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Other “special powers” like GayDar

GayDar” ["Gay"+"Radar"="GayDar"] is defined by Wikipedia as the intuitive ability to determine whether another person is Gay or Straight, relying on non-verbal and/or extra-sensory information. (Also, the handheld version used to be sold at The Sharper Image, before they went out of business…unless you don’t watch “The Office,” in which case you’re scratching your head right now and thinking what an idiot I am.)

If you yourself don’t happen to have GayDar…don’t feel bad: odds are, you probably have one of these other “GayDar-like” thingies inside you, untapped, just waiting for me to clue you in to their existence. You’re welcome.

  • JayDar - the ability to correctly predict the punchline of a Jay Leno monolog joke while he’s telling it (possessed by 69.3% of Americans)
  • FritoLayDar - ability to locate your roommate’s secret stash of munchies after smoking a bong full of Maui Wowee - no matter how well they hid them!
  • eBayDar - ability to look at any piece of crap and instantly calculate what some bonehead would pay for it at online auction
  • “Gate”-Dar - ability, of some political reporters, to sniff out “scandals” of little significance in the grand scheme, but which can fill their newspapers or newscasts for months, in lieu of, say, actual news
  • EhhDar - ability to detect the presence of Canadians — BEFORE they have a chance to corner you and deliver their blistering half-hour tirade against George W. Bush (like you even voted for the guy!)
  • JarJarDar - ability to discern, prior to spending wads of money, which movie characters’ merchandising tie-ins aren’t going to be worth diddly on the collectors market
  • TayZondayDar - ability to know, in advance, which “stars” of viral videos on YouTube you need to remember the name of, and which you can safely let go in one ear and out the other
  • ReallyFarDar - ability of spokespeople for NASA and JPL giving media interviews to sense which folksy metaphors or slang terms for large astronomical distances will resonate with particular audiences
  • MaherDar - the ability of finding the precise “joke-point” within any given situation at which the offensiveness is at the maximum and the actual funniness is at the minimum. (also known as “ImusDar” - though not nearly as trippingly off the tongue to put it in boldface at the beginning of this)
  • TinaFeyDar - ability to smell when a hot new show-biz personality is about to “turn,” and become overexposed
  • DreDar - ability to tell bad hip hop from good hip hop (only theoretical; never shown conclusively to exist, in anyone)

“I saw Mommy sitting on Santa’s, uh… ‘candy cane’”

Is anyone as creeped out by this commercial as I am? In case you haven’t seen it, I’m talking about this latest in a seemingly infinite series of ads for something called “Enzyte” - a supposed erectile-dysfunction remedy with a catch: it makes no claims whatsoever, doesn’t even use actual terms for the thing it may or may not be able to fix — instead just relying on bad erection-puns to telegraph the message to “needy” male viewers that, hey, this might be just the thing for that chronic lack of wood in their shorts.

(We laugh, but someone must be actually buying this stuff — the commercials for it have been on for years! Unless there’s some eccentric, single-minded billionaire like George Soros, pumping virtually unlimited amounts of his own money into keeping it going, like George with MoveOn.org.)

Anyway, this latest installment in the life of the recurring main character, the Formerly-Limp “Bob,” has him playing Santa at the office Xmas Party as the announcer says, with all the vocal subtlety of Benny Hill, that “this chubby Santa” now has “a sack full of pride” and the one “gift” that “every lady loves!” The camera shifts to the long line of women waiting for their turn with Santa, all leering and giggling like porn actresses playing innocent schoolgirls about to have their first sexual experience. Finally, one of them, with the biggest “Do me!”- look on her face, slinks seductively over and…gasp!...sits on Santa/Bob’s Enzyte-enhanced lap…and, presumably, his now-hard “candy cane.”

Where to start? In trying to puzzle my way through this strange ad, I naturally discarded the literal interpretation of the “story.” (How much sexual friction is it even possible to get through 1/8″ of red velvet? Plus which, the HR dept. of this company would be busy for the next 5 years with all the Sexual Harassment issues in this scene!) Which leaves the symbolic interpretations. But, c’mon, are there really any adult females (or males!) actually having sexual fantasies, or sexual thoughts of any kind, about Santa Claus?! Sure, there was that film “Bad Santa” a few years ago, where Lauren Graham could only “get her rocks off” with a guy in a Santa suit — but that was Coen Brothers World, not the non-bizarro one the rest of us inhabit.

