Friday, February 27, 2009

Rejected Us Weekly Fashion Police Jokes 23

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.



Thandie Newton

Accepted: Ice skates would complete this outfit.

Rejected: Cirque de Suckè.

Sharon Stone

Accepted: Someone should steal her Steeler's hat.

Rejected: Flush it down the super bowl.

Ivana Trump

Rejected: Comfort trumps fashion.

Rejected: Likes a latte with her muffin top.

Thursday, February 26, 2009

Skorting The Issue

Puma has unveiled it's newest line of Professional Women's Soccer Uniforms which includes a jersey, knee-high socks and an optional skirt. Did I just type skirt? Sadly, I did. I am just sick to my vagina.

I started playing soccer back in 1972. In the age before soccer moms and unisex soccer dads, girls who played the sport were as tough as the boys. Sure, I may have applied a touch of pre-game mascara but I refused to wear shin guards or a warm turtleneck under my uniform. We were soccer players... not girls who played soccer. We knew how to slide tackle and break legs. We weren't afraid to chest trap the ball just because our boobs were tender. Hell no! The pain made us play harder.

We would have head-butted anybody who dared suggest we run around the field wearing a skirt. We had thighs that could crush a man's skull (or in some cases, a woman's skull... not that there's anything wrong with that.) Skirts were for tennis and field hockey players... they still are. Hell, even most female golfers wear pants these days.

A skirt? What's next, spiked heels instead of spikes? Jerseys with the Hooters' logo? Fishnets instead of goalie nets?!



Obviously, organizers hope more folks will want to watch women play soccer if the players just looked a little cuter. Well, I hate to tell them, but in the good ol' US of A, folks don't want to watch men play soccer either.

So, in the interest of parity, Puma needs to introduce a new men's line with optional chaps. I can't wait to see David Beckham modeling the new fall collection.

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

The Website Number?

When President Oprahbama speaks, the stock market drops. When Vice-President Bidumb speaks, my jaw drops.

In a recent WBZ-TV interview, Bidumb, who is now in charge of looking after what little money we have left, not only forgot the name of the government website set up to track the stimulus money but, in a effort to recover said, "What's the website number?" Website number? It sounds like something grandpa would say.

I'm reminded of the much older comedian who once said to my husband, "Give me your phone number so I can call and give you my email address."

It's time for comedians to not only make fun of the Vice-President but to also mock the President for not locking Bidumb inside Number One Observatory Circle for the next four years.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Fat Tuesday

For me, almost every Tuesday is Fat Tuesday. Oh sure, sometimes it's "My Ass Is Giant Tuesday" or "I'm About To Slice Off My Muffin-Top Tuesday" or "If My Thighs Rub Together Any Harder I'm Going To Start A Fire Tuesday" but mostly it's just Fat Tuesday.

But, never confuse Fat Tuesday with "I'm Going To Start My Diet Today And This Time I Mean It Monday."

Fat Tuesday, of course, is the day Catholics overindulge in preparation for whatever sacrifices they make during Lent. Most people, it seems, give up candy. I'm not sure how giving up the sweet stuff makes you closer to God but that is between M&M and the Messiah.

Personally, I wish all the women at Mardis Gras would give up flashing their tits in public for Lent. I could use a six week break from all these girls gone wild.

Riding in the New Orleans parade this year are Jim Belushi, former American Idol contestant Josh Gracin and the cast from Reno 911. It's going to take a lot of alcohol to make this group look like "A" celebrities.

Monday, February 23, 2009

Oscar Twitter Throwdown

I had fun last night twittering for Watch With Comics. I'm not sure I would have made it past the first hour of the broadcast had I not been able to publicly mock the proceedings. Here's a sample of the lines I wrote throughout the night.
I hope Heath Ledger wins for Best Original Drug Score.

I liked Angelina Jolie better when she used to make-out with her brother.

Only Charo can understand Penelope Cruz when she speaks.

Mickey Rourke needs to change the blades on his Flowbee.

What city is Hugh Jackman from in Australia? Squaresville?

Anne Hathaway can't sing, she can't dance but she likes anal... allegedly.
It's fun to have to write jokes quickly plus the other comics really cracked my up. Ah, you gotta love the internet.

Sunday, February 22, 2009

Slight Change Of Plans

The folks at Watch With Comics have decided to only post the best Oscar Twitters of the evening. However, all of my comments with be posted on my Twitter profile.

So, to read only what I'm posting go to Twitter/TraciSkene.

To read the selected comments from all 30 particpants go here.

Either way, it'll be far more interesting and entertaining than the actual telecast.

Saturday, February 21, 2009

Oscar Tweetcast

Hubby and I, along with 28 other professional standup comics, will be twittering about the Oscar telecast this Sunday night.

To follow along, go to Twitter/WatchWithComics.

Finally, I will be able to make real time Fashion jokes without an Us Weekly editor deciding which ones are worthy.

Friday, February 20, 2009

Hey, Hey, We're The Monkees

The only monkey I've ever liked was Davey Jones... and he's not even a real monkey.

Real monkeys (not the kind who sing catchy pop songs and spell monkey with a "double e" at the end) are teeth-baring, feces-throwing, destructive little creatures. Although I'm sure the same thing could be said about Davey Jones. It was the '60's after all.



Some people, however, love all things anthropoid.

Sandra Herold, owner of Travis, the 200 lb. chimp who never met a face he didn't like, says, ""Until you've . . . eaten with a chimp and bathed with a chimp, you don't know a chimp." Let's change that quote, shall we, to "Unless you've... eaten with a chimp and had your face ripped off by a chimp, you don't know a chimp."

In case you've been living under a rock-- and who can blame you with vicious chimps running around suburbia-- Travis, the remote-control using, wine-drinking, former commercial-acting chimpanzee, grabbed his owner's car keys, left the house and then proceeded to brutally attack his owner's friend who was trying to lure him back into his humble abode.

Authorities have concluded that the crazy MoFo primate didn't recognize his victim because she had recently changed her hair color. You mean a six-dollar bottle of L'Oreal is the only thing standing between me and having my face removed by an irate simian? Man, when I went from blonde to brunette a few years ago, I'm glad I didn't know any apes.

The police eventually shot and killed Travis putting an end to any future lucrative endorsement deals. I'm not so sure it wasn't death by cop.

Herold says she devastated by the incident because she raised Travis like a son. You mean like a 200 lb. son you like to bathe with?

Herold further solidifies her position of Nitwit Of The Year by declaring, ""I'm, like, hollow now." Really? You're friend is like hollow now because she has no face! There's wind whistling through her skull and all you can think about is no longer having a pet who will comb your hair!

Lady, I wish Furious George (as the NY Post calls him) would have ripped off your mug so we could look inside and confirm that you indeed have no brain.

(And, before you comment, let me assure you that I do know the difference between a monkey and an ape: A monkey will take off your ear while an ape can remove your entire head.)

Thursday, February 19, 2009

Wrestlemania

I'm embarrassed to admit that when I was a child in the early 1970's I watched wrestling on television. I wasn't a big fan of wrestling but I was a big fan of hanging out with my teenage brother so, if he wanted to cheer while oversized men in onesies pretended to beat each other up, then watch it we did.

Verne Gagne is one of the names I remembered from that era. Now it appears the 82-year-old Minnesota wrestling legend is being questioned in the death of his 97-year-old roommate at the ironically named Friendship Village.



Gagne, it's suspected, threw the poor old guy to the ground causing fatal head injuries. Both men suffered from Alzheimer's. Apparently, Gagne forgot that wrestling is faked.

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

I've Fallen And I Can't Get Up

One of my favorite activities while flying is reading the Sky Mall catalog. It's filled with all kids of pointless yet must-have items like doggy stairs, door knob security bars and chilled shot machines.

For pure comic value, however, my favorite is the Sky Rest Travel Pillow.



It's perfect for the traveling alcoholic on your shopping list! I sure hope it's drool absorbent.

My new worst fear is sitting in a window seat next to a stranger in an aisle seat who has brought the monstrosity on to the plane. The chance of you getting past this slumbering nitwit to go to the bathroom is slim to none.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

The Shut Up Song

My husband, Brian McKim, makes a brief appearance at the 30 second mark in this music video by fellow comic J Chris Newberg. But the real reason to watch is the song itself. Newberg cranked out a catchy little number.

Saturday, February 14, 2009

American Idol update: I called that one!

Back on January 21, I posted the following, on that evening's episode of American Idol:
Fellow Philly native Joanna Pacitti should be proud of herself for losing her horrible Philly accent. (I know, because I had one too.) I paused when Kara recognized her from her former recording career. Could the fix be in? It seemed doubly strange when Kara added, "Those were real tears." Why did she feel the need to convince us it was authentic?
Why, indeed!

Now we find out that Joanna Pacitti has been booted from the show. 19 Entertainment, the producers of the show, cited her "past in the music business." Her spot in the Top 36 has been taken by Felicia Barton.

There've been a few contestants who had recording contracts, but not one of them thanked an executive from 19 Entertainment in the liner notes of her album, like Pacitti did! (The Reuters story says that Pacitti has ties to two execs at the company. No word on who the other one is.)

The fix has been in for some time-- check out this NY Post article from Dec. 4.

Friday, February 13, 2009

I'm Gonna Make It After All

After enduring the friged tempuratures of Minneapolis, I can't figure out why Mary Tyler Moore would have ever thrown her winter hat up in the air as she did in the opening credits of her show. She could have died.

We went to the Aquarium today at the Mall of America. Sadly, we didn't see any turtle sex or intra-species dining. I just love riding on the little conveyer belt while sharks and stingrays swim over my head. It's like scuba diving only without the risk of black eyes and blown eardrums.

A small feature article about our gig this weekend at the Joke Joint Comedy Club appeared in the City Pages. For some reason, only my pic was used online but both of our headshots made it into the hard copy.

Thursday, February 12, 2009

For The Phoenix To Rise, It First Must Fall

I think David Letterman summed up this appearance best when he said, "Joaquin, I'm sorry you couldn't be here tonight." Dave's right, an apology is owed to Farrah Fawcett.



Joaquin Phoenix, of course, has announced that he's giving up acting to pursue a career in hip hop. Either he recently found his dead brother's drug stash or this is the greatest performance art stunt since Andy Kaufman's Tony Clifton terrorized Hollywood.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Break Me Off A Piece Of That Kit Kat Bar

I think this creepy yet hilarious story from Moscow deserved more than two sentences in The Metro.
A drunken Russian who tried to rape a raccoon paid the price when the animal bit off his penis. Surgeons spent the weekend trying to repair what was left of 44-year-old Alexander Kirilov's manhood.
At the risk of sounding like a defense attorney, is attempting to have sex with an animal really rape? Obviously, the raccoon wasn't in love with the idea of copulating with a Russki reeking of vodka (or wodka as our Russian friends say) but rape?

I think the word rape should be reserved for the human population only. When fornicating with a cuddly creature, it should be called attempted bestiality or cruelty to animals or dating Richard Gere. (Damn, I can't believe I got to make a Richard Gere/gerbil reference in 2009!)

I don't want to blame the victim but the drunken man was probably just turned on by the raccoon's smokey eyes just as he was eventually turned off by the raccoon's razor sharp teeth.

To quote Bugs Bunny, "What a maroon!" This nimrod doesn't deserve to have his manhood reattached and the raccoon should win the Lorena Bobbitt Lifetime Achievement Award. (Oh yeah, two dated references in one post!)

But perhaps the raccoon wasn't an innocent target after all. I think the picture below says it all.

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Foreplay And Seven Years Ago

Judith Warner in the NY Times columnized (my latest made-up word) on women who fantasize about President Obama. It seems for some American babes their new favorite sexual position is 44.
Many women — not too surprisingly — were dreaming about sex with the president. In these dreams, the women replaced Michelle with greater or lesser guilt or, in the case of a 62-year-old woman in North Florida, whose dream was reported to me by her daughter, found a fully above-board solution: “Michelle had divorced Barack because he had become ‘too much of a star.’ He then married my mother, who was oh so proud to be the first lady,” the daughter wrote me.
Interesting, because ever since President Oprahbama's inauguration, I've been having sexual fantasies as well... about Abe Lincoln.

Many nights I have awakened, drenched in sweat after dreaming about sex of the people, by the people and for the people. In my subconscious playlet, the tall bearded one orgasmically yells, "Hold on with a bulldog grip, and chew and choke as much as possible" before collapsing in my arms. Later he sits on the edge of my bed wearing only his hat and a smile, strokes my back lovingly and confesses that his wife Mary doesn't understand him.

After an equally passionate round two, he puts on his black overcoat and heads for the theater.

And yes, we always have safe sex. Although a child conceived in liberty does sound very patriotic.

Monday, February 9, 2009

LA Sign Of The Times (Headline Stolen From Suzy Soro)

I'm completely exhausted from four intense days in Los Angeles. I think I started talking on Thursday night and didn't stop until 3 PM on Sunday afternoon.

One of my favorite LA activities is meeting our fellow comedy buddies for a late breakfast at one of the area's many groovy coffee shops, then scarfing down three egg omellett's while telling showbiz stories. If you ever want to know what a comic is really like offstage, just sit in the next booth and eavesdrop. Just be prepared for the occasional F word. We're not rude but we are a ridiculous combination of enthusiastic and bitter.


Sunday we dined with fellow comedian and blogger Suzy Soro creator of Hollywood: Where Hot Comes To Die. We attended some of the same parties back in the '80's when we all made the migration west to LaLa Land but never really became friends. Through the magic of the internet we've developed a cyber relationship and had a blast for three hours swapping standup tales in person.

Here we are competing in the biggest blackest sunglasses contest.

We leave first thing Monday morning. Already we're plotting our return.

Thursday, February 5, 2009

It Never Rains In California

It pours, man, it pours.

Sunny Southern California looks more like dreary Seattle today. Rain in LA in depressing. Plus LAsian drivers swerve around the road as if bugs filled with Vaseline are falling from the sky.

We checked into the airport Radisson only to be told that self-parking is under construction so we would be charged an extra $20 per day for valet. Hubby immediately got on the horn with Expedia to bitch loudly and longly. After some resistance which prompted my husband to say to the man on the other end, "Sir, I am not following your logic," Expedia agreed to make us happy. Valet is still a pain, however.

Airport security should ban hugging and kissing at passenger pick-up. Every transaction took 25 per cent longer than it should have. I'm all for giddy reunions but not when traffic is a madhouse.

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

Take A Hike

This morning I hiked the White Tank Mountains probably for the last time. The next time we visit my dad will be living further west in Seniorville where every restaurant entree comes with soup even if you don't want soup. At lunch, I ordered spinach pie with a Greek salad. The waitress brought me spinach pie, a Greek salad... and soup.

His new digs will be fun. We'll be able to drive his golf cart to the mall and bowl for a dollar a game. For years I've been telling my husband that we're moving to a Adult Community as soon as he turns 55 because I want to be the youngest, hottest babe in the complex. The other day we went into the local Sun City thrift shop where a man wearing a vest approached us and said, "Are you two old enough to be in here?" It was great! I can't tell you the last time anybody has asked me if I was old enough to do anything!

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

Nurse Traci

I woke up this morning to find my dad leaning over the sink with blood gushing out of his finger. He cut himself while trying to slice a lemon. He takes a blood thinner called Coumadin so he bleeds worse than the rest of us.

I immediately jumped into action, getting the triple antibiotic cream, gauze pads and tape. I got him a chair, wrapped up the wound, put his arm up on pillows and have spent the last few hours trying to convince him to go to the hopsital to get a stitch. His response, "Let's see what it's like in an hour."

He's calm. I'm sick to my stomach. I don't like blood. The sight of it usually leads to me hitting the floor like a sack of potatoes. Oh sure, I'd look cute in a nurse's uniform but I would make the world's worse medical practioner. I couldn't even play a doctor on TV.