House Sadness

Comedian Marc Maron is tackling the most complex philosophical question of our day – WTF? He’ll get to the bottom of it with help from comedian friends, celebrity guests and the voices in his own head.

 

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WARNING: WONDER SHOWZEN CONTAINS OFFENSIVE, DESPICABLE CONTENT THAT IS TOO CONTROVERSIAL AND TOO AWESOME FOR ACTUAL CHILDREN. THE STARK, UGLY, PROFOUND TRUTHS WONDER SHOWZEN EXPOSES MAY BE SOUL-CRUSHING TO THE WEAK OF SPIRIT. IF YOU ALLOW A CHILD TO WATCH THIS SHOW, YOU ARE A BAD PARENT OR GUARDIAN.

 

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Coming out of my cage

And I’ve been doing just fine

Gotta gotta be down

Because I want it all

It started out with a kiss

How did it end up like this

It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss

Now I’m falling asleep

And she’s calling a cab

While he’s having a smoke

And she’s taking a drag

Now they’re going to bed

And my stomach is sick

And it’s all in my head

But she’s touching his chest

Now, he takes off her dress

Now, letting me go

I just can’t look its killing me

And taking control

Jealousy, turning saints into the sea

Swimming through sick lullabies

Choking on your alibis

But it’s just the price I pay

Destiny is calling me

Open up my eager eyes

Cause I’m Mr Brightside

I’m coming out of my cage

And I’ve been doing just fine

Gotta gotta be down

Because I want it all

It started out with a kiss

How did it end up like this

It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss

Now I’m falling asleep

And she’s calling a cab

While he’s having a smoke

And she’s taking a drag

Now they’re going to bed

And my stomach is sick

And it’s all in my head

But she’s touching his chest

Now, he takes off her dress

Now, letting me go

‘Cause I just can’t look its killing me

And taking control

Jealousy, turning saints into the sea

Swimming through sick lullabies

Choking on your alibi

But it’s just the price I pay

Destiny is calling me

Open up my eager eyes

‘Cause I’m Mr Brightside

I never

I never

I never

I never

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Japanese submarine slammed two torpedoes into her side, Chief. We was comin’ back from the island of Tinian to Leyte. We’d just delivered the bomb. The Hiroshima bomb. Eleven hundred men went into the water. Vessel went down in 12 minutes.

Didn’t see the first shark for about a half-hour. Tiger. 13-footer. You know how you know that in the water, Chief? You can tell by lookin’ from the dorsal to the tail. What we didn’t know, was that our bomb mission was so secret, no distress signal had been sent. They didn’t even list us overdue for a week. Very first light, Chief, sharks come cruisin’ by, so we formed ourselves into tight groups. It was sorta like you see in the calendars, you know the infantry squares in the old calendars like the Battle of Waterloo and the idea was the shark come to the nearest man, that man he starts poundin’ and hollerin’ and sometimes that shark he go away… but sometimes he wouldn’t go away.

Sometimes that shark looks right at ya. Right into your eyes. And the thing about a shark is he’s got lifeless eyes. Black eyes. Like a doll’s eyes. When he comes at ya, he doesn’t even seem to be livin’… ’til he bites ya, and those black eyes roll over white and then… ah then you hear that terrible high-pitched screamin’. The ocean turns red, and despite all your poundin’ and your hollerin’ those sharks come in and… they rip you to pieces.

You know by the end of that first dawn, lost a hundred men. I don’t know how many sharks there were, maybe a thousand. I do know how many men, they averaged six an hour. Thursday mornin’, Chief, I bumped into a friend of mine, Herbie Robinson from Cleveland. Baseball player. Boson’s mate. I thought he was asleep. I reached over to wake him up. He bobbed up, down in the water, he was like a kinda top. Upended. Well, he’d been bitten in half below the waist.

At noon on the fifth day, a Lockheed Ventura swung in low and he spotted us, a young pilot, lot younger than Mr. Hooper here, anyway he spotted us and a few hours later a big ol’ fat PBY come down and started to pick us up. You know that was the time I was most frightened. Waitin’ for my turn. I’ll never put on a lifejacket again. So, eleven hundred men went into the water. 316 men come out, the sharks took the rest, June the 29th, 1945.

Anyway, we delivered the bomb.

 

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“Deuce Bigalow: European Gigolo” makes a living cleaning fish tanks and occasionally prostituting himself. How much he charges I’m not sure, but the price is worth it if it keeps him off the streets and out of another movie. “Deuce Bigalow” is aggressively bad, as if it wants to cause suffering to the audience. The best thing about it is that it runs for only 75 minutes.

Rob Schneider is back, playing a male prostitute (or, as the movie reminds us dozens of times, a “man whore”). He is not a gay hustler, but specializes in pleasuring women, although the movie’s closest thing to a sex scene is when he wears diapers on orders from a giantess. Oh, and he goes to dinner with a woman with a laryngectomy, who sprays wine on him through her neck vent.

The plot: Deuce visits his friend T.J. Hicks (Eddie Griffin) in Amsterdam, where T.J. is a pimp specializing in man-whores. Business is bad, because a serial killer is murdering male prostitutes, and so Deuce acts as a decoy to entrap the killer. In his investigation he encounters a woman with a penis for a nose. You don’t want to know what happens when she sneezes.

Does this sound like a movie you want to see? It sounds to me like a movie that Columbia Pictures and the film’s producers (Glenn S. Gainor, Jack Giarraputo, Tom McNulty, Nathan Talbert Reimann, Adam Sandler and John Schneider) should be discussing in long, sad conversations with their inner child.

