Me and Ron Howard’s brother

In keeping with my recent tradition of not actually offering any new content, I thought I would show you this clip from the Fuse Fangoria Chainsaw Awards, featuring Jamie Kennedy, Clint Howard, Paul Rust and yours truly.

I had that goddam mask (what mask? LOL!) on for 7 or 8 hours. It covered one of my eyes and started irritating my eyelid really badly. I couldn’t see in 3 dimensions and when we broke for lunch, I couldn’t fit any food in my mouth.

On the plus side, I did make way below the union average and no residuals!



  1. It’s a little known fact that Sloth is now living in Hollywood after his longtime relationship with his “partner” Chunk ended. The pair had been living in San Francisco after intolerance of their “alternative lifestyle” (mainly by Mouth, who was always cracking inappropraite and hurtful jokes) forced them to flee the Goondocks in the late 80s. Sloth has still not quite recovered from losing the love of his life, and he often has dreams of once again sharing a Baby Ruth with his young “friend.” Alas, the emotional pain has made Sloth an angry man, and he now hangs out with a violent crowd of sadistic drug abusers, as evidenced by the above clip.

    It was not long after their release from prison that Francis, Jake, and Mama Fratelli attempted an intervention for Sloth, but his response was only a shouted, “Break! Fall! Hey, you Guys!” and he then smashed through the wall, never to be seen again by his family.

    When asked what the future held for her youngest boy, Mama Fratelli could only croak out the following words: “Kids suck.”

  2. I feel sorry for Sloth. He can only get certain parts because his looks are so bad. Maybe someone should have taken that beer away from him. I bet he’s hiding out in the Canadian wilderness somewhere now. I just hope they find him, he’s probably hungry because there’s no human food out there, just skanky animals and wildebeest. Mongooses and albino sugar gliders. Pygmys and wallabies. Snakes, all different kinds of snakes. Colton tigers. Also kangaroos.

  3. Dear Scott,

    I think you forgot the quotation marks around “Baby Ruth”. I’m sure it was an honest mistake, because if you meant the candy bar, you would have said Baby Ruth(tm). I also know that I should have put quotation marks around “Baby Ruth(tm)”, but I didn’t want to confuse you.

    And since I’m in tutorial mode, Jan, don’t be an idiot. Everyone knows kangaroos come from Austria. And wouldn’t Pygmies be considered “human food”. That’s racist! Not to mention heightist. I told you not to mention heightist.

    Ron Paul ’08, dudes!

  4. Two years later, Mama Fratelli (now going by her Christian name “Momma”) barely escaped death as Danny DeVito and Billy Crystal attempted to throw her from a moving train. In a plan that was equal parts of the Hitchcock film Strangers on a Train and the noir classic Double Indemnity, Crystal and DeVito devised several ways of killing Momma, all unfortunately unsuccessful, for that year’s hilarious Comic Relief benefit. The charity, of course, was created to provide assistance to those who were victims of unsuccessful murder plots, giving DeVito and Crystal’s failures just the right taste of delicious irony that was so popular in the comedic charities of the late 1980s.

    When asked what she thought of DeVito’s failed attempt on her life, Momma’s marble-mouthed reply was simply: “You clumsy poop, what did you do that for?”

  5. Funny story about Mama Fratelli. She actually got stuck with all those kids through marriage. None of them were hers. Just a couple of years before, she was married to another guy named Luther. I know this, because one night, I think it was in Bakersfield (you’d think I’d remember something like this, but the memory gets kind of hazy at some point), I was staying in a little roadside motel. I had gone down to the office to get some ice, and was walking back to my room when I heard a commmotion going on inside one of the rooms. When I looked inside the window, I saw Mama getting it on with this guy she kept calling Luther and saying how it had been so long. Well, I dropped the ice, and about lost my lunch. You would think that I learned ny lesson about minding my own business, but as I made my way towards my door, an even greater ruckus was coming from the next room. I just couldn’t help myself, and peered inside. I don’t know if there is any way I could have been prepared for what I saw. There, inside the room, were two chimpanzees wildly fucking. I mean wildly. There was not a stick of furniture left intact except the bed, which was quickly being compacted into the ground.
    I took a minute to catch my breath, wondering if I had really just seen what I knew I had. As I stumbled down the breezeway, only one room remained between myself and my own room. I was determined not to look, but as I passed the window, some kind of motion caught the corner of my eye, and, as if instinctively, my head snapped to look inside. I was both surprised and delighted to see a robust Clint Eastwood swinging frm the chandelier and pounding his chest. At least, I thought, there would be some redemption from the horrible things I had just witnessed. As I moved closer to the window and peered inside, I followed Clint’s Gaze down to the bed to see who was to be the lucky recipient of his “most powerful handgun” ( I later learned that the “Dirty Harry” was actually a “sex” act taught to a young Clint by none other than Lee Van Cleef at an Italian brothel, but I digress), only to find a stark naked Sondra Locke attempting to pose like a lioness.
    Well. as soon as the vomiting and convulsions ceased, I crawled back to my room and immediately severed my penis and testicles. Sometimes I regret it, but then I watch the rape scenes from “The Outlaw Josey Wales” or “Sudden Impact”, and I know I made the right decision. Poor rapists.

