1938 - 2007

Rest in Peace.

That is it!

If you have not heard about it already American Gladiators will be returning to television during the summer of 2008. I for one am extremely pissed off. You may think that this was a show that was meant for a man of my talents. A swashbuckling sex god from outer space would seem to love a show like this. Perhaps even want to make sweet love to it if the opportunity presented itself. Yet, I have been slighted by the people who produce this show not once, but twice. The story is a heartbreaking tale of a dream snatched from my very hands.

It all started in the late 80's. I had just finished winning my third consecutive Iron Man competition in Hawaii. I challenged myself the third year by wearing leg and arm weights the entire time. I still found the strength to win, but that is beside the point. The point is, that as I was having my celebratory Mai Tai, I noticed that the television was broadcasting a sport I had seen before. Many years before I had been trapped in Canada by a group of wealthy landowners who made their prisoners fight in matches that are similar to what I was now watching on TV. The only exception was that these games were not till death, and the "gladiators" all had tans and long hair. In the Canadian prisons you couldn't grow hair because of the lice, and its hard to get a tan when you are allowed one hour a week out in the snow. Once again, I am getting off the subject. From the little I caught of the show I knew that this could be a viable profession for myself. So, I dusted off my resume and I sent it in to their offices.

Well it didn't take long for me to get word from the show. Turns out that it is the same Canadian bastards that are running this show. I guess they realized that they could make a lot more if the "gladiators" weren't DYING. Anyhoo, they get back to me and explain that due to my past record up in Canada I was not deemed a good fit for this show. I asked them if I could be a contestant instead and once again I was denied. They explained that my brutality and thirst for blood were just a little to much for the networks to handle. I thanked them for the consideration and asked that they keep me in mind for future hirings. A few years later the show was cancelled, ending my chance once and for all. Or so I thought.

Now I hear that they have a new version and have I heard anything from these assholes? Nope! They don't even call to ask me to do a screen test. I think that it is based on one of three things;

• My forementioned brutality and lust for blood.
• My incredible sex appeal and chisled pecs.
• And most likely, the fact that I would not change my name from Burt into something really stupid, like blazer.

So now I have come to a realization. FUCK YOU AMERICAN GLADIATORS!!! Fuck you in your stupid faces. Let me just say that without my help this show is gonna go the way of the Dodo bird. Burn in hell you goddamned Canucks. You couldn't even let me host?

Burt get frustrated

From time to time I like to challenge myself. I don't think that I would have been the first man to hanglide in space if that wasn't the case. A rite of passage that I like to participate in daily is to use mass transit rather than one of my many expensive and fancy vehicles. I like to take in the sites and sounds. On the bus I think that you really learn to keep your head on a swivel, great for the reflexes. In the course of the bus ride there are many things that one may deal with. I have been shocked by many things that happen on the bus. There is the schitzofrenic gentleman that is always in a canadian tuxedo. He kindly reminds me of where things are in the city...at least I think he is talking to me. When we go through china town it is not surprising to see an old person shoving match to get in position for the bus. And how could I forget the lovely homeless lady who shat herself right before she exited the bus, leaving an aroma to ponder as it headed downtown. I have learned to deal with these things. Yes, I have even learn to deal with Old Lady Shitpants. However, there is one thing that I cannot take.

People on their goddamed cell phones!

More and more, I have come to realize that these assholes could give a shit where they are on their cell phones. Now I wouldn't mind if these stories were half way interesting, like the time I saved five polar bears from global warming. The problem is that they never are. I have listened to a grown man have a debate on his cell phone about the most choice rides at disneyland, a young girl break-up, make-up, and break-up with her boyfriend all on one ride, and I have listened to some lady try to find her stolen car from the methhead that she "trusted" with it. Guess what? I don't give a fuck why you are on the phone. I think that we can all try to find another time to make those calls. So please, if you are gonna talk about lame stuff keep it to yourself, but if you are going to talk it better be some interesting shit. Like the time that you held your breath under water for a whole day just to prove a point to those stupid fucking dolphins. Wait...that was me.

God Dammit!

