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October 30, 2008 |

By Brian Prisco | Eloquent Eloquence | October 30, 2008 |

Well, it happened. The Curse of William Penn has been lifted, as easily as a statue being placed atop the Comcast building. I’m certain that the streets of Manayunk ran with the blood of the non-believers, guys with cheesesteak guts hugged, and large portions of New Jersey have been reduced to cinder. Our own TV Whore has danced atop a cop car, Julie and Nicole flashed more eyes than a Japanese seizure inducing robot cartoon, and Pissboy urinated on all the folks trying to escape on the Walt Whitman. Baseball Jesus lived up to his name, and his prophecy came true: Phillies in 5. Despite the attempted intervention of Baseball God, who obviously has a grudge when he fucking sends a monsoon after your team. Now, you get to join the ranks of the fans of towns like Boston, who stared glassy-eyed at the screen, unable to cope with no longer being an underdog, and not quite sure what to root for anymore. But don’t worry. We’re Philadelphia. We’ll always find something to bitch about. Fucking Eagles.

It’s been a big week for everyone in Pajibaland. And you’ve gotta appreciate our little pantheon of scribblers here. When Dustin announced the interview, every single one of the folks on the staff went to their individual pages and pimped it out, as a moment of pride. Agent Bedhead, and Stacey, and Dan Carlson, and TK, all of them jumped up on rooftops and screamed out for the world to hear. But let me tell you a little behind the music you might not know. The moment, I mean the millisecond, Dustin found out the interview was going to happen, he contacted me. Because he knows Kevin Smith is my spiritual mentor as a filmmaker. Because he makes little films about smart ass people doing shitty things to each other, and at the core of those films, there’s always love. Dustin knew what a View Askewball I was, and so he let me throw in a few questions of my own. That meant a lot, and I liked the answers I got. So while some folks (not to name names, but it rhymes with Dookie and reaks of the same) may accuse us of being “all up on Rowles’s sack” I think it’s more that we’re a bunch of ragtag misfits just happy to play the game. We’re like the Bad News Bears, except without the transsexual miscreant pitcher who grows up to be a serial molester.

Pajibans are getting all literati up in this bitch, and Daddy’s getting proud. We’ve got over 25 folks in the Cannonball Read, with more threatening to pile on daily. Plus, we’ve got a nice army amassing in the NaNoWriMo, which kicks off Saturday. Last year was a motherfucker, with me literally typing until my fingers cramped and dashing across the finish line with 8 minutes to spare. This year, it’s awesome to see some fellow Followers of the Way of the Squid on board. If you’re giving it a go, remember to friend me. My username is CharlesDickensCider. And you thought the fucking Philip Seymour Hoffman pun was bad.

I’m passing the keys to Julie next week, so enjoy yourselves. It’s going to be a big ass change of affairs, what with Halloween approaching, and the impending election, so treat her right.

The Phillies did it in five, but we’re gonna need double that. TEN!

10. You know, when I was younger I’m sure I would have been full of ideas about racing so-and-so car in so-and-so location, having a role in a movie, writing a book, etc., but right now I think the main thing I’d like to do is get my shit together to the point that I can actually, confidently say “I have my shit together.” — Eep

9. I think perhaps they underestimate the reluctance of the American Douchebag to change it’s popped-collar polo. — Sean (Llama)

(I know fuckall about fashion, but seriously, what was the deal with the layers upon layers of collars? I’ll give you trucker hats even, but why would you ever wear four polo shirts? And from Abercrombie and Fitch? That’s like $85 of lemon-fresh douchewaffle.)

8. Man, I love the Princess Bride. I told a friend of mine once that my favorite Godfather line was “Never go up against a Sicilian when death was on the line.” I didn’t even leave out the lisp. He totally bought it. Sucker. — President Merkin Muffley

7. Spork nuthin’. I can gouge out your eyes with my thumbs. Or so says the crazy lady that came to talk to my health class in middle school. - s.pisaster

6. This blows my plans of casting the Jonas Brothers in my film “The Triplets Who Menstruate.” — Sofia

(This was funny, but when I pictured it done in the style of the Triplets of Belleville? Increased hilarifold.)

5. Becks…yours is a pain i know all to well let us drown our sorrows over rum and …some form of snack — Nadine

Nadine, I would have to suggest cheesecake. It always solved every relationship problem on the Golden Girls. — becks

(I don’t believe there exists an unfunny comment related to the Golden Girls.)

4. I don’t know what’s a sadder fact about me: that as soon as I saw the word “spork,” I thought of KFC, or that I have, from time to time, been known to keep a plastic fork in my purse. In case I need to eat in an forkless emergency, I suppose. — Melissa

3. This movie will only appeal to people who get hard-ons at museums. As for the rest of us who don’t find hidden meanings in things like poems, sitting through this movie will bring back childhood memories of being fussy and fidgeting in the seat praying for the movie to end already. After watching this movie, I can see why suicide can be a good thing. — Yen Gi

(I like it when people agree angrily with my movie reviews. It’s as if I don’t have to review anything at all. Especially if there are ignorant motherfuckers who are willing to just post their own reviews. Why not just go into the Louvre and tack up a couple of your crayon drawings, assclown? What? You think you can gain forty pounds, lose all your hair, and be the next me? You want to dance along the razor of constant overwhelming stroke? I didn’t think so. Step off, whiskerfister, or you’ll be breakdance fighting in a circle of broken glass.)

2. Oh hellz to the FUCK no, Eep. You did not just equate Bon Jovi to Van Halen. Bon Jovi is to Van Halen as the Geico lizard is to a fucking velociraptor wearing a jetpack.

Bon Jovi is a sippy cup filled with warm milk, while Van Halen is the holy grail filled with liquid nitrogen and thumbtacks. Bon Jovi is a sorority girl with a butterfly tattoo on her lower back who gets drunk after three wine coolers, while Van Halen is VAN FUCKING HALEN. Lord. — Amelia Bedelia

(While my devotion to the Jovi prevents me from agreeing with you, I still can admire your rage. Well played, my young reader’s fiction nemesis. Well played.)

(And…for the win…MATH!)

1. It’s the 3rd law of premium cable:

# of foreign actors + bad dialogue
___________ = tits. — Marra
(hotness of actors)^2


If it weren’t for “Dream On,” and “Tales from the Crypt,” and the glory of my bedroom television, I may never have discovered the wonder of boobs. Fantastic equation, professor. For your contribution, you receive (1) one delicious t-shirt. Don’t ever wear it under a collared polo shirt.

Please show us your work, carry the two, divide by zero, add 42, and give us your fucking address already. You can blow kisses at dustin at pajiba dot com.

To clear something up from last week….

What I was indicated was that people ought to go to the YouTubes and peep Che Grovera’s Talent Family, because if you didn’t you would end up having a sad clown face. These kids do up videos that are pretty awesome, and it would behoove you to watch them. But apparently, the wires got crossed, and there was a misunderstanding there.

But I guess you don’t have to read well when you live off the sweat of your children’s efforts. Sinner.

Three Boobs You Can Trust!

The Top 10 Comments of the Week / Brian Prisco

Eloquent Eloquence | October 30, 2008 |

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