Kimopolis

My kind of town.

Archive for February, 2009

It’s No Fun Being An Illegal Alien

Posted by kimlno on February 25, 2009

"They're HEEERE!"

"They're HEEERE!"

If aliens landed on planet Earth today, they would have very little difficulty assimilating into our culture, as long as they had one thing: an internet connection. I assume that the only reason aliens would come to visit this dying planet would be because the internet makes it look so interesting. I imagine the aliens (in my alien vision there are always three individual aliens whose names are Zwat, Zwee, and Zwibble) as happy, trivia-minded folk who have no interest whatsoever in abduction or anal probes. Their home, the Planet Where the Alphabet Starts with Z (or PWASZ, for short), is made entirely of trampolines and movie screens, and they spend all their time bouncing from one interstellar film to the next. These three jolly space travelers bop around the universe in a big, bouncy bubble searching for more and different moving pictures with sound. These aliens don’t eat, they don’t sleep, and, really, the only thing they are concerned about is entertaining their giant, alien minds. It’s no wonder they eventually stumbled across Earth, because humans, if you were to take away their need to eat, sleep and procreate, would be almost exactly like the PWASZians, except with legs and arms. And orifices, but more on that later.

On PWASZ, our alien friends have spent endless hours exploring the depth and breadth of our internet. One site in particular, that would guarantee their seamless integration into society (not even one of their favorites, really) is the one called http://www.urbandictionary.com/. Although this site has pictures and, occasionally, sounds, it mostly consists of words. It’s not that the aliens don’t like words, indeed they do, but to really grasp the full meaning of the words, they need to see words in action. Sure, The Electric Company is fine for seeing two-syllable words come together to make one, but our aliens want whole sentences, even paragraphs, to come to life. And, so, they have traveled here.

For those of you not familiar with the Urban Dictionary, I suggest that, at this time, you should take a moment to peruse it. Go ahead and look up any word that pops into your head. Stumped? How about we do it together? Come on, it will be fun! Click here and enter the word “alien” into the search box (it’s in the upper right corner and instead of “search” it says “look up” – oh, aren’t they clever?). Go on! It won’t bite! Oooh. Aaaah. Look at all those words! I wonder what they would look like if they were a movie (that’s what the three Zs are thinking, that’s for sure)? Well, definitions 1 and 3 seem to describe our bouncy extra-terrestrial friends adequately, but take a closer look at 2 and 4. Oh, dear. That doesn’t sound a bit like our foreign friends. Aliens attaching themselves to someone’s face? Acid for blood?!? Aliens bursting through an innocent man’s chest wall, effectively killing the human male??? What kind of hideous, nightmarish unknown planet are these things from? Certainly not from PWASZ, I can assure you that. Ew. Number 9 is just wrong. As I noted earlier, our alien buddys don’t even have any orifices!

*ZWOOP*

Did you hear that? That was our happy-go-lucky alien friends bounding directly through Earth’s exosphere. Bye, little guys! *sigh* I can’t say as I blame them. And therein lies the problem with the Urban Dictionary. Often times it’s just TMI (too much information). Since the UD is comprised entirely of user submitted material, technically anyone can post any definition of any word they see fit. You could, if you were so inclined, return to the site right now and provide your own definition of the word “alien.” However, you haven’t yet finished reading this article, which I have put a lot of time and effort into making interesting and pleasurable to read. Leaving now would be considered rude. I am almost done. A few more sentences and you’re free to edit the entire Urban Dictionary and every Wikipedia entry while you’re at it. But, I digress.

The UD is not like the OED, which is edited by over 300 scholars, researchers, readers, and consultants, including John Andrew Simpson, British lexicographer and the OED senior editor. The last time the OED was updated was in 1989. The third planned edition, the OED3, is slated to be complete somewhere in the vicinity of 2037. Allow me to put this into perspective: the OED2 was released when I was but a mere blush of a girl at 18. When the OED3 is released, I will be well into my years as a senior citizen at the ripe old age of 67. Yes, yes, 67 is the new 57, and by the time I get to be that old it will probably be the new 47, but that still qualifies as old in my book. And don’t try to sell me that “you’re only as old as you feel” crap, because I am only in my late 30s and I FEEL like I am in my late 30s. I’m no 18-year-old, that’s for freakin’ sure.

