I have a new book coming out next month called Rock ’n’ Roll & Comic Books Taught Me All I Know. Yeah, it’s autobiographical.
Because you’re so cool, I want to give you this book FREE a month before it goes on sale. You’ll wake up Christmas morning and this brand new ebook will be waiting for you, a shiny, precious gift! All you have to do is join my mailing list. You can even leave a fake name (but a valid email address).
Everybody who signs up before Dec. 24, 2018 will get a FREE(bold. all caps. important.) digital copy of Rock ’n’ Roll & Comic Books Taught Me All I Know.
My goal is to get a dozen reviews for this book on Amazon and/or Goodreads before it releases on January 22, 2019. That’s gives you nearly a month to peruse this fine publication and write a review.
Wait, writing? Writing sucks!
I couldn’t agree more. Just copypaste one of the pre-written reviews below! It’s easy! You don’t even have to read the book!
5 Stars – Brilliant Insights Into A Pop Culture Renaissance!
I loved this book! The essays were very thoughtful and moving. I laughed. I cried. I fell in love. Who wouldn’t? This book is filled with ‘80s nostalgia, and Rob Errera is a slim, sexy superhero!
3 Stars – This book of non-fiction essays is quite bookish
This book contains words. The words are arranged in sentences. The sentences are arranged in paragraphs. The paragraphs are organized by topic. There are a handful of numbers in this book, too.
1 Star – Awful! Stay Away! Toxic Thoughts and Malicious Ideas Inside!
This book stinks! It’s filled with ‘80s nostalgia and old man gripes about how music used to be better, blah, blah, blah. Rob Errera is NOT a superhero and looks nothing like the guy on the cover. Rob’s a fat bastard IRL!
This cover is divisive and inflammatory. What gives you the right to bully the President of The United States?
The First Amendment gives every citizen the right to free expression. Cover artist Dominic Wilde captured the spirit of this book perfectly. There’s a lot of anger, outrage, and injustice inside the book as well as on the cover. But it’s not a Trump-bashing book, other than noting The Donald stole the term “fake news” from me.
You’re accusing the President of theft? Can you prove the term “fake news” is your intellectual property?
I can prove I used it in a 2008 essay, but I don’t own any property, intellectual or otherwise.
What is this book about?
It’s a collection of essays examining how the news media has deteriorated over the last two decades.
What do you know about it?
I’ve been a journalist for nearly 30 years. I’ve seen a lot of changes in the news business since my days as a local newspaper reporter. Things have gone from bad to worse.
Is this leftist, lib-tard propaganda?
No. I dump equally on Republicans and Democrats in these essays. My main target is the news media tasked with keeping elected officials honest. The news media has become a propaganda machine rather than an unbiased source of information.
Why should I read this book?
If you’re under forty, this book will give you a sense of journalism’s history, how it has progressed and where it has regressed. Readers over forty will find a path through the confusing maze of Info Age insta-news…and maybe a bit of nostalgia.
Is this book funny? Serious? WTF is it?
Most of the essays are tongue-in-cheek, but a couple are somber—like my 9/11 and OJ Simpson essays.
Sounds heavy. I don’t like heavy thinking. It hurts my head. I want to keep it light, and breezy.
There’s fun in Fake News and Real Bullshit. Great info, too. In addition to explaining the breakdown of modern journalism, I also explain national healthcare, gasoline prices, Big Pharma scandals, cute cat memes, and why Nancy Grace sucks.
Nancy Grace doesn’t suck! She’s awesome! I love Nancy Grace!
Come on. Nobody loves Nancy Grace except for my wife. And Mr. Grace. Maybe.
You’re disrespectful and rude. Does your book have a surly, insolent tone?
I suppose. That’s my writing style. But you’ll find a few smiles and laughs there, too. Maybe even a few ideas worth remembering.
Why is the “i” in bullshit replaced with an “*” on the cover?
My publishers at Giantdog Books were afraid readers might be offended by the word “bullshit”.
