suburban voodoo

My 01.18.2012 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly (NSFW)

2012-01-20T15:45:00.006-06:00

Attention: Image below is Not Safe For Work. Or anywhere else for that matter.

Here's my "All Over the Map" from this week's issue of Arkansas Weekly:

Last November brought the opening of the Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art in Bentonville. The brainchild of Walmart heir, Alice Walton, Crystal Bridges is a significant addition to the state’s tourism landscape. Art lovers from far and wide will now journey to our beautiful state to admire the major works of American artists that are collected in this multi-million dollar museum. Arkansas, of all places, is now an important destination in the international art community.

Now, I’ve been presented with an exclusive scoop regarding the development and construction of another major tourist attraction coming to Arkansas, and this time, our neck of the woods will be the beneficiary of potentially millions of tourism dollars.

Late this summer, plans will be announced for the construction of a multi-million dollar museum in northern Independence County. This will be a museum so rich in culture and importance that, when combined with Crystal Bridges, will make Arkansas the “go-to” place for travelers from all over the world.

Ladies and gentlemen, in 2015, Walnut Grove, Arkansas will be the home of the Junior Samples Memorial Museum of the Hee Haw Historical Collective and Archives. This project will add millions to the local economy and will make Independence County a required stop for tourists worldwide.

Junior Samples

“I’m really excited,” said Munroe Reeve, constable of Walnut Grove and part-time Archie Campbell impersonator. Reeve, also known by locals as “that crazy guy who sometimes argues with himself on the side of the highway after a long night at Spanky’s Club,” says it was his love of the long-running country and western variety program that caused him to persuade the museum’s backers to locate in his small community.

“I was first noticed by Lulu (a longtime cast member on the show – Ed.) at a Hee Haw convention in Hattiesburg, Mississippi,” said Reeve. “She saw me singing the ‘PFFT! You was gone’ song in my Archie Campbell show at the convention. She said I reminded her so much of Archie, and we struck up a relationship, and the next thing you know, she’s introducing me to Goober, Misty Rowe, Mike Snider, Gailard Sartain, and Minnie Pearl’s hat. So, when I heard about plans for the museum, I lobbied hard for Walnut Grove through my Hee Haw connections.”

The museum will be roughly the size of Walmart and located next to a corn field that will be surrounded by a wooden fence that will spank people with one of its planks. Eventually, a 3,000 seat theatre will be constructed and a replica of Junior Sample’s car lot will sit nearby.

Visitors will be able to enjoy a variety of Hee Haw related activities including a “Gone, But Not Forgotten” show performed by animatronic versions of Junior Samples, Grandpa Jones, Minnie Pearl, Archie Campbell, Kenny Price and Buck Owens; a walk-through exhibit of an actual pair of pants once worn by Lulu; and as the name of the museum suggests, a vast archive of Hee Haw material and memorabilia including an original issue of Playgirl featuring a nude layout of the Hager Twins from 1973 and the actual stuffed carcass of Beauregard the Wonder Dog.

Reeve says the call is out to all surviving Hee Haw cast members to make plans to attend the projected opening.

“We even contacted the Hee Haw Honeys,” said Reeve. “And they all said they’d come providing it didn’t fall on bingo day at their retirement home.”

And yes, the Hager Twins really did pose for Playgirl. Minnie Pearl almost fainted when she saw this.

My 01.11.2012 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

2012-01-06T12:09:00.004-06:00

Here's my "All Over the Map" from next week's Arkansas Weekly:

What in the hay-el?

Seriously, what in the hay-el?

Here I go to my alma mater for what I thought would be a nice innocent high school basketball game, and I was shocked – shocked – to see two perfect examples of how our society is going to hay-el in a hambasket.

First, I get to the gym and pay my five dollars (FIVE DOLLARS! What is this? A Travelers game?), then I get my dill pickle and Pepsi-Cola, and I sit down with my Pioneer seat cushion because my hemorrhoids have been acting up and the first thing I notice is the dad-gum opposing team has a dad-gum boy cheerleader! (A BOY CHEERLEADER! What is this? A San Francisco high school team?) I almost spit out my Pepsi-Cola and dropped my dill pickle in complete and udder shock.

I tried to calm myself down because my doctor told me that if I get too riled up, my blood pressure goes sky-high, so I tried to think positive like, “Well, maybe the poor kid is like Rudy from that football movie. The other cheerleaders felt sorry for him because, for some twisted reason, he had always wanted to be a cheerleader, so they played along and let him be on the squad.” And, I guess another positive thing was the boy wasn’t wearing an actual girl cheerleader outfit.

