By Jack Jackson

     I thought I'd crap out a review of LotR: RotK. [Due to the long lines, Jack has not actually seen the movie yet.--Eds.]

     First off, I gotta tip the feather in my cap to Christopher Lee.  His acting as Saruman is totally sweet.  And when Wormtongue throws the palantir from his tower, it was really great how mad Saruman got, and how happy Gandalf was that he has something that would help them win the final battle for Gondor.

     The bad parts first: the movie wasn't long enough.  When I stood up after Wormtongue killed Saruman back at the Shire, the credits began to roll.  I stood up and shushed all the applause and I said, "What?  That's all?  Is that all you get for $9 these days?  Peter Jackson, I hope you add at least three more hours to the DVD."  And then I sat down to a small smattering of applause.

     Also: not enough fighting.  Oscars don't go to pansy movies like this.  I want to see blood for my $9.  Orc blood, that is.

     Lastly: I like movies that end.  The cliffhanger where everyone looks around Mt. Doom for Frodo's finger and then fade to black and cut was just poor movie style.

     Good parts last: Liv Tyler finally porks Aragon while that dude from the Matrix watches through a hole in the wall in his palace at Rivendell.  We were all waiting for this ever since the first movie when she gave him that necklace with the cunny juice on it.

     Best scene: Saruman, Wormtongue, and ET are drinking mead at a great hall in Germany when Grendel and Beowulf come in.  Beowulf orders a hotdog with ketchup, and then ET laughs and says something about "tourists" but he says it real funny like, like George Bush saying "terrorists" and then Saruman punches Beowulf in the nuts.  Grendel orders a raspberry Swiss mocha creme latte with vanilla berry orange menthol compote flavor shot.  Wormtongue informs Grendel that he's fresh out of the vanilla berry orange menthol compote flavor shot syrup, so Grendel has to have the mango star fruit power blast instead.

By Jack Jackson

     Jack Jackson is taking a much needed vacation, so we've turned the typewriter reins over to Billy, aged 8.

     I wonder why McDonald's made their chicken McNuggets with white meat?  Didn't they taste good before?  I think they taste good now, I suppose.  I don't want to eat any more, though.  Mom bought me the 20-piece and now I'm fat.  She says I should only eat McDonald's food because it tastes better.  I want to eat a healthy salad, but she said that's not on the Atkins diet.

     Did you see that party at Neverland?  There was a trampoline!  My mom won't take me to Neverland.  She said that Michael Jackson hasn't done a good song since Beat It.  Maybe she's right.  I wish we had a trampoline.  And maybe some more ketchup.

     My dog had cancer, but then it fell off.  Mom said not to touch it.  I did.  Then I got a wart where I touched it.  Good thing I didn't put my pee pee on it!

     Uncle Jack Jackson is the best.  He brings us crispy dollar bills, unlike mean Aunt Greta.  She only gives us the wrinkly dollar bills.  Mom says they spend just as good as crispy ones, especially at McDonald's.  I just like the smell.  I wish I could fart and have it smell like crispy dollar bills.

By Jack Jackson

     Phil Spector's ex-wife, Ronnie Spector Greenfield, was surprised to hear he had been accused of murder.  "I had never seen him violent like that, with a gun or anything," she said.  Well, Ronnie, Go Take a Nap!  Did you ever stop to think that the last person that did see him violent like that with a gun or something didn't exactly live to tell about it.  Or put another way, do you think that if you had seen him violent like that, with a gun or something, you'd be flappin' your gums still?  Or let's try to put it this way: when Phil does get violent like that, with a gun or something, there's a good chance, if you're around to see it, that you probably won't survive, because he's probably going to shoot you.

     Let's try to paraphrase that last sentence.  Phil Spector, when he does get violent, with a gun or something, likely shoots people with it, and they don't live to tell about what they saw.

     Britney Spears spoke again this week.  She ruined millions of orgasms by denying any lesbian vibe between herself and Madonna when they kissed.  Britney, Go Take a Nap!  Of course there was a lesbian vibe.  That's what you get when two women kiss onstage.  Recap: one woman kissing another woman onstage=lesbian vibe.  She also went on to say that she'd like to win an Oscar someday.  She and I have a lot in common, it seems.  She didn't wear clothes at home when she was 13, and now she wants an Oscar.  Next thing you know, she'll say she's into human ponies, too.

     I'll have to admit that Crossroads was a fine, fine film, and the fact that I was drinking Fighting Cock in the theater and singing along did not distort my objectivity.

     Neil Simon fired Mary Tyler Moore because she wouldn't learn her lines.  Mary, Go Take a Nap!  That's what they pay you fancy-pants actors the big bucks for.  Actors are supposed to learn their lines, arrive in limousines, become governor of California, then President of the United States of America.  That's what's supposed to happen.  So learn your lines!

     Aaron Carter's mom took $100K from his bank account and didn't tell him!  Aaron's mom, Go Take a Nap!  As a mother of a teen celebrity, you're supposed to take ALL of the money.  Get it right next time.

By Jack Jackson

     There are some real dildoes [should read "dildos"--Ed.] vying to purchase an album signed by Mark Chapman, the famous Beatle-killer and killer of John Lennon.  The album, Double Fantasy, was used as evidence during the investigation of the murder.  What would you pay for such a piece of "history"?  I would pay fair market value for whatever used tapes are going for these days.  But not some people.  There are bids for over $500,000.  Whoever is bidding on this album, Go Take a Nap!  Do you have any idea how many Grilled Stuft Burritos you can get for $half-million?  You could feed the entire population of Tuvalu on Grilled Stuft Burritos for over 10 days!  (Assuming that the entire population of Tuvalu didn't mind eating three Grilled Stuft Burritos each day.)  Or, you could donate to a charity of your choice, although it would be really hard to shove all those Grilled Stuft Burritos down that metal slot in the Salvation Army buckets.

     Hate halftime of the Super Bowl?  Love paying money to see women running around in underwear?  Much like peanut butter meeting Dracula for the first time, Dodge has decided to create a pay-per-view lingerie bowl to keep your ass full of beer and chili cheese farts squarely planted on your plastic inflatable furniture.  The cost?  $19.95.  Dodge, Go Take a Nap!  If I'm going to blow $20 on pornography, I'm going to buy something that doesn't involve your shitball vehicles.  And I don't want to get all fired up at halftime in mixed company, if you know what I mean.  "Sure, Jack, sure.  We all really believe you need to go take a crap!"  That's what they'll say when you finally peel your can off the vinyl.  That, and, "Get me another beer."

     And since when did we start paying to watch ads?  Was it about the same time we started to pay to be ads (cf. Coke T-shirts and WB gear)?

     Keith Richards is pissed off at Mick Jagger for agreeing to accept knighthood from the QE2.  Keith, Go Take a Nap!  When one of your friends gets made, it's like you got made, too!  Think about Paul McCartney when he got all beknighted.  It was as if all the Beatles became nobles.  And it certainly made the price of Double Fantasy signed by Mark Chapman increase.  Or think of Elton John, who was queened.  It was as if the Tiny Dancer herself had been queened, too.  Keith, you may just have to make me change the title of this column from Go Take a Nap! to Stop Being Such a Wet Fart!  [Wet farts are a mixed metaphor for wet blankets and moist farts.--Eds.]

     And in the shocker [two in the pink, one in the stink--Eds.] of this new millennium, Ozzy Osbourne revealed that he was "wiped out" on prescription medicines during the filming of the hit unreality MTV show, The Osbournes.  Also making the headlines this week: Michael Jackson molests underage boys, Liberace was light in the loafers, and Richard Dawson was drunk during Match Game 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78 and Family Feud.

By Jack Jackson

     It was another slow week for celebrity tomfoolery, provided that you're ignoring Michael Jackson (and I am ignoring all Jacko news).  Thus, apologies in advance for a somewhat dry GTaN!

     Nielsen Media Research defended its media research that had been attacked by the major networks because it reflected an 8% decline in male viewership, ages 18-24.  Networks claim Nielsen isn't accurately surveying the young male audience, and Nielsen blames the loss of viewership on DVDs and videogames.  Broadcast networks, Go Take a Nap!  The male 18-24 age range isn't watching your crappy TV anymore because it sucks a big fatty, dude [frat boy in Abercrombie and Fitch baseball hat high-fives frat boy in Abercrombie and Fitch baseball hat]!  I can speak on behalf of the 18-24 male audience as a former 18-24 male, and I say Touched By an Angel and Cold Case don't keep us glued to the boob tube in the same way Ryan's Hope and Hotel used to.  And besides, we're all busy studying the plight of the third world nations, trying to figure out how to solve the problem of poverty, hunger, and strife.

     Sissel and Robert, 20 and 21, respectively, conceived a child on the Danish Big Brother this sometime recently.  The pregnancy was announced this week, no doubt to increase male viewership, ages 18-24.  Unfortunately for males 18-24, Sissel was booted out of the house, so they won't get to watch her tummy grow with child.  I propose a webcam, pointed at her navel.

     And for those of you who were on the edge of your seats waiting for Hollywood to dish up a movie-length version of Bewitched, you're prayers have been answered.  Will Ferrell will play Darrin, with Nicole Kidman likely as Samantha.  If there is a god, JoAnn Worley will play Esmeralda.

By Jack Jackson

     I would be remiss, of course, to neglect to write about Michael Jackson's recent arrest for child molestation.  But I must tell you this: I don't care if he did it or not.  American Going Public, Go Take a Nap!  What would your parents think if they knew you cared more about a pop star's penis than the state of world hunger, poverty, and human rights violations that don't get reported on because you want to know more about Neverland and the sordid details of an insane man with boyish desires?  Maybe try this for front page news, instead: country A conquers country B in three weeks, takes their natural resources, and tells them it was for their own good.  Or this: we all eat like pigs and we're all fat, unhealthy slobs who watch too much TV?  Or this one: Michael Jackson is a pedophile.  Which one do you think is worthy of the front page?

      Jared Fogle (a.k.a. The Subway Guy) is now a household name.  Good.  Nice to know I can replace Paul Hogan with a different name to drop at the water cooler with that guy that shakes and smokes cigarettes all day.

     Britney Spears finally got her star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame this week, proving once again that you only need to be famous to earn the honor.  I imagine a Hollywood Walk of Talent would be a very short stretch of sidewalk.  Who would get to be on that sidewalk?  Hal Linden, Tony Randall, Gene Rayburn, and Abe Vigoda.  In between: Charo, Twiggy, Ruth Buzzi, and Fannie Flagg.

(Actual Size)

     And we finally now know WTF is wrong with Jerry Lewis.  He was taking steroids to solve a lung problem and the steroids put some pounds on him, not the bulk-up-roid-rage-pro-wrestler pounds, but the...well, you can see for yourself what kind of pounds it put on him.  I gotta think you do a balancing test in your head, you know.  Doctor tells you you're going to die from a lung problem, or you end up taking steroids and gaining some weight.  Eh.

By Jack Jackson

     Britney Spears says she liked to run around her house naked when she was 13.  Oddly enough, me too.  Too bad we never ran into each other.  But Britney, it's time to either finally sign that porn contract or Go Take a Nap!  You're songs suck, seeing you cry on national television is lame, and I don't think you'll be furthering world peace by supporting our president anytime soon.  Your first, best reason of living is to give men something to think about when doing the Hot Karl on the crapper in the morning.

     Tony Danza will get his second lease on 15 minutes of fame as he prepares to be a daytime talk show host aiming at female audiences, sources at Disney's Buena Vista subsidiary announced.  Danza claimed his past eight years touring the country in a musical review has been preparing him for the role as daytime host.  Tony, Go Take a Nap!  First of all, there's no "music" in "musical reviews".  Second, I want to see more monkey movies with you, Danny DeVito, and, of course, monkeys.  And Third, if there is a female audience out there that would watch your show, I pity them.  But then again, I pity anyone who watches daytime television, excepting The Price is Right, of course.

     Christopher Lee's scenes in the final Lord of the Rings disaster movie have been cut and will not be seen by audiences.  Funny, really.  I thought I saw Saruman in the first two movies.  I guess he just left the planet and forgot there was a huge battle between good and evil that he was supposed to be a big part of.  Peter Jackson, Go Take a Nap!  Christopher Lee is a bad ass septuagenarian and he's going to use that force lightning on your ass if you cut him out of any more movies.  And here's something else that better Go Take a Nap sometime soon: movies that don't have endings, and then sequels that don't, either.  Instead of spending $9 on one shitty movie, the American Going Public is now spending $27 on shitty movies that don't end.  But those plastic goblets were totally sweet, that had the lights in the bottom of them.

     And everyone's favorite Niagara Falls plummeter, Kirk Jones, has achieved his boyhood dreams and has joined the circus.  No doubt he joined by jumping onto a boxcar as it was racing through his neighborhood.  Kirk, Go Take a Nap!  Everyone knows that when you go over Niagara Falls, you're supposed to have a big oak barrel strapped on your body with suspenders.  And you need to warn the media so we can get about 40 camera angles on that shit.

By Jack Jackson

     Tennis star Andy Roddick will star in his own reality show called "The Tour".  I used to tell TV producers to Go Take a Nap! whenever a new reality show was announced.  I now forgive them.  It is the American Going Public who needs to Go Take a Nap!  These shows are only produced because you all watch them.  Reality shows are little more than amateur pornography, filling your voyeuristic needs, and here's a little secret: they're all edited down and falsified for maximum sluttiness.

     Andras Simonyi, the Hungarian ambassador to the U.S., claims that rock music brought down Communism in Hungary.  Just think of what rock is doing for the war on terrorism!

     And poor Prince Charles is under attack for being bisexual.  London media, Go Take a Nap!  First of all, if the crown prince needs to get his familial rocks [jewels] off, what's it matter if it's in his wife or in a butler?  And second of all, who in their right mind would let butt-ugly Prince Charles get within a caber toss of his peepee?  Either the allegations aren't true, or they are.  Either way, it's time for England to quit being that weird other side of Mr. Roger's Neighborhood that the cling-clang trolley visits, eliminate the monarchy, and join the sensible nations in the 21st Century.

By Jack Jackson

     Not much happened in the world of celebrity this week, so here's some updates on what ET's been up to lately.

     ET visited David Blaine and Roy of Siegfried and Roy in their respective and collective hospitals this week.  ET did some magic tricks for the ailing "magicians" and brought along some care packages which a source close to the care packages claimed were "heavy on the Reese's Pieces."  ET performed his street magic of levitating a slight bit off the ground for David Blaine, and then did something with his lit finger to Roy that will make it unnecessary to reattach the quarter skull back.  Doctors now plan to split the eBay profits of the original quarter skull inside Roy's abdomen.  When asked where he was headed next, ET let out a wry and characteristic smile, lifted his head up and extended his neck, and said in a Captain James T. Kirk sort of way, "Home."

      The new movie, Kill Bill: Volume One already has a director's cut in the works for the two-disc DVD release.  Notable bonus scenes will include Uma Thurman visiting ET in his Malibu home, playing poker with Johnny Carson and David Letterman and Tony Randall, and ET gives Uma his ceremonial Japanese kimono.  When Uma thanks ET, ET lets out a wry and characteristic smile, lifts his head up and extends his neck, and says in a Captain James T. Kirk sort of way, "Domo."  Secondary audio tracks will include a Mystery-Science-Theater-3000-style send-up of the movie by none other than ET himself.  Word has it this is funny as shit, because you can hear ET eating Corn Nuts the whole time.

     The Indiana Jones Trilogy DVD box set also has some ET bonus scenes, the best of which comes from Temple of Doom.  Most of Short Round's dialogue and stunts were done by ET in a green suit that would later have Jonathan Ke Quan chroma-keyed over the top.  Notably funny is when ET and Harrison Ford walk to that chamber with the spikes and the falling ceiling, and ET says to Harrison, with a wry smile, "Feel like I step on Reese's Pieces."  And then Harrison whips ET super hard and ET runs, giggling, with his hands on his butt, but he realizes he can fly, so he just flies above Harrison but that doesn't stop him because the whip is long enough to reach ET still, and ET gets his ass whipped about ten times, and then on the eleventh, a cake comes out with the crew and sparklers are on it, and they sing Happy Birthday to ET and Burt Reynolds and Dom DeLuise show up to cut the cake and make more outtakes.

     The best bonus scene, of course, is when ET hides the Shankara Stones and Bill Clinton shows up and plays Yakety Sax while Arsenio Hall makes a long-distance call using a pay phone.

By Jack Jackson

     Pat O'Brien of Access Hollywood is bandying about running for governor of South Dakota.  Great, Arnie, see what you've started?  Let's only elect celebrity governors from now on.  Imagine what it would be like at the governor's convention if everyone were famous!  It'd be a real who's-who of who's who's.  Pat, Go Take a Nap!  You belong on Access Hollywood interviewing the celebrities, not leading South Dakota into the new millennium.  Er, come to think of it, it'd be pretty cool to have a celebrity governor in South Dakota, wouldn't it?  Future races I'd like to see: Oprah v. Springer for Illinois (was Ebert v. Siskel until Siskel died); Nolte v. Carson for Nebraska; Woody Allen v. Jerry Seinfeld (New York); Wayne Newton v. Roy (Nevada).

     Mel Gibson has finally found a distributor for "The Passion of Christ", independent Newmark Films.  Mel's struggles really make you wonder just how many movies about crucifying Christ there are floating around out there without a distributor.  I'm guessing at least one more.  But Mel, you should Go Take a Nap!  Before you consider making any Christ movie again, you better make sure you have a distributor lined up, and you better make sure you change the ending so the Romans end up looking bad.

     Roger Moore went to Cambodia this week to encourage greater usage of iodized salt.  What Cambodian authorities don't realize is that he left with microfilm of Cambodia's secret weapon plans for the Weather Dominator from Cobra Command.

     And look out American-going Public!  A new cable channel is coming your way, called the Gaming Television Network [gaming=gambling--Eds.].  I wonder who could possibly be responsible for the venture capital of this bold, new endeavor to encourage gambling in the world [gambling=gaming--Eds. (man in black suit gave us money)].  Could it be owners of casinos in Las Vegas?  Las Vegas, Go Take a Nap!  How in the hell did you become a family vacation spot?

By Jack Jackson

     When someone famous dies, it is Hollywood's job to fill their shoes as profitably as possible.  Peter Sellers died, and his shoes were "filled" by Roberto Benigni (the Italian version of Yakov Smirnoff).  And since that didn't work out, it's Steve Martin's turn, allegedly, to play that lovable bumbling French detective, Inspector Clousseau.  Steve Martin, Go Take a Nap!  You haven't been funny in decades (been hanging out with Robin Williams too long, not doing cocaine?), so why do you think you can revive the Pink Panther series?  Moreover, since Henry Mancini is dead, are they going to have Randy Newman fill in and rewrite the theme song?  It would all be better if the respectable thing was done, which would be to have the venerable Hal Linden do the job.

     Clint Eastwood wished Arnold Schwarzenneger good luck this week.  If budgetary concerns and the quality of education are anything like predatory aliens or evil robots, I don't think Arnie is going to need any of our support.  In fact, I'd wish Arnie bad luck.  He seems to pinch off his best one-liners (bons mots) when the chips are down.

     Bible-thumping Mexicans prayed for the transformation of Marilyn Manson in Monterrey, Mexico.  They prayed for his soul and hoped he would know God.  So, is being a shock schlock rocker what it takes to get some prayers for you these days?  Bible-thumping Mexicans, Go Take a Nap!  Whatever happened to praying for getting into a car accident?  Or playing on a football team?  Or straddling a toilet puking pure bile?

     Pamela Anderson, Paul McCartney, Russell Simmons, and Kweisi Mfume all want you to stop eating the chicken at KFC because they drug the chickens to become weak under their own weight and they boil the chickens alive to get the feathers off more quickly.  C'mon Pam, Paul, Russell, and Kweisi, Go Take a Nap!  Everyone knows that the reason Kentucky Fried Chicken had to change its name to KFC is because the FDA made them since there's not any actual chicken in their fried chicken.  And here's another little secret: there _is_, however, some of the Colonel in the Colonel Sanders recipe.

