Ring, ring, “Hello? Who, HBO? You want to sign us on for a full season? Huh? Shine us on? For no reason? Oh. Whatever. Franks a lot.”

Bill Fleig, congratulations on winning the trivia contest on dowzit.com. Here is your prize. Yes, I would have liked to do another take of the video, but this was a one shot deal as I was not about to pick up all of those papers and try it again.

Song to download:
bill-fleig-song

Video:

LYRICS:
Hey Bill Fleeg or is it Flyg, gotta roll the dice
The “e” and “i” confused me once or twice

Check your list and make sure it’s concise
Then check your kids, they’re harboring head lice

$12 bottles of wine at Fellini
Chase it down with a straight up martini

You kinda look like a young Mussolini
But I bet you could cook a better fettuccini

Well, c’mon Bill from Libertyville
You get busy on the dance floor while no one else will

Running naked through the halls of Oberlin
I think I seen that on the web way back when

Bust out the flour and the rolling pin
Je vous dre o si bois du vin

Well, c’mon Bill from Libertyville
You get busy on the dance floor while no one else will

Play your Flatocaster just like a strat
It could be in tune or it could be flat

I’m pretty sure you got a friend named Matt
Kids never leave the house without a sunhat

Roll me a cigar, build me a house
Manage my project, get rid of my louse

Well, c’mon Bill from Libertyville
You get busy on the dance floor while no one else will
While no one else will
While no one else will

What cartoon character is tattooed on Tommy Lee of Motley Crue?

Comment on this post with the answer. If you don’t know the answer I’ll give points for being creative. Also, since everyone can see your answer, please don’t say, “I totally know it’s [blank] ’cause my cousin gave him the tattoo.” You have until 5pm today to answer. You get extra points if you post your answer to my wall on Facebook, as a reply on MOG.com, and @kmigdal on Twitter.

I might also escort you to a fancy ball if you give me the right answer. See a past winner below:

Dear Human Rights Watch,

You recently contacted me regarding prison torture footage that was somehow received by your organization. I understand your extreme concern regarding the torture and the involuntary administration of “truth serums” you witnessed in this video, but listen, this dude had it coming.

For starters, it wasn’t even me doing the torturing; it was my six-year-old daughter and her friend who just happened to be over for a play date. She insisted on taking over to show her friend “how daddy usually does it.” Quit trying to put the blame on me already! Yes, the victim’s hand (not the plural “hands” mind you!) was bound extremely tight, but did you see the fashionable jump rope it was done with? You’re just like all of the other sourpuss human rights organizations that have no appreciation for style. Truth serum? Puhlease. It’s not like the kids inhumanely injected their victim with it. They laced a banana a fed it to him as a snack. And no, there aren’t electrodes in his hat, thank you very much. Just a few head lice that my kid picked out of her hair.

Listen, worry about the economy instead of wasting your time on worthless torture victims. Good job with Guantanamo, now let it go. The prisoner was busted out of jail anyway. There. I spoiled the ending for you.

Sincerely,
Anonymous

The other day I asked a trivia question on Facebook: what artist sang the lyrics “focus on the quasar in the mist, the kaiser has a cyst, and I’m a blank want list the qualms you have and if they stick…” I offered to write a song and shoot a video for the person who gave me the correct answer. Tony Olsen answered correctly; the artist is Pavement.

Tony, I don’t know too much about you, but I think you’ll find the lyrics and video suited to your lifestyle and personality. Here are top ten things that I do know about you:

1. You went to high school with our mutual friend, Michael Cormier.
2. One of the handful of times we hung out, you hopped out of Michael’s beater station wagon in downtown San Francisco, grabbed a skateboard in the back, and chased down some random girl you thought was pretty, only to come back a minute later in defeat.
3. We were in Michael’s band “Milk Chopper”, but we never practiced or played together. Apparently you can still buy the CD and listen to songs on CD Baby: http://cdbaby.com/cd/milkchopper
4. You had long hair, then you had short hair, then you had long hair, then you had short hair.
5. You stick people with needles for a living.
6. You might have been in some gnarly car accident in high school with Michael, but those details are fuzzy.
7. You write in ALL CAPS on Facebook, and I’m pretty sure everywhere else too.
8. Your answer to my trivia question was: AND I M A BLANK ONE @@@ .. SO HIGH HO SILVER ROCK … DUN DUN NA NA NA NA NA 2 HIGH HO @@22 + SHIT NEXT CCHORUS LINE @@@ + I WANT A GODDAM SONG WRITTEN ABOUT MY PEE @
9. I’m pretty sure you wanted me to write a song about your pee.
10. Your favorite music is: “ANYTHING BEAUTIFUL AND CREATIVE”

Enjoy the song and possibly the worst music video ever made. Here are the lyrics:

CHORUS
Tony Testosteroni
Cures your egobronchophony
Needles in the epidermis
Got some green tea in your Thermos

BRIDGE
Oooh, I’m feelin’ mellow, island style
Mahalo yo
But Tony, we miss you in the bay
It’s just me and Cormier

And the song to download:
tonyo

So yeah I know, the recession is bumming you out. You used to kick back in your office swigging Old Raj martinis and talking on your fancy PBX phone system, but now those opulent days are a distant memory. What do you do when you can’t lounge in the lap of luxury at work anymore? You get resourceful. That’s right! You get the best quality that no money can buy. Introducing Hiram Walker’s Kirschwasser and the GE Slimline corded telephone. You can get both of these office essentials for a total of $12.

This is the first of many recessionary tips to beat the bearish blues. You’ll have so much damn cash piled up in your underwear drawer from my money saving tips that you won’t know what to do with it. Plus, you’ll have tried things that you never thought were possible, like drinking Kirschwasser (say it with me now) by Hiram Walker straight out of the bottle while taking a business call on your $6 telephone. Erect the middle finger right in front of the DOW & NASDAQ tickers and jump on the money saving wagon with me.

This is a still shot of me trying to say “Kirschwasser.”

When I was 11, I was a pimp for one day. If I could have blogged about it then, I would have. This memory somehow just resurfaced, so I’ll tell my story now.

It all started innocently enough with a prank phone call. It was a late summer afternoon and my friend Justice and I were hanging out. Yeah, his name was Justice, which is ironic because I never had so much injustice happen to me when I was with him: getting bit in the ass by his dog “Lugar,” getting almost sent to juvi for hopping a fence to “look for his cat,” almost having to be hospitalized for being trapped in the cab of his mom’s Chevy Luv with the windows up while she was smoking a pack of Marlboro Reds, getting pelted with his BB gun “don’t worry it’s not loaded.”

On this particular day in 1981, we were bored and looking for trouble. Too lazy to leave the house, we decided to pick up the phone to get our prank call on. I thought about the classic prank “you just won a trip to Hawaii,” but that was sooo 1979. I was thinking how people thought I was a woman 90% of the time when I answered the phone. Apparently Justice had the same problem too. Yeah, we’d be girls, ha ha! I know, comedic geniuses at age 11, right?

First call and I was up to bat. Ring, ring, a man with a gruff voice and some sort of Spanish or Middle Eastern accent picks up.

Man: Hallo?
Me: Hi, howa doin’ today? (my girliest voice)
Man: Good, who’s this?
Me: My name’s Leila.We were bored today, so I just thought I’d call to see how you were.
Man: How’d you get my number?
Me: Oh, you know, we heard you were cool from someone and thought we’d check in.
Man: Oh nice. Yeah, I like your voice. How old are you?
Me: Uh… I’m 19.
Man: You sound like you look good. You cute?
Me: (Starting to panic) Yeah, sure. Of course. Why wouldn’t I be? Hey listen, you probably don’t want to talk to me anymore. I just wanted you to meet my friend. I think you’ll like her a lot. (Pass the phone to Justice.)
Justice: Hi there! I’m Ginger.
Man: Hi Ginger. So, you heard about me huh? How old are you?
Justice: 16
Man: Don’t you think that’s a bit young?
Justice: No, I’m already in college and I’m pretty mature.
Man: College, wow. You must be smart. What do you look like?
Justice: I have red hair, I’m tall, I have a nice figure and a beauty mark on my cheek. (I’m guessing this dude didn’t watch Gilligan’s Island as much as Justice did.)
Man: Nice, okay. I like to meet you. Can you come down here?
Justice: Well, uh, not right now, I don’t have a car at the moment.
Man: Okay, I can come get you.
Justice: Um, just a minute. (Whispering to me with his hand over the receiver: What the hell!? What should I say? Me: I don’t know… no tell him to screw off. Justice: No, let’s tell him to come up here and we can pretend we’re Ginger’s brother’s and threaten to kick his ass! Me: What? No, wait…)
Justice: Yeah come up here. Meet me on the corner of Albion and Dupont.
Man: Okay, I be up there in 10 minutes. I drive a white Cadillac and have mustache.
Justice: Great, can’t wait!

