Hey, gas burners! Got a donut in your mouth? Yeah. We’re talking to you, America. Your global warming horseshit is keeping us cold. Let us explain.

The extreme pendular swings of shitty weather caused by excessive CFCs (produced by large automobiles like Andy’s) in the atmosphere has to stop. It’s May in Colorado. May. And it’s FUCKING cold. Kristi and I thought it might be a nice idea to demonstrate the insanity of the current weather conditions by driving from Colorado Springs to Breckenridge, Colorado…Thereby effectively demonstrating that winter is NOT OVER here.

We thought maybe since you’d be worried about us, you’d change your OWN habits to save us. Right.

Let’s go kill the ozone, Colorado! (pronounced Cah-luh-rah-duh)

Shitcocks, it’s gonna be fun!

Even though I’m semi-retarded, your stance on erf-politics is dead on. Let’s go.

Put in my mixtape, woman. I need to feel like a man in nature right now. With my mixtapes.

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Click here to become Andy Juett’s best mySpace buddy. He likes to be fed warm milk straight from the teat after 7. So remember that.

I hate to say it, but I’m officially annoyed by BOTH Clintons.

For years I espoused modest endearment for Slick Willie and his half-cocked Yosemite Sam meets Wilt Chamberlin Ameri-pimp attitude.

Don’t get me wrong, there were elements of his modus operandi that were ALWAYS offensive to me (see, “I didn’t inhale”…did you REALLY say that?), but I was able to dismiss some of his major muffs by comfortably falling back on the belief that he would know what to do in critical situations (see DIPLOMACY…I’m talking to you big Georger.) That’s not happening right now.

Here’s the deal Billiam, Hillary needs to pipe down and so do YOU.

Yesterday you told a bunch of old Democrats to “chill out” in San Jose. You pontificated about the benefits of dragging out the Democratic Presidential Primary. CHILL OUT? Nobody needs a nice steamroller pull more than you, captain.

Billy, You went from badass to pain-in-the-ass.

In 2006, you seemed to be back. You were kicking it with Bush Sr. (sucking it up) raising money for people who NEEDED help in Indonesia post-Tsunami. Nice.

In 2007, you got the Democrats back on their talking points and made Chris Wallace from Fox News VERY uncomfortable.

Please don’t e-mail me and try to convince me that Wallace looked dignified or tough. If you do that, I’ll just laugh at you and write you off as a crazy person that chooses to create the fiction along with the Fox News network in your head as you watch that bullshit.

Until recently, the Clintons were helmed by a womanizing hillbilly that made most of the headlines. Sure, Hillary’s press was abundant, but cold, bitchy and boring.

It took far more than a village for me to give a shit about her newsworthy happenings given her cranky, persistently calculated “straight talk.”

If you e-mail me to try and convince me that you really believe that she’s NOT cold and bitchy and insincere (See Amy Poehler’s Clinton on SNL) and that I’m another male in a long list of media assholes painting a “woman” into the corner of PMS, I’ll take a shit on your front porch.

No. That is not related to anything I’ve written thus far in this piece. I just really want to defecate where you live. I’m taking classes. It’ll all be fine.

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Click here to become friends with Andy Juett. No matter what anyone says, he does NOT have a chancre on his chest.

—————————————————–

READ BELOW or perish.

Barack: Girl…I’ma make love to ya til the sun comes up.

Michelle: You promise?

Barack: Yeah girl: We got seven more delegates in Wyoming. Uuuuuuuh.

Michelle: Are you sure we got the delegates?

Barack: Yes. Absolutely, honey.

Michelle: Are you absolutely SURE we got the delegates in Wyoming?

Barack: Yes. I’m sure. It’s a done deal.

Michelle: Did you take the trash out?

Barack: Yeah.

Michelle: Listen to me very carefully. DID…YOU…TAKE…THE…TRASH…OOOOOOOOOOUT?

Barack: Yeah baby. I’m gonna have a sandwich.

Michelle: I went to Target today and had the worst gas. Have you been to the new Target yet?