      In order to relieve pressure on Roy of Siegfried and Roy's skull, doctors simply removed a fourth of it.  But don't worry, folks, he's just like me.  Born with it, keep it, is what I always say.  So, the doctors put the 1/4 skull into Roy's abdomen for safe keeping until they can glue that melon back together again for when the swelling goes down.  Doctors, Go Take a Nap!  Just because there's swelling doesn't mean you throw out a quarter of the baby with the bathwater!  I mean, how would you solve the problem of a really prolonged erection?

     Suzanne Pleshette and James Garner will fill the shoes of John Ritter as grandparents of the teenage daughters that you can't date unless you follow eight simple rules.  This goes to prove my old theory that one Ritter is worth a Pleshette and a Garner.  Do you think if Pleshette and Garner die, they'll be replaced by two sets of great-grandparent who will dish out the justice according to the eight simple rules?  You know I vote Hal Linden, Gene Rayburn, Ms. Youree Harris, and Twiggy.

     David Blaine's plastic box stint stunt is finally over, and now he's in the hospital because the walls of his heart have thinned.  Why?  Not because of all the sadness in the world, but because of lack of potassium.  I guess he should've hid a banana in his tailpipe.

By Jack Jackson

     I can't say that anything unusual is happening in London right now, in regards to David Blaine.  I do know that he is most likely craving a White Castle Crave Case right now.  And I would like the White Castle in my neighborhood to Go Take a Nap!  Your shitball burgers are 46¢ a piece, so don't advertise the 10-bag as some sort of special at $4.60!  And I'll be damned if that Crave Case of 20 at $9.20 is a bargain.  Let me see.  I give you $9.20 of my hard-earned money, and what do I get?  I get the shits, a stomach ache, and coronary heart disease.

     Rush Limbaugh admitted he is addicted to pain killers.  Well, if he's right about his political influence, I'd expect to see Bible-thumpers, booger-mustachioed conservatives, and even Bill O'Reilly himself take up the habit, too.  Oh wait, I guess they're all too busy sending their sub-par, coke-addict children through Yale who will some day rule the world.

     Steve Wynn, multimillionaire freak who owns the Mirage in Las Vegas [Lost Wages--Ed. [Ed does not agree that it is always Lost Wages-Ed #2]], says Montecore (Italian for "bites-Roy-in-the-neck-core") was just trying to help Roy off the stage.  Siegfried is trying to pawn off this version of the story, too.  Why?  There was, of course, a woman with a big hairdo in the seats.  Goddamn!  Steve, you are a genius!  That explains why there are no Roys in Africa to be found where there are women with big hairdos.  Can I get a big, gigantic, tiger-sized Go Take a Nap!?!?!  Roy was attacked, nearly killed, by a tiger.  And everyone involved is making excuses.  Can I get a little reality check here?  Tiger attacks lame magician.  No further explanation needed.  Tigers, by their very nature, seek out and destroy lame magicians for sport.  End of story.  Stop making excuses.

By Jack Jackson

     Courtney Love has overdosed.  And this made national news.  That would be like if Frank Sinatra got drunk on whiskey and it made front page news.  Well, it would be slightly different since Frank is dead, and it would probably really be national news if his corpse was drinking Bourbon.  But Courtney, Go Take a Nap!  They caught you freaked out trying to break into someone's home.  We all know the rules of doing drugs: know your dealer; only take what you can handle; and have a sober friend around to keep a lookout.  I'm guessing Courtney violated all three of these precious rules.

     Roy of Siegfried and Roy was mauled by his own tiger and dragged off stage by the neck, on his 59th birthday.  That'll teach you to overcharge for your lame magic show, Roy.  He claims this incident has nothing to do with the tiger.  Roy of Siegfried and Roy, Go Take a Nap!  It has everything to do with the tiger.  Without the tiger, you'd still have two intact carotid arteries and one complete neck.  I know the show won't be the same without the tigers, but David Blaine does magic without tigers, doesn't he [Hanging in a box is not magic.--Eds.]?

      Rush Limbaugh's deafness last year is no longer so mysterious.  He was popping OxyContin, Hydrocodone, and Lorcet like a depressed rock star.  Police have arrested his dealers, so he'll just have to do the respectable thing, and find a new dealer so he can take away the pain of having to quit ESPN after making nearly racist statements about black quarterbacks and the media.  Rush, Go Take a Nap!  If you think anyone still listens to you, you're right.  You're way right.  You're so right, that you deserve some more painkillers.

     And from our London newsdesk: Enya is rumoured to have a secret fiancee, supposedly a man named Peter Richardt.  C'mon Enya, fess up!  Keeping fiancees secret should Go Take a Nap!  How are you going to get all your wedding registry gifts from Target and Old Navy if you don't tell anyone you're engaged?

By Jack Jackson

     Movie stars [we aren't sure which movie stars he's referring to--Ed.] have started fancying a Russian drug developed by the KGB, called RU-21 which allows movie stars to get totally trashed and not feel the effects of a hangover the next day.  Proper dosage=one pill per two drinks.  Movie stars, Go Take a Nap™!  We drink, we get trashed, we deal with the effects.  If those pounding headaches, nights spent in bathrooms, and barfings of pure bile weren't there to remind us the next day of just how stupid we were that previous night, we'd all become total assholes all the time.  And we can't have that, now can we?

     David Blaine's blessed detractors are at it again.  A "smartly dressed man" fired pink paint balloons at his box, nailing one side of it.  Witnesses say David stood up and was afraid, not knowing what happened.  David, Go Take a Nap!  You know what happened.  A smartly dressed man hit your damn box with some pink paint.  Maybe the pink paint should be your first clue.  Now get back to bed, hippie!  Oh, and don't even think about trying this stunt again, because you know Gallagher will be on the way.

     Stevie Nicks has called the kiss between Madonna and Britney the most obnoxious television moment ever.  If by "most obnoxious", she means "the one event causing more sperm to be shot into toilets than ever before," she's right.  [We think sinks and toilets--Eds.]

     Personal note: I am concerned that I haven't seen Mayor McCheese lately.  See http://rintintin.colorado.edu/~grayd/McCheese.html for more information.

By Jack Jackson

     Poor David Blaine, hanging from a crane, in a clear plastic box, over London.  What's worse?  He's being mocked by pub-goers.  I'll tell you what.  If I lived in London, and I had to see that dime-store magician, who uses camera tricks to make himself levitate, on a daily basis flouting his ego on my city, I'd go get drunk and mock him, too!  I'd even bite my thumb at his lame ass.  So, one more time, David, all of the world wants you to Go Take a Nap!  And get off of your high...box...hung by a crane.

     The lead singer of a "shock" band ["shock" bands generally appeal to youths and have lots of make-up on and play loud rock guitar with lots of feedback--Ed.] called Hell on Earth has announced that a terminally ill person will kill themselves onstage on October 4th in St. Petersburg.  A city councildude has expressed concern that the band will be assisting suicide and that, my friends, is a second-degree felony.  Councildude, Go Take a Nap!  Everyone knows that the show must go on.  Would we have pasties if we adhered to the letter of the law?  Would we have blue comedy onstage?  Would Ozzy Osbourne be allowed to bite the heads off of bats?  I think not.  The entertainment of the American-going Public must be preserved by the laissez-faire attitudes of local law enforcement officials.  And maybe, someday soon, we can have genuine gladiator games return.

     This just in: Paul McCartney was caught in a fracas near David Blaine's clear plastic box in London.  Seems he didn't want his photograph taken near the box.  No shit, Paul.  I wouldn't want to be associated with that loser, either.  And to think someone almost had proof that you were gawking at that lame ass' stunt, is starting to make me lose faith in your songwriting ability.

     Dear Harlene Stein, widow of Ronald Stein, has sued Eminem (sometimes referred to as Marshall Mathers, III, which makes him sound more like the husband of Lovey on Gilligan's Island, IMHO) for copyright infringement.  Ronald wrote a song that Eminem took and rapped over without attribution or any licensing fees.  Now, normally, here is where I would go on my rant about how I hate modern copyright law and how we got along just fine for thousands of years without it and how we don't need it to spur creativity to authors, but here, I'm gonna go ahead and tell Eminem to Go Take a Nap!  How could you steal from a 70-year-old grandmother like that?  Think of her children!  And her grandchildren!  Will no one save our children?!

By Jack Jackson

     To no one's surprise, even themselves, Jennifer Lopez and Ben Affleck have separated.  I guess Matt Damon was getting a little upset that his boyfriend wasn't giving him enough attention anymore.  And J. Lo no doubt is trying to find Puffy right about now.  It's for the best, really.  Matt and Ben make a cute couple, and Puffy and J. Lo are multidimensional stars who only really can understand each other.  So, with little fanfare, I would like to tell J. Lo and Ben Affleck to admit that their marriage plans have Gone and Taken a Nap!  If you think this separation is temporary, you're just plain dumb.

     The entertainment world was hit hard this week with the deaths of Johnny Cash and John Ritter.  Johnny's death wasn't so surprising, since he wanted to follow his dear, departed wife on up to the big ring of fire in the sky.  But John Ritter's death was a surprise.  I guess he had a dissected aorta.  That doesn't sound good.  Dissected aorta, Go Take a Nap!  You ruined one of our favorite sitcom stars of all time.  What's ABC going to do now?  Rename the show "Some Simple Rules About Dating My Dead Ass's Daughters"?

     R. Kelly said that he feels like Osama Bin Laden.  Why?  Because of all the bad press he's getting from his child pornography suit.  I'm not sure if I see the connection.  R. Kelly, Go Take a Nap!  You don't feel like Bin Laden.  You feel like a statutory rapist!

By Jack Jackson

     Britney Spears finally got off her butt and started to say stupid shit again this week.  First, she claimed she'd never kiss another woman again, unless it was Madonna.  (If you recall, Britney kissed Madonna at some MTV awards show and then lots of dudes around the country had to go to the bathroom for awhile.)  C'mon, Britney, Go Take a Nap!  You know you're going to kiss another girl.  In fact, I know you already have.  I keep getting all these emails saying I can buy videotapes of you kissing Anna Kournikova, you know, down there.  So quit your lying, come on out of the closet, and don't forget the to tape your bedroom exploits and put them up on Kazaa!

     Britney didn't stop there.  She went on to say, "Honestly, I think we should just trust our president in every decision that he makes and we should just support that."  Well, Britney, if the president decided that we all should go jump off a cliff, would you support that, too?  What about a presidential executive order requiring you to kiss Anna Kournikova?  Britney, Go Take a Nap [that's twice in one week, for two total naps]!  We invaded Iraq as part of a general plan of conquest.  Do you support conquest?

     Newsflash: the Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA) will crumble under its own idiocy in the next ten years.  Newsflash: musicians everywhere will throw a big-ass party to celebrate the downfall of the RIAA.  Hey, RIAA, did you realize that you're suing your customers?  How about the fact that 60 million Americans use file-sharing software?  Do you really think that you're going to win anything meaningful by suing a 12-year-old girl?  See http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,96797,00.html.  Well, I'll be damned if I ever buy a CD (read "tape") from you bloodsucking bastards again.  RIAA, Go Take a Dirt Nap!  Music existed before you, and does not need you.  In fact, the entirety of music will benefit by your quickest demise.

By Jack Jackson

     Did you hear about David Blaine's new "trick"?  No, he's not going to use camera tricks to make himself levitate.  No, he won't do crazy street card tricks.  This time, he's going to live in a clear box, suspended from a crane, over London's Thames River.  The clincher?  He's going to be up there for 44 days.  Can I get a collective subconscious Go Take a Nap!?!?!  He's calling it a "performance-art piece."  I'm calling it a waste of time, just like all performance art.  Come to think of it, all magic is a waste of time, too, so at least we're being efficient when it comes to wasting time, since we're wasting time in two completely different ways.  And it's also a waste of a perfectly good crane and clear box, which should be filled with crickets and released at a high school pep rally.

     David Letterman is celebrating his 10th year with CBS this week.  This coincides with his 10-year anniversary of the last time he was funny.  Letterman, Go Take a Nap!  Get back to your later time slot.  I want to see Chris Eliot sing the Bananas song like Marlon Brando, Tony Randall every night for no reason, and various items crushed in the 20-ton press again.  And here's some career advice: if you ever get a gig as big as hosting the Oscars again, write some funny jokes.

     Poor Mel Gibson.  He has a movie called Passion but no one will distribute it, because some people don't like how it portrays the Jewish people of the time.  I guess he should've changed the story a little bit.  Maybe have Canadians instead of Jewish people supporting the crucifixion of Christ.  And distributors, Go Take a Nap!  This movie has gotten nothing but positive reviews by those who have actually seen the movie, and you're getting tons of free advertising.  There is an entire slew of movie-going public that will pay money to see this movie.  [On a side note, what do you think about starting a new Catholic high school called Holy Christ?]

     And can the process of turning every television show into 30-DVD box sets please Go Take a Nap!?!?!  I don't understand why people watch reruns in the first place, and now you're telling me that we're paying for them?  [Insert Yiddish-style words here.]

     Anyone have any idea what those people in the blackout did while they had no power for the televisions?

By Jack Jackson

     Due to heat and humidity, the French people are dying like flies.  Maybe instead of drinking wine all day long, they should mix in some fresh, unadulterated, pure, clean water, but not the fluoridated kind that saps your precious bodily fluids.  Fluoridated water needs to Go Take a Nap!

     [Jack Jackson left this note without saying anything more on our desk--Ed.]

By Jack Jackson

     I have to apologize for the scatological nature of my exchange columnist, Dick Danielson.  I also should apologize for the summer of ET jokes.  Nah.  I take that back.  ET jokes are funny.  So are poop, pee-pee, and fart jokes.

     I went and saw Freddy vs. Jason and I must admit, it wasn't too bad of a movie.  [Insert typical line here about how if you're a fan of the genre, you'll likely be a fan of Freddy vs. Jason.]  I was really concerned that Freddy would never be able to kill Jason, firstly because Jason is dead (third time now) and secondly, Jason never sleeps, so you'd think Freddy could never get to him.  Then I started to worry for Jason, since he can't kill Freddy since Freddy can't ever show up in the real world.

     Suffice it to say that the genius screenwriters elegantly disposed of this serious plot hole by not so much as really filling it, but neatly avoiding it completely.  So, you screenwriters can Go Take a Nap!  I want to have a logical explanation as to why Freddy ends up in the [spoiler alert] real world.

     Don't ask me how Jason and Freddy end up carving each other apart like blood-filled, pressurized pinatas.  What was really good was that every time one of them would get cut, blood would spray out, just like those Guinness cans with the nitrogen widget inside.

     Can someone please get the White Stripes to Go Take a Nap!?!?!  They're on every goddamned magazine cover and they're creepy people.

     Well, Adam Ant didn't do anything insane this week, Britney Spears didn't open her piehole wide enough to say anything really stupid, and Ben Affleck, my movie nemesis, admitted that Gigli was a piece of crap.  So I guess I'll just Go Take a Nap!

     Welcome back to school!

By Dick Danielson

     [In order to increase readership during the Internet Sweeps Week, Jack Jackson of Go Take a Nap! fame will be swapping columns with Dick Danielson, author of Go Take a Crap!--ed.]

     I hear that the recall race in California is heating up!  And by heating up, I mean getting interesting!  You've got Arnold from Diff'rent Strokes, a former MLB commissioner, and about 123 other losers who think they can come within two shits of beating Arnold Schwarzenneger.  You 123 losers, Go Take a Crap!  And don't forget to wipe up that stain off the underside of the part of the toilet you sit on.

     Looks like Freddy Kruger and Jason Voorhees will finally end their little spat once and for all by killing each other on the big screen!  What, is Freddy gonna wait until Jason falls asleep, and then scare him to death?  And how is Jason going to get back at someone who only appears in your dreams, since he's one of the undead and likely never sleeps (i.e., if I remember the rich plotlines of the Friday the 13th movies correctly)?  And what I really want to know is, when do Freddy and Jason Go Take a Crap!?!?!  Do you think they poop like other people, or is their poop really scary?

     I want to meet someone who paid to see Gigli, and then I want to tell them that sometimes, you CAN judge a movie by its posters on bus stops.  I also want to tell Ben Affleck to Go Take a Crap!  Oh, wait.  He just took a BIG crap, and it was so big he had to name it: Gigli.

     Are you tired of household makeover shows?  Or dating shows?  Or what about doctor/lawyer/police shows?  Or sitcoms based upon neurotic Italians and Jews?  Well, you're SHIT OUT OF LUCK, mister.

By Jack Jackson

     Because Jack Jackson is on vacation, Billy, aged 8, has taken over this week's column.  Jack Jackson would like you to know that he is doing well and sends his best regards to the grilled chicken he is about to eat.

August 4, 2003--I'm bored and my crayon sharpener is dull.

By Billy

     I don't know why mean uncle Jack makes me do stuff for him.  He's got all kinds of time to do this stuff and he just watches TV news instead of letting me watch Yu-Gi-Oh!  I get mad and sometimes I want to break stuff, but he told me if I do this story right, I can go get a new toy at the store.  So, I guess I'll give it my best shot.

     I heard ET is going to be one of the new Power Rangers!  I have all the zwords and I think ET's zword should be a big long finger with a glowy thing at the end of it!  That would be awesome!  And then maybe Tony Hawk will use it to do something sweet at the next X-games!

     Did you know that Po, the red Teletubby, is gay?  I don't know what gay means.  Jeffy said gay means happy, but what's wrong with being happy?  I think Po was really ET in a costume.  That would explain a lot!

     Mom says I can't play Grand Theft Auto: Vice City because of the adult rating on it.  Timmy's mom let's him play it, and she even bought it for him!  He doesn't kill policemen, and the game doesn't make me want to!  I just like running over the bums in the ambulance!

     Well, I think I typed enough to get that new toy.  I think I'll talk uncle Jack into getting me some ice cream, too.  He says that if this column gets syndicated, we won't ever have to work again!  I don't know what syndicated is, but it sounds like a good idea!

     OK, bye-bye!

By Jack Jackson

     Seems that ET has signed on to play Tobey Maguire in Seabiscuit 2: Break the Wind.  The story involves Seabiscuit winning the triple crown again after being the favorite and then falling from popular favor because he is the favorite.  Over the span of six weeks, Seabiscuit goes from favorite to underdog, then to sentimental favorite, Cinderella story, rags, riches, trials, tribulations, loves, losses, death, tragedy, highs, and lows.  Peter Jackson will direct and there will be six movies in toto, each released every Christmas until 2009.  The final scene will have ET and Seabiscuit flying over the finish line, all the way to the moon, where ET will turn Seabiscuit into Jell-O and put some shredded carrots in it like gramma used to make.

     ET will also be starring as Yoda in the next Terminator movie, T4: What Good is War For?  ET, as Yoda, will teach robots how to use the force, how to properly eat Reese's Pieces, and how to drink tea like a lady.  Once the robots are properly trained, they will then each get to ride on ET's bicycle to the moon, where they will get to try some of the Seabiscuit-flavored Jell-O with shredded carrots.

     And finally, ET will play Bosley in Charlie's Angels 3: They Also Shoot Butterflies and Horses, Sometimes, Right?  No word on how they'll explain that Bosley went from white Bill Murray to Black Bernie Mac to little green ET.

By Jack Jackson

     Would you believe that the year the MLB All-star game is hosted in Chicago is the year I'm spending in San Francisco?  Well, I guess that's OK, because I can watch it on TV just as easily here as there.

     For those of you who missed last night's recipe for ET's Down-home family style homestyle tahini chipotle chutney with braised lamb cakes and fresh Meyer lemon compote, here's the recipe as best as I could transcribe:

ET's Down-home family style homestyle tahini chipotle chutney with braised lamb cakes and fresh Meyer lemon compote (serves 4)

Ingredients
4 bags of Reese's Pieces
4 packages of the 2-pack Reese's Peanut Butter Cups (8 PBCs total)
4 16 oz. cans of Old Style (not Pabst, since ET is not a slacker hipster)
3 Meyer lemons
tahini, chipotle chutney, and braised lamb to taste

First, open up all the Reese's candies and mash them all together with a marble mortar and pestle.  The mortar and pestle must be marble, preferably serpentine or travertine, but don't go tearing down Roman architecture to get some.  Tear down Greek architecture.  Leave two or three Reese's Pieces intact for the "starters."  When the candies are thorougly mashed together, slightly pasty, use a wooden spoon to scoop out the chocolate concoction and eat the three starters.  Eat the rest of the candy off of the wooden spoon.

