today, baby?

won in doubles.

thats cool.

exactly, nobody cares.

i care, anna.

thats cuz youre sweet.

when are you coming home to me?

never. 😛

thats cool. i mean, what?

just kidding, dorkypoo.

do you love me, anna?

very much.

how much?

a lots.

a lot a lot?

three times a lot.

do you love enrique four times a lot?

i just use enrique for sex and for his vma award tickets.

what do you use me for then?

mmmmm, im not sure. maybe nothing.

thats sweet.

oh wait, tennis coverage.

i hate you.

youre the only one who really cares about my tennis.

hmmmph!

gotcha again, tony. 😉

i hate you lots now.

will you ever forgive me?

no.

what if i made it up to you?

doubt it. i hold grudges.

what if i brought over martina and made it up to you.

i thought martina didnt like guys.

hingis! not navratilova.

whew. scared me for a second.

silly.

maybe. i bet you guys could put a smile on my face.

no problem. so is america really okay?

yeah. as long as people dont watch tv they seem pretty happy.

okay well, it’s like $5 a second to use the internet here, so i gotta go.

siyanara, anna.

ha ha. wan an, tony.

is oish. my second favorite cam girl is nay. this is what nay wrote today:

Where were you on this day one year ago? I remember everything as though it happened yesterday. I remember what I was wearing, what I was doing, etc. I was in my World History class discussing the different stages of human evolution. I kept tugging at my shirt because I had gotten in trouble for dress code moments before. We opened our books to do the book work my teacher gave us on the changes of man from Homohabilis to Homosapean. All of a sudden my principal came onto the loud speaker saying that a plane had crashed into one of the Twin Towers and for all teachers to turn on the televisions. We kind of watched in disbelief. The bell to go to second bell rang and we all sort of scurried to third period. I went into my English class and we just sat there watching. Then, another plane crashed into the other building. Shortly after, they just both clapsed. A girl who was on my dance team ran out of the class because her uncle had been in one of the buildings.

It’s sad because I haven’t met one person whom didn’t have some sort of connection to it. My mother knew two people on the planes from work. My dad knew two people as well. One he had gone to school with back in our small Louisiana hometown, and the other he was in the military with. It’s still kind of hard for me to believe that it happened. I don’t understand how some “people” (if you want to consider them that) can be so barbaric. I’ve seen the Daniel Pearl video, I’ve watched documentaries, etc. and it amazes me that a culture that is so in-depth with their religion want to murder innocent people because of their “beliefs.” That’s why I don’t touch religion and don’t like being preached to. Then I would be no different than these pathetic excuses for human life. Torture? Let them watch the explanation of Darwin’s Evolution Theory while strapping tiny explosive electrodes to their body parts and show them, slowly, that maybe there aren’t 14 virgins at heaven’s gate waiting for them. Straight up show them 14 small missing limbs. Egh – ANGER!!!

hat to do on this blog today.

the macho tough guy chicagoian part of me wants to pretend that this day is just like any other. that idiots with box cutters cant change the way that i do things.

but the realist part of me has to be honest.

today i thought about what i would wear. i looked at people differently on the street. i couldnt pay attention to my book on the bus.

i got said hi to blocks away from my work by a pretty girl and instead of being weird, like normal, i just said, hi, how are you?

and meant it.

things on my blog didnt seem right so i took them down today.

entries from yesterday didnt seem right either, and i woulda taken them down too but im not sure how i could put them back tomorrow.

howard stern this morning was commercial-free and for any of you howard fans, you know what a heavenly thing that is since he usually goes 40 minutes and then you get hit by 15 minutes of straight commercials.

but howard had a hard time being funny today.

it’s warm in LA today and im glad i have a softball game tonight to get some aggressions out.

i didnt see a lot of people with american flag tshirts, though they did hand out pins in the office building lobby, for people who wear those things.

i saw a lady with a red sweater, white pants and blue shoes.

i saw one or two flags on cars. not many, thankfully. i never liked those things.

my morning tv viewing was altered since Regis was pre-empted by ABC news doing what tv newspeople think is important to do: rehash the obvious.

i turned to E! who was ranking the 20 hottest single celebrity women and i was soothed…and suprised by the list.

i love that station.

it was then that i thought that i should keep on doing what i do on this thing. which is try to keep it light. try to tell all you non-hollywood residents whats going on here in southern california, and try to make you laugh, and try to make things a little happier, and try to turn you on to things that you might have missed.

so here you are:

Instapundit points us in the direction of kids art re: 9/11

the hosemonster links to samizdata who shows pictures of signs in England that will make you weep.

and dawn has a sweet picture of her little lily being cute as hell.

but what has surprised me most today, is how in the daily comic strip world, how very few strips even want to acknowledge today’s infamous anniversary. i guess they’re just moving on too. missed opportunity, i think. comics can be great on days like today.

special guest blogger: George Carlin

“PARADOX OF OUR TIME”

One of the more embarrassing items making the internet/e-mail rounds is a sappy load of shit called “The Paradox of Our Time.” The main problem I have with it is that as true as some of the expressed sentiments may be, who really gives a shit? Certainly not me.

I figured out years ago that the human species is totally fucked and has been for a long time. I also know that the sick, media-consumer culture in America continues to make this so-called problem worse. But the trick, folks, is not to give a fuck. Like me. I really don’t care. I stopped worrying about all this temporal bullshit a long time ago. It’s meaningless. (See the preface of “Braindroppings.”)

Another problem I have with “Paradox” is that the ideas are all expressed in a sort of pseudo-spiritual, New-Age-y, “Gee-whiz-can’t-we-do-better-than-this” tone of voice. It’s not only bad prose and poetry, it’s weak philosophy. I hope I never sound like that.

The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings but shorter tempers, wider freeways, but narrower viewpoints. We spend more, but have less. We buy more, but enjoy less. We have bigger houses and smaller families, more conveniences, but less time. We have more degrees but less sense, more knowledge, but less judgment, more experts, yet more problems, more medicine, but less wellness.

We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too little, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom. We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often. We’ve learned how to make a living, but not a life. We’ve added years to life not life to years.

We’ve been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbor. We conquered outer space but not inner space. We’ve done larger things, but not better things. We’ve cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul. We’ve conquered the atom, but not our prejudice.

We write more, but learn less. We plan more, but accomplish less. We’ve learned to rush, but not to wait. We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever, but we communicate less and less.

These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion, big men and small character, steep profits and shallow relationships. These are the days of two incomes but more divorce, fancier houses, but broken homes. These are days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throwaway morality, one night stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything from cheer, to quiet, to kill.

It is a time when there is much in the showroom window and nothing in the stockroom. A time when technology can bring this letter to you, and a time when you can choose either to share this insight, or to just hit delete.

Remember, spend some time with your loved ones, because they are not going to be around forever. Remember, say a kind word to someone who looks up to you in awe, because that little person soon will grow up and leave your side. Remember, to give a warm hug to the one next to you, because that is the only treasure you can give with your heart and it doesn’t cost a cent.

Remember, to say, “I love you” to your partner and your loved ones, but most of all mean it. A kiss and an embrace will mend hurt when it comes from deep inside of you. Remember to hold hands and cherish the moment for someday that person will not be there again.

Give time to love, give time to speak and give time to share the precious thoughts in your mind.

via Doc Searls, who was fooled like me.

i’m the president of the united states of america.

i have a message to osama bin laden.

osama, im calling you out.

i want to meet with you at an agreed-upon location and i want to beat your ass.

man to man.

face to face.

i’m sick, quite frankly, of this cat and mouse kiddie game of hide and seek and i am giving you one week to stand up to me as a man and take the licking you so deserve.

if you’re so badass, why don’t you meet me, the american white devil, anywhere you want so i can slap that stupid look off your face.