ANYonefootinthegrave, the point I am trying to make here is this: if you require board certified, lexicographically researched, bona fide English definitions of authentic words, use the OED. However, should you need a less stuffy, layman’s term, slang, jive or streetwise definition, and you aren’t easily offended by obscene material, usually sexual in content, that may or may not be a completely sarcastic explanation of said terminology, by all means, use the Urban Dictionary.

The Urban Dictionary is not all bad. A search for “Kimberly,” my name, presented me with this result:

Urban Dictionary: Kimberly

WARNING: Do NOT, for the love of God, look up ANY of the following words or phrases, because once you’ve read them, they can’t be unread. Those images will be burned immediately and permanently into your mind and, most certainly, your everyday thoughts. I have three words of caution for you: scarred for life. You have been warned. DON’T DO IT!

The No-No List:  waffle iron, docking, Tony Danza, munging, Dutch rudder, Superman, Houdini, glass bottom boat, pink sock, Abe Lincoln, Alaskan Pipeline or Mexican ANYTHING.

Posted in You Don't See THAT Every Day | Tagged: , , , , | 2 Comments »

Heroin Chic: The Next Generation

Posted by kimlno on February 21, 2009

Vicodin Earrings by Becky Stern

Vicodin Earrings by Becky Stern

These remind me of the relatively short lived trend, showcased in landmark 80s films like Earth Girls Are Easy, of creating fashion accessories from cut up credit cards. SO, avant-garde.

In the 1980s, credit cards were THE perfect accessory. Better than cash, and oh so much more compact, they did double duty as handy tools to chop and rail your cocaine into nice, neat lines. (Or, so I’ve heard.) Why on Earth would you destroy a perfectly good gold AmEx card? The same question could be posed today in regards to the Vicodin.

At least the massacred plastic cards were pretty, with lots of bright colors and a shiny surface to evoke the feel of authentic gems and baubles. The Vicodin are so plain, and white, and dull. One would never suspect these unassuming little pills could pack such a wallop. And, really, if Vicodin upsets your delicate constitution, by all means, give them to me. I’ll show those prescription meds who’s boss. No need to get all artsy-craftsy with them. Put AWAY your Bedazzler already.

NOTE:
I do NOT advocate the use of drugs, most especially illegal drugs. Nor do I USE illicit drugs. Just say no, and all that jazz. Please do NOT email me a strongly worded letter or block me for all eternity from being your friend, just because I mentioned cocaine. It was purely for comedic effect, and if you didn’t think it was funny, just MOVE ON. Thank you.

Posted in I'd Buy That For A Dollar, You Don't See THAT Every Day | Tagged: , , , , | 1 Comment »

Is It Live, or Is It Memorex?

Posted by kimlno on February 18, 2009

Can you tell the difference?

One of these things is not like the other.

One of these things is not like the other.

Usually Madame Tussuad’s wax figures are easy to spot, because, let’s face it, no matter how lifelike a statue is, it is still missing something. I like to think that something is a soul. Obviously, Britney has no soul. She probably sold it to the devil in exchange for getting her career back.

Don’t get me wrong, she certainly got her money’s worth, and then some. She was on the road to Crazy Town with layovers in Fat Town, Bald Town, Drug Town, Child Endangerment City, and Strapped-To-A-Gurney-Taken-Away-By-An-Ambulance-ville. And now? Her rocket bod is back, her new album is a surprise success, she has completely stopped appearing in public under the influence, and even her weave looks almost natural.

If that isn’t enough evidence to prove something wicked this way comes, I don’t know what is.

Posted in You Don't See THAT Every Day | Tagged: , , , , | Leave a Comment »

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Posted by kimlno on February 13, 2009

seasonsFor some people, the changing of the seasons is a beautiful reminder of nature’s spectacle. Many, so I am told, even have a “favorite” season and actually look forward to the time of year their preferred season unfolds before their very eyes. I, however, do not have a favorite season. Growing up in Southern California, specifically in a coastal community, I am ill-equipped to recognize the tell-tale signs that alert the rest of the world that the seasons are, in fact, changing. Although, it is raining today and technically we are in a winter month, I highly doubt that the rest of the country would consider this paltry “storm” indicative of winter. However, currently I am wearing two sweaters, a fleece jacket, wooly socks and Ugg boots. If Clinton and Stacey were here, they’d arrest me for multiple fashion faux-pas and laugh at me for dressing like it’s 30 below, instead of a mild 51 degrees Fahrenheit. BRRR. Give me a sec, I need to go and turn on the heater.

