Let's Ask The Fucked Up Sage!

I’m sure many of you know people who offer wisdom and insight on a variety of things but are themselves incredibly screwed up. This doesn’t negate the things they say it doesn’t even make them hypocrites. It just makes life more entertaining.


So Let's go ask The Fucked Up Sage.

Fucked up sage you have known me for a long time. Do I always seem discontent in relationships and never satisfied.?

Well you might have gone a bit overboard when you set up the video camera capture of him leaving the toilet seat down with the dramatic Wagner sound track, but all in all you have surrounded yourself with extremely weak and helpless neurotic men so you might have a reason to be discontent.

Thanks Fucked up Sage.

(The Fucked Up sage did three to five years for petty larceny. His longest relationship has been in the grocery store check out line where he asked a woman in front of her what she was going to do with three cartons of Hamms beer and a box of Depends)

Let's ask the Fucked Up Sage

Fucked Up Sage Does our insignificance in terms of geologic time really make Oprah’s no texting while driving campaign silly and a waste of time?

No it doesn’t, the fact we all turn to dust and are not even a whisper uttered across time and space only makes it more important to have both hands on the wheel. And besides that the woman needs a cause. Jesus have you seen her lately.

Thanks Fucked up Sage.

(The Fucked Up Sage had his license revoked several years ago for unpaid speeding violations. He served two years in a Maximum security facility for assaulting an individual after trying to get a space in line for a taping of the Oprah show where she was rumored to be giving away cars. )



Lets ask the Fucked Up Sage

Fucked up Sage. How long can you leave pizza on the counter before its unsafe to eat?

That’s a bit tricky. If you leave it out long enough you may eat it, vomit profusely but the upside it creates a form of botchulism which allows you to apply the stiff pizza to your forehead to get rid of wrinkles

Thanks Fucked Up Sage

(The Fucked Up sage once delivered pizzas and later robbed the same houses. He called his Mother once fifteen years ago and hung up on her when she asked whats the matter. “Whats the matter fucked up sage.” The fucked up sage has had fifteen housekeepers in the last three years and most refuse to acknowledge him in public.)


Fucked up Sage, the latest scientific thinking suggests the laws of nature are capable of everything including creating themselves and creating god. Do you believe in a higher power?

As to the spontaneous creation of the universe If General Mills has taught us anything its that even Hamburger needs a helper.

Thanks fucked up Sage.

(The Fucked Up Sage once got probation for a coupon scam involving the General Mills Company. He was a Big Brother Mentor for the shortest time in history. Approximately fifteen seconds when his first question to the troubled child was “what is all this worth to you”)



The Fucked Up Sage would Love to answer more of your questions but he has a meeting shortly as President of the Humanities Council and before that has to brush up on recent changes to extradition laws. But if you need some wise advice on anything under, below, around or above the sun why not ask the Fucked Up Sage.

There Goes My Future (Part II of The Producer)

Like most epiphanies mine lasted about as long as the balance in my checking.
When your stomach makes hunger noises like Chewbacca the embrace of realization, the joy of insight is empty. Besides that hopewhore doesnt dissapear so quickly. She works every corner in your heart.

So when the producer of the future Scooby Glee called me and asked me for a "special" favor:
"Could I walk his dog for a week" I was happy to oblige.
"I can pay you something and I wont forget this Joel."
"The I wont forget this Joel" had a slight sincere Godfatherish feel to it. He emphasized that part and chose his words carefully. These guys can act too.
Still that faint voice went off in the back of my head. You're taking a producers word on something. This race of folks whose words and promises fade quicker than an etch a sketch image in a 9.2 earthquake.
Oh cmon even as another John to the hopewhore I would give humanity the benefit of the doubt.
The dog was some kind of royal breed something or othe,r but in my mind it was much too close to the ground to really qualify as a dog but what did I care. It was also cross eyed implying some kind of natural stupidity but what does canine intelligence compare to the word of a producer in debt to a "talented" writer.
The hopewhore spreads her legs.

