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Review: My Breakfast With Blassie

One of the most bizarre films I have ever seen, My Breakfast With Blassie, a sorta-documentary of an actual breakfast shared by comic Andy Kaufman and pro wrestling legend "Classy" Freddie Blassie, is full of sage advice (charm the waitress, Blassie said, "so we don't have to tip her much when we leave") and hilarious one-line jabs ("Keep walkin' till your hat floats," Blassie said to a frustrated group of women who walked out of the diner).

The breakfast really has no premise, other than to mock the serious My Dinner With Andre, which Amazon.com describes as "the most talked-about art-house hit of 1981" that includes a two-hour conversation that's "the kind of mesmerizing, soul-searching, life-affirming exploration that we feel privileged." So you can see why it was so important for Blassie, in this film, to reveal how much toilet paper he uses when he takes a shit.

That disclosure comes when Blassie and Kaufman, two giants of celebrity, discuss their disdain for fans who want not only an autograph but a handshake, which they view as some kind of germ orgy. Blassie is especially disgusted if the fan has just come from the bathroom. "Maybe their fingers went through the tissue," Blassie says. "What am I gonna shake hands with these pencil neck geeks?"

"Some guys use only two, three pieces of tissue," Blassie continues. "I use half a roll. I'll be darn sure my finger doesn't go through."

Along with being the wizard of wiping, Blassie also shows his smarts in medicine ("Have you read the latest article on herpes?"), socioeconomics (referring to a pregnant waitress, he predicts "That's another one we're gonna have to feed on welfare") and etiquette (lambasting Kaufman for thanking the host for seating them, Blassie asks, "What did you thank him for? He didn't do anything he's not supposed to do").

The rest of the breakfast conversation is equally scatter-brained. Kaufman seeks advice on the future of his wrestling career after Jerry Lawler made a neckbrace a necessary part of Andy's wardrobe. Blassie tells stories about Iran and Japan that go nowhere fast, and I found myself thankful this movie lasted only 60 minutes. Too bad Kaufman is no longer with us, though. I still would've liked to have seen the sequel My After-Dinner Drink With Albano.

Grade: C+

In Five Words or Less: Pencil-Necked Geeks Love It

My Breakfast With Blassie Links:

IMDB.com Listing — See user comments and listing of the cast and crew.

Slam! Sports' Review — A lengthy review written shortly after Blassie's death earlier this year.

Screen Shots From the Film — There's Kaufman. There's Blassie. There's the table. There ain't much more to see.

Blassie's Book: Listen You Pencil Neck Geeks — I read a few pages in a bookstore recently. Blassie said of one guy in wrestling, "If you put his brain in a hummingbird, it would fly backward."

Saturday Afternoon at Yankee Stadium

I can think of a lot worse ways to spend a sunny Saturday afternoon than to see the Yanks whip up on the Mets at the House That Ruth Built. So I donned my Bernie Williams jersey with camera in tow and headed up to the Bronx with a few friends. Final scores on the day: Yankees 7, Mets 1. White Castle 7, Paul 5.

See my pictures from the game, including the one on the right where it looks like I am showing off something harvested from my nose.

Jim Morrison Is My Hero (No, Not That Jim Morrison)

I was going to blog about the ruling in Texas that reversed a ban on sodomy. Now gays and lesbians can penetrate each other's bodies — just like us straight folk — without (get this) going to jail!

I was going to celebrate the strength of homosexuals, how I admire their courage to withstand the hatred of those who wave the flag at foreign nations in the name of freedom, then throw some fucking Bible in the faces of people who should not have to explain why their dicks get hard any more than straight people do.

Then I came across the story of New Jersey Senate candidate Jim Morrison, who county Democratic officials want tossed out of the race because he posed nude. Posed nude! Nude as the way we get out of the shower every fucking day! To his credit, Morrison is standing um, firm, and said, "If people want to know about it, they should know I won the contest." Right on, brother.

When I read in another article that Morrison is gay — a "punk-rock faggot" who finished second on The Mole — the backlash against him started to make more sense.

Land of the free (sometimes) and the home of the brave. I support gay rights. I want that on my record.

The dissenting Supreme Court Justices in the Texas case, who voted to criminalize private consensual sex between adults of the same sex, were Antonin Scalia, William Rehnquist and Clarence Thomas. May they all go fuck themselves. (How's that for irony?)

Also see: Jim Morrison's campaign site

I'm Only Gonna Say This Once. It's Called 'Soda'

Have you ever wondered where those freaks that refer to milk shakes as "frappes" come from? The answer: Massachusetts. Figures.

I know this thanks to the Dialect Survey site, which post results of polls that measure the location of people who fall on differing sides of how we refer to things and how we pronounce those names.

Some popular recent polls and corresponding maps of where respondents reside:

• What is your generic term for a sweetened carbonated beverage?
Where I Stand: It's soda, people. Can't believe those dopes down south call it "coke." That's a brand, nimrods. And pop is for people who are 60 years old and haven't been to a town with more than three stoplights.

• What do you call the night before Halloween?
Where I Stand: Mischief night. Never even heard of the other options that include "cabbage night," apparently a Vermont tradition. Sounds like fun. Tossing a bunch of cabbage at each other.

• What word(s) do you use to address a group of two or more people?
Where I Stand: You guys. I don't say you'ze. People always tell me I don't sound like I'm from New York. Wait till you heard me drunk during a close Yankees game. You'll hear "What da fuck is goin' on?" more than you can count. I also say y'all a lot.

