I don’t know how the hell this managed to stay beneath my radar for all these years, but this is an utterly classic moment in television. Conan O’Brien interviewing Hunter Thompson is one thing; Conan and Hunter pounding whiskey at Owl Farm and shooting fully automatic assault rifles is another thing altogether. Pay attention around the 4:20 mark, when shit gets truly weird. And notice how Conan doesn’t get a single question in the entire “interview.”

Another dead hero. I’d have given five years of my life to spend a day as his shadow. When I’m stuck for words, when the juices just won’t flow, I can always rely on Hunter to pull me through the thickness. Every time.

I’ve been mostly amused by Rush’s nonsense ill wishes and Glenn Beck’s hateful lunacy in trying to discount President Obama’s inauguration and oath office, but it’s been less than a week into the new Obama’s Presidency and the right has clearly lost it’s goddamned mind. But don’t take my word for it:

Entrenched Republicans and their dirty little corners of ultra-con media (Fox) are actively hoping for Barack Obama’s failure, forgetting the Orwellian “respect the office, respect the president” bullshit we’ve had crammed down our throats for eight years.

Now that people like these fuckers aren’t behind the wheel anymore, their barking, hypocritical absurdity has been reduced to a ranting, flailing novelty, an angry-bug-in-a-jar kind of spectacle that brings everybody together in a laugh-and-point kind of way.

It’s been less than a week. Let’s see where this shit goes before we throw him on the fire.

This is a retarded video, and never in hell did I think T-Pain would ever, ever be a presence on this site, but I was too caught up in the sunny Hollywood vibes from having just interviewed Dakota Fanning and Chris Evans today at the Four Seasons to notice what was going on with the radio in the car, or the fact that I was rockin’ the hell out to a Ludacris song. 

For years, my launching point for radio here in L.A. has been Indie 103.1, but since that little gem of a station recently joined the great FM dial in the sky/went belly-up/became Taco Town, radio listening been like a blind free-fall in this town. I already said my piece on that particular topic, but essentially shit is all fucked up on the radio in L.A. these days, and I’ve found myself listening to some weird sounds lately. But really, I may have hit my head somewhere, cause this song is kicking my ass tonight.

Who are the ad wizards at Burger King that came up with this one? The world’s second most popular pusher of quick-n-easy greasy, salted carcass has released a new body spray called Flame that evidently possesses the delectable flavors of a flame-broiled Whopper. No joke.

Billing it as “the scent of seduction with a hint of flame-broiled meat,” Burger King’s selling the burger juice on an affiliate site through firemeetsdesire.com cologne retailer near you. Despite the fact that the stuff’s flying off the shelves faster than you can say “obesity”, I’d say it’s a safe bet that Flame makes Sex Panther smell like Acqua Di Gio.

I’m gonna take a shot in the dark here and guess that no woman had anything whatsoever to do with this little nugget of stupid.

Something tells me that, much in the same way you always tend to get a squished, sloppy version of the burger in the picture at BK, this cologne has all the lady-magnet pheromone power of a ball of fried pubic hair – with the possible exception of deeply undersexed, morbidly obese women. But don’t take my word for it; here’s a firsthand account of the wonderful magic of Flame from Rickey’s, the source site:

Reviewer: Fat Freddy Marsh from Houston, TX United States
This stuff smells like a wicked lactose intolerant fart. I mean, it’s truly nauseating. I sprayed a little bit on my hand and I’ve nearly thrown up 7 times already. It smells like a combination of Spencer’s Gifts, Hott Topix, and adolescent fear wrapped in a skunk’s colon.

Washing does no good. I’ve tried everything. I’ve contemplated cutting my hands off, it’s that bad. Please, someone tell me where the antidote is!

Mmmm..adolescent fear. That actually sounds kind of enticing.

The stuff’s going for $3.99 a bottle, which explains its lack of availability – it’s the hands-down gag gift of the year. The only problem is the fact that people are actually going to be wearing the shit at some point. But hey, if you’ve ever dreamed of smelling like a pile of dead meat covered in wet lettuce, shitty thousand-island dressing and soggy bread, Burger King’s cologne could be just what you’ve been looking for.

Nevermind the fact that this looks like it was shot in 1977, or that they’ve apparently got Moby on guitar and Mitch Hedberg on bass. It’s a video of Electric Six before they were famous jet-setting playboy rock n’ rollers. From back in the days of yore, when they were known as the Wildbunch.

Dick Valentine’s famous onstage aerobics routine is there, and he makes sweet lemonade out of the studio’s apparent lack of a microphone for him to lip synch into.

There’s a groupie holding a sign that says, simply, RON. A bunch of desperately uncool parents dancing with their kids. Everybody looks uncomfortable and mildly embarrassed. And don’t miss the Margaret Cho doppleganger with the powerhouse interviewing skills: “Hey I like your drumsticks, they look pretty effective.”

Yes, definitely the Worst Night Ever

Why’s Dad posing like that?

Cyanide and Happiness is the shit: