“What’s the name of the famous sculptor who made mobiles out of old Kleenexes and frozen sneeze-dust?”
“I don’t know, what’s his name?”
“ALEXANDER COLDER.”

Guys, I’m sorry I haven’t been better about updating my blog. I’ve come down with a bad cold.

But that’s actually good news for you, because it means you get to enjoy the hottest COLD-RELATED HUMOR:

“What’s the favorite movie of a person who has a cold?”
“I don’t know, what?”
“Cold Mountain.”

It’s movie review time! Movies are the lifeblood of our culture. In these troubling economic times, we must support Hollywood more than ever. Throw all your books in the garbage and go to the movies TODAY.

Yesterday I saw “Taken,” starring Liam Neeson.

If you liked the Bourne movies — but thought they weren’t xenophobic enough, or sexist enough, or monotonous enough, or just plain ol’ shitty enough — you’ll love “Taken.”

Seriously? I couldn’t believe what a preposterous heap of turdly, rightwing discombobulation this thing was. Liam Neeson should chop off his own toe for starring in it. And also? His hair? Worst dye job I have ever seen. You can’t tell me that’s his natural color. Colors like that don’t even occur naturally in outer space. “Manic Panic in the house!”

Liam Neeson’s huffing and puffing around Paris, driving cars backwards and breaking into lairs and judo-chopping Albanians, trying to be Matt Damon — are you kidding me? Take your 9-foot-tall ass back to Shakespeare camp and leave action movies to the young people, you AARP-wannabe interloper. (Honestly, Liam Neeson could be 30 years old for all I know, but this movie has such a pathological “cranky old man” vibe — I thought maybe I was watching a John McCain fever dream — that you have to add 52 years to the age of anyone involved with it.)

I was really excited to see “Taken” because the preview is so good, when he’s on the phone with his daughter and he’s like, “Listen to me. They are going to abscond with you. You’ll have five seconds to tell me everything you can about your kidnappers.” I thought, “This movie will be an adrenaline-fueled thrill ride!” Instead, after about twenty minutes, I was like, “You know what? I hope his daughter IS sold into prostitution by those dirty stinking Albanians. And I hope Liam Neeson’s character gets hit by a goddamn French bus — the most effeminate, most dishonorable type of bus known to man.”

LOL, a game you can play when you see this movie: When Liam Neeson shows up at his daughter’s 17th birthday party (being held at his ex-wife’s new lover’s sprawling mansion) and gives her the cheap-ass karaoke machine he’s been doing product-research on for weeks, and she hugs him … and then turns around to see her (swarthy) stepfather leading a pony onto the yard, and she runs over and hugs her stepfather and jumps on the pony and the stepfather stands there looking down his nose at Liam Neeson, yell out: “I’M CONFUSED: WHICH MAN AM I SUPPOSED TO SYMPATHIZE WITH?!?”

Another game: When Liam Neeson makes a lunch date with his daughter, and thinks he can finally get some quality time alone with her, and then (uggh) his total bitch of an ex-wife shows up too (you know how ex-wives are such evil bitches, always judging and castrating the common guy) but no worries, they’ll still have their lunch … and Liam Neeson says to his daughter, “Here’s your strawberry milkshake, just the way you like, with extra cherries on top,” yell out: “ARE WE ESTABLISHING THAT HIS 17-YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER (WHO’S ABOUT TO GO TO PARIS FOR THE FIRST TIME) IS A TOTAL SLUT?!?” (Also, a minor point, but: Who orders a milkshake for their daughter ahead of time? You think she wants some grimy-ass, room-temperature milkshake that’s been sitting around for twenty minutes?)

One more game: At the very end of the movie, after Liam Neeson has killed, like, 80 foreigners on his quest to save his daughter from the Albanian prostitution ring (weirdly, he never seems to really think about saving any of the other kidnapped girls he runs across, maybe because he doesn’t know what kind of milkshakes they like) and he’s just killed all the Arabs on the yacht (the Arabs bought his daughter at a prostitute auction in a fancy basement somewhere, you know how Arabs do, always raping our virgin women, LOL, she’s even described as a virgin by the auctioneer), and he’s covered in blood and broken glass and he’s holding his weeping daughter, and she says “You came for me!” and he says, “I told you I would” …

… Yell out: “WOW, HE MUST REALLY WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH HER!”

Honestly, the only moment of pleasure in this entire film comes when somebody gets run over by a truck at a surprising moment.

FIVE OUT OF FIVE STARS!!!

Hi guys, sorry it’s been sorta quiet around here in “My Blog”-land.

But I’m BACK IN THE GAME and READY TO BLOG!!!

Check back in ten hours for my SUPERBOWL RECAP!

This is me, twenty-four hours from now:

Seriously, guys: HAVE WE MADE A HUGE MISTAKE? Bush withdrawal may be more painful than I anticipated.

This time tomorrow, George W. Bush won’t be president.

“Executive hubris”

“Imperial overreach”

“Epic incompetence”

“Preternatural ebullience”

“Fathomless lack of curiosity”

“Disdain for empirical reality”

“Most fiscally incontinent (!!!) of presidents”

“Terribly wrong”

Thanks to everyone who sent this video.

Beacon, NY resident Pete Seeger, age 89, destroys everyone within goosebump-distance.

One thing:

(3:37.) ARE. YOU. KIDDING. ME.

“Nobody living /
can ever stop me /
as I go walking /
on freedom highway.”

Pete Seeger? He’s pretty stoppable. LOL, umm . . . yeah, you’re gonna be stoppin’ him. “Nobody living can ever stop me.” I gotta give Pete Seeger infinity weepy LOLs, because does he kill that lyric very hard? LOL, the man is eighty-nine years old and he makes Ghostface Killah sound like Pee-wee Herman.

Eighty-nine years old . . . still keeping EVERYONE on notice.

From a flyer I designed for an Obama fundraiser, when we hoped Pete would be able to perform: