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Okay, anyway, last night my wife and I go to this sushi restaurant that’s on like La Brea or La Cienega or La “fucking something” and we’re the second couple up to sit down, so we figure five to ten minutes tops before we get seated. Then in walks some actor dude who I recognize from TV but have no fucking clue what his name is. I think he was on Mr. Belvedere for half a season or was the guy who got butt implants on Nip/Tuck last year. And he’s with some chick who I’ll assume is his wife because she had a wedding ring on. But let’s be honest, in Hollywood that doesn’t mean shit. So this actor puts his name in with the hostess and no more than a minute later they are seated. I almost fucking tore off my own testicles right there, okay just the left one, my wife loves the right one and would kill me if I lost that one. So, I didn’t know if I should punch the snotty hostess right in her turned-up nose or chase after C-list actor and give him a good old-fashioned beat down with chopsticks and a handful of wasabe. My wife tells me to calm down, but I’m more fired up than a Great White concert.

So I hunt down the manager at Coochie Sushi or Sushi Wooshie or Schwartz’s Sushi or whatever the fuck this place is, and ask what the fuck just happened. After giving me that “me no understand what you’re saying” look for fifteen seconds even though I know he probably was born in Sherman Oaks, he finally tells me that Mr. I-Have-A-Sag-Card and his wife are regulars so they were seated first.

I tell Unagi Jones or whatever his name was that’s bullshit and I want the table now! My wife finally intervenes, thinking this guy’s gonna pull some Jackie fucking Chan shit and scissor kick my ass right back to the nine dollar valet parking. She pulls me aside and says, “this happens all the time,” and she reminds me that if you’re an actor or someone well known in Hollywood you get seated before anyone else no matter how many people are ahead of you. That’s when it hit me. Ouch! Intern Guy, it’s a phrase it’s not literal. Now you definitely don’t get to use my cell phone to call your ten sisters and brothers back in Cockistan or whatever mud-stained peninsula some triangle trade slaves for molasses merchant dumped your great grandfather on. Sorry’s not good enough… punch yourself in the sack if you want to apologize. Thank you. And no, peninsula is not the Armenian word for penis though I’m not too unsure your grandfather didn’t land on one of those either.

So, where the fuck was I? Right, that’s when it hit me, that even going out for a meal in Hollywood is different than other cities.

Yeah, there are some political heavyweights and local power players who might get seated before people in other towns but in Hollywood there’s a million assholes who think because they are on TV, or were on TV, or have ever looked at a TV, they can get a table before anyone else.

Fuck, even the guys at Circuit City in Beverly Hills get seated ahead of me. Now, I don’t even go to the super uppity, “We’re so expensive you can’t afford our appetizers, excuse me, I mean hor’doerves” restaurants and this shit still happens. I mean, come on, who do you have to blow to get a table these days in Hollywood? Well, I guess the answer is the higher up you go and the harder you suck you will get a table. Oh, wait, now it makes sense. That’s exactly how Hollywood works. Fuck or blow the executive producer and you might actually get some work. Fuck or blow an associate producer and you might get to hang out on the set for a day. Fuck or blow a production assistant and you’re just a stupid slut with a future cold sore.

But I’m not blowing anyone just so I can sit down and eat ahead of other people who played by the rules and put their name on a list. Yes, I know Intern Guy, you’ll blow whoever to get a table, or a job or even stick of gum. Now, I wonder if most Hollywood hostesses even write down names of customers or if they just wait and see if any celebrities or well-to-do show up for an hour or so then finally seat the next couple who looks the wealthiest and who will spend the most money. Okay, so I won’t blow my way to get a table and I’m not a celebrity, so what the fuck can I do? I have an idea. How about I start hanging out with celebrities or power players so I can actually get a meal when I want one? Yeah, I know it’s fucking ridiculous and besides, the only celebrity I know is a guy who claims to be one of the Wayans Brothers… Wayne Wayans, and I have a pretty good idea he’s lying. The fact that he’s actually funny and lighter skinned than me, might be a clue something’s fishy. Intern Guy, seriously, stop pinching my ass and pretending it’s not you. Remember, it’s only you and me in the car and if Goldberg were here you’d go to the back of the bus. That’s right, he might be Jew, but he’d pull out his Hassidic Martial Arts on your ass and go all Jew Fu on you. He is a black belt you know… well that’s what he told me. He got it on sale and he’s not afraid to use it. Last week he protected his father from having to pay retail.

Really, here’s my point, Hellway listeners. Don’t come to Hollywood if you want to get seated at a table according to where your name is on the wait list. It just won’t happen. It’s like having a tug-o-war with Rosie O’Donnell over a double chocolate- layered fudge cake shaped like Martina Navratolova – it’s a lost cause. See, when restaurant employees are trained, before they learn the menu, they must first memorize actors’ headshots. So, I guess I’m done eating at restaurants and will go back to good ol’ greasy, deep fried, fast food in L.A., where celebrities only dine when they’re completely wasted or don’t want to be recognized - and then and only then I might actually get waited on before Kato Kaelin, or the fat dad from The Fresh Prince, or the guy from season 14 of The Real World or Joey Lawrence, or I might get waited on by Joey Lawrence. But it’s Hollywood, kids… so to tell you the truth, I won’t be surprised by anything.

The Chinese government is giving away pandas to Taiwan because they know they have a public relations problem. And not just with Taiwan but with the entire western world.

When you think of China, you think of deplorable conditions and human rights violations so severe they make our treatment of Intern Guy look like an afternoon at Disneyland.

Now there are some of you who say we should fear China because, as one of the very few communist States remaining, it refuses to adhere to international norms of individual rights. Tibetans, Muslims and Christians within its borders are under particular threat and yet China’s ridiculously large population and growing economy make it an example to others and hinder the spread of the values of liberal democracy.

Some of you say we should fear China because of its territorial claims. For example, in both the Taiwan Strait and the South China Sea, they have made a show of armed force in the past few years. It’s a nuclear power and has the largest armed forces in the world. And because its military strength actually isn’t particularly impressive, they may be quick on the trigger to use nukes in a crisis.

And the only reason they probably haven’t ICBM’d Taiwan into a parking lot is because none of the Generals in the Chinese army can’t pronounce the word “crisis”.

Now the big trouble in little China has a lot to do with the fact that here is a superpower that’s about as stable as Mohammad Ali doing the highwire act at Cirque de Soleil.

With a central government struggling to control the regions, Red Army, growing crime, corruption and the black market trade of predicting lottery numbers on the back of fortune cookie fortunes, it’s easy to suggest the leadership in Beijing is losing control faster than Mickey Rooney’s bladder.

Many fear that this would just be a precursor to seizing Taiwan and, as we all know, you’ll just want to seize it again an hour later.

Now, regardless of how you take one from column A and one from column B, it all adds up to the fact that China poses a threat in terms of its economic dominance. Its ability to flood our economy with cheap exports such as flimsy sex dolls that fall apart the first time you bend blow-up Jenna Jameson’s legs up behind her ears to hit that tight fitting greek feature only to have it explode like an overstretched child’s party balloon… Not that I… I’m just saying hypothetically… that could happen… yeah…

But it’s just these kind of cheap convict-made products that increasingly hurt our own industries, and let’s not forget that China’s rapid development also poses grave problems to the global environment since the Chinese demand for cars, energy, timber and aerosol cheese undermines international attempts to deal with pollution and resource depletion.

But if you’re to believe theoretical socioeconomic rationalization, and who wouldn’t, a trading China is even less of a threat to world peace. And since its economic development is slower than the line behind Ricki Lake at the Caesars Palace buffet, our businesses should be able to adapt to China’s presence in the world market.
And it’s hard to deny there’s an enormous opportunity for investors now that economic avenues to the Chinese population are more open than Paris Hilton’s legs after last call at Skybar.

So China thinks it’s being all sneaky using cute endangered species as diplomatic weapons… but let me tell you, if you think you can trick me by trying to win over the world’s hearts and minds by hiding its ugliness and fucked up ideologies with it’s cuddly little treasures…

Well guess what, Chairman Cream of Sum Yung Guy, that strategy stopped working for the Olsen Twins. What the fuck makes you think it’s gonna keep working for you?

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So I was out with a buddy of mine last night.

You know, I can just hear you all snickering. No, it wasn’t a DATE. Just because I say I was out getting a couple of beers with a guy doesn’t make it a gay thing.

This is exactly what my wife said this show would deteriorate to. Everything sounds gay. Even me just going to a bar to grab a couple of beers with a friend.

So anyway, I was out at this place called the Manhole with a buddy of mine and he starts coughing and I was like, “Hey, you okay?”

And he hocks up a big wad of snot. He’s all congested and he tells me that he go the Evian Bird Flu.

And I’m like, dude… it’s not the “Evian” bird flu.

And he’s like, “Oh yeah, didn’t you hear? The Evian Spring Water Bottling Company of France bought the naming rights for the bird flu. Everyone was talking about it so much, they saw an opportunity and paid like twenty million to put their name and logo on it.

Like the FedEx Orange Bowl or the Staples Center.

He rolled up his sleeve and sure enough, the Evian logo had begun to form below his skin. “It’s temporary,” he said. “Like one of those tattoos you get out of a vending machine. But this one’s genetically encoded into the DNA of the virus.”

And I was like, “Whoa!”

And my friend, who works for some big marketing firm, started telling me this is the hottest trend in bio-medicine. He said that just last week Pepsi bought the naming rights for Spina Bifida.

So now, any time you talk about the disease, you can’t just say, “Jimmy has Spina Bifida.” You have to say, “Jimmy has Pepsi’s Spina Bifida.”

And I turned to my friend and I’m like, “Isn’t that bad, to have your name associated with something so terrible like Spina Bifida?”

And my friend in marketing was like, “The age of shame is over, pal. There’s no such thing as bad publicity. As long as people are saying your name, that’s all that matters.”

So now it’s Pepsi’s Spina Bifida and General Motors presents Scoliosis.

It’s Impetigo by Sprint, Viacom’s Irritable Bowel Syndrome and Seagrams Special Cool Mint Lyme Disease.

The biggest deal dropped last week. A hundred million dollars.

Cancer by Microsoft.

Apparently some Chinese telecommunications company wanted it but you know that wily old Bill Gates pulled it out somehow.

So now everywhere I go, I’m reading about the Evian Bird flu. They’re even going to hold a press conference to announce they’re “re-branding” it.

Starting Monday, instead of the “bird flu” it’ll be known as “Chirpies.”

I hear it’s a canarial disease.

See, for our international listeners, we’ve got a problem in America called “Red States Vs. Blue States.” This was coined in the 2000 election when all of the major networks color-coded their big election maps. Red States voted for Bush, Blue States wanted the other guy. We’re not going to get too deeply into the difference between the two types of States. Suffice it to say that we’re different.

Blue States like cappuccino, Red States like black coffee.

Blue States like art and museums, Red States like monster truck rallies.

Blue States love to try new foods, listen to different types of music, experience new things.

Red States still lynch Black people every now and then.

Blue States ask: “What are you reading?”

Red States ask: “Why are you reading?”

But we’re not talking about the differences themselves, what we’re talking about is the sheer existence of differences. See, Blue Staters look around and say, “Hey, we’re all different. Cool. Welcome to America, try the soup.”

Red Staters look around and say, “Fuck, I hate that people are different from me. Why can’t we all be the same? And what kind of soup is it? Gazpacho? What the fuck is that, one of the Marx Brothers?”

