Wallnuts After Dark
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Wallnuts After Dark: More American Idol: Madonna Mia, What’s With Mariahs’s Jugs and the Other Chick’s Wigs?
I was readin’ on the computer that the American Idol as been gettin bad ratins this year and that they’s even gettin’ beat by that show about them country hicks that make the fake ducks outta wood that hunters use and that people use for decorations. And shit.
I been watchin’ that Idol show and I think I got it figured out in that more people get turned off by that one chick’s wigs and what comes outta her pie hole then wanna watch the show to see Mariah’s Puppies. Mariah’s Puppies, I says.
They could fix that ratins problem by callin’ the show, “Mariah’s Jugs,” and proppin’ up them pups good and proper for alls to see. See, people will watch singers, cute girls and all a that, but a real crowd will form to see a famous dame’s Nuhood’s. Look that one up in your Funk and Wagnalls. Funk and Wagnalls, I says.
Now on the other hand they gotta shut that other broad up. She’s a real dolore nel culo. Plus I never trust a dame who’s hair color changes every day. Na mean?
Back in the day the Gambinos, who was controlled by the Meyer Lansky operation, woulda paid a visit to the involved parties and took care a business. Like when Jack Paar was the host a the Tonight Show. He was a real intellectual type but was as boring as a Sunday Sermon and who the Fucc wants to watch that?
So one a the Lansky machers calls Carlo Gambino and before you can say Pasta con Sarde, Parr is out and Carson is in. Pasta con Sarde, I says.
Now I been outta the game for a bisel time (look it up, goyishers), but I’m pretty sure there’s a similar concern amongst certain family types for which a change would behoove them. Behoove, I says.
So if Idol wants to turn things around they should get rid a that one dame with the wigs and annoying voice and make the show all about Mariah’s ninns.
Loading ...Wallnuts After Dark: What’s With This Friggin’ Cosplay Gig?
A couple a weeks ago my sister Josephine’s kid comes home, my niece Juliana, and she’s talkin about goin to somethin called a Cosplay Party where these kids all dress up like characters from video games and movies, or some shit like that. So Josephine asks me what I knows about it. And I says to her, “Me?!?” I says, ”Why you askin’ me?”, I says, “I don’t know nuttin’ about nuttin’ when it comes to what these kids today is doin’.”
And then when I goes to The Google I finds that this Copslay is something grown-ups do, too. Dressin’ up like chicks and guys and creatures from video games and other fictional crap. But it ain’t just dressin up, it’s actin like these fake characters, too. What the Fucc is up wit that? Kids have enough problems actin like kids, now they gotta go an act like some fake people that ain’t even people? A frustratione!
So now I hear from some half-a-Finnoch down at the Barber Shop that they’s havin a Cosplay Party for adults at the local Casa Columbo on the same night where we’s planned to have our annual Casino Night, the proceeds of which are supposed to benefit the St. Philomena Fund for dames who’s widows, and some a them orphans, too.
So Moose an Rocco ain’t too keen on this whole Cosplay development since Casino Night gives them some cover for them to go an see their Goomads instead a havin to go to their mother-in-law’s house for Lasagna and Canasta, which I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. Lasagna and Canasta, I says.
So Moose an Rocco decides to head on over to the Casa to see what this whole Cosplay thing is about on their way over for Lasagna and Canasta. They park their Caddy in the lot and as they’s watchin’ this parade a Mama Lukes walkin into our place they’s call me on The Cell Phone and says, “Wallnuts,” they says, “It’s a friggin’ freak show over here with all a these schnooks dressed like Super Heros and people from The Star Trek and The Star Wars!” Schnooks, I says.
So Moose an Rocco had ta leave cuz their wives was callin’ to see where they was – they married twin sisters – and tole them they better get themselves goin’. But I heard from some a the bartenders at the Casa that there was all kinds a weird stuff goin on, details a which weren’t forthcoming.
I can’t imagine what they get out a dressin’ like someone they ain’t and pretendin’ they can do things they can’t. Back in the day these folks woulda been tole to snap the Fucc outta it and get wit the program. Today these j’drools think it’s a good thing. Madonna Mia!
Loading ...Wallnuts After Dark; What the F^€k is a Meme?
Now I’ve been onto this Internet caper ever since Al Gore invented it back when he also served as the inspiration for that book that was a movie with that guy who looked like a Finnoch but wound up marryin’ that primo skirt Farrah Fawcett. Some kinda sappy love story. Anyways, I’m no Neander-Fucc but for the life a me I can’t figure out what the Fucc a Meme is.
So anyways, I went to the Google and looked this Meme thing up and what I found made my head hurt somethin’ awful. Here’s what that Wickerpedia says:
“A meme is “an idea, behavior, or style that spreads from person to person within a culture. A meme acts as a unit for carrying cultural ideas, symbols, or practices that can be transmitted from one mind to another through writing, speech, gestures, rituals, or other imitable phenomena. Supporters of the concept regard memes as cultural analogues to genes in that they self-replicate, mutate, and respond to selective pressures.”
Now what the Fucc does that mean? Ya mean?
So is Sinatra a Meme, or is it The Rat Pack? Is Dean a Meme? Sammy? I don’t remember any a them self-replicating or mutating. Now I seen guys like Skinny D’Amato make things happen by applying quite a bit of selective pressure, but was any of those guys units? And I sure as shit don’t know what no cultural analogues is. I ain’t never even seen a word spelled with a “gues” at the end of it, either. A fannabala!
I remember once we was hangin’ at The Brown Derby in L.A., which sucked by the way, and we looked around and every guy was dressed like Frank. The hat, the pocket hankie, the shoes, smokin’ Camels, drinkin’ Jack and Coke; the Whole Nine.
We thought they was Cheese Eaters lookin’ to skate on our gig, and made fun a them, but accordin’ to this Meme thing they was just gettin’ the transmission of our gestures and other imitable phenomena. Whatever the Fucc that is.
In this day and age everything’s gotta have a name or a title or a meaning. From what I figure, every goddamn thing is a Meme. Sounds like we all is Memes based on this cockamamie definition.
Loading ...Wallnuts After Dark: What’s With All A The Boner Pill Commercials?
You know, I know guys sometimes have problems gettin’ enough led in the ole pencil, if you catch my drift. And I think it’s great that these pill companies coulda come up with some medicines that help the unfortunates among us get it up so we can make our lady friends happy.
But do we really need all a the boner pill commercials? I can’t watch a friggin’ ball game wit out seein’ a ton a commercials with the guy and the girl sittin’ in the separate bath tubs holdin’ hands and the guy talkin’ about ED.
Back in the day when Frank drank too much to get it up he had this home remedy where he’d take a hot towel soaked in Sambuca and tie it all up around his S n’ B Combo – that’s for “Schwanz and Balls” – like it was a Braciole! Then ole’ Frank slapped at it with a leather belt until his schwang sprang into action. Usually after about 10-minutes a slappin’ he was rarin’ to go.
I do admit that the guys woulda loved the Cialis. Not cause they had trouble sportin’ the man salute, but they woulda loved to see how long they could go. Believe you me, they wouldn’t be callin’ no doctor if they was lucky enough to score a 4-hour stiffie, and I ain’t talkin’ about no scotch and soda; they’d be callin’ every broad they knew!
Plus they was always wit these crazy dames who went all night, like Mitzi Gaynor and Angie Dickenson, so why wouldn’t they wanna keep up and go “O for O?”
I can almost hear Frank yellin’, “Hey DW get me a couple a them pills! I wanna all night hahd-on that looks like one a my Uncle Nunz’s Soppresate! (pronounced, “super-sod”)” By the way, Frank never pronounced the “r” in hard-on. It was always, “hahd-on.”
Now I myself have had occasion to enjoy what these pills can do for my love life. Mrs. Wallnuts loves a good 36-hour romp, so once in a while we scare up a couple a bottles of some good bubbly and go at it like all sorts of hammer and tongs until we passes out. She even brings along her best friend Connie every now and then. Three’s company. Na mean?
So I ain’t got nothin’ against them pills, I just don’t need to hear about ‘em every two seconds when I’m watchin’ sports.
Loading ...Wallnuts After Dark – What’s all This Yackety-Yak About Gun Control?
One time I was at a party Bert Convy was trowin’ at his place in Pacific Palisades an I was hangin’ wit Baron Mikel Scicluna, Jim Backus, Ann B. Davis, Rip Taylor, Lee Merriweather, Jim Neigbors an the chick who did the voice of Jane Jetson who was a real doll face, amongst others.
Ann B was packin’ heat, which a lotta dames did back then, believe it or not. So in the middle a this gig she pulls out her piece, a big friggin’ .357 Magnum, an starts braggin’ about how good a shot she was an that there weren’t no guy who could shoot as good as she could.
Now in another group a Hollywood types, this Adrienne Barbeau dame hears Ann B carryin’ on an whips out her .45 caliber pocket cannon an starts chimin’ in that the chicks are better shots than any a the guys. This Barbeau was a young chippy at the time an she had a set a knockers on her that she loved to show off that woulda made the Pope hisself take a second look. Na mean?
