Last week, the lastest celebrity to pick up a microphone and dumptruck their way through Take Me Out to the Ballgame at Wrigley Field was Mr. T aka Laurence Tureaud. If my first name was Laurence, and my last name was that grotesquely consonant-deficient, I would go by Mr. T too.

But this posting is has nothing to do with him messing the booth at Wrigley- there are probably 10-thousand blogs you can read about that on. No, this posting is about another song that he sang back in the day. An ORIGINAL song by Laurence. His early work, before he sold out and went corporate. If you’ve never seen the video for TREAT YOUR MOTHER RIGHT, then you are in for a treat. I dissected this piece or work back in ’07…. but now that Laurence has picked up a microphone again, it’s time to revisit his opus.

Watch this clip, and then scroll down the analysis below. I think you’ll enjoy it. I know you will.

Let’s get into it.

Laurence, who obviously had complete creative control over this project, thought it would be a good idea to open his foray into the recording industry with a scripted, overacted confrontation between a little kid and an obese woman. It always makes me wonder how the casting call for the latter was worded, because the role clearly demanded that the actress be overweight. So if a woman came in for the part, and nailed her audition, yet was only mildly overweight- would she not get the role? “Sorry ma’am. We love you, your audition was great. It’s just… you’re not quite portly enough. You understand.” Perhaps then she promised that she would camp out at Carl’s Jr. and try to gain 15-20 pounds before the callback, but there was undoubtedly a stable of obese women in the waiting room who not only have the required girth, but are willing to objectify themselves as a fat person in exchange for the opportunity to be in a Mr. T music video. Hollywood is tough.

Anyway- the fat lady and the little kid share some painful verbal jabs. Not quite as painful as the ludicrous sequence in The Lost World when the little girl uses her gymnastics skills to drop-kick a blood-thirsy raptor, but painful. Then our hero walks in and makes like King Solomon. He explains in his own impeccable vernacular that by insulting someone’s mother, you are actually insulting every single mother on Earth. I don’t agree with this whatsoever. For example, I think Joan Crawford was a poor mother. But I don’t think that disparages, say… my friend Brad’s mom. She’s great. Love the woman. You see?

After Laurence sends the little boy and the portly woman (arm-in-arm?) away, he immediately whips out a microphone from the back pocket of his brain-hanging hotpants and starts shuffling from side to side, flanked by three “fly girls” who are actually dressed like soccer moms. Classy touch, T. Way to keep it wholesome.

Then we get to my favorite part. Laurence makes an inspired and original lyrical choice by deciding to spell out the word “MOTHER” and make it into a trainwreck of an acronym. Check this out. He says:

“M” is for the moan, and the miserable groan from the pain that she felt when I was born.
-and he pronounces the last word “bone” as only a badass black man can. But I otherwise this stanza is a pretty morbid way to begin an homage to your mother. The miserable groan??

“O” is for the oven with its burning heat, where she stood making sure I had something to eat.
Again, kind of morbid. Why does their oven have “burning heat?” Couldn’t the “O” have stood for “Open” arms that she had? Or that she was “overjoyed” when her son shaved his hair into a mohawk? I just came up with those 2 off the top of my head. Laurence worked on this lyrics for weeks and the best he could come up with for “O” is “Oven with its burning heat?” I should have been a ghostwriter for this song. And I was only 5 at the time. Moving on…

“T” is for the time that she stayed up nights, and took my temperature when I wasn’t feeling right.
I just find this line funny because I picture a 7 year-old T. with a mercury thermometer in his mouth, donning 25 pounds of gold chains, a mohawk and camoflauge banana-hammock shorts.

“H” is for the hard-earned money she spent, to keep clothes on my back and tried to pay the rent.”
First of all, this sentence doesn’t make sense. He switches tenses in the middle of it. If he just removed the words “and tried” it would make sense. Also- I wonder what his mother thinks about the clothes on his back in the video. Did any of her hard-earned money buy him those extra-long striped tube socks?

“E” is every wrinkle that I put on her face, and every worry that I caused when I stayed out late.
Here’s a bit of advice for anyone out there who is considering writing a song and shooting a rad video for your mother: Don’t include a lyric that points out all of the wrinkles on her face. “E” might as well stand for “Every pound on her rear, when she wasn’t thinking clear…”

And the last letter “R” is for respect, and the room up in Heaven I know she’ll get.
Once again, morbid. Suggests she is close to death, which judging by the myriad of wrinkles all over her face, she probably is.