Everything went well for the first few days in the lakefront walks.. The dog went about his business as I built up my credibility and favor points that would undoubtedly land me a writing job
"But Genghis Kahn you promised"
The third day in the park his leash snapped and the dog promptly took off. I'll never forget that sound and the shower of rhinestones of that followed. It was like some kind of reverse baptism purifying me with sorrow.
For something so close to earth that dog could move. Maybe it was the lack of gravity. It was yelping too as if that made it go faster. It clearly out ran me and as it got farther off in the distance I vividly remembered my words. "There goes your future"" There goes your fucking future"
Now not only would this producer not help me but I would be blacklisted all over the West and East Coast.
"The guy cant walk a dog". That was worse than Joe McCarthy's label of communist.
I was simultaneously in numbing shock and all over the place.
I stopped people all along the lakefront. "Have you seen my future?"
"Huh excuse me"
" It yelps and is crosseyed. My future. A little dog, did you see a little dog come running by here?"
"No sorry. We havent seen your uh, future."
I think I looked as out of sorts as Smigel from the Lord of the Rings cause people backed up as I approached them. My "precious" was probably shitting on the run.
All the thousands of clever emails and phone calls just to try acknowledgment of my existence let alone anyone look at my work and this high strung royal canadien whatever the fuck it was breed with a goddamn bow keeping its hair out of its eyes, this was going to be my downfall.
Taken down and out of life by a dog with a bow. Oh that hurt.
Despite asking everyone I passed nobody had seen my future.
I gave up completely and believe I started to cry. I started choosing my tragic words to tell to the producer. And then amidst the depths of despair I spotted the dog at the corner of an old building chowing down on one of those multicolored popsicles ; its tongue way too big for its body. With my future and well being again in reach I was able to calm down enough to think.
If I tried to grab it and carry it it would probably bite me. Could I hang onto it with its little shit teeth in me even if that was my future? Probably not. I grabbed a large vine and doubled it and used it as a make shift leash. I remember walking it back to its condo. Thinking life is so tenous its held together by a shoddy rhinestone cord.

What They Almost Called "Occupy Wall Street"

Before "they" settled on the phrase "Occupy Wall Street" these names were being considered for the movement but were abandonned at the last minute.

"One percent capitalist bastards who like those Christmas Lexus commercials where the cars have large red bows around them"

"We do in fact swim in your toilet and we will in fact pee in your park"

"Pay it forward, backwards and sideways"

"Too Big To Fail is about Banks not Erectile dysfunction"

"Storm the Orange Julius"

"The 1% control the other 99% which leaves the Other 5% helpless. See we need more money for education"

"You Took the Trust out of Trust Fund"

"My other Mercedes has more debt than this one"

"My mortgage is so underwater I sold it Jacques Cousteau"

"U.S.D.D" United States Deficit Disorder. Please pay attention.

"This is a good excuse as any to form a drum circle"

Zombie Movies I Would Like to See

A Zombies tail
Depite the social stigmas and obstacles a group of folks make it their mission to reconstruct a zombies lips so he can sing on Americas Got Talent. Morgan Freeman and Angelina Jolie as the lips.

Zombie Like Magnolias
Sensitive divorced zombies meet in a support group , learn a little about themselves and open their own beauty parlor. Features Meryl Strept Throat.

Skin Loose
Robbed of their secret desire to dance by the oppression of the grave and small town politics these zombies shake their booties which makes them lose what little flesh they have left. Stars Kevin 'Your Face Tastes Like' Bacon.”

Primary Contagion
After eating the brains of republicans Zombies are mysteriously dropping like flies. The worlds scientists work feverishly to create more republicans by encouraging the zombies to propose taxes on millionaires and expand the role of government. Matt 'Damien' and a special appearance by "A Pinch of “Newt” Gingrich”

The Zombie Bender
A group of old college buddies zombies get together and get so shit faced they steal the hounds of hell from the Devil. Bradley Cooper plays every part.

Forrest Stumps
After the apocalypse (despite the loss of his half eaten legs) one man and his child like naiveté, survive. He charms zombies left and right with his incredible stories.
“Excuse me Forest uh well uh please don’t try and run”
Justin Bieber takes on the challenging role.

Reviews of T.V Shows in Twenty Words or Less

Ice Road Truckers
Get some goddamn salt already.

Project Runway
Tim Gunn is to Gay as Rodney King is to Fuck Up.

The X Factor
American The Voice Idol Got Talent. Hello!

Millionaire Matchmaker
Needs to modernize to reflect the times "Horny Bankrupt HasBeens"

CSI
The Latest:
"M-I-C-K-E-Y we found traces of ear hair in the bloody tub M-O-U-S-E Cincinnati"

Confessions of an Animal Hoarder
Animal excrement as eco flooring. I should have thought of that.
Dog The Bounty Hunter
What no K-Mart line of fashion designed by the wife?

Survivor
In desperate Ipod Shuffle mode of every winner and loser there ever was.

The Biggest Loser
Where is "The Biggest Gainer" featuring insecure anorexics gaining a quarter ounce.

Celebrity ReHab
Scott Baio's agent pleads with him to become an addict to jump start his career.

Any Housewives of Any City
Where is "Ya hey dere bitches of Fargo"

The Producer

I had thought those days were over. The days when one producer would read my script and then call up another producer and and ask is this guy funny and the other producer would say yes he is. And then the original producer would say “You’re right I think he is hysterical” I thought those days were over. But like a thick headed addict though the years I kept pecking away, with an occasional email query to a friend in the business; including a local producer transplanted from Los Angeles.
I contantly sent him material until one day I found myself in a local New Buffalo Michigan watering yuppized hole with a slick graphic of a dog on the sign in front.
This producer had a “project” for me. At 51 I still conveyed that eager beaver give me a chance crap. How many horror stories do you need to hear before the bright eyed and bushey tailed routine gives way to used brillo pads rubbing off tatoos of motorcycling riding cupids. How much of a fucking hope addict can one be? Look The “Intervention” should take place not for the drug addict, the intervention should be for that Hallmark crack, called Hope, you peddle inside yourself as you rapidly decay from your quest for contentment .
Much to my amazement I couldn’t stop with the “Gee I really appreciate a shot at this”“Gee. “ Isn’t that a word Eddie Haskell used with Mr. and Mrs Cleaver before he was shooting gay porn five years later.I’m beginning to think I’m the type that would just go out and try and to stage an “Up With People concert’ in a concentration camp.
This is the Midwest. We don’t trust anything that doesn’t grow in the ground. This producer grew up here. He must be different, grounded so to speak. He pulls up in Black Hummer with the vanity plates “T.V writer.”And fuck. He has perfect teeth. The first thing out of his mouth is Joel“I’m up to 200 squats a week now.”
Oh cmon you know those moments where life writes so much better satire than you ever possibly could you want to say why bother? And the next thing out of mouth is “To hell with the six pack I’m going for the case.”Again life you bastard, I could never write that. I mutter something about I think I’ll stick with abdominal jello mold down there and I get a nervous smile.

He starts pulling the cute teenage waitresses aside. “Darlene You should know this guy. He’s a brilliant writer” I got a big smile from her and an “Impressive’ That is just plain good. Dangle nymphos in front of you and feed your very hungry man ego.
Tactic #1 in the producer handbook. Combine cute young girls with flattery about your talent. I was familiar with these tactics and I thought I learned my lesson years earlier in my brush with Hollyrock. I had signed with the agency who had the hot receptionist offer to take me to an upcoming movie premier.. My alternative was to sign with incredibly obnoxious guy who would always yell in office “Calendar, calendar” and his assistant would come running. Thank god I didn’t go with him, what a fucking loser this guy Ari Emmanuel was. He wasn’t going anywhere. Nice call on my part.

