giving jon the smackdown

years ago i met a woman in seoul (i was on holiday, having heard kimchi was good for stamina) who was in the process of moving to nyc. when 'dawn/dong' told me that her motivation was to be on the daily show, i whipped her up a script, informing her, 'just write a book, and with a solid shtick, you'll get on no problem!' of course, i just wanted someone to give jon--my nemesis! (see WHALES conception)--the smackdown. i thought surely this small, kind of bitchy asian woman would finagle her way onto the show if she put forth the effort. alas, she recently contacted me to say that she was leaving ny because it smells of pee (like seoul doesn't?) and never did get on the show. i'm posting the script here in hopes it not go to waste (ladies, 안뇽하세요?).

Dawn/Dong on Jon's Show
June 27, 2007
[note the date: the bitch had over 2 years to get on the show. meh.]

JS: Hello! Welcome to the--whoa.

D/D: What, what’s wrong? Oh, well, I’ve never been to New York. Never been to a big city--I don’t know how BIG CITY folk dress. In Seoul, it’s perfectly hip--

JS: To pair maroon with magenta? (laughs) And Seoul--Seoul is one of the biggest cities in the--

D/D: Okay, technically Seoul’s a city, but, you wanna get technical? Because this bodice is crimson, and the gauchos? Technically they’re mauve.

JS: I stand corrected. (smirks)

D/D: And the shoes? Dude, I wear these to accentuate my size. (holds up foot to show aqua ballet flats)

JS: Dong, you’re 4-foot, and you’re wearing--

D/D: That’s right, Jon. I like to be lifted.

JS: Lifted? What--what does that mean, 'lifted'?

D/D: Well, I’m sure as hell not talking about ‘This Week in God.’

(audience laughs)

JS: If those slippers are what you call lifted, man, you gotta look up Kim Jong-Il’s cobbler. (laughs)

(audience is silent)

D/D: Jon, Jon--are you finished?

JS: (stops laughing)

D/D: What I meant by lift is just that. You know, elevated--

JS: What?

D/D: Picked up. Lifted. Off the floor.

JS: Wh--?

D/D: Being a dwar--petite--is a great way to get picked up and spun around, tossed about. If the guy is hunky enough, it’s like having my own amusement park.

D/D: (pauses, smiles, swings feet) So...?

(audience goes wild--chanting Lift-Lift-Lift!)

JS: (leans over, examines D/D, squeezes own biceps)

D/D: What, what now? What are you looking at? Oh, that? (big laugh) Come on now, you know TV adds 20 pounds.

JS: I don’t know--

D/D: Hey, you can use my inhaler!

JS: Dong, I don’t need--

D/D: Uh, this is kind of embarrassing, but, Jon? The name is Dawn. Dawn. Not Dong.

JS: That’s what I said: Dong.

D/D: It’s Dawn: D-A-W-N.

JS: Uh, I don’t speak Mandarin--

D/D: I’m not Chinese--I’m from New York!

JS: Hey, I’m not a Chomsky aficionado--wait a minute, didn’t you just say you’d never been to--

D/D: Dawn is an English term. You know, as in it dawns on her that she may be on the wrong show.

JS: Now--

D/D: JOHN--see, how do you like it, JOHN?

JS: (looks helpless)

D/D: (whispers) I said John with an H.

JS: Touché.

D/D: Anyway! Shall we tackle some real issues here?

JS: Yes! Let's--

D/D: You know, you never discuss women’s issues--and I think it’s high time you did.

JS: Okay--salient women’s issues it is! (waves pen around) Now, wasn’t it just the anniversary of Title IX? How long has it been--34, 35 years?

D/D: (waits)

JS: Uh, okay. Do you live in South Dakota?

D/D: (drinks water)

JS: (looks lost)

D/D: Thongs, Jon. (rolls eyes) Women and their thongs: needs to be addressed.

JS: Now we’re talking, bo-yee! Thongs: they’re so small, my wife carries an extra pair in her locket. But it’s like the sock phenomenon: they always disappear in the--

D/D: Unhygienic.

JS: What?

D/D: Love the look. Hate the feel.

