Web King Drudge And Prince Harry

Perhaps I'm too cynical for my own good, but I suspect ABC was Drudge's source for the "Prince Harry fighting in Afghanistan" story. It's seems like too much of a coincidence that ABC's star reporter Barbara Walters has a special, "The Royal Family," airing on Monday, March 3. (There's even a picture of Prince Harry in Afghanistan on the ABC page about the special.)

ABC needs ratings. Since Princess Diana's death the American public no longer cares about the British Royals. This "leak" is the kind of publicity ABC couldn't buy.

I am by no means a conspiracy theorist, but I am realistic when it comes to the press, television and public relations. It'll be interesting to see how this show does in the ratings.

Meanwhile, Drudge is getting all kinds of flack from the MSM. They claim that they're shocked-- SHOCKED!-- that the pixel-stained wretch broke their embargo. No one has pointed a finger at Walters or ABC head David Westin. No one has accused them of endangering Harry or the members of his British Army regiment for ratings. Yet.

Rejected Us Weekly Fashion Police Jokes 7

I have been a Top Cop for Us Weekly's Fashion Police since 2001. (Why do men always call it "U.S." Weekly even when they see it spelled with a big "U" and a small "s"?)

Some weeks many of my jokes are published while other weeks I have to settle for just one or two. Below is a partial list of comments that never made it to the newsstand.

Note: The ones marked "Accepted" are my comments that got in. The ones marked "Rejected" are the ones that didn't.




Joy Bryant

Accepted:She can dust the red carpet while she poses.

Rejected:Looks like the bride and the groom on a wedding cake!

Kate Hudson

Rejected:Her uniform from Fairy Princess School.

Rejected:A set of scrubs from Wood Nymph General Hospital.

Joss Stone

Accepted:A float is missing from the gay pride parade.

Rejected:Test pattern for the Playboy Channel!

Hayden Panettiere

Rejected:Save the cheerleader, save the fashion world.



Save the world at humor-blogs.com.

A Completely Craptastic Day!

I think I summed up my Wednesday quite nicely when I said to my friend, "It's such an awful day, I might as well clean the toilet."

It didn't start out well. Upon awakening I realized that I had GERD-ed (see GERD Girl Guide for clarification) overnight which means two more weeks of Prilosec. Not only was my stomach a mess, but I also had a grotesquely encrusted nose from oozing snot all night due to my lingering cold.

Mid-morning, I took a break from doing the taxes (stressful) to toss in some laundry (boring). While the clothes were in the dryer, I hopped online to find a cheap flight to Minneapolis for an upcoming gig. I had found a good fare two days earlier but was furious when I realized my booking delay was going to cost us an extra hundred bucks (frustrating).

My ticket purchasing took longer than I expected (damn online forms!) so I was ten minutes late taking out my clothes. Crazy Neighbor Number Two was waiting for me in the public laundry area. She lectured me. I can't tell you how much I did not want to be reprimanded by Crazy Neighbor Number Two. After telling me repeatedly that she almost knocked on my door to inform me of the laundry situation (how does she know my apartment number? she lives on a different floor. creepy!), she couldn't decide if she would rather gossip about Crazy Neighbor Number One or complain about her Fibromyalgia. I left quickly behind a pile of clothes.

By mid-afternoon, I wondered if it was too early to have a glass of wine.

Then we got news that my 91-year-old mother-in-law was in the hospital having her leg removed.

Crap, crap and more crap.

And I never did get around to cleaning the toilet.



Visit other complainers at humor-blogs.com.

The Other Comedy Couple

Yes, it's true, my husband and I aren't the only comedy couple in America. Sarah Silverman and Jimmy Kimmel have been together for more than five years. They make the kind of videos we would like to make if we had a budget...and a network television show...and famous friends...and a director...and a choreographer...and a band...

Michelle Oprahbama

Months ago I had misgivings about Barack's spouse when she made less than positive comments about make-up.

"I love girly makeup and stuff, but my view is that's a lot of work," she said, explaining her decision to routinely skip the makeup chair.

"I want people to get used to my face more naturally so that I don't have to do that every day. Who's got time to put eyelashes on and all that?"

As a lover of mascara, I have a problem with women who politicize cosmetics. I feel lucky to live in a country where it is socially acceptable to slather pretty colors on my face in order to look better. Women who claim they don't have an extra five minutes (and that's all it takes) to apply make-up are Make-up Martyrs who are secretly terrified of not being taken seriously.



But now, it seems, lip gloss and blush are the least of Michelle's problems. Behind that freshly-scrubbed face is a bitch of major proportions.

In a less-than-flattering opinion piece about the Oprahbama clan in the Asia Times the following wife faux pas is recounted.

Never underestimate the influence of a wife who bitch-slaps her husband in public. Early in Obama's campaign, Michelle Obama could not restrain herself from belittling the senator. "I have some difficulty reconciling the two images I have of Barack Obama. There's Barack Obama the phenomenon. He's an amazing orator, Harvard Law Review, or whatever it was, law professor, best-selling author, Grammy winner. Pretty amazing, right? And then there's the Barack Obama that lives with me in my house, and that guy's a little less impressive," she told a fundraiser in February 2007.

"For some reason this guy still can't manage to put the butter up when he makes toast, secure the bread so that it doesn't get stale, and his five-year-old is still better at making the bed than he is." New York Times columnist Maureen Dowd reported at the time, "She added that the TV version of Barack Obama sounded really interesting and that she'd like to meet him sometime." Her handlers have convinced her to be more tactful since then.

Yo, girlfriend, you are on the campaign trail! That's the kind of thing you say while drinking white wine with your BFF's during book club or yacking to your sister on the phone once the kids are asleep, but not in public when you're husband is trying to be the leader of the free world.

Apparently, she has become more tactful since listening to her consultants...and I've seen her wear make-up on more than one occasion.

But I think we've already seen the real Michelle and I'm afraid it's not pretty.

Puffs Blow

No, that's not their new advertising slogan, it's just an honest assessment of the product. What good is softness if your tissue leaves behind prodigious amounts of lint? I used one to apply make-up and wound up looking like a powdered doughnut.

My husband and I both have colds so we've been reaching for tissues at least four times per hour. At least two times per hour we wind up with snot hanging from our faces because the Puffs tissue did not properly absorb our nose goo. At least one time per hour my husband turns into a human snow globe as the mucous and tissue fuzz sticks to his unshaven face.

It's enough to make me want to cry. But, if I do cry, you can bet I'm reaching for a Kleenex.

World's Worst Dictators

Is the era of the great white dictator over? According to Parade Magazine, only one of the Top Ten Worst Dictators is a white guy. Islam Karimov of Uzbekistan stands alone as the only tyrant who uses sunscreen. The rest of the group is either "brown" or "yellow."

Are the editors of Parade Magazine racist or have white dudes dropped the despot ball? As a white person, I am quite embarrassed. Where are the Hitlers? Where are the Stalins? Where are all the modern day Mussolinis? My entire life I've been told that white men are the source of all evil, so where are all caucasian crackpots putting this theory into practice?

This is a disturbing trend. We can only hope that somewhere out there a little white boy is being raised to despise democracy, pity the proletariat and revel in revolution. Maybe if he's rejected by enough cute girls during his teenage years, he'll actually grow up to be the pale-skinned opressor the world sorely lacks.

Bad Animal Art

You'd be amazed how much bad animal art can be found at thrift shops. You'd also be amazed by how much of that bad animal art winds up hanging on our apartment walls.

This painting is one of our favorites. As you can plainly see, there is just so much to love about this masterpiece: the garish '70's backround, the giant stump where a paw once was, the fur which appears to be in perpetual motion.

The artist is only identified as "MF" which makes me love the piece even more.



My appreciation for bad animal art started back when we lived in Burbank, California. For months, I strolled past a window that was selling a painting I called, "Tiger Eating Walnuts." I wanted that painting so badly but, before I could make the purchase, it was gone. I vowed, "As God is my witness, I shall never go without bad animal art again!"

I can't wait to show you "Two Cats Fishing."

American Idol 2/20/08

Just because Ryan Seacrest says it's the best Top 24 in Idol history, doesn't make it so. Certainly the contestants all look pretty, but this is supposed to be a singing competition. What good is the camera loving them if the microphone hates them?

Twenty of the warblers should be sent home immediately. Seriously, how hard is it to stay on key for the first note? If you're pitchy--as Randy would say--in the opening lyrics, a trap door should open up causing the competitor to fall down on to the set of the Jerry Springer Show where he/she will be beaten mercilessly by a midget bouncer.

In order to make it to the finale, I'm going to need some of Paula's drugs.

Why My Pants Smelled Like Gravy

As I saw the KFC Bowl slide off the dashboard, turn 180 degrees and head towards my crotchal area, I wrongly assumed it would land in a thud, creating a perfect upside-down representation of what had previously been in the container. Perhaps I should have paid closer attention in physics class...or perhaps I should have actually enrolled in physics class instead of pretending that I took physics and didn't pay attention.

The impact from the layers of mashed potatoes, corn, cheese, chicken and gravy caused a dispersal pattern that stretched from my left shoulder down to my boot-covered feet.

For the first few seconds, I sat in stunned silence as I tried to comprehend the horror of what I had just witnessed. Then my bottom lip began to quiver. My husband, realizing that I was on the verge of tears, began scooping the junk food back into the bowl with his bare hands. I grabbed our only two napkins and tried to help with the clean-up. I was nauseous. Corn becomes quite unappetizing when it is stuck to your shoe.

We managed to remove all but the gravy.

Then my husband handed me the bowl filled with the food that had just been removed from my clothing and said, "Eat." Understandably, I said, "I don't want to eat." He wasn't taking no for an answer. "Eat."

I ate. After all these years, he understands that low blood sugar plus trauma equals hours of weeping. He was going to get that food into me even if it meant forcing me to lick my own pants.

The first few sporkfuls were unappealing but I dutifully managed to consume what remained. And I didn't cry.

Next time I'll get more napkins.

So Long And Thanks For The Fish

Finally, Cuba's long-winded, evil dictator Fidel Castro is retiring. Personally, I would have preferred a violent death at the hands of his own people or a public hanging after a protracted trial, but I'll take him merely being out of power. The idea that he will spend his remaining days in a weakened, impotent state, puttering around the house in a Che Guevara T-shirt, yelling at the neighbor kids to stay off his lawn, gives me some satisfaction.

I wonder if they'll throw him a retirement party? Sean Penn could bring the gold watch. I bet Barbara Walters wouldn't mind giving one of her famous speech-impediment tributes where she calls the cigar-chomping commie "chawizmatic." Maybe Michael Moore would screen a copy of "Sicko"?

I have little tolerance for Americans who defend the despot and his policies. For those of you who admire the country's literacy rates, I ask you, what good is literacy if you don't have the freedom to read what you want?

I'm Going Home

I agree with Daughtry, these places and these faces are getting old. We're in day 22 of a 24-day road trip. Currently, we're in Detroit working at the legendary Comedy Castle. To get to our hotel from 75 North, we took exit 69, Big Beaver Road. Central Pennsylvania may have towns named Intercourse and Bird 'N Hand but Detroit has "Exit 69, Big Beaver Road."

During this swing, we've worked in Florida, Georgia, Tennessee, West Virginia and now Michigan. We've performed for old people at a country club, college students at an off-campus bar, hung out with Bill Bellamy from Last Comic Standing and nearly froze to death during a show at a hotel bar when the heat went out. We've also had the pleasure of working on the weekends at three of the best clubs in the country: Punchline in Atlanta, Comedy TN in Memphis and, as I said earlier, Comedy Castle in the Motor City.

We have two shows tonight and a show in Flint, Michigan on Sunday but then we head east towards out humble abode. We're looking foward to sleeping in our own bed.

"Starting Over"

As my Valentine's gift to you, I have decided to post a short film my husband and I made last year. Some of you may think it's romantic, others may think it's creepy.

There is some adult language and partial nudity so I wouldn't watch it at work.

Tuesday TV Highlights

American Idol-- Fox

If you're going to sing on national television, do not suck on something blue before your performance. (No, that's not a euphemism...or a Smurfemism...or a Smurf euphemism.) I couldn't keep my eyes off all the blue tongues.

Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show-- USA Network

OK, so this time I couldn't keep my eyes off all the pink tongues!

