Dead Again, Guilty Again!

DATELINE: Jussie on Steroids.

HERNANDEZ

If you want to know what makes a ghost return to his haunts, you only have to see another case of Massachusetts justice. It will give you the heebie-jeebies.

The Commonwealth Supreme Court has re-instated a guilty of murder verdict on Aaron Hernandez, the serial killer for the New England Patriots. His first trial had been overturned unceremoniously, and he was “not guilty” in his double murder second trial.

You are never declared innocent, no matter what.

The Hernandez conviction was overturned upon his suicide because in Massachusetts, if your appeal is unfinished upon death, you are declared free at last. It need not matter how heinous you were, or how and who you killed, you are no longer a convicted killer. Your jury has wasted its time. Your victim’s family is thrown into turmoil. You are released from prison for cremation or burial.

The evil you did lives on. The good was interred in the state Supreme Court.

So, the Supreme Court feels it has restored justice by playing ping-pong and pin-ball with the guilt of Aaron Hernandez. The law was called archaic and insensitive to modern victims. Hence, Hernandez is back in the eternal prison cell of ghosts like Jacob Marley.

We presume such a finding is enough to send the dead scrambling back to their previous haunts: like the mansion in Attleboro where Hernandez lived his rococo lifestyle. It remained empty for years. No one would dare stay there overnight.

If you want to guarantee that the spirit of Hernandez remains housebound to the place where his victim often visited, you have restored the dead zone. It is likely that Odin Lloyd, the victim, may also be there.

What a cozy arrangement: killer and victim stuck together for eternity. When you play ping-pong with fatality, your fate may be hell on earth and re-living what is never dead.

William Russo is author of the notorious book, The Strange Case of Aaron Hernandez. You can buy it in the old-fashioned print style, or a version designed for you if you are a smartreader.

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Trump’s Handiwork in Palm Beach

DATELINE: Massage is the Medium

Yang & Trump Party Another Happy Ending!

A funny thing happened on the way to the Trump Super Bowl party. Another funny thing happened at the Palm Beach massage parlor. We don’t mean funny in a humorous sense. It is distinctly odd.

Now it seems that Robert Kraft, owner of the New England Patriots, could not attend the Trump Super Bowl party because he actually was at the game, as part of putting the sixth championship below his belt.

Cindy Yang attended Trump’s shindig where she showed him a good time. Yank, oops, Yang founded the massage parlor game in Palm Beach, a kidney stone’s throw from Mar-a-Lago.

Joining Mr. Trump at his party was the one-time creator of the self-same parlor where Mr. Kraft was handed his arrested development warrant. You guessed it! Cindy Yank has the pull for an invitation.

You have got to hand it to Trump and Kraft. They know how to grab headlines. When you have billions, you can do fairly much whatever you want. The problem is that these handsome seniors have enemies. Yes, there are patrons of the law who blanch at women doing sex work for money.

We eagerly await the visit of Kraft to the White House where he will hand-off a MAGA jersey to President like it’s a Handi-wipe who will hand-out fast-food with and without pickles.

Trump likely feels this massage perk is owed to the super-rich who are now political kingpins, making immigration policy that allows Chinese women to be held prisoner, not in a fortune cookie factory where they might send out a message, but in a massage parlor where the medium is the massage.

The party-goer who owned the massage parlor is a big donor to Trump. She gives freely and often. The little lady deserves a big hand, but we aren’t sure if Trump or Kraft can afford to pick up the tab.

Septuagenarians are worse off than sexagenarians.

If you think there is something funny going on here in Palm Beach, we think the police agree and have a hands-on policy when it comes to a handshake and a smile.

If you think Congressional committees will put their paws on this one, you will have another Jussie Smollett moment on your hands.

Sex and politics are never strange bedfellows. Just let the Stormy days pass—you will have a big hand for the little lady.

Funny like a toothache.