• aunt
Where I Stand: It's pronounced "ant." Only butlers should pronounce the [a] as in "ah."

• What is your *general* term for the rubber-soled shoes worn in gym class, for athletic activities, etc.?
Where I Stand: Jesus Christ, I didn't even know 41.34% of the country calls these "tennis shoes." Clearly not the brightest 41.34%. They're sneakers, people. Sneakers!

• the second vowel in "pajamas"
Where I Stand: [a] as in "father." The "jam" pronunciation sounds like it's coming from a 4-year-old.

Other Web Finds:

• See What Ads Google Would Serve on Your Website — This tool allows you to see what ads Google's new AdSense program would run on your site (or even your friend's site). Pop your URL in to see what shows up.

• Maxim's Found Porn — My favorite part of the magazine, accidental sexual innuendos found in everyday life. I once submitted to the magazine this AOL screenshot promising facials in Central Park.

• Rock, Paper Scissors Strategy Guide — This game apparently is harder than I thought. Perhaps I could have put more thought into playing this and Odds or Evens.

• Spiky Bras — This padded push-up bra is made of 100% breathable synthetic with silicone spikes. (Thanks, Holy Zoo)

• Ghettopoly Board Game — I guess some of this shit is funny, like the Westside Liquor property and the ability to build crack houses. If there was a white character in there, I'd feel less guilty.

• Tips for eBay Sellers — Some decent advice in there, like timing your auction to end on a weekend.

Would You Do Porn for $15 Million a Year?

I'd imagine the main reason (not the only reason) for not doing porn — in essence getting paid to get laid — is the fear that it would somehow come back to haunt you. You could be shut out of more accepted lines of work should your career fizzle, and god knows what your kids will go through.

This is why most of us don't mind mirrors but are leery of cameras. It's the whole permanence of the thing. One you're in, you're in for life. All for what almost assuredly would be a short career in the industry, amounting to a take of $50,000-$100,000 at even successful levels. Not nearly enough, in my opinion.

Alyssa Milano, Tara Reid and Nicole Eggert could be waiting for me in my bedroom, but if a cameraman is with them I'm outta there.

Then I read in Business 2.0's article on the success of Vivid Entertainment that Jenna Jameson, the adult industry's most successful performer ever, rakes in $15 million a year. Now we're talking Fuck You Money, and that really changes the landscape of how much consideration you give to what others think.

I don't know about that whole money-doesn't-buy-happiness bullshit. I've seen a lot of homeless guys and they don't look too happy, either. With the bread Jameson makes, she's afforded a lot of freedom. Gimme that kind of coin and bring Alyssa, Tara and Nicole right back in the joint. One could buy a 10-bedroom mansion so far away you'll never hear the cries of the moral police. And the satisfaction of knowing that your money was funded by a lot of regular folk.

Other News Links:

• Dial 'P' For Porn — TIME Europe examines whether mobile-phone pornography be the wireless industry's dirty little secret. I wouldn't bet against it.

• Why Your Life Is Worth $5 Million — Slate puts a price tag on your head, calculated in part by assessing insurance fees.

• Animal 'Fart Tax' Puts Wind Up New Zealand Farmers — Get those guys a Gary's Papaya and watch the taxes double.

• Show Us Your Tats — Slate report on GoldenPalace.com's new ad strategy: sponsoring streakers.

Bar Show 2003 Recap

(I didn't mean to post this for Monday morning. I wanted to write about porn star Jenna Jameson's annual salary, but it's too late and this is all I got. Posted for NYCBP.com's message board. I regret having no pictures. Sorry.)

After a one-year respite, I returned to the scene of a great afternoon drunken escapade, Ass Factory 2003 (a.k.a. the Bar Show). What a Sunday it was reminiscing about cleavage past and admiring the Booth Bunnies who pretended to know the first thing about mixing Sky Vodka with the right amounts of citrus and soda. Next week, of course, they might be sporting the same 36D's in a cocktail dress at a podiatry convention in Atlantic City. I kid, of course. I don't know how to mix Sky Vodka, either.

Kudos to the Coyote girls, pseudo-celebrities in their own right, who took the stage right after a woman had sang not only the best Karaoke version of "Fame" I ever heard but sported one of the best mullets seen outside a pro wrestling arena. Myself, Kevin, BassAleMan, fleavairoa and her husband all lined the front row to cheer for own home-base homies. They converted the entire crowd with the pixie dust that is hot babes in tight jeans and led the show not only in commerce (apparel flying off their table) but picture-taking (the Hawaiian Tropic girls had no chance, and I'm doing a Google search for "Hawaiian Tropic" as soon as I am done with this).

And, of course, there was booze. Vodka, rum, tequila, liqueurs -- even wine if you had no sack. If your arm works, you'll never go thirsty.

After the show, we went to Lot 61 for the post-party (also known as one-hour of taking as many pictures as you could of the painted-on cocktail waitresses), then to Red Rock West, where I saw my Yanks come back from a 9th-inning, two-out deficit against the Mess. (Forgive me god, for I have sinned, but I love watching sports on TV at Red Rock.) More importantly, I scored my first-ever break-to-8-ball run in pool at a biker bar, where my J-Crew-wearing ass could get me dropped just for walking in the joint. The it was off to Coyote, where we ran into friendly face after friendly face, outlasting the bar show visitors from out of town, reminding ourselves why NYC is the best place to live. Because everywhere else just isn't as much fun.

