Hey gang, it’s me, Michael Landon.

That’s right, I’m communicating with you via Peter’s blog despite the fact that I died of cancer back in ‘91. Those were heady days, before the twist ending of The Sixth Sense, before Michael Richards’ racist meltdown, back when the world made sense.

I’ve been watching all of you since I left, and I have a few words:

Firstly, they aren’t kidding about how a 2-pack-a-day cigarrette habit is bad for your health. I kicked the bucket at age 54 from lung cancer, in a development that absolutely nobody could see coming.

Second, who’s programming your television network these days? In 30 years we’ve gone from the saccharine, Emmy-baiting episodes of Little House where I would hug my daughters tightly as tears welled up in my eyes to Wipeout, a reality show where people have to jump across huge rubber balls to avoid falling into a mud pit? Is that correct? If I were still alive, I’d sit some of those programming execs down and say, “Listen jerko, I’m Michael Landon. I starred in Bonanza, Little House on the Prairie, and Highway to Heaven. I think I know a thing or two about television. Now, here’s your next hit show - it’s a one-hour drama about a crusty-but-benign ex-Supreme Court justice who lives with his divorced daughter. Together, they solve crimes and heal their fractured relationship. Toward the end of the first season, the daughter will go blind, and the actor playing the ex-Supreme Court justice (yours truly) wins another Emmy by thrashing wildly and chewing the scenery like nobody’s business. Then in season three, she’ll get her vision back for some vague reason. Also, the show will also co-star Extreme Home Makeover’s Ty Pennington as an angel-in-training with ADD that only my character can see.”

And finally, who is responsible for this?

I can’t make heads or tails of it. Is that supposed to be me? Does this symbolize something? Why would there be a squid in a river? Can there be any possible explaination for this? Looking at it makes me glad I’m dead.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

This morning, Bridgette and I were at the McDonalds drive-through to get some iced coffees when I heard something that prompted me to switch off the radio in our car.

The McDonalds external P.A. was blaring “Rico Suave” by Gerardo.

Long story short, I ordered 8 extra Bacon, Egg, & Cheese Biscuits to demonstrate my appreciation for their tasteful music selection.

I would like to conclude with this message from me to you from the lyrics of Gerardo’s timeless song:

So again don’t let my [blog] mislead you
I don’t love you but I need you
Would you rather have me lie?
Take a piece of your pie and say bye?
Or be honest and rub your thighs?

Hey man, where you going?

I know where I’m going. That’s right, I’m going to Party Camp!

When I say I’m going to Party Camp, I am of course referring to the blockbuster 1987 film starring Andrew Ross as Jerry Riviera, the zany camp counselor who’s always on the lookout for a party, or the babe of his dreams! You won’t believe the summer adventures that Jerry has with loveable losers Winslow, D.A., Ferris, and the Ned-Man! They keep the jocks buried up to their armpits in hijinks!

It’s all there for you in this clip: the amateurish film editing, sub-amateurish acting, and the show-up-on-the-set-and-we’ll-think-of-some-jokes writing!

Listen to the timeless words of the movie’s beloved theme song, presumably written by Bob Dylan after having suffered some sort of blunt force head trauma:

I’m going to party camp, breaking all the rules!
Forget about your parents, have a good time!
Party camp!

Incidentally, Party Camp’s director, Gary Graver, went on to publish a book called Making Movies With Orson Welles, about his stint doing unpaid work for Welles in the early 1970s. No word yet on if the book details Graver’s prolific career directing adult films in the 1990s.

Party Camp!

Somebody brought brownies into the workroom this morning! Hooray!

Give the brownies to me! I will eat them!

Yum. These brownies are delicious! They taste like chocolate and my father’s kind reassurances!

Now I am taking the entire pan of brownies into the bathroom with me! Leave me alone! I love brownies so bad!

Stop yelling at me! Let go of me!

Give me back the brownies! You can’t give me detention, I’m a history teacher!

While attending the recent wedding of local ne’er-do-wells Tami & Allen, I was introduced to a product so glorious, so sacrosanct, it was an affront to Barack Obama himself.

Graeters Ice Cream.

Churned from the breastmilk of angels (so as to not be defiled by the curdled toxins of free will), Graeters Ice Cream is Ohio’s greatest gift to our blessed Union since the venerable Rutherford B. Hayes. Creamy, supple, and sentient, this is ice cream’s version of the Declaration of Independence.

While at the Groom’s Dinner, I tried many of the finer Graeters flavors that were made available to us by the beneficent hand of Allen - pumpkin pie, coconut chip, and Buckeye Blitz (chocolate ice cream with peanut butter cookie dough and chocolate chips). They were so good that diarrhea exploded uncontrollably out of my reddened anus, metaphorically speaking.

Graeters Ice Cream: the culmination of all human yearning and endeavor throughout the ages.

Really though, you should try some if you want. It’s no big deal to me.

Mmmmm! This ice cream is good! It tastes like chocolate!

I certainly enjoy this ice cream that I am eating!

Just kidding. I don’t actually have any ice cream. I was lying to you. That’s how we roll around here at the John Larroquette Project.

This blog serves as a handy vehicle to spread my fountain of lies. Whether I’m lying about my love of cereal or cat-ownership, most of the stuff you read here is not even close to true. I’m like Michael Corleone from the Godfather, only less cunning and more obsessed with animal hoarding. (I guess in this way I’m more like Fredo Corleone).

At any rate, I hope that each and every one of you has a wonderful day.

(Am I lying when I say that?)

The answer is yes, I was lying. I am heaping psychic sorrow upon all of you at this moment with these very words.

Lying again!

Seriously though, I’m indifferent to most of you.