“Dude what the hell! We can’t kick his ass!” I cried.
“It’s cool,” said Justice calmly, “we’ll get a couple of your old golf clubs and scare him away. He probably won’t even show up. He might have even been pranking us back.”
“You better be right, or I’m gonna kick your ass with a golf club.”

Regardless, we headed off to the corner wielding a four iron and a pitching wedge (I didn’t have any drivers). We were going to run up to his car with our clubs in the strike position and start screaming all sorts of expletives at him.

We waited, and waited some more. No creepy dude. My nerves started to calm down a little thinking he wasn’t going to show up, then purring down the street came this white Cadillac just as the guy described.

“Holy crap, he’s here,” muttered Justice. We both backed away from the corner and checked him out. He sure was a slimy looking bastard, all discoed out with coiffed hair and thick black mustache. He had one of those macho shirts on with the top 92 buttons undone and a gold chain that said “I like little girls.” He was driving a white late ‘70s Coupe deVille with red leather interior and a little Christmas tree smelly thing hanging from the rearview mirror. He was cruising at 5 mph. craning his neck every which way looking for sweet little Ginger.

“Look tough,” Justice told me, and I tried, but couldn’t muster up a convincing face. I looked to Justice to see how he was faring and he just backed up a little with a blank look on his face. I turned back to look at the Caddy and the creepy dude was staring right at us. I panicked and took a practice swing with my pitching wedge like it was totally natural to be golfing on a street corner. Justice followed my lead and there we were, two 11-year-old kids out for some fresh air just golfing in the street.

We waited for the dude to turn the corner and then I just gave Justice this look like “You stupid idiot.” “What,” he exclaimed, “You totally pussed out.” I just looked at him, shook my head, and said “Dude, take some golf lessons, your swing looks like shit.”

In this candid interview, my father reveals what his greatest regrets and accomplishments were, what he did when he found marijuana in my bedroom, how he dealt with my alcohol abuse, his relationship with Bob Dylan, and how he feels about his daughter-in-law. I mean, now it all clicks. I’m soooo excited that I can save $800 a month on therapy! I recommend every son sitting down with his father, turning the camera on, and having a good ol’ fashioned heart-to-heart conversation. There’s nothing that heals wounds better than words. You know, you don’t see this because I cut it out, but we’re actually sobbing and holding each other at the end of the interview. Plus, I learned who Jules Feiffer was.

Dear Anton,

I am truly, truly sorry for posting this video on the internet when you were three. I had no idea it would still be floating around after all of these years. And how it made it on that new social networking service “Alldatcrap.com” that you youngsters use is beyond my comprehension. Yes, I realize that your friends are pranking you with acceptance letters to the Disneyland Princess Academy Hip Hop Center for the Arts, but if they can’t accept who you are, or once were, then maybe they’re not your friends. I really hope you can patch things up with Tallulah. She is such a lovely girl. But I understand that after she called you “Sweetie” for four months, “Lil’ Bitch” is hard for you to take. Look on the bright side of things. At least you know some fierce hip hop moves and can color coordinate your outfits better than any other 16 year old punk that used to call themselves your “friend.” Am I the only one who appreciates how you stood up to your sister at the end of all this? “Pissssss, I pee in your eyes and hair”. A brilliant comeback for a three year old! If only your sister hadn’t shut down production so quickly. I would have loved to hear your next strike! Listen, even though you tried to get foster parents by wearing that fake bruise makeup and calling the cops, just remember that I will always, always love you.

Sincerely,
Your Father

On April 21, 1986, Geraldo Rivera revealed the secret of Al Capone’s vault on live television. It was promised to be an event spectacular revealing dead bodies and riches beyond belief. We watched Geraldo fire a Tommy-Gun as walls were blasted and construction crews dug through piles of dirt. In the end, all Geraldo found was a stop sign and a couple of empty gin bottles. I watched the whole thing and vowed that I would one day give the world what Geraldo couldn’t.

Well Geraldo, I don’t want to spoil my special, but not only did I find a bottle, I found two jars of half dill kosher pickles (full dill by now), a horse carcass, a large stash of cocaine, a bag of chicken feathers, a dead prostitute (or maybe a cat), and eyebrow tweezers. I ate the pickles, auctioned off the dead prostitute on eBay, fortified my pillow with the chicken feathers, used the tweezers to feed a mouse to my snake “Bubbles”, and unloaded the Cocaine in the glove compartment of my friend George’s 1992 4Runner. All in all it was a good day. I just thank gaaawd I had my video camera with me.