Articles Tagged ‘Where the Wild Things Are’
Two thousand and nine was a banner year for the Internet, if that banner is covered in ads for car insurance and home mortgage refinancing, “Team Jacob” and “Team Edward” stickers and shitstains from the Twitter bird. What better way to remember the ups and downs and spam e-mails trying to enlarge my penis that my dad forwards me than with the First Annual NBNnnys? I’d like to thank all those who helped me narrow down the hundreds of NBN features to these winners: my Ouija board, a bottle of Percocet and my magic 8-ball.
Pop culture drama has been so uninspired lately. Jon and Kate Gosselin are still getting divorced? You don’t say! Lindsay Lohan is fighting with Samantha Ronson again? Get out! Something something something Michael Jackson? (*Sticks hand out, bends wrist*) Girl, he ain’t never goin’ away. Heck, some idiot flew a giant balloon made of tin foil and even he got on the news. Well push the imposters aside and bury Michael Jackson ladies and gentlemen (he smells like a rusted amusement park covered in eggs), because Mel Gibson is back. Homophobe, anti-Semite and alcoholic? FINALLY we can have some real headlines: “Drunk Gibson hijacks bus of gays, crashes into synagogue.”
Most people would look at me and say, “Wow Brad. You’ve got it all. Great looks. An amazing personality. One of the funniest columns in the history of written word. And a horrible really well-paying job.” And I’d look at them and say, “Don’t ever make eye contact with me.” But after that, I’d explain that while I’m really grateful for the upbringing I got, it never fit me. I may have been born on Long Island in the 1980s, but I belong somewhere else. Namely, a 1970s ghetto filled with bedazzled-suits, wonderful hair and wide knowledge of karate. I’m talking of course, about (*deep breath*) BLACK DINOOOO MITEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!