So we got this hot babe packin’ a heater, which off-sets Ann B who was kinda a homely broad, and they set off to the backyard to have a shootin’ contest, all the while callin’ out the guys sayin’ they’s chickens for not steppin’ up to take the challenge.
Barbeau proceeds to shoot a round into the air, at which time Backus pissed his pants and then went to the bar for another Old Fashioned.
So anyways, in walks this guy who was on that TV show about the family band and played the guy who was the manager of the band that had the mom in it – played by Shirley Jones who was a real doll – and had those other kids in it. Reuben Kinkaid was his name in the show. The only reason I remember that is he’d go by that in real life cuz it helped him get laid.
He says he can shoot better than the broads, and he has all kinds a trick shots that they can’t do. So he shoots a couple a shots between his legs an over his shoulder and knocks some cans off of a fence and nobody quite gives a Fucc until he pulls out his schwantz, threads it through the trigger and proceeds to shoot a bottle of Chivas off a the head of Alan Hale, Jr. usin’ his hard-on to pull the friggin’ trigger. Who ever heard of a Trigger Hard-On! Madon!
The place goes nuts an Barbeau puts her .45 between her knockers and somehow squeezes those puppies together so’s she can fire off a shot that knocks off one a Ruben Kinkade’s blazer buttons, which made ole Ruben evacuate his bowels into his BVDs. Fin-less Brown Trout, I says.
By this point Ann B was all worked up and starts yellin’ to everyone that’s she’s got ‘em all beat. So Ann B hikes up her dress, drops her trau and when she turns to face the crowd we see she’s got her .357 hangin’ out a her Quim, Gabiles and everything.
Then out a nowhere’s the blonde broad who played the non-monster family member on that show about the family that was all monsters like Frankenstein and Dracula or whatever the Fucc they was, starts trowin’ shot glasses inta the air an ole Ann B firin’ out a her Snapper knocks all 6 of ‘em out a the air in the blink of an eye. Mama Mia! Talk about gun control!
Loading ...Wallnuts After Dark – What’s With All A The Gay Stuff?
Ya know, you can’t go nowheres anymore witout seein’ somethin’ about the gays. Now don’t get me wrong, I ain’t got nothin’ against any gays, broads or guys. Especially broads. Na mean?
But seriously, as my Uncle Patsy would say, “Enough’s enough.”
And it don’t mean I gotta bug up my keister for the gays. Hey, if you’re a guy and you get all warm and tingly-like by the site a another guy’s hairy Gugutz, “Va Bene,” I says. Gugutz, I says.
Chicks diggin’ chicks and guys diggin’ guys has been goin’ on since the Greeks invented civilization and all a that other stuff they did there in the ancient times with all a that mythodology, or whatever the f@#k they called it, with them Gods that all looked like Finnochs anyways.
And them Old Time Guineas in Ancient Rome was all into that stuff that we saw in that movie made by the Penthouse Magazine guy about that ruler that had them big sex parties, where he fisted in a horse’s butt once, and all kinds a other crazy boffin’ nonsense. Boffin’ nonsense, I says.
If there’s an NFL guy that’s a gay, who am I, or any of us, to bust his friggin’ culones? As long as he plays hard. And I’m sure he will.
To each his own, as my Aunt Ro-Ro used to say.
I knew this hit man, Frankie the Finnoch we called him, who was as tough as any guy ever. He was a gay. We didn’t mean nothin’ by callin’ him “the Finnoch.” We just had so many damn Frankies it was easier to call him Frankie the Finnooch. He didn’t care none. Hell, he was Sam Giancana’s favorite hitter, and was Sam’s grandson’s godfather. Hand to God.
Them gays who make a big to-do about gettin’ married are just as pazzo as the other jamokes who don’t want gays to get married. And don’t get me started on the politicians, they don’t give 2 Fazools about none a us. But that’s a cannoli to eat another time.
Marriage pretty much sucks. If the gays want to ruin their lives, let ‘em. Some a them lesbian babes shoulda had the chance to talk to Liz Taylor about it. Lana Turner was another skirt who coulda talked some sense into these gay chicks. She said she wanted to be married an have 7 kids and instead she was married 7 times and had one kid, who wound up stabbin’ than Stomapnato Mo-Mo, by the way.
And some a them homosexual fellas – is that an okay name to call ‘em? – shoulda talked to Dick Burton or Artie Shaw. They kept gettin’ married and kept gettin’ divorced. And how about half a all a the married people who is friggin’ miserable bein’ married?
