Top Gun: The Shoulda Been Sequel

Present day. 

Maverick is standing over Goose's grave on the 30th anniversary of his death, in a chauffeur's outfit (but still wearing aviator's wings of gold on his chest). 

In a flashback, we learn Iceman and Mav had been booted from the Navy for involvement in the tailhook scandal of the early 90s.  They subsequently found Top Gun Limo, which had great success until the economic collapse of '08, leaving them as its only drivers. 

Back in the present day.  Suddenly, creepshow style, Goose's gnarled hand breaks out of the grave and grabs Mav's foot. His flaming skull bursts out of the ground, filled with worms and bugs, singing "You've Lost that Lovin' Feelin'" in a hideous moan.  Dozens of corpses burst out of surrounding graves. 

Regaining his composure, Mav runs to his limo, which is decked out to look like an F-14, complete with afterburners. Mav drives away with the ghouls on his tail. He radios Ice that he needs help. "There are bogeys - no, boogeymen - all over me!" 

Ice tells him to drive to the nearest Scientology Center, which just then appears over the horizon, a huge structure in the shape of an aircraft carrier.

Inside the center, with corpses on his heels, Mav finds who he thinks is John Travolta dressed up as his Battlefield Earth character. "Oh John!" he exclaims, "Thank Ron you're here!" Terl snarls, "I'm not Travolta, you worthless man-animal! Now, out with you!" He throws Mav to the curb and slams the door. 

All the corpses are into the last verse of Lovin' Feelin' just before descending on Mav, Goose in the lead. 

Meg Ryan sits at a piano in the parking lot watching this, gushing "Oh, Goose ya big lug!" before segueing into her When Harry Met Sally orgasm scene for no particular reason. 

Inside the center, Kelly McGillis churns butter in her Witness Amish attire at Travolta/Terl's command. 

A very fat Iceman pulls into the parking lot in his F-14/Limo, thinks better of it after surveying the scene, and pulls back out, leaving Mav to die. 

Roll credits.

mid-term crazy

Well, it's the weekend before the mid-terms and the TV ad vitriol has reached its zenith. 

To listen to these cretins, you'd think we were stuck with a choice of either Stalinist breadline growing communists or gun-crazy idiot fundamentalist christian Nazis.  Who knows?  Maybe TV is right.  After all, TV wouldn't lie now, would it?  Christ, I mean Obama's about as middle of the road as you can get in my book and the right wing rabblerousers already have him pegged as a Muslim Communist Nazi rolled into one, a stark raving bundle of extremism contradictions "comrade"ing and goosestepping all over their version of the constitution, one that doesn't exist outside the confines of their revisionist imagination (of the anti John Lennon variety). 

The left are far more incompetent in their ability to illustrate a vision of the right's love-Jesus-or-die fundamentalist tendencies (generally, those sort of politicos are more effective in demonstrating their own scary brand of wackiness than the left ever could be).   Of course, the left couldn't sell ice in hell.  They're the Willy Loman of the political world and would never win the Cadillac or even the steak knives in Baldwin's Glen Garry sales contest.


I get the feeling that most of the country could probably be classified somewhere in the socially liberal/fiscally conservative bucket, but you rarely hear that voice expressed in the media.  It's just not that entertaining, I guess.  I myself am glued to the left side of this bucket, though my fiscal conservatism is generally aimed at the DoD pig trough, where billions - trillions - get wasted on fat cat contractors while we have soldiers applying for food stamps.  I'd transfer some of that to social programs where we spend relatively little (though you certainly wouldn't think so given the TV ads).

Ahh, yes - the mid-terms.  Rarely a good time for those in power (especially when things aren't good).  It's almost always a purging and given the economic climate, this will be no different.  I suppose that's what keeps us in balance.  But why does it seem like the yahoos we elect are more yahooey every year?  I guess it just seems that way.  But just the fact that super yahoos like Christine O'Donnell end up on a ballot anywhere sends a chill up my spine.

Cinderella sweeping up on Desolation Row

I've certainly neglected this blog of late - it's been nearly two months since I last posted.  Mostly it's because I've been focusing on other things but more than a little is due to it becoming almost an "obligation."   And I don't have a whole lot to say that I can't express through other channels (including a number of other blogs I maintain).  This was my 'rant' outlet and though I've got plenty of things still to rant about, none of them seem all that funny.   So I think I'm going to officially put this guy in mothballs and continue to focus my energies elsewhere.

Of Dolphins and Douches

In a gracious show of sensitivity over the ongoing Oil "spill" his company caused, BP CEO Tony Hayward went yachting this past weekend in "his smaller boat" (leaving his usual schooner, seen at left, back at dock). Hayward made additional sacrifices as well, postponing his 6th annual Dolphin Hunt (that's last year's hunt kicking off on the right) and the traditional Manatee round-up. Classic Daily Show bit. The photo of the "Dolphin Hunt" cracked me up like nothing in awhile.

I don't care if it rains or freezes ...

It's been an apocalyptic June thus far, what with lightning striking down a six story Jesus in Ohio, a state well known as the nexus of the pending battle against good or evil; in fact, I think the book of revelations says as much in the chapter covering the rock and roll hall of fame.  That old song might go, "I don't care if it rains or freezes, 'long as I got my plastic Jesus" but it doesn't mention lightning.  So bad juju in Oh-hi-oh. And then Thursday some ruffians up and kidnap Jeremy London, forcing him to smoke crack and buy them alchohol.  It seems kind of odd that they didn't ask for a ransom.  Jeremy has been known in the past to partake in the magic rock, but I'm sure this isn't his way of getting in front of bad publicity surrounding a slip off the slope of his sobriety.  I hope these same hooligans don't make their way to Hollywood and mug Lindsay, stealing her SCRAM bracelet and forcing her to ingest copious quantities of booze and coke.  But I wouldn't be surprised.

Of Weeds, Madness, Sheep, Shoes, and other Bullshit

Ahh, the time has come for another season of Penn and Teller's Bullshit! on Showtime.  Brilliant show.  With Weeds and Mad Men just a few weeks away, things are starting to gear up for the TV favorites of yours truly.  I pretty much missed most of the network season recently put into mothballs for that anachronism of yore known as "summer hiatus."  None of that means much in our world of 1000 channels of tube action and virtually infinite choices online but the networks like to pretend the past 15 years never happened, I guess.

In other news, apparently there's a Joan Rivers documentary (you know her: that brilliant director of 1978's Rabbit Test).  Meanwhile, sadly buried in this week's news, the world's oldest pair of shoes was discovered in a layer of Sheep's dung: 5500 years and just like new, thanks to the natural preservatives found in Ba Ba's Poo Poo.  And just where Joan Rivers left them as a child. Ba-dum.

A well-oiled machine

The Long John Silver's fast food franchise must be thrilled about the Gulf Oil spill as it should save them millions on the very substance they drench all their seafood products in.  Import fish from down Louisiana way and it comes pre-oiled at no cost.  Long John Silverfish isn't the only beneficiary of what on the surface might not seem to have any positives: Mickey D's, Burger King, and the rest all have deep fried seameat on the menu.  Now, with the winning combination of oil, salt and fish all mixed in together, it's time for BP to take a cut of this on-the-go snack food windfall.  Cajun "blackened" fish takes on a whole new meaning now.

Meanwhile, there are more important fish to fry - sorry, poor choice of words; let's just say, "things to worry about" - what with the Hells Angels' takeover of Scandinavia.   I never would have considered this to be possible but the National Geographic channel is telling me it's true.  Probably taking advantage of the burgeoning Lutefisk-based methamphetamine market in those parts.