Those of you who read this blog from time to time know that I have something of a soft spot for one Mr. Wilford Brimley. In fact, in some ways he’s the father of this blog. One drunken night of using a hand a walrus mustache and talking with a gravely voice about the dangers of sugar has launched something like 60 posts so far.

The inaugural post on the site was my take on a remix of a Justin Timberlake song. Check it out if you haven’t read it: Wilford Back (Remix).

While I haven’t delved into Wilford lately… (Oh god. My eyes. Let me rephrase that.)

While I haven’t blogged about Wilford lately, he’s never been far from my thoughts — as if that surly attitude and bushy mustache could ever flutter from my thoughts.

But today, a Wednesday, he returns. Thanks to Gato Island for this real gem:

Five Cats that Look like Wilford Brimley.

For the love of God, please enjoy.

This is the story of three editors and a vendor. See what happens when writers stop being sober and start being: drunk.

Mark, Jay, Matt and I got an invite from Marilyn Monroe on the Las Vegas Convention Center floor to attend an open bar at the Hooters Hotel and Casino. This screamed class to me. Of course we were going. Marilyn Monroe + Hooters girls + Open bar = Mandatory attendance.

The liquor was provided by a company called ShowRack which Matt kept calling ‘the RackShow.’ Classy AND appropriate.  I started the evening off by ordering a Bud Light then changed my mind to a Jack and Coke. I got both anyway. I’d been at the party 45 seconds and I was already double fisting. Yup. That’s just the way we roll.

Three shots of whiskey and three glasses of Jack and coke later — I was chasing shots of Jim Beam with Jack and coke, which is always wise — the open bar closed an hour early. Daunted, but determined, the four of us wandered downstairs to the Hooters bar to keep imbibing what I like to call ‘adult soda pops.’ Which we did. For a long time.

Eventually, Queen’s ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ start blaring over the PA. We’d been loudly drunk for a while now, but hadn’t reached abnoxious quite yet. That all changed with one word: Meow. Jay, a non-journalist, but all around great guy had been kind of quiet while we were at the bar. I thought he was just hammered, but I now realize he was simply biding his time. Waiting for the right moment to make his move.

“I see a little silloutte-o of a man/meow meow MEOW/meow meow MEOW/Can you do the fandango?”

You know that surprised look that you sometimes get on your face when someone drops some knowledge on you after drinking for a while? He got it from the three of us in spades. And thus began the long and magnificent decline that lead to the videos you see here.

We must have sat at the bar and meowed for a solid two and a half hours. We drove patrons away. Bartenders tried to ignore us. Hookers looked for easier pray. And still, we meowed. No song was untouchable. Eddie Money? Journey?Alice in Chains? Barry Manillow? Meow.

Finally, Tom Petty slithered down from the speakers to where we sat at the elbow of the bar. I remembered my phone and its video capabilities. I started filming.  I don’t fancy myself much of a documentarian, but had I actually been doing a study of the affect of the word ‘Meow’ on drunk reporters in concert with music that is easily parroted, I’d be booking a flight to Cannes. As it is, cell phone video. 15 second clips. I hope you enjoy.

Rented the Mike Judge movie Idiocracy last night. My friend Karim has been talking about it for months now, so when Mike recommended we pick it up I was all for it.

It’s a pretty good concept but with poor execution, in my professional opinion. Here’s the basic plot:

Luke Wilson plays Joe Bauer, a total average Army librarian who is selected to take part in a top secret experiment to freeze the military’s best and brightest in their prime so they can be brought back in times of need. Bauer nee Wilson plays the average Joe test monkey. Unfortunately, the Army can’t find a woman stupid enough to get involved with the experiment so they hire Rita (Maya Rudolph) a hooker who is terrified of not paying her pimp, Upgrayedd. Things go tragically awry and Joe and Rita are left frozen for 500 years. In that time, the world changes. The intelligent have stopped breeding and only the fantastically stupid are carrying on the human race. The result is the dumbification of the world. The world’s most popular TV show is called, “Ow, My Balls!” and the movie “Ass” which features nothing but a bare ass on screen farting wins eight Oscars. But all is not right with the stupid world. A giant dust bowl has formed and the crops have stopped growing. Mostly because water has been replaced by Brawndo — The thirst mutilator! Eventually, Joe — being the smartest man on the planet — is appointed Secretary of the Interior and is given one week to make crops grow and fix the dustbowl, otherwise he’ll be killed on Monday Night Rehabilitation.

Why have you never heard of this brilliant film? Because the distributor refused to do any marketing for it. Instead of a national release it was only shown in about 125 theaters and is wholly underappreciated.

There’s a lot of good stuff in the film, but it lost me toward the end. Even though some of the sight gags were hysterical — Fuddruckers becomes Buttfuckers in 500 years in case you were wondering — the plot takes the most obvious turns at every opportunity becoming entirely too predictable. That said, I did laugh a lot and there were parts that make the movie worth seeing and some excellent social commentary to boot. Night well spent.

I’m looking forward to tonight, though. Christopher Moore, the author of Lamb and Coyote Blue, is at the Porter Square Books promoting his newest book You Suck: A Love Story. His reading starts at 7pm but I’m planning on getting there about 5:30 to browse the shelves and get a good seat.

Incidentally, if you haven’t been to Porter Square Books I’d recommend visiting. Independent, good selection and an excellent cafe make it worth the parking nightmare.