Them gays is always tellin’ us how great they have it, yet they wanna go and get hitched, so they can be just like the straights? That don’t make no sense. Madonna Mia! I’ll tells ya, if the anti-gay folks wanna stick it to the gays, they should just let ‘em all get married. That’ll fix their wagon!
So as the pointed ear guy Spock from that space show in the 60s said once to another one a his pointy ear buddies, “After a time you may find that having is not so pleasing a thing, after all, as wanting.” Or some shit like that. Now I says, be careful what you wish for ‘cuz you might just get it.
Loading ...Wallnuts After Dark – James Bond
Ay Jabrone!! I can’t believe it’s been over five deuces since the first Jimmy Bond flick hit the picture shows.
I’ll never forget the first time I saw Jimmy B in action. That “Dr No” picture that all the jabroulis were goin’ on about.
I was giggin’ backstage support at the Latin Quarter in Times Square when one a the house band, a guy by the name a Sammy Bidner, comes up to me and he says, “Wallnuts?” he says, “Ya gotta come over to the Paramount and see this friggin’ movie! Theys got a secret agent and a blonde dame wearin’ the smallest bathin’ suit I ever seen!”
And by working backstage support, I mean I made sure the showgirls were accessible to the high-end gamblers that frequented the underground gambling rooms upstairs and collected the kickbacks the club paid to the Gambinos.
Anyways, I ducked out a the Steve and Edie warm-up for Frank’s gig and sat there mesmerized by the blonde Swedish chick with them big knockers in the skimpy suit with a knife in a thigh holster.
The movie was so good I missed Sinatra’s whole set. Madon!
When I tole ole’ Frank about it he had the projectionist run the whole flick for him at 3am after a gig one night.
That Sean Connery was our favorite. Until then we mostly thought Brits were Finnochs and never bought the tough guy image they portrayed in them war films. But Connery changed all a that. He was the real deal. Later on we got to know him and he hung out wit us.
When they was makin that “Diamonds or Forever” flick, they filmed some a the scenes in Vegas and Frank and Dean and the rest a the Pack were always on the set. Frank was pushin’ to play the part a one a the gangsters who tries to rough up Bond, but the producers said no. So instead Frank banged Jill St.John so silly she missed two days a shootin’. So did me and Dean. Silly, I says.
Connery loved the guys so much Frank got him to go on a hit with a couple of Giancana’s goons and he helped them dig the hole in the desert where the buried the skell. He wore his Tux an everything.
That was Connery’s last Bond picture and then it was that Richard Moore character who was a lot more like the Finnochy Brits that we had come to make fun of and disrespect. He had a good run though and then they hired the next guy who was a total pansy and almost ruined the character.
These new Bonds ain’t worth tree clams. Tree clams, I says. And this new Bond guy is ugly like that dog that Budweiser used to use in its commercials. Not my cup of Sambuca, if you catch my drift.
Loading ...Wallnuts After Dark – March Madness
I bet none a youse know the phrase March Madness was coined by Dean Martin back in the 60s when we was paintin’ Vegas red every night and boffin’ every skirt we could get our hands on.
You see, back then March was a time a the year when things was a little slower out there in L.A. and we had some time off before the spring. Miami was too far to go for a couple a days, but we could make a Vegas run in no time and it was warm enough that dames was runnin’ around in various states of undress. Na mean?
After a couple a years of this routine Dean would pick up the blower and give us all a call and when we answered all he’d say was, “March Madness,” and we knew it was time for Poon Season in the Desert. We had the whole system where one a Dean’s lackeys, this guy called Philly the Bunion, would set up the dames and the parties and the booze. We didn’t need to do nothin’ other than show up with our joints cleaned up and all ready to go.
One day we was sittin’ around the pool at The Flamingo and Jilly Rizzo and Frank was gettin’ blowed by two a the local pros, and half naked broads was runnin’ around and Louis Prima and Keely Smith’s band was playin’, and Deano looked over at me and says, “Wallnuts,” he says, “there ain’t nothin’ better than this March Madness of ours.”
So when I hear the phrase March Madness I think a Dean goin’ doggie on Mitzi Gaynor in the lounge at the Sands and I gotta chuckle because it reminds me of all a the wild times we had in Vegas, and all a the college basketball games we fixed, too. But that’s another story for another time.
Loading ...Wallnuts After Dark – What’s With This Whole Pope Thing?