Wash the candy down with the four cans of Old Style tall boys while you stare fiercely at your three dinner guests.  Tell them that you like the new Radiohead album and that Seinfeld is on soon.  Hand them each a Meyer lemon and tell them to go fuck themselves.

Eat the tahini, chipotle, and braised lamb with your fingers, occasionally stopping to fart, grunt, and call home.

By Jack Jackson

     I've been having such a good time here in Mill Valley that I damn-near forgot to write this week's Go Take a Nap!  In fact, I'm getting ready to Go Take a Nap!  So maybe this'll be one of those lesser weekly updates.

     ET was seen dating Demi Moore, Roger Moore, Dudley Moore, and Ashton Kutcher at the all same time at a hip bar in New York City.  No word yet on the details, but inside scoop has it that ET's new love pentagle is heating up faster than a witch's tit on a grill in the hot-hot summer of 2003!  No word yet on how Bruce Willis is handling the news, but you can bet old Bruno is doing OK since he's rich and can probably pay for a prostitute now and then.

     In a move that will likely prove to be the death knell of the Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA), ET has announced that he will personally terrorize file-sharing teenagers by knocking on their windows at night and pretending to be a vampire from Salem's Lot.  Then, if the teenagers have any loose teeth, ET will take them using his brand new Leatherman tool he got for Christmas from his estranged-but-wealthy uncle and insert false dentures made of Reese's pieces in the stead of the teeth.

     Point of discussion: ET vs. Yoda?

     ESPN has just announced that Tiger Woods and ET have signed an exclusive contract to do funny commercials for SportsCenter.  Some of the funny plots include: ET as Tiger's caddie, Tiger flying on a bicycle with ET to get to the next tee box, ET flying a video camera with a golf ball struck by Tiger with an in-flight commentary of Tiger's drives (ET will say "Get in the Hole!" really loudly, but slowly, in his raspy and stilted English).

     And finally, Oscar the Grouch is retiring, to be replaced by none other than ET.  ET agreed to replace Oscar only after extensive bargaining and a contractual obligation of the Childrens' Workshop to provide ET with lime Jell-O and shredded carrots, hotel rooms with waterbeds, and a new garbage can to live in.  Inside sources believe Oscar will spend his golden years on Marlon Brando's island where he, Brando, and Val Kilmer will work on a new movie called "Marlon Brando's Island Meets Oscar the Grouch".

By Jack Jackson

     A few friends, whose opinions I respect, have expressed concern that this whole "ET" thing has gotten a little out of hand lately.  I assure my fans and detractors that the "ET" thing is temporary.  How temporary, I don't know.  But it will end sometime soon.

     I got an advance on all the new TV shows that will be airing this fall and I thought you might like to know a little bit about them.

     ALF (ABC): ABC bought the rights to ALF from NBC and since ALF was too busy doing long-distance commercials, they convinced ET to take his place in this re-invention of the old theme of "alien-cum-pet-cum-family-friend-cum-problem-solver-lives-with-nuclear-family."  I don't want to be the one pumping the fetal stem cells into the rumor mill, but I heard that ET's salary was in the low-to-high seven figures.  Luckily for ABC, ET has lost a little weight since his Reese's Pieces binge.  ET apparently went on the Atkins diet and has lost enough weight to achieve his original Spielberg form.  It's only beef jerky and Jarlsberg for ET now.

     Criminal Law Doctor Hospital, He Wrote (CBS): ET plays a doctor, lawyer, medical examiner, and murder-mystery novelist in this pastiche of amalgamated tropes that is sure to be a hit with the thirtysomething audience that works 8-5, comes home, orders a pizza, and sits in front of a TV on their couch all night until they fall asleep and/or have sex, and wake up to do it all over again.  The twist?  The show will be a three-hour drama and will air every weeknight.  Guest stars include Farrah Fawcett, Gavin McLeod, Abe Vigoda, Tony Randall, and Dick van Dike.

     I'm Not Dead, but Someone Is, so Let's Talk About It (HBO and Showtime): Oddly enough, HBO and Showtime created the same series at exactly the same time.  The solution?  They're both producing and distributing the show at exactly the same time.  The plot?  ET plays Death, but Death is tired and wants to kill a bunch of people more efficiently than in times past.  He develops a system and sells it on late-night TV to would-be funeral-home-parlor owners and also pimps a different system on the side about making money via classified ads.  The focus on killing quickly shifts as ET becomes something of an overnight sensation and eventually will land his own reality show (planned for season two), blurring the concept of meta-TV with meta-meta-TV until the line becomes so fuzzy that not even people who watch a lot of TV understand that what they're watching isn't even TV it all.

     An Angel Touched Me (ABC): Using ET's innate ability to make inanimate objects fly, ABC decided to create a conflation of two unique ideas: aliens and angels.  Over the course of an hour, you will follow the trials and tribulations of people who have been down on their luck (or have a deadly disease).  Then, like deus ex machina (except since ET can fly on his own, there's no machina) ET flies on down, touches the troubled person, and a million dollars cash appears in untraceable and non-sequential bills.  The troubled person, troubled no more, turns to the camera, and says, "An angel touched me."  Freeze frame, fade to black, music swells, roll credits, and CUT!

By Jack Jackson

     So, the ET thing is done with.  It's over.  The DVD has been exhausted and I'm done making any references to it.

     But, it appears that Ashton Kutcher has created a new show on MTV called "Punk'd" which I had to watch because my roommate is ridding himself of cable TV, and I figured the only thing I should do is to watch MTV the last day we had it.

     I had no idea that dear ole Ashton could be the modern-day Allen Funt, but apparently all you need to do is to turn on the black-and-white filter and put on a farmer's hat and grow a little scruff and tell some dudes to act like asses with some cameras and then BLAMMO, you've got a hit TV show.

     So, what is the magical formula?  Why is what Ashton does good TV?

     Because it goes like this: Ashton explains (in B&W and with a PBR and a farmer's bill cap) that (did I put in scruff?) that he is got some dudes and they will embarrass some other dudes and if you're lucky, it will be wicked underground totally ass sweet.  And if you're super lucky, the wicked underground totally ass sweetness will involve Justin Timberlake or Tobey Maguire.

     But here's what happened the episode I watched: Ashton is sufficiently scruffed, with farmer hat and with shitty bear(d) and he convinces a jewelry store to invite ET to an opening of their new diamonique talismans.  The talismans, supposedly, are magical and they will let you know the plot of the next Harry Potter movie without having to read it.  The value in these talismans speaks for itself.

     Do you understand?  Do you know why you watch this TV?  It's funny, right?  I mean, if I had a camera on you and I convinced you that rubbing olive oil onto your body while showering was going to make you a Hollywood starlet, you'd do it, right?

     Or would you have to have a little more convincing, such as American Idol or American Juniors provides?

By Jack Jackson

     OK, so I think I've exhausted the ET Easter Eggs on the new special edition of the ET DVD.  But I did find some fan fiction on the Internet about some previous adventures ET had before he landed on Earth and met Eliot.  So, I thought it would be appropriate to reissue the fan fiction right here, right now.

"ET: The Extra Terrestrial: Fan Fiction Two" by Dick Danielson

     It was a dark and stormy night and all the minions of Sast Mit IV were prowling on the loose for an extra side of mustard for their all beef hot dogs.  Sast Mit IV was menacingly foraging for a side of relish to top off his concoction, which he was calling a Tofutti Dog.  There was no meat in his hot dog, but there was meat in his minions' hot dogs.  Then ET landed and said to them that it was bad to eat tofu because it kills the little soybeans before they can self actualize themselves and that life begins at conception because you can actually hear the soybeans' little hearts beat.

     But then one of the minions gave ET one of the all beef hot dogs, and ET said, "What, no ketchup?"  And then all the minions laughed because ketchup is for neophytes.  ET said that it was bad to do research on soybeans fetal stem cells because even if you could inject them into Christopher Reeve's spinal column and make him dance again, it wouldn't be OK because you would have to kill a lot of soybeans in order to do it, and you can't be utilitarian and outcome-based and consequentialist in your philosophy when what matters is that every life is precious, even the little soybeans'.

     To which Sast Mit IV replied, "I don't care if I eat a soybean and deprive it of its life, as long as I've got a good relish to top it off with!"

     The minions laughed heartily and laconically as they munched into their all beef hot dogs while they smiled and revered their fearless leader.  ET was extremely nonplussed and even had his hair unfurled and he dejected himself into a malaise that was perfunctory and blithe.  Then he got all pithy on them: "Well, thanks for the all beef hot dog, B-natches."

   And then he used a turntable and a box kite to call up his mommy and she picked him up, but she had a brown bag lunch with her and she was all upset that ET had spoiled his lunch by eating an all beef hot dog.  "What's in the bag," Sast Mit IV asked, before they left on his mother's ship.

     "Oh," ET's mom said, "It's just a little something I cooked up that I call a Tofutti hamburger."

     The irony and satire and aloofness detached all the minions at once and then they laughed for a long, long time.

THE END?

By Jack Jackson

     So sometimes a little old Yankee know-how and elbow grease really pays off huge dividends.  Would you believe that after several hours of messing with my DVD remote control while screwing around with the ET "Easter Eggs" on the new DVD of ET that I've been writing about so much lately, I found, much like Russian stacking dolls, Easter Eggs within Easter Eggs.

     For example, if you press "1-6-3-0-9" into the remote control during the Easter Egg menu, you are taken into a cute little video game where you try to get ET fat on Reese's Pieces candies.  When he gets fat enough, he explodes onto your screen and then Brad Pitt comes onscreen to investigate with Morgan Freeman.  Brad Pitt doesn't understand what happened, but Morgan Freeman, in his deep and sagely voice, explains that ET has committed one a deadly sin because trying to place product advertisements into movies is really, really tacky.  The bonus round lets you play as a reconstituted ET who darts left and right at the bottom of the screen trying to capture as many heads of Brad Pitt's wife as he can in a cardboard box.  The better you do, the faster the heads fall, and the more often Kevin Spacey's voice says something about Satan and how great he was that he made people believe he didn't exist.