To further prove my SoCal wimpy weather coping abilities, I am not ashamed to admit that I will not be operating a motor vehicle today, if at all possible. Because not only is it raining, it is also Friday the 13th. I have witnessed how most Angelenos drive in the rain. It’s not pretty. There is something about water falling from the sky that renders us completely incapable of driving, regardless of how many years we may have spent behind the wheel. You may laugh, but as I type this, I can hear drivers skidding out as they leave Gelson’s parking lot, apparently unaware that wet asphalt is slippery. Throw in the fact that not only is it Friday, a day when drivers are already speeding through their day in what can only be an effort to start their weekend as soon as possible, but it is also a day shrouded in irrational fear and mystery, and you’ve got a potentially dangerous cocktail of driving conditions. My choice to not add to that highly volatile mix my record-setting FOUR previous car accidents, you must agree, is a wise decision.

I’m not really here to bend your ear about the weather, although my focus today is purely seasonal. Because last night marked the beginning of my favorite season of all… “Survivor” season. Don’t think I can’t hear your inner griping, “Oh, Christ on a cracker, Kim! You don’t really watch that crap, do you?” Well, yes. Yes, I do. “Survivor” appeals to my inner psychiatrist. In college, psychology was my minor and it would have been my major if I thought I would make a good shrink, but pretty early on, I realized that I am WAY TOO self-involved to really care about other people’s problems. In fact, during mock psychiatry sessions, I would inevitably bring up anecdotes about my life, much to the chagrin of both the professor and whoever was my student guinea pig. As it turns out, people who are experiencing their own problems, don’t really want to hear about your issues, no matter how interesting and applicable you may think they are. Their loss.

Anyitisallaboutmeandifyouthinkdifferentlythenyouobviouslyhaven’tmetme, the most fascinating aspect of psychology is human behavior. Why do we do the things we do? There used to be a time when, if you wanted to study a specific human behavior, you could just round up some willing participants, or college students, and place them in really any twisted, inhumane situation your deviant mind could think up. All in the name of science, of course. However, somewhere along the way, some asshat postulated that perhaps the subjects of such studies suffered irreversible mental scars that would haunt them for the rest of their lives. I say, “Poppycock!” Well, at least that’s what I would have said had I been (a.) alive at the time, and (b.) consulted as to my opinion. So, long story short, the APA deemed, from somewhere on high, I assume, that all human experiments must be ethical and, here’s the real bummer, could cause “no harm.” Well, that’s a bogus blanket statement if I ever heard one. Why not just replace “no harm” with “no fun,” because that’s really what they meant.

You’re probably asking yourself, “Why did they do that?” Oh, because some sissy participant whined about it. Then, legal action was taken, and it came down to what eventually everything boils down to: Money. So, now, if you want to study human behavior…you can’t. Well, not in any way that would be effective. But, it wasn’t always that way. Psychologists did manage to slip in a few really gnarly research hypotheses under the wire. My personal favorite was conducted at Stanford University in 1971 with an ordinary class of college students. The professor decided he wanted to prove a point about human behavior to his class, so he split them randomly into two groups. He made one group to be the prison guards, and the other to be the prison inmates. He assigned the role of the prison warden to his assistant and that of superintendent to (who else?) himself. Then, he set up a hidden camera and a makeshift prison in the basement of the psychology building. After everyone was inside, he bolted the door shut and watched. If you know how this one ends, you get a gold star and you may skip directly to the next paragraph. If you don’t, I’ll tell you. In less than 24 hours, these regular undergrads began to take on the characteristics of their assigned roles. The guards began to terrorize the inmates, and they, in response, began to act in a more subservient manner. Well, for a little while, at least. It wasn’t long before the “inmates” had had their share of the “guards” bullying, and soon a full scale prison riot broke out in the basement. The professor was forced to intervene and stop the experiment after only six days. Take that, nature vs. nurture! As you can imagine, regardless of how extraordinary the results were, the professor was chastised and the students all received a free lifetime supply of therapy.

