October 31, 2007

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Creed Rocks (Not The Band) I've had my eye on Creed Bratton, the resident crazybird on NBC's The Office, since I started watching the show. How the writers managed to get away with showcasing a wildly eccentric character without watering him down to being a stock "wacky neighbor" type is puzzling and delightful. Originally a plot development in which Ryan opens up a MS Word document and writes a fake URL at the top (www.creedthoughts.gov.www\creedthoughts) before telling Creed that was the site of his new "blog," Creed Thoughts has become a reality. Already having blurred the line between playing Creed Bratton and being Creed Bratton, I wouldn't be totally shocked to learn that this was, indeed, 100% organic Creed at the keyboard. Whomever it is deserves accolades for coming up with gems that I can only hope to one day emulate on paper: At around eleven, the band started playing a metal version of “Silent Night” and the whole place got kind of rowdy. Rowdy’s my specialty, so I jumped right in the middle of the pit and started bopping. Next thing I know, there’s a kid on the floor with a busted nose and I’m being hauled out onto the street by the security guards. Now I’m not one to complain, but that guy’s face really left a mark on my elbow. I’m no spring chicken anymore and my elbow can only take so much trauma. Spent some time on WebMD when I got home and it looks like I’ve got what they call menstrual cramps. Anyway, I got a bruise that looks like Mama Cass and I never got that Danielle’s number. Below, a mash of some of Creed's best moments, the first being my very favorite ever:
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i b jooish, trumpin ur iq Slate's William Saletan recently pondered the argument of whether Jews are a genetically superior "race" with a higher level of intelligence. While I can't answer such a controversial question, I can easily counter that theory with my very own list of some of The World's Dumbest Jews. David Blaine: If I make a wish that you stopped granting wishes, does that count? Rodney Dangerfield: I'll give you respect when your jokes start to not make my stomach hurt (oops, too late) Pauly Shore: Dude proves that even God can fuck up, too. Joseph Lieberman: With about as much charisma as a wet cotton ball, Lieberman made his running mate in the 2000 Presidential Elections look like Charo. Lizzie Grubman: Plowing your car into over a dozen clubgoers is a bit meshuge, sure, but what was she supposed to do? She was a little wasted and people were in the way! Plus, it was her big-shot lawyer daddy's SUV, so it's not like she was supposed to know how to drive it! L'Chaim! David Berkowitz (kind of): I can imagine how many friends showed up to his bar mitzvah! Oy. Jeremy Piven: You are why I don't watch Entourage (although, I admit, I loved you on Ellen). (You know who loves Jeremy Piven? Joe Mande.) Kenny G: It's one thing to wear your hair like a transvestite dressed as a horse. It's another thing to go with a stage name in which your surname is an initial. That's, like, gayer than making a career out of blowing into a phallus all the fucking time. DJ AM: Who? Exactly. Joel Steinberg: World's worst camp counselor. Rachel Zoe: Designer of choice for bone-thin, coke-headed starlets, Rachel Zoe (pronounced "ZOH," just so you know) considers herself more influential than Anna Wintour. Look, I saw The Devil Wears Prada, and if Miranda Priestly is actually based on Anna Wintour, then Zoe's statement will likely cost her a rib or two (although, in Zoe's case, that will likely elicit no complaints). Jesus: He's just a doodyhead. Duh. Everybody knows that! Jewgenics [Slate]

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