Whatever. I tried to turn my mind off it and concentrate on my dill pickle, my Pepsi-Cola and the boys basketball game. But then I saw something else that curled my hairs: One of the referees had a dad-gum ponytail! (A PONYTAIL! What is this? A Ted Nugent concert?) I almost spit out the chunk of dill pickle I was chewing on in complete and udder shock.

Since when did hippies know anything about basketball? All they know about is rock and roll, dope and President Obama! In my world, every man would have a buzzcut flattop -- nice, tight and clean, brother.

I finally got around to composing myself and swallowing my pickle chunk. I had to remain calm or else my blood pressure was going to explode my heart and I’d fall over deceased with Pepsi-Cola spilt all over my John Wayne t-shirt and my cold dead hand clutching my dill pickle.

Breathe…in and out…in and out. Breathe…in and out…in and out.

I tried to concentrate again on the hardwood action when suddenly I realized the ref with the ponytail was not a man…but (might want to be sitting down for this one, brothers) a dad-gum girl! A girl referee for a boys basketball game! (A GIRL REFEREE! What is this? Canada?*)

Blood flushed my cheeks and a deep pain started to squeeze my heart. I gripped my dill pickle so hard, it popped straight up out of my hand, flew over the opposing team’s bench, and slid across the gym floor like a midget green torpedo. Then, one of our boys was flying down the court with a stolen ball, slipped on the pickle, and landed with a thud on his head. The ball flew from his hands, into the other team’s possession, and dad-gum if they didn’t score a dad-gum three-point basket all because there was a dad-gum girl referee and a dad-gum boy cheerleader.

And before you start judging me, thinking that it was my dill pickle that caused all of this ruckus, you need to remember that if the referee would’ve been a man and the cheerleader would have been a girl like the Good Lord intended, then I wouldn’t have squeezed my dad-gum pickle so dad-gum hard!

Thank you and good day!

We hope you’ve enjoyed this edition of “All Over the Map.” Through our legal team and his relatives, we’ve managed to commit – uh, we mean, send Rob on a long vacation to an exclusive resort where everyone wears white, the rooms are soft and padded, and shock – uh, we mean, massage therapy is administered on a weekly basis.

At least, on a weekly basis for him. It might be daily.

*Oh, and we have no idea what female referees and Canada have in common.

Thanking you,

The editors of Arkansas Weekly.

My 12.28.2011 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

2011-12-22T14:10:00.003-06:00

Here's next week's "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly:

It seems as I grow older, the years zip by in a flash. This year seemed -- hang on…lame pop culture joke ahead -- as long as Kim Kardashian’s wedding. So with 2012 only days away, it seems time to compile a list of my resolutions for the new year.

Obviously, any list of New Year’s resolutions has to include a goal relating to the improvement of one’s physical well-being -- whether it be losing weight, stopping smoking or working out more. In 2012, I hope to shed a few pounds, but I also need to do some other things to better my health.

For instance, it’s probably not too wise to eat burned bacon lathered in mayonnaise every day. I can’t help it, but I’m hooked on it. I also enjoy chocolate-dipped fried chicken. That can’t be too good for you, but I did read somewhere that chocolate is now considered heart healthy. And at least it’s poultry and not red meat.

I probably need to start going to the doctor more often, as well. I’ve noticed that I’m usually short of breath after I tie my shoes or brush my hair. I don’t think I should be bleeding from my eyes every day. Plus, I know it’s not normal if small worms are starting to grow underneath my toenails. I need to get that checked out.

I need to also develop some positive hobbies to help with my spare time. Instead of driving to North Little Rock to meet the guys at Hooters every day after work for some beers and then putting on a ski mask and robbing pharmacies throughout the Little Rock metro area, perhaps I should instead join a local book club or take dance lessons and then go put on a ski mask and rob pharmacies throughout the Little Rock metro area.

This is me exiting the Asher Pharmacy in Little Rock last week. I'm glad the camera caught my best profile.

Another 2012 resolution is to make an effort to be a much more polite individual. If I’ve had a busy day or if I’m stressed, I usually tend to be abrupt and rude to other people. Just yesterday at the grocery store, I screamed out my car window at a woman who was taking her sweet time to cross the parking lot. It’s a wonder she didn’t throw her walker at my vehicle.

She did flip me the bird, though.

I also need to stop playing practical jokes so much because a lot of people do not have a good sense of humor. I mean, I think it’s really fun to walk through area rest homes dressed as the Grim Reaper, knock on a patient’s door and say something like, “All right, Myrtle. The fat lady has sung! Let’s roll!” But since I’ve been arrested twice for doing that, I suppose I should stop.

(Now, one practical joke I refuse to stop playing is when I release a trash can full of live snakes in area kindergarten classes. It’s so much fun to see all those kids screaming as they run over each other trying to get out of the room. Talk about good times!)

In 2012, I know I have to clean out my closet. There are dirty clothes everywhere, piles of shoes I no longer wear, and to be frank, it’s beginning to stink in there. In fact, the stench seems a little rotten. It’s been that way ever since my housekeeper, Corina, went missing a few months ago. Ah, Corina. What an angel. I miss her. In fact, now that I think about it, the last place I saw Corina was in my closet. She was trying to arrange my shoes and said something like, “Mr. Grace! ¡Ayuda! ¡Corazón mío! Mi corazón!” Then she went to sleep right there on the floor under a pile of old sweatpants.

Latin was always so hard for me to understand.

Finally, I hope to be a better writer in 2012. I know. You’re likely asking yourself, “How can one improve on sheer genius?” But a good writer is always looking to expand his talent and thus transform literature as we knows it. And of course their is no doubt I am the person who is a writer that can do such a thing because my words flow together good like a bird of a feather and I am always coming up with really well and good ideals that make really well and good readings of my columns that are printed hear in this pages.

So, their you go!

Happy New Year!

My 12.21.2011 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

2011-12-20T10:04:00.002-06:00

Here's my "All Over the Map" from this week's Arkansas Weekly:

“All right, Gov. Perry. We’re ready when you are.”

“Okay. I think I know how I want it to flow. Let’s do this.”

“Fantastic. Here we go. Everyone ready? Gov. Perry campaign ad, take one. And…action, governor!”

“Hi. I’m Gov. Rick Perry. If you’re like me, you treasure an America where your hometown streets are safe, where hard work is rewarded without the fear of the government taking it all away in taxes, and where those who illegally enter this country are hunted down by good ‘ole boys in American-made pickup trucks. In fact – ”.

“Wait! Cut! Hold on. Gov. Perry. The first two items were great! Good delivery. Good eye contact with the camera. But the last thing…about the hunting of humans, you know? Uh. I’m not sure if we want to go there.”

“Oh. Well, let me take it in another direction. Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay. Here we go. Gov. Perry campaign ad, take two. And…action, governor!”

“Hi. I’m Gov. Rick Perry. If you’re like me, you treasure an America where your hometown streets are safe, where hard work is rewarded without the fear of the government taking it all away in taxes, and where people who don’t believe in the God you and I believe in are rounded up and put in camps where electrodes are then attached to their – ”

“Whoops! Cut! Hold on there, governor. That’s a little drastic.”

“What? They’re going to hell anyway.”

“Well, let’s try something a little less dramatic and, um, without any violence. Take on another subject that might not be too divisive. Okay?”

“Aw, shucks. Okay. Hmmm. Wait. I think I got something.”

“Good! Let’s try it! Gov. Perry campaign ad, take three. And…action, governor!”

“Hi. I’m Gov. Rick Perry. If you’re like me, you treasure an America where your hometown streets are safe, where hard work is rewarded without the fear of the government taking it all away in taxes, and where guys who wear earrings and/or talk with a slight lisp are dragged screaming from their homes by a mob of real men…you know, men who hunt and who watch NASCAR – ”

“Huh? What? No! No! Cut! Cut! You can’t say stuff like that!”

“What’d I say? You’re confusing me here.”

“Governor, let’s try to come up with a third point that everyone can agree with, all right? Something not too controversial. Something sensible. Something that makes perfect sense to every American.”

“Hmmm. Let me think. Wow. Oh! Wait. I got it!”

“Okay. Excellent! Gov. Perry campaign ad, take four. And…action, governor!”

“Hi. I’m Gov. Rick Perry. If you’re like me, you treasure an America where your hometown streets are safe, where hard work is rewarded without the fear of the government taking it all away in taxes, and where people who write ridiculous columns like the one you’re reading right now are lathered up in barbecue sauce and taken away to a remote part of the jungle where cannibalistic tribes have been known to feast on slightly chubby, white-headed men. The world just doesn’t need morons like the person writing this column. I know you agree, and if I'm elected President, I’ll make sure some tribe is having Rob Grace stew before the end of my first term. I’m Rick Perry, and I approved this message.”

“And…cut! Print that sucker! That was perfect.”

My 12.14.2011 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

2011-12-09T15:37:00.007-06:00

Here's next week's "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly that will likely land me on Santa's "Naughty" list:

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas with dazzling lights, stores full of shoppers, and an occasional snowfall.

And one thing is for sure: Santa and his elves are very busy right now at the North Pole, making the toys and gadgets for all the little boys and girls who have received a spot on his “Nice” list.

However, things may not be so jolly up at the Pole. Last month, I received a series of somewhat disturbing emails from a person who claimed to be one of Santa’s diminutive workers. They paint a picture of a Santa Claus that is very different from the one to which we’ve grown accustomed.

Obviously, for job security, let’s refer to this elf as Elf X. Elf X contacted me after Googling the phrase "Esteemed, magnificent and genius journalist.” Obviously, he wanted the best, and of course, he found it.

His first email explained that he was concerned about the mental stability of his boss. Apparently, Elf X and all of the other elves at the workshop have noticed significant changes in Santa’s behavior, attitude and appearance.

“It all started when we realized that Mrs. Claus has been spending a lot of time in Cancun,” Elf X wrote. “Apparently, they’ve been living apart for a while. We’re pretty sure she’s not cheating on Santa, but he has really lost some weight and has been looking pretty rough lately since she’s been gone.

“Some nights, his driveway is full of sleds and snowmobiles with techno music blasting from his house until the wee hours of the morning. And he’ll stagger into work after lunch wearing sweat pants and reeking of peppermint schnapps and cigarettes. It’s like he’s partying to keep Mrs. Claus off his mind.”

I contacted one of Santa’s other holiday peers for his thoughts, and I was surprised to learn some interesting nuggets of information.

“What I’ve heard – and this can go on the record because Kris and I haven’t been friendly since he threw up all over my baskets one year – is that Mrs. Claus found some lewd pictures of Kim Kardashian on his laptop,” wrote the Easter Bunny in a recent email to me. “She said that he initially denied he had downloaded the pics, and that some disgruntled elves had planted them on his laptop. Then when she found that infamous Kim Kardashian DVD in his collection, he finally came clean.

“He swore he’d get rid of all the pics and the DVD, but then a week or two later, she found a bunch of texts to and from Kim on his iPhone. That’s when she got online, found a nice condominium in Cancun, and flew the coop. I even hear she’s seeing a young Mexican pool boy from the condo complex and had breast augmentation surgery.”

Back at the North Pole, Elf X has been reporting more erratic behavior from Santa.

“Just last week, he hosted Charlie Sheen, Snoop Dogg, some strippers, and some short chubby creep they called ‘The Hedgehog’ for an all-night party,” Elf X wrote. “The next day, Santa called in sick. When he finally showed up at the workshop, he was wearing an Ed Hardy sweatshirt, Adidas jogging pants, a new silver earring, and he had shaved his beard into a goatee! He even had a new tattoo he was showing off. This isn’t the Santa we all know. We’re worried. And this new lifestyle is definitely affecting his health. You should see all the cold sores!”

Elf X confirms this is the man known only as "The Hedgehog" that was sighted at the Claus compound with Charlie Sheen, Snoop Dogg and others last week.

I tried to reach Santa through his publicity firm, but they noted Santa is giving no interviews whatsoever. When I pointed out that he has recently been calling into “The Howard Stern Show” on a regular basis, they hung up on me.

I also placed a call to Kim Kardashian, but she had just broken a nail and was too distraught to talk.

E! Entertainment Television happened to catch Kim on the phone to our scribe right after she broke her nail. She was too distraught to talk to me and was later taken to her personal therapist to try and make it through the fractured fingernail ordeal.

My 11.30.2011 (UNCENSORED) "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

2011-11-23T11:00:00.010-06:00

Here's next week's "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly:

There’s nothing I look forward to more than deer camp.

I’ve always been an avid outdoorsman. There’s nothing more fulfilling than being out in nature.

Well, maybe the splendid artistry of a delightful mime, but other than that, there’s nothing better.

Fishing on the lake. Squirrel hunting with my buddies. Frog-gigging on a clear moonlit night. I love it all. But above all that, there’s nothing I love more than deer camp.

Well, maybe listening to the latest Little River Band album with someone you love as you both sip chilled Fanta Grape, but other than that and a damn good mime, there’s nothing better than deer camp.

Nothing.

Well, now a really good egg salad sandwich and a cold glass of whole milk for a late night snack, that really satisfies me, but other than that and listening to the latest Little River Band album with someone you love as you both sip chilled Fanta Grape, and a damn good mime, there really isn’t anything better than deer camp.

Digging out your hunter orange, heading to that old cabin in the woods, talking with old buddies as you…well, hang on…actually I forgot…walking up to someone who voted for Obama and punching him or her in the stomach and then saying “How’s that ‘HOPE’ and ‘CHANGE’ bullshit working out for you now?”, that’s pretty cool. But, other than that and a really good egg salad sandwich and a cold glass of whole milk for a late night snack, and listening to the latest Little River Band album with someone you love as you both sip chilled Fanta Grape, and a damn good mime, there really isn’t anything better than deer camp.

Ahh, deer camp. Yes, sitting around the fire sipping a cold beer as you watch the orange embers float up to the stars. That’s just…well, now that I think about it…stalking your ex-girlfriend by repeatedly driving by her house very slowly late at night while holding a large knife in your lap and listening to Danzig as you wear a Cookie Monster mask, that’s immensely fulfilling! But other than that and walking up to someone who voted for Obama and punching him or her in the stomach and then saying “How’s that ‘HOPE’ and ‘CHANGE’ bullshit working out for you now?”, and a really good egg salad sandwich and a cold glass of whole milk for a late night snack, and listening to the latest Little River Band album with someone you love as you both sip chilled Fanta Grape, and a damn good mime, there really isn’t anything better than deer camp.

Yes, there’s nothing like deer camp. Waking up before dawn with a hot cup of coffee as you watch the sun rise on the horizon, and…oh! I forgot! Telling your toddler kids that you’re going to put in the latest DVD from The Wiggles and actually putting in the DVD of The Human Centipede 2 and then locking the doors and forcing them to watch it instead, that’s just plain silly fun! But other than that and stalking your ex-girlfriend by repeatedly driving by her house very slowly late at night while holding a large knife in your lap and listening to Danzig as you wear a Cookie Monster mask, and walking up to someone who voted for Obama and punching him or her in the stomach and then saying “How’s that ‘HOPE’ and ‘CHANGE’ bullshit working out for you now?”, and a really good egg salad sandwich and a cold glass of whole milk for a late night snack, and listening to the latest Little River Band album with someone you love as you both sip chilled Fanta Grape, and a damn good mime, there really isn’t anything better than deer camp.

Because, really, deer camp is just great! Sitting in the stand, searching for any rustle in the woods, and – what the heck was I thinking?!? Taking your kids to see your mom and dad, and then gathering them in the den and saying, “Mom, Dad, Kids. I have some horrible news. I’ve contracted a rare disease, and I only have two weeks to live,” and then after a couple of beats, saying, “I’m KIDDING!”, nothing tops that! But other than that, and telling your toddler kids that you’re going to put in the latest DVD from The Wiggles and actually putting in the DVD of The Human Centipede 2 and then locking the doors and forcing them to watch it instead, and stalking your ex-girlfriend by repeatedly driving by her house very slowly late at night while holding a large knife in your lap and listening to Danzig as you wear a Cookie Monster mask, and walking up to someone who voted for Obama and punching him or her in the stomach and then saying “How’s that ‘HOPE’ and ‘CHANGE’ bullshit working out for you now?”, and a really good egg salad sandwich and a cold glass of whole milk for a late night snack, and listening to the latest Little River Band album with someone you love as you both sip chilled Fanta Grape, and a damn good mime, there really isn’t anything better than deer camp.

Seriously.

--With a tip of the hat to Steve Martin.

My 11.23.2011 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

2011-11-23T10:51:00.003-06:00

Here's today's "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly:

To me, Twitter sounded like the dumbest internet craze around when it first caught the world’s attention a few years back. For those unfamiliar with the website, you basically share what’s on your mind at any particular moment, and your message goes out to all of those other Twitter folks who follow you. It’s very similar to Facebook except you have limited space for what you type on Twitter – namely 140 characters for each “tweet.” If you’re a blowhard, you have to finagle your thought into that 140 character limit or you have to break up your thought into separate tweets.

