In 1979, flush with cash from my moonlighting as a Times Square mugger, I visited a fortune teller for a look into my future. At the time, I was developing a radical new concept for a television show - it would be a "talk show!" With a host that sits behind a desk, and interviews celebrities! Nothing like it had ever been attempted before, and I was eager to find out if my brilliant concept had legs.
It's been a longstanding policy of mine to stay away from gypsies due to an unfortunate event from my youth involving a thresher and a little girl who would grow up to become Cher, but I made an exception on that fateful night in 1979. As I walked through the beaded curtain into a small room with a table in one corner and a popcorn machine in the other (apparently the gypsy screened old Fatty Arbuckle movies on Tuesday nights. Popcorn was ten cents. Coke was ten years. Ha! Get it? Wikipedia is your friend, buddy.), I saw the old gypsy woman hard at work polishing her crystal ball. Later I found out that it wasn't a crystal ball, it was actually a snow globe from the Darien Lake amusement park in upstate NY, which I guess explains why my future involved so many roller coaster rides. Gypsies love that park.
Anyway, I could continue to bore you with the minutiae of the gypsy woman, her collection of midget-skin suits, her werewolf daughter or the suitcase handcuffed to her arm containing the nation's nuclear launch codes, but that would be getting us off track. You want to hear about my future! Here's what I learned that night, loyal reader:
In 1983, I would eat a bag of dried apricots and immediately regret that decision. This turned out to be accurate.
In 1988, I would form a boy band using orphans I found on the streets of Guatemala. If you replace "form a boy band" with "start an illegal inter-species street-fighting ring," then yes, this was rather accurate as well.
In 1989, I would meet Corey Feldman. Well, if you replace "meet" with "punch" and "Corey Feldman" with "Tatum O'Neil in the throat," then this panned out.
In 1992, I would brush my teeth. She was way off on this one.
In 1994, I would marry Brooke Shields. Okay, replace "marry" with something unprintable, and this one's good.
In 1996, I would invent Google. This one happened, but the Illuminati went to great lengths to cover it up. Dan Brown wrote a book about it.
In 1997, through a random series of events culminating with me hitching a ride to the international space station in the wheel well of the shuttle, I discovered the names of the 11 secret herbs and spices so closely guarded by KFC. This one's only 10/11 accurate.
In 1999, I would fix the Y2K bug through the power of knitting. I think at this point my gypsy fortune teller was having a stroke.
In 2003, I would eat a fish taco and get really bad food poisoning. While at the hospital I would meet a small child by the name of Justin Bieber and throw up on his head. The acidity of my vomit would permanently burn off all of his hair, forcing him to cover his scalp scars with elaborate wigs. The only wigs that would affix to his head without irritating his skin, however, were made by a company that specialized in Lesbians with Leukemia. The rest is history. Yep.
In 2005, I would be so angry after leaving Star Wars Episode III that I would run into traffic and get hit by an ice cream truck. Actually it was a Pontiac Aztec, but close enough.
In 2008, I would watch a 14-hour "7th Heaven" marathon despite having no interest in the show whatsoever. I couldn't find the remote.
In 2010, I would be responsible for the dissolving of Tiger Woods' marriage. This one's probably true, I just have a few more texts to send.
I'm going to stop here. You may have noticed that the gypsy didn't actually say anything about my talk show. Yeah, I noticed that too. Which is why I paid her in counterfeit money. But I hear you wondering if she predicted anything for me past 2010. Yes, she did! But I'm not going to ruin it for you, loyal reader, because some of it involves YOU!!!
Well no, not really. But that would be a cool way to end it, right?
Monday, August 9, 2010
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Reality Bites. Or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Just Shoot Everyone in the Face.
So you might have noticed that many of my guests lately have been reality TV "stars." And I'll be honest, I have no idea who most of these people are. I mean, I know I pretend to be familiar with their "work" and that I give a crap about however it is they embarrass themselves on national television, but for the most part during these interviews I'm reading a teleprompter and imagining the best way to core an apple.
So why book so many of them? They're filler, folks. I need something to fill the time between your Tom Cruises and your Paul Walkers, and Reality "stars" are surprisingly easy to get. They work for scale and whatever drugs are left in the green room from the last guest, so we usually try to schedule them after anybody from England.
Oh, and there's another perk - they're relatively easy to shoot in the face. Now, I know I've developed something of a reputation for ending a lot of my interviews by shooting the guest in the face, but it's actually a lot harder than it looks. Legally speaking, that is. Remember when I shot Julia Roberts in the face? Well her lawyers sure do. They won't stop bothering me. I've shot a few of them in the face but they just keep regenerating, like John Travolta's hair.
But see, reality folk don't have lawyers. They have "handlers." They usually come from the local dog tracks, and are easily distracted by shoes or dead birds. That makes my job that much easier. Plus, the "personalities" actually love all the extra attention that getting shot in the face brings you, so then they can appear on the cover of Us Weekly or something with a huge headline that reads "My Face!!" See? It's win-win.
I mean, what else were they going to do? Visit Regis and Kelly? Host something on the Gameshow Network? Date Brandon Davis? Getting shot in the face opens up a whole new world of opportunities, which is why my show stays well stocked with Reality show losers.
Now don't you fret, I'll still book A-list guests. Well, B-list. I just won't shoot them in the face, unless they deserve it. Probably if they don't, too. Depends on my mood.
Next week, Paul Walker and his handsome face!
So why book so many of them? They're filler, folks. I need something to fill the time between your Tom Cruises and your Paul Walkers, and Reality "stars" are surprisingly easy to get. They work for scale and whatever drugs are left in the green room from the last guest, so we usually try to schedule them after anybody from England.
Oh, and there's another perk - they're relatively easy to shoot in the face. Now, I know I've developed something of a reputation for ending a lot of my interviews by shooting the guest in the face, but it's actually a lot harder than it looks. Legally speaking, that is. Remember when I shot Julia Roberts in the face? Well her lawyers sure do. They won't stop bothering me. I've shot a few of them in the face but they just keep regenerating, like John Travolta's hair.
But see, reality folk don't have lawyers. They have "handlers." They usually come from the local dog tracks, and are easily distracted by shoes or dead birds. That makes my job that much easier. Plus, the "personalities" actually love all the extra attention that getting shot in the face brings you, so then they can appear on the cover of Us Weekly or something with a huge headline that reads "My Face!!" See? It's win-win.
I mean, what else were they going to do? Visit Regis and Kelly? Host something on the Gameshow Network? Date Brandon Davis? Getting shot in the face opens up a whole new world of opportunities, which is why my show stays well stocked with Reality show losers.
Now don't you fret, I'll still book A-list guests. Well, B-list. I just won't shoot them in the face, unless they deserve it. Probably if they don't, too. Depends on my mood.
Next week, Paul Walker and his handsome face!
Thursday, April 22, 2010
New episode!
...Finally. Yes, The Iron Man interview is finally live! No, I will not tell you why it took so long. Yes, it involved a tariff treaty and a meeting with Meg Ryan's lawyers.
Check it out here!
Check it out here!
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Mysteries of the Mysterious Gift Basket! Mystery!
So there's been some discussion lately (mostly among the "blogosphere," which I can only assume is some type of VD clinic waiting room) about the contents of The Shell Show's gift basket. A gift basket, for the uninitiated among you, is basically a basket of crap that a talk show will give to its guests so they can't complain that they weren't given anything. It's also a way to one-up all the other talk shows in town because if you're the only show giving out authentic nails from Jesus' crucifixtion, you're virtually guaranteed to be the only show that scores an interview with Elisabeth Hasselback. Score!
So anyway, after the recent recall of peppermint enemas due to lead poisoning, people have been asking about what else my show includes in its gift baskets. So here you go:
One (1) Copy of Sanjaya Malakar's autobiography "Dancing with Myself," autographed.
Two (2) "Dukakis '88" bumper stickers, gently used.
One (1) "A Goofy Movie" crew T-shirt, size XXL.
Four (4) Sparrow eggs, ripe.
One (1) Jar of Nutella, autographed.
One (1) "Free Willy 2" coloring book, colored.
Three (3) Mitt Romney bobbleheads, slightly burnt.
One (1) Coupon for a free prostate exam, redeemable in Rhode Isand.
One (1) 8 x10 glossy photo of Christopher Eccleston, signed by David Tennant.
One (1) Crinkled Walgreen's receipt with the home phone number of one (1) of these women scrawled on the back: Anna Wintour, Rozilyn Papa, Antonella Barba, Alison Stokke, Brittany Murphy, Pat Sajak, Demi Lovato, Tubgirl
Twenty Seven (27) Tickets to my one-man stage show, "Go to Shell: Live at Denny's!"
One (1) Shake-weight, slightly sticky.
One (1) Eighteen (18) - pound bag of magic rocks.
One (1) Home Hepatitis-C Test, used (positive).
Two Hundred (200) Bolivian Fighting Fleas, dead.
One (1) Human ear.
Five (5) Copies of "Double Team," VHS.
So anyway, after the recent recall of peppermint enemas due to lead poisoning, people have been asking about what else my show includes in its gift baskets. So here you go:
One (1) Copy of Sanjaya Malakar's autobiography "Dancing with Myself," autographed.
Two (2) "Dukakis '88" bumper stickers, gently used.
One (1) "A Goofy Movie" crew T-shirt, size XXL.
Four (4) Sparrow eggs, ripe.
One (1) Jar of Nutella, autographed.
One (1) "Free Willy 2" coloring book, colored.
Three (3) Mitt Romney bobbleheads, slightly burnt.
One (1) Coupon for a free prostate exam, redeemable in Rhode Isand.
One (1) 8 x10 glossy photo of Christopher Eccleston, signed by David Tennant.
One (1) Crinkled Walgreen's receipt with the home phone number of one (1) of these women scrawled on the back: Anna Wintour, Rozilyn Papa, Antonella Barba, Alison Stokke, Brittany Murphy, Pat Sajak, Demi Lovato, Tubgirl
Twenty Seven (27) Tickets to my one-man stage show, "Go to Shell: Live at Denny's!"
One (1) Shake-weight, slightly sticky.
One (1) Eighteen (18) - pound bag of magic rocks.
One (1) Home Hepatitis-C Test, used (positive).
Two Hundred (200) Bolivian Fighting Fleas, dead.
One (1) Human ear.
Five (5) Copies of "Double Team," VHS.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
What the hell is Twitter?
I don't know, but I'm on it!
http://twitter.com/TheShellShow
Go there, follow me. I'm told that if I get enough followers they'll make Reign of Fire 2. Or something. Maybe Robocop 4.
A man can dream.
http://twitter.com/TheShellShow
Go there, follow me. I'm told that if I get enough followers they'll make Reign of Fire 2. Or something. Maybe Robocop 4.
A man can dream.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
"How Was Your Valentine's Day, Shell?"
Following is a list of the top 20 women that refused my offer of flowers and/or chocolates and/or spontaneous van sex on Valentine's Day, and for brevity's sake this list is coincidentally identical to my annual list of who I predict will soon be anonymously punched in the throat by a hobo and/or kicked in the face by a rabid kangaroo and/or have vicious rumors about them involving syphilis and John Mayer spread on the internet by me, I mean by anonymous perpetrators. By which I mean me:
1. Betty White
2. Lindsay Vonn
3. Sarah Vowell
4. Lisa Loeb
5. Lady Gaga
6. Anne Wintour
7. The Barista at Starbucks who calls me Steve
8. Miley Cyrus
9. Adam Lambert
10. Miss Rumbaldt, my fifth-grade math teacher
11. Kim Kardashian
12. Kim Kardashian's sister
13. Kim Kardashian's other sister
14. Kim Kardashian's mom
15. Snooky
16. LaToya Jckson
17. Erin Esurance
18. That pink-haired chick from Lazytown
19. Jaycee Duggard
20. Jennifer Aniston. Ah who are we kidding. I turned HER down!
Honorable Mention: The Yellow Power Ranger
1. Betty White
2. Lindsay Vonn
3. Sarah Vowell
4. Lisa Loeb
5. Lady Gaga
6. Anne Wintour
7. The Barista at Starbucks who calls me Steve
8. Miley Cyrus
9. Adam Lambert
10. Miss Rumbaldt, my fifth-grade math teacher
11. Kim Kardashian
12. Kim Kardashian's sister
13. Kim Kardashian's other sister
14. Kim Kardashian's mom
15. Snooky
16. LaToya Jckson
17. Erin Esurance
18. That pink-haired chick from Lazytown
19. Jaycee Duggard
20. Jennifer Aniston. Ah who are we kidding. I turned HER down!
Honorable Mention: The Yellow Power Ranger
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
I Am The World!!!
So you know how all those hip, modern "singers" got together after the Grammys to remake "We are the World?" Yeah, a few problems with that.
First off, I was totally snubbed at the Grammys. Kathy Griffin gets a nomination but not me?? My spoken-word album, "One Shell of an Evening: All Night Long; Live From Binghamton!" burned up the Billboard charts! Like, literally. After I released it and didn't sell any copies, I went to Billboard and set the building on fire. Which, if you think about it, is a pretty brilliant marketing strategy for future releases. Somebody should offer me an Adjunt Professorship.
Anyway, since I wasn't at the Grammys (and not for lack of trying, as you may be aware if you pay any attention to the Registered Sex Offender newsletter or Fox News), I didn't hear about this little get together this group of tomorrow's has-beens was holding until it was too late. Whatever. It's their loss, because I'm a better singer than 10 Justin Biebers! And I don't even know who Justin Bieber is. In fact I don't even know if those syllabals that I just uttered are in fact a real person. I do that sometimes. Here I'll give it another shot: Danny Bonaduce.
What I'm trying to say is, "We Are the World" shouldn't be attempted again unless Michael Jackson's a part of it. To that end yes, I did attempt to break into Michael Jackson's crypt, steal his body, construct an elaborate marionette device using twine and fishhooks, and have him moonwalk to the recording studio as the gathered artists all praised me for being such a forward-thinking achiever who singlehandedly returned the project to its former glory.
I say "Attempted" because I'll admit it, I wasn't entirely successful. Moonwalking is hard. Making a corpse Moonwalk is even harder. Especially when parts keep falling off. By the time I got to the recording studio everyone had already gone home and I was left standing there with my pockets full of nose parts, fingers and nipples, looking like a jackass. And at that point there was some idiotic girl-band using the studio, and it was as if they'd never seen a walking corpse before, which is stupid considering that Thriller is like the most watched video of all time! Kids are stupid. It took a lot of Jesus Juice to shut them up. Also some punching.
I had to dump the body behind an Indian restaurant and return home, dejected. Because I failed, the new "We Are the World" is going to suck. And it's all Quincy Jones' fault for not giving me a writing credit, which I totally deserved. It ain't over, Quince.
First off, I was totally snubbed at the Grammys. Kathy Griffin gets a nomination but not me?? My spoken-word album, "One Shell of an Evening: All Night Long; Live From Binghamton!" burned up the Billboard charts! Like, literally. After I released it and didn't sell any copies, I went to Billboard and set the building on fire. Which, if you think about it, is a pretty brilliant marketing strategy for future releases. Somebody should offer me an Adjunt Professorship.
Anyway, since I wasn't at the Grammys (and not for lack of trying, as you may be aware if you pay any attention to the Registered Sex Offender newsletter or Fox News), I didn't hear about this little get together this group of tomorrow's has-beens was holding until it was too late. Whatever. It's their loss, because I'm a better singer than 10 Justin Biebers! And I don't even know who Justin Bieber is. In fact I don't even know if those syllabals that I just uttered are in fact a real person. I do that sometimes. Here I'll give it another shot: Danny Bonaduce.