Barack: No. Could you get me a Coke?

Michelle: You haven’t even been to the NEW TARGET YET BARACK? What have you been doin’?

Barack: Campaigning mainly. But you know that. I got seven in Wyoming baby. Remember? We were talking about love making and…

Michelle: They have two for one mustard at Target right now.

Barack: Awesome.

Michelle: Yes!!! I found my car keys!!!

Barack: I didn’t know they were gone.

Michelle: What do you mean you didn’t know they were gone? They’ve been lost for weeks. We talked about this. And you called Mike Herndon at Tire World and took care of a duplicate for me.

Barack: That was not me.

Michelle: Are you….absolutey SURE…that wasn’t you?

Barack: Yes. I’m sure.

Michelle: Wow. I’m frazzled. You are so wise Barack. Would you…like to see my new shoes?

Barack: I don’t know. I just want to eat and go have a sauna. I’ll probably play some Nintendo on the big screen and go to bed.

Michelle: Alright poopy. High five for Wyoming. Are you sure you don’t want momma puddin’ to dress up in her outfit?

Barack: Um…No Michelle. I’ve been gone all day and we were about to get crazy and now you’re talking to me about pickle specials at the store. You’re not understanding. I’m a MAN. I have desires. I want some syrup with my pancakes Mimsy.

Michelle: Barack. That’s not fair.

Barack: Look baby. I’m not trying to start a fight.

Michelle: What EXACTLY am I not doing for you right now Barack? I’m out there kicking ass for you every day. I’m stomping ass…for YOU Barack. I mean. What can I do for you Barack? Huh? Answer me.

Barack: Baby. I love you. I’m sorry. I’m just tired and cranky and fired up and wiped out from being on the road.

Michelle: That’s nice Barack. Let me ask you this. Did you eat all the chips?

Barack: What? Come on Michelle. I’m tired.

Michelle: Did you or did you not eat ALL the chips?

Barack: Yes. I did.

Michelle: I forgive you baby.

Barack: Thank you honey.

Michelle: I love you.

Barack: I love you too baby. 2000-GREAT.

Michelle: Night.
————————————————-

Click here to become friends with Andy Juett. He once coughed up a ball of blood at a funeral. And he is a frequent shopper at K-Mart.

March 9, 1974
Tuckahoe Coffee
Little Rock, Arkansas

Bill: Hill. I’ve been thinking. Things between us are getting pretty serious and I think you really ought to consider being a little dirtier for me in the sack.

Hillary: Oooooooooook. Um. What wasn’t dirty about you smoking a fatty and looking down at me grunting while I fellated you?

Bill: That was wooooooonderful baby. That’s not what I’m getting at, moonbeam of mine. Listen. All I’m saying is let’s get some food products involved. I want to eat ketchup and eggs off your tummy, girl. Let the warthog eat. I’m pawin’ at the dirt, you little minx. After we’re done I’ll read you some Adam Smith aloud and we’ll snuggle all Sunday afternoon.

Hillary: That sounds more like it. But I’d rather read O’Pioneers by Will Cather to YOU while you wash me with a sponge. There’s something about reading stories with women that must have had trouble grooming their feminine nexus on the rough road that makes me quiver like a child.

Bill: (Grunt) Clearing my throat helps me focus. When I’m like, really stressed out, I love to just hork up as much phlegm as possible and just empty my food pipe of it’s human mucous dander.

Hill: I like wool.

Bill: Man I could go for some potatoes and an original copy of Leaves of Grass. And some grass. And a donut.

Hill: Totally. I want some almonds.

Bill: You want me to go get you some?

Hill: No. I’ll just have to take a worse shit than I already have brewing.

Bill: I really want a chili dog.

Hill: Have you ever felt like settling down at a rest stop and just sleeping on the floor? No judging. Just right on the tile. I love how hard and unyielding public restroom floors are. My back hurts.

Bill: No. Can you pass me the creamer? This coffee is a little much.

Hill: I’m feeling engorged. Could you unfasten my hernia truss please? Good coffee by the way.

