More Secrets about Moonbats on the Moon

DATELINE: Movie Mashup on the Moon

Klaatu & Gort

Another mockumentary gathers together dark side insider dope of the Moon. We love our crypto-history from NASA presented to us with a new SyFy movie called Aliens on the Moon: The Truth Exposed.

We cannot eat enough of these bogus computer chips.

Director Robert Kiviak assembles the usual crew of experts you see on fake science TV shows like Ancient Aliens or Hangar One every week to tell us that NASA and the government is covering up a large colony of spying aliens on the Moon. They’re protecting schmuck citizens from panic.

The film’s documentarians show us various colorized photos of the Moon featuring gun turrets, radio satellite dishes, and smoke stacks. Apparently the aliens are still using turbine technology and rudimentary satellite waves.

The most intriguing parts of the film feature Buzz Aldrin, brutally misused and set up to sit by quietly while the film duns him for not revealing that he and Neil Armstrong saw aliens parked over near a dune on the Moon, observing them during the 1969 Moon landing.

The highlight of the film is one expert billed as Amy Shira Teitel. It is actually the actress you see on all the AT&T commercials at the store, telling you about the virtues of their cell phones. This time she is billed as a “spaceflight historian” and seems a bit more starched than when she shills cell phones.

The structures found on the Moon are enormous, standing miles high or miles wide. These facilities might actually have convinced us—but the obligatory alien body is unearthed from a bootleg copy of Apollo 20’s mission. Oh, you didn’t know about Apollo 20 going to the dark side of the Moon?

Disinformation is the bread and butter of crypto-history when the dead alien video features a naked female, glistening in a cellophane shroud. We had to watch it a second time.

Media Day Proves Medium Not Well Done



The Super Bowl has never been about football.

And, another media day proved that point because the Boston media was not there. They were stuck in New England, waiting for the airport to open again.

So, media day was a bust for Boston. No one covered the stories under the cloud of a blizzard. Round the clock snowstorm coverage left little time to discuss the Patriots, except for the occasional reference to the air pressure on a meteorology map.

Boston fans missed Gronk reading erotic passages from an alleged fan-based groupie account of the influence of the man who loves his Polish sausage.

Marshawn Lynch indicated that he only attended Media Day to keep his money in tact. If he had skipped it, he would have been fined.

Lynch was defended by teammate Richard Sherman whose elbow may turn into macaroni during the Super Bowl when Patriot players cook his funny bone. In the meantime, Sherman took on NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell again this week by insisting if players are required to meet with the media each week, so too should the Commissioner.

Owner Robert Kraft used the opportunity to school the alleged smarty-pants Robert Sherman in high finance and office politics. Kraft sent a message to the Seahawk loudmouth that the party he threw was to benefit players who receive over 50% of the revenues Kraft can raise from sponsors.

Bill Belichick seemed relaxed in a director’s chair, looking to all the world like Alfred Hitchcock on the set of The Birds.




No Blizzard and No Deflategate: Your Media at Work

DATELINE: Ironical Low Air Pressure


Snow Barely Reaches Paul Pierce’s Crotch

With the Patriots leaving Boston to go to Arizona for the Super Bowl, dire predictions of three feet of snow and one of the worst blizzards of all-time were rampant in the media and among the so-called experts.

However, within hours of Boston flakes, Robert Kraft was demanding an apology for questioning the integrity of Bill Belichick and Tom Brady by so many who had been quick to condemn them as cheaters and deflating frauds.

The only fraud here was the hysterical media—people who work at talk sports radio and ESPN who need material like a ravenous monster. They made it up. The worst evidence is a ballboy going to take a 90 second bathroom break and being held accountable for deflating a dozen balls (each taking at least 10 seconds).

And now we have evidence that the hysterical media and incompetent experts are also in the field of meteorology. The so-called blizzard was a bust. No one wanted to say so. Compared to 1978, this storm was a flake in the park.

Like Chicken Little, the weather people on television fought valiantly to convince the public to close schools, shut down airports, ban travel on the roads, and other extreme measures.

There were some flakes, but we strained to see more than a dusting of twelve inches on our front lawn.

Earlier this season Bill Belichick knocked the meteorologists for seldom being correct. He was a voodoo scientist, according to the National Weather Service.

He was a voodoo scientist according to the Science Guy Bill Nye, a media created expert high school teacher without degrees or objectivity. He’s a Seahawk fan.

There were no deliberately inflated footballs, and there was no New England blizzard. Boston’s 24 inches of snow was a mere bagatelle.

Wake up, America. The media has you in its grip.

P.S.,  Media Day in Arizona and Blizzard Day in Boston happen to coincide this year.

Is It Time for the Fall of the NFL Empire?



It’s a Super Bowl the Patriots cannot win figuratively.

You guessed it: if they win the game against the despicable Seahawks, you will forever hear the cry of foul in the air. If you thought Spygate or Bountygate brought forth the word, “Cheat!” you ain’t heard nuttin’ yet.

If the Patriots lose the game, they will forever be ridiculed as the team that could only win if they deflated the balls and twisted the rules.

The NFL has done the Patriots no favors by adding pressure to their burden with no findings to a sham investigation.

The old trick of letting the hanging Patriots twist slowly in the wind has taken its toll. If the Pats lose, you can also find blame in the way the NFL and its referees allowed them to suffer at the hands of media blowhards.

And, we have not yet looked at the game. You may bet your bottom dollar that the referees will call every penalty seen and unseen against New England, and Richard Sherman can play the one-armed bandit with his usual gay abandon. His faked injury is not cheating, fans.

Tom Brady’s legacy will forever be tarnished. He may enter the Canton Hall of Fame with one of those Roger Maris asterisks next to his name. Every home victory will be suspect.

Fellow players may one day regret the aspersions tossed onto the squeaky clean image of Tom Brady. They have poisoned the well that they may want to drink from in a future Super Bowl.

The NFL has always been a bit of a gold rush for fool’s gold, but playing the cheat card in a year when wife beaters and child abusers have been fan tolerated will go down in history as the start of the fall of the NFL empire.

Is It a Wild Bunch or a Dirty Dozen?

 DATELINE: No Golden Pond

wild bunch

Sylvester Stallone’s gathering of elderly action stars in a return to form series called The Expendables was meant to be a satire, tongue-in-cheek fun. Somewhere along the way it became grim action routines in a vaudevillian roadshow. We’re now up to #3, and none of your favorite stars has kicked the bucket yet.

They are still kicking ass.

We used to enjoy films like the Wild Bunch or the Dirty Dozen. Now we have the Wild and Dirty Golden Agers.

These old stars were obviously and desperately sitting by the phone hoping to regain their star status, if not their youth and vitality.

Our Gang of old-timers refuses to play mentors, grandpas, or Gabby Hayes to younger stars. Perhaps they are remembered by boomers with a lost sense of time and place.

Yes, they used to make movies like this and called it On Golden Pond.

Now your golden agers are committing mayhem like adolescent thugs. We want to take a count on how many Depends were needed make these guys Expendable.

Some of the old stars we want to see made the annual gone to be Big Silver Screen in the Sky list recently played on New Year’s newscasts and likely in the montage of yesteryear at the Oscars.

Don’t worry: a who’s who of fading stars is left here: Harrison Ford, Mel Gibson, Arnold, Dolph, Wesley Snipes, Antonio Banderas, and on and on. Stallone writes this stuff in his sleep and produces it with a kill-ratio of 100 to each star.

Your explosions and carrying-on no longer can be considered nostalgic. These guys are serious in holding off The Grim Reaper. There will be no cable TV series for them in their dotage. It’s big time Big Screen Big Mayhem.

Next time we suggest that Stallone gather all the old, former James Bond actors and have a real shoot off at the 007 Rest Home.

Belichick Heads for the OK Corral & Means Business


Man with No Name or TB12?

The old gunslinger came out with his pistols blazing.

Bill Belichick mowed down the press with all the aplomb of Clint Eastwood in a spaghetti Western. We have not seen such fire-breathing vengeance in a dozen seasons from Bill.

Usually Just Plain Bill talks like a man with a prolonged case of dyspepsia expecting more hot sauce in his diet. On this Saturday, a week before the Super Bowl, he came across as a man whose homemade chili just burned out his esophagus.

Up an octave, down a reporter, he took down those who raised cheatgate, Spygate, and deflategate with a flurry of piercing blue-eyed laser beams.

Among the hastily drawn media crowd, those who asked rude questions ought to know they only lived by the grace of Bill Belichick. But, their names, ranks, and serial numbers, were duly noted.

Belichick announced he had conducted his own investigation, and he dared anyone there to snicker.

If Randolph Scott told the assembled town meeting that he was going to restore law and order to the West, you knew he meant business in one of those 1950s hard-boiled Westerns he did as precursor to Clint.

Belichick has had to waste his precious time bringing law and order to the Super Bowl—and now he was ready for the big showdown. It wasn’t going to be at noon near Tombstone, Arizona. He was putting the world on notice that them varmints who disrespect the Patriots ought to get out of town by sunset, February 1st.