What I'm trying to say is, "We Are the World" shouldn't be attempted again unless Michael Jackson's a part of it. To that end yes, I did attempt to break into Michael Jackson's crypt, steal his body, construct an elaborate marionette device using twine and fishhooks, and have him moonwalk to the recording studio as the gathered artists all praised me for being such a forward-thinking achiever who singlehandedly returned the project to its former glory.
I say "Attempted" because I'll admit it, I wasn't entirely successful. Moonwalking is hard. Making a corpse Moonwalk is even harder. Especially when parts keep falling off. By the time I got to the recording studio everyone had already gone home and I was left standing there with my pockets full of nose parts, fingers and nipples, looking like a jackass. And at that point there was some idiotic girl-band using the studio, and it was as if they'd never seen a walking corpse before, which is stupid considering that Thriller is like the most watched video of all time! Kids are stupid. It took a lot of Jesus Juice to shut them up. Also some punching.
I had to dump the body behind an Indian restaurant and return home, dejected. Because I failed, the new "We Are the World" is going to suck. And it's all Quincy Jones' fault for not giving me a writing credit, which I totally deserved. It ain't over, Quince.
Monday, January 25, 2010
My Thoughts on the Changing Late Night Landscape
Okay, first things first.
Yes, I'm still alive. Please stop sending armed SWAT teams to my house to determine if I'm okay. At least I assume that's why armed SWAT teams keep swarming into my house. I'm pretty sure it has nothing to do with that rumored orphan-smuggling ring I keep hearing about on the news which I have nothing to do with, by the way. Pretty sure.
No, the reason I haven't been blogging lately is due to Jay Leno taking over my blog. Not quite sure how it happened, but it appears that at some point, Leno's own blog wasn't getting enough traffic so he decided to take over one with a bigger fanbase. I'm guessing he must have doubled his readership to two when he took over mine. So yeah, that's why the last couple of weeks The Shell Show Blog started doing Headlines, none of which were that funny. Most of them involved Butte, Montana, for some reason. But not worry, your old buddy Shell is back in control! The last SWAT team that paid me a visit left behind one of their assault rifles, and with some creative stage makeup I made it look like Jay's idiot bandleader and snuck it on his set, where an unfortunate drum accident took out a chimpanzee wearing a hat, which I assume is his EP.
In any event, NBC put Jay on lockdown so I was able to get my blog back. So um...yeah. Insert clever blog post here, I guess. Um... okay you know what, Leno may be an unfunny hack jackass, but let's give the man some credit, he's able to come out each night with fresh material. Most of it stolen from what he reads off of cereal boxes, but still.
It beats paying writers.
Yes, I'm still alive. Please stop sending armed SWAT teams to my house to determine if I'm okay. At least I assume that's why armed SWAT teams keep swarming into my house. I'm pretty sure it has nothing to do with that rumored orphan-smuggling ring I keep hearing about on the news which I have nothing to do with, by the way. Pretty sure.
No, the reason I haven't been blogging lately is due to Jay Leno taking over my blog. Not quite sure how it happened, but it appears that at some point, Leno's own blog wasn't getting enough traffic so he decided to take over one with a bigger fanbase. I'm guessing he must have doubled his readership to two when he took over mine. So yeah, that's why the last couple of weeks The Shell Show Blog started doing Headlines, none of which were that funny. Most of them involved Butte, Montana, for some reason. But not worry, your old buddy Shell is back in control! The last SWAT team that paid me a visit left behind one of their assault rifles, and with some creative stage makeup I made it look like Jay's idiot bandleader and snuck it on his set, where an unfortunate drum accident took out a chimpanzee wearing a hat, which I assume is his EP.
In any event, NBC put Jay on lockdown so I was able to get my blog back. So um...yeah. Insert clever blog post here, I guess. Um... okay you know what, Leno may be an unfunny hack jackass, but let's give the man some credit, he's able to come out each night with fresh material. Most of it stolen from what he reads off of cereal boxes, but still.
It beats paying writers.
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