I won’t even go into the montage of children showing love for their mother, including one where a little girl kisses her mother goodbye and gets jelly all over her face that’s supposed to represent the day-in-day-out hardships of parenthood. Needless to say- they’re amazing.

Just do me one favor- the next time that someone says to you “Hey did you see Mr. T sing Take Me Out to the Ballgame at Wrigley?” …tell them: “No. But I did see Laurence tell me to treat my mother right. And it’s way better.”

We’re back.

If you’re loyal enough to this site, or you’re bored at work and decide to come by because Jim plugs it on the air, then you probably know that I’m prone to talking weeks and months off. My presence here is as dependable and consistent as Ricky Reiley’s on ESPN.com. And that guy gets paid to write. My only payment is the e-mails you send me- most of which just bitch and whine about me not posting anything. – like you’re trying to kick H and dry-heaving your way through withdrawal just because I haven’t posted a snarky little rant. I love it.

And better yet- I’ve got something for you. The 4th installation of the podcast series that I do with Ali Sweeney (recent photo above).

We are no longer a trilogy. And while a lot of franchises end up messing the bed when the surpass the hat trick, Star Wars for example, I happen to believe that our 4th installment is more in the vein of the 4th Rocky movie. Unarguably the best in the franchise, and arguably the finest film of the decade. So I’m feeling pretty confident about this one.

Highlights include….

-We wrap things up with Rock Paper Scissors deathmatch. Because that’s always compelling radio.

That’s all for now. Have at it. And then let me have it- Kyle@KyleBrandt.com

-KB

Over the past six weeks, a pair of total strangers has died- and it has made me happy. Allow me to explain. I’m not happy they’re dead, I’m just happy that their deaths afford me the opportunity to get something off my chest that has bothered me since I was a little kid.

1. Molly Bee, singer, dead in Los Angeles at the age of 69. (cue Beavis and Butthead laugh)

2. Jimmy Boyd, singer, dead in Los Angeles at the age of 70.

But the departed had more in common than their the occupation and place of death.

They both tasted fame by singing different versions of the same song:

I SAW MOMMY KISSING SANTA CLAUS

I’ve been good enough to include a YouTube clip of the late Mr. Boyd’s version, so you can listen as you read below. Please, click PLAY and proceed.

Why, you ask, do I find it interesting that both of these people have passed away? Because those two people rose to fame by singing the most fucked up Christmas song there is. By far.

In fact, “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” is one of the most fucked up songs there is, PERIOD. It’s purely bizarre. And there’s no reason it should be part of the December heavy-rotation playlist every year.

Have you ever taken a moment to stop and consider what that song is about? Allow me to do it for you.

Essentially, “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” is about a little kid who creeps downstairs on Christmas Eve to see if Santa Claus left any presents, only to walk in on the Big Fella tongueing his Mommy. What is that??!!

And it’s not even like this kid witnessed his Mommy giving Santa a little peck on the cheek for hooking her son up with Transformers and a Pogo Ball.

No, no, no. The song’s not called “I saw Mommy Kiss Santa Claus.”

It’s I saw Mommy KISSING Santa Claus. It’s a sustained makeout.

Why not just write a new song called “I Saw Mommy Mounting Santa Claus???

I mean- who knew that Jolly Old Saint Nick was a homewrecking Tail-hound? “And Santa has a very special stocking stuffer for Mommy! Ho Ho Ho!”

Santa Claus is no different that Patrick Dempsey in Loverboy. But instead of pizzas with extra anchovies, he’s delivering infidelity under the mistletoe.

Let’s check out the lyrics. It makes the whole scenario even creepier that the kid is re-telling the sordid tale in 1st person. You can just picture him telling the same story, years later, on the couch of some psychiatrist who is scribbling notes about how messed up the kid is and much medication and shock therapy he’s going to need.

Anyway- the lyrics. When this kid walks in on Momma and Santa- things were just heating up. And Mommy was loving it.

“Then, I saw Mommy tickle Santa Claus/
Underneath his beard so snowy white”

QUESTION- Where in the hell is DADDY while some fat dude in a red suit has his tongue down his wife’s throat and she’s working his beard??