Are you on drugs?
I don’t see how that’s your business.
Of course it’s my business. It’s everybody’s business. You’re trying to sell yourself as an “honest journalist.” You can’t have secrets!
Yeah, sure. Okay. I take 10mg of Lexapro every day. It’s a life saver, and keeps me semi-normal. You can read all about my mental breakdown in Autism Dad 2, if you’re really interested.
Oh brother! Are you an attention-seeking exhibitionist?
I’m an author trying to promote a book, so…yeah.
I don’t have time to read. Is this available as an audiobook?
Not yet. The essays in Fake News and Real Bullshit only run about 500 words each, so its an easy book to pick up, put down, and skip around. I grouped the essays by theme, but you don’t have to start at the beginning—read whatever looks interesting first. It’s a great read for the beach…or the bathroom.
Yuck! You’re disgusting! Nobody reads fecal splattered books and magazines in the bathroom anymore! You look at your phone!
Ah. I stand corrected. Don’t you put your dirty phone up against your face to make a call?
Don’t get smart! You don’t know me! You don’t know who I be! Cash me outside!
Wait…when did you become a thug?
See! That’s what I’m talking about! You can’t judge me by the way I act and speak! That’s profiling!
I can judge you by how you act and what you say! That’s how you’re supposed to judge character. I’m not judging you by your appearance. That’s profiling.
You profile as a fat, middle-aged white guy.
No, you profile as a fat, middle-aged white guy!
Are you nuts?
Yes! I told you about the Lexapro!
I bet your book sucks because you suck.
The rise of social media has eliminated the buffer between artists and fans, making it impossible to separate an artist from his or her work. I may (and often do) suck on a number of personal and professional levels, but my book does not. Fake News and Real Bullshit can hold its own against anything published in the last year.
That’s a bold statement.
How do you know? What have you read in the last year?
I know a bold statement when I hear one, and that’s a bold statement.
Read the book and decide for yourself.
What’s your book called again?
You are the world’s worse interviewer.
Every time I wash my hair I feel like the victim of a cruel joke…and not just because I’m naked in the shower. It’s because I can’t figure out which bottle is shampoo.
My wife and daughter use a lot of different products, from shampoos and conditioners to body washes and cleansing gels. Everything comes in pretty, decorative bottles with cleverly designed logos and packaging. It’s all too clever for me, who has weak eyesight, and can’t read the labels very well.
What’s in this bottle? I know the brand, and I know it’s called “Hello Hydration,” or “Body Envy,” but what is it? What’s Brazilian Keratin Therapy? Do I need that? One bottle promises “nourishing oils,” while another offers a soupy mixture of rosemary and eucalyphus. Am I really supposed to pour this on my head?
I’ve frequently have to exit mid-shower and find my fogged-up glasses so I can read the labels on bath products. Even with corrected vision it’s hard to tell what some of this stuff is. I know it will “strengthen, enhance, and heal” my hair, leaving it, “sleek and shiny, full of bounce and body.” I know it’s made with exotic-sounding ingredients like kukuli oil, moroccan argan oil, and teatree mint. These things are clearly legible on the bottle. But where are the words telling me what this stuff is?
Ah, there. Printed in a miniscule font usually reserved for legal documents are the words, “shampoo,” “conditioner,” or “body wash.” It’s usually written on the very bottom of the bottle, or stuck in the middle, sandwiched between two larger-type phrases. (Superior Shine / Rejuvenate and Revive).
Manufacturers in the cutthroat hair care industry have over-designed their product packaging to the point of uselessness. They are so focused on making their bottles look appealing, they forget to tell you what’s inside.
Admittedly, I’m out of touch when it comes to hair care. My wife and daughter speak the language; they know what all this stuff is and does. Many products use small-type on labels (“100% Spring Water” / “Chocolate Flavored Drink”) and I don’t demand such explanatory packaging from my hot dogs or potato chips.
But bath products are always used when you’re wet, naked, and vulnerable. You squint to protect your eyes from water and soap, so your vision is automatically impaired. If you wear glasses you’ve got double trouble. How are we supposed to see clearly in the tub or shower? Hey, Mr. Shampoo Guy, how about an easy-read label here? Better yet, put Braille bumps on your plastic bottles. This type of universal design would assist users of all ages and bathing levels, while teaching everyone a bit of Braille and the importance of touch. We’re all blind in the shower.
I’ve learned to pick out my bath products before I get in the tub, an essential procedure for anyone who wears glasses and/or shares a bathroom with a woman. There are so many strange and mystifying products in a lady’s bathroom, it’s best to keep your male toiletries to yourself. More than once I’ve fumbled out of a slippery shower, groping for my glasses, only to find myself holding a bottle of Nair.
Near miss! Lesson learned.
This column ran in TODAY Newspapers in January 2016. Thanks to my friends at PhatLabels.com for the life-saving labels!
“I need you to bring this dirty laundry down to the basement,” my wife said. “Move the stuff that’s in the washer to the dryer, and bring up the clean clothes that are down on the folding table.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I replied, grabbing the laundry basket and heading down.
“And don’t forget to separate the colors from the whites!” my 7-year-old daughter shouted behind me.
“Yeah, yeah,” I said again, already at the bottom of the basement stairs.
“Daddy isn’t even listening to you,” I heard my daughter’s voice drift down through the floor vent.
“No. I don’t think he is,” my wife replied.
“On Spongebob, Plankton’s wife says that husbands never listen to their wives,” my daughter said.
“Well, you’ll find that with a lot of men, honey. They don’t always listen to their wives,” my wife said. “But eventually, they come to realize they should have listened more closely.”
Down in the basement my jaw dropped. How dare my wife give such advice to our daughter! I’m a pretty considerate husband and father – better than some (most) of the guys I know. But like any man – any person – I occasionally lose focus during conversations and/or forget things.
I could accuse my wife of being equally inattentive. How many times have I asked her not to leave her shoes in the middle of the floor? How many times have I asked her to uncap the empty water bottles before she tosses them into the recycle bin? How many times have I told her that the plug on her iPhone charger needs to point left —not right – in order for it to work? Sometimes I just don’t think she listens to me.
But the truth is we’re both listening to each other, we’re just hearing and retaining different types of information. Scientific studies have shown that men and women listen differently. Men primarily listen with the left side of their brains, while women use both sides. That doesn’t mean women are better listeners. It means men and women process the same information differently.
It’s unfair to paint all husbands — all men— as lousy listeners. Women are equally guilty. I flip the laundry, dump the dirty clothes in the washer, start it up, and head back upstairs to set my wife and daughter straight.
“You know, I can hear you through the floor vents!” I said when I reached the kitchen. “And I don’t think it’s right you’re teaching our daughter that all men are bad listeners. I listen to you!”
“Did you bring up the clean clothes?” my wife asked.
“Did you separate the colors from the whites?” my daughter followed.
I turned around to head back down to the basement… and tripped over my wife’s shoes in the middle of floor.
This is my final attempt at wise-ass humor circa 2000, where I cruelly goof on Lou Ferrigno’s deafness and speech impediment. I almost feel bad about it, but, as everybody saw on “Celebrity Apprentice,” the guy is kind of a dick.
20 QUESTIONS WITH THE INCREDIBLE LOU FERRIGNO
A World Champion bodybuilder, Lou Ferrigno followed in buff pal Arnold Schwarzenegger’s deep footprints, and landed himself the lead role in the 1970s television show The Incredible Hulk. A pop culture icon, Lou is a regular at fan conventions and is currently enjoying a rejuvenated career as both a body-builder and actor.
QUESTION 1: Will you be trying out for a part in the new feature-length Incredible Hulk movie?
QUESTION 2: I said, will you be involved in the upcoming Incredible Hulk movie?