My Night at the Purple Dump: Yanks 5, Mets 0

Last night I got to see one of baseball's most celebrated traditions: Mets fans walking out of their own stadium early. "Thank you Mets fans, you've been wonderful hosts," I cackled as they raced for the exits Friday night, around the time Jason Giambi's 9th-inning home run landed in the right-field mezzanine.

(See my 20 pictures from the game.)

I was sad to see them go. Some of them, of course, would be driving back to Long Island, emptying out the parking lot that serves as a lovely backdrop for the Eyesore Shea Stadium. At least I could still enjoy the sound of planes buzzing overhead and the smell of my friend's gaseous output of sausage and hot dogs.

Picky, the man-child seated next to me, whose girth annoyingly spilled over into my personal space, had long since departed. I don't know where he went but he was surely picking his nose. Picky, you see, would not stop picking. He picked the left nostril. He picked the right. He picked with one finger, two fingers, even two hands. Folks, he just picked. And picked. And picked.

The four of us laughed our asses off at Picky, also known as Smails' Kid, rejoiced the Yanks' victory and shook our heads postgame when a fat bastard threatened one of the Yankees' section 39 Bleacher Creatures with a box cutter. Took the knife out and showed the blade. Box cutters in New York; never forget, huh? (The Bleacher Creature walked away and said the guy should be eating salads, not threatening to blade people.)

Around 2 a.m., we went to Yogi's. I'm not sure what answer I was looking for when I asked a couple what else they did for exhibitionism. I guess I had hoped it involved my digital camera. The woman had exposed her breast already, and they were feeling each other up as if no one was around, but they didn't really answer my question. Maybe I didn't ask it correctly. It's not like I was able to speak clearly anyway.

At 4 a.m., we went to a diner, where we gabbed with prom partiers at one table and three strippers from nearby Penthouse Club at another. The strippers didn't care for our company. The guys who came in later to eat with them really didn't care for our company. So we left, I got home at 5 a.m. and thanked the Lord once again that I live in New York.

Other Sports Links:

• King Kaufman's Sports Daily — Salon.com's sportswriter e-mails in to say he's going daily with his columns. King was the only sportswriter (besides me) smart enough to note than Kansas benefited from missing some free throws against Syracuse in the NCAA hoops title game, because the Jayhawks scored on a few putbacks after free-throw misses. The latest of his 5-days-a-week column is always available at salon.com/sports. (Look for an upcoming interview with King on PK.com.)

• Canseco Tests Positive for Steroids, Jailed — The guy's a loser, straight up. His recent Outside the Lines appearance, when (while wearing a wife-beater, which he is) he asserted that the backlash against Sammy Sosa was discriminatory, was John Rockeresque in its stupidity.

• Double Standard Toward Spurs a Sham — Columnist Mike Bianchi calls out people who say they value teamwork and selflessness, then throw dirt on the "boring" San Antonio Spurs. Great point. I think, though, that no matter what fans say they value, it is drama that grabs attention. Which is why trash-talk and confrontation before series makes for great theater. Who didn't want to see Kings-Lakers for that very reason?

Good News: I'm Not as Ugly as You'd Think!

The PaulKatcher.com press section is officially open. A buddy of mine called Wednesday morning to say he saw a magazine review of my site, and I finally got a hold of the issue. (See full-size scan.)

Turns out the magazine is titled Unlimited and is published by Marlboro. Last year it was known for leading the industry in ad pages targeted at future cancer patients. Among the eight sites reviewed in the Summer 2003 issue, mine is one of only five that are "Worth a Bookmark." (Take that AirlineMeals.net.) Let's see how I did:

What It Is
A dork has made a regularly update Web site about news and bar crawling so cool it has garnered him hot female fans, some of whom are bikini models who have their own Web sites. Who knew the Internet was still this powerful?

Best Page
Paul's account of his trip to Hedonism II makes you want to go to the resort and stay very far away.

Biggest Surprise
Paul isn't as ugly as you would think.

Biggest Letdown
Paul seems smart, but his favorite movie is Hamburger: The Motion Picture

The author, I noticed immediately, is Joel Stein, a regular columnist for Time and Entertainment Weekly, who really is one of my favorite writers. I wish I could link to his columns more often, but AOL Time Warner has blocked his EW work from being accessible online unless you're an EW subscriber or stupid enough to pay $23.95/month for an inferior ISP like AOL.

As for being labeled a dork by Joel, I think this set of pictures will give credence to the adage "it takes one to know one." But I know he's just kidding and that he probably also had a teenage crush on the lovely Randi Brooks, a stunning actress best known for her scantily-clad work as Mrs. Vunk in Hamburger: The Motion Picture.

Review: The Karate Kid

The other night I caught a TV airing of the unintentional comedy that ranks No. 13 among my favorite movies ever, The Karate Kid, starring Ralph Macchio and the cook from Happy Days. How good was this film? It contained two of the absolute worst lines in cinematic history, and it still rates as entirely watchable.

