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Bad movies, Pau Gasol and how to quit your job in style. Sid Saraf and Eric Kay have clearly hit rock bottom, watch the train wreck before the Hazmat comes in.
| ERIC KAY | SID SARAF |
| BOURBON QUESTION: So, Bob Knight quit midseason and ex-Banterer Johnny Rosenstein wants to commit hara-kiri. How dramatic. But seriously, what's the best way to quit a job? | |
| I thought our coffee had a peculiar mesquite ring to it that day. That's a heckuva gameplan you put forth their, buddy. I don't think there's anyway to top that. But let's go down a different road. It's called Grace and Class Avenue. Ever heard of it? Of course you haven't, Betty. You ensure the line of succession is in place in order to maintain continuity. You inform any clients of your plans and how your relationship with them may change. You go around quietly thanking people who influenced you. Maybe your co-workers orchestrate a little going away party for you. Yes, ice cream cake is acceptable in these instances. You talk with your boss; kindly ask for one last evaluation so you can make sure you learn from your most recent mistakes. You give away any appropriate parting gifts, like desk knickknacks or books. Then you return any pens, pencils, mousepads and the like to the office supply room. After all, we're not thieves, are we? Then, last but not least, and this is the most important part Sid so please listen. You calmly take off your shoes one by one, walk over in your Gold Toes to your boss' office, take out two 3/4 inch nails and proceed to hammer them to the door, and scream to your superior, "good luck filling these, (insert expletive)." | OK, I'm not going to lie. This is going to get weird. I'm talking chocolate pudding and Bugs Bunny ears weird. You know, everyone thinks drastic measures are only called for in negative situations. Why? There's no fun in shooting co-workers after you've been fired. First of all, everyone would be expecting it. The minute someone saw me in the building, I'd be shot by Homeland Security, since they would have already been tailing me. Simply because I'm Indian. Oh, you think I'm lying? Accompany me to an airport sometime -- then you'll see the truth. No, the key is to snap for no reason. Run down the whole Gallant list. Give your two week notice on scented paper. Bring in doughnuts every day during your last week, thank the boss for giving you a great recommendation and send a grateful e-mail to that corporate moron-in-charge who makes it his "goal" to meet everyone in the building by the end of the year. Then show up early on your last day wearing only adult diapers and demand to have them changed by the security guard under threat of tantrum. Pour Skoal spit in the coffee machine. Kick the pregnant employee in the boob and then scream, "Hey! Where are the whores at?!" Then, while police drag you outside, let urine dribble down your leg and proclaim, "My pee is the nectar of God! Worship it!" Now, that's an exit. |
| SCOTCH QUESTION: The heavens have parted and the Lord has handed down a blessing to Sid from Mt. Olympus. Pau Gasol is now a Laker -- how will he change the world? | |
| I'd imagine we'll see a few tapas restaurants open up near the Staples Center. He may try and get Ronny Turiaf to watch Pan's Labrynth. Maybe a few Penelope Cruz and Mandy Patinkin sightings courtside. Jack is probably listening to the Castellan Rosetta Stone right now, reciting phrases like "bueno, Pau" in his Prius. Gasol's presence will probably prevent that sinkhole of a city from floating off into the Pacific. Gasol will surely be on an episode of Cribbs (do they still have that show?) and Curb (same question). His presence may even end the writers' strike. But really, Pau Gasol symbolizes one thing and one thing only for Laker nation -- Shaq. Or rather, someone to fill Shaq's shoes. And I'll tell ya something. You know who can fill Shaq's shoes? Shaq! And he's in Phoenix (L.A.'s nicest 'burb) and ready to run his way to another title. It was a nice one-game run with Gasol, but with a rejuvenated Diesel in the desert, it's Pau she wrote for any purple (ew) and yellow (double ew) title hopes, world domination or whatever other silly scenario Sid has cooked up his sleeve (so I mix metaphors, big whoop, wanna fight about it?). | To be honest, I really don't care about the world. I'm an extraordinarily self-centered person. Seriously, every starving child in Africa can shuffle off this mortal coil as long as the Lakers, Dodgers and Trojans are successful. Have you heard of Obama Girl? Call me Gasol Boy. My fantasy is to play Jennifer Grey to Pau's Patrick Swayze in our very own Hungry Eyes montage. Guh-goom. Guh-goom. By the way: Jennifer, Pau and yours truly have the same nose. Coincidence? Go ahead and call me names, I don't care. The joy-joy feelings are coursing through my veins. I feel so good I want to shout it from the top of a mountain -- only I don't have a mountain, so I express my feelings here: "I love the Lakers! We're back, baby!" That's right people. I feel like Keshia Knight Pulliam after snorting the night's first line. I feel the sun shining down on me. The sweet scent of a championship is tickling the tip of my nose and I'm going to sneeze a happy rainbow. |
| BEER QUESTION: Since Eric Kay's a real artsy-fartsy sissy, he's taking the easy way out and picking a topic from imdb.com. So, which of the website's Bottom 100 movies are your favorite? | |
| It saddens, and surprises me, to report Hulk Hogan has two of the worst movies. There's Santa with Muscles (pretty much says it all) and 3 Ninjas: High Noon at Mega Mountain. But this is a best argument left for my pal Roger Ebert. When that man doesn't like a movie, well, best watch out for falling thumbs. Just check out his take on Battlefield Earth: "[It] is like taking a bus trip with someone who has needed a bath for a long time. It's not merely bad; it's unpleasant in a hostile way. "This movie is awful in so many different ways. Even the opening titles are cheesy. Sci-fi epics usually begin with a stab at impressive titles, but this one just displays green letters on the screen in a type font that came with my Macintosh. "Some movies run off the rails. This one is like the train crash in 'The Fugitive.' I watched it in mounting gloom, realizing I was witnessing something historic, a film that for decades to come will be the punch line of jokes about bad movies." Your Anus doesn't come close to sniffing that monstrosity. | First of all, "Eric," I'm not interested in bottoms. Furthermore, I resent your line of questioning. Anyway, let's see what we have here. Wow, a Turkish movie is ranked No. 4? What kind of crap is that? This list is no place for foreigners. They come over here, take our jobs and now they're invading our movie lists? Unforgivable ... Let's forget about that. Hmm, Die Hard Dracula sits at No. 5. Bruce Willis must really be hurting for work. That gives me hope. Maybe I can get him to read my treatment of Operation Dumbo Drop 3: Back in the Habit. At No. 11 is Anne B. Real. Ah, the producer is World B. Free -- I always wondered what happened to him. Skimming down ... Bolero, Battlefield Earth, no surprises there. Wait a minute ... oh my lord! I've hit the motherload. No. 82 is called Anus Magillicuty. Don't run spell-check folks, there's actually a non-porn movie called Anus Magillicutty. You know what? I'm not even going to make a joke. I don't care about its plot. I think the title alone makes it my favorite. I just want to type it again: Anus Magillicutty. Wow. |
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