And here’s why I have watched every single episode of “Survivor” since it’s inception: Although it would be considered inhumane and highly unethical in the medical community, if you were to take the participants out of the lab, and you offer them a reward of, say, a MILLION DOLLARS…it no longer is considered an experiment. It’s a game show. Diabolical, isn’t it? Mark Burnett is a genius.

For 39 days, 16 “castaways” attempt to outwit, outplay, and outlast his, or her, opponents to be the sole survivor. Throw in Jeff Probst, a couple of camera crews, and some hokey challenges – you’ve got yourself a hit show that has been on for 18 seasons. It seems there will never be a shortage of willing participants. Or viewers, for that matter. Even though the locations have varied from Africa to China, each season seems to crank up the difficulty level to a point where you’d think the contestants would all quit because of the ridiculous demands placed upon them. Yet, every season there is a winner. And some really crazy people have been on the show TWICE.

No matter how many times a person has participated in the quest for fame and riches, and indeed no matter how many times a person has watched, nay studied, the show…they never seem to learn. Time after time, the same rookie mistakes are made and regardless of how strong, or wise, or cunning, or intelligent a contestant may be, there are no guarantees that that person will win “Survivor.” In the end, the show is really just a popularity contest. Since the outcast members are the ones that ultimately decide who wins the big bucks, to paraphrase an old sports cliché, on any given day, ANYONE can win. Never underestimate your opponents.

For those of you who may be thinking that maybe you could be the next “Survivor,” I am going to share a few helpful pointers that will make the next 39 days a little easier.

Dress appropriately. The clothes you arrive in will most likely be the only clothes you will wear for the remainder of your stay (your suitcase that you packed with all the “perfect” clothes will most likely be waiting for you in your hotel room once you’ve been voted off the show). Remember, you will get dirty. You will get wet. You will experience a range in temperatures from 120 degrees Farenheit (the temperature during last night’s immunity challenge) to just above freezing. Be prepared. The best outfit would include an athletic swimsuit (not a string bikini), multiple layers of comfortable and durable clothes, and an old pair of running shoes.

Men: Do not wear a three piece suit. However, be sure to sport some undergarments that will keep you properly contained, and not reveal to the home audience what religion you are. Last season, one man’s junk ended up making a surprise appearance that somehow slipped past the censors. Nobody wants to see that.

Women: Do not wear a dress or heels. The undergarment rule also applies to you, doubly so. Anything purchased at Fredrick’s of Hollywood is not appropriate, nor will it help you win challenges. If you are intending on using your body as a distraction and part of your game plan, you can always go naked.

Master the art of making fire. Take my advice and practice this skill at home with the same tools provided by the producers since season two: flint and a machete. If a machete is not readily available to you, any sharp metal object that could potentially take off a finger will do. Relying on your other teammates to make fire is ill-advised. Should a voting ceremony result in a tie, chances are you will be pitted against each other in a race to build the biggest and best fire. Not knowing how to make a fire may result in your ultimate demise.

Pack on a few extra pounds. Food will mostly likely be in short supply at camp. Give yourself an advantage by storing additional energy resources for your body to feed on when your main meal for the day consists of a few grains of rice. The extra weight will also keep you warm at night. If you’re worried that your physical performance in challenges will be hampered by the extra pounds, don’t be. Not winning every single challenge right away will probably work to your advantage, and cause others to view you as a less intimidating player. Plus, the longer you are in the game, the more weight you will lose, regardless of your starting weight. Starting out skinny has never helped anyone win “Survivor.”

Trust no one. This may be the most important piece of advice I can offer. These people that you think of as your tribe are not your friends. They are your competition. Although the game will create an illusion of camaraderie amongst tribe members, especially when your team wins and is rewarded with a bonding activity like eating copious amounts of food or flying in a helicopter to a breathtaking vista where you will then eat copious amounts of food, be aware that this is just an illusion. Every single person will, given the chance, throw you under the bus.