I’d like to write a new song called “I Saw Daddy Beating the Ever-Living Crap out of Santa Claus.”

In fact- if you’ll join me in looking further into the lyrics, you’ll find that this poor, traumatized, soon-to-be-medicated child even thinks of his/her father while Santa’s thinking of second base with Mommy.

“Oh, what a laugh it would have been
If Daddy had only seen
Mommy kissing Santa Claus last night.”

Yeah, it would have been a laugh all right. If by “laugh” you mean “bloodbath” I don’t think Daddy would have laughed at the site of some tassel-toed pervert getting all amorous and groping his old lady- I think he would have run back upstairs to get his gun.

I used to think the worst Christmas-time lyrics were in “The Christmas Song.” Specifically, this lazy, cop-out line:

“And so, I’m offering this simple phrase, for kids from 1 to 92
Although it’s been said many times, many ways…. Merry Christmas… to you.”

-Translation: If you’re 93 years old- go fuck yourself. I don’t care if you’ve survived on this planet for 93, 94, or 110 years. None of those ages rhyme with “you”, so I don’t give a damn if you have a Merry Christmas or not.

I didn’t think it could get much worse than that, until I saw a news report eulogizing Molly Bee, in which they played that song and it finally struck me- 9 months before Christmas- that the song that made her famous should never be sung again.

And considering now that two different people who sang it have died in the past 6 weeks, we may be witnessing THE CURSE of I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.

And I'm all for it.

But it seems that topic the filled my Inbox faster than Viagra junkmail is the discussion we had about Carrie Underwood, and the terrible, deplorable message she gives to young girls in her song “Before he Cheats.” I contended that she shows young women that if your boyfriend kisses another girl, destroy his car and get arrested for it. Carrie is the one who comes off looking psychotic. Some of the e-mailers agreed with me, others were wrong.

Let’s start with someone who got it right….

Dear Kyle- Thank you! I was always wondering if I was the only one who thought it was stupid that she said she carved her name into the back seat. I mean, who leaves a calling card? -Antonio

See- I like that. Antonio not only agrees with me, he THANKS me. And he understands my argument completely. Carrie Underwood bragging that she “scratched her name into his leather seat” is really bragging that she’s stupid enough to let the police know who they should arrest. Let’s try another one….

Hey y’all. Y’all know that Carrie Underwood didn’t actually write that song, right? Give her a break. -Kathy

Hey Kathy- you know that you used “y’all” two times in the first three words of your e-mail, right? No ones ever going to accuse you of having someone else write your material. And yes, I know that Underwood didn’t write the song. I figured that as soon as I realized that it was a good song. She didn’t write it- but she recorded it. She performs it. She’s the face behind it. And when some more talented and less attractive song writer handed her the lyrics, she became responsible for them. So it’s on her.

This person became my new favorite reader for two reasons. #1 his name is RICK. Love that. I’m assuming his name is RICHARD- yet with so many options to abbreviate it (RICH, RICHIE, RICKY.. OR JUST LEAVE IT AS RICHARD) my man chose to go through life as RICK! Aren’t you legally required to wear a mustache if your name is RICK? Anyway, he also brought up a great point in relation to Arby’s.

YO KB- I heard you mention that The Biggest Loser people will get fat again if they eat Arby’s. Gotta ask- isn’t Arby’s Sauce the best condiment in the world? Let me know. -Rick.

You are beautiful Rick. I can’t see any dark horses or juggernauts in the condiment world that pack the sort of supplemental pleasure that Arby’s Sauce does. It’s just so tangy and wonderful. I would listen to an argument for A-1 SAUCE. But unfortunately, A-1 carries with it that whole stigma, which dictates that you’re not allowed to ask for it at a nice restaurant. I mean, you can, I suppose. But when the waiter hears that you want to smother your $40 New York Strip in A-1 sauce, he looks at you like you’re White Trash. Meanwhile, anyone who DOESN’T drown their Arby’s Sandwich in Arby’s Sauce doesn’t deserve to dine there. Rick- you feel me, right?