Let's recap some of the film's funniest moments:

• Mr. Miyagi asks Daniel-san to show him how he sands floors and whacks off

• Cobra Kai sensei John Kreese warns Daniel that if he doesn't show at the All-Valley karate tournament that "it will be open season" on his ass. Then he looks at Miyagi and delivers the same threat (see picture; try not to laugh)

• When Daniel asks Ali if she knows about the upcoming karate tournament and she answers, "doesn't everybody?" I have an easier time believing that an old super could afford a fleet of classic cars than I do believing an 18-and-under karate championship is the toast of the So-Cal social calendar

• When the tournament announcer yells, "Daniel LaRusso is gonna fight!" and the crowd explodes with jubilation as if he just informed them that stacks of porn DVDs would be handed out at the exit

Second-Worst Line in Movie History
"It must be Take a Worm for a Walk Week."

Absolutely horrendous. So bad that a band named Uprising recorded a song with that very title.

Worst Line in Movie History
"Get him a body bag! Yeah!!!"

Seriously, name me one movie quote that's even more unintentionally hilarious.

All this silliness aside, The Karate Kid teaches us life's simple yet valuable lessons through household chores and miniature golf. What have we learned? That girls with the big cans are always the most popular chicks in high school. That chopsticks beat flyswatters if you have beginner's luck. And to have complete trust in allowing your awkward teenage boy to hang out with an unknown superintendent for entire days.

Grade: B+

In Five Words or Less: Legend Ralph Macchio's Greatest Performace

Links:

Miyagi's Guide to Sex — He promise teach sex to you, you promise learn. He say, you do, no questions.

Karate Kid Quotes — You won't believe someone got paid to write this stuff.

The Karate Kid Website — The most comprehensive related site includes trivia, pictures and locations of buildings that appeared in the movie.

They Sure Don't Make Streakers Like They Used To

Unlike most subjects I broach on this site, streaking is a topic I know something about. The definition of streaking was, is and always shall be to run naked. Naked as the day you were born. Naked as George Michael at a rest stop. Naked as Osama with his herd of goats.

Like George Costanza, who didn't have the nads to run across Yankee Stadium without wearing a nude-colored bodysuit, the GoldenPalace.com girl with the big yams who interrupted Sunday's U.S. open final round on the 11th hole is not a streaker.

The reason: pasties. Sorry, that's not streaking. That's trespassing.

Was I wearing pasties when I blew a whistle to get everyone's attention on my first day of spring break at South Padre Island in 1993, just before running naked through the hotel's pool area? No. Was I wearing anything other than sneakers when I ran in front of the same hippie, acid-blues band on Fourth of July three years in a row? No. (On year three, I needed the sneakers to outrun a pack of fat security men — and my video-taping friend — at 3 a.m. To be fair, they were playing I Party Naked.)

Was Larry Dallas wearing anything but a bear-skin rug on his chest when he ran through a Three's Company party to bust up Terry's chances of moving in with Jack and Janet? No. (Honk three times if you like what you see!)

I'm willing to give this chick another shot. God knows I wouldn't mind losing a couple of balls in her rough. But let's get one thing perfectly clear: she is not a streaker. Stacked, yes. For sale, yes. Patriotic, yes. Streaker, no.

(Also note: Our friend and sassy porn blogger The Reverse Cowgirl is on the hunt for more photos and video of the U.S. Open trespasser.)

Other T&A Artistic Beauty Links:

• Club Rubber Party Photos — I will also have a soft spot in my heart — and a hard spot in my pants — for the SoCal party photo collections that was the backbone of my T&A finds in the first couple of years of PK.com. (Speaking of pasties...)

• Barely Brooke — E!'s online gallery of the woman who headed my list of favorite MILFs, Brooke Burke. Oh, mommie dearest!

• The Mammoth Book of Illustrated Erotica — Our weekly pick of a sex-related product on Amazon.com. This one is 512 pages of tits and ass. The funny part is that the long-winded and artsy-sounding book description mentions nothing about masturbation.

• Win Tickets to Hef's Midsummer Night's Dream Party — Same rules as always. You win, you take me. (By the way, is anyone else suspicious that Hugh Hefner might not be alive, but rather exists only as a cardboard cutout that gets passed around the mansion for photo-ops?)

The Most Annoying Commercial Ever

Congratulations are in order to dork firefighter and Subway shill Clay Henry, who is no longer the star of the most annoying commercial in television history. Gone are the days when my ears bled with the unavoidable tune that began "Clay Henry! Clay Henry! He's a Subway man and a Jared fan."

Ladies and gentlemen, the newest most annoying commercial ever: Dr. Scholl's Are You Gellin? campaign. (Click the "Outrageous Savings" link on the can't-believe-this-exists Gellin.com to save $2 off your next (also known as first) purchase of Dr. Scholl's massaging gel insoles

Are you gellin'?

I'm gellin' like a felon. Care for some melon?

I'm so gellin', I'm gellin' like Magellan.

Someone kill me. Or them. Just make it stop.

My Most Annoying Commercials Ever:

• Subway, Clay Henry — The Jared wannabe was so annoying that residents of Columbia, S.C. — not always regarded as the capital of good taste — appealed to the "Supreme Judge of the world" to "be Free and Independent of the embarrassment that is the 'Clay Henry' commercial."

• Chevrolet, Like a Rock — I like Bob Seger's music, but I don't need to hear it every single timeout during March Madness. I swear one year I saw this commercial over 100 times over a two-week period.

• Radio Shack, Howie and Teri — Awww, they make such a cute couple. Now if only they'd say something remotely humorous and not nauseating.