     If you press "8-6-7-5-3-0-9" into the remote, it turns your DVD player into a karaoke machine but the only song you can sing is "Beat It" by Michael Jackson.  It's pretty cool, however, since there's a bouncing ET that points to the lyrics at the appropriate time.  During the instrumental break, ET and Eliot fight over who gets to keep the Atari 2600 game they found on the sidewalk, Cloak and Dagger.  You can control ET with the remote, of course, but Eliot is really hard to beat because he has an awesome super-combo finishing move that ends his career before puberty and we never see him again.

     "9-0-2-1-0" causes a mini version of The Sims to pop up.  It's mini in the sense you can't control anything about ET or his house or his neighborhood.  Instead, you have to watch him date hot chix and cheat on them, and then other people in the neighborhood get all pissed off at him and it all finally ends with a bomb going off in one of the houses, but there's no way to know who survives until the next version of the DVD is released.

     "6-8-5-0-1" allows you to play a football game where ET is the football.  The tighter the spiral you can get on him, the farther he goes.  This, however, doesn't mean shit since the goddamned fucker can fly, anyway.

By Jack Jackson

     It turns out I missed a few "Easter Eggs" on the ET DVD, so I'm going to have to continue last week's review of the bonus "deleted" director's cut scenes.

     Scene 6 deals with ET and his first experience at a gay piano bar.  He orders something in a monotone voice and the bartender can't understand what he wants.  When he speaks up, ET says "Irish car bomb" but it's so loud that the bartender just gives up and serves him four cocksuckers (N.B.: these are called buttery nipples in some, more uncouth, establishments--Ed.).  ET, thoroughly nonplussed by the whole situation, drinks all four of the cocksuckers, even though his friends are standing behind him, patiently waiting for their Irish car bombs.  Needless to say, ET's friends get so angry at the whole display that they decide to shove ET into a dumpster in the alley, but it's OK because inside the dumpster Oscar the Grouch makes a cameo and tells ET that he loves trash, and then ET joins in a duet version of "I Love Trash" accompanied by the moon, who has the voice of Placido Domingo.

     Scene 7 is a continuation of scene 6, and ET and Oscar end up on top of an elephant house in the middle of Paris, and the song continues.  The song, however, morphs into a veritable plethora and montage and medley of various songs about garbage.  The song turns into a strangely yet efficacious romantic duet to the point where during the climax you really feel like it can't climax any higher and you just might puke, but then, on a parade float down the Champs-Elysees is the band, Garbage, itself, singing one of their popular favorites with Beck, The Flaming Lips, John Mayer, and Elvis Costello.  The scene finally ends with the moon exploding and pieces of it destroying what was then known as Abu Dhabi.

     Scene 8, the true masterpiece of the whole ET saga, is when he is trying to find the Ark of the Covenant, but it's not the Covenant between the Jews and Jackie Mason.  It's the real Covenant, the one about how you can't build chain-link fences in your backyard because it will ruin the view of the golf course.  When ET realizes he owns a condo subject to this Covenant, he decides to bury the Covenant in Egypt with a pharaoh and puts a curse on the whole shebang.  Then Ben Affleck shows up a thousand years later and shits backwards onto the burial site and a ghost sandwich appears.  Fade to Black.

     Fade in, Scene 9: ET is stranded on a desert moon of Arrakis, and his heart plug is loose.  Sting shows up and tightens it with a Phillips screwdriver and the ET saves the world by yelling at rocks.

By Jack Jackson

     Nothing happened again this week in the world of celebrity.  But unlike last week, when I reviewed a movie that came out four years ago, I'm going to write a review of a DVD that came out over 20 years ago.

     ET: New DVD review
     By Jack Jackson, CLU

     The movie itself needs no review, if you ask me.  If you haven't seen it, go see it.  If you have seen it, don't go so it.  That's a damnable waste of your time.  But there are some bonus features and cut scenes that are on this new DVD that I want to talk about.  I'm not going to spend any time at all on the original movie itself, because it made me cry when I was a kid, and I think Reese's Pieces suck ass, unless you blend them into a Dairy Queen Blizzard and then add a couple shots of bourbon.

     Extra scenes, you ask?  Extra, indeed.  These deleted scenes were some of the best cinema ever filmed.  Usually, when I see deleted scenes, I agree with whomever cut them that they should've been cut.  But these new ET scenes, man, they would've really made the movie a lot better.

     The first deleted scene was when ET and all of his rock buddies were driving around the country on tour and then ET spontaneously leads them in a stirring rendition of Tiny Dancer by Elton John.  The camera pans around the bus and the best part is when ET pretends to play piano and then he stands up and dances during that middle part of the song where it gets real loud.

     The next scene that should've stayed in the picture was the scene where ET and his dad go hunting for the first time, and ET shoots a couple of birds dead, but the dog won't go retrieve them, so ET has to go get them by himself, but on the way, he discovers a dead body in the corn field and then it turns out that the body is Jimmy Hoffa and then Joe Pesci shows up with a cigar in his mouth and he tells ET sternly, "Whaddayoulookinat?"  And ET returns empty-handed, but he's learned a life lesson with his dad, which is all that mattered, anyway.

     Scene three was my personal favorite, when ET travels to Tijuana and those dudes with the whistles and tequila bottles got ET super drunk and he tries to hit on the President of Mexico's wife, but ET gets thrown in jail instead.  But he and the A-Team figure out how to escape, with the precious roll of microfilm of secret documents to boot.

     Next scene has ET eating dinner with his pet civet and then the civet gives ET SARS and then the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms fires tear gas into his house and it burns down, but ET survives because he has a secret tunnel to his underground base where he raises civets for sport.  The pet civet in he was eating dinner with doesn't make it, though.

     The final scene, which I think would've won the movie an Oscar had it been left in, is when ET gets onto his Big Wheel and does a flyover of Yankee Stadium during the seventh game of the World Series and Derek Jeter hits a homerun so hard and high that it knocks ET off of the Big Wheel, but it's OK because ET has a really big sandwich bag from Subway that he got because he had filled up his card with enough stamps to get a free 6" sandwich with purchase of a 21oz. drink (he likes the new Italian Herbs and Cheese bread) and he uses the bag as a parachute and he lands in the bleachers where he reveals that he caught the homerun ball and Rudy Giuliani gives him a high five to the face because he can't figure out where ETs hands are, but it turns out they're where you'd expect them to be, but Rudy is all embarrassed so he decides to watch the rest of the game from his box seats.

By Jack Jackson

     Every once in awhile a week goes by where celebrities don't do anything worthy of Go Take a Nap!  Yup.  That was this last week.  Yeah, Adam Rich pled no contest to some drug charges, but that's barely worth mentioning.  Well, in times like these, as I've learned from my old journalism days, you run your features, your "evergreen" stories, if you will.  Those stories you've written some time ago when there isn't enough real news to fill up the page, and you've run out of public service fillers for the Juvenile Diabetes Fund.

     So, in a slight departure from the theme of Go Take a Nap!, I'm running a review of a movie that came out a few years ago:

End of Days
By Jack Jackson, FLMI

     Boy oh man oh my, are there some real spoilers in this review! And the first one is: “End of Days” is a suck-ass, tit-clencher of a film. I'm sorry if that spoiled the movie for you, yes I am.

     As you may know, Arnold Schwarzenegger stars in this film as the down-on-his-luck security-guard-type-who-lost-his-wife-and-daughters man, when some of those ski-masked guys from “Death Wish” show up at his apartment one day to kill them all.  These guys kill his wife and daughters, we find out, because he was going to testify against them!  I know the one thing that will keep me from testifying against a bunch of ski-masked guys is when they kill my wife and daughters!  Personally, they could’ve just taken my Beanie Baby collection and I would’ve crumpled like a reed in the wind.

Also in a starring role (yes, this movie had a big enough budget to afford two stars) is Gabriel Byrne, who plays…

Dun-dun-dun…

GONG!!!!

SATAN!

Yes!  I always thought he was a natural for the role, after Bobby DeNiro, Albert Pacino, and that one guy, David Warner, who played the ultimate-evil in “Time Bandits” and also the mean cop guy who wouldn’t admit he wanted to get inside of Leonardo’s pants in the recent travesty, “Titanic”.  Now, normally Satan is a bad person.  But, in this movie, all he wants to do is have sex with hotyoungthing.  Supposedly, according to Rod Steiger, who is really gaining some weight these days, supposedly, if Satan does the nasty with this hotty, from the hour of 11:00pm to midnight EST, she’ll, well, the end of the world will come.  That much I understood.  That was the easy part.

The hard part comes when you realize that Kevin Pollack, you know, that poor Jew who isn’t funny, is cast as the “humorous tension-breaker” of the film, much like Tom Arnold from “True Lies”.  And then I kept thinking…what if Satan wasn’t feeling, you know, randy?  What if he couldn’t get it up from 11:00pm to midnight EST?  And they didn’t really explain what he had to do with her.  Was 3^rd base enough?  Was mere penetration all that he needed to cause the end of the world?  Or did he need to reach a climax, and possibly perform the Bismarck on her, or my favorite, the Cleveland Steamer?

The movie has one high point, and it only lasts about three minutes.  At about halfway through, Arnold and Satan have a word fight in Arnold’s apartment.  Transcript follows:

Arnold: “You are not Satan.”

Satan: “Oh, I’m Satan, alright.”

Arnold: “I have gall stones.”

Satan: “Where’s the hotyoungthing, or I’ll kill you.”

Arnold: “You are nothing!  I will tear you apart.”

One Jack Jackson wasted $4.75 (I used my student I.D., but haven’t been a student for well over a year now, so don’t tell), with one Cal Winston on Thanksgiving day (who paid $6.50).  A dumb dork had broughtened a bag of groceries into the theater, and the sassy 16-year-old usher made him stand up and hand over the goods before the movie would start.  He didn’t even wait a whole minute; he just handed her the bag immediately.