Bill: Oh yeah. GREAT coffee. I have this wart behind the heel of my foot and I’m wondering if that is too high up to be a plantar’s wart.

Hill: I like pretty dresses.

Bill: Let’s get married.

Hill: I really have to pooh.

Bill: That’s fair. Miss? Could you tell us how big the women’s restroom is here?

Hill: I’ve got it. Thank you. I’ll check myself honey. You’re so sweet.

Bill: Always wipe front to back!

Clicky the link. Please. Borat’s cousin Bilo asked you to do thees. Beecum a Andy Juett’s a MySpace friendses. Jacqui.

By Andy Juett and Allen Yamiolkoski

Gary Gygax. Sounds like a porn star that had sex with an alien doesn’t it? Well sorry. He didn’t even like porn. But he did loooooooove rolling the dice and making Dungeons and Dragons memories. With you and me.

Allen Yamiolkoski (The Polish Cowboy) and I look to commemorate the passing of Gary Gygax by taking a time machine back to some of our greatest D & D kills of all time.

A collection of transcripts from Allen’s spiral notebook of reminiscings and my floppy disks full of D & D character information have been abbreviated in this glorious retelling of THE TOUCANS GREATEST D & D QUESTS: Volume XII!!!

April 4, 1996 - The Purple Worm

I was a 7th level Paladin. It was a weird time. Yari the Dwarf was killed in my last adventure by “Bunnybees.” The Dungeon Master explained to me that basically since I’d rolled a dice combination that was a 1 in 24,000 probablity, Yari should be eaten by little rabbits with stingers. Eek! Hornet hares. They don’t respond to regeneration spells.

I protested the kill but he Dungeon Master wouldn’t budge. My invisibility cloak wasn’t keeping anyone in the crab-berry thicket dry despite my 9th level spell power and my Gorg-scrotum sack full of beams Of Light Dust. I mean, it was really FUCKED UP.

Allen looked at me and we both nodded. It was clear. We needed a big dice roll. We submitted new special dice to the Dungeon Master in our Crown Royal bag stolen from my uncle after a casual house-sitting.

Three 24-sided die. 3 colors. Infinite destinies.

Long story short, we were about 2,000 hit points “in” with a +3 Magic Sword rating and we were all out of Dunder Balls from the Horse People.

Just as Allen rolled triple 17’s Steven’s (Steven is Al’s brother) friend, incidentally named Gary (R.I.P. Gary Gygax…your my Biggie Smalls in the Wizard’s Overalls,) spilled Vernor’s all over Allen’s spell scroll.

We’re talking some serious D-squared banishment from the living room area. I shit you not. This game got D & D & D & D & Dangerous.

Blood and graph paper was everywhere. I think I smelled some acidic smelling piss. It might not have been human. It might have been Gorg piss.

Gary gave us the kill due to the party foul. It wasn’t legit because the dice were still moving but it was pretty much THREE 17’s. I never washed those dice. They’re still sticky. And yes. I still hold them. But not in the shower.

Click here for exclusive photos of Roger Clemens’ ass next to Andy Juett’s face!!!

Roger Clemens loves injecting steroids into my ass. But only behind a family restaurant and only when I have shaved. He only allows himself to be photographed for “causes” now and even then you might have to fish the eel out of his trouser-quarium and let it feed.

The below photo was taken during a really crazy time in my life. I was trying to wrangle athletes at all the bars for all the wrong reasons. Anything to score a sugar daddy that could get me the furs, diamond rings and anonymous male sex that my heart desired. His wandering hands were firm and strong and his body heat got me through the night for a period of six months that nobody, certainly not the press, wants to talk about.

I was his little clown. And he loved me.

Who Framed Roger Stab-it? Not I. And I know…I KNOW…He’s no Jose Canseco when it comes to oral. That’s a fact and you don’t have to rub it in. But maybe you can understand why my connection with his “Rocket” is so strong given his marriage proposal to me in Lake Como, Italy in 1994. Right where Anakin and Padme stood so long ago, Roger got on his knee and told me how life would be.

