Martha Stewart walked out of prison…the other guy ducked.
A delightful spin on an enduring classic. But really, what’s the fascination with Martha Stewart being released from prison? They had polls all over the place this morning, “Do you think Martha was unjustly treated,” “do you think that Martha learned her lesson in prison,” “while incarcerated, do you think that Martha learned what it truly means to be a bitch…?”
They even talked about Martha’s influence at Camp Cupcake. She got the prison staff to put yogurt in the vending machines. Yogurt!! Wow. She has those crooked corrections jerks in the palm of her hand. John Gotti eat your heart out.
Now she’s heading home to her 60 million dollar estate and getting a bunch of crap for it. Both Jay Leno and David Letterman were teasing her on their shows (them and everyone else in the free world…behind the iron curtain, teasing Martha is the quickest way to have the Gestapo prune the old family tree if you know what I’m saying). “Oh, it must be tough being locked up in your million dollar mansion for a couple months…” “Don’t we feel sorry for you Martha for having to dwell in such squalor…”
Last time I checked, Jay and Dave weren’t living in studio apartments.
Oh, sure, they’re speaking for us. I get it. They’re funny. Ha ha ha. But what about poor Martha, huh?! She’s been in prison! She’s got cred now. A couple teardrop tattoos maybe?
What about Martha?!
Okay, I don’t really care. I’m just looking for something to write about. But I’m happy that she’s out. I hope they bring her show back to LA television. It was really starting to get good again right before she was convicted. But really, is her life so interesting that we all need to care? Only an idiot would waste their time following Martha Stewart’s every move. In fact, only an idiot would waste time writing about Martha Stewart. Precious time that could be used to watch her TV show or read her magazines or buy some nice yet inexpensive towels or sneak a glimpse through partially drawn, impeccably hung window treatments as she slips into the shower...
I’ll bet that man who was mauled by that chimp doesn’t care so much about Martha Stewart at the moment. You like that? I’ve found an ingenious way to tie together two current events.
For those of you who don’t know, this old beatnik couple used to have a chimpanzee. For years they had this diapered freak in their house. They let it sleep in their bed. They treated it like a child. They were very proud of their baby.
Personally, I don’t see the appeal. Seems to me that having a chimp around would be like having an incontinent, severely autistic child with hypertrichosis.
But see, the chimp used to like to escape and run amok. Finally Bonzo got a little persnickety with a cop car and bit a police officer on the finger. Was it bedtime for Bonzo? No. For two reasons. One, the authorities just sent him to live in a chimp prison somewhere. And two, his name isn’t Bonzo, it’s Moe.
Turns out that the chimp prison was no camp cupcake and it was too far for the couple to visit as regularly as they liked. So they petitioned to get Moe moved to a closer jail. Moe was moved closer…and that’s when things took a tragic turn.
The beatniks were bringing Moe a cupcake for his birthday when a few other chimps escaped from their cages and mauled the hell out of them. The man, St. James Davis and his wife LaDonna (good beatnik names) are now in the hospital. He lost a great deal of his face and she was bit a few times. Gory.
But there are lessons that can be learned from this incident. Don’t take tiny cakes to chimp prisons and “those who live by the chimp…”
Fun Fact: The latest TAM Cartoon is up! I’m kind of proud of it because I used a different perspective than normal. I’m also proud of it because I finished it.
That may not seem like a big deal, but here’s the thing. I’m an expert at finding stupid crap to do instead of getting done what I’m supposed to…even when the thing I’m supposed to get done is also stupid crap. Yesterday I sank to a new low.
I was about to start on the cartoon when I noticed that my guitar picks were hideously filthy. They needed to be cleaned. I’m sure that there’s nothing more embarrassing than catching the Ebola virus from your own guitar pick and my guitar picks invariably end up in my mouth while I’m playing. It’s easier than putting them down. Besides, as any guitar player will tell you, the second you set a guitar pick down it disappears. Like magic. Someday, I’m going to move and find a thousand guitar picks behind my dresser.
Which would be incredible since I never play my guitar near my dresser.
So yesterday, I spent 15 minutes cleaning cheap nylon guitar picks with a toothbrush and soap.
I would be more ashamed of myself if my picks weren’t so damned pristine.
Another fun fact for today: If Halle Berry herself came to my apartment, stripped naked and fed me meatball subs for a week, she still couldn’t get me to sit through “Their Eyes Were Watching God.”