i know you’re probably thinking that this is a trap, that the armed forces of the united states, or the u.n., or the northern alliance will jump out from the bushes and capture your sorry ass, and imprison you.

but i’m hereby giving you temporary immunity. you have no excuse to decline this offer.

i swear upon my word as president, on my word as a Christian, on my word as an American citizen that your safety will be guaranteed up to your meeting with me. and if you survive the single handed texas asskicking that i will deliver on your person, i will assure your safety back into whatever dusty hole you’re currently hiding in.

but the only way you’ll get home is through me, osama, and only you would call that gopher hole home.

simply put, if you think you’re man enough to take me, i want a piece of you and i will do whatever it takes to make this happen.

im going to grab you with my own hands and prove to you, and to the world, that even though we are both sons of millionaire oil men, there’s a difference between you and i.

you are a slimy, lying, gutless, cheap-shot artist who hides behind religion and ignorance in your sick quest to have others murder innocent people under your twisted leadership.

and i am the embodiment of american vengence, and you’ve awaken an innocent giant who’s going to kick your clueless ass into tomorrow.

we can do this in switzerland, or antarctica, or right in front of mecca for all i care.

you can have as many of your measly bodyguards around me, if it’s me who you distrust, but i assure you that no one other than me will attack you.

somehow, i don’t expect the same sportsmanship from you.

but i don’t care, osama bin laden. this is what a leader should do.

before you have one of your goons take a sneaky sniper shot at me from 300 yards, allow me the pleasure to serve you a slice of texas justice, of american payback, if you are indeed a man.

which i doubt.

ive seen you walk on your hind legs, so you must at least be a mammal.

you have a beard, but so do many of your wives.

people refer to you as “he” so i assume you’re male, but i am curious as to if you are truly a man.

you’ve yet to act like one.

meet me at the coliseum in rome.

noon.

next monday.

let me see who you are.

lets settle this beef you have with my country

and with freedom.

be there on time, you pathetic eyesore.

don’t pretend that you didn’t get this.

i’m going to be there and i’m going to be waiting for you with just my bare fists.

osama

bin laden.

scum of the desert.

creator of lies.

prove to the world that you’re a man, and meet me.

noon, you dirty fake.

noon.

last week to make me fall in love with her? well now im starting to think that there wasnt anything in my drink after all, but it was the drink itself!

im starting to think that she made me gulp down our old pal Absinthe!

why? because i have had the most vivid dream lately!!!

perhaps you dont know me very well, but i have been able to live quite a carefree life, some might say, because i do not have to worry about the burdomesome dreamstate, which, i theorize, is the reason why i look years and years younger than men half my age.

quick story.

me and ashley were at the Old Spaghetti Factory and our server looks at my afro and says, “yo, bro, my lil brother has hair like yours. how old are you?”

i lied, “24.” then asked him to guess ashley’s age.

“25?”

we laughed. then i asked the dude his age and he said 36! omg did i ever laugh at the whole scene. what was this guy saying? that i looked younger than 20 year old ashley?

sometimes its true. and especially since he knew who was in charge of tipping.

anywho i think the less you dream the less you age. and i dont dream hardly at all. i dont care what anyone says. those studies dont apply to me.

three nights in a row, however, i have been attacked by dreams. one hit me mere seconds as i fell asleep on ashley’s shoulder. she said, wake up youre missing Glitter! and i was able to tell her this long detailed dream that i had just been victimized to.

she said, no way you were asleep for maybe 30 seconds.

so last night i went to sleep around 10:30pm, got way too much sleep, in order to get all those dreams that had obviously accrued from backorder, out of my system.

maybe the rest of humanity needs these images, i dont.

my imagination during waking life does me plenty. plus i live in a dreamworld anyway.

with that said, if those varmits return tonight, i am going to write them down and share them with you.

maybe.

in the meantime for those of you who live in LA, Dylan tickets go on sale this weekend for the Wiltern shows.

p.s. one example of living a dream, is having your favorite rock critic say that she gets bummed when she sees that you havent updated your blog.