Find (and USE) the hidden immunity idol. No matter what you do, no one can vote you off if you have immunity. I know that sounds really simple to the point of being redundant, but you would be surprised how many past contestants have underestimated the power of immunity. Would you believe me if I told you that one individual in particular, had TWO immunity idols yet chose not to use either one during a voting ceremony? Guess what happened to him? AND, in a future “all-star” season (read: gluttons for punishment), a completely different person who had watched that individual be voted off with his two unused immunity idols, went ahead and made the same boneheaded maneuver? I’m not making this shit up. If you have immunity, and all your other tribe members KNOW you have immunity, USE IT.

Do NOT underestimate Jeff Probst. Jeff Probst is not, nor will he ever be, your friend. Jeff has seen it all and then some. Don’t fuck with him. He doesn’t appreciate being the butt of your joke. He will call you on it, and he will make you look like a fool. He will make you cry like a little girl. Just because Jeff is smiling in no way indicates that he is secretly hoping that you win. Jeff doesn’t care who wins. I’m going to share a little secret with you: Jeff thinks you are all a bunch of complete idiots. You see, Jeff gets paid, A LOT, to travel around the world and make fun of you. On the outside, he may appear to be just a guy who dresses like J. Peterman on safari, but in actuality, he is your only link to the outside world as long as you last on his game show. Compared to you, he is a GOD. Best not forget that.

Next time, I’ll share some of my obsessed-fan knowledge about my other favorite reality TV show, “The Amazing Race.” If you think “Survivor” is the ultimate social psychological experiment, try taking those same contestants, pairing them up with a loved one, and then sending them to navigate their way around foreign countries where they don’t speak any English. WITHOUT a cell phone. OR a credit card. Oh, and give them tasks to complete in those foreign countries that are always based on the most difficult, disgusting, and demoralizing local customs. And then…make it a RACE to the finish. Relationships crumble. Injuries abound. Just watching the show in my living room is so intense, I need a Xanax and a glass of wine in order to cope. It’s FANTASTIC.

Posted in Sharing Is Caring, Trials and Tribulations | Tagged: , , , , , , | Leave a Comment »

Adventures in Casting: An Exercise in Futility

Posted by kimlno on February 8, 2009

The World of Casting, much like the World of Wrestling, is the only arena in which bigotry and racism are not seen as negative traits. Affirmative action and political correctness are two things that might actually get you fired. If a producer asks you, as the Casting Director, to find a Native American female in her mid to late 20s who can speak fluent Japanese, you’d better not bring in any Japanese women. For that matter, you’d better not bring in any Native Americans who can’t speak Japanese. The phrase, “but there ARE NO Native American women who speak Japanese,” is NOT an acceptable retort.

Often times, it seemed to me that the producers would create the most ridiculous casting requests just to see the CD sweat. I know this because I was once asked to find a LEGLESS INDIAN MIDGET. The man had to be small enough that it would be conceivable that he could fit inside another average sized person. Do you know what fits inside another average sized person? A newborn infant. So, just to be clear: I needed to find an Indian man with no legs who was the approximate size of a newborn baby. And, you know what? I did. At which point one would think a gift would be in order, even a card with “Good Job” written across the front would’ve been nice. Hell, I would’ve settled for a pat on the back. But, do you know what my producers said when I told them I had found a man to play the role that was supposedly impossible to cast? “Find more.”

What “more” was this they speak of? There are no “more.” This dude is it. The one. The only. To that I was met with, “There must be more.” Yes, perhaps IN INDIA there might be more, but here, in Southern California, this little guy is all we got. So, the producers finally caved and we went on to hire the midget. Oh, wait. That’s not what happened next. They insisted on seeing more people for the role. I begged them not to. I tried to explain that NOT hiring this guy immediately could be potentially disastrous, but my pleas fell upon deaf ears. I called the midget’s agent and explained the situation. I asked him to please let me know before he booked the little guy on anything else. And then I set up another session with actors I knew wouldn’t be right. I didn’t want to do it. They forced my hand. And in the end, we hired the guy I knew we were going to hire all along. And people wonder why I got out of casting.

So, you’re probably wondering, who is this legless Indian midget? The man cast in the role, really the only actor in the universe who could portray the role, is Deep Roy. And as crazy as this is going to sound, you know him. “Kim, believe me, if I had ever see a legless Indian midget, I think I’d remember!” Okay, so he wasn’t really legless. Now, try to remember where you might have seen an unusual little ethnic man. Oompa. Loompa. Doopity. Doo. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the only other role Deep Roy was born to play: an Oompa Loompa. Unlike the Oompas in the original, Deep was the ONE and ONLY Oompa in Tim Burton’s remake. They cloned him using CGI. So, I was right all along. There are no MORE.

