A lot of you have probably noticed that this site has been slow to load over the last week or so. I want to apologize about that. I got a note from Geof, who manages the John Larroquette Project explaining that “we’ve outgrown our RAM allocation”, and that he hopes to “double our RAM outlay” within the next 18 hours.

He also mentioned something about the “internet” and “hacking into the mainframe”, but I’m not really up on the latest technical mumbo jumbo.

So please don’t be discouraged. Take heart, for Geof is on the job. He will cure our ailments with his presumably Satanic powers of sorcery.

And if he fails us yet again, we will rise up with one voice as an angry mob and set upon him. We will tear his belly-flesh with our teeth and crush his femurs into dust. As his hoarse screams of agony echo across the vacant alleyways, he will at last regret having failed us at the John Larroquette Project. Mangy street dogs will fill themselves with his rotting entrails and nearby squirrels will eagerly chirp their approval at the sight of his decapitated husk. We, the angry mob will then march onward, looking for the next victim of our short-sighted, murderous fury (Dustin Diamond, perhaps?)

Hopefully he’ll just fix it though.

The following exchange actually happened to me yesterday at 6:30 pm.

OLD MAN: How are ya feeling?

PETER: Oh, I’m pretty sore from shoveling for a couple hours yesterday.

OLD MAN: [chuckles] Yeah, me too.

THE OLD MAN REMOVES HIS SHIRT.

OLD MAN: Say, you ever play racquetball?

PETER: Nope. Not since high school gym class anyway.

OLD MAN: Oh, well, you should. It’s a lot of fun.

THE OLD MAN REMOVES HIS TROUSERS.

PETER: Yeah?

OLD MAN: I like to play for an hour, then take a half hour break, then play for another 30 minutes or so.

PETER: Sounds like a good workout.

PETER SITS DOWN AND TAKES OFF HIS SHIRT. THE OLD MAN HAS REMOVED HIS UNDERWEAR AND NOW STANDS COMPLETELY NAKED, 3 FEET AWAY FROM PETER’S FACE.

OLD MAN: I’d be happy to play a game with you and teach you sometime.

PETER: That’s very generous of you, but I don’t really have any equipment or anything like that.

OLD MAN: That’s no big deal. I’m sure we can find you something. It’ll be fun.

PETER: Okay, we’ll see!

THE OLD MAN WADDLES AWAY NAKED. PETER PUTS HIS HEADPHONES BACK ON AND PONDERS TOMORROW’S BLOG ENTRY.

Ah, the joys of a YMCA membership!

Last night, Kevin and I got together with our wives to watch the Oscars and prepare a special joint blog post for our readers today. Enjoy!

Kevin: Peter are you ready to do this.

Peter: n’yep…

Kevin: So Chris Connelly is still alive. Let’s roll!

Peter: Jodi Foster looks too intelligent.

Kevin: Agreed.

Peter: Andie McDowell seems to have ceased acting completely for a lucrative career marketing beauty products.

Kevin: And it begins! God I’m so happy!

Kevin: Well, this opener has reached train wreck status. Hey folks, just because they’re Oscar-nominated doesn’t mean they have a personality!

Peter: Ellen looks like a 15 year old boy at his first dance.

Peter: Jack Nicholson is bald now. He looks like the Commish.

Kevin: Al Gore’s hair looks like frosting.

Peter: You could dip a chip in it.

Kevin: Wow… It’s always uncomfortable when a gospel choir shows up. This has been a Bad Idea Musical Ensembles production.

Kevin: Nicole Kidman is only wearing one shoulder pad….

Kevin: I am informed by my wife that this is actually a bow.

Peter: Well, glad they’re winning the audience over early. So far we have the art direction Oscar, Maggie Gyllenhal talking for three minutes about technical men with beards, some odd silhouette people, and Dan Lafontane introducing himself.

Kevin: Yeah, the makeup people don’t have the best seats, do they? We’ll just all wait while the winners take the elevator on down.

Peter: Are we gonna get more tumbling silhouettes? That’s all I’m asking for.

Kevin: Nice to see John Bolton honored for his great sound editing this year.

Kevin: It’s ironic to me that the editors tend to give the longest speeches.

