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Friday, December 02, 2005
I don't know about you, but your Uncle Grambo is getting concerned. After years of carefully cultivating the Mario brand, it seems like the marketing powers-that-be at Nintendo are in serious danger of overextending their most valuable asset. In the past, the Mario franchise was diligent and careful when stepping outside of the sidescrolling worlds that Mario and Luigi dominated (see: the Mario Party franchise, Mario Kart 64, Mario Tennis 64). But since the dawn of the GameCube era, we've seen the franchise make some awkward lunges into previously unchartered territory.
Take, for example, the recent launch of Mario Superstar Baseball. It is, without a doubt, the single worst sports title that I've played since the days of the 2600 (back when all three of your outfielders moved in tandem). The gameplay controls were awful, the graphics obnoxious and the power-ups way too crazed. Most of the appeal of Mario Sports games came from the way that the designers struck balance between the physics of the game being tethered just tenuously enough to reality while simultaneously allowing the imagination of the very young and very intoxicated to be properly stimulated through their insanely best visuals; howevs, in this particular instance, shit got WAY too hallucenogenic for me to get with. Some say weak sauce. So much so that The Grizz and I quit playing after seven innings in favor of some Mario Tennis ring-crazed hittins. Bovs.
Then, a month or so later, I began seeing disturbing commercials on the telly for the newest entry in the SSX franchise. They showed Mario shredding some powder backed by a Louis XIV song. Say WHAT? Then the trend continued down the primrose path of Durstosity when we were forced to observe Mario rolling his balls off, DDR stizz. Now, on December 5, Super Mario Strikers is set to launch. Blogga please!
Never in my wildest kind bud haze did I expect to see my boy DK on the pitch getting ready to lay a big right paw on a farging soccer ball! I'll give them points for bringing new meaning to the banana corner kick, but don't you feel like this is getting too redonk-a-donk? What's next, are we gonna see a topless Waluigi teamed up to play doubles sand beach volleyball with Kent Steffes? Or, Yahweh forbid, will they attempt to launch their version of a Tony Hawk game with Princess Peach doing kickflip Christ Airs to the gentle strains of Bad Brains? Yikers Island. Let's just hope that Miyamoto lays off the the merciless peppers of Quetzlzacatenango (grown deep in the jungle primeval by the inmates of a Guatemalan insane asylum, obvs!) for the next few months and, upon the launch of the Revolution in 2006, returns the Mario franchise to its past glory. I think we'd all be better off putting the GameCube era and the indignities that everyone's favorite Italian plumbers have had to suffer in the rear view mirror forever and ever. [pic via IGN]
If having cocaine in your underpants is cool, consider me Miles Davis! First Wacko Jacko, then Babyshambles. If we find a third, we'll be in the fast lane to Trend City!
Was it just me or was Oprah kinda acting like a cooze on Letterman last night? Dave handled things like the class act that he is, but Oprah seemed to be hellbent on showing him up. Oprahblows.
"The best hot dogs in the world come from an area in Detroit called Hamtramck. They have a large Polish population there. I eat those dogs like I eat baloney. If I have to arrange for a picnic or a party, I'll get hot dogs from Hamtramck, and everybody is pleased." George Pernicano, minority owner of the San Diego Football Chargers
Heh heh. They said tatters. All over your boombalatters!posted by Uncle Grambo |
Longoria. Who knew that she actually had talent? I always figured that she was just a little Latina sexmuffin, not an actress with decent comedic skillz. Go figger. Check out Nummer and H-Bomb's review of Episode 6 to see how many coneys they bestowed the ep with.
As we enter the month of December, SNL is primed to close out 2005 on the highest note since Will Ferrell left the show. With Dane Cook, Alec Baldwin and Jack Black lined up to host in consecutive weeks, this could be a time for the show to recapture some of its former glory. But is the cast ready to take it to the next level? That question can only be answered by the World's Foremost SNL Experts, Nummer and H-Bomb, in this week's edition of their patented Pre-Show Comments.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
A lot can happen in the course of one week. Just ask Mooch. One week ago today, the toughest decision he was facing was whether to spend Seven Minutes In Heaven with Joey Heisman or Jorge Garcia. Today, he's probably huddled up in a treeblind somewhere in the UP, polishing off a two-liter of Old Grand Dad and counting the minutes until this weekend when he'll finally to be able to sob profusely into Tommy Izzo's flowing mane of chest hair. Who needs "Brokeback Mountain" when we've got "Iron Mountain"? Get Condescending Baggins to write the screenplay and Jeff Daniels to direct and we'll all be saying ya to da U.P. all da way to da box office! Darn tootin'!
But shmeariously, folks. What. A. Debaucle. After Drew Sharp publicly challenged DetLions President "Doormat" Millen to "grow some testicles" and fire Coach Mooch, the lumbering oaf from the backwoods of Pennsylvania did just that on Monday afternoon. While Rob Parker's statement that "Mariucci's tenure has to be the most disappointing in Detroit sports" could certainly be justified, your Uncle Grambo is proud to see that neither the local nor national press is letting Millenblows off easily.
As for your Uncle Grambo, I could give two shatts less about whether the owner, general manager, coaching staff or players should be blamed for this nearly 50 year drought of durstwinian proportions. Allz I wanna know is when we gonna get us some hott cheerleader ass prowling the sidelines? Hell, if it worked for Pornstache Plummer, it might just work for Joey Heisman.
Alas, I suppose I can take solace in the impending comeback of Martina Hingis. Has there ever been a better female tennis player ever? You can keep your Fraulein Forehands, Chris Evert-Lloyds and Tracy "I'd Like To Fuck Her On The Tennis Court, If You Get My Meaning" Austins of the world your Uncle Grambo has never EVER seen anyone with a sicker groundstroke game than The Swiss Miss. And I'll kindly have you remember that she would regularly whoop on Venus and Serena before her feet went wonky in 2000 or thereabouts. And come on, 14 Grand Slam titles? Redonk, especially for someone who was forced to retire at the tender age of deuce deuce. Welcome back, Hingis!
Speaking of backs, I got yours, Deadspin Will. Your Uncle Grambo is also having a hard time figuring out why Michael Irvin is getting a free pass from ESPN on his recent drug paraphernalia possession charges. Innocent until proven guilty and all that, but there seem to be a lot of inconsistencies between what he told the cops and what he's peddling to the public. In defense of Irvin, at least cops didn't find traces of cocaine in HIS underwear. Can you say the same thing, Mr. Michael Jackson? Didn't think so!
5 minutes with Dushku? Tasty.
From the "You Can't Fire Me Because I Quit!" files: Idlewild has left the major label nest. Probably a good thing for both sides. Roddy and the boys recorded a lackluster album that failed to spark any emotional connection with either their label (EMI / Parlophone) or their fans, which resulted in a completely fractured and lifeless international marketing campaign (if one could even call it a "campaign"). Here's hoping that Idlewild gets the passion back on their next jawn.
And I leave you with this. More cheerleaders. Look at them snappers!