The OK Corral has just been moved to Glendale, Arizona, and Patriot detractors better head for the hills. Belichick is on the warpath.

Gremlins & Patriots Down to Paranormal Explanations

DATELINE: Truth is Out There!

flaccid footballs

Bill Belichick decided he needed to hold another press conference this week because of air inflation issues.

The football genius admitted he has been on a learning curve this week, taken up in a trial balloon. From his new vantage, he studied all about psi and csi and where the twain shall meet.

If the NFL won’t exonerate the New England Patriots, Belichick has done his own investigation—and he assures us that everyone in Foxboro is innocent as a babe in an incubator.

We still aren’t sure if the footballs used in the AFC championship game spent any time in a hyperbaric chamber to stay wrinkle free, sort of like Michael Jackson used to do. No, not Michael ‘Air’ Jordan, we mean the other one.

For 23 minutes more fans and hostile NFL haters were subject to the controlling force of Bill Belichick, assuring everyone that the deflation at Foxboro is a cosmic anomaly.

The Patriots seem to be facing the old World War II nemesis: foo-fighters.

These gremlins of invisible torment were last seen on an episode of Twilight Zone, bedeviling Bill Shatner. Now they have returned to clip the wings and deflate the balls of Bill Belichick.

Whether you call them gremlins, foo-fighters, leprechauns (oh, no, not the Celtics!), or plain poltergeist, we now have moved into the realm of paranormal.

The Patriots may need to call in TAPS, the Atlantic Paranormal Society, hosts of Ghost Hunters on SyFy. They can get to the bottom of this with spirit boxes and infrared goggles.

Last Shot for Justified

 DATELINE: Last Roundup for Raylan

 Walton goggins & Olyphant

Walton Goggins & Olyphant in the Beginning


As the final season for Timothy Olyphant’s Raylan, US Marshal, begins, we realize how much we enjoyed this Elmore Leonard short story’s extension to seven years.

Justified tickled us with its cerebral hillbilly villains that made the rest of them look like Jethro Bodine season after season. It is now embarking on its sixth season, and it is billed as Justified: The Final Season.

The regular characters may not be quite as lucky as the short series continues over the next half dozen weeks. We have enjoyed the cynical colleagues of Raylan, but we know some of them won’t make it to the big finish line.

Already in the first week, one of our favorite dumbbell villains met his not quite so untimely end. He has escaped endlessly over the past few years, but when you run with killers, you will likely be killed.

We saw much the same approach with True Blood in its last year. Every week another regular will bite the dust, apparently in the line of fire. This time the villain is the unmitigated Boyd Crowder, center stage.

We have been leading up to the confrontation of these nemeses and counterparts. The glove will likely come off now that there is no next season.

Timothy Olyphant was cute when the show began, but now his grizzle has silver threads. He looks more haggard. Who doesn’t after seven years of close shaves?

Nick Searcy, the head of the marshals, has already gone into retirement after taking a bullet—and we expect that Raylan may lose a few more friends before he retires to Florida on a good government pension.

Too many of our favorite shows have bitten the dust recently—and good replacements are hard to find.



Edward Albee’s Balancing Act


DATELINE: Stars on Stage in American Film Theatre

Certain plays will never make it to film because the demographics are not right. It takes an act of superstars to pull it off.

Cable networks do yeoman work in bringing rare works to the screen, but in 1973 before anyone thought of cable, movies were still the purview of audiences that loved their grand stars.

One of the era’s lost masterpieces included the prestigious absurdist drama A Delicate Balance by Edward Albee. With its ponderous and literary dialogue, it might win a Pulitzer Prize, but it would lose the wider audience of film fans unless you made it a star-studded spectacle.

And so, Katharine Hepburn and Paul Scofield signed on as the well-to-do, educated couple Agnes and Tobias. Their multi-divorcee daughter could be played by Lee Remick. Their best friends, equally educated and rich, were Joseph Cotten and Betsy Blair. Throw in Kate Reid as the alcoholic sister of Hepburn, and you had an intriguing cast. And a plot that never pays off.

Alas, only Reid seemed to know how to handle the surreal dialogue with a deft touch. The others were all doing soap opera on afternoon network TV.

Yet, you must not miss it, even if you have to hang on to your No-Doze. This play was written in an era when literate playgoers could follow densely packed metaphors.

It seems long-time friends Harry and Edna (Cotten & Blair) show up suddenly on the doorstep of Hepburn and Scofield in a state of panic, terror, and fear. Of what we might ask? Old age? Loneliness? Or some other devil? Perhaps it does not matter as the absurdist interplay involves consideration of the depth of friendship.

To have your oldest, old friends decide to move into your home may be a bit much even for those who can afford it.

Though there are red herrings to indicate violence is around the corner and under the surface (murdering cats, mass killing of one’s family, and a loose gun in the hands of a hysterical woman), there really is no payoff that way.

Today, we’d be expecting a bloodbath. But, this is 1973 when theatre was not quite dead and not quite physical. That’s the delicate balance apparently.

A Whitewash at the NFL

DATELINE: Next Comes an Impeachable Source



As a fan of Bill Belichick and Tom Brady, we are mortified.

Watergate parallels grow more apt with each passing day.

Deflate-gate is a sports version of Watergate and an update of Spygate.

As in the Nixonian original, it was not the two-bit crime that started it which brought down a President of the United States, it was the coverup and hubris that followed.

We half expected Bill Belichick to come out at his press conference and mimic Lee Harvey Oswald by crying out, “I’m a patsy,” which would be both figurative and literal in its truth. He is a Pat Patriot Patsy.

Those who never learn from history are doomed to repeat it as Spygate morphs into Deflategate. All this is terribly ironic as there is no greater student of football history than Bill Belichick whose personal library of football books would be enough to start the Widener Library for Sports.

In a press conference that reminded us of the bitter days of the white wash at the White House, Bill Belichick did everything but say, “I am not a crook.” In his case, it would be, “I am not a cheat.”

We remain bemused by a public not fazed by the discovery that football stars were child abusers or wife beaters this season. We are disdainful of a public that is up in arms over an air pocket of rule inflation has set the Super Bowl on its ear.

What did they know and when did they know it? That was the catchpharase of the 1970s. Next, we expect to learn that there is an office taping system in Belichick’s office—but don’t hold your breath, the pivotal 18 minutes of air being let out of a dozen footballs is likely erased.

Tom Brady always dreamed of a political career at the end of football, but we never suspected that he would bring back the memories of Watergate.

Tom Brady Opens the Bar at Patriots Place



After watching Bill Belichick’s performance as Captain Renault in Casablanca, a man who is shocked by gambling in a casino, Tom Brady came to his press conference in full Humphrey Bogart mode.

Like Rick, Tom may tell the Gestapo media, “I stick my neck out for no one.” Brady may have hangers on who will deflate footballs, but Tom never mingles with the customers.

After all, Gillette Stadium is Tom’s Place, and Brady knows a bit more about the usual suspects.

If Brady has the hidden letters of transit about the lost air in the footballs, he has asked Julian to play it again at the Super Bowl.

When Giselle walked into Gillette, Tom delivered his famous line: “Of all the football joints in all the world, she has to walk into mine.” No one has accused Giselle of deflating those balls.

Tom repeats his favorite phrase, “Play it, Julian. Play it.” And then laughs it off, “Here’s looking at you, fans.”

At his press conference we fully expected Brady to note, “I’m no good at being noble, fans. It doesn’t take much to see that the problems of deflated footballs don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy game of football. Someday the fans will understand that.”

If you watch the Super Bowl, we know already what the end of the game will be like when Bill Belichick and Tom Brady walk off the field together. Like Rick and Captain Renault, they will muse about where to go next. When Belichick notes that wherever he goes to coach, he wants Tom with him, there will be a spark big enough to inflate a dozen footballs. Then, they will realize, “This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

Exeunt Bill and Tom into the media fog.

Bill Belichick Stars as Captain Renault in Casablanca!

DATELINE: Rounding Up Twice the Usual Shock


Starring Bill Belichick as Claude Rains

If you felt like you were watching a bad remake of the Humphrey Bogart classic, Casablanca, you were not alone.

The Bill Belichick press conference about Deflategate seemed to be re-enacting one of the more famous scenes of the movie.

The gendarmes crash into Rick’s Place for a raid. Whistles blow and everyone scrambles.

Bogart demands to know what is going on from the Prefect of police, Captain Renault. As played by the slick Claude Rains, his expression is purely feigned innocence.

Captain Renault barks out, “I am shocked, shocked, shocked, to hear there is gambling going on in this establishment.”

Rick storms away in fury, and one of the croupiers runs up to Captain Renault and hands him his winnings, which he promptly stuffs into his pocket. “Oh, thank you.”

Bill Belichick gave his press conference and noted duly with a straight face, “I am shocked, shocked, shocked to hear that footballs were under-inflated.” The first he heard of this was Monday morning when he came into his office at 4am.