It takes a lot to change me from my normal Zen-Like state into a raging monster, but thankfully Dancing with the (Washed up nobodies) Stars has rekindled that flame. Get used to it my fellow adventurers because this is the shit that TV has become. How many fucking rumbas am I going to have to see before things get violent? And why the fuck are British people the authority on who can do all these fruity things like dancing and singing the best? Don't get me wrong. I was salsa dance champion three years running when I was back in the service. Problem was that these contests were in a prison camp, and if you missed a step they killed you. If we could make this show just like POW camp, I would watch every week. I guarantee you that Marie Osmond would have gotten it ear to ear for falling on her chunky ass. There would be no judges. Just an electric floor monitor that would judge each crucial step. All I am trying to say is think about it. With this strike in place we are going to have to get much more creative with our reality programming. I am not asking for networks to go Running Man all over us right away, but at least make sure there are consequences for these no talent ass clowns signing on to do these shows. Therefore, I am making a commitment to the networks that I will gladly cross the picket line in order to provide people with what I want. Think about it. I am open to ideas.

Real know Real

As the great poet Floydd Meriwhether Junior said "Real know Real." He was talking about his relationship with his close friend Curtis Jackson. I believe what he was trying to say is that both he and Fiddy are the best at what they do. Perhaps, making them the realest? In that vain, I would like to say that I feel the same way towards Steven Jackson. I feel that we know eachother, even though we have never met. Friends, yet we haven't even enjoyed a scotch together. It is because Mr. Jackson and myself share a common bond of greatness. When he is bringing down rebounds, I take down grizzly bears. He can shoot the three with ease, while I can surf 100 foot waves on Taco Bell trays. Quite simply, we are both the best at what we do. Although, I must say that the death glare Steven uses on refs and opposing players alike was taken from a self portrait that I carved into the side of a mountain. But I digress. Congratulations Steven on being so real, Real know Real.

I cook my turkey in SPACE...

Thanksgiving is tomorrow and you know what that means.....alcohol fueled comas. That, and for many, a turkey.... or if you really have some stones, some of you assholes are going to buy a Turducken and let the rest of us wallow in self pity. My focus is on the preparation of that delicious bird, not whether or not there are more birds stuffed in it. Many of you will fall into the same pathetic groups that we see year in year out, while I have found the new and only way to do it. Do you like to cook the Turkey in the oven and let it bake for a few hours? Please don't bore me with your hopelessness. Why don't you just get an easy bake oven and make dessert for us in that afterwards? Do you think that deep frying is the way to go? Wrong! Although this option takes a bit more skill and affinity for grease burns, you are mistaken. Are you a vegitarian? STOP reading this right now. There is only one true way to cook a turkey....

IN SPACE!!!

Every year I do two things during the summer. I get a list of all the people that are coming over for dinner on thanksgiving. This is in order to allocate the appropriate amount of meat for each guest. If Chuck Norris is coming, I add another turkey. Once I have the weight down I begin step two, building the turkey shuttle. I have a blueprint for the shuttle that I can adjust depending on how many turkeys are to be stacked in it. The hardest part is making the fuel for the shuttle. Without giving away too many trade secrets I can say the fuel is a mixture of bathtub gin, yaegermeister, and peach schnapps. Coincidentally, that is the same thing I drink before I head out for more drinks. Anyways, the shuttle gets launched from my backyard on the fourth of July. I find that people are far to intoxicated or distracted by fireworks to notice the shuttle leave our atmosphere, or the brush fires it creates. As my homemade shuttle rips through space towards the Sun I focus on other matters through the months. Mostly push-ups and counting my enormous amounts of money. The shuttle goes all the way to the Sun, and just before it makes impact I turn it around using the RC remote attached to it. I find that turning the shuttle around at the Sun cooks the turkey best. As the turkey heads back to earth it cools to a manageable heat and forms a deliciously golden skin. Space skin. The touchdown date is on the day before Thanksgiving to allow for prep time. Which reminds me that I have to go, because I have not filled up the kiddie pool for landing, and I see a burning object entering our atmosphere.
Happy Thanksgiving.

Thats right.....I'm back