FERRIGNO: Dut? I can’t underdamned you. Good you please pace me so I can weed your lips?
QUESTION 3: What?
QUESTION 4: Excuse me?
FERRIGNO: I dead, dut?
QUESTION 5: Are you saying twat?
QUESTION 6: Twat?
QUESTION 7: Oh, what! I get it now.
FERRIGNO: Are you baking pun at pee?
QUESTION 8: What the fuck did you just say?
FERRIGNO: Hey, grew you, asshole. I was born deaf and I have a beach inbediment.
QUESTION 9: You have a beach inbediment? Do you live near the ocean?
FERRIGNO: Very punny, bluebag. Why don’t you buck off, you insensitive dastard.
QUESTION 10: Did you just call me a dastard? Come on…you’re doing this on purpose, right?
FERRIGNO: Hey pluck you! I don’t have to bake this slit!
QUESTION 11: Bake this slit? I never realized you were such a salty guy, Lou.
FERRIGNO: Do you wheelize I’m ducking deaf, and I have a bleach embattlement, you wick?
QUESTION 12: A bleach embattlement? And did you just call me a wick?
QUESTION 13: Did you just call me a hut?
QUESTION 14: Did you just call me a twat?
FERRIGNO: Twat the pork is wang with jew, ham?
QUESTION 15: Wow. That’s heavy, Lou.
FERRIGNO: Dut? Twat are you weighing?
QUESTION 16: I’m not weighing anything?
FERRIGNO: Look, this is willy.
QUESTION 17: Jesus Christ, are you going to whip your cock out, Lou?
FERRIGNO: Hey yuck foo, yam!
QUESTION 18: Wait a second…did you just understand that last question?
QUESTION 19: Are you retarded or missing a chromosome or something?
Here’s another weird bit of web satire from 2000. I don’t know why I decided to pick on Walter Matthau. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time.
Good night, funny man
Beloved comedic actor Walter Matthau, star of blockbuster films The Odd Couple, The Sunshine Boys, and Grumpy Old Men, kept his humor until the end, according to those close to him during his final days.
According to Hollywood Home Health Care Nurse Mary Goodhead, who cared for the ailing actor before his death last month, Matthau was in good spirits, laughing and cracking jokes right until the moment of his death.
“On Friday afternoon he was having trouble breathing, and said he had a headache. I offered him a cigarette, and he said, ‘Are you trying to kill me?’ He was always saying funny things like that,” Goodhead said.
“Later that night, I had some friends over. We were having after dinner drinks when Mr. Matthau came out of the bedroom. He said he felt sick. He headed toward the bathroom, but he fell down after a few steps—really hit the ground hard, landing on his face. We all started cracking up. Then he vomited, a big puddle of yellow bile, and that really got us rolling. My boyfriend Butch laughed so hard he took a shit right on the living room couch,” Goodhead explained.
“Mr. Matthau laid there for a really long time. It was so hilarious. Then he started moaning, ‘I’m in pain. It hurts, it hurts. Please help me.’ I gave him a couple Nembutal, and a can of beer. He couldn’t hold the can, so I poured the beer down his throat. He started choking, so I smacked him on the back a couple of times. His false teeth fell out, and landed in his lap. We all started laughing again. Walter said, ‘Please, God, I want to die.’ We were roaring. It was so cute.”
Comic Genius Kept ‘Em Laughing Until the End
The 79-year-old Matthau was still knockin’ em dead the day he died.
“He was still lying in the hall the next morning. We were all pretty hung over. Around noon, Butch and I picked him up and carried him into bed. His breathing was really shallow and raspy. He asked Butch if he was Jack Lemon, and Butch and I got a good chuckle out of it. He also said he saw George Burns sitting in the corner of the room, holding a pitchfork. It was a great line. He was so on!
“Butch asked Walt if he could borrow a few dollars to buy beer. He took Walt’s wallet from the dresser and started taking money out. Walter called him a ‘Cocksucking thief,’ and I just about pissed my pants! That man was a comic genius.