The immense popularity of Twitter always confused me. I never understood the reason why anyone would be interested in the mini-messages of others. I always presumed that people were tweeting mundane thoughts or actions, like “Heading to the grocery store, everyone. Hoping they have my favorite Chef Boyardee.” Of course, if I had taken some time to read some tweets, I would have then “got it,” I believe.

I now do get it. There’s no doubt that Twitter is full of tweets that are indeed humdrum and boring, but then there are those that utilize the service in ways that are informative and entertaining. I get most of my world news and sports updates from Twitter, as well as follow what interests my kids and friends based on their tweets. It steers you to find new things online, and it also delivers some extremely funny thoughts and ideas from others.

There is a dark side to Twitter, however. And I’m beginning to think I am slowly becoming enveloped by this other half. You see, once I caught on, and once I started tweeting on a regular basis (@jrgrace), I became an addict. Obviously, I have it in my head that I’m Mr. Funny Man, but to my surprise, many people simply think I have serious mental issues based on what they read in these pages. My sense of humor is beyond goofball, a little dark, and sometimes it makes no sense to anyone except to me and my imaginary friends that follow me around and sometimes sit on my shoulder. (If you’re not chuckling even just a tad right now, don’t worry. You’re proving my point.)

And unfortunately Twitter has unleashed a madman in me. Instead of writing a long column for Arkansas Weekly full of lame jokes, many of which are questionable in taste, I can now take to Twitter and let loose with countless tweets that are equally, if not more so, lame and questionable in taste. And I can do it anytime of the day or night.

Here are some recent examples of my tweets. Read at your peril:

“I’ve been searching all over the apartment for my hot rollers, and I just found out my dad borrowed them. I bet he has my straightener too.”

“Watched an interview with Richard Simmons tonight. Wondering: Is it me or does he seem particularly effeminate to anyone else?

“Why do girls get mad when I answer ‘Only if you wear a mask,’ to their question: ‘Does this look good on me?’

“Kris Jenner in tears after news of Kim’s split. Relieved after she was reminded their lives are really scripted by E! and roomful of chimps.”

“At tanning salon. Tanning bed busted out laughing when I walked into my room. ‘Seriously?’ it asked me.”

“Karl Malden never left home without his American Express card or his Ed Hardy trucker’s cap. RIP Karl.”

“If verdict is not guilty in Jacko death trial, LAPD warn of riots by Jackson fans who are expected to effeminately slap police in anger.”

“To all my deer friends: Be safe and confuse the hunters. Wear orange.”

And finally:

“Just realizing Twitter is simply CRACK for obnoxious people who crave attention and/or think they are funny when they are not. Oh wait.”

My 11.16.2011 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

2011-11-14T12:13:00.004-06:00

Here's my "All Over the Map" from this week's Arkansas Weekly:

Having just turned 35 (excuse me…cough, clears throat), I’m reminded of how quickly time passes.

I’m also reminded of the fact that with my age I may be in the early stages of developing man boobs – something that, clearly, is unacceptable.

With that terrifying realization, I recently decided to embark on an aggressive physical fitness program to sculpt my already somewhat impressive physique into a lean and rugged machine.

(RE “already impressive physique”: We’ll overlook the aforementioned development of male bosoms as well as the frustratingly consistent water retainment I’ve been experiencing around my abdominal area).

So, I’ve decided to begin training in mixed martial arts -- also known as MMA. MMA is a very physical fighting sport that combines martial arts and boxing, and in the matches I’ve seen through my fingers covering my eyes, it’s also very brutal -- lots of blood, broken noses, missing teeth and cauliflower ears.

The potential for such violence does give me pause before I begin MMA, but my panther-like reflexes, along with my ability to run away extremely fast, will ensure that I won’t be pummeled by another opponent. The training, however, will be intense and rigorous. I’m confident that such a program will harden my boobal tissue into a literal breastplate of smooth steel.

Oh, and all of the water retention around my abdomen should disappear because of the gallons of sweat that will leave my body.

MMA fighters are tough, dedicated individuals who also appreciate and respect their own. For the most part, these men (and women) train together in a communal manner only to likely end up in the ring facing one another. It is a rarified brotherhood, open only to those who have the focus, dedication and spirit to master – through physical strength and mental aptitude -- the myriad number of ways one can navigate their opponent into their own defeat.