  6. Hey, Eric. Because I am totally a stalker who devilishly enjoys tracking your every movement, I went and checked the imdb entry for the 2006 Fuse Fangoria Chainsaw Awards (linked below so the rest of you monkeys can follow along), and I noticed you got a credit. Good work! However, I also noticed that it lists your role as “Himself.” Hmm, confusing. I’ve come up with a few theories as to what’s going on here, which I will share with you now. Please note that the following theories appear in no particular order, and they were crafted with a loving hand. On to the hypotheses!

    1. Either the Fangoria dudes or just the imdb entry guy is holding some sort of grudge against you, and they decided to list your role as “Himself” in order to imply that you really are a couch-sitting, table-smashing, Clint Howard-adoring, monkey-knuckle-having, inbred-being guy. If that is the case, you should begin plotting your revenge forthwith, and it should probably somehow involve diaper pie.

    2. The “real” face in the pictures that you post on your website is actually the mask, and your actual face is the one seen in the video. If that is the case, good God, man! Leave the mask on! Although I am a bit curious what led to the decision to add a neck beard to your “human” mask. ‘Cuz it’s really not workin’ for ya, son.

    3. The name of the inbred, Sloth-like character that you played in the video is actually “Himself.” That would be kind of retarded, but then again, so was the character, so we may have a winner!

    4. Once again, perhaps this was all just a horrible dream. That video does not actually exist, and neither does this website. Soon I will wake up drenched in sweat and other unidentified liquids just like every other night, and I will go back to my regular life as a circus trapeze artist. Oh wait, maybe the circus part is the dream. I’m confused.

    Jeez, now my head hurts from all this theorizing, hypothesizing, and categorizing. Thanks a lot, Eric! I mean, Himself.

  7. Pit-Pat: Thank you for pointing me in the right direction on my exotic animals. You are my eyes and ears!

    On a lighter note, I have noticed from time to time your curious approach to comma usage, offering the following example: In the very post wherein you have critiqued my knowledge, you begin in paragraph one with: “I’m sure it was an honest mistake, because if you meant the candy bar, …” Please note the comma you have inserted after ‘mistake’ would better serve the sentence when placed after ‘because’. Inasmuch, a more tastefully flowing sentence is created. To clarify, you would not need said comma were it not for the phrase ‘if you meant the candy bar’. Had you simply used “blahblahblah because blahblahblah” you would have required no comma, however, when you add the adverb clause (the ‘if’ claude) after a coordinator (the word ‘because’), it is precisely that moment the comma became necessary.

    Please consider comma usage; otherwise it can be difficult for me to discern when to pause when I am reading your posts.

    Scotty: Consider a valium for that headache.

  8. Hi Scotty: consider “Punctuation Nazi”.

    Now, can I be “Spelling Nazi” or “Reading Comprehension Nazi”?

  9. Sure! Can I be Nazi Nazi? This would be, of course, due to the fact that I am a strict enforcer of all Nazi history, lore, legend, stories, myth, rumor, gossip, innuendo, whispers, chatter, chit-chat, backfence talk, scuttlebutt, and hearsay.

    Example: Did you know Hitler once fucked a chicken? Me either, but I read it on the internet somewhere!

  10. Pit-Pat: With what *passion* you have abandoned your usual benign eloquence for boorish vulgarity! I would be happy to blow you, it’s not that. It’s the word “idiot” to which I refer. (A disgusting, small, little word!) Were I you, I should evict it from my vocabulary without hesitation. (Not that I will not act silly from time to time, I cannot deny the fact, LOL!) Tis only that “idiot” is such a commonplace term thrown around by average joe in such a constant flurry that it has been rendered devoid of much meaning really. I was surprised to hear it fall from your mouth, of all mouths; however it did appear to have flown out in a moment of curious heat, without much consideration on your part, and I have forgiven it as such. P.S. What is tutorial???