 

 

Really Antony & Cleo

DATELINE: Streaming & Steamy History

Octavian Richard Dempsey

Richard Dempsey as Octavian!

A real surprise is a British documentary a few years ago, now on Amazon Prime for free, called The Real Antony and Cleopatra.

Imagine a British doc that never mentions the Shakespearean plays, nor quotes from them. Instead, we have a series of experts and scholars sitting on a stuffed Roman chaise lounge, somewhat uncomfortably. No, they do not recline as they drop morsels and bombs about the famous duo.

Did we say duo? It’s almost like the casting crisis of the 1963 Joe Mankiewicz movie with Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton.  Rex Harrison felt slighted and left out, and he sued the studio to add his image to the suitors around the bed of Cleopatra.

The Egyptian queen was fond of murdering her younger brothers, and she was really Greek, descendant of Ptolemy. As an attractive 20-year old, she seduced the 50-year old Julius Caesar and later Marc Antony.

Cleopatra was all you might expect. She was a showgirl who knew how to stage publicity stunts better than Jussie Smollett. And, she was “attractive,” meaning she made the most of her plain looks. She was fluent with tongues (speaking six) and apparently used the tongue talent too in the boudoir.

Romans were aghast at Cleopatra’s morals, which may tell you something, considering the loose attitudes of the Romans.

As if to prove her sexuality, she had one child by Caesar and two more by Antony. He had a mixed manhood, being thought of as nearly exclusively homosexual, unless political marriage was involved. This film also lets you know he was well-endowed both on and off the battlements.

The real surprise here is the delightful re-enactors. Marina Morgan flashes eyeshadow as well as Miss Taylor, but the real delight here is young Octavian. He reportedly slept with Julius too in order to be adopted as a nephew.  As a 19-year old rival to Antony, Richard Dempsey is the golden-haired boy.

Octavian outmaneuvers Cleopatra militarily, but her symbolic death by snake bite left Augustus Octavian the one with the punctured ego.

This is an off-beat historical documentary that will tantalize all the fake news you learned from Hollywood Cleopatras.

 

 

 

 

 

Oak Island Die Hard and Dye Harder

DATELINE: Approach/Avoidance

95-years Amazing Dan Blankenship!

We are at episode 15 of the sixth season with the Curse of Oak Island, and we are still going strong. Each season is longer, and our patience is growing thinner.

Shake, rattle, and rolling, the Money Pit sink hole will be stabilized, presumably, and filled in to be able to continue boring down.

However, this week’s big info is that lidar off Oak Island may have discovered some entrances or openings under the ocean. The gang, including Alex Lagina and mysteriously returned Peter Fornetti, join Marty to hear the findings. That thread was quickly dropped to begin another dye job.

Several years ago, the brainstorm was to use green dye to see if there were drains leading to the treasure vault. Green did not mix well with water, making it impossible to see.

This time the hunters will use red dye (not sure if it’s #2, or the blend often used in Rick Lagina’s hair).

Incompetence was again blamed on the island curse when hoses tangled as water was sent into bore holes with the red dye.

To everyone’s pleasant surprise, 95-year old Dan Blankenship drove up in his golf cart to take a look at the activity. When he tried this stuff, he did it on a shoestring (figuratively). Now there are drones that has to amaze him as fly-over inspections monitor the island for red dye.

However, it is old Gary Drayton who spots a rusty color water appearing out of nowhere. Marty Lagina wants to be the kibosh, but chemical testing of the colored water indicates the dye has seeped to Smith’s Cove, proving there is a drain system to booby trap the treasure vault.

Small victories set up the final few weeks of season six.

 

Project Blue Book: Stick a Fork in It !

DATELINE:  Fork in the Series?

Fork in the series

Malarky & Weapon of Choice: his Fork.

Project Blue Book dealt with one of those deliberate hoaxes of the 1950s that Hynek exposed to the glee of his government sponsors.