Another e-mailer went off-the-board and weighed in on a KB.com oldie but goodie. This guy loves my favorite time waster on the World Wide Web. FamousR.com

Hi Mr. Brandt. I tried the game at FamousR.com and love some of the pics they have. Which is your favorite? Mine would have to be either Kristy Swanson (they use the cover of her Playboy magazine from the 90′s) or some lady called Shirley Jones (they use her animated face from some show in the 70s). Also, who do you think is the least famous person on there? Today I got the dad from that 70′s show (aka Kurtwood Smith aka the bad guy in Robocop). I think he has to be the lowest ranked. I think if it was between him and the dancing spandex bum on Robertson, he might lose. NOT GINZ

An interesting e-mail, despite your bizarre handle- NOT GINZ. The bad guy in Robocop isn’t even close to the least famous person on there because when you say “the bad guy in Robocop” I know exactly who you’re talking about. But what makes FamousR fun, isn’t the big name celebrities anyway. It’s the matchups. I’m going to go play right now. Hold on. (playing) ….okay. That was the worst round I’ve ever had. But it proved my point. I lost in just 7 frames. Why? Because I thought Jackie Gleason was more famous than Kirstie Alley. In fact, I still think he is. But FamousR doesn’t, and that’s all that matters. Anyway- good e-mail, NOT GINZ. You’re Famous-er around these parts now.

Many, many e-mailers offered their thoughts on what the hell Tim Curry says after Mr. Green shoots him. You know Mr. Green- he’s the Federal Agent who goes undercover as a homosexual to a dinner party filled with murdering sociopaths who, in one scene, nearly delve into necrophilia to avoid the police. CLUE is an awesome movie. But it’s sick. Anyway, this is Mr. Green.

-and while I could post several e-mails with a litany of reasons why Tim Curry is saying “Good shot Green…….. VERY GOOD!” – I really don’t need to, because everyone seems to be in agreement that it is, in fact, what he says.

Lastly, I think it’s appropriate to end on a contentious note. Listening to the Podcast, you might have heard me respond to a very rude e-mailer who sent me an unprovoked, incendiary e-mail beforehand. For some reason, she had a problem with my college education, and decided to take time out of her day to e-mail me, a stranger, and try to insult me. So I mocked her e-mail on the Podcast…. and wouldn’t you know it….. she has responded again. Here she is, you love her, you hate her, put your hands together for JJTOUCH125

Wow. Why am I not surprised? You’re fucking 30 years-old, and still act like you’re 18. Maybe this explains the picture of your high school prom you’ve posted: You’re getting old, and having problems accepting. Grow up!

-jjtouch 125

Where to begin? How about the first few words. She (I’m assuming it’s a girl because no dude would care enough to sacrifice the dregs of their day to e-mail a stranger over their alma mater) starts off by saying “WOW.” And the says she’s not surprised. Is “WOW” something you say when you’re not surprised? In that case- WOW, you e-mailed me again after hearing the podcast. Didn’t see that coming. I was certain that someone like you , especially someone who “went to Yale” (we’ll get to that in a minute) and seems to have such a full, rich life, wouldn’t want to waste any of it on something that offers no reward, other than being mentioned on some website. That said, this is the coolest thing that has happened to you in months. Years, even.

I also love that I mentioned JJtouch125′s original e-mail towards the very end of the Podcast. So she sat though the entire thing. And I can guarantee she did in on a Friday Night. Imagine all the hearts she broke that night when she turned off her cellphone and all of the guys who were trying to take her out on a date got sent to voicemail because she had to listen to some obscure podcast in hopes that she would get mentioned.

So let’s establish a timeline here.

First- she came to my website. Billions of websites on the Internet, and she decided to come to mine. Then she e-mailed me. And then she came back here and spent OVER AN HOUR listening to my friend and me bullshitting about random topics. And then she e-mailed me again. And now…. as she’s reading this with her heart beating and her palms sweating, she is on my site again. -not to mention the hundred or so times she’s check this site since she sent the second e-mail, hoping that she would get mentioned again.

She’s like a little fat kid who runs to the mailbox after school every day to see if his mail-order cereal box toy has arrived. Well- JJTouch125. Today is the today.