Deep Roy as "Beggar Man."

Deep Roy as "Beggar Man."

Posted in Trials and Tribulations, You Don't See THAT Every Day | Tagged: , , | Leave a Comment »

A Boy Named Sue

Posted by kimlno on February 6, 2009

You're going to name me WHAT?!?

You're going to name me WHAT?!?

WARNING: The following contains strong language and graphic imagery that may not be suitable for all audiences.

As I do every morning (okay, technically afternoon), today I perused some of my favorite web links whilst sucking down a delicious Outrageous Raspberry smoothie from Robeks. The O.R. has been my breakfast of champions since my surgery last February that made everything I ever loved to eat, look, taste and smell like dog crap. You’d think being on liquid diet for a month and a half would’ve flushed away those few extra pounds (okay 50) I’ve been carrying around with me, but then, you’d be wrong. It seems that my body is so fucking efficient, that even if I stop eating, and the sight or smell of food makes me gag, I can still maintain my BBW figure. Oh, happy day.

Anyfat, today was a special day in the universe because the “First Lady of Neo-Soul,” Erykah Badu, finally named her baby girl that she had last month. No rush, people. You definitely want to take your time when naming your child, because, GOD FORBID, you name it something stupid like Mars Merkaba. Oh, wait. That IS what she named her beautiful baby girl. Great. Now her child sounds like a reasonably priced hybrid four-door sedan from Mazda. Good luck, Mars. You’re going to need it. At least your siblings, Puma Rose and Seven Sirius, will be able to commiserate with you.

Ever since Frank Zappa paved the way to “Ridiculous Names for Your Baby Land,” celebrities have been wracking their brains to come up with the most unique name for their utterly defenseless, innocent little children. Remember when Gwyneth Paltrow named her daughter Apple? Doesn’t sound so bad, now, does it? Even when she went for another bold baby name choice with her second born, and named her son Moses, now, I ask you, in retrospect, is Moses really that terrible? Let’s take a closer look at some of the creative, and truly distinctive, names conjured up by today’s new parents of note. Shall we?

Seraphina Rose Elizabeth: Jennifer Garner and Ben Affleck.
Do you know how long it took me to find out that your daughter’s name is the same as a fictional vampire? Less than two seconds. Really, you could’ve just looked it up on your iPhone as easily as I just did, but I am thinking you didn’t. The sad thing is “Seraphina” wasn’t even a pretty vampire, as she was turned late in life she is described thusly, she “appeared older than most vampires, with streaks of grey and white in her hair and a wrinkled face.” Not the image you wanted to conjure when referring to your newborn? I’m telling you, a little Google goes a long way.

Dexter Lloyd: Charlotte Church.
Do they not have cable in the UK, Char? Are you somehow unaware of a little series on Showtime called “Dexter?” Anylivingunderarock, Dexter is, how can I put this delicately? A SERIAL KILLER. Oops, that just popped out. Sorry. But it’s not like the name “Dexter,” under other circumstances, would be considered a good name choice, either. Sure, you’re British and with the cute accent and all, you’ll probably call him “Dex” and others will find it simply charming. However, may I suggest, before you name your next child, to consult the Urban Dictionary website. Because I am still eating, I’m not going to repeat the information I found when I did a search for “Dexter,” but those of you who are interested, please feel free to look for yourselves.

Nakoa-Wolf Manakauapo Namakaeha: Lisa Bonet.
You would think having the influence of Bill Cosby in your life would give you an extra advantage when it came to parenting. Apparently (no pun intended) not. And let me say, I am a HUGE fan on the Hawaiian Islands and everything related to the Polynesian culture. However, giving your child a name that is TWENTY EIGHT letters long (not including his last name) AND hyphenated is just wrong. You have no idea how wrong, because your name only has nine letters, first and last. Take it from someone who has been trying to cram her name onto every government-issued legal document her entire life, it SUCKS.