“Scoutmaster” allegedly shot an alien while out on a camping trip with his Boy Scout contingent. Like all these tales, it is based on some kind of factual story.

This episode was intriguing because the series split up their tandem investigators. The generals pulled Captain Quinn (Mike Malarkey) out for some nasty bit of rogue operation.

Hynek was left to play Sherlock Holmes without his impediment Watson. And, beyond a doubt, Hynek (in the form of Aiden Gillen) showed he could carry the show with his professorial pedantry.

On this episode Hynek came up with the ridiculous explanation of swamp gas to explain strange lights in the sky. Not even the townspeople buy it in 1952.

As part of the investigation about the strange shaped cranium discovered at the site of the UFO encounter, he had to consult a tribal expert. He visited a Native American shaman (Graham Greene, who else?) for some answers to his UFO mystery.

On the other hand, the series seemed to show Quinn off to the most negative of all his bad qualities. Perhaps he will be written out or turned into some kind of righteous victim. His sado-masochism did not play out as heroic or tough-guy. We hope sincerely that he is abducted by aliens and used for sexual experiments.

The character is vicious and a thug in an Air Force uniform. He literally sticks a fork into someone. With only a few episodes left in the initial season, we are not quite sure what to make of his development.

In some ways, the series Project Blue Book is becoming rather unpleasant.

 

 

Solicitations from Robert Kraft

 DATELINE:  Time to Call a Solicitor General

Mr. Kraft to you Known for Kissing His Players.

No, it’s not quite like receiving an invitation to a Super Bowl party, or even having a greeting from Santa Claus. You are accused of soliciting prostitutes, Mr. Kraft.

Owner and billionaire Robert Kraft of the New England Patriots has been charged by Florida police for entering a massage parlor and wanting more than a happy ending to the Patriots season.

At an age when most of his contemporaries are dead, 77-year old Mr. Kraft has shown a spark of life. We are not sure if we should wink and nod or congratulate him on enjoying whatever days are left to him. Another arrested user of masseuses is pushing 90, according to the published hit list.

Kraft apparently is using a service supplied by Chinese women who are essentially prisoners of the sex trade, kept under lock and key in a massage parlor to do the bidding of a stream of men.

Alas, the entire concept of sex workers is dubious. Unless there is criminal exploitation, we might well wonder why police haven’t found more important work than setting up candid cameras to catch your grandfather in flagrante delicto.

Are there no school shooters? Are there no gun nuts in the Coast Guard? Why are we focused on massage parlors?

Kraft was caught with his pants down on video apparently, according to some. In the tradition of Jussie Smollett, he is denying any transgression.

The massage parlor is only a few miles from the winter White House, and Kraft’s old pal to sex charges, the President of the United States, is even weighing in on the incident. We know Trump prefers to grab women’s crotches without paying by his own admission.

We may well scratch our head at why a billionaire septuagenarian would pay $75 for an hour’s dangerous liaison when he could have someone come to any private place of his bidding for a few more bucks.

We are of two minds: should we praise him and offer a medal for doing what most men his age can only wish?

Or should we prepare for the inevitable tombstone chiseling that will make this his last notorious act in a life of philanthropy and goodwill?

The ultimate profit goes to the media: this is not a game for gentlemen. Call your solicitor if you plan a trip to the massage parlor.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jussie Smollett: Oscar Bait or Jail Bait?

DATELINE: Jussie Couldn’t Say NO!

Untitled Juicy Jussie Thugs to Order!

Jussie Smollett has produced, directed, and starred in his own adaptation of racial profiling. It was his profile on the Cinéma vérité camera, hanging by a newly purchased piece of rope, long enough to hang himself.

Costarring his body-builder trainers as the set-up men and kiss-and-tell boyfriends, this dramatic comedy went viral almost instantly. Not since the Blair Witch Project has there been something as unbelievable as Trump night riders reaching the limits of credulity within a week.