Because in America, we have very large expanses of land that are populated by very few people. If you look at one of those Red State/Blue State maps, almost every place that voted red is in an area where there just aren’t a lot of people. And the people that are there tend be well… cut from the same cloth. Oh, fuck it, I’m just gonna say it. They’re White and Christian. And when you live in a very, very large place, and you drive around for miles, and you only see people who are a lot like you, well, your perspective starts to get kind of screwed up.

See, if your entire experience is the huge prairies of Kansas, you’re gonna start to think that that’s all there is to the country, because Kansas is huge. And you’ve got every grade-school textbook telling you how great America is, and well, your experience of America tends to be pretty homogeneous. And no, homogeneous is not a word describing “American Beauty” director Alan Ball, or a word describing gay milk. It means that everything looks the same. So now, you’ve grown up thinking that A) America is awesome (which it is) and B) America is what you see every day (which it ain’t).

And then, you hear about these far off places like New York, Los Angeles, Philadelphia, Boston, San Francisco. And what little you know about them tells you one thing: those people aren’t like me. And the logic board in your brain skips a circuit, because your next thought is, “Those people aren’t Real Americans.” And that’s right around the time you start fucking up the country.

That, my friends, is the biggest difference between Blue States and Red States. In the Blue States, we think that only one thing is required to be an American, and that’s citizenship. And no, this isn’t some lecture on the merits of multi-culturalism or any shit like that. In fact, it’s just the opposite. I don’t give a fuck about culture one way or the other. It’s about understanding that America is a system - not a culture.

Yes, the Nascar nation is PART of America, but so is Lucha Libre Mexican wrestling, wine tastings in Napa valley, and porno bookstores in seedy neighborhoods. Mmmmm…. seedy neighborhoods…

But what I hate is the jingoist, All-American flag-waving bullshit that comes packaged up with the crap Nashville spews out, like somehow, Country is “America’s Music.” Guess what? Country is folk music from Europe, blended with blues. It wasn’t invented whole cloth by some shit kickers in Missouri. Know what the only pure form of American music is, Red Staters?

The only music that can lay almost all of its foundations here in the USA? Yeah, it’s Jazz. And it sure as hell wasn’t invented in Oklahoma.

Which brings me to my big point. All the trappings of American history. The flag, the revolutionary war, the founding fathers, etc, etc. Guess where they were from?
That’s right. New York, Boston, Philly. I’m pretty sure the Liberty bell isn’t in Topeka, and Paul Revere’s House isn’t in Omaha. Because those Blue States that you despise as not being the “Real America?” Yeah - America was born there, fucker.

If your State wasn’t brought into the union until after the civil war, you don’t get to lay some exclusive claim to being “Real America.” Is your State less than 150 years old? Eat this, assholes… Boston’s coming up on 375. But see, I’m not going to say that all the Blue States are “Real America” either. You know why?

Because fundamentally, that’s the difference between us and you. We’re okay with you being different from us. We know we’re gonna pick on each other and make fun of you, and occasionally laugh at some of the stupid shit you do. But we’re not gonna tell you you’re not part of the family. You’re like our retarded little brother, and the family wouldn’t be the same without you, even though there’s not a chance

I’m letting you out of your room when my prom date shows up. And when you and your other retarded friends all hang out together, and you don’t want me around, that’s cool.

I’ll be out back… reading.

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In every organization, there are people who make the big decisions. No matter what size or style of the organization, somebody, or a group of somebodies, has to make the choices that move that business forward. If you’re a big business, those people are usually high-level management like CEO’s and boards of directors.

If you’re a small business, it’s probably just the owner or partners. Even something like a cub scout troop needs a den mother who will make the key decisions as to where they’re going camping, who’s going to make the campfire, and how best to keep Tom Cruise away from the pre-teen boys in uniform.

