Blind Item

Which 2002 TV funnyman just received a residual check in the mail for $44.84? Our spies saw him at his desk eating an energy bar that said this on the wrapper:

Caramel Nut Blast
NATURAL FLAVOR WITH OTHER NATURAL FLAVOR

Whoa, don't spend it all in one place!


Straw Man

As further evidence that it's Andy Rooney's world and we're just living in it, here are some quotes of his from Sunday's 60 Minutes:

"They should call skim milk skimmed milk!"

"Whole milk? Why don't they just call it milk!?"

I remember seeing this segment some time ago, which would make it a rerun. But if this is the sort of thing deemed good enough to air more than once, then I have a hard time believing he could ever be short on material. The director right before air time: "Mr. Rooney didn't have to time to go to the store and look at something -- cue up the milk piece!" Meanwhile, Andy's trashing the office kitchen because his instant coffee took forty seconds.

We love you, Andy!

Montrose, Montrose, Montrose...

Some things I've noticed while walking around Brooklyn:

• In the past two weeks I have seen roughly one half dozen people
  wearing the shirts from a Cub Scout or Webelos uniform and at no point
  did anyone punch them in the arm or ask them if they were in Queer
  Scouts or We Blows.



• Most of the time that I walk into a bar there is Journey, The Cars,
  Hall and Oates, or Lionel Richie playing on the jukebox.



• A pair of Velcro shoes plus blue jeans that already have holes in them
  fetches up to $100 on the open market.

It is clear that if I had only known then what I know now, I could've
moved here when I was nine years old and ruled over this town with an
iron fist.

And anyone looking for the last piece of the puzzle, you could do
right to comb the gourmet cheese out of your mustache and start riding
your bike around the block.

You're welcome, suckers!

Today I had the unfortunate opportunity to discover that the granola bars in the vending machine at my work have not aged well in what I can only guess to be their 3-5 year captivity.

The vending machine is in the kitchen. It doesn't seem to get a whole lot of business and I've yet to see a guy come and put new junk in it, but I made sure to check for the all the standard warning signs that a vending machine's been given up for dead and should be avoided:

White Chocolate Nestle
Reggie Bars
Chesterfields
Potato Chips "Now With Olestra"
Spider Webs
Anything with caricatures of Japanese soldiers on the wrapper

Thinking I was in the clear, I bought a granola bar, bit into it and very nearly broke all my teeth and died. I would've been better off trying to eat a handful of diamonds, mostly because a handful of diamonds is worth so much money it's crazy!

Live and learn,
Jesse

To everyone back home, I just want to apologize for no-showing my much anticipated set at the Detroit Electronic Music Festival this weekend. My lucky turntable went on the fritz, but I promise to return next year to spin the fattest stupid beats this side of the Mississip.

Be prepared:

Arthur Murray Dance Studios

Wholesale Glow Sticks

Keep dreaming, suckers!

News on the job front. I started my internship at Tammany Hall. Basically, I just get people coffee and watch buildings burn down. It's unpaid but it looks good on a resume and soon The Five Points will be all mine!

I have no knowledge of or opinions on almost anything that's currently happening. I still can't get cable or internet and then I buy a newspaper and the front page stories are about the Gotti family and a formula for the perfect butt with quotes from Sir Mix-A-Lot. I thought New York City was the world's greatest metropolis but maybe it's just a wormhole into the early 1990's.

Damn, girl, let's get some present day up in this piece!


Today I saw a flyer on a telephone pole that said this:

Magos!

We have all your favorite characters: Winy Poo, Almo, Barny, Mick Mouse, Telltubies, Doora Explorer.


Is this a serious issue with spelling or just a half-hearted attempt to skirt all known trademark laws? Well, here's one reporter who decided to find out...in your dreams!


Reporting from your dreams, I'm Jesse Popp.

Lately, almost every time I go inside a store or restaurant that You're Beautiful song is playing. I keep falling in love with things! A big stack of blue jeans, my sandwich...and I don't know what to do.

I tried the drop-off service at my local Laundromat. Sixty cents a pound, which is not too shabby. That only ends up being a couple bucks more than sitting around doing it yourself and on top of that they fold your clothes like a genius. The thing is, though, they actually give you extra clothes. In my bag I found a brassiere and an outfit for a baby! What's my next move here? Am I supposed to return these items to the laundromat? My only concern is that I stuff the bra and onesie into my pocket, get run over by a bus on may way there and end up in The Post under the headline Brooklyn Perv BUS-ted!

Naw, I ain't goin out like that.

Please allow me through the weekend to catch up on my emails and calls, show postings and all that. I'm sure I'm backed up from September or so. What a jerk!

So, finally found a permanent apartment. The owner/landlord is an old Latino guy, this joker and I went to his office with the broker to sign the lease. While the broker and landlord conversed in Spanish, I sat there and looked around. He had a big bookshelf that was two shelves of medicine, one shelf of family photos and one shelf of Virgin Mary stuff. Plus there were old girlie calendars and unopened boxes of soccer balls all over the place and Univision was blaring "Boing! Boing! Boing!" sounds on the TV. Seriously, it was pretty awesome. After all that I ate shawarma and french fries for lunch and later on I got drunk for what seemed like about $900. New York City, you are blowing my mind!

I'm still learning my way around, so I'm not so hot at preventing strangers from freaking out whenever they make the mistake of asking me for directions.

On my way to work the other morning an elderly woman approached me and said,"Excuse me, how do you get to City Hall?"

"I'm sorry," I said, "but I don't know."

Then she started yelling at me. "Sure you don't! Now I'm late for a wedding but I'll find it without you anyway. Bye and bye I will!"

Yes, she really said bye and bye and yes I'm trying to keep City Hall my own little secret. You know how it goes, I tell her and before you know it I have to elbow my way through a mob of hipsters just to get my fishing license. (By the way, how are they biting here in New York City? Are they biting?) Anyway, good luck to that old lady striking out on her own, but I don't think she'll need it since she's gone so long without me already.

You may kiss the bride!

I've been called for jury duty back in Detroit. To get out of it I have to mail them proof of a new address along with my verdict. I say Guilty. Break a few rocks for me, dirtbag!

Seriously, I get called for jury duty every two years just like clockwork and I've never gotten to do anything but sit in the waiting room and watch crummy movies like Dorf On Golf or Junior and flip through old Reader's Digests all day until they tell me to go home. What gives? Does someone in a position of little to no power sorta have it out for me?