My Favorite Commercials Ever:

• Wendy's, Where's the Beef — First aired when I was 9 years old in January 1984, I laughed every time I saw it, and I was too young to appreciate the real humor in an elderly woman bemoaning too little meat.

• Miller Lite, Less Filling, Tastes Great — Screw the new commercials with the bimbos. The classic ones with Bob Uecker and sports stars of greater athletic accomplishment were hysterical. Do I even have to mention that Rodney Dangerfield starred in them as well?

• Budweiser/Bud Light, Bud Bowl — Back when the NFC was pasting the AFC in every Super Bowl (Broncos and Bills fans, you know what I'm talking about), this series was the most interesting part of Super Bowl Sunday. People bet on this shit. Didn't they play off of the Fridge one year and have a 40-oz. run a TD up the middle?

• 10-10-220, 20 Minutes for 99 Cents — Mike Piazza and Hulk Hogan. I can't get enough this stuff. It's truly worthy of the New York Mets.

Bonus Link:

• The Lowest Moments in Advertising — AdWeek's newest feature reviews campaigns that were just bad from the start, such as Calvin Klein parading kids around in their underwear and a financial company digitizing Christopher Reeve walking again.

Only a Matter of Time Before Boston Sucks Up to Clemens

Ever since Roger Clemens left the Red Sox to sign with the Blue Jays as a free agent before the 1997 season, Boston fans have been tripping over themselves to bury the guy, either as a traitor or as a has-been. That was three Cy Young Awards and two World Series championships ago. And now they're gonna want those goodbyes back.

The fight to identify Roger Clemens with a single team is on.

Clemens, who became the 21st pitcher to win 300 games Friday night, is now the darling of baseball, a workhorse competitor reduced to a softie among 56,000 softies in Yankee Stadium. I dare say that those who mocked the Rocket for his extended run between wins Nos. 299 and 300 — in other words, all of New England — are going to spend a lot of time recruiting his emotions so that he identifies most with being a member of the Boston Red Sox.

That might be kinda hard to do since such die-hard Red Sox fans as Bill Simmons labeled Roger Clemens the Antichrist. Boston was the scene of Clemens' breakthrough years, three Cy Young Awards and two 20-strikeout games. New York, however, is where he won two World Series (two more than Ted Williams, Carl Yastrzemski, Bobby Doerr, Jim Rice, Dwight Evans and Fred Lynn combined), and a final Cy Young Award. And it's where he notched his 300th win and 4,000th strikeout, all while wearing those charming pinstripes. And it will be his last home; those cheers will be freshest.

When Roger Clemens recalls the best moments of his career, he will ultimately conjure up thoughts of the Yankees. As he evolves from Rocket Man to Family Man, he will more and more appreciate moments like tonight, when he celebrated his career with his wife and children, something he never did at Fenway Park. The Baseball Hall of Fame will decide which cap Clemens' likeness will sport. They might throw a Sox hat on him, but it was in New York where he won his rings, achieved his greatest milestones and heard his finals cheers.

Red Sox, you lose again.

Clemens Links

• MLB.com: Clemens Still a Red Sox Icon — Numbers say he's more of a Red Sox than a Yankee. My contention is that his happiest moments came as a Yankee.

• Clemens By the Numbers — A short list of staggering stats, including his six Cy Young Awards. Perhaps they should rename the award.

• Download Win No. 300 on MLB.com — No mention of what the resolution is, but this is just another way the Internet has changed the way we view/purchase/market content.

Head 2 Head: Lovable Baseball Losers

Here's how Head 2 Head works: I throw out a debate between two people, places or things, and you settle it by posting a comment.

Today's question is, Even if you're not a fan, which team is the more lovable loser, the Cubs or the Red Sox?

Chicago Cubs: 1908 World Series Champions
Pros: Their home, Wrigley Field, is known as the Friendly Confines, not the House of Massholes... Stadium surrounded by bars, where fans have drank away sorrows for decades... Cubs don't really entertain thoughts of ever having a competitive ballclub, thus limiting the smack talk... Rotating seventh-inning stretch singer of "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" on track to be one of the 21st century's greatest baseball traditions... Monty Brewster and Ferris Bueller were Cubs fans, and they knew how to party.
Cons: Having not won a World Series in 95 years, Cubs fans can actually take shit from Red Sox fans... Most memorable moments at home (Ruth's called shot, Schmidt's four HRs) are accomplishments by visiting teams... If they ever won, it would ruin one of the great storylines in baseball history.

Boston Red Sox: 1918 World Series Champions
Pros: Name me three baseball teams off the top of your head. Red Sox are in there every time... For five decades, from 1939 to 1989, Ted Williams, Carl Yastrzemski and Jim Rice — all lifetime Red Sox — guarded the Green Monster... Sox fans know baseball history; they don't just show up to get drunk and tan in the bleachers...Their Game 7 loss in 1946 deprived fans who'd been waiting 28 years for a World Series victory. That was 57 years and three Game 7's ago (1967, '75, '86). How much more can these people take?
Cons: Delusional Sox fans think they actually have a chance to erase the Curse of the Bambino every fall... Ben Affleck is a Red Sox fan... If they ever won, it would ruin one of the great storylines in baseball history.

