Pinochet & Konundrum

Besides liberty and freedom, what Tubba misses most from the second Bush administration is Star Wars.

Not the movies. I annexed 7.5 GB of Jeremy's iPhone to house permanent copies of both Star Wars films. Notice how I say both, as in two. Can't throw all strikes, George.

No; what I miss is the Star Wars program at which I was employed as Chief Scientific Officer until the Communists shut it down.

Our ambitious plan was to thwart Soviet missiles by intercepting them with lasers.

Think of how safe you'd feel, knowing that you are blanketed in an invisible shield that has faked more than one successful trial. Sadly, the program is no more, damn commies.

But not to fear; sleep soundly at night, my friends. Tubba has a new solution, propelled by thousands of years of evolution. Not even Darwin could shut me down. Maybe Ben Stein.

Think: elephants. Giant, African elephants that sense danger and use their powerful trunks to shield you from earthquakes, missiles, crackheads, anorexics fishing for compliments, and dam breaks.

We just need to produce one elephant per person. Then, we need to break them, teach them that we are the master class and they are here to serve us. Then, we need to build special housing for them, provide barely adequate schooling, and demonstrate a pipeline for high-achievers that promotes false hope but keep them tirelessly invested in the system.

Text me for your coupon. First 100 get a free 1-month subscription to DirecTV.

Kisses,

Tub

Tubba Predicts the Oscars

Thing #1 about the Oscars Tubba hates is all the stupid categories that don't matter. Best animated short? Best makeup? You get prizes for that? In pre-K, you get punched in your face and your snak-pak gets stolen.

Thing #2 that Tubba hates about the Oscars is that my 2nd annual viewing party (which rivals Elton John's in its fanfare and the availability of dozens of prescription drugs) was CANCELLED this year. Let it sink in. Now you're gonna shake a little. Sit with it. Breathe.

Apparently, Helmut is not allowed to be that close to that many Jewish people all at once. Even on television. His parents, who fled to the US from Austria via Argentina, are well into their dotage and have "extremist opinions" about Jews. But who doesn't? Take Sal for example. I love him. He's on retainer and at my disposal at all times. Plus, he just adjusted his retainer from $30,000 per annum to $100,000 per annum on account of the border war I started with Connecticut. That's lower, right? Tubba only knows up to 4. It would be below me to learn numbers. That's what we have the women for. Am I right or am I right?

Thing #3 that Tubba hates about the Oscars is white people. Check out the ginger b*tch interrupting my man 'Marbles' during his acceptance speech for the movie he made about lame people.

My man 'Marbles' with 2009 Kentucky Derby winner, Mine that Bird

See that fist, indicating that she cannot count past four? B*tch probably expects people like Tubba to do all the counting for her. Little does she know that much like the US Government and Wall Street, Tubba cares little for paltry differences between and among digits. Tubba only cares for himself (that is why the Government and Wall Street pay tithings to Tubba).

And finally, #4: Jeremy is pulling the Prius around to take me to the Harvard Square IHOP, where they don't play the stupid Oscars. And that's the last thing Tubba hates about the Oscars: that I can't watch them and eat pancakes at the same time. Although this isn't really Tubba's fault. We were going to watch at Fudrucker's in Connecticut, but then Jeremy's Mom told him that she has cancer, and then Jeremy started crying, and Tubba said "isn't that just code for gay, because Father McMullin said that being gay is a terrible disease that kills you, too." And then Tubba blacked out and Jeremy made some kind of scene, and then the fire engines came, and neither of us is allowed in Connecticut anymore.

Which is really too bad because Tubba LOVES funerals.

kisses,

Tub

Tubba's Sleepover Photo Update!

Tubba is pleased to report that the first annual Tubba/Helmut Frukgenserg-Hoch multi-national sleepover and pancake breakfast is going well. We've managed to find common ground! Tubba and Helmut both love figure skating. Tubba loves it for the bedazzled uniform body suits and Helmut loves it for the Nazi-like coaches, fueled by their own inadequacies, who secretly beat competitors when cameras are turned away.

Anyway, Tubba and Helmut wanted to provide a photo update for our night thus far. Enjoy.

First, Helmut cries a lot. Host #2 says to be nice to him because Helmut comes from an 'unreliable home life' and has a therapist. Helmut's therapist makes him draw his feelings... Gay.

I found this sketch in his nap-sack. Titled: 'Ethan, Tuesday Night'

And another, 'Boy, a Self Portrait'

Anyway, Helmut went on to tell Tubba all about his Dad:

And that his Dad was famous as the inventor of the Jean Jacket back in the 80s. That was until he got weird, then got really weird, and then pretended to be an LAPD Officer to cut through Burger King drive-thrus on foot.

After, Helmut was taken in by this man:

Prof. Herman Ali Onassis (no relation). That was until it was discovered Prof. Onassis was in fact a Soviet agent. That experience was later optioned by Warner Brothers and spun out into the classic TV show "Murphy Brown."

Just when Helmut was on the brink of spending Christmas alone, a Social Service officer located his Maternal Grandmother in Germany:

Frau Gruttenfutz Splindendockfick Hitler.

At this point in Helmut's story I was really, really bored. Really. And surprise, Helmut got weird. Expressing to me his deepest, darkest fears:

After I returned from frantically searching for my halloween clown mask to comfort Helmut, I was shocked to discover he was still fucking talking.

Thank God earlier in the day I had visited Bruce, my whacking salami supplier.

If anyone reads this, please send ammunition and whatever German's are allergic to.

King Tubba

RIP Jazzy

You've served me well, old friend.

When I think of the hours I've spent cleaning lunch boxes and pacifiers out of your grill, I get that special "down there" feeling Jeremy talks about.

You've been clocked at just under 5 mph. You are... majestic. But it is now time for you to go...

Meet My Destiny...

Have you ever tried driving a jazzy through sand? Seriously. This new vehicle will give Tubba the autonomy he deserves. I think I love you.

kisses,

Tub

Olympic Fallout

Prepare to be outraged: I am on punishment. Host and Host #2 have suspended my writ of habeas corpus; they are holding me without proof or bond. The slander against me is unproven.

There is NO evidence that it was me who bedazzled the kitty. It could have been anyone. Plus, he looks fabulous, despite the intestinal shredding he's been experiencing from eating bedazzles (it's a slow and inconvenient death. After careful preparation, you can spit out the bedazzles like buckshot and reuse them).

If you really want to blame someone,

blame Olympic-fairy-ice-dance-Princess

Evan Lysacek.

It is unbelievably hard to reproduce that level

of precision with a $19.99 bedazzler.

Anyway, Host #2 was going to cancel my sleepover with Helmut on Thursday night for punishment, but she recanted becasue Helmut doesn't have something called a "reliable meal" at home. Personally, I like my meals to be spontaneous and innovative.

Helmut is an outcast, so he hasn't been indoctrinated against me. We met last week in my new afternoon pre-K class. They switched me from morning pre-K because of complaints from parents; afternoon pre-K parents are abusive drug addicts so they never notice a few extra bite marks on their child.

Jeremy is taking me and Helmut to the Fudrucker's in Connecticut because they are banned in Boston for high-leavings content. Tubba got clearance to bring lego people and trucks on the car ride, which had previously been banned due to repeat offenses of jamming things under Jeremy's gas pedal (that MAY have been my bad, Toyota).

This experience should cement our friendship. Maybe now Tubba can stop hanging out with the Autistic kid who barks at everyone, even though Host says it's good for his eye contact.

Ok. See you round the water cooler, kids.

T-bone out.

Tubba's thoughts on the Academy Awards

Today, Tubba observed the first annual snow day/Sen. Murtha memorial mid-day banquet and luncheon. I want to thank Rev. Shawnessey for his beautiful service and kind words. Afterwards, I took Jeremy to the movies. I typically make it a rule never to give Jeremy any ray of hope or joy, but last weekend on our winter beach visit he did a super job of flocking those sea chickens directly into my mouth.