Two dumb-bunny brothers go to stores to buy bleach, rope for a necktie, and red hats (being unwilling to donate to the Trump campaign for official MAGA caps). They later cooperate with the police and admit they love President Trump like all good people from Nigeria (on Trump’s s**t-hole list). As Don Lemon said:  no self-respecting Trump supporter would be caught dead watching Empire.

Then, the celebrity star will go out at 2am on one of the coldest nights in Chicago history, not to find love, nor to create another Valentine’s Day Massacre, but to pick up a Subway sandwich with all the trimmings. A funny thing happened on the way to the sub shop.

Rave reviews for realism, including one from Trump who called it ‘terrible,’ gave way to a series of doubtful critiques that called Jussie the new Shoeless Joe Jackson. Cory Booker now plans to throw the book at Jussie.

Fans started to cry, “Jussie, say no. Say it ain’t so.”

Instead, the Chicago Police called it “911 without a license.”

Though he thought this might win him an Oscar, Smollett soon discovered that he was more likely to win an indictment by the grand jury for impersonating a national emergency.

Whether Jussie deserves a mini-Oscar, or something resembling an Emmy for his TV work, only a jury will tell. The Empire job may be about to fall.

In the meantime, the greatest performance of his life may end up as Jussie’s last hurrah.

John Wayne Revisited, 50 Years Off the Saddle!

DATELINE:  Too Late for Words!

Duke, Duck!Duck, Dodge, and Hide, Duke!

Fifty years after John Wayne gave an interview to Playboy, it has been re-discovered and has become an interesting, revisionist historical document that berates black people, Native Americans, and gays.

Wayne was home on the range but would be shocked by today’s brave new world. He would have punched Trump in the nose for suggesting America is no longer great.

Actors have never been known for their giant brains. You have only to look at stories about Jussie Smollett to learn that hard lesson.

So, it is not surprising that an interview given by Duke Wayne in 1971 is rife with frightful prejudice against black people and Native Americans. You should add women to the list.

Wayne played an array of Union soldiers and military heroes often in defense of America, popular ideas in his movies. He was in real life only one step to the left of J. Edgar Hoover and not much removed from a political Know-Nothing.

If you put his statue in front of a Confederate stronghold, the rebels would have ripped it down.

John Wayne refused to work with “liberal” Dirty Harry Clint Eastwood on a movie.

Well, the shocks mount up like Wayne on a charging steed with the reins in his teeth and six-shooters firing at will.

Young anti-Vietnam war Americans of the “hippie era” hated John Wayne for his backward view of politics. He was right up there with Bob Hope as a supporter of war in its many forms.

Now that generation of youth, regarded as wayward and drug-addled, is older than Wayne when he gave his notorious interview of 1971.

Back in the 1970s, liberals laughed at Wayne and threw snowballs at him when he was in a Cambridge parade and received the Hasty Pudding Man of the Year at Harvard.

He also went on TV to guest star on Maude, Bea Arthur’s liberal bastion series. She promised a shootout with Wayne at High Noon.

Of course, Maude was a half-baked hypocrite and she melted when John Wayne told her he never discussed politics with a woman. They ended up in a waltz.

The problem that faces the old Bernie Saunders liberal types who are pushing 80 (and soon to be pushing up daisies) has more to do with an old Bette Davis quote.

She said of her hated rival Joan Crawford: “They don’t change just because they’re dead.”

People should remember that Davis was only partly correct. She should have said: “You can’t change your mind once you’re dead.”

Demise of TV Satire?

DATELINE:  Trump’s Attack on Humor

trumpet the New Archie Bunker?

President Trump wants to shut down Saturday Night Live because it is an “Enemy of the People.”

In his view, no views should be expressed on TV unless they are kind, balanced, and fair to him.

Of course, television has a long history of unpopular, brutal satire. The shows include That Was the Week That Was. TWTWTW, as it was known, or TW3 in some circles, was half-an hour of unremitting political jokes that skewed Republican Barry Goldwater during 1964. It was on in prime-time and was pre-empted every week, almost, by paid TV commercials from the GOP. They eventually saw it canceled.

The other shocker was The Smothers Brothers Hour, on Sunday nights that was sixty minutes of unremitting anti-Nixon, anti-Watergate cronies in the Roger Stone archetype.

It was so virulently anti-Nixon and his dirty-tricks-team that Nixon put it on the Enemies List and had his influential friends at the network cancel the show.

All in the Family started out as a brutal satire of crypto-Nazi bigotry in the Queens suburbs of New York. It was enormously popular during the 1970s, but its satiric bite was lessened sharply when Archie Bunker, the bigot, became a lovable American hero. Embraced as a delightful example of American parochialism, he flourished, a fan favorite of conservative America.

During the same years came SNL.  It was out of prime time, even reveling in the idea with the Not Ready for Prime Time players, a group of future movie stars who did satiric barbs.

SNL still lives, over forty years later, and has become nastier in its attacks on Trump, which incenses the President. He wants it investigated and stopped.

If there had been a radio show in Germany in the 1930s, Hitler would have had it raided and had its comedians sent to a concentration camp. Indeed, Jack Benny made a comedy movie about such an idea in his greatest film called To Be or Not To Be. ICE may yet raid SNL.

So Trump is in fine company as he awaits impeachment and prison for his dubious unconstitutional, uneducated, and anti-satire demands to close down freedom of speech.

Smollett: Jussie Say No!

 DATELINE: Hate Crime & Gay Bashing?

jussie  Studying Script?

The original horror and appalling crime against a self-identified gay actor from TV’s Empire brought gasps of shock. Now it seems to be on the verge of becoming an object lesson for people who denigrate gay life, hate crimes, and gay bashing.

If Jussie Smollett staged his attack like a bad movie script, he would be guilty of what used to be called a “publicity stunt,” in the old days of the 1950s when tabloid stars like Jayne Mansfield were always in the forefront of fake news.

If Smollett arranged for Empire extras to do this deed, you will have a diminished impact for all hate crimes by crypto-Nazi types. Already the vultures of hate are singling out the charges as spurious and laughable. It makes hate and gay bashing seem a joke. Those who are quick to pounce on gay people now feel justified in their disrespect.

Already the white rednecks originally described as wearing Trump MAGA caps have been dropped as the culprits. Latest revelation seems the not-charged suspects know Smollett and are Nigerian extras who work in Hollywood on the self-same show as Jussie. Yet, the crime happened in Chicago where crime is more credible.

Then, we hear Smollett was being written out of the script of the TV series—and moments of shock became moments of sickening revulsion that sympathy has been misplaced and kind hearts have been manipulated. Police want to re-interview the publicity-seeking actor. He makes appearances in full sympathy mode. Of course, he is an actor.

Police treat such matters with deference. If it looks like a crime, it may be a crime. The motive and culprits may require a Sherlock Holmes to resolve the logic and put to rest the likelihood of a publicity stunt.

In the meantime, the entire incident leaves a distaste far beyond the original shocking action. No one will emerge from this unscathed. The outrageous charge of a noose put around an actor’s neck and bleach thrown upon him suddenly looks like hyperbole gone to koo-koo-bird levels. It’s a bad script that demands a rewrite.

Turning a blind eye to this stuff may be the legacy of Jussie Smollett, not to mention the end of his career, or the making of his infamy…We may add to the next hate tale like this, “Jussie say no.”

Oak Island: Paper Chase #13

DATELINE: Parchment & Pigment

Dem bones Human Bonehead?

No, Professor Kingsfield is not lecturing this week, but the “Paper Chase” is definitely on as the 13th episode of season six.

Instead of Kingsfield, here is another dry academic, Randall Sullivan who has written a tie-in book about Oak Island the highly rated, History channel, cable series. He is allowed to shill his research on the show and is praised to high heaven for the Laginas.