Ya know, for all a the mystery that surrounds this Pope selection process, it really ain’t all that complicated. C’mon, in Italy, do youse all really think a bunch of Finnoch priests can run the most powerful and profitable business in the world all by themselves? It ain’t all a them Cardinals or priests or whatever the frigg they are that choose il Papi, but a handful a old Mafia goombalas who really run the Vatican.
Ain’t ya never heard of the the goombalis? Madonna Mia!
I remember when Pope Paul the VI (that’s sixth for all a you Mama Lukes out there) was picked by Frankie and Sam Giancana along with Joe Bonnano and Cesare Manzella. So Sinatra jaunts over to the Vatican on Bob Hope’s jet, see? All for a big hush hush meet-up with all a the religious jamokes. But no one was talkin about it, so Frankie was keepin’ it on the low down. They was all set to elect, or whatever the f#@k they call it, some Polack priest and the Mob guys were screamin’ holy Mary Jabrones! No way theys gonna stand for that! Giancana made some calls and was all like, “No frickkin way a frickkin” Polack is gonna be the Frickkin’ Pope on my watch!” Hand to God.
So Giancana called Frank, and Frank called Skinny D’Amato and they all showed up in the Vatican with the Sicilian dagos and their goons like they was ready to break kneecaps just for the fun of it. Even the hardcore goombas was afraid a them Sicilian sons a bitches. But in the end it came down to the threat of Skinny givin’ two a the Papal Conclave Momos a Culo Punzone. Papal Conclave Momos a Culo Ponzone, I says.
An Ass Punch is an Ass Punch, regardless of the language. Na mean?
By the way, the Mob was constantly sending over high-end celebrity chicks to take care a the Pope’s helmet, ever since Benedict XV had a hard on for Clara Bow back in the 20s.
Pius the XI almost got caught schtupping Garbo in a cloak room in the Sistine Chapel, Pius the XII loved to be dominated and Joan Crawford used to dress up like a Nazi and wack his Guinea Pope Ass with a belt until he was satisfied, and John the XXIII was the guy who told Jack Kennedy what a great lay Marilyn Monroe was. Oofa, all a those Roman Numbers make my head hurt.
Remember that Pope who died after about a month who was supposed to have had a heart attack and was found sitting up in his bed? The real deal is that he was bangin’ Lola Falana. That goomba had a hankering for the Sammy Davis Jr. chicks, if ya knows what I means, and got a little too much sacramental wine and was workin’ it a little too hard, and blew a gasket.
The Mob had to cover up John Paul I goin’ tits up with a renob real quick and paid off a bunch a nuns and priests and others to make the whole thing go away. No investigation, no nothin’.
Loading ...Wallnuts After Dark – Somebody Needs to Whack That Dick Vitali Character
Somebody needs to whack that Dick Vitali jabrone.
So I was watching the Duke/UNC college hoops game on The ESPN the other night and I had to turn the sound down because that Mama Luke was screamin’ his tits off like he’d just blown a c-note at the track!
That manudnick was screamin’ all a the time and says the same friggin’ thing over and over. “Take a T.O. Roy! Take a T.O. Take a T.O. Oh, baby! Oh baby!” I found myself yellin’ at the damn T.V., “Shut the f@#k up you bald, one-eyed hump.” Mrs. Wallnuts came in and tole me to cheese it on account a my high blood pressure and lumbago, which always acts up when I get sore at somethin’ or have a beef wit someone.
Lumbago, I says.
I tells ya, back in the old neighborhood anytime there was a big mouth always yackety yakkin’ about somethin’ or some such, one a the guys would a hit him with a sockful a stale gnocchi right across the back a his noggin’ and rolled him for good measure.
Stale gnocchi, I says.
One time there was this neighborhood babbo named Jimmy “Lobes” – he had earlobes that looked like balls a pizza dough – who was goin’ on and on about winning a Trifecta at Belmont Park to the point that this local mook Tommy “Elbows” – he never trew punches wit his fist, but trew elbows – cracked Lobes so hard that all a his fillings fell out a his head right there on the sidewalk on Grand Avenue in front of the Conca D’oro Social Club. Madon!
This Vitali Momo is way worse than any a these neighborhood Sfachims I used ta know. He never shuts up and he gave me so much agita that I had to take a physic and put some Jimmy Roselli on my 8-track player to calm my nerves. That Roselli really does the trick. He had a voice like a friggin’ angel and so I was able to relax thanks to him singin’ “Mala Femmina,” enjoyed that great game. I was rootin’ for Duke, but UNC covered and I had the under too, so all in all it was a good night.
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