Picture from that day:

Sea Chicken, moments before consumption

Anyway, Jeremy wanted to see 'Avatar.' Wonderful. This is how that experience went down:

Position my electric Jazzy Scooter (mark II) in designated handicap zone of theatre > Put on fruity glasses > Movie begins > Nausea > Headache > Leavings > Flailing > More nausea > More leavings > Officer Henderson says Tubba not welcome at movie theatre anymore.

Here is Tubba's list of movies he wants to see in 3D

1) The House of Sand and Fog 2) Schindler's List 3) 12 Angry Men 4) Miss Congeniality 2: Armed & Fabulous

After the movie Tubba and Jeremy learned the Oscars have expanded their 'Best Picture' category to 10 nominations. I'm fine with this change, but Jeremy is apparently a staunch traditionalist. Jeremy was so upset he looked like he had just been 'Muniched'. (If you don't know what I mean by 'Muniched', you are obviously a product of Bush-era abstinence education. Let me direct your attention to a helpful video definition of: 'Munich' 'Muniching' or 'Muniched')

To Munich: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AFub4S1inUA

Seepy.

It's Comcastic!

Today, Tubba was researching stocks and trading t-bonds like Ellen hits on chicks, like white people hate on ebonics, or like Tubba offends delicate racial relationships.

Anyway, I came across this little piece of news: Comcast is rebranding its service pack to 'Xfinity'

This can only be a sign of pure intellectual and fiscal confidence, brought to you by doughy white people and part of a long history of low EQ individuals putting X in front of, or behind real words. For example: The X-Files, X-Ray, Xzibit (a.k.a. Alvin Nathaniel Joiner), XMas, X's and O's, Xbox, XM Radio, Malcolm X, X Factor, FX, Xstream, Xstreet, XGames, XFL Football League (now licensed in Japan), and Xtina just to name a few.

This decision by Comcast is Comtastic for Tubba. While their customer service reps are xplaining to confused customers that they aren't suddenly being billed for an Asian luxury car, or that their child/husband didn't purchase adult entertainment, I'll be hunting them like a lion stalks a sick baby gazelle. That is to say, in the tall grasses and at a low purr.

Tubba is supportive and thus has created a few new X-Words for the mix.

1.) Xraq: Because even that troubled new nation needs a rebranding effort

2.) Xocrat: Because after Scott Brown made sweet love to the Democrats Masshole they need a new platform

3.) Xpanda: Because I promised Mi-ling I would help him find a panda mate to soothe the throbing

4.) X-go-fuck-yourself, Comcast

Love,

T-Dub

Ask Tubba

Dear Tubba,

In 2008, my husband was laid off. After we went through our savings, I took a job as as a bartender, despite having an MFA in studio art. Even though I take care of our two young sons during the day, my husband asks his mother to watch them when I work at night. She says she doesn't mind, but it's putting a great deal of strain on our relationship. What should I do?

Sincerely,

Candice in Cincinnati

Dear Candice:

First, love the name. Is that pronounced like 'canned-ass'? Or like the combination of 'candy' and 'class'? Please fill us in on the etymology when you get a minute. We will be holding our collective breath.

Second, I'm reminded of a recent episode of Hey Paula!, the neorealist offering from E! featuring Paula Abdul as her quirky, horse-faced self (sidebar, my column is now called Ask! Tubba!). After paying a visit to QVC to look over her new line of terrible, terrible jewelry, Paula laments to her assistants that "it's a curse to be this creative."

2009 Kentucky Derby Winner

'Mine That Bird'

Like Paula, my public does not appreciate how much fame takes out of me. Last Halloween, when Host said I was punished for making threats, did I leave you hanging? No; sporting a cardboard Burger King crown and a pillowcase, I knocked on doors. "And what are you supposed to be?" they asked. "Oedipus. Where your Mom at?"

That's why we had to leave Wellesley.

Third, you have way too much education to be married. Only ugly girls need graduate degrees.

Fourthly, strain is not always bad; in fact, it's a natural part of the day for many people. Unless you start to see blood in there. Then defiantly call someone.

Finally, send me your children and I will consume them. If you think they can run faster than a late model Jazzy, please notify Jeremy via email.

Best,

T. Le-La

Hot Egg, Cool Meat

I had a lot of assistants before Jeremy. First there was Sandra, then Ming, a Ph.D. candidate from MIT, followed by many others whose names and identities have mummified in my tiny, tiny mind along with the condiments with which I seasoned them.

Jeremy, still life, frightened

Jeremy is different. First, he is from Connecticut, which as you know is an entire state dedicated to housing dim-whits. Second, he is an indentured servant whose bus fare interest compounds hourly. Third, he is much, much faster than Tubba.

One of Jeremy's duties is to get me a hot sausage and egg sandwich every morning. It's wrapped in wax paper and I don't eat it until the paper has become completely saturated with grease and has melded in places with the cheese.

Jeremy lives in the guest bedroom, except when we have guests, when he must sleep in the closet (where he spends most of his time anyway). I trip over him to remind him of his place.

I admire his resilience because in my experience, these people are so much more pleasurable to break. Slowly, I wear him down. I introduce him to my afternoon pre-K class as my assistant (all of the other assistants are called "Nannies"). In public, when he tries to stop me from ankle-biting and candy stealing, I scream "go with you where? You're not my Host!"

But Jeremy has found ways to thwart me. He carries cheddar bunnies in his pockets. He purchases (and keeps in a safe deposit box) bi-yearly tickets to a live Rush Limbaugh taping, along with a whacking salami and decoy Oxycontin.

He just... gets me. He anticipates my needs. And that's really important in an assistant. Plus he brings home drunk co-eds on the weekend and those bitches be so f'ing easy to catch, as long as they don't wake up while you're hosing them down.

T-Bone out.

Now this is what I'm takin' about

Nough said.

Panda Attack... Spoils of war

Check this... (my bathroom tile)

Fat panda be plotting against me. A panda, eating a giant potato chip... or hugging a butt. Regardless, Tubba believes panda is an adequate source of sustenance. Iago! Iago!

Attest,

Tubba Le-La (Dash not silent)

*Edit: Apparently, you people need to be hand held. Iago is a slang name commonly used to indicate a traitor. Tubba is like John Lennon... A generation not deserving.

WWIII

Host and Host #2 took Tubba to Whole Foods in Cambridge. Tubba saw this...

European/American?

Until it is explained to the counter, I'll assume what any rational person would: Chancellor Bismarck is conspiring to tip the balance of peace within the Euro continent, again.

Team Franco-Prussia...

Tubba, Zen

These are the times that try Tubba's soul; times when Tubba must find his center. Much like Lincoln, I am tested. The iPad was announced today and much to my... utter disbelief it has no wall attachment. Tubba's five year plan hinged on being able to attach the iPad to any wall or flat surface, at a high level, and position myself upon it to then swoop down on prey. I suggested: iNest.

Maybe I got ahead of myself.... After all, I'm only 2' tall, thus the highest possible altitude I could position such a platform is 6" off the ground. I don't elevate my arms. Thus, much like Lincoln, I search for compromise, unicorns, and bitches to consume.

I long for purpose and for bacon. Mostly bacon. I called Stevie (Jobs), and told him I was going to consume him for insolence, but I used the safe word, which indicates how serious my threats are or are not. I been making threats since I was in kindergarten; he knows me.

I must use this time to reshape how I move forward...

Attest,

Tubba T. Crosby, Secretary of Naval Affairs
27 January, 1883

"Inside" Intel on Apple's Newest Gadget

As the world holds its breath for Apple's announcement from Coppertonia, CA, Tubba has a few predictions about what we might see. In the interest of full disclosure, I need to tell you that this morning at about 4:00 PST, Tubba consumed Steve Jobs and absorbed all of his brain powers. I am now a robut.

1. Game-Changer
The most anticipated device of 2010 will no doubt acquiesce to my demands for a 'flocking' app that allows Tubba to track potential candidates for reality TV hit "Biggest Loser." Apple will tag and track any moving (or undulating) body over 350 pounds, and its proximity to condiment supply stores or Big Boy Restaurants (BBR and I have an agreement by which I refrain from consuming their CEO until 2013, and I use their salad bar to dress my meats). Sal really dropped the ball on that one.