had some help from my partner. didnt even scuff my shoes it was so easy and she was being wheeled away to the abulance. her man was still in shock not saying a word.

she said to me and my partner that we were her heroes.

i just smiled and told her that it was all a work of God and she started crying.

i dont say that sort of stuff to people who dont wear crucifixes. im not a dick.

me and him were flying back to the office and i started thinking about heroes and how we dont even really pick our heroes any more. theyre presented to us in a lineup of fakers and the good ones stand out and we want to identify with them but lots of times we’re too young or dumb or freaked out to know any better and sometimes we just want them to live up to that superman rating we give them even though we know deep down that its probably pretty impossible do maintain.

i thought it was an easy deal but my partner kept asking me how many times ive been called a hero out on the field. and i said lots. and he said him too. i said how many times in the office and he said none. i said once.

he said by who?

i said by the captain.

he said, youre shitting me.

i said, really, once i saw his phone was ringing so i picked it up and it was his wife and she was frantically looking for him and i said that he was just getting back from Subway and he’d call her as soon as he got back.

my partner asked, “where was he?”

i said, where do you think he was.

he said, “oh.”

so cap came back a few minutes later and i said, i think your cell phone is off, he said, what makes you think that, i said, because your wife called and i picked up and told her that you were getting us sandwiches.

and the cap turned red and looked at his cell phone, and indeed he had forgotten to turn it back on.

and he said, “sonny, youre my hero.” he sounded like a little kid.

my partner laughed.

i said, yeah but the funny part was when he told his wife he just got back from Togo’s and she said, “i thought you went out to Subway”?

“that dude is such an ass,” my partner said.

“he’s just making due with what he’s got,” i said.

“look at all those pools,” my partner said.

and there were a lot of them down there.

and none were ours.

when i have to show up to work in a suit and tie, because i have to go to court, or because i have to go deep undercover, or because i have to lurk in the shadows, or stake out someone in beverly hills, or drive a fancy car, or drink in the corners of a swanky cafe, or pick up a debutante’s mamma and flirt with the chamber maid, or fly the friendly skies first classe, or eat crepes, or beat the shit out of a badfella in the mens room of santa anita, before i head out to the greater los angeles metropolis i make sure to get my shoes shined, a task lost on the nike generation, but one that i appreciate for it slows us down on our quick step through life.

being black i like to have my shoes polished by a white man but i talk to the black man.

“your girl just won in china,” he says to me. i tip them both $5 and a cuban cigar, before the shine.

try it.

“what girl is that?” i ask.

“anna coppacabana.” he says and flashes a gold incisor.

“ah, yes,” i say, “she won easily 6-1, 6-4 over Mireille Dittmann,” i tell my friends.

the white guy does his magic. he overworks himself, but its all part of the show. there will be no streaks, no marks, no flaws. but i’ll take care of that.

“Dittmann,” my brotha asks me, “German?”

“Australian.” i correct.

“doesn’t sound Australian, but if you say so. he knows these things,” he tells the white guy.

me and the Black shoe shine guy are both sitting on the tall chairs. i have a uniform on, he has a uniform on. both our shoes look great. both our hairdos look great. both our wallets are fat. both our guns are loaded.

“why is she playing in China anyway?” he asks me after whistling a little dixieland riff.

“she’s making a comeback.” i say. “she’ll play anywhere she can right now.”

“Bejing?” he asks. i shake him off.

“Hong Kong?” he asks. i frown.

“Shanghai,” he asks and i smile.

i get up. i dont look at my shoes. these men are pros. im on no power trip. within an hour i will have fucked up the shine in one way or another. might even do it by getting out of the flying car. it’s warm outside in los angeles, again, today.

i think about taking off my bulletproof vest before i head out.

and remember i have that plane ticket that all you all hooked me up with

so i leave it on.

emmanuelle has audio and photographic evidence of the famed baby shower of lil Kobe.

sara educates us on the sadness of bazooms.

and this just in: greg has Video of ken and matt singing the baby tune! ah, technology.