No one claims the Laginas are silent partners, but pushing the book is lucrative (out of stock on Amazon), and published by Atlantic Press, no slouches.

Cheapskate Sullivan brings two copies of the book to the crew at Oak Island, letting partner Craig Tester sit there with egg on his face.

As for the findings of the week, big news includes a cement wall in Smith’s Cove, another piece of a dead man’s bone (likely one of Captain Kidd’s dead men not telling tales) from the bore hole, and parchment with red pigment on it. If Shakespeare’s original manuscripts are down there, they are soggy remnants of treasure.

On the positive side, 95-year old Dan Blankenship makes an appearance—and Alex Lagina has been reduced to chauffeuring author Sullivan around.

When Dan Henskee finds the bone fragment, credit is given to Jack Begley instead. Oh, well, being old is not always a good thing for original searchers like Henskee.

We still await carbon dating (suggested by Dan Blankenship) on parchment, wood from Smith’s Cove and other expert analysis of tokens and iron arrow shafts. Francis Bacon seems to be emerging as the culprit, over Templars. With a record number of episodes ordered for the season, we probably can wait a few more weeks for results.

 

 

 

 

Secrets of the Red Planet

DATELINE: Lies, Rover Photos, & Statistics

Face on Mars  Face on Mars: Don’t Trust NASA!

We give you a real twist on the usual Mars ancient civilization fake documentaries! This is a Russian production, with English subtitles. It drives the less discerning to the remote control off-button. Too much information, and words too.

This is not your usual streaming ancient space civilization films. Secrets of the Red Planet actually has substance.

As you might expect, its science is a cut above what Americans can handle. What’s more difficult for the poorly educated, the subtitles are fast-moving, requiring a level of attention you might find missing in a typical reality TV audience.

The film is short and fascinating, perhaps one of the most sledge-hammer attacks on NASA that we can recall. The Russians pull no punches: they believe that the American space program is pulling a fast one—on the world. Coverup is a term not big enough for the Russian experts.

The contention is that NASA actually puts a red hue on all the Mars rover photos to obfuscate the images. On top of that, the American agency withdraws any picture that seems to spark interest. The Russians contend that NASA is hiding the archeological roots of another civilization, perhaps a Martian world from a billion years ago.

The science may be out there, but it seems on terra firma. One Russian scientist explains his theory on an asteroid about 50 miles in diameter nearly breaking Mars apart when it hit, causing a crater that caused the evaporation of Martian oceans and decimation of any life there.

It certainly makes us pause when they talk about these Near Earth travelers that pass us regularly.

You may have to watch this little film twice, but you won’t find such amazing documented pictures and science explanation of the American Mars program anywhere else.

Seeing American scientists translated into Russian, with English subtitles seems redundant, but the American academics used as the spine of this documentary lend credence. This showcase of brilliance is not from your usual cast of fake experts, or discredited journalists. Your Ancient Aliens talking heads are not here.

Highly recommended for discerning minds and thinking brains.

Gay Men in the Promised Land of Israel

DATELINE: Zoolander Lives!

lucasMichael Lucas!

This strange documentary might as well have been produced by the Chamber of Commerce of Tel Aviv. It is a love letter to the glittery gay nightlife for Jewish men.

Undressing Israel: Gay Men in the Promised Land features notable director Eytan Fox among a litany of handsome young men, no one even remotely gray-haired. There are no old gay guys.

However, there is a big problem with this film—and that’s your host and director, Michael Lucas. If you wanted a duplicate of Zoolander, he’s your man. He defies being taken seriously when he puts on his pout and interviews young gay men with flirtatious zeal.

We know that objective journalism is as dead as a cold fish, but this narrator seems to revel in being part of the gay pride of Jewish men.

If you were to go by this documentary, there are no alcohol problems, no drug problems, no elderly gays, no promiscuity and no such thing as HIV. It is a fantasy documentary—which undercuts nearly all of its buoyant optimism.