Oh, and as for her going to Yale. I don’t care where anyone went to school. Brilliant people have dropped out of high school, and Idiots have gone to Oxford. That said. Let’s go ahead and stamp JJTouch’s days at Yale as 100% Pure Bullshit. There’s not a chance you went there. I know plenty of Yale grads. They don’t get caught up in petty war mongering with other Ivy grads. They don’t care. And if they did, they wouldn’t make absurd statements like “Yale is the only school, besides Harvard, that people outside America have actually heard of.” That lack of wherewithal and abundance of ignorance makes my point for me. So- no one in Canada has ever heard of Michigan State? No one in London has ever heard of Columbia? No one in Japan has ever heard of Stanford? It’s ridiculous. And so is bragging about what college you went to or how great your career is. Were you also planning on employing the “My Dad can beat up your Dad” strategy. Probably not, because I imagine your Dad is too busy beating himself up for the way he raised you.

To the rest of my dear readers, I’m sorry you had to witness that. But every now and then, I need to empty out the Roach Motels around here when they start to stink.

Thanks for the correspondence, as always. I’m sorry I didn’t post more of your e-mails, but Ali and I will be doing a Podcast sooner than later, and I’ll make the next mailbag more thorough and less vicious. Until then, don’t forget: There is no basement in the Alamo.

-KB

Ali’s picture was taken last week at a production meeting for THE BIGGEST LOSER, and that shot of me is from a wedding I attended last summer.

Anyway, I want to thank for your Podcast e-mails. Both my readers and haters alike. After I putting out an open call for them in my last post- you guys came through, big time. Ali and I tried to read a lot of them- and by “a lot” of them, I mean about 6. But that wasn’t for lack of quality. Even the negative ones were entertaining. Unfortunately my favorite e-mail came too late to be part of the Podcast, it was from a reader named Allison M. — who not only resurrected the word “putz” and threw it my way, but also lamented that I continually disappoint her by no-showing around here after she did me the honor of including KB.com on her bookmarks. I hear you, Allison. This is big day for you. Thanks for your bookmark loyalty.

Before you scroll down and we get underway.. I’m going to give a run down of hot buttons and teasers for the content that’s about to stream through the audio player at the bottom of this page. This is what’s in store for you:

-It only takes me 1 minute and 5 seconds to try to sound cool by dropping my first hot shit 9th grade vocabulary word. ARCHAIC. It falls a little flat when it’s in reference to The Karate Kid.

-The return of the penalty bell, which tolls for Ali when she says “Like” and for me when I drop an F-Bomb. It gets a workout this time around.

-I decide that Carrie Underwood is a sociopath and a felon. At least in one song. Ali disagrees and does a lot of whining about it.

-Ali gives an update on the 7th season of The Biggest Loser. And later I ask her why those people seem to gain back the 400 pounds that they lose.

-At the 10:33 mark, I make my first mention of Jared from Subway. I’m surprised it took so long. See here and here for my history with the J-Man.

-We talk about grown men who still play video games, and why their women hate them for it.

-Miraculously, Ali and I get into a debate about Darth Vader. And she wins.

-At the 12:48 mark, I break my own rule and misquote a movie line. This one pertains to Pulp Fiction, and I use the word “Automobile” instead of “Vehicle.” It’s a small mistake, but I still flogged myself afterwards.

-At the 27:36 mark , there is mention of ARBY’S. And I defy you not to salivate at the sight of this:

-We debate which is the best weapon in Blackberry Brickbreaker. Laser? Bomb? Multi? Missile?

–Ali becomes the first contestant on my new game PRO FOOTBALL or PORNO STAR? And she fares pretty well.

-Our production value skyrockets at the 54:30 point as we debate a piece of dialogue from CLUE, and neither one of us can figure out what the hell Tim Curry is saying.

If you want to brush up on the first two installments of IN POD WE TRUST, or if you hear this one and want more, or if you just have copious amounts of free time, Click these links.

IN POD WE TRUST Vol. I
N POD WE TRUST Vol. II

That’s all I’ve got for now. The previews are over. The lights are dimmed. The cellphones are turned off. Sit back, relax, and press play. Whether you love it or loathe it, you’re always welcome to purge into kyle@kylebrandt.com.

See you on the other side. Enjoy.

-KB

Unfortunately, the Mailbags have gone the way of Crystal Pepsi and Pogo Balls. They’re extinct. Your e-mails still come in, although not as often. And it’s tough to sort through the hordes of viagra-shilling junkmail to find them. Below are 3 subjects from e-mails I received today through KB.com. See if you can decipher which one is from a reader:

1. SHE WILL HUNGER FOR YOUR JUNK
2. Yo KB whats up man?
3. TERRORIZE HER WITH YOUR LOVE CANNON!

One of these things is not like the others.

But I’m calling on you, the faithful readers who still e-mail the site, to fight back against the JUNK/LOVE CANNON e-mails. I need your correspondence right now- even if your idea of correspondence involves getting creative and calling my sexuality into question or asking when I’m going to return to the world of soaps. (for many of you, these two subjects are one in the same.)

The reason I’m asking for e-mails and questions is because I am reuniting with my good friend Allison Sweeney to record our third Podcast. You know Ali as the host of The Biggest Loser, a daytime television icon, and an aspiring runway model.

If you go back to the old school, you know that the first two Podcasts were posted here on KB.com, and covered such topics as:

-The scam of bottled water
- Christie Brinkley v. Britney Spears
- The way people tap on the top of soda cans before they open them
- The time I was nearly arrested in New Mexico for stealing booze from a hotel kitchen
- And much, much more.

You can still listen to them, if you’d like to brush up before Podcast #3 arrives sometime next week. I’ve been good enough to post them below.

(If you’re using a PC, they may take a few minutes to load. And you may need to take a few minutes to reexamine your life, and purchase a MAC. It’s way, way better. Trust me. I’m a convert.)

In POD We Trust #1

In POD We Trust #2

Anyway- Ali and I enjoy fielding a few e-mails during the recording. So send some to us. I’m asking you. And ask whatever the hell you want. The more bizarre, the better. Asking “What’s it like to host THE BIGGEST LOSER?” is not so interesting. But asking her is she ever grubs on pizza and ice cream in front of the starving contestants just for shits- that’s good. In fact, if none of you ask her that, I will.

But otherwise- we’d love to hear from you.

So e-mail anything you’d like to say or ask to:

KYLE@KYLEBRANDT.COM

And if it’s interesting or ridiculous enough, we’ll tackle it during the Podcast. Help us out and we’ll hook you up.

I mean he’s a “gamer” -as in that totally contrived term they invented for burnouts who play video games for 18 hours a day.

They used to be called “losers.” Now they’re called “gamers.”

And this kid dropped out of high school at 16 years old to become one. True story.

I won’t include the kid’s name in this story, because you’ll see it soon enough. Possibly on a milk carton, but more likely on an FBI watch list.

So the obvious question- where are the parents in all this? Oh they’re there. In fact, they’re on board. Although initially he was against the idea of his son abandoning education, friends, and girls – the kid’s old man just threw in the towel. Here’s what this Father of the Year had to say about his heir dropping out of school to pursue a living as a loser.

“We couldn’t take the complaining anymore. He always told me that he thought school was a waste of time.”

Right- just what every 16 year old kid says. But you tell them to get their ass to school. In fact, you may have to even tell them more than once. Even if it’s three times, you sort of have to put up with “the complaining.” Especially when they’re complaining about how they want to ditch school to scrape together some sort of living by playing video games.

Like if your daughter just really, really wants to become a stripper, like it’s her dream- and she just keeps “complaining” all the time that you won’t let her….. you don’t just give up and say To hell with it. You keep them off the pole at all costs.

Then again, maybe these parents know what they’re doing. After all, according to the story, they have hired “home tutors” to educate their son. And you know that setup always cranks out the Rhodes Scholars. But there’s hope for this kid. Apparently he has already won some “gaming” competitions, and his prices thus far have included….

“Gaming Equipment”

Gift Certificates

and…..

Chicken sandwiches. …..No shit. That was a real prize.

Because those will pay the bills. You can pay the gas company in gift certificates. You can keep the electricity on with chicken sandwiches. And while his friends are in school reading, writing and working on their SAT scores, this kid is in the Game Room. Shredding, blasting and working on a new High Score.

We all like video games. And when I was 16, I was playing NHLPA ’95 and F-ZERO. But eventually you have to put down the controller, pick up your backpack and get your ass to school.

“A British megalomaniac who pissed on his legacy by berating coworkers who are too terrified to remind him that he’s an asshole.”

It hurt me to say it more than it hurt him to say it. (He is a regular visitor to KB.com).

But then today I heard the interview below. Maybe it was a convincing performance by a talented actor, maybe I just wanted to believe him. Because I did. And I still do.

