Functionally ReTodded

The new season of the VH1 show “The Surreal Life” aired Sunday night, and I missed most of it because of “Desperate Housewives.” I’m not thrilled to admit that I watch that show by the way, so I’ll brush off your criticisms by saying that any show that features Terri Hatcher, Felicity Huffman (don’t ask), Eva Longoria, and to some degree Nicolette Sheridan is okay with me. Plus, the guys are dreamy…

If you’re not familiar with the show, it’s a reality show based on the fact that they get six or so relative or certain has-beens or pseudo-celebrities and make them live in Glen Campbell’s old Hollywood Hills home for two weeks with no TV, internet, or newspapers. Former cast members include Motley Crue’s Vince Neil (best cast member ever), Corey Feldmann (without question the world’s biggest pussy), Flava Flav and Brigitte Nielsen, Vanilla Ice, Ron Jeremy, Erik Estrada, Survivor bitch Jerri Manthy, Real World Vegas whore Trashelle and many others and well, you get the point.

Anyway, I wasn’t sure about the cast at all. I thought there were too many unknows. The cast includes Americas’s Top Model winner Adrianne Curry, Rap “star” Da Brat, former pro-wrestler and maybe former man Joanie Laurer aka “Chyna,” international male model Marcus “the clock is ticking” Schenkenberg, Jane Wiedlen of the Go-Go’s, Christopher Knight (Peter Brady) and world famous little person Verne Troyer.

Now, that ain’t exactly who’s who in Hollywood, but since it’s season four, I figured the folks that make the show have to have done something right, so I was committed to watching. Luckily, VH1 re-airs this thing 147 times a week. I missed the airing Sunday, missed six re-airs, and STILL caught it ON THURSDAY.

Anywho, I won’t detail the whole thing, other than it basically starts with a drunk Chyna in a bikini and fur hat (psychopath alert) running amok, da brat insisting she won’t stay in a house with “has beens,” normal guy Chris Knight and others getting acquainted.

Their first dinner together is sushi prepared and eaten off of the body of Adrianne “loves being naked” Curry. This is bad quick when Mini-perve decided to diddle her nipples while getting food repeatedly. Very uncomfortable stuff. But everyone is drinking and having a good time.

The highlight of the episode comes when Verne goes to bed (passes out drunk) while Peter Brady and model boy drink wine and watch model girl and the Go-Go skinny dip. Good stuff.

Peter then wakes Verne to tell him the chicks are naked, and here comes Verne on his rascal scooter on to the pool deck, and before you know it, he’s playing “tit for tat” on ass peaks with the model. Nice work, mini-me.

But then, the trainwreck begins. Verne is mumbling and fondling and poking Knight’s arm, and then, like a lightswitch going off, Verne’s drunk and down. Literally. He falls over backward, nearly off the bench, and he’s out.

Knight helps him up, Verne repeats the drunk’s mantra “I’m okay…I’m okay,” but Knight’s holding Verne up, and when he looks under the hat into Troyer’s eyes, you literally see him pass out. Hilarious.

So good old Peter Brady picks up mini-Verne and carries him to bed.

I guess I am going to relive the entire episode. Oh well…

At this point, everyone’s ready for bed, but they can’t go because comatose Verne is now moaning loudly and very naughtily in his sleep. They all play “drunk’s best friend” by giving Verne a bottle of water and a trash can, and when Chris goes to check on Verne one more time, Troyer repays his kindness by fondling and caressing Chris’ face repeatedly. Very wierd.

But then, the emmy moment occurs. Da Brat can’t sleep because of Chyna-man’s snoring, so she gets up to head for the couch. Once in the hall, she sees a naked Troyer on his little rascal scooter rolling down the hall, bouncing off stuff, eventually stopping in the home’s workout room which is right outside Knight and Schenkenberg’s room.

Verne then calmly shifts to his right, and pisses on the floor.

Catch the re-airing before Sunday night at 9. I beg you. This is high comedy.

Greatest. Reality show moment. Ever. Ever. Ever.

So I was on my way to work today at the usual time of 6:05am, and at about the halfway point, traffic slowed to an absolute crawl. Since I live in metro Atlanta, traffic at any time of day does not surprise me. When I heard on the radio there was a car fire near my exit I said to myself “well, that explains it.”

Except it doesn’t.

I had never seen a car fire before today. And quite frankly, I’m a bit disappointed. I was expecting a whole lot more.

When I finally got to “the scene,” what I found was a late model Ford Taurus on the right side of the road, a cop car behind it and a fire truck parked in front of it. When I got closer, I saw one fireman pointing the hose under the semi-closed hood and under the wheel well.

Wow.

Why does this require every person on a six-lane interstate to stop and stare? I have no fucking idea. It took me ten extra minutes to get to work today because the firefly-like drivers of Atlanta couldn’t go by some whisps of smoke at more than 3 feet a minute.

I shudder to think what would happen if there were an eclipse or something.

People bitch about California’s traffic, but I assure you that what we have here is as bad or worse, especially when you factor in the collective negligence and ignorance of the folks on the road with me.

I know that’s not much, but it’s what I got today.

Oh, if you are one of the five people left in the continental US that don’t yet have a g-mail account and you’d like an invite, email me at my profile address or respond to this blog, and I’ll send you one. I have nine left. Hooray!