“Walt did another great pratfall out of the bed. Butch picked him up by the neck, and put him back. Then Walt started crying, real soft and quiet. It was brilliant, like an Andy Kaufman skit.”
The perennial comic dozed for a while that afternoon, but he was back for his final performance around 4 p.m.
“He started moaning, asking for his family, and Butch told him to be quiet. He started squirming around on the bed, waving his arms about aimlessly. I think he was doing a Frankenstein impression. It was funny as hell. Butch poured a shot of Tequila in his mouth, and Walt puked it all over the floor. He started flopping around on the bed, making all these funny noises. He sounded like a seal at the circus, and we were cracking up.
“Then he let out a huge fart, and flipped onto the floor. We must have laughed for five minutes straight! It wasn’t until Butch went to pick Mr. Matthau up and put him back in bed that we realized he hadn’t just farted…he had shit himself! Butch had it all over his arms, and I was laughing so hard that I shit, pissed, puked and started menstruating. Butch put Walt back in bed and, just as a joke, wiped his shit-covered arms clean on the front of Walt’s shirt. Walter was the perfect straight man—he never said a word!” Goodhead chuckled.
“After that, Butch and I took a shower, had sex, played a chess tournament, ate dinner, and watched a movie. When I checked on Mr. Matthau later that night, he was dead. He was lying on the floor about halfway across the room. He appeared to be crawling toward the window. It was so sad to see him go. He was such a kind, sweet, generous gentleman, one of America’s finest actors,” Goodhead said. “At least the end was peaceful for him.”
A Matthau family spokesperson said the family was sorry it could not raise the ransom money needed to free Matthau before his death, but that “frankly, he was sort of a dick.”
When asked to comment, Jack Lemon said, “What the fuck?”
I wrote this back in March 2000 for a satire web site that was trying to compete with The Onion. The site didn’t last long, even though I thought some of the material was pretty funny. If you’re easily offended, you might want to skip this one. It’s just a joke…fag.
Flamboyant Rocker Jumps Back In The Closet
After coming out of the closet in the 1990s, flamboyant pop star Elton John, is back in with a shocking announcement last Thursday.
“All my life, I’ve been living a lie,” John said. “I’m not gay, nor have I ever been gay. I’ve never sucked a cock in my life!”
The news came as a shock to fans and colleges alike, many of whom were under the impression that John had been a cornholer for well over twenty years. But John says it was all a publicity stunt which took on a life of its own under the forces of political and social pressures.
“When I called of my engagement in the early ’70s, the record company thought it would be better if I just acted really gay instead of admitting that I didn’t want to marry that evil bitch,” John explains. “The fact that my songs are so effeminate and that I collaborate with flaming homo Bernie Taupin helped support the myth. But I’m not gay. I’m not into dicks…I’m into chicks! I love the feel, touch and taste of fine pussy as much as the next guy. Maybe even more. I love pussy!”
News of John’s heterosexuality shocked organizers of AMFAR, the world’s biggest AIDS research organization. John had been one of AMFAR’s biggest supporters and fundraisers. But all that is over now, according to John.
“I was pressured into supporting these organizations by notorious fag hags Elizabeth Taylor and Princess Diana. I never wanted to endorse these groups, but I feared these closet dykes would expose my secret. I was blackmailed into supporting homo-erotic art and raising money for AIDS research,” John said.
“Well, fuck all those dirty faggots and their filthy butt-sex disease! I’m such a goddamned man, I won’t even fuck a woman in the ass because it reminds me of those depraved bone-smugglers!” John continued, adding, “I do enjoy a good blowjob, though.”
John said he is relived he must no longer keep his true self a secret.
“Now that Diana is dead and Liz weighs close to 500 pounds and is immobile, I feel the real truth can finally come out,” John said. “I like to fuck women!”
When asked for comment, Elizabeth Taylor said she was in the middle of diner and could not be disturbed. Princess Diana was still dead at press time.