How can a guy sounds like a schizo douche in one clip- and then coolest guy ever with a sweet British accent in another? He does. Have a listen below.

How many pictures just like that do you think Jared has taken in the 10 years since he first held up those circus-sized pants of his? Considering that he is one of the Top 50 most recognizable people in America, and considering that he obviously gets marched out to public events for Subway all the time….. I’m going to guess that he has posed for around 12,000 of these things. That’s 100 a month for 10 years. And that may be a conservative estimate. I’ll tell you this- I can now vouch for 2 of them. Let’s walk down memory lane to last January and check out our first meeting…..

Striking similarities, aren’t there? I look a little more nervous, and he looks a little less comfortable. In the 2009 version- it’s like we’re old drinking buddies on our 5th round. Check it out again….

Once again, just like last year, notice how Jared is pointing at me. As if he’s sending a message to whoever is viewing the photograph. He’s saying: No, no. Don’t look at me. Look at THIS GUY. He’s the man. THIS GUY right here. The guy who I’m pretending I remember from last year because Subway pays me to smile and kiss ass. THIS GUY.

He’s wrong of course. Only one guy in that photograph has dropped 600 pounds from scarfing veggie sandwiches. And it’s the guy in the pastel bowling shirt. It’s the guy with the full tuft of chest hair peeking out from under that shirt. He’s the man.

And yes, as a few pointed out, Jared might have put on a few pounds. He might have slipped in some late night Haagen Daaz runs of late. He might have stopped blotting the grease off his pizza with a paper napkins. Because he’s got a set of hog-pointers on him. And you’ll notice that in this year’s pic, he’s going untucked, whereas in ’08 he had nothing to hide and wanted to show off his figure. But the great thing about Jared, is that the dude could gain 200 fucking pounds and he still wouldn’t even be in the ballpark of his maximum density.

Not to mention, even if Jared looks a lot doughier in person, the guy is an underwear model in comparison to the rest of Radio Row.

Radio Row is the Mos Eisley Spaceport of sports. You will never find a more wretched hive of scum, and villainy. Actually, that’s a bit strong. To be honest, I can’t attest to the moral fiber of the Row. But anyone who spends 5 seconds there can attest to the ugliness of the place. And I don’t mean that metaphorically. You know the expression “face for radio”, right? Well I never knew that “face” was part of a set. A set that includes a gut, sausage fingers galore, a pair of cankles and spattering of ingrown hairs and razorburn.

For example- check out the guys in the background over my right shoulder. It’s a choice sampling of the matinee idols that fill the Row.

The fat dude in the seat apparently raided my Dad’s 1987 wardrobe and ripped off his Adidas warmup jacket, and he’s also rocking a scalp-Yamika Skullet while he converses with his cohort, who feels that it’s appropriate in the year 2009 to leave the home with a mustache. I’m betting Mustache Guy just returned from a reconnaissance mission to the snackbar, and he’s listing the menu to Skullet Guy- who has gotta get some food in his stomach so he can take his back pill. I can tell from Skullet Guy’s posture that he’s dismayed that there are so few low-calorie options.

So just take my word for it- there are 300 dudes on the Row just like these guys. They’re like paper dolls with press credentials and coffee breath. In a lot of ways, Radio Row looks like a Sci-Fi convention. Only instead of being obsessed with Storm Troopers and Bounty Hunters, most of these guys are obsessed with themselves. Throw Jared in Radio Row, and my man is Edward Cullen by comparison.

So lay off him. Eat Fresh. And start counting down the days until next year’s photo. Because as sure as Christ’s vengeance, it’s coming.

But there’s someone on the planet who loves it a lot more than I do. There’s someone on the planet who needed it. And I don’t mean the Direct of Photography who is now infamous for his decision to “check the lights.”

I’m talking about Michael Phelps. The part time swimmer, part time Burner, with 56 gold medals benefits more from the Bale meltdown than the guy who sold the tape to TMZ. Because that picture of Phelps pulling a bong rip had been on heavy rotation. And not even Dubya-dodging-a-shoe heavy rotation. I mean Rodney-King-getting-a-billyclub-rubdown heavy rotation.

But now, Phelps getting stoned is yesterday’s news. Because Batman going ballistic is headline news. Who cares that the world’s greatest swimmer is a HEAD, when the Caped Crusader is a hothead. Mike Phelps- you’re off the hook. If I was you, i’d see Terminator on opening night as a thank-you to Bale. I’d buy out the theater. You owe him.