But we want to talk today about the big boys. Those CEOs and captains of industry who, though not elected by any democratic process, have influence and power over all of our lives. No, not Oprah. Business people. Though I do firmly believe if she came out on her show one day and chowed down on a baby you’d have every dumbfuck house frau running out there to do the same and maybe we’d solve this overpopulation problem once and for all… but then again, I’m a sick motherfucker and these are the things I think about at breakfast.

Now, we all know how the people who make the big decisions come to their conclusions. They do extensive market analysis, read all of the right trade journals, conduct studies, measure demographics, and balance out all of this critical information against a statistical model that best reflects the key environments in which their decisions will play out. Then they just pull something out of their ass and do whatever they wanted to do in the first place.

Because here’s what happens when you get elevated to those lofty corner offices that overlook the cities of the world. You lose touch faster than Helen Keller in mittens. You have no way of knowing what’s really going on, what people really want, or how they think other than what your focus groups tell you.

And if you look it up, the term “focus group” is derived from Latin, meaning unemployed losers who’ll do anything for free pizza.
If you’re a CEO, you’re so completely removed from the real world that you think working class refers to butlers, chauffeurs and high-priced call girls.

You’d like to be able to trust the people who work for you, but they’re all scared of you. They’re terrified that if they say the wrong thing, or have to be the one to bring you bad news, that they’re going to be shit-canned and lose that Mercedes, that expense account, and that corner office. They read all the reports, usually written by people who are just as out of touch as they are, and at the end of the day, you have people make decisions that give us shitty products like: The Edsel, Betamax, New Coke, Pets.Com, and Diggnation.

And that, my friends, is why these people should be listening to podcasting. So that they can get their thumbs out of their asses and have their finger on the pulse of what’s really going on, and get real information about the direction and attitudes of their customers, both actual and potential. Although, in the case of Diggnation, they should be specifically listening to this show to see how it’s done when you want to… oh… I don’t know… entertain people. But I digress…

Listen, captains of industry or whatever you overpaid monkey suit wearing humps are calling yourselves these days… every other source of information you can get has been processed, packaged, and formatted so that all the truth has been sucked out of it.
Think you can get a grip on what’s going on in teen music just by watching Total Request Live? Then you’re about as clued in as Paris Hilton in a MIT physics classroom.

Think that fatass Emeril Lagasse is really influencing kitchens across America? Right, and Domino’s is going out of business because everyone’s at home cooking truffle jambalaya. Think The Apprentice has made Donald Trump into something most people consider a TV Star? Think again, business boy. He’s a fucking novelty act. Nobody in the real world gives a wet dirty shit about Donald Trump or that aborted raccoon on his stupid head.

But they’d know all this stuff if they listened to podcasting. Why? Because it’s media for and by the people they claim to understand through their spreadsheets and Power Point presentations.

Want to know what people are driving? There’s dozens of podcasts dedicated to cars. Want to know what they’re drinking? Yep, a few dozen more that are all about booze. Want to know who’s drinking and driving? Hey, Madge Weinstein’s on right after us on Sirius Stars 102.

With podcasting, you’ve got an unprecedented opportunity to know what we’re up to down here in the purchasing classes. For the first time in human history, guys like you can know what it is guys like me are up to, without resorting to illegal wiretapping or hiring a midget to hang out in my closet. Yeah, I know what you did, Richard Branson, don’t think you can fool me. I found the little fucker under my laundry, gave him an oatmeal raisin cookie and sent him on his way. He got nothing, you hear me, Branson? Nothing!

The point is that you, the big decision makers whose every whim affects our culture, economy, and society, had better get off your lazy asses and start paying attention to what’s really going on, or you’re gonna end up in the dumpster of history like Compaq computers and UHF television stations. And you’ll find no better place than podcasting to get started. We’re already here, tens of thousands strong, telling you just what we think, every day.