Review: Sex, Lies, and Headlocks

I don't like to read anything too serious on frivolous vacations. A chapter of Band of Brothers really doesn't mix well with Mexican tequila and sand. So since I'd already devoured Great Scenes in Alyssa Milano's B-Movie History, I carted Sex, Lies, and Headlocks: The real story of Vince McMahon and the World Wrestling Federation with me to Puerto Vallarta and Chicago. (I had picked it off the floor in the office hall some months back.)

As an on-again, off-again pro wrestling fan, I love to read about the inner-workings of an industry that exists to sucker people. Lying to a kid while taking his dollar is, after all, as American as hot dogs, apple pie and Internet porn. The jig has been up, of course, since the WWF admitted it was entertainment to avoid a sports tax some years ago in New Jersey. Gone are the days when good guys and bad guys were prohibited from fraternizing out of the arena, for fear that the public would spread the truth: that the Iron Sheik really didn't hate America. And he wasn't even made of iron.

While the book does focus on McMahon's current monopoly, it provides an interesting history of the industry that was very local and segmented before the advent of, surprise, cable television.

But mostly I enjoyed the scandalous parts. Like the time Sid Vicious drew a pint of Arn Anderson's blood by stabbing him with scissors. Like when Eric Bischoff couldn't remember who had sex with whom when he and his wife took a stripper back to their hotel room. Like when Terry Garvin threw on a porno in front of a ring boy and asked, "Has your girlfriend sucked your dick like that? Let me suck your dick like that."

Among the other subjects touched on besides ring boys' penises: steroid use, television contracts, real fan violence toward phony bad guys, salaries, network censors, merchandising and marketing.

Unless you're a Hulkamania bandana-wearing tool, most of this stuff will be new to you. And with equal amounts sex, scandal and billion-dollar business, it's bound to be interesting, too.

In Five Words or Less: Wrestling: A Traveling Circus

Links:

• Amazon Reader Reviews — The book gets an average of four stars from 52 users as of PK.com press time.

• Books Excerpts on ESPN.com's Page 2 — Read parts taken from chapters on the Vince McMahon steroid-distribution trial and the controversial storylines that fueled the industry's popularity in the late 1990s.

• Tom Zenk 'Shoot' Interview — Half of the Can-Am Connection tag team with Ric Martel, Zenk has some revealing things to say about McMahon's WWF. Don't miss page 4, where he talks of Terry Garvin and Pat Patterson "cock-watching in the showers"

Lewis & Clark: The Greatest Gay Explorers Ever?

If someone asked you to take a road trip across the country, you might reply in one of two ways. "Sure, I'll go buy some beef jerky" or "Sorry, mullet's not grown in fully yet." Not so for one Meriweather Lewis in 1803.

According to this timeline of the great Lewis & Clark expedition across the Louisiana Purchase, Lewis, whose first name meant "get ass kicked in school," sent this reply to William Clark, who'd asked for his hand in exploration: "My friend I assure you no man lives with whome I would perfur to undertake Such a Trip &c as your self."

Oh, how sweet. Is that a musket in your pants or are you just happy to spend two years with a guy who, in 1799, had a "manservant" handed down to him by his late father.

These guys made Ernie and Bert look like poker buddies.

Other Web Finds:

• Weird Al Yankovic Tour Dates — Look out Toledo, Ohio! Weird Al is coming to the Toledo Zoo Amphitheater on June 28. Think I'm kidding?

• Newsweek's The 100 Best High Schools in America — Over a quarter of them are in the New York metropolitan area; a ton in Westchester County. Mine, Pelham (N.Y.), came in at 186 on this complete list of over 800 ranked schools.

• Forty Mistakes Men Have While Having Sex With Women — Mistake No. 1: letting her stay long enough for sobriety to rear its ugly head.

• Sexy Celebrities Without Makeup — I can't even tell if that's Pam Anderson or David Lee Roth.

Review: My First Trip to Wrigley Field

If it's better to be hated than ignored, things could have been a lot worse for the Yankees than losing two out of three this weekend at Wrigley Field. (See my pictures from the weekend.) We were hated, but when three straight regular-season games make the front page of the Chicago Tribune, you knew it wasn't the Padres that just blew into town.

That being said, I'm peeved by the results. A famous Vince Lombardi quote pretty much sums up how I feel, "Show me a good loser, and I'll show you a loser."

The series was a bit like two baseball-themed movies in which the Yankees played the villains. In Brewster's Millions the Yanks lost an exhibition to Monty's Hackensack Bulls. And in Major League, the Indians squeeze-bunted their way past Clew Haywood and Co. to the American League pennant. (See, this is how big the Yankees are. The climax of the movie doesn't even have to be in the World Series. You think they'd ever make a basketball movie about the Nuggets beating the Lakers in the NBA's Western Conference Finals?)

Anyway, the series was a circus, and I was glad to see it as such. Sports should be a circus. Games should be fun, fans should root their asses off, celebrate for an evening and then return to real life.

Cubs fans, it seems to me, do it right. They need to work on their material — six months of waiting and all they come up with is Yankees suck? — and I told them so, but the number of friendly people in and around the Friendly Confines far outnumbered the ones who gave me the finger or tried to verbally harass me. I'm not sure if there's a Yankees fan alive who could get rattled by a supporter of a team that hasn't won a World Series in 95 years, but I ain't one of them.

I felt like someone traveling to see the University of Miami football team when they used to come to Syracuse. How does one heckle those guys? Hey, you guys haven't won a title in a year!