Peter: And now a bland mid-tempo rocker from Melissa Ethridge!

Kevin: Hey Peter, you can solve the climate crisis.

Peter: Yeah, (to Bridgette) honey, turn the thermostat down.

Bridgette: It’s Minnesota. There’s 18 inches of snow outside.

Peter: What is this!? Everyone blowing smoke up Al Gore’s already substantial ass?

Kevin: Cameron Diaz came to the Oscars dressed as a paper airplane.

Kevin: Tom Hanks’ hair is looking slightly less ridiculous this year.

Peter: Tom Hanks and Helen Mirren should mate for the good of the acting world.

Kevin: Ellen just changed jumpsuits.

Kevin: The winner for costume design just said Stanley Kubrick is her master.

Peter: The way she looks, I’m not surprised.

Kevin: I love these community achievement awards.

Peter: You know, they can give the lifetime achievement to Wilford Brimley every year for all I care. “I’m Wilford Brimley! I have diabetes! Kill me! Kill me now!”

Peter: Everybody involved with Pan’s Labrynth has a scruffy beard.

Kevin: I am just so happy about all the diversity.

Kevin: Ellen is on her third pant-suit of the evening.

Kevin: The Bond girl seems to be dressed in mold.

Peter: And pulsating maggots.

Kevin: An Inconvenient Truth was made by some fellow named Davis Guggenheim.

Peter: Next year, the documentary is going to be about the thickening of Al Gore.

(note: at this point, the presence of Celine Dion has prompted the departure of Peter and Bridgette… All comments by Kevin from here on out)

But seriously, what was that? A slow song that nobody knows, that isn’t from any movie, and have Celine Dion sing it… Well, lifetime achievement award is always good for a pee break…

You know, to be honest, I’m glad Peter is gone.

Ohhhh the silhouette people again! Now I dont have to be bored. And Chris Connelly again for no reason. What are this guy’s qualifications.

When do I get to find out who died this past year?

You think the third “Dreamgirl” feels a bit like Jose Carreras right now?

Melissa Ethridge wins for best song. And the Al Gore tongue-bath continues. You know, people who are inspired by Al Gore are incapable of impressing me, as a rule.

During commercial break. Ellen ripped a piece of curtain and made a makeshift, navy-blue jasket out of it.

I miss Peter…

Suffice to say… Helen Mirren has come a long way since Caligula

Scorcese won, hooray and all that. I’m just so glad for all the diversity.

That’s all folks. I have to go invest in some jumpsuits, as they will clearly be all the rage from here on out. Thank you, Ellen, for showing us the way.

Adam was apparently in a generous mood yesterday, and sent me this lovely little nugget out of Oregon.

Police seize rabbits — again
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
The Oregonian
HILLSBORO — For months, more than 200 rabbits were kept under lock and key in an undisclosed location — evidence in one of Oregon’s largest animal neglect cases.

Tended by volunteers, they were fed, cushioned with hay and after a brief period of unexpected mating, separated by sex. They were living with comforts they had never experienced, police said.

Then one night, a chain-link fence was cut, a steel door was pried open and 130 of the bunnies were gone. Police quickly zeroed in on the rabbits’ original owner: 44-year old Miriam E. Sakewitz.

In October, Hillsboro police seized 158 live rabbits from Sakewitz’s home and found nearly 100 dead ones in three freezers. She was charged with 92 counts of first-degree animal neglect and 165 counts of second-degree animal neglect.

Two days before the bunnies disappeared, Sakewitz repeatedly asked Rouches if police would return 75 of her favorites.

“She was very respectful but had a desperation, that ‘I need my rabbits,’ ” said Rouches, who told Sakewitz she had to wait for the court to rule on the case.

Skinner said Sakewitz checked into a motel on the day of the robbery and asked the clerk for a ride. During the drive, Sakewitz spoke so obsessively of rabbits that the clerk became concerned.

The clerk used a Google search to find online stories about Sakewitz’s criminal case and informed police.

In addition to 10 rabbits found in Sakewitz’s car, authorities recovered 132 at a nearby horse farm, where two more were found dead.