So, since it’s likely that no “normal” person would be subliminally lit up by this this ad … it suddenly dawned on me: I know exactly what demographic it’s aimed at. I’m talking about Pedophile Mall Santas. (Oh, don’t look at me like that; you know they’re out there!). Pedophile Mall Santas who can no longer “get it up” over the prepubescent little Susie or Debbie (or Johnny or Todd) sitting on their lap!

Of course, I could be wrong. In case any lawyers are reading this.

On a side note, there’s one more aspect to this commercial I find disturbing: it seems to be airing far more heavily on Comedy Central than any other cable network — I saw it 3 times during one 30-minute show yesterday. Now, is that because the people at Enzyte just got a smoking deal on ad rates there…or are we, the Community of Comedy Consumers & Providers, being singled out as an especially target-rich pool of potential Enzyte customers? I’m not sure, but I think I feel insulted. Then again, you do have to admit they might be on to something; I mean, it is kinda difficult to have sex while you’re laughing. Even more difficult when you’re being laughed at. Or so I’ve heard.

The Case of the mad MAD Editors, OR… They call me “Fredo” now

Wow. Call me naive. Call me stupid. But I actually thought — when I started this site barely a week ago - that I could blog about MAD and still remain in the MAD family, sort of. Looks like I was wrong. Apparently the MAD editors have a problem with me blogging about the magazine on my own — judging by the complete silent treatment I’ve gotten since it debuted. If I’m not being “frozen out,” it’s feeling pretty chilly.

I think it’s safe to say I grossly overestimated the thickness of their skin.

Actually, this is less of a big deal than it seems: truth is, I was already 90% “out the door” at MAD (for various reasons; some, of my own making) and if they’re actually shutting that door the remaining 10% of the way over this blog…so be it. There’s nothing left for me at MAD but: enduring their glacial response-times to submitted material, and the extreme frustration of writing up a draft (or 2 or 3) on green-lighted premises, then having them change their mind after a year (or 2 or 3), or simply never hearing final word about a script. (Luckily, I haven’t had to rely on income from MAD the past few years.)

But, hey, all good things must come to an end.

Anyway, here is probably a good place to tell everyone, including the editors, that - notwithstanding the above (I’m really not as bitter as that makes it seem; just a realist) — this isn’t going to be a “Bash MAD”-website (in fact, it won’t even really be a “MAD site,” since I plan on devoting the majority of space here to other topics). My thoughts about the magazine are mostly positive — I’ve spent over half of my life so far writing for MAD; I consider it a Great American Institution that I’m proud to have been a small part of for 3 decades. But I’m not going to shy away from controversy here, even negative stuff.

And if they do have a problem with that…it’s their problem, not mine.

PIE CHART of the week

Everyone loves the LOLCATS

Real life: faster than the Speed of Satire!

One of the odd little problems faced by not just MAD but anyone doing comedy in modern America is: keeping your humorous exaggerations far enough “ahead of” or “beyond” real life that audiences will, in fact, be able to recognize them as exaggerations. It’s not as easy as it sounds: every so often, reality will take that outrageous thing you dreamt up to make a satiric point and regurgitate it shortly thereafter as an actual, non-ironic product, TV show, trend, etc. It’s happened so much with MAD that they’ve coined a name for it, “MAD E.S.P.”

My new favorite example, sort of: Take the only-on-DVD 2006 Mike Judge movie, “Idiocracy”; it’s about an America 500 years in the future that’s been dumbed down by 50+ IQ points via the process of “un-natural selection” (stupid people having more kids than smart people; plus reckless morons saved by modern safety devices, only to spread their moron genes). And what’s the most popular TV show of this really-stupid future-America? A show called “OW! My Balls!” - a distillation of “America’s Funniest Home Video”-style groin-punching and gonad-smashing — and nothing else!

OW! My Balls!” WAY too stupid a type of concept to ever be anything but a joke, right? That’s what I thought, until I got my latest issue of Entertainment Weekly bringing word of an actual upcoming reality show called…”HURL!” That’s right, I said “HURL!” — a half-hour show of people vomiting on camera! (Must be aimed at those “Fear Factor”-viewers who are too impatient to sit through all that people NOT-vomiting in between!)

HURL!” I’m convinced this is a sign…a “Now Boarding”-sign for the express handbasket to Hell. (And to those people who believe the world ends in 2012, I’ve got a new name for you since I heard of “HURL!” — “Pollyanna!“)

[BTW: on a semi-related note -- why the heck haven't we seen a real-life version of the "Orgasmatron" -- Woody Allen's completely self-contained self-gratification device from his 1973 film "Sleepers"? Oh! Silly me, I forgot: you're using it right now! (Be sure and wipe down your keyboard before you come back to my site, y'hear?)]