You don’t need some high-paid consultant or overpriced demographics survey to give you insight into the American mind. All you need is a decent Internet connection and a set of ears. You remember your ears, right? They’re those things on either side of your brain. And your brain? Hell, if you started using THAT to make decisions instead of a fucking spreadsheet, who knows what amazing stuff you might come up with.

This is Wing Bowl.

A radio station stunt created a decade and a half ago to placate Philadelphia Eagles fans, whose team almost always sits out the big game. It’s actually a bacchanal — a beer-drenched, stripper-laden, crack-of-dawn orgy that has become a local institution, the city’s version of Mardi Gras.

Think of it… Philadelphia Mardi Gras where chubby guys eating chicken wings show you their tits. Is this what America is coming to? I think the answer is a big fat yes.

Now, there may be some of you who don’t know what competitive eating is. Perhaps this is because your brain has finally had enough of the stupid shit that’s going on in America, and you just didn’t have room for one more. Who Wants To Marry A Midget was the final straw for your grey matter, and a little door closed inside your mind. And on that door was a little placard that simply read: “Enough.”

But the midget show has long since been cancelled, so make some room up there, because we’re gonna explain this, ahem, “sport”, to you. A bunch of people sit at a table and they see who can eat the most in the shortest amount of time.
Yep, that’s it. Oh, there’s variations - like sometimes it’s about speed. You put a hundred hot dogs in front of people, and see who can eat them the fastest. And sometimes it’s about quantity; you have a near limitless number of hot dogs available, and the last person standing wins. Yep, this Gastronomicon is the, ahem, “sport” of competitive eating.

So why do I keep calling it a sport? Because in the same way that a bunch of rednecks suping up their rides and turning left for four hundred miles is a sport in this country… competitive eaters get to call themselves athletes too.
Think I’m pulling your chicken leg? People, I’m more serious than Condoleeza Rice at a Klan Picnic.

Yep. Go to IFOCE.com - that’s the International Federation of Competitive Eating, and there, on their “about us” page, they have the following sentence: “The IFOCE helps to ensure that the sport remains safe, while also seeking to achieve objectives consistent with the public interest - namely, creating an environment in which fans may enjoy the display of competitive eating skill.” That’s right, eating until your type-two diabetes kicks in… is a sport.

By the way, I highly recommend you go to the IFOCE.com website if you ever want a pure example of something put together with a complete lack of irony.

It’s got all the world records and everything. Like Sonya Thomas, who ate 8.31 pounds of Armour Vienna Sausage in ten minutes. Or Erik Booker, who ate four pounds of corn beef hash in one minute, 58 seconds. Or Don Lerman, who ate six pounds of baked beans in one minute, 48 seconds. Actually, old Don is a bit of a tragedy. Shortly after eating all those beans, he stood too close to an open flame and well, when all the smoke had cleared, he left a crater the size of a VW Bus.

You know, shortly after 9/11 there was a lot of talk about “why they hate us.” And by they, I don’t mean midgets. And don’t I mean they in the truest American sense of the word…. as in people who are darker skinned than you.

Truth is, I don’t know why the Islamic nutjobs hate us, but all of this competitive eating stuff tells me that there’s some potbellied kids in Africa with flies zipping around their heads who SHOULD fucking hate us.

All I can say is thank God they don’t have ESPN 2 out there on the plains of the Serengeti, or right now instead of Osama Bin Laden, we’d be looking for some Sally Struthers village baby shaking his malnutritioned fist at us and clicking in anger, which of course would roughly translate into: Hey… America… how about some of those fucking chicken wings you chubby ass motherfuckers?

One of the things that PCH has done a lot of is ranting. In fact, in my humble opinion, some of the best rants in new media have originated on PCH. I recently came across a batch of some of the greatest rants ever delivered on Pacific Coast Hellway and decided I should post them here on the blog.

So keep an eye out… Here comes the “Best of PCH Rants”…