“Yeah, well… You’re not from Chicago.”

* Mailbag!  Mailbag!  Mailbag!

Amy wants me to shut up and ask out one of my commenters, so long as I don’t smell like flame-broiled meat.  Sorry, Amy.  My natural musk is vaguely gravy-ish.  And I’m waiting for pictures.  I may be a borderline genius social-phobic wordsmith, but I’m also a dude.  (ben.bowman@nbcuni.com)

rick-sanchezKristen thinks I should be Twittering.  I think that would be less than compelling.  (Ben is sleeping.  Ben is awake and watching reality television.  Ben is watching the clock.  Ben is walking to work.  Ben is producing.  Ben is sleeping again.)  The only possible spike in that pattern would be, “Ben is stomping an audience’s face with humor at the iO Theater.”  Besides, I don’t want to be a total jerkwad like Rick Sanchez.  Did you hear his Twitter account got hijacked?  Someone posted that he was high on crack.  Hilarious.  I hate Rick Sanchez.  What a blowhard.

Rudymom wants to know if there’s a one-word phrase to describe the Detroit Lions.  “Failure” seems appropriate.  Did you see Matt Millen giving his expertise on NBC this weekend?  He’s sitting there talking about how important it is to have a running game and strong offensive and defensive lines.  And I’m thinking, “Then why did you keep drafting head-case wide receivers?  And why do the Lions suck so awfully?  Did watching these playoff teams suddenly jog your memory about the fundamentals of the game you used to play?”  Matt Millen may be good on TV, but he’s totally lost all credibility.  It’s the equivalent of me giving you advice on car repair.

freddie_prinze_jr_01Coffee wonders what happened to Freddie Prinze, Jr.  I’m guessing his total lack of talent finally dawned on the remaining Hollywood clowns who didn’t get the memo when they looked at his blank, expressionless face in the first place. 

Jessica from yesterday’s article about boundary-pushing lovers informs me she broke up with her neanderthal boyfriend.  Good for you, Jessica.  You’ve exhibited something in rare supply in today’s world: Standards.  (I used to know what those were before I became a journalist.)

Michael also had a nightmare about Drew Peterson.  Would he be less intimidating without the ‘stache?  I have to think so.

* Who else is excited to see Barack Obama on a lost episode of “Check, Please!”?

If I went on that show, I’d recommend Lou Malnati’s as the best pizza in the city.  And I would fight anyone who begged to differ.  Seriously.  I’d smash one of Alpana Singh’s precious wine bottles and put it to the throat of the blasphemer.  “TAKE IT BACK!” I would scream, the veins popping from my neck.  And then the heretic would retract his ridiculous statement and I would sit down and talk about how freakin’ great the buttercrust is.

* Hey, you!  Stop importing monkey meat.

* Stressed out?  Experts say you should throw a tantrum.  Unless you are near me, then I would kindly ask that you pull yourself together, you horrible shambles of a human.

* Need a workout plan for the new year?  The British Army can whip you into shape.  I am considering signing up for this.  Not because I want to lose weight.  But because I think I might inadvertently learn a foolproof death blow maneuver.  How cool would that be?

beached-whale* Weight loss improves sex.  It also lowers your odds of being mistaken for a beached whale and rolled back into the ocean.

* We don’t mean to panic you, but terrorists are going to start using insect swarms as biological weapons.  On second thought, go ahead and panic.

* Seriously, though, stop panicking in Paw Paw, Michigan.  That potentially human heart left sitting in a car wash bay ended up being a deer heart.

* A small central Maine town may soon be home to a topless coffee shop.  I like my women like I like my coffee: cold and bitter.  And topless. 

* 54% of teens talk about sex, alcohol use, and violence on MySpace.  In other news, 54% of teens are about to get grounded.

* Love means never having to say you’re sorry for setting your husband’s penis on fire.

* Babysitting tales of terror: Step on a kid, get shot.

* Dr. Mary Ann Malloy visited the station this morning.  I used to work with her on the weekend shows.  Total class act.  She told me her father-in-law was in the liquor business circa Prohibition.  She said he had to stay in DuPage County.  There was some other guy who had a corner on the Chicago market, if you recall.  (What a cool story!  The Brian DePalma version of “The Untouchables” is one of the reasons I always wanted to live here.)

* Can I continue to wax rhapsodic about that script for “The Untouchables”?  Look at these Mamet gems!

untouchablesI want him DEAD! I want his family DEAD! I want his house burned to the GROUND!

You just fulfilled the first rule of law enforcement: make sure when your shift is over you go home alive. Here endeth the lesson.

You can get further with a kind word and a gun than you can with just a kind word.

All this talk of bootlegging – what is bootlegging? On a boat, it’s bootlegging. On Lake Shore Drive, it’s hospitality.

They pull a knife, you pull a gun. He sends one of yours to the hospital, you send one of his to the morgue. That’s the Chicago way! And that’s how you get Capone.

You’re nothing but a lot of talk and a badge!

Did he sound anything like THAT?

You’re muckin’ with a G here, pal!

What’s the matter? Can’t you talk with a gun in your mouth? One… two… three…

If you’re afraid of getting a rotten apple, don’t go to the barrel. Get it off the tree.

Mountie Captain:Mister Ness! I do not approve of your methods!
Ness: Yeah, well… You’re not from Chicago.

displayimageMalone:Do you know what a blood oath is, Mr. Ness?
Ness:
Yes.
Malone: Good, ’cause you just took one.

Scoop:Word is they’re going to repeal Prohibition. What’ll you do then?
Ness: I think I’ll have a drink.

A man becomes preeminent, he’s expected to have enthusiasms. Enthusiasms… What are mine? What draws my admiration? What is that which gives me joy? Baseball! A man stands alone at the plate. This is the time for what? For individual achievement. There he stands alone. But in the field, what? Part of a team. Teamwork… Looks, throws, catches, hustles.Part of one big team. Bats himself the live-long day, Babe Ruth, Ty Cobb, and so on. If his team don’t field… what is he? You follow me? No one. Sunny day, the stands are full of fans. What does he have to say? I’m goin’ out there for myself. But… I get nowhere unless the team wins. (And then Capone uses a baseball bat to bash in the skull of a failed thug.)

I love that movie.  So hard.

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2 responses to ““Yeah, well… You’re not from Chicago.”

  1. I agree with Amy’s comments on your whining about not getting any dates. Girls don’t like whiners so if you were more positive then maybe you’d have better luck in getting a date. I’ll bet even if girls do send pictures with the hopes of getting a date with you you’d still find a reason to turn them down and continue whining about your dating life. I think your New Year’s resolution should be to stop whining and get out there and find yourself a date! :-)

  2. Thanks for backing me up, Jakki!

    As for Ben, I have more words for you, but they are perhaps a bit too lengthy in number and a tad too salty in flavor for a public forum such as this.

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