No I had learned. I had learned so well that on my way to the bathroom I ran into the waitress and asked for her phone number and I’m guessing from the phone call I made to her the next day only three of the numbers she gave me were wrong.
You know how there’s geologic time. How things take place over billions of years? I am working on geologic stupidity. You make the same mistake for millions of years, so much so that your own personal evolution works backwards and you’re a goddamn ape before you even made it to your bar mitzvah.
Best case scenario: I become some wildly bearded esoteric astronomer of geological stupidity and have some theories and insights into the origin of the “Big Dumb.” Worse case I find my continually find myself in a Chicago alley on a Saturday night yelling how my girlfriend is fucking with my mind.
The producer now starts to tell me despite his millions how he’s a regular guy. “You and I Joel are no different.” How he recently got back from a trip to France where his best friend of his built an underground ice rink under, yes under a lake. An ice skating rink under a lake and me well I am trying to decide if it’s a throw caution to the wind kind of night and do Tuna Helper instead of Hamburger Helper. I guess he had that no matter how deep you engage, admire, embrace the decadence; if you pretend you have distance, it is not you. Of course you are as much what you claim you aren’t as you are.
The next thing I know I’m at home staring at the pilot. I'm terrified to open it. Don’t ruin this with flatulent predicatability of reality. I suspect it will be such drivel I will need to cover it in a special vomit proof cover. But you know what I could be wrong. I usually am.
The first sentence“Ted is a the good looking captain of the football team” Wait, wait this could be that perfect set up for satire. Don’t prejudge.
2. Alice is an ambitious journalist who runs the school paper who flirts with Ted. Son of a bitch!
3. Together they solve crimes but not before some wonderful musical performances.
I wish I knew the Kaddish the Jewish somber prayer for the dead. Some of the most somber words ever written.
This is fucking Scooby Doo meets Glee. He wants me to try a write an episode for Scooby Glee. Scooby Glee. 51 and I’m trying to write an episode for Scooby Glee. Well you have to hand it to life. 51 and trying to write an episode for Scooby Glee. I couldn’t make that up.
In the equilibrium of all things, in the mathematics of all things explained it’s this
Eddie Haskell doing gay porn= Joel trying to write an episode of Scooby Glee squared.
Now I am not proud. I have no artistic pretension or creative integrity. I’m the biggest pimp to wit to ever walk the earth. But I literally could never write this. I couldn’t think this way. I didn’t have the ability and I was grateful. An epiphany. Not the Michael Angelo sixteenth chapel fingers touching stuff, more like hearing the symphony in the water that settles after the toilet flush. I went from “could I be anymore pathetic” to the uplifting strength of embracing my severe and profound limitations. Somehow there is such strange comfort in knowing the only real character I’m capable of creating is the character of myself. I’ll take solitary in my narcissistic prison any old day.

How as A Miserable Person I Become Happy When the Chicago Cubs Lose

In this complex world of “static kills” and aerial wolf hunting politicians with potential brother in laws named Levi, there is one refreshing constant, the Chicago Cubs losing record.

The heartbreak of psoriasis seems like a full body massage in relation to watching them squander a 5 run eighth inning lead. It’s a thing of tragic beauty.
If you ever have an identity crisis “Who am I?” Then catch the Cub score.
“Oh yeah now I remember”
If you feel you’ve accomplished nothing in life, that you are just killing time eating sandwiches waiting for a terminal illness, granted with the comfort of multiple movie channels, you can’t help but to feel considerably better about your lack of life when you consider the hundred year plus drought of the Chicago cubs not winning a World Series.
It’s the sports equivalent of the 1930’s dust bowl. A blue pin stripe dust bowl with young men called up from Iowa and fly balls lost in ivy walls.

If misery loves company then the North Siders are like the guest that never leaves.
I don’t think of myself as unemployed my job is to watch them walk in the winning run.
My job is to witness the joyful side of the loveable losers.

No accident their web site is littered with ads for the lottery. You and I both know where the odds are better.
They are currently 15 games under 500. This is the emotional equivalent of crying during an anti depression commercial.
Maybe those commercials should really say, you don’t need drugs if you are feeling bad just turn to channel 9 around 1 in the afternoon.
Yet the team changed hands last year for nearly a billion dollars.
I wonder if would they be worth less if they won.
If they are sacrificial lambs on the field to make us feel better about ourselves off the field, well they do a fine job. The Chicago Cubs “the feel bad hence feel good hit of the year"