Bronx Mowgli: Ashlee Simpson and Pete Wentz.
Oh, Ashlee. Always trying to shine while mercilessly cast into the dark by the shadow of your considerably more famous sister. Well, let me be the first to congratulate you on leaving a permanent impression on the world, after your bout with acid reflux, by naming your son after one of the five boroughs of New York City. I understand that the Beckhams had already usurped your first choice, Brooklyn, for their own offspring. Bloody foreigners. But, was “Bronx” the next best choice? Points for working the letter ‘X’ into your child’s name (doesn’t everybody want to be like the Jolie-Pitts?), but I can’t help shake the feeling that your boy would’ve been better off named “Manhattan.” Then, you could’ve easily gotten away with calling him “Manny,” and no tears would be shed. As it is, you might be better off calling him by his middle name, “Mowgli,” but not by much.

Zuma Nesta Rock: Gwen Stefani and Gavin Rossdale.
First, let me say, I love me some Gwen Stefani. Not so much you, Gavin, because well…you’ve not exactly been prolific since the break-up of Bush. Anywashedupmusicalcareer, “Zuma” is a beach, not a baby name. It’s also the name of a popular computer game, but again, not a baby name. Just so we are clear. “Zuma Nesta Rock” sounds like a protein bar that can only be purchased where expensive running shoes are sold. Or a new all-natural power drink, like Monster, that contains enough caffeine to keep the average adult awake for at least 48 to 72 hours. You wouldn’t name your baby “Monster,” would you?

Peanut Kai: Ingo Rademacher.
I know when it comes to names you totally drew the short straw, but to pass that stigma on to your little boy? That’s just cruel. Peanut is something many people are allergic to, and, more recently, a source of salmonella poisoning. Perhaps you were inspired to name your child a food product by baby Apple, but still. And yes, I did read that you and your wife settled on “Peanut” because that’s what you called him when he was still inside his mommy’s tummy. Another name for an unborn child is “fetus,” but you wouldn’t think of naming your child THAT, would you? On a personal note, your brother in law Volodar sure knew his way around an acupuncture needle. Good man. Horrible name.

Kal-El: Nicolas Cage.
Superman, huh? That’s a hell of a lot of pressure to assign your toddler. Don’t you think he’s going to get enough ribbing about his dad’s performance in the remake of “The Wicker Man?” C’mon, give the kid a chance, at least. Geez.

Huckleberry (and brother Marmaduke): Bear Grylls.
Why? Why give your boys dog names? Cartoon dog names? Why?

Audio Science: Shannyn Sossamon.
I can see your parents got creative with the spelling of your name, but what did you unborn child ever do to YOU to deserve the name Audio Science?

Pilot Inspektor: Jason Lee.
Scientologist. ‘Nuff said.

Suri: If you don’t know who her parents are, you shouldn’t be reading this.
Again, Scientologist. She should thank her lucky stars they didn’t name her Xenu.

Rocket Valentine (as well as your brothers, Racer, Rebel and Rogue): Robert Rodriguez.
Your initials are R.R. and being a proud parent, you wanted to pass that honor down to your sons. Beautiful gesture, really. Stupid names. If they aren’t already, every single one of your children will be diagnosed with ADHD. Mark my words.

Moxie CrimeFighter (and your brother Zolten): Penn Jillette.
I like you, Penn. Always have. Saw you live in New York with your sidekick Teller, and you guys were great. I even bought a book the two of you wrote. Plus, I love “Bullshit.” Really good show. Well done. Do you know where perhaps you are not exactly considered to be an expert? Yes, the dance floor was the first thing I thought of as well, but there’s something else I am thinking of. Oh, that’s it…naming babies. You, sir, should not be allowed to name any more babies, ever. I suppose you think you’re clever. Well, that’s one way to look at it. Want to know how your children are going to see it when they are old enough to realize that their names are absolutely preposterous? No, I didn’t think so. Have fun when those two mature into teenagers! They are going to make your life a living hell.

Prince Michael II (Blanket): Michael Jackson.
I am going to defer to the always funny and entertaining Katt Williams when he said, “You don’t name your child Blanket.” There was another very descriptive word Mr. Williams added to that sentence, and although when he says it, it’s funny, but if I were to say it…you might not like me anymore. Moving on…

Jermajesty: Jermaine Jackson.
Now, THAT’S a name! Jermaine had to actually use his brain to come up with that gem. He just made a word up. He took the best part of his name, and then kicked it up a notch and made that shit ROYAL. I freakin’ LOVE it! I hope that kid really decides to OWN that name. If I were him, everything I owned would be purple, and I wouldn’t be caught dead without my crown and scepter. Work it, Jermajesty. You are American Royalty.