He was like a dad that didn’t understand boundaries in a time when I didn’t understand myself. I may as well have been coaxed into his Ice Cream Truck and force-fed Bomb Pops. That’s what it was like. And now, it’s part of who I am.

(Pictured above with Sammy Hagar of Van Halen. God he loves Poundcake. Even though he’s more of a David Lee Roth man.)We remember your butt chin and large frame as a spry young lad bursting onto the scene in Boston. You weren’t discriminatory in your handling of men, women and college professor’s of ambiguous gender throughout the Boston area. You touched us all.

You coming into a local pub was like a sexually liberal schooner looking to dock in any open space in Boston Harbor. Oh the memories, Clem!

Roger Clemens is a hardcore liberal. I bet you didn’t know that. He has this bizarre thing for Nancy Pelosi that’s been going on for years. He likes little women and pasty men. Paging Richard Simmons! You should’ve seen this guy bury his face in a fresh bowl of hummus back then while playing his sitar at the mediterranean cafes. He had such a penchant for trolling for ass while he shopped for tabouli. It was incredible.

When he was drunk he’d go to a CVS and buy a couple Sharpies and some whip cream. For hours he’d wobble down Commonwealth Avenue doing whippets and autographing anything he could get his hands on until the ink ran out. Stop signs. Front stoops made of concrete. A man’s lunch. Whatever would kill the pain.

Why am I telling everybody these things now? Roger, it’s just time. I know I was just one of many drug-addicted man-whores that you used for sex in your day, but that’s never how I felt. With you I always felt like I was a prince’s ransom. With you, the put-downs hurt immediately and there were no apologies.

I know now that it was good for me. All the brainwashing and captivity seemed an odd reality at the time, but it helps me get through the days now. When I’m not bleeding internally during the day, I’m reminded of the normal life and I can’t shake the mundanity of not being abused daily, hourly and moment to moment, by one of baseball’s true legends.

Roger, I hope Andy Pettite spoons better than Andy Juett does. I felt a lot like a spork. And THAT hurt most of all.

My rocket is teeming with fuel. Click here to become a fixture in my community. For America.

Lemme ask you dis. Woojoo like to be my myspace friend? Clicky clicky Ricky.

Jennifer Lopez pooped two newborns out of her baby hole this week. How exciting! Marc Anthony has been wanting kids since he ate the couple’s secret baby last spring.

Seriously. Doesn’t he look weird enough to eat a baby? Possibly two?

Look at the below photo and pretend Marc Anthony is speaking to you about his favorite cuisine.

“Oh hello. Yes. It is me. Marc Anthony. I love pizza. Chicago Style. Thick Crust. Butjooknow what else I like? Babies. I know. I know. It’s a little surprising. Jennifer just had a couple new meatballs. I will eat them. But not before a good strong marinade is applied over several days time. I will use a Paul Newman dressing because charity eeees emportant.”

Andy Juett Handles the Paparazzi

J-Lo. Lindsey. Britney Spears. Listen Up. You’ve got a lot to learn when it comes to handling the paparazzi. Let me help you.

#1 Don’t get a latte more than 30 times a day. It gives the paparazzi a chance to catch you itching your taint or catching an angle where it looks like you might be kissing Zac Efron at a club. If you haven’t purchased a personal home barista system yet, throw down a grand and make it happen. You’re filthy rich. You need a barista like Snoop needs a weed man at the airport. Again, these are issues that money CAN solve. Coffee is available in the home.

#2 When you are going to be traveling anywhere at all in a vehicle OR you might be sitting down, WEAR UNDERWEAR. It keeps the camera from drinking in your poonany extravaganza on the Internet. You have to realize that paparazzi photographers are VOYEURS either literally or metaphorically right? So, it might be best to put a proverbial “drop cloth” in FRONT of the meat curtains so that peeping Tom doesn’t get digital of your hoo-hah.

Oh yeah. Stars that are waning and need some attention, you might want to NOT WEAR UNDERWEAR and make some headlines for once. Are you listening Tiffany Amber Thiessen?

#3 Stop dating other stars. Can one of you please fuck the hot mechanic? Seriously. For America. Show us that you aren’t a vacuous overstuffed botox bomb by giving that math teacher a throw. Release a photograph of you pawing at the local construction worker and watch your Farrah Fawcett flag fly. Keep hope alive for that really well adjusted post office worker that you might come in, buy a booklet of stamps and make a regrettable decision that involves your hand on the mailman’s junk. You being seen with Wilmer Valderamma is just hilarious at this point.

#4 Your dog sucks. I’m talking to you, Paris Hilton. Your pooch itself is not the problem. The dilemma remains the transporting of a dog in a bag that’s worth more than the Gross Domestic Product of Laos. Do you have a Louis Vuitton laundry basket to carry your dirties to the wash? Don’t answer that. Bags are cool. I get it. But your making the dog into a freak show that they didn’t buy a ticket to. PETA, speak up here.

#5 Do MINIMAL drugs. If you like the feeling of euphoria and general bliss, try not to do more smack than a horse would if it had hands. Get a nutritionist. You can pay for it. Let ‘em know that you might like to smoke a joint every once in a while and work that into the overall health system. It certainly works for Matthew McConaughey. The man is like a nude animatronic beefcake robot on a beach playing bongos and smoking dope 24/7. Two weeks ago he was in the number one movie in the country. The man gets more ass than 1991 Jordan Knight. Male or female.

More to come on this. I really don’t think there’s enough being written about the stars right now.

Stop by the MySpace page and make Andy Juett feel nice. Like a leaf blower on his apricot pits.

Become a friend at Andy Juett’s Myspace Page

I feel guilty.

For what I’ve done and what I’ve failed to do.

Sounds ominous doesn’t it? Oh it is. If this were a rap song there’d be all sorts of urban assault music in the background, automatic gunfire sound effects galore and the occasional oil drum explosion.

The sensation in your loins would inspire thoughts of DMX laying the pipe to two naked women made of fire. “I’m not a nice person,” he would say.

But that’s a COMPLETE digression. Damn you, DMX– with all of your pitbulls and aggression and whatnot!

Being Guilted By The Guilty
I’m going to keep all the actual names and circumstances and names confidential for the sake of those involved.

I have a really close friend. Let’s call her Debbie. Debbie has a mom. Let’s call her Unicorn Bitchfest Johnson.

UBJ (Yoobj we call ‘er) is constantly guilting Debbie about moving away from home. Look UBJ, Debbie is amazing and her HJs are fantastic. Let’s just call this what it is, a better situation for Debbie to put her hands on me. It’s that simple. Debbie loves me. Debbie LOVES me.

I know for a fact that you have your own issues UBJ. For instance, you love stuff with wolves on it. Wolves and bluejays. Now why is that? Who’s guilty of shopping on the side of the road in one of Arizona’s many truckstops now Issues McGuilt-Lowenstein? (I’ve changed her name again. How are you even following this?)

America: True or False?
I don’t have the answer to that age old query, but I do know this: 47% of Americans will die each year if we don’t start walking around the country with a canteen and a map saying stuff like, “There it is, Ethel– Gary, Indiana. You can see the smoke stacks in the distance. Isn’t it glorious?”

This part of the Andy Juett Empire of Media Blog is brought to you by nonne other than America By Foot. This is undoubtedly a group that my grandparents have come in contact once or twelve hundred times.

Old people. Give ‘em twenty bucks and some binoculars and they’re both happy as a clam AND fit as a fiddle. Maybe we could learn something from their “healthy” lifestyle.

Wait a second. Respect the elderly? Learn from those “wiser” than us? That’s HILARIOUS! Octagenarians are so out right now. Like Uggs or Cavariccis.

Ask The Polish Cowboy Allen Yamiolkoski for Advice
Yeah. This is a really good idea. Colorado Springs radio station KVUU-FM My 99.9 has asked my roommate Allen Yamiolkoski (aka The Polish Rifleman) to give their listeners ADVICE. Way to think that one through, Clear Channel. Check out the intro video below and check back often as I’m sure Al will pretty much be a superdouche throughout this ordeal…and you can be a part of it. Bookmark this Polish delight. You won’t be sorry.

Cats In Hats Update
Check out my Kristi’s blog on Cats In Hats. This is a kickback to the last blog. I’ve gotten SO many emails about this that I just HAD to post it.

This segment is entitled…BIG TALK. This is where I shit out some pretty BIG talk from my word hole about the REALLY BIG ISSUES. That’s why I use capital letters. Let’s read together.

What a DILDO!
Isn’t it odd how Dido is a simple “L” away from dildo yet…nobody wants to talk about it? Do they…DIDO PROPAGANDA MACHINE!?!?!?

How about a curtain to match that drape DI(L)DO!

Dido humor is so big right now.

Hall and Quaker Oates?
Daryl Hall once said, “If art is a song, then I am the composer.” He really said that. It was at a Bar Mitzvah in ‘86 (I was nine) for this kid Justin. I believe the theme of the event was “Downtown Nights” so I think his speech really missed the point. But, it always stuck with me. That guy was such a lion in that room. He could’ve had any of the waitresses at the Radisson that evening.

Maybe if he would have shed the suckerfish, Oates a little earlier, things would have turned out a little better for Daryl “The Shark” Hall. Nobody calls him that. I just really wanted to make a remora/shark symbiosis joke.

Man-eat me some not-so-Quaker-Oates-Oats Daryl. America needs you now.

My 2000-GREAT Calendar: Cats in Hats
I thought it was appropriate to share that the calendar that I’m writing all of my plans in for the year is pictured below. Cats In Hats was four bucks mid-way through January at the nearby Borders. Never have I been more organized. I’d really suggest that you, America, the readers, get off YOUR ASS and pick one up today.

This calendar is absolutely an OFFENSIVE delight. Who buys this shit besides me (for my own entertainment?)

Head over to megacalendars.com; they’re still available there.

The Road Trip Cigar is Key
I’ve been smoking a lot of Backwoods Honey Berry Flavored Cigars lately. Actually a lot is a bit of an exaggera

tion. I purchased one pack of 8 cigars a month and a half ago and I have one left. So suck on that, surgeon general.

The reason I bring this up is to let everyone know that smoking a couple packs of these a year is a good idea. No more than that. You see, if you smoke these like crazy, I have to believe you’d just feel like dogshit all the time. Nobody wants that for you, America.

But if you’re on a road trip with a loved one and it feels like a Thelma and Louise lovefest gina-topia is coming on, THROW CAUTION TO THE WIND. Buy that pack of Backwoods Cigars. Better yet, pull over at a truckstop and buy some pipe tobacco to jam in your new corncob pipe.

Smoke away.

Laugh. If you’re driving with your spouse, suggest some time-killing road head as an activity. Play a word game. Who doesn’t want to cry while listening to “Cats in the Cradle” on the AM dial through a haze of smoke that smells like the guy your family visited every Christmas with Meals on Wheels?

Jam it in your cigar hole. No judging.

Click here after you read…ok dildo. LOL

VINCE VAUGHN LOVES ANDY JUETT

Ok. That’s not true. I’ve not met Vince Vaughn. I saw Jon Favreau once in Aspen at the HBO US Comedy Arts Festival. His wife was hot.

Basically, I’ve used a google-favorable blog title for my own personal benefit to introduce my thoughts, musings and questions about Vince Vaughn’s Wild West Comedy Show: 30 Days & 30 Nights, Hollywood to the Heartland, a new feature from Wild West Picture Show Productions that grossed a modest $507,000 with a limited release this weekend.

Here’s the nutshell dilly-o on this flick in text-ese. BTW, F-U Bill Sapphire. I no how too rite. O-K? This is just how sum people talk theez dayz. Anywhoodles, VVWWCS:3DN,HTTH iz good. BTW - I Heart U William Sapphire. (I don’t really text.)