As for Bale, I’m a big fan. I have an American Psycho poster in my garage. I saw The Dark Knight three times in the theater, including once by myself. I sat through The Machinist and I even own a DVD of SHAFT. So you might thing that since I love the dude’s movies, I might be trying to look past the clip of him going postal But I’m not. In fact, I love it.

I love the original clip, and I love the Dancemix that some genius threw together. I want this as my ring tone. I’m not even kidding. IT’S FUCKING DISTRACTING!!! OHHH GOOD!

That remix is so good, I might actually go to a club if I knew they would play it. I would wait in line. I would pay a cover. And I would dance my ass off. OHHH GOOD!

The remix is good, but this tete-a-tete with William O’Reilly might actually be better…

If only the creator of Bale vs. O’Reilly could have found a way to drop in Pat O’Brien talking about how hot the chick is, that baby would be the perfect storm. A viral walk-off shot.

Let me provide the original clip one more time before I get into some analysis. I’ve listened to it about 20 times at this point. Treat yourself to the sounds of a British megalomaniac pissing on his legacy by berating coworkers who are terrified to remind him that he’s an asshole. In 3…2…1…

So many favorite parts, so little time.

I love when Director McG prances into the fray to try and hose down Bale.

McG is probably thinking- I never had to put up with this shit during the Charlies Angels shoot. Lucy Liu never called a crew member a “Fucking Prick!” Even Crispin Glover never berated a Craft Services worker by saying “For fuck’s sake, you’re amateur!”

He’s probably thinking- You know what, somebody go comb the crackdens and meth clinics for Eddie Furlong. Find whatever rock he’s under, drag his ass out, throw him in the shower and send him to Wardrobe. At this point I’ll take my chances with him reprising the role. He can’t blow a gasket and berate the crew if his teeth are falling out. He won’t risk getting angry with anyone on set because he’ll be too afraid that they might turn down his offer to fellate them for heroin.

And I also enjoy when Bale mentions that “it’s fucking distracting having someone walk up behind Bryce in the middle of the fucking scene.” -BRYCE, is Bryce Dallas Howard, daughter of Golly Gee Niceguy Poster Child Ron Howard. I’m sure she’s very comfortable and ready to jump right back into the scene and connect with a guy who just threatened to kick another guy’s ass in front of her. I wonder if during her upbringing, Bryce’s showbiz daddy ever sat her down and taught his little girl how to deal with costars who start lighting up the set with automatic F-bomb fire and violence. Maybe he shared a story about the time Andy Griffith just couldn’t take it anymore and started shouting around Mayberry “DO YOU WANT ME TO FUCKING TRASH YOUR LIGHTS??! DO YOU WANT ME TO TRASH ‘EM?? THEN WHY ARE YOU TRASHING MY SCENE??!!” And you know Ronny Howard has at least one anecdote about the time a script supervisor called the Fonzarelli’s dialogue into question and he told her “YO- YOU GOT NO FUCKING IDEA HOW TO WORK WITH ACTORS!” So at least young Bryce Howard has her father’s experiences with meltdowns to learn from here.

Another thing- I understand the concept of “Quiet on the set” and all that… but really, they’re shooting a fucking Terminator movie. You can hear a helicopter in the background. There’s fake robots and explosions around them. It’s not like they’re shooting a remake of REMAINS OF THE DAY. They’re presumably on a battlefield. I know Bane is the kind of actor who probably has J.CONNOR on his dressing room door – but is his concentration in the middle of a war movie so temperamental that some crew movement in the background makes him Hulk Out? Save that aggression for Skynet, mate.

Lastly- as my boy J-stew points out, I love how Bale ends the rant by saying “YOU AND ME, WE’RE DONE PROFESSIONALLY” -as if they might still have a PERSONAL relationship. Like they can still hang out, they just can’t work together anymore.

Who knew that with the handful of great movies that Christian Bale has made, he would deliver my favorite work by breaking character and flying off the handle? As Howard Stern said- They need to put this clip in the actual movie, and I’ll be much more likely to see it.

Ok, that’s all for now. I’ve got an 8:30 res at Dorsia. Great sea urchin ceviche.