JS: Really? I myself am fond of the feel. (smiles, adjusts in seat)

D/D: Jon, doesn’t that, um, er, chafe your chode--?

JS: Cho--?

D/D: That part between your ballsac and your ass--

JS: Does it chafe your chode?

D/D: No--I said ballsa--

JS: Oh, yeah. (blots forehead with tie)

D/D: And I don't wear them: they're NASTY.

JS: (blots with vigor)

JS: Alrighty! Dawn--D-A-W-N. It's a nice name, by the way.... Yessiree.

D/D: (looks at invisible watch on wrist)

JS: Ah! Didn’t you say you had a pertinent question for me--one you said would give Americans insight regarding my place in popular culture?

D/D: Oh, yeah, that.

JS: Bring it, bitch!

D/D: I still wanna know how you wear--

JS: (clears throat) We’re moving on.

D/D: Okay. (pauses) Okay, boss-man, my question is this: in the film of your life, who would play you? a) Hilary Duff b) Lance Bass or c) Apu

JS: Uh....

(audience laughs)

(crowd shouts A!s B!s and C!s)

D/D: They’re torn.

JS: Well, why don’t you tell me, since apparently you’re the omniscient one?

D/D: (thinks a moment) Duude--you’re so Apu.

(audience cheers)

JS: (addressing crowd) Thank you. (plays with pen and papers)

D/D: (beams)

JS: Dong, thanks so much for coming. Everybody, the book is I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butthead!: Jon Stewart’s Appeal in Youth Culture--and, well, it’s fucking brilliant.

(audience roars)

science, monkey, chicken know all

hold the phone, readers! after my traumatic yesterday, i took an in-depth and muy scientific mental disorder diagnostic test to find out what, if anything, i had. (i would have put money on korsakoff's.) but the test results were unequivocal and positive: 'You Are Normal. Everyone requires some level of craziness in their lives to keep them sane and you have the perfect amount. Overall, you lead a well-balanced life. Also, you sexy genius!*'

needless to say, hallefuckinglujah! oh, WHALES, it's a wonderful life, is it not? i for one am just glad to have this silliness over and done with. next week will recommence business as usual, addressing the salient issues of the day. in fact, understandably inspired by hardcore science at the moment, i will publish the results of a comprehensive study i conducted last week wherein i observed various groups in their natural surroundings (i.e., at their favorite bars getting shitfaced): navy seals, musicians, foreigners and hobags. i will make sweeping generalizations/conclusions.

speaking of hobags, it's bedtime. ooh and i can't wait to break the news to stuffed monkey and rubber chicken! they've always asserted i was normal.
*added by ms. c.

is there a way to deport him? i wonder

readers, it was a sad day in WHALESland. today your president was called a 'freak' and 'weird.' oh, i know the saying ('sticks and stones...'), but these words were, excuse my french, cruel. and i thought to myself: why--why am i a freak, lord? a recent post may have revealed some weirdness, but i explained that (the crazy cycle, duh), so this assault saddened me. and it was not just for myself--but for you, dear readers. dear, sweet, crazy ladies (btw, love you!): what this might do to you. well, i didn't know what effect it would have--but i knew it could not be good for one's self-esteem, following a freak.

but then i realized something: the ASSaulter (emphasis intentional (i am witty freak)) was swedish. that's right, and an obsessive follower of my blog, so what does this say about him (in regard to his offense and myself)? simply, he's jealous. and jealousy is so unbecoming (and starting out as a swede certainly doesn't help). you know, i'm actually surprised i have not faced this sort of insult before now, for there are some men--i'll assume mostly foreign--who fail to grasp that the WHALES mentality may be their only hope.

danzig's overshare

today i saw this, which was a delightful reminder of this. should it break the deal if a dude's personal library consists of stories about a child-killer baby jesus (if that is not to your liking)? hell no, especially if he is as open/inviting as danzig (did you see that smile following the warm 'welcome to my book collection'?). sweet.