The flick takes you right into the raw heart of comedy pain, triumph, and universal human struggles through the lives of four comics while Vince Vaughn emcees the whole thing (and has his own moments of brilliance. See bus bits.) Comedians Sebastian Maniscalco, John Caparulo, Ahmed Ahmed, and Bret Ernst all love to laugh. But they all get off on laughs in different ways with a common answer: Laughing feels good. I wrote that last sentence to sound like I was reading a teleprompter with a Stone Phillips voice.

Sebastian Maniscalco revels in the bliss of the tour (to the point of tears) as he realizes that this tour might be a salvation from a life of toil in the service industry. The dude did shows in his waiter’s uniform just so he could be on stage. Sick. Wonderful. Comedy. Love.

He has a father (by the way) that has an absolutely ludicrous mustache. He also shares a vaingloriously ridiculous mullet shot of himself in his early teens. Maniscalco is a fixture on the comedy circuit today. And his dry cleaning bills are like my ding dong: big and unnecessary.

Bret Ernst is a perfectionist that has more natural talent than he gives himself credit for and therefore tortures himself whether people love his stand-up show or not.

A six out of 10 won’t do. There’s literally a scene in the film where Ernst speaks of his horror at a show on the tour that he missed (probably) three jokes while the audience embraced him for his intrepid and accurate techno bit. Soundbytes where he beatboxes aren’t enough. This is for his brother. This is for his mother. This is for his heart. And to Bret Ernst, nothing less than his best is enough. Sort of a Ric Flair mentality without all the Roger Clemens two-hole injections.

Ahem. Excuse me. Ahmed. Ahmed Ahmed. That’s his name. Really. Ahmed’s shining moments in the film come when he’s describing his 12 hours in a Las Vegas jail as part of a racial profiling exercise a few years back. Ahmed reveals himself to us via his feeling of duty to share racial themes that, he feels, are unavoidable in the current state of the union and fear-ridden world.

In that last sentence you don’t know whether or not I’m saying “Ahmed” like his first “Ahmed”… like I’m his friend or his second “Ahmed” like I’m practicing journalistic protocol because I say “Ahmed” as the first word of thse senence. Do you? Ahmed Ahmed reminds me of a brilliant kid I grew up with named Kahled Khaznetkatbi. He was f’ing hilarious to the Ahmed power and then some. We used to smash his younger sister’s talking doll and listen to his older sister’s racy vinyl albums (ie Power by Ice-T.) But I digress.

John Caparulo basically sounds and looks as if Larry the Cable Guy and Jim Norton reproduced a whipsmart Midwestern Fred Durst. Call him the Kid Rock of Comedy (of Cleveland.) The fact that the man has intensely small junk doesn’t keep him from overcoming a lot of his own fears during a 30- day bus trip that frequently interrupts Caparulo’s sleep during what Vince Vaughn refers to as the group’s “circus-people” lifestyle.

Caparulo frequently had issues with waking up mid-afternoon. The good news for John? He gets a lady in the end. A regular pasty, Ohio bumpkin with a heart of gold. Like a hurricane-cuss-mouth Indiana Jones. Or whatever.

Vince Vaughn’s best friend Peter Billingsley (of Christmas Story’s Ralphie fame as well as nearly three million 80’s commercials where Billingsley wore a sweatervest) is in the film. As is Vince Vaughn Rudy-pal John Favreau. Yes. Rudy-pal. That’s R-P texters. Drop it like it’s hot. Justin Long whores it up with a dodgeball to the face and Keir “gay cock painter” O’Donnell lends his Wedding Crasher easel and brush to the insanity. Vince Vaughn even performs a duet with Dwight Yoakam in Nashville that just sort of materializes during the show.

All in all, I’d say director Ari Sandel diddled my love bean just right.

Now if I could just get Vince Vaughn to stop calling me. 719-201-9202. Vince, I’m from Michigan. We’re practically brothers. Hire me.

Slap that dirtbox and call me Ronnie. It’s going to be a great week.

Go comment at Andy Juett’s MySpace page too. Click it or Ticket. Buckle up. It’s the Law.