Before and after the games, we drank at a number of bars: Murphy's Bleachers, Sports Corner, Hi Tops, Sheffield's, Cubby Bear, Yak-zies; an assortment of sports bars that far supercedes anything surrounding Yankee Stadium. (One of the bartenders told us New Yorkers tip best. She said visitors from the closer neighboring states make her ears bleed by whining about the $4.50 beers.)

As for the stadium itself, it's very picturesque and comfy, and the rooftop viewers surrounding the outfield fences make it seem like everyone is town is focused on the affair. And I didn't see one fight, which is as much a credit to the locals as to the New York visitors, whom many expected to be obnoxious powder kegs. That simply was not the case, and we had thousands of people there.

So where does Wrigley rank among my favorite stadiums? Lower than Yankee Stadium. Because that's the way it should be. And Chicagoans should put their place No. 1. And Red Sox fans should love Fenway. Because those places have been home for us since we were kids. They've outlasted girlfriends and schools and jobs and all the ups and downs. Three hours in the park for me is the same now as it was 20 years ago. It might be the only place in the world where you really can go home again.

If Chicago's the Second City, What's First?

PK.com is on hiatus till late Monday night, when pictures will be posted from my weekend trip to Chicago to see the 26-time World Series Champion New York Yankees square off against the lovable losers from the Second City and winners of the 1908 World Series, the Chicago Cubs.

Can't wait to see Sammy Sosa's new aluminum bat.

No Way Hannibal Lecter Kicks Darth Vader's Ass

When you think movie villain, who do you think of? I think of Drill Sergeant Ben Drewton, played by the hardest-hitting actor in the business, Dick Butkus, in Hamburger: The Motion Picture. But fast-food college comedies are an acquired taste, so it is no wonder that Drewton is nowhere to be found on the American Film Institute's recently released list of top 50 heroes and villains in movie history.

Amazingly, Darth Vader got the shaft, ranking No. 3 all time behind Hannibal Lecter and Norman Bates. Puh-leeze. Vader has his own fucking theme song! He had that voice of thunder and that breathing pattern that made him sound winded from a round of ass-kicking insubordinate Stormtroopers. (He also sounded like an obscene phone caller or Mo Vaughn after sprinting to McDonald's, but stick with me here.)

But the theme song, man: DUM-DUM-DUM-DUM, DUM-DUM-DUM, DUM-DUM-DUM! That was some scary shit. When he walked in the room, it was like dad coming home when all your Legos were scattered all over the fucking room. You cleaned that shit up quick.

Lecter? I'd tell that bitch to hang tight with his Italian wine, and I'd be with him in a minute.

As for the heroes, it could take a week to put into words my cynicism over the ultra-PC selection of Atticus Finch ranking No. 1, ahead of Rocky Balboa, Luke Skywalker or James Fucking Bond. Seriously, man, is there anyone out there who didn't at one point in their lives pretend to be one of those people, delivering a drunken "Yo, Adrian!" or performing a light-saber fight or pulling out an invisible 10-way gun/camera/dildo/knife on the playground. No one ever said, "Check it, watch me defend this black guy with the oratory skills of my man Atticus Finch!"

The Top 10 heroes according to AFI:
1: Atticus Finch (To Kill a Mockingbird)
2: Indiana Jones (Raiders of the Lost Ark)
3: James Bond (Dr No)
4: Rick Blaine (Casablanca)
5: Will Kane (High Noon)
6: Clarice Starling (The Silence of the Lambs)
7: Rock Balboa (Rocky)
8: Ellen Ripley (Aliens)
9: George Bailey (It's a Wonderful Life)
10: Colonel TE Lawrence (Lawrence of Arabia)

Paul's Analysis: Omission of Roy Hobbs of The Natural in the top 50 a crime. Jimmy "Popeye Doyle" of The French Connection way too low at No. 44, as is Andrew Beckett of Philadelphia at No. 48. Clarice Starling at No. 6 is just as laughable as Finch. My god.

The Top 10 villains according to AFI:
1: Hannibal Lecter (The Silence of the Lambs)
2: Norman Bates (Psycho)
3: Darth Vader (The Empire Strikes Back)
4: The Wicked Witch of the West (The Wizard of Oz)
5: Nurse Ratched (One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest)
6: Mr Potter (It's a Wonderful Life)
7: Alex Forrest (Fatal Attraction)
8: Phyllis Dietrichson (Double Indemnity)
9: Reagan MacNeil (The Exorcist)
10: The Queen (Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs)

Paul's Analysis: Good call with the Wicked Witch. She was a skank. The shark in Jaws deserves higher than No. 18. Taxi Driver's Travis Bickle way too low at No. 30. That was a one-character movie, and it's still a classic. How in the world is there no Jason from the Friday the 13th films? And Joan Crawford in Mommie Dearest should be wire hanger way higher than No. 41.

See entire top 50 lists in annoying .pdf form.

(If you have never heard of Hamburger: The Motion Picture — and most of you have not except here — you might be interested in this synopsis on Reel.com: "Typically moronic 80s teen sex comedy about wacky hijinks at Busterburger U., a school for fast-food employees. Critically panned but this might entertain genre fans seeking some very cheap laughs.")

I Wonder if Sosa Takes Steroids for Batting Practice, Too

Sammy Sosa cheated for us. Ejected in the first inning Tuesday night when he was discovered using a corked bat, Sosa later explained that the bat was a batting-practice model, used to entertain fans smitten by the long ball. Um, right. Thanks, man.

And then the bat — apparently not marked with enough distinction to prevent such a "mix-up" from occurring — accidentally found its way into Sosa's few game bats. Um, riiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.

Not only is Sosa a martyr, he's also unlucky. Imagine the odds of having that bat break the first time he brought it up to the plate accidentally. No really, imagine the odds.

And here I thought my upcoming weekend trip to Chicago to see the Yanks play at Wrigley was going to be a snoozer. Little did I know that not only could I look forward to seeing Roger Clemens' 300th win and 4,000th strikeout live (and celebrating at Coyote Ugly Chicago later), but maybe I'll catch Sammy shooting up the 'roids for us fans' benefit. You know, just for batting practice.

(The Sosa bat story was the lead Tuesday evening on all three major online sports news sites — ESPN.com, CNNSI.com and CBS.Sportsline.com — but was just a related link off MLB.com's top story: Twins Top Giants at Pac Bell. Guess no one in those offices was talking about it as much as the Twins.)

Other Sports Links:

• Classy Freddie Blassie (1918-2003) — The Fashion Plate of Wrestling, one of the great pro wrestling villains ever and a hilarious character who coined the term "pencil-neck geek," passed away Monday. Everyone's favorite meal partner, he was the subject of Andy Kaufman's Breakfast With Blassie and once sat at the other end of a table from me at a Japanese steak house called Noda's in White Plains, N.Y. He autographed menus for me and my brother. That was classy of him.

• Ten Reasons to Watch the NBA Finals — You know it's a less-than-sexy matchup when you need to convince fans why they should watch a Finals series. Could you imagine reading Ten Reasons to Watch the Eagles-Steelers Super Bowl?

Message Board Relaunched

A quick note to announce that the PaulKatcher.com message board, which had been crapped out for some time, is functioning again and ready for you to create your own posts on the topics ordinarily covered here: news, sports, reviews, web finds, New York, etc.

And there's a spot to promote your own website. Go ahead, be a traffic whore.

I've seeded a couple of categories with my thoughts on the NBA Finals and the latest Dixie Chicks controversy. Feel free to chime in.

You don't have to register to participate, but you'll get more out of the board if you do. (Those who previously registered will have to do so again. My apologies.)

Is Max Kellerman More Annoying Than al-Qaeda?

I know ESPN's Around the Horn sucks harder than a runaway in L.A., but are you annoyed by its host, Max Kellerman, any more than the world's most dangerous Islamic terrorist group? As of PK.com press time, the AmIAnnoying.com's list of most and least annoying people had No. 2 Kellerman pulling a 76.93% annoying rating, slightly less than front-runner Carson Daly but ahead of third-place al-Qaeda.

AmIAnnoying.com is a fun site, with such annoying collections as advertisements, music and sports, where public opinion is sorted in thumbnail view.

Each voting page (see Jonathan Taylor Thomas example) helps you decide yea or nea with bullet points on why one might be annoying (he is a vegan) or why he might not be (he attends Harvard).

Here's a sampling of results I found on the site:

• Axl Rose is slightly more annoying than Pete Rose
• Gentlemanly Harmon Killebrew is more annoying than documented asshole Reggie Jackson
• Eva Braun is more annoying than the man whose penis she took openly, Adolf Hitler
• Stacey Keibler, my favorite wrestling chick ever, is the No. 2 least annoying person on the site
• A.J. Benza is the most annoying of Howard Stern radio show personalities
• Mississippi is the most annoying Confederate state

Right now, nothing annoys me more than the excruciating three-day stomach ache I brought back from Mexico.

Other Web Finds:

Star Wars Kid Video — A fat, virginal fan practices his Jedi fighting skills. Fully endorsed by me as being worth your time to see. (Thanks, Tracy)

Panoramic View Atop Mount Everest — Not for those with slow bandwith or with a fear of heights. Hold mouse down to spin around the image. Keep tissues handy if your greatest expedition has been to Virginia Beach.

1-2-3 Be a Porn Star! A Step-By-Step Guide to the Adult Sex Industry — Another product sold on Amazon.com, the site founded by 1999 TIME Person of the Year Jeff Bezos. Show me a rich guy who doesn't make money off sex and I'll show a black-tie event filled with those who do. But who's willing to admit it?

Britney Without Liposuction — Pictures of what Ms. Spears would look like with an extra pound or two hundred tacked on her frame.

The Poultry Times — A news site dedicated to all things related to poultry and eggs. A little hard to read, though. It's all chicken scratch. Man, I crack myself up!

Mexican Wedding Pictures for You Saps Out There

I have to admit that even though I've never been to a place I love more than NYC, a guy could do a lot worse than attend his friends' wedding on a Saturday evening on the beach in Puerto Vallarta. Even a hack like me came away with some great shots.

I took so many photos, I had to break them out into two sections: pre-wedding day photos | wedding day photos

Even though my stomach now feels like someone is roasting marshmallows inside me, it was a great vacation with the only outcome that mattered: a flawless ceremony and reception (complete with a naked guest getting chased out of the ocean by the luxury resort's security) for my friends.

(As an aside I would like to advise all the men out there that all necessary connecting flights should be made in Dallas. In the little time I spent there, I saw more hot ass than in four days in Puerto Vallarta. They grow 'em blonde and, yep, things really are bigger in Texas.)