2. Completely New Platform
To be successful where other netbooks have failed, Apple will need to provide a unique platform that truly bridges the utility of a laptop with the convenience of a smartphone. Tubba predicts that this new platform will provide a high ground from which Tubba can 'swoop' down on his prey, thereby endowing Tubba with the element of surprise. Bravo, Apple. Bravo.

3. Proximity Sensing Touch Screen
If you've ever seen the movie Highlander, which I co-wrote with Sir John C. Reilly, you no doubt observed the allegorical references to Tubba's life. Yes, there are rival tubbas laying in wait to consume me-- but Apple's new patent on the Proximity Sensing Touch Screen will allow Tubba to sense when rival tubbas are nearby, thwarting their attempts to consume me with Jackie Chanlike ninja skillz. Also my Host bought me bear mace.

4. And Jazz Hands...And Close.

My Band

If you've ever been in a band as cool as mine, you know that it is absolutely necessary to have two things: authentic Antares Autotune and really cool t-shirts to throw out to fans.

I'm an entrepreneur. I can literally spell that word on the first or second try. And I am an authorized user on Host's emergency credit card. That makes me a business owner.

My band is a well-known internet phenomenon. It is an investment gold mine. And that is why you, fans, supporters, and middle-aged men who I met at Osh-Kosh message boards, should be OUTRAGED that Host is no longer letting me wear or sell my "Useless Eaters" t-shirts.

Instead, Host and Host #2 insist that I wear my suit, pictured left, which I HATE. It's LINEN. We live in BOSTON. It's SCRATCHY. It comes with a BEANIE. You feel me. OUTRAGE. Host says it's my fault because this is the only suit he could find in a size Toddler 2XL and no tailor will come near me because I scream "He touched me!" at them.

This is a broken world we live in.

They Go Right to my Hips

It is no secret that Tubba retains lawyers. I only need one, but I like the sense of competition that redundancy instills on them. Yes, redundancy.

Sal meets me every four days at the Boston Market on Mass Ave. We do this for the following reasons:

1. Just one tip I picked up in 'Nam.

2. I like to fit Boston Market into my life. It's a company with a little thing called values.

3. Four is the highest Tubba counts. Time is money.

4. The end. (See item #3, above)

By "values," I mean 'chicken;' by "every four days" I mean 'when I text the bitch, he shows,' and by "the end" I mean 'get me some mo f'ing cashew butter.'

Now.

Angora Haze

Ok, look. I may... MAY have eaten Jimmy Carter.


It was either Jimmy or a homeless man wearing a sweater. To be honest, usually old dudes are really stringy, but this one was really tender, and I just couldn't stop. So, this is full disclosure. My bad. Either way, I think that we can all agree that last night is in the past, and we should just move on from here. No hard feelings.

And I just want to say that when it was Ronald Regan, nobody seemed to care. Not even him.

Things I Invented

Host #2 is sick today.

Normally I would consume her but Host made meatballs and I burned my fingers on them while they were in the pan so I don't have much traction. Plus, Host #2 has school tomrrow and I LOVE rolling in the isles and moaning and fat breathing until they ask us to leave. They HATE it when I fat breathe.



Things I invented: cast iron pans, Hulu, Acorn Squash--I needed something for you hippies to eat so you stay away from my cereals and commodity meats-- the British saying 'biscut' instead of 'cookie' and your MOM.

This is My Nemesis

Kitten showed up about a year ago. He is free range.

I agreed to this on two conditions: first, that Kitten be allowed nowhere near my food safe, and second, that he would be consumed once he reached maturity. We're not running a charity here.

Did I occasionally feed Kitten a little extra after Host and Host #2 were asleep? Did I massage Kitten gently to achieve high quality marbling? Did I read Kitten countless recipes and ask how he'd be best prepared to give him some measure of control over his destiny? Did I take Kitten to see "Julie and Julia" to illustrate all that we learned?

But Host has ignored my efforts. Host tells me to leave Kitten alone. Kitten is part of the family. Now, Kitten and I are locked in an eternal death struggle, and I WILL BEST HIM!