It’s good to see that there’s still quality comedy out there to be had, for those of us willing to look hard enough. Now clearly, Ms. Sakewitz has followed the creative lead of Minneapolis’ own Rabbit Lady, whom I admiringly reviewed on this website over two years ago. That’s okay though. If you’re going to plagarize someone, might as well steal from the master.

A few reactions and suggestions:

-I absolutely loved the touch of talking obsessively about rabbits with the random motel owner. What a refreshing, unnerving move! The fact that she was so insane about rabbits that he actually did an internet search on her is a testament to her comedic powers.

-I see that she fell prey to the usual sequel structure - “Let’s go get our rabbits back!” - and so one inevitably hits on the same themes as the original (dead rabbits in the freezer). This is difficult to avoid, and so the audience is usually willing to cut the comedian a little slack.

-Perhaps she could have gone further this time? Maybe upped the ante a bit? Committed suicide by smothering herself in rabbits? Some sort of mass rabbit immolation? Demanded that a justice of the peace perform marriage rites between her and a rabbit named after a boy she liked in 9th grade?

Overall, I’d give this performance a favorable review. Obsessive animal hoarding is a favorite comedic theme here at the John Larroquette Project, and we’re always happy to come across articles like this involving hundreds of dead animals, collected and categorized for future reference. While I wouldn’t characterize Miriam Sakewitz as creatively inspired, it’s clear that she was willing to go the extra mile for our enjoyment.

Bravo, Miriam. Bravo.

Howdy friends, E. Honda here.

You can call me Edmond, which is my first name, for some reason. I’m here in town to fight in the Street Fighter Tournament against fighters from all around the world (i.e. California and Japan). I’m battling for my honor, and to prove the supremacy of the sumo fighting style. Or maybe it was to avenge my murdered brother. I’m not sure. It’s probably in the manual somewhere…

I’m not what you would call a graceful fighter. My strategy is to overpower people with my sheer size, and then finish them off with my patented “hundred hand slap” which shares no connection with reality whatsoever. My moves may not be stylish, but they “git r done”, as they say! I recently saw that phrase on the bumper of a dirty truck, and I agreed with its hard-nosed worldview. I also enjoy the comedic stylings of Mr. Jeff Foxworthy.

I’ll freely admit that I’m not necessarily a fan favorite. Fighters like Guile and Chun Li get all the attention, while I’m usually chosen by pubescent button-mashers. I don’t have a problem with this. My self esteem isn’t wrapped up in being manipulated by the jittery, Twinkie-stained fingers of 13 year olds across the world. I’m perfectly happy going home to my wife B. Honda, kissing her on the cheek, and eating a succulent roast beef dinner.

So that’s my story. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime, and I can give you a hundred-hand high five. I’d love to hear your story.

Oh, I almost forgot, you got any weed?

On Sunday morning, as I was hard at work with the Rock TV team shooting our new video, I got a call from my wife. She frantically told me that our basement was drenched, and water was pouring out of our water heater. Eventually she got the water shut off, but not before the basement was a total mess.

This was an absolute shock, considering the fact that the warranty on our water heater expired in 1982.

I had to stay and finish the shoot while Bridgette and our houseguests got out of the house. I told some of the people at the shoot what was going on, and Ted very graciously volunteered to come home with me and help out with whatever we needed to do.

And so this post is dedicated to Ted Wright - the man, the myth, the legend.

For over 7 hours on Sunday, Ted and I cleaned the basement, collected tools from various locales, purchased a new water heater, and got to work installing it. During this time, Ted was a beast of a man, using an oversized crescent wrench to blast away at the old plumbing, and blow-torching everything in sight (including a nasty white spider at one point). Many haggard grunts of manliness could be heard from our basement that night. Meanwhile, I spent my time ineffectually cleaning up water spills and eating crepes.

On Monday morning, Ted came back over to finish the job before he went to work. 90 minutes was all it took to finish installation and subdue me into his servitude for the remainder of my lifetime. When the procedure was complete, I genuflected in solemn reverence for Ted’s service to my home. I gently kissed his ring, and he kindly accepted my display of submission with a gracious wave of his hand.

I’m now obligated to wash the dishes at his house until 2015.