The movie created a spot of controversy last February. According to a story by Larry Carroll of MTV News, Rob Schneider took offense when Patrick Goldstein of the Los Angeles Times listed this year’s Best Picture Nominees and wrote that they were “ignored, unloved and turned down flat by most of the same studios that … bankroll hundreds of sequels, including a follow-up to ‘Deuce Bigalow: Male Gigolo,’ a film that was sadly overlooked at Oscar time because apparently nobody had the foresight to invent a category for Best Running Penis Joke Delivered by a Third-Rate Comic.”

Schneider retaliated by attacking Goldstein in full-page ads in Daily Variety and the Hollywood Reporter. In an open letter to Goldstein, Schneider wrote: “Well, Mr. Goldstein, I decided to do some research to find out what awards you have won. I went online and found that you have won nothing. Absolutely nothing. No journalistic awards of any kind … Maybe you didn’t win a Pulitzer Prize because they haven’t invented a category for Best Third-Rate, Unfunny Pompous Reporter Who’s Never Been Acknowledged by His Peers.”

Reading this, I was about to observe that Schneider can dish it out but he can’t take it. Then I found he’s not so good at dishing it out, either. I went online and found that Patrick Goldstein has won a National Headliner Award, a Los Angeles Press Club Award, a RockCritics.com award, and the Publicists’ Guild award for lifetime achievement.

Schneider was nominated for a 2000 Razzie Award for Worst Supporting Actor, but lost to Jar-Jar Binks.

But Schneider is correct, and Patrick Goldstein has not yet won a Pulitzer Prize. Therefore, Goldstein is not qualified to complain that Columbia financed “Deuce Bigalow: European Gigolo” while passing on the opportunity to participate in “Million Dollar Baby,” “Ray,” “The Aviator,” “Sideways” and “Finding Neverland.” As chance would have it, I have won the Pulitzer Prize, and so I am qualified. Speaking in my official capacity as a Pulitzer Prize winner, Mr. Schneider, your movie sucks.

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Water Water Water Water Water Water Water Water Water Water Water Water Water Water Water Water Water Water Water Water Water Water Water Water Water Water Water Water Water Water Water Water Water Water Water Water Water Water Water Water Water Water

 

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Let’s go girls, come on

I’m going out tonight, I’m feelin’ alright

Gonna let it all hang out

Want to make some noise, really raise my voice

Yeah, I want to scream and shout

No inhibitions, make no conditions

Get a little outta line

I ain’t gonna act politically correct

I only want to have a good time

The best thing about being a woman

Is the prerogative to have a little fun and

Oh, oh, oh, go totally crazy, forget I’m a lady

Men’s shirts, short skirts

Oh, oh, oh, really go wild yeah, doin’ it in style

Oh, oh, oh, get in the action, feel the attraction

Color my hair, do what I dare

Oh, oh, oh, I want to be free yeah, to feel the way I feel

Man! I feel like a woman!

The girls need a break-tonight we’re gonna take

The chance to get out on the town

We don’t need romance, we only want to dance

We’re gonna let our hair hang down

The best thing about being a woman

Is the prerogative to have a little fun and

Oh, oh, oh, go totally crazy, forget I’m a lady

Men’s shirts, short skirts

Oh, oh, oh, really go wild-yeah, doin’ it in style

Oh, oh, oh, get in the action, feel the attraction

Color my hair, do what I dare

Oh, oh, oh, I want to be free yeah, to feel the way I feel

Man! I feel like a woman!

The best thing about being a woman

Is the prerogative to have a little fun and

Oh, oh, oh, go totally crazy, forget I’m a lady

Men’s shirts, short skirts

Oh, oh, oh, really go wild yeah, doin’ it in style

Oh, oh, oh, get in the action, feel the attraction

Color my hair, do what I dare

Oh, oh, oh, I want to be free yeah, to feel the way I feel

Man! I feel like a woman!

I get totally crazy

Can you feel it

Come, come, come on baby

I feel like a woman

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I’ll tell you what brown can’t do for you and that’s bring your dad back. Welcome to another episode of House Sadness. The boys get things started with some “WFM’s” featuring a hot new drop from the fat-dicked legend himself: Adam Degi. Then it’s time for some new jokes in “Joke of the Gay,” then we hear “30 seconds of a Free Credit Report dot com commercial,” then the boys debut a new segment where they create rappers based on names from a rap name generator and spit some spaghetti in “Fire (emoji) or Doo-Doo (emoji)” then we hear “60 seconds of a Real Men of Genius Budlight commercial,” then the boys find some time to squeeze in a quick bit of “Fanny Pack” and name episode. So grab your headphones, fill out your UPS application (everyone says they have great benefits) and find out what this podcast can do for you.

 

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Take a big ol whiff of this episode as the bois start things off same as ever with some more lovely “WFMs” and a coupla real stinky cheesy “Joke O’ the Gay.” Early off they get distracted by bird shit and cum, but bring it back around again to bring you a nice big bowl of “POPCORN!” HEY!! ANY O YA’LL’s FAMILY’s POPCORN BOWL THE SAME AS YOUR VOMIT BOWL!? Everyone laughs and I add another notch on my wrist. After hearing one of the moist convoluted tales imaginable, the two ding-dongs put on their stinking-caps to solve the mystery of “Who Farted?” and these seem to be real STUMPers, stump, like a log, like what poop is called sometimes, like poop breath, which is what farts are, maybe, I don’t know leave me alone.

 

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Your dreams have cum true because it’s another episode of House Sadness. The boys start things off with some “WFM’s” then it’s time for the “Joke of the Gay” then we hear “30 seconds of Michael Jordan talking about some Ball Park Franks” then the boys crack open their diaries and share some stories in “Notecard Secrets” then we hear “60 seconds of Kids Bop volume this is the only CD I ever listen and will continue to listen to until I die” then the boys wrap things up and name the episode. So grab your headphones, put on your best visor and give this thing a listen.

 

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