carpe diem: purloin the chicken! (or plunder blunder)

carpe diem, readers: that's what they say. so the instant the owner of a rubber chicken turned her head, i filched said chicken. dunno why exactly, but that is the way some successes happen, as my gal sarah famously said: I answered him ‘Yes’ [to 'run as his running mate'] because I have the confidence in that readiness and knowing that you can’t blink, you have to be wired in a way of being so committed to the mission, the mission that we’re on...you can’t blink. and i daresay ex-politico palin would be proud: i did not blink, i was so committed (to the mission) and consequently i surprised myself with victory (or acquiring a thing i never dreamt of owning) and a position i never thought i'd hold (with rubber chicken in my purse at a company cocktail party). of course i would never question the wisdom of nondead fish that go against the flow, because readiness, commitment, not-blinking--all whilst not thinking--are the cornerstones for a proper WHALES. but i wonder if some thought would have been advantageous in this case: while at first i thought to myself, 'i own a rubber chicken!' later that evening the chicken honestly creeped me out.








maybe because it was on my pillow. either way, disappointed and ruing my plunder, i threw the chicken in a corner.

the impact of john hughes

the passing of john hughes yesterday naturally had gen xers everywhere reminiscing the pain of adolescence, as was the theme of some of his most adored movies. and it reminded me of one incident in particular that as i see now was an early lesson that would later inform the WHALES philosophy. it involved the movie 'some kind of wonderful,' about a lesbian who falls in love with a boy with craniodiaphyseal dysplasia who pursues a tramp who hits on her visiting son from the future: it's exemplary of hughes' unconventional take on young love. hughes is also known for his gift for rhapsodic language, e.g., when the lesbo says 'all i care about is me, my drums and you!' (eat your heart out, jane austen.) it is this quote that brings to mind my childhood best friend, whom i was inseparable from and constantly emulated, because she said this to me, only she said 'me, my cat and my sister!' which was devastating. hence the great lesson, readers: don't expect life to imitate a classic romance.

happy anniversary to me

i wore earplugs to bed the other night because i wanted to sleep as long as humanly possible the following day, which isn't so weird, but i tried eating one of them in my sleep (i awoke when i tasted earplug). i must admit, i had a moment, mid-earplug-chew, of 'oh my god, i'm retarded.' and it elicited memories from last summer--about this time--when i left my apartment wearing slippers, thought it was 2007 and lost my shoe in a taxicab. i recall also spilling soup from a shallow bowl and saying, 'this is a shallow bowl!' (my roommate answered, 'it's a plate.') and it's all made me think...is there, like, a crazy cycle? because then it would totally make sense, and i am pretty much right on schedule, which i guess is good.

it happens to be the first anniversary also of the start of guerre a trois, a fight i started between myself and 3 friends. (yes, i know that makes it quatre, but i didn't count one friend, who is small and impotent. (ms. c scores again, losers!)) the war, incidentally, has recently concluded: the german friend became asian, the other got fat and the small one sobered up and moved in with her parents. (war is never pretty, readers.) and, not uncommon for ferocious warrior-enemies, we don't talk anymore (the fat one calls, but i don't answer). assessing it all now, looks like a victory celebration is in order. (hurray, me!)

kindle starts a fire (in the loins)

there's a hot debate going on over the value of kindle, amazon's ebook reader, or ereader, or whatever. as you know, i like the book and on occasion, say, when vacationing in remote lands, where there's no tv, cinema or men of acceptable cleanliness, i've been known to read it. so naturally i must weigh in on this kindle thing. i haven't used one, nor have i seen one, but i agree that it will change the face of books, publishing and the universe in general, eliterature in specific. sure, it's easy to dismiss these ewhazitwhozies due to the limited ebooks available, lack or poor quality of pictures/photos and the inability to simply leaf back and forth as i love to do with a paperback (also, i frequent the front and back covers, for clues as to what the hell book is about), not to mention the exorbitant price tag and stupid name, but there's one thing that clinched it for me: no more snickers at my favorite reading material. by the way, the following are (no, really) available in kindle editions (and, as bezos points out, you can read with one hand). i know, i know: i'm a hopeless romantic.















and topping the WHALES reading list:














and not just for us literati, there are practical books some people need read--and would--if none would be the wiser:














in light of all this, i say, the uberjolly bezos is positioned nicely for the hilton prize (if the prize were awarded by pervs).