There's something strange about a 15-inch Beagle getting a standing ovation. He was the obvious favorite going into the Best of Show competition and his win came as no surprise to me. That dog has quite the publicist. All day long his "underdog" story-- their word, not mine-- dominated the newscasts. I began to think the 15-inch Beagle could actually beat Obama in the Virginia primary.

I'm just glad the standard and toy poodles didn't win. They are the most ridiculous creatures on the planet with their puffball legs and '70's Blaxploitation afro's. They look like they've just lost a bet.

Gone Country-- CMT

A drunk Bobby Brown almost accidentally peeing on a sleeping Dee Snider is TV gold!

This time, I was hoping all I would see is a tongue.

Dog Speaks

People who despise religion must drive off the road the first time they see the God Billboards. The messages, which began appearing in 1998, have been placed on 10,000 billboards in 200 cities. We only encounter them, however, when we're driving down south.

There are a surprising number of religious messages along America's highways, but these actually have a sense of humor. People who spread the word of God are rarely known for their ability to write jokes.

If you must curse, use your own name.-- God

Big Bang Theory, you've got to be kidding.-- God

You think it's hot here?-- God

You have to give them credit for being clever.



My husband and I have decided that these billboards are ripe for parody. So, if we win the Mega Millions lottery tonight, we're going to spend the first check on billboards spreading the word of Dog.



The possibilities are endless.

Did you just spell "walk?"-- Dog

Because I can, that's why.-- Dog

Stop blaming that on me.-- Dog

Unlike the creator of the God Billboards, we will not remain anonymous.

Excuse Me, You Seem To Have Dropped A Name

That's me on the left, in 2000, before I had bangs. That's Dave Foley from Kids In The Hall, Newsradio and little else since, on the right.

We look happy, don't we? Well, minutes later we wound up screaming at each other, frightening the other patrons in the Hollywood dive bar where he was drinking. (Notice I said he. I was only drinking club soda.)

Anyway, the details aren't important. He doesn't remember them anyway.

So far, I've met three members of the Kids In The Hall (Foley, Scott Thompson and Kevin McDonald) but I've only fought with one. My goal is to take them all on in a steel cage death match.

If Only It Were Deep Fried!

We bought this Reese's Big Cup at a gas station in Mississippi. How could we resist? It's not everyday one sees an Elvis, "The King Size" candy bar. Well, maybe you see it everyday in Mississippi... and perhaps in Japan... and quite possibly Memphis... but nowhere else and certainly not in New Jersey.



The package says it's a "collector edition." In my case, it would only collect on my thighs.

I can't figure out why the folks at Hershey thought this was a good idea. It seems a bit crass. Perhaps if they really wanted it to be authentically Elvis they should have covered the big cups with a crunchy Librium topping.

Pre-GERD, I would have torn into this bad boy. But, since I can no longer eat chocolate, I'll just have to watch as my husband devours this delightful combination of milk chocolate, peanut butter and banana cream.

After it passes through your system, would it be rude to exit the bathroom and say, "Elvis has left the building?"

Hubby In The New York Times

My husband was quoted in the newspaper of record, the New York Times. In tomorrow's edition, in a short piece written by Peter Keepnews about legendary comic Steven Wright, is the following:

Brian McKim, who once opened for Mr. Wright and now offers commentary about the comedy scene on the Web site sheckymagazine.com, praised him for rewriting the rules of the game.

"After him," Mr. McKim said, "a comic didn't need transitions, didn't need to address or even acknowledge the crowd, didn't necessarily have to appear to be enjoying himself. Wright made it O.K. to have no unifying theme other than the comic's mind, his thought processes."

He's so smart. I think I'll keep him.

Don't It Make My Brown Eyes Blue

I like to read USA Today because it's written at a pre-school level. All the news I can't comprehend elsewhere suddenly becomes clear when the information is accompanied by color graphics and kicky pie charts.

So imagine how moronic I felt when a recent USA Today science article about blue eyes made my brown eyes glaze over.

If you have blue eyes, you may be related to every other blue-eyed person in the world.

Researchers in Denmark have found that every person with blue eyes descends from just one "founder," an ancestor whose genes mutated 6,000 to 10,000 years ago. Before then, everyone had brown eyes.

What follows is several paragraphs filled with words like "mutation", "recession" and "sequences." I don't understand any of it but one particular quote from University of Copenhagen geneticist Klaus Kjaer, gave me pause.

Because the research shows that all blue-eyed people are related, Kjaer notes it's "interesting" that his blue-eyed wife is therefore related to Brad Pitt.

So does that mean my blue-eyed husband is related to my blue-eyed brother? Doesn't that sound a little sick?

I don't want my husband and my brother to be genetically linked. Until now, I thought the only genetic mutation they shared was maleness.

But where does this leave me? Did I marry my brother? Should I have married my real brother? Am I related to either one of them?

And why haven't they introduced me to Brad Pitt?

Life was easier when I was blond. At least it was an excuse to be stupid.

Just Another Embarrassing Moment

This past Monday night, I was talking to an audience member after the show at the Punchline in Atlanta, Georgia, when she asked for my email address. Since I had run out of business cards, I told her I would would write the information on a piece of paper.

As she turned to talk to my husband, I picked up my small, black leather backpack and began looking for the pad and pen I always carry with me. The house lights were dimmed so I couldn't see inside, but I knew approximately where they should be.

Nothing. I opened up the inside pouch...not there either. I began taking everything out of its proper place in a frantic attempt to locate a writing implement. Nothing still.

Then I realized my wallet was missing. Panic ensued. Then I realized my cell phone was missing. Even more panic and even more ensuing. Then I realized... it wasn't my small, black leather backpack.

It belonged to the woman I was talking to. My small, black leather backpack was behind the bar.

Since she was busy talking to my husband during my search, she didn't see me violate her personal space. I could have just put the bag down and pretended it never happened. Instead, I confessed and laughed heartily.

Oh yeah, I did find a pen. And I forgot to give it back. So, technically, I snatched a woman's purse and stole her property.

Had this happened outside of a comedy club, I may have actually been arrested.

A Klan a week is all we ask

The Worst Photo Ever Taken

The man on the left is the legendary Steve Allen. The man on the right is my husband, Brian McKim. The man on the right idolized the man on the left. Why then did the man on the right trust the woman behind this blog to take a photograph of him with his hero?

Yes, I cut off their heads. No, I wasn't drinking. Yes, my husband wanted to cut off my head after he saw the picture. I think I started drinking.

Instead of photo credit, my husband gives me photo blame.

To prove that it is indeed Steve Allen (he and Brian performed together at the La Paloma Theater in Oceanside, California in 1992) here is a Polaroid of the three of us taken by somebody else. Notice, we all have our heads.

(BTW, I think my cleavage looked pretty good that night. I can't figure out how Mr. Allen managed to look straight ahead. Perhaps if he had been looking down at my boobs when I took the other photo, I wouldn't have cut off his cranium. I'm just sayin' is all.)

Greetings From Memphis

It's perplexing to see a car in Memphis with a pro-vegetarian bumper sticker. This is the land of barbeque, after all. A "Meat is Murder" message seems a bit out of place in the pulled pork capital of the world.

I suppose the militant vegans take the same approach as a Christian fundamentalist who proselytizes on Sunset Boulevard with the hookers and the addicts: Go where the sinners are. I suspect their success rate is about the same.

But Memphis is more than just coleslaw and tangy sauce. It is also the home of the legendary Sun Studio. Those of you with only a passing knowledge of musical history will recognize the name as the place where Elvis began his recording career. It is also the only recording studio listed on the National Register of Historic Places.



We arrived in time for the Friday, 11:30 AM tour. Our wiseass yet highly informed tour guide took us up to the second floor where we gawked at the various museum pieces. Among the artifacts was a video of Elvis Presley's first television appearance which occurred prior to Ed Sullivan only shooting him from the waist up.

Back then, the young Elvis had quite a set of choppers on him. He must have taken some of that early Rock 'N' Roll money and visited the King of Dental Work.

We were eventually led downstairs to the actual recording studio. Adorning the original, acoustically tiled walls are photos not only of Elvis but of Johnny Cash, Roy Orbison, Jerry Lee Lewis and Carl Perkins. To be standing on the same spot where these legends recorded some of their great songs is awe inspiring not to mention pretty damn cool.

Modern musicians have recorded there as well. As our guide rattled off some of the big names-- U2, Bonnie Raitt, Benicio Del Toro-- we couldn't help but wonder, "Did he just say Benicio Del Toro?"

You can still record at Sun Studio for a paultry $85 per hour. I'm shocked they don't offer fantasy recording camps for baby boomers who want to capture some of that Presley magic.



But Memphis is more than just BBQ and Sun Studios. It's also the place where Martin Luther King was killed. Above is a photo of the historic Lorraine Motel. We did not have time to tour the adjacent civil rights museum but we certainly will if we ever return.

Fat Actress VS. Fashion Police

Former sitcom star and current peabrain, Kirstie Alley is apparently irate over a reference to Scientology in a Fashion Police comment made by my fellow Top Cop, Danica Lo. Instead of picking up the phone and calling Jenny, she picked up the phone and called her lawyers. The Defamer has an exclusive copy of the letter sent to Us Weekly allegedly written by her hired goons. Personally, I think she typed the screed herself with one hand while holding a piece of double fudge cake in the other.

A first year law student could have composed a better threat. At least a first year law student wouldn't have misspelled "Muslim."

Ms. Lo's comment, accompanying a photograph of Nicole Kidman in a silvery space outfit, was as follows:

Bonus: This specially designed suit repels Scientologists.

For this, the ex-Cheers actress not-so-cheerily calls for Lo to be "discharged."

This is an outrage. It's even more outrageous that Alley claims Us Weekly would not have published a comment made about any other ethnic or religious group. Hasn't she read the magazine?! The Fashion Police are equal opportunity offenders. We make fun of everybody and everything.

Earth to Kirstie-- it's called a "joke." It's also called free speech. You might want to put down L. Ron Hubbard's book and pick up a copy of the constitution.


Get outraged at humor-blogs.com.

Rejected Us Weekly Fashion Police Jokes 6

I have been a Top Cop for Us Weekly's Fashion Police since 2001. (Why do men always call it "U.S." Weekly even when they see it spelled with a big "U" and a small "s"?)

Some weeks many of my jokes are published while other weeks I have to settle for just one or two. Below is a partial list of comments that never made it to the newsstand.

(I am currently on the road and do not have access to a scanner. So, if you want to see the other pictures you'll have to look at the actual magazine.)



Claudia Schiffer

Accepted: What a pilgrim would wear to the Playboy mansion.

Diane Lane

Rejected: She makes the Jolly Green Giant's little green, sprout.

Erykah Badu

Rejected:Urkel had a sex change?

Veronica Webb

Rejected:Hefty bags now in holiday colors!

Claire Danes

Rejected:From Shopgirl to flopgirl. (That one was my tribute to Mr. Blackwell.)



Get rejected at humor-blogs.com.

Brit's in The Pit

I've grown tired of giggling entertainment reporters and snarky news anchors speculating on whether Britney Spears will some day be able to revive her career. At this point, we should only be speculating on whether health care professionals can keep Britney Spears from living in a dumpster or sticking her head in an oven.

The woman is obviously mentally ill...perhaps even schizophrenic. She's no longer a selfish party girl with an aversion to undergarments or a former child star with an addiction to Cosmopolitans or a neglectful mother in need of driving lessons and a 400-dollar haircut. Suddenly, "Crazy" isn't just the title of one of her hit songs.

Where are all the piggy-back stories about young people and mental illness? Why aren't we seeing parents of the college student with schizophrenia or the husband of the young mother with bipolar disease? When Brooke Shields revealed she had post-partum depression we couldn't get away from stories about average American women who secretly wanted to put their newborns in a microwave.

Is the Britney Spears' story too tragic to report honestly or is it just easier and more fun to keep her as a punchline?

I know families who have been devastated by mental illness. Watching a loved one slip away mentally while the body remains in tact is too awful for words. I feel for the Spears family and I believe much of their stupid behavior was a result of denial.

As a child I saw the movie "The Snake Pit" and lived in morbid fear that one day I, too, would go insane. Fortunately, that hasn't happened. But it seems to have happened to Britney. How sad that one of the most sorrowful stories in entertainment history and been relegated to the joke file.