A few days ago, one of my colleagues, the despicable Thane Economou, wrote an article not only condemning the greatest actor of our generation (Michael Madsen), he personally attacked this esteemed reporter here.

You see, Mr Economou, we live now in a new era. No longer do we live in an age where my name can be smeared, where I can be swift boated off the soap box of my blog! We live now in an era of hope, an era of decency and maturity, where your tainted and unproven conjectures, your “questions,” will be seen for what they are: hypocrisy and drivel. Which is why I will rebut your argument and your claims against me using that which I know best: Logic. Pure, simple, unbuttered logic. And America (I’m not talking to Thane anymore—I totally made him invisible on my list of gchat friends), I hope that through my logic, you may see Thane for what he truly is: a man hell-bent on revenge, a man who lives for nothing except to destroy the life of one man—the man who took from him everything: Michael Madsen. Basically, Thane Economou is Uma Thurman in Kill Bill.

Just look, America: look at this monster you created. Can you not see the hunger in his eyes—the hunger for revenge, and for delicious puppy meat? This is a man with no conscience, whose very existence is based on hatred. Just as he prepares to eat this live puppy—this cute and cuddly, soft and sheer puppy—so does he live his daily life. Without remorse. Without condiments.

Regarding Economou’s claims against me:

1. Michael Madsen has never paid me for anything. Well, there was that one time when he gave me a place to stay for a night and I truly, to use Economou’s own words, became the “mouthpiece of evil.” (It’s tough being a writer during a recession.) To be fair—the guy paid for my medical bills afterwards, as well.

2. Mr Economou would have you believe that I am a strong proponent of urinating on old women. This is completely false: I do not urinate. If Thane felt like telling you the truth, he’d tell you that I lost the ability to urinate when, in exchange for letting me crash for a few nights (see #1), I performed certain deeds from which I have never been able to recover. But, I cannot go into that any further, lest the PTSD kick in again once more. Also, when I could urinate, it was only on children. And it was consensual.

Thane Economou, or shall I say: MR SALLY ALVARADO, I’ve figured you out!

How you changed your name and swore sweet, timely revenge to the same man who, in 1986, beat you out in the last minute to a spot on Miami Vice, a spot which would have made your career and which was conveniently named after and for you. But Madsen took it. And since then, you have sworn to avenge that miscasting. And me, I was your means to Madsen. You thought I’d get you in with Big Mikey M, did you?

Well, Sally, the jig is up. I’ve got you and I won’t let you continue this petty and murderous feud.

You thought you’d get by me, didn’t you? Well, I’m a reporter—that’s what I do. I figure out genius schemes. I may just write for National Lampoon, but this byline probes far and deep. It probes long and hard, deep into the dark and cavernous nether regions of society, where all that thrives is stink and shit. You could say I’m a hero, but I call it doing my job. (You’re welcome.)

Well, I bet you want to know how I did it?

Sally, a man is defined by his name, and your name, Thane Economou, struck me as a bit suspicious. (Being a WASJew, I am by nature immediately struck unfamiliar/unbiblical names.) So, see if you can follow my train of thought, America. It may get complicated:

1. Your alleged first name, Thane, is also a title of nobility in Scotland. Scotland…the Scottish play…Macbeth! Macbeth was the Thane of Cawdor. Macbeth was famous for usurping the Scottish throne and severely repressing the other nobles of his country.
2. Repression rhymes with recession, which is the current state of our economy.
3. Economy is a word remarkably similar in spelling to Economou
4. Macbeth was a bad king, and his story made a good play, though it is performed less during a repressed economy.
5. There is, in modern times, a good King, whose story made a (what was only in his mind) a bad movie, the modern version of a play.
6. This King, In penning a sequel to The Shining, decided to cast Michael Madsen as the role of the ghost father.
7. Of course there’s a ghost father. Come on, this is Hollywood-logic.

You wanted to out-audition Madsen, and in doing so, get your bittersweet revenge.

Well, the jig is up, the fat lady has sung for you, Thane.

Take my advice, America: do not drink from that Fresca. It may taste too much of LIES!*

*Lies and grapefruit have very similar tastes. I know because Thane has, in the past, fed me so many lies.

Last week, Michael Madsen physically assaulted National Lampoon reporter Matt Zaller during an interview where Zaller accidentally referred to Madsen as retarded. An honest mistake that was severely punished.

This act of violence was met by praise from the liberal media, in the form of left-winged National Lampoon writer Gabe Grossman. In Grossman’s piece “An Ode To Michael Madsen,” he wrote in the days following the attack:

“Sing, goddess, the anger of Mad’s son Michael

And its devastation, which put pain thousandfold upon

Zaller and his Zaz.”

Finishing Grossman’s heroic ode to the despicable man, I instantly knew Grossman’s reasons must run far deeper than his pinko liberal love of celebrity (the only thing he loves more than Karl Marx). As I dug into research, I discovered many a scary things in the nether regions of Wikipedia.

Read More

Sing, goddess, the anger of Mad’s son Michael

And its devastation, which put pain thousandfold upon

Zaller and his Zaz.

What was it then set them together in bitter collision?

The sad sombrero, or the menacing moustache—marauding

in guise of greater guile?

Strike up in your mind’s eye, noble Madsen

Just how you’ve made alien your most loyal

Apostle, who preached your gospel and sung your praise:

Yes, Madsen: mind most high

(whose penis prevails perpetual

the proof of which lies potent

in the pudding of Zaller’s visage)

scholar and renaissance man,

who no doubt appreciates this English heroic verse,

why forsake ye your truest of friends?

A comedian comes to stroke your

Ego, his sole job rests in hurting himself,

That renders you more regal

You do it yourself, yielding

Not to conscience, or the cacophony

Of other multiple persons that in your mind

Lurk, lying in wait with specious passion

Of self-defence.

Oh, muse, do make him see,

Give him sight of the specific sorrow,

Yea take his eyes farther than his tactful hat,

Now that he may know what he has done:

That he has taken our job,

Becoming the barb

That the comedian continu’lly seeks.

What use have we for jokes

Or whimsy, when you

For our pleasure do all provide:

Your dream-drought

And your high hat—

That merry mitre of a majestic mind.

Muse or dote, Mr Madsen, do take note

These comedians wish you would comport

Since now we will see you sink, not float

In the costly and honored halls of civil court.