Kittypuke and Bono

I woke up this morning to the sound and smell of a small gray cat puking 5 inches from my feet. I am happy to report Plato is doing fine but I’m not sure about Dan. I enlisted his assistance in cleaning up the aftermath due to my fragile half-awake psyche which would have been irreparably scarred had I cleaned up the kittypuke myself. For some reason it resembled shredded chicken in a lovely Ethiopian Ber Ber sauce. Dan cleaned it all up for me and gagged the whole way to the garbage can. It was that bad.

But that’s not what you wanted to hear. What you want to hear is my thoughts on MTV’s programming this weekend. OK, maybe not, but oh well. That’s all I have to talk about at the moment.

I don’t know if it was a marathon or what, but all I saw was “Fight For Your Rights,” a series that is supposed to open our minds to other cultures and lifestyles. Or something.

I was only able to catch about 129 hours of “The Diary of Bono and Chris Tucker: Aiding Africa,” or as I like to call it, The Diary of Bono and Chris Tucker: Making Ourselves Feel Better for Being So Rich. It was basically Bono in those stupid bug glasses with Chris Tucker wearing a suit that probably cost more than the entire continent’s combined GNP. They’d visit village after depressing village with an assortment of uplifting, inspirational two-toothed disease-riddled natives who, in the course of drinking a case of conspicuously placed Coca Cola, would ramble on about how, even with all the AIDS, filth, and lack of electricity, running water, and well, anything, they still manage to keep a positive outlook on life. Tucker and Bono would then scamper off in their Range Rover and talk about how amazing the people were.

Oh, then one entire village crammed into a little Church and sang “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For” to Bono. I presume they’re looking for either a cure for AIDS, a case or two of flyswatters, or Sally Strothers’ stash of Hohos.

I’m going to hell.

A few hours (days?) later I watched “Coming Out.” Coming Out is the story of four teens that filmed themselves dropping the gay bomb on their families. The most interesting thing in each of the stories is that for the most part they’d all say, “Dad I have something to tell you…. I’m different” to which the father would say something like “Uh, yeah.. You?re gay. Duh.” The most shocking story (no pun intended, ok maybe) is the guy who had electrodes attached to his ding ding so the Mormon Church could zap the gay out of him. Ouch ouch ouch.

That’s so unbelievably fucked up. For his sake I hope there is a hell, and I can’t want to see them there.

Sometime in my cable induced stupor I managed to watch The Fast and the Furious in it’s entirety on Starz’s free preview weekend. What a load of crap. For the life of me I can’t see what anyone sees in Vin Diesel. He’s not hot, he doesn’t seem to be all that intelligent, and his acting is maybe a smidgen better than Swartzenegger. Maybe. Give me Kevin Spacey or Edward Norton any day. Please.

Well, it’s 11pm and I need to make my rounds in the radio station.. For all I know we’ve been off the air for the last hour. Toodles.