Spec Wildhorse: John Mellencamp.
Speck is Pee-Wee Herman’s dog. Now, I like Pee-Wee Herman. I think he is hilarious. But, that whole porn movie masturbating in public fiasco kind of cast Pee-Wee in a negative light. Oh, and that big box of child pornography found in his house (if you got the 40-Year-Old Virgin reference, two points). Y’know, because being a host of a kiddie show and being arrested for anything remotely sexual makes you look like Michael Jackson. Nobody wants that. Plus, “Spec” suggests something insignificant or small. You’re a small man, John. How would you feel if someone called you “speck?” Even if your little boy doesn’t genetically take after you, and he grows up to be a big guy, his name will still sound comical. Y’know, like calling a fat guy “Slim,” or a dumb guy “Einstein.” Either way, your kid is screwed.

Diezel Ky (and your older brother, Denim Cole): Toni Braxton.
JEANS. That’s all I am sayin’.

Bogart Che Peyote: David “Puck” Rainey.
What do you expect from a guy whose only talents are snot rockets and offending every member of the cast of the Real World San Francisco, including Pedro Zamora, an AIDS activist who later DIED from the disease? Puck, you ignorant fool (you thought I was going to make a naughty rhyme, didn’t you?), you have just guaranteed your son a trip to rehab. Better start saving money for it now, dickhead. As a matter of fact, I think all the kids on this list should have two funds set up in their names, one for college and one for rehab, because you know, as well as I do, ALL of these kids are going to end up abusing some substance or another.

Honor Marie: Jessica Alba.
At first, I didn’t really see a problem with your choice, Jess. I thought of it as the next logical step in the long tradition of naming your baby girl for a virtue that she embodies like Charity, Faith, or Hope. Sure, those names reek of daytime dramas (or hookers with a heart of gold), but they aren’t awful. Cheesy, sure. But, you know kids (and, to be fair, grown men who should know better), if a name sounds like something else, they just can’t help but point it out and then make up little jabs that could bring an adult male who has spent time in a maximum security correctional facility to tears. I feel sorry for your little girl and all the ways “on her” will be creatively applied to her given name. You might want to think of a nickname, and soon.

Banjo Patrick: Rachel Griffiths.
You’re Australian. You want to honor fellow countrymen. You decide to name your baby in honor of a famous Australian poet. All good intentions. But “Banjo?” To be perfectly clear, “Banjo” was a nickname for Andrew Barton Patterson, and not his given name. Why not officially name your son Andrew Barton, and just call him “Banjo?” Thereby giving your son the option to revert to Andrew should he deem it necessary. Because, and I don’t think I am alone in the word association progression, in that the first thing that comes to mind when someone uses the word “banjo” is the rather unsavory image of inbred hillbillies anally raping Ned Beatty in “Deliverance.” My heart aches for your little boy because I can already anticipate the hurtful playground taunts he will inevitably face. “SQUEEEEEEEEEAL!” Or, “You got a real purdy mouth.” Just food for thought.

For those of you who will be naming your own child sometime in the near future, I have put together a few simple guidelines to choosing an appropriate baby name. Just follow these three easy steps:
1. Research. Type potential names into that Google search box and see what comes up. If the first five sites have anything to do with porn, notorious criminals, or communicable diseases, it’s time to move on.
2. Invoke your inner school yard bully. See if the name you think is absolutely perfect can be manipulated into something negative. Rhyming, breaking the name down phonetically, anything you can think of that could potentially turn that name into a nightmare for your child, figure it now before it’s too late.
3. Ask for help. Be open to constructive criticism. If, when you announce the potential baby name, anyone snickers, snorts or guffaws, take note. Listen to your friends stories of people they might know who will share your baby’s name. Often, such stories can give you invaluable insight that only experience can bring.
Remember, although a rose by any other name may smell just as sweet, no one wants to smell a flower named putrescence…especially when they know what the word means.

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