Great job on the punchlines from yesterday. Since a number of you only read this blog on the weekdays (translation: goofing off at work... and I love you for it), I'm going to give you all one more day to enter. Tomorrow I will comment on the entries and talk a little bit about the process of writing jokes. So put on your funny boots and have at it.
Also tomorrow, a somewhat big, certainly not major but still fairly large announcement.
Meanwhile, for today....
People think of Hollywood as just this superficial tourist trap. Not so. There is much high end culture to be found in Hollywood. Museums even. Allow me to point out two of the classiest:
The Frederick's of Hollywood Lingerie Museum and Celebrity Lingerie Hall of Fame
And ….
The Psychiatry -- An Industry of Death – museum.
At the Museum of Lingerie you can see Natalie Wood’s bra from BOB AND CAROL AND TED AND ALICE, Fabio’s sleeveless undershirt, and assorted sordid underwear from Cher, Joan Collins, Madonna, and (this scares me) Rosie O’Donnell. Sorry: no panties from Britney Spears since she doesn’t wear any. And to elevate its stature even more (as if that's possible), there are two framed edicts signed by former Los Angeles Mayor Tom Bradley announcing that Frederick's Lingerie Museum is "one of Hollywood's most popular tourist attractions."
It’s probably more popular than….
The Psychiatry museum of death. This fair and balanced exhibit is funded by (surprise surprise) Scientology. And at it’s opening event on December 17, 2005 these Hollywood nutcases attended the ceremony: Priscilla Presley, Lisa Marie Presley, Danny Masterson, Giovanni Ribisi, Leah Remini, Catherine Bell, and Anne Archer. Name me one of them who couldn’t use a good 5000-volt jolt of electro-shock (7000 for Ms. Remini).
I’m not sure what the actual cautionary exhibits are. Loonies suffocated while being rounded up in those big nets? Freudians falling off couches and landing on their heads? Waiting rooms with asbestos ceilings? Being forced to try on Rosie O’Donnell’s underwear?
I think it’s fair to say that anyone who attends the Psychiatry museum of death not only needs psychiatry but institutionalization for many many years – like say 40.
So for tourists I say, you don’t need to see these freak shows when you visit Tinsel Town. Instead, get over to a legitimate attraction – Soap Plant/Wacko on Hollywood Blvd. Here you can buy such nifty souvenirs such as inflatable palm trees, a voice changer, tiki ware, and books like “101 Uses for Tampon Applicators” (not a joke). There’s also an art gallery upstairs.
I’m telling you, who needs the Louvre?
13 comments :
Every time I drive down Franklin past the Scientology building (jsut west of Vermont) and watch all those hapless losers jaywalking across the street, I have this urge to stomp the gas and go down the block like a bowling ball through ten pins. It's why I don't drive down that street much anymore.
I remember my good friend Harlan Ellison telling about hearing how that talentless (well, as a writer anyway - he was obviously a very talented con artist) Ron Hubbard decided he no longer wanted to work for a living so he'd start a religion since "nobody ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the American public." That was 50 years ago and the success of Scientology among the denizens of Okeefenokee West (aka Hollywierd) is proof that being a rocket scientist is counterproductive to success in Duh Biz.
Of course, it's mostly actors you find in that, which proves that Hitchock was right when he said they should be treated like cattle.
So this is why you can't get work in Hollywood anymore - you've offended the Scientologists.
There is no belief more closely held than one which cannot be proven.
The difference between a cult and a religion is about 100 years.
Tomorrow: sex and politics.
Giovanni Ribisi, too? I had no idea. That rare thing, a really smart actor, and look what happens. Oh, wait. A really smart actor--he was probably dying of loneliness.
And picking a nit, Ken, because we lourve you: it's spelled Louvre.
Ken, I get all my funny boots at Florsheim of Tarzana -Van Nuys.
The good thing about the Psychiatry - An Industry of Death Museum is you can tour all the exhibits in only 50 minutes. But you knew that.
I don’t mean to quibble, but hasn’t Joan Collins underwear ALWAYS been "one of Hollywood's most popular tourist attractions?"
Probably the biggest explosion of laughter I ever received was when asked to speak about 10 years ago in a packed auditorium at the dedication of a chair in the University of Arizona theater department. It was in memory of my late friend Arthur Loew Jr. (MGM). Arthur had a famous tempestuous relationship with Ms. Collins, whom he later usually referred to as "The British Open" for reasons I don't care to get into here.
There is a widely-related incident where they got into an argument while dining at the La Scala restaurant in BH. Collins storms out toward the door muttering in a voice that all the other patrons could hear, "Arthur, you are a fu*&king bore."
Arthur then rises at the table and, Groucho-style,replies, "Well, that's O.K., because you've always been a boring fu*&k." The entire dining room is alleged to have erupted in applause. Years later, Collins related the incident in her autobiography "Past Imperfect," but reversed the roles so she had all the good lines. Arthur kept threatening to sue for "theft of a punchline."
At the UofA dedication, I related how the last time I saw Arthur was on the Queen Mary, which had, by then, become the floating hotel in Long Beach. I said Arthur had a fear of British ocean liners because Joan always reminded him of the Titanic. It was the only other thing he knew that had gone down on 15-hundred British and Americans. La Scala caliber wildlaughter from a knowing crowd.
I remember that was the week of the Jackie Kennedy memorabilia auction at Southeby’s, where the cigar humidor Arthur’s friend Milton Berle gave JFK was auctioned off for $574,000. I informed all that Milton couldn’t be at the Tucson ceremony, because he was flying around the country asking everybody he gave a cigar humidor to return it. Also noting that had Arthur been there, he’d be speculating that if Kennedy’s cigar box went for $574,000, Clinton’s bong would probably bring about a million–five.
Hey, who else have I got to tell this stuff to?
__
PS. It's not the Scientologists who control Hollywood. It's the JEWISH Scientologists who control Hollywood.
...so these three Scientologists go into a bar...
And to bring it full circle, the last time I was in Wacko I bumped into Scientologist Kirstie Alley.
Is any of Tallulah Morehead's lingerie on display in the museum?
I can't wait to call my older brother the psychiatrist and ask him how he truly feels about his 20+ years career in the Industry of Death.
I think you owe it to your readers to do a tour of the Psychiatry: An Industry of Death Museum and report on it to your loyal readers.
I bet you could get a free "Stress Test" out of it. (And if that wouldn't make a good fill in the punchline... "An attractive young woman walks up to Earl Hicky/Larry David/Michael Scott and asks if they'd like to take a free Stress Test..."
tcinla's obviously in need of reorientation: the Celebrity Centre (sic) on Franklin is cater-corner from the Mayfair on the corner of Bronson; a couple blocks west of Western.
Decent Sunday brunch open to the public. And are there no old Scientologists?
I had read somewhere that the Church (sic) of Scientology was the largest private property-holder in Hollywood; God (maybe) knows they have buildings all over the place.
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"Sordid" panties? For a moment I thought you wrote "soiled" panties.
Glad to see your astute readers know what a ripoff Scientology is. The so-called museum is just a way to bring suckers in for a "stress test" and whatever your result on the test (I guarantee you'll have problems) can be addressed by a simple three-billion year dedication to the cult--and every penny you can beg, borrow, or steal. They used to use personality tests as a come-on. Either way, it's a horrible, mind-controlling, money-grubbing cult that ought to be wiped off the face of the earth.
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