  11. No picking on poor Jan Brady. He’s an immigrant. He works hard at two jobs and this blog is his only release from the drudgery of his day-to-day life. He doesn’t need you picking on him. Sure, he’s a little anal (I hear he’s a lot anal, actually) but he means well. He just wants you all to better yourselves, like he did when he moved here from his homeland.

  12. I don’t understand. We can’t pick on immigrants now?! What about you? Can we pick on you? Or Scott? (Hi, Scott). <—pardon my ill-placed comma. Surely we can pick on pansexuals…..? (Should ‘pansexual’ be capitalized in this instance)?

    I mean, if we’re not supposed to pick on people, what’s the point?

  13. Is there no keeping you two from each other? Every time Pit-Pat says something, there Scotty Baio is trailing right along after him like a little lost puppy sheepdog. You two are so far up each other’s butts these days it’s ridonkulous.

    *Whacks Scott Baio over the head with blackboard pointer*

  14. Actually, Jan Brady, my comment was a riff on Ginger Ale’s post about “picking’ on things. The fact that Pit-Pat posted before I did is purely coincidental. Had you been paying any attention at all, surely you would have noticed that it is in fact Ginger and I who are “up each others butts,” as you so eloquently put it. It’s kinda dark in here, though, and I can’t find my keys.

  15. Oh sorry. I was busy rushing “get bent” back to the 1970s when the decade called wanting its saying back. Yeah, I’m straight now though, gotcha.

  16. Dear Scott, and not Jan, not that there’s anything “wrong” with Jan, I just want to make sure there isn’t any confusion,,

    If you’ll help me find my flashlight, we can finally meet face to face. Then we’ll look for your keys TOGETHER. I’m wearing that rainbow sweatshirt you sent me. It’s so cute!!!

  17. We can’t go on pretending day by day that someone somewhere will soon make a change. We are all a part of God’s great big family, and the know love is all we need.

  18. Is there room for one more in there? Don’t make me beg.

    I have my own keys? I could be the designated driver. Don’t ostracize me.

    Wow that’s the best I’ve seen. Since Devastin Dave.

  19. Sorry, Jan Brady. You can go in there if you like, but my journey has ended After a long and harrowing spelunking expedition through all of the various chambers, I have finally charted the entirety of Ginger’s ass. No crevice went unexplored. I did not, however, find my fuckin’ keys anywhere! Anyhoo, I’m gonna go get showered up and prepare for my next adventure: Assdiving into my own ass!

  20. Listen you be careful hon. I’ve seen this sort of thing before and it can get reeeaal dark in there, it’s easy to lose your way, there’s no one to help steer and you’ve got to do all of the belaying on your own. You might want to take a little canary or some furry little non-yappy thing, you know, something cute? just to help keep your spirits up in case you do get stranded. Also a harmonica is great just to help pass the time, if you do blow… One time me and my five brothers and sisters, stepmom and stepdad all went on our family vacation to another famous canyon, not yours of course but the other Grand Canyon, and our little brother and sister got real lost, we found out later they may have been fondled by hermits! It sounds like you’ve probably done this sort of thing before though, so just make sure that you do wear your petzl lamp, you do go in head first, and you may just come out of there with a few stories of your own to tell! *tossing you my furry white rabbit’s paw for good luck*

  21. Well I did spot what at first blush appeared to be a gunslinging buckaroo strumming a very handsome vintage cherry wooded six-string acoustic, but upon closer inspection he turned out to be more of an outlaw roper with a particularly high-pitched yodel. It was John Mayer. *sigh*

  22. Scott you’ll be glad to know after hours of searching my cavernous ass (just for shits and giggles), I finally found your keys. Pit-Pat had them the whole time. I’m not sure where he/she was hiding them, but they smell bad and they seem to have bits of cheese stuck to them. See her/him for their safe return. And Jan, IMO, the thought of John Mayer on a rope rawks. Thanks for the visual.

  23. Done and done, sir. And just in case you didn’t have spares, they burned a silhouette in my palm,* Raiders(c) style.

    John Mayer on a rope? Like spelunking? I just hope he doesn’t lose his footing and end up holed up in Box Canyon!


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