The least you can do at a time like that is wait until the movie is supposed to start, and then as people get antsy, just enjoy the sense of impending doom as they start to complain and look for the bag of groceries.  Fortunately for me, no one saw that I had snuck a flask of whiskey in.  Hehehehehe.

So, the movie wasn’t good, and we wasted too much money on it, and there was no sense of anything bad about to happen if Satan had cum on the hotty’s face.  Quite the opposite: I was hoping they would engage in hot sex, and then maybe the end of the world would come, and then the movie would be interesting.  It kind of made me feel nostalgic.  It has been a very long time, after all, since the last time the world ended.

By Jack Jackson

     I received a very nice and informative letter about Enya this week from Steve in London.  It is currently reproduced at GTAN! letters, so you may click to read about Enya's current shenanigans and foibles.

     Oh, my eyes are bleeding, or is that just the news I heard that Grease 3 is in the works?  Holy shit, do we need more bad karaoke?  Do we need 17-year-old hack thespians yelling and singing any more loudly and gesturally than they already do?  Grease 3, Go Take a Nap!  I'm not doing hand jive and I'm not driving my car along the L.A. drainage ditch for a pink slip.  And if you think John Travolta or Olivia Wayne-Juice-Newton-Elton-John is some sort of box office draw, you better think again.  The only way I'll see another John Travolta movie is if he gets killed while crapping.

     Elton John is going to create a new Broadway version of Anne Rice's The Vampire Lestat.  While I don't currently own a gay-o-meter, I'm going to go ahead and advise you all who do to go ahead and adjust your gay-o-meters so that whatever Elton creates will be deemed as the gayest thing ever.  All else will be valued lower, with the bottom line representing American football athletes gangbanging the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders.  And can this damn spellchecker Go Take a Nap!?!?  Gangbanging is recognized, but gesturally isn't.

     Justin Timberlake has been signed as a sports reporter for Turner Sports.  He'll be on the sidelines for such events as the NBA playoffs, the PGA Championship, NASCAR, MLB, and NCAA football.  While I may not be an expert on sports, I think I can do a slightly better job as reporter than Mr. Timberlake.  I'm just as good-looking, I fucked Britney for several years, and I hold sway over popular teenage opinion.  What sets me apart, however, is my total dedication to impartiality and my doggedness for the truth.

     Ashton Kutcher, who is apparently making a living from pretending to be a stoner on screen but cashing in as a stoner in real life, asserted that the Bush twin daughters are party fiends and have smoked pot from a hooka at a party at his house.  Ashton, Go Take a Nap!  It's not cool to broadcast your friends' habits, especially if you have the same habits.  And if the Bush twins are smoking from a hooka in your house, you better make sure that the pot wasn't grown in Afghanistan, or else you might be held indefinitely in Guantanamo Bay as an enemy combatant.

By Jack Jackson

     Jack Osbourne, in an attempt to prove that, yes, in fact, apples don't fall very far from the trees from which they fall, has gone into rehab for pot and alcohol abuse.  Please don't tell my that Ozzy didn't see this one coming.  Rock star dad who did more drugs than 19th Century Hong Kong, moves to fancy L.A. digs and thrusts instant stardom onto his kids with a single MTV contract so we can watch him shake and swear for our amusement.  Ozzy, Go Take a Nap!  You should've moved to a nice, pastoral setting like the hills of Arkansas, where at least your kids could've had a respectable addiction to crystal meth.  And Go Take a Nap! to pot addiction.  If you're having trouble stopping smoking pot, quit buying it by the pound, quit saying dude all the time, and throw out your Criterion DVD of The Wizard of Oz and the 20-bit re-mastered version of Pink Floyd's Bark at the Moon.

     I'm upset that The Real Cancun only raked in $2.1M this last weekend.  Is it finally true that people are no longer paying movie prices for television quality?  Is this the beginning of a mass consumer revolt against rehashed themes and pointless sequels?  Will we see a flood of innovative, artistic, thought-provoking movies in the next few months?  I hope not.  Because there's nothing quite as valuable to the human psyche as a good rehashing of tits and asses on beaches.

     There's a Baghdad boy band in the works called Unknown to No One.  They've been practicing in their car, and have a website that got the attention of a British promoter who will be visiting them soon to record a demo album.  [No word yet on which one is the gay one.]  Baghdad boy band, Go Take a Nap!  I thought we were supposed to destroy you and all other forms of Weapons of Mass Destruction in our conquest of Iraq.

     And finally, the township of West Warwick, RI is refusing to run an episode of CSI: Miami which is centered around a club fire caused by a DJ's pyrotechnics.  West Warwick, if you remember, is where the Great White concert killed 99 people in similar pyrotechnical fashion.  West Warwick, Go Take a Nap!  If the people don't see this important episode, how will they be able to solve the mystery of who caused the deaths?

By Jack Jackson

     Did you hear about the fun switcheroo the folks at NBC have planned for us?  I don't know if I should tell you, because it might ruin the surprise.  Oh, OK, here it is.  See, Jay Leno and Katie Couric are going to switch jobs for a whole day!  Well, a whole hour is more like it.  Jay will host Today, and Katie will hose the Tonight Show.  That sounds like fun to me.  Maybe it will spawn a whole plethora of daytime/nighttime mirthful mix-ups.  For example, I'd really like to see Ted Koppel on All My Children, and then Susan Lucci can kvetch about world politics.  Or how about David Letterman switching with Bob Barker?  I should be a TV executive!  I've got all the greatest ideas.  (I'm not going to let you know about my real zinger, called Real Cop Rock.)

     Speaking of rock, someone asshole is writing a new rock opera devoted to the life of Evel Knievel.  While anyone who has a jewel-encrusted cane that can dispense bourbon is no doubt a badass deserving of some praise, rock operas need to Go Take a Nap!  They don't fool me.  They're Broadway musicals in disguise, and they're not worth paying whatever they charge.  If I want to see people overact, sing like sissies, and roll their eyes about as the jump and yell onstage, I'll rent Moulin Rouge and see it at home where at least I can scratch my balls and pick my nose.

     Kelly Clarkson, our so-called American Idol, was number one this week on the pop charts.  American consumer, Go Take a Nap!  You fell for the trap that Fox laid for you like a turd falls into a diaper.  Fox made money off of you because of all those commercials, and even charged you money to phone in your vote.  Now you're bending over again and paying $18.98 (list price).  I say boycott the RIAA and download the songs.  Er.  No, don't download the songs.  Don't listen to them.  Take up liking something tasteful instead, like Robert Mitchum's calypso albums.

     Alan Thicke lost five teeth because he was playing hockey without headgear.  [insert lame pun about Growing Pains here]

     And as if the knowledge that Kelly Clarkson was number one on the pop charts last week didn't do enough to make me drink bourbon, J. K. Rowling is now richer than the Queen of England.  How is that even possible?  Doesn't QE2 own England?  Or did the Glorious Revolution end all of that?  And don't even tell me old J. K. has her own stash of crown jewels to bandy about.

By Jack Jackson

     Michael Moore, that loveable fat-fuck liberal, could be a possible guest at the White House Correspondents' Dinner.  How?  Some media outlet might send him as their representative, as has happened in the past.  For example, Ozzy Osbourne showed up last year for Fox with Greta van Susternenenen.  A few years ago, Paula Jones showed up at a Bill Clinton shindig.  I'd like to tell Michael Moore to Go Take a Nap!  Yeah, your Bowling for Bullets was a good and thought-provoking movie, but you really need to tone your holier-than-thou bullshit down.  Guns made this country great, and look what they did for Iraq.  Just think of what guns can do for the universe, if we'd just give them the chance.

     Antron Singleton, a rapper better known as Big Lurch is involved in a wrongful death suit along with Death Row Records and Stress Free Records.  Why, you ask?  Turns out he killed his female roommie and ate her lung.  Female roommie's mom says the labels gave him drugs and encouraged him to commit the murder to give him a more gangsta image.  Roommie's mom, Go Take a Nap!  We all know that real gangstas don't eat their roommates' lungs, kidneys, or even livers.  No, what they are supposed to do is rap about bitches, money, hos, and chronic and gin and juice and Cristal.  And when they're done, they should go bust caps in cops and their enemies.  But eating a roommate's lung?  C'mon!  That's not even close to being gangsta.  That's more like, well, John Denver.

     A Mighty Wind is out this week, the third mockumentary to come from Christopher Guest.  Yeah, he didn't direct Spinal Tap, but it's the same thing.  Can Mr. Guest please Go Take a Nap!?  It's time to branch out.  Maybe write a script once in awhile, maybe try out some new actors, or maybe, just maybe, try something besides a mockumentary.  It's downright shameful to be a cliche within a cliche of a cliche of yourself.

     Knight Rider the movie is in the works.  No word on who will play David Hasselhoff.  Even money on David Hasselhoff.

By Jack Jackson

     Condoleeza Rice may face Arnold Schwarzenegger for the 2006 Republican nomination for governor of California.  I think they should not battle, but make love.  And then they should get married, so she can take his name.  Mrs. Condoleeza Schwarzenneger, come on down!  But seriously, folks, is Arnold ever going to run?  Or is he just talking out his ass to keep his agent happy?  Whatever the case may be, I think California as a state needs to Go Take a Nap!  I want to live there but it's too expensive.

     A Bull Durham celebration slated to take place next month at the Baseball Hall of Fame was scrapped because Tim Robbins and Susan Sarandon spoke their minds against the Iraqi conquest.  Baseball Hall of Fame, Go Take a Nap!  First you keep out Pete Rose, then you turn your nose up at people who disapprove of conquest.  Before you get all on top of your white horses again, I suggest you remove Ty Cobb's plaque because he was a miscreant racist.

     Is it just me, or are the Anger Management ads everywhere, in every possible place ads can be?  On the bus, on the trains, on TV, and I do believe I saw on ad carved into the moon last night, but that may be due to the excessive amount of alcohol I drank which forced me to barf on my cell phone (which I just replaced, and fortunately, was looking for an excuse to buy a new one, which raises the question of whether I consciously or subconsciously barfed on the phone, in addition to the issue of whether or not I was conscious or unconscious at the time of the barfing).  And no, for you English teachers keeping score at home, that last sentence was not a complete sentence, although it came very, very close.