Michael Lucas in his publicity photos wears a skull on a necklace, but in this film, he wears the Star of David. He is a Russian-born American, who uses every opportunity to find the United States is second-rate compared to Israel. He never mentions the appalling gay repression of his birth country, Russia.

If this film has some intriguing elements, foremost is how well all the Israeli men speak English and their precise vocabularies, in what is clearly a second language for them. It goes without saying they are all beautiful men.

 

 

 

 

 

Swan Dive on Trump

DATELINE: Wile E. Coyote with Orange Hair?

Pelosi Bronx cheer.jpeg Pelosi’s Bronx Cheer?

When Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi applauded President Trump on finishing his epic State of the Union with 82 minutes of cram-packed disinformation, she added something to the lexicon of American culture.

We used to have the Bronx Cheer, a rather crude and effective means of making its recipient know how low he has fallen.

You cannot smell a Bronx Cheer, only hear it. You cannot smell a Pelosi clapback, but its visual image will resonate on Twitter and social media forever.

Now, when you want to skewer a blowhard, you point the middle fingers in your pointed hands and make little slaps like a jaw opening and closing on a fool on the hill’s neck.

Among hundreds of political observers—and Trump himself—and countless viewers and re-watching viewers, Mrs. Pelosi stuck it to Trump who had to stand there and take it. His mendacious speechifying was over. Now he had to look like the man with egg on his face or yellow feathers in his mouth. However, the canary just ate him.

Speaker Pelosi looked like Tweety Pie, sitting in the gilded cage, and about to tell us that, indeed, she saw “a Putty Tat.” Yes, indeed, like Sylvester, Mr. Trump just was given his quota of suffering succotash.

If she had been the Road Runner, she would have stuck out her tongue and beeped at him before dashing off and leaving the man and his moment conjoined forever as the biggest damned fool in history.

A picture is worth a thousand words, and the priceless expression of the Speaker is visible, and only the back of a head of fake hair comes from the Trump vantage.

If you believe in emblematic moments, you know that Marshall McLuhan is laughing somewhere in the universe.

Andy Warhol at the Super Bowl, 2019

 DATELINE: Great Art Restoration!

Warhol & Whopper

Warhol Takes on Whopper.

We know that iconic artist Andy Warhol enjoyed pop culture, and perhaps he’d be intrigued with the Super Bowl antics every year.

He might be as surprised as we were to find him in a commercial, a highly expensive proposition, endorsing Burger King.

You might think the little scene was filmed by Andy himself at his Factory, but it was merely an appearance he made in 1984 for another director. Here is Andy in 2019, thirty years after he died, now on the big stage of Super Bowl party night.

At first we thought it was a body double—something Warhol was fond of using. He looked thin, but in good shape, making it a little difficult to discern when this was made. He had done all kinds of things—like a Love Boat episode and a cameo in an Elizabeth Taylor movie back in the 1970s.

This filmed scene was after the Studio 54 craze, and he sits quietly, well-dressed as always, his messy wig appropriately placed, and crinkling, opens a bag for Burger King.

We heard he was disappointed to find it was not going to be a Big Mac, but he was always game for product accessibility.

Perhaps the most curious part of his eating the burger, as that is the total action, is that he lifts the top of the bun off the sandwich as if he will pour some of the Heinz ketchup on it. Instead, he has difficulty pouring it onto the wrapper.

Like a cookie in coffee, he dunks the burger in the tomato paste which he even painted in one of his inspired moments.

Though the commercial was only a few seconds, the actual film was a tad longer. It showed him discarding the top of the burger and folding it over for another swipe at the Heinz. All his actions are fastidious. It’s on Youtube for those interested.

We hope his estate and museum was well-paid for this appearance. We doubt he would have been a Patriot fan. In all likelihood, only a fraction of viewers even understood the identity of the slight man in the burger commercial.