An unholy souffle of over-the-top performances (Sandra Bernhard plays Christopher Lloyd’s mistress), weird editing/camera foolery, and muddy Freudianism.
Yeah, so I lived up to the stereotype last month by showing up late and drunk to judge the WBCN Rumble. I was disqualified. Sorry. Doc Hopper won, by the way.
An open audition for people to whoop, whistle, snort and pant for the laugh tracks of upcoming sitcoms, none of which have been produced or even conceived yet.
Hilariously and often poignantly lived through is Bitchy Bitch, an every-woman trying to live in a man’s world and survive doing it. Consistently a great book.
I could tell we were getting nearer Fox’s fortress by the growing sound of jungle drum machines in the distance. That and the heads strewn around the corridor.
Six-fingered accountants calculated the profits from the exploitation of the exhumed Uncle Sam. If only he wasn’t trapped inside a glass cylinder, and dead.