Belichick had never in his life ever discussed the psi of footballs with anyone. In fact, he simply plays the game with the equipment given him at game time.

He never questions the inflation of the balls, the atmospheric pressure of the stadium, or the meteorologist’s forecast of the game.

Yes, indeed, we are shocked, shocked, shocked!

Putting On Airs at Gillette Stadium

DATELINE: An Ironic Wind Shear

flaccid footballs

According to preliminary NFL reports, eleven balls used at the Patriots-Colts game this past Sunday were under inflated by an average of two psi.

This means over 20 pounds of air pressure went missing during the first half of play on Sunday night. Where did this hot air go?

You might start looking in the broadcast booth, or you could measure the breeze in the owner box.

Fetid air around Gillette often emanates from the referees’ locker room. But during this playoff game, the zebra quarters seem closer than usual. No extra air was found there, only methane gas.

NFL investigators have been looking for the missing air, but reports that the offending atmosphere is colorless and odorless has left investigators gasping for air and grasping at straws.

The Patriots-Colts game aired late, owing to the blowhards on the West Coast, especially in Seattle. That contributed to the air-brushed graphics on CBS.

Most viewers found the biggest gusts of hot air came out of the CBS pregame show that was caught in the maelstrom of filling dead air, awaiting kickoff.

Fans learned the hard way that Gillette Stadium is below sea level and, therefore, has low air pressure as a rule.

Tom Brady detractors believe the star quarterback has been putting on airs for over a decade, looking for any opportunity to air it out to his tiny receiving corps. On the other hand, Gronk has been blowing away the competition this season and his spikes have achieved wind gusts comparable to a Category 4 tornado.

Bill Belichick was heard singing, “Let your wind blow free, wherever you may be…” but the final refrain was lost in the wind tunnel as he ran back to the locker room at half time.

Belichick Trumps Pete Rose & $64,000 Question!

 DATELINE: Affixed Humor



If you follow games, you know all about the $64,000 Question!

It was rigged, as were most of the big game shows of the 1950s.

Is it possible that the NFL with its interfering referees changing the complexion of games has already rigged the Super Bowl?

You can fairly count on the fact that every call that can go against the Patriots at the Super Bowl will go against them.

The Patriots will not be allowed to win that game, even if the footballs are hard as iceballs.

Your impartial media homers from Baltimore and Indianapolis are already calling for a lifetime ban for Bill Belichick, as if he were a Peter Rose by any other name.

At the least, these impartial media are promising that Bill Belichick will never see the inside of Canton, Ohio’s Hall of Fame unless he buys a ticket. And the same goes for the QB Tom Brady.

In the digital age when social media is everywhere, no one saw balls being deflated—and the referees whose job it was to check the balls seemed to fail the task.

So, why aren’t media demanding the head of the referees on a silver platter? We haven’t seen such dancing without a veil since Salome did it in an Oscar Wilde play.

If both teams are playing with the same ball, then all things are being equal. And, the score was lopsided. Indy fans admit their team stank up Gillette Stadium, but revenge is a dish best served cold.


Deflated Egos, Dollars, and Footballs



You can deflate the dollar, but please don’t deflate our footballs. Leave that psi at twelve pounds. Don’t ask for a pound of flesh. Just give us a pound of air pressure.

The NFL is apparently “distraught” over the dozen deflated balls that the Patriots provided for the AFC championship game. Well, eleven out of twelve. We believe that puts it in statistical certainty category.

Patriot haters are already crying foul. Yep, the cauldron is full of foul things, tossed in by corrupt players, officials, and owners.

You mean the game should be stopped? Some Rob Lowe Meathead types are calling for the Super Bowl to be forfeited by the Patriots. They cheated again—and were caught again.

Shame on the NFL twice, apparently.

Yes, cancel the Super Bowl and crown the Seattle Seahawks without playing a down. Well, fans, that isn’t going to happen. Do you know how many millions, if not billions, of dollars are now tied into Super Bowl weekend, Super Bowl week, Super Bowl promos, and every other money making idea wrenched out of the Super Bowl?

The economy of the world would go into Depression if the Super Bowl were forfeited and canceled. We are not even talking about personal depression of the millions of Meathead Rob Lowe types whose empty lives revolve around the NFL.

Every top-notch movie has a great villain, and the NFL has now cast their bad guys with impunity. It’s Evil Bill and his minion Biggy-Me, Gronk.

Yes, psi lovers, even Gronk has posted a laughable tweet showing himself in the process of deflating a football with one of his spikes.

Ban the spike, you say? Never happen, fans. Go on hating. It is big business at its best.