     Sean Penn's car was stolen in broad daylight in Berkeley, CA while he was eating lunch.  More notably, his two gats were taken.  One was a 9mm Glock, another was a .38 revolver.  It's good to know today's celebrities are diversifying their personal handgun selections.  The Glock represents a smart choice, a semiautomatic pistol that is easy to conceal and effective against a small crowd, but subject to the occasional misfire.  The revolver, however, is a sturdy standby, rarely, if ever misfiring, effective against one or two opponents.  But it really doesn't give you much room for error.  The nice thing about the revolver, though, is that if you do hit your target, you're likely to do some serious damage.

By Jack Jackson

     Are you getting your war on?  I am.  Well, I was, back when I was on Spring Break 2003.  That was when I was staying with a friend who had cable.  At cable means CNN.  And CNN means shock and awe, dude.  That's pretty much how I spent my Spring Break, watching war unfold.  Now I don't have my war on.  I don't have cable, so I have to hope Dan Rather gives me a healthy dose of shock and awe in 30 minutes instead of 24-hour shock and awe.

     And those retired generals that every news station has on need to Go Take a Nap!  These guys are frothing at the mouth, second-guessing every move, and their eyes dart across the Zoo TV array of bombings like they're in the heart of darkness.  I think these generals need to pop some morphine pills and go fishing.

     News flash: Cher says Jacko is nuts.  Isn't Jacko that Australian loser who pimped Energizer batteries?

     Peter Jackson is going to remake King Kong, because he saw it when he was nine.  I saw Ben-Hur when I was nine, but I'm not remaking it, now am I?  And am I the only one who thinks the Lord of the Rings trilogy is enough to make anyone Go Take a Nap!?  Give me some money and I'll make that trilogy in two hours, not ten.  I'll just cut out all the scenes where Frodo and Samwise walk around and bitch.

     And on a more serious note, this concern about SARS needs to Go Take a Nap!  It only kills 4% of those infected, and those are odds we should all be willing to take.  So buy that plane ticket to Hong Kong, because you earned it.

By Jack Jackson

     I guess there aren't any Broadway shows right now because there's a dispute about something.  Somebody is striking and someone wants money, and jobs, jobs, jobs.  But what no one really talks about is how good it is to know that fat Americans can't waste any money on this musical shit.  I remember one day that I thought I liked one show tune in particular.  But then, the very next day, I developed something known as taste.  And if you're worried about New York's economy, Go Take a Nap!  That new big spire they're going to build will make everyone happy again.

     Write a letter to your Congressdude!  Bruce Campbell of Evil Dead and Army of Darkness fame has made a movie that no one will distribute.  It's called Bubba Ho-tep, and it's about Elvis and John F. Kennedy fighting a mummy at a nursing home.  If this movie doesn't find its way to a theater near me soon, I'm going to cry.  Read about it at bubbahotep.com.  (And no, I'm not going to make the text a hyperlink so you can just click on it.  You're going to have to cut and paste the text into your address bar.)

     Michigan native Richard Brown killed a fellow party-goer because he was getting guff for looking like *NSYNCer Lance Bass.  C'mon, Richard, Go Take a Nap!  Being told that you look like a celebrity is supposed to be flattering (unless that celebrity is Geechy Guy, of course).

     The Real World 13 house will be no house at all.  It will be a chateau!  That's right: Paris.  Look out you drunk frogs, because some good ole twenty-something reality is coming your way!  Oh, and don't forget to thank us for that whole World War II thing the next time you get all pissy at us in the U.N. Security Council.

     And to all my detractors out there...gimme my tractors back!

By Jack Jackson

     Time for a serious note.  Night clubs and music clubs are too crowded.  They get oversold and overstuffed every night of the year.  Over 120 people have died in the past two weeks because of club owner greed.  I hope the extra cash was worth it.

     And you, concert-going public, are to blame.  Did you complain to the managers the last time you were at an oversold concert?  Did you call the fire department?  Or were you just looking to have a good time like a good little sardine?

     Club owners and concert-goers, Go Take a Nap!  That is, if you're lucky.  120 are taking dirt naps now, because humans are stupid.

     Bono, who would probably tell you he's bigger than The Beatles, has been nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize.  You know, the Nobel Peace Prize, that thing named after the guy who invented dynamite?  Indeed, world peace is blowing up all over.  I'm not liking Bono's chances, though.  He and 150 other people or groups have been nominated along with him.  Whoever nominates needs to Go Take a Nap!  Are the voters really going to rank 150 people to decide who contributed most to world peace last year?  [I would nominate the afternoon nap, since it clearly has done more to promote world peace than anything else in the world.]

     And you know what, I used to tell celebrities to Go Take a Nap! whenever they got on their high horses and started spouting political invectives against this and that.  But now I'm totally OK with it, because I heard Arnold Schwarzenegger was going to run for governor of California, and some dude in monkey movies was president once, so it's all good.

By Jack Jackson

     It's over.  Joe Millionaire is finally fucking over.  I'm not going to have to hear about who was in pr0n0, what the secret is, who had nicer hair.  Now we can all move forward with our lives as Americans.  Can Fox, considering what is right on this Earth, please Go Take a Nap!?  Er.  Wait.  I guess Fox didn't force half a trillion Americans to watch it.  No.  We, as a country, wasted our lives watching people we don't know once again because our own lives are too dull, and we're too afraid to face the fact that no one has any idea what in the hell is going on in the world today.

     Here's an idea.  If you watch these damn reality TV shows, why don't you put a few cameras up around your house and ham it up all the time?  Extreme life.

     In a not-so-unrelated note, the fifth Harry Potter book, Harry Potter and the Wizard that Could, is set to print 6.8 million copies on its first run, a new world record.  I'm guessing the same people who read Harry Potter also loved Joe Millionaire.  But who am I to complain?  I still think Topper was a good show.  But seriously, Harry Potter must Go Take a Nap!  Not because he's a wizard and violates every tenet of the Christian faith, but because he's a wizard and violates every tenet of the Christian faith.

     The Oscars have been announced, by that great Oscar-ess herself, Marisa Tomei (My Cousin Vinny, 1993).  I'm not quite sure why Final Destination 2: End of the Road didn't outpace Chicago for most nominations.  It's all a popularity contest, anyway.  That's why Peter O'Toole finally decided to accept his honorary Oscar after a bit of kvetching.  Hey, Peter, Go Take a Nap!  Just because your drinking and coke-snorting buddy is dead, doesn't mean you have to get all pissy and act like a prick.  Accept the Oscar, sell it on eBay, and then use the profit to take out a full-page ad in USA Today to extol the evils of honorary Oscars.

By Jack Jackson

     I'd like to start off with a mini-review of Final Destination 2: Finaller Destination.  And I want everyone to know that I haven't seen the first movie, so my opinions could be skewed somewhat, since I don't have that continuity of plot thing going on.  In fact, I had no idea what the first movie was even about.

     It all started on a Tuesday night when the movie theater near me runs movies for $5.  Free parking and free popcorn included.  The popcorn isn't too good.  You can put some of that faux-buttery oil on the popcorn, but a little can go too far.  Add some salt and you'll be feeling sick by the second reel.  So I passed on the free popcorn, but only because the lines were too long.

     The movie wasn't a sellout.  I thought for sure it would be.  It's popular with teenagers, and teenagers flock to that $5 price.  I was shocked that most of the moviegoers were older than myself.  The other nice thing about the theater is that they don't really check your tickets, so once you're in, you can hang out all night there, movie-hopping.  You could see four movies in one day!

     What about the movie?  It was good.  It was worth $5.  Not $6.  It had a great knack for making me laugh when people were brutally murdered by death's design.  And the acting was incredible.  And by incredible, I mean unbelievable.  And by unbelievable, I mean how could they deliver their lines with a straight face?  Truly incredible.

     What was my favorite death?  SPOILER ALERT...

     It had to be when E.T. landed his flying saucer in the middle of Yankee Stadium, and that one dude yelled at his buddy in the stands that E.T. was on the field, but he accidentally poked his buddy in the eye, and then pulled his brains out through his eye socket.  And then E.T. hit a homerun and the ball crushed the other dude in the face, but he was alright because his buddy's brains softened the blow.  But it turned out that the brains had mad cow disease, and he died in a hospital later from the infection.

     All in all, it was a pretty good movie.  I can't wait for part 3.  I heard the DVD will have some bonus features, too.

     And it looks like celebrities this week accomplished nothing worthy of Go Take a Nap!  So I think I'll Go Take a Nap.

By Jack Jackson

     Paul Reubens has a great defense to his child pornography charges.  He says they're vintage porn, and were made before child pornography was illegal.  That's a good one.  "Officer, you have to let me go.  It's vintage heroin."  C'mon Pee-Wee, Go Take a Nap!  That's the worst excuse I've heard for having child porn since Pete Townshend said he was doing research.

     Zach Galligan, whose only rememberable role was the kid in Gremlins, got caught pilfering a Deep Purple CD from the Tower Records on Sunset Strip.  He claims he had the money, but there is much speculation he was trying to draw attention to himself a la Winona Ryder, potentially boosting his career back up to the level of no-talent.  Zach, Go Take a Nap!  You didn't really have the money, because you haven't worked in years!

     Sarah Kozer from Joe Millionaire is better known as Cindy Schubert, a light bondage/tickling fetish porn star.  She said she never starred in the movies, but was just merely a co-star.  It's kind of like that theory that if you're 50 yards outside of the city or 5 feet outside of the city, you're still outside of the city.  So her logic is quite sound.  By merely co-starring in the porn, she's actually not even in the porn.  Got it?

     Producers for Jimmy Kimmel's new live show on ABC had to put the kibosh on drinking alcoholic beverages after George Clooney got an audience member drunk off a bottle of vodka and he puked.    That didn't jibe with Disney's overall concept, I suppose.  But producers, Go Take a Nap!  A puking audience is something you're going to have to get used to, whether or not they're drinking.  And aren't you already familiar with this territory from Whose Line is It, Anyway?

     Jude Law is the fan favorite to be the next 007.  What, couldn't they get Roger Moore?  Or how about Dudley Moore?  Or Bean?  Or the great, late Hal Linden?