And after writing the above paragraph, I’m now thinking that perhaps I should take up badminton in order to get myself into shape. I mean, the only things that keep my focus and inspire my dedication are a) naps, and b) coming up with various ways to sneak out of work early in order to catch an occasional late afternoon lunch at Hooters.

But no – I need to change. I realize that both items “a” and “b” could possibly be contributing to the softening, swelling and slight sagging of my chest. I must conquer my selfish and lazy ways. After I type this paragraph, I’m going to get in my vehicle, go to the nearest MMA training facility, and begin my journey into extreme and productive conditioning. The next paragraph will only be written after my first day of MMA training. Wish me luck! MMA!

(Twenty minutes later, Rob returns to the Arkansas Weekly offices. – Editor.)

OK. That, uh, didn’t unfold exactly as I expected. And I really can’t share too much of my first MMA workout because both of my eyes are swelling shut as I type these words. Plus, I should be passing most of my teeth in an hour or two, so you’ll forgive me if I go curl up into a ball and weep for a while.

Thanks.

My 11.09.2011 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

2011-11-08T11:13:00.005-06:00

Here's my "All Over the Map" from the 11.09.2011 issue of Arkansas Weekly:

The Occupy Wall Street movement shows no signs of fading into the footnotes of history. Encampments of protesters angry with corporate greed and governmental nonsense have sprung up in urban areas nationwide. Even Little Rock has its own tent city of furious citizens demanding change.

All of this rage recently encouraged me to start my own “Occupy” movement. So, off I went to Walmart to purchase a tent, some poster board, a bundle of magic markers and various other items to begin my occupation.

I took to Facebook to alert my friends that I was going to Occupy Batesville and force The Man to change its greedful ways. I invited all of those who needed to rage against The Machine to join me and support the Revolution. Unfortunately, I only have 15 Facebook friends, and the sole response I received was from my 13-year-old son who told me that “greedful” is not a word and that I needed to “get a life.”

Undaunted, I journeyed to Batesville’s Riverside Park and began to set up the Occupy Batesville headquarters. After I unloaded everything, I started to put together my new tent. Approximately seven hours later, I went to get my son and had him set up the tent because, really, I’m not an outdoorsman. In fact, the only time I have slept in the elements was when I had too many strawberry daiquiris at a wedding reception and ended up outside a locked Dollar General at three in the morning thinking the store was my apartment.

Finally, with the tent up, I set out making my protest signs with the poster board and magic markers. I tried to think of some phrases that would fully capture my rage at all the greed that had enveloped our corporate and political world. But then I realized that, on a local basis, I’m mostly happy with our political leaders and my bank. Still, I had to make a stand with my Occupiers nationwide on some point, otherwise I’d have to return my tent to Walmart and I had misplaced my receipt.

It was at this point a girl walked over from the playground. She looked about seven and said her name was Sally. I was about to ask her where her parents were when she decided to speak first.

“What’cha doing?” Sally asked.

Inspiration struck me. Here was a young mind who could make a difference in the future for her generation. She needed to know about the perilous path this country was taking.

“I’m standing shoulder to shoulder in solidarity with my other comrades from across the country to protest the poisonous greed that has infected the political and corporate machines that control 99 percent of this country,” I said. “We are the 99 percent!”

Sally stood there for a minute in her SpongeBob dress and twirled a curl in her hair.

“Can I play with your magic markers?” she asked.

“Sure!” I said. “I think I have some glue and glitter too!”

For the next hour, Sally was an inspiration. We created protest signs that read, “Occupy Batesville,” “Let’s Stick It to The Man,” “Representation NOW for the 99 Percent,” and a simply delightful picture of a unicorn jumping a rainbow that was decorated with explosions of colorful glitter.

I did the latter sign. I made Sally do the others.

As Sally was stapling the signs around the park, a sheriff’s patrol car slowly pulled in front of my tent. That didn’t take long, I thought. The Man had already dispatched The Fuzz.

“Oh,” Sally yelled. “Here’s my daddy.”

An hour later, as I sat in a crowded holding cell at the Independence County Jail, I came to two realizations. The first was this: protesting was for the birds.

The second realization was that the grinning and heavily tattooed inmate walking toward me at that particular moment was, at some point very soon, going to make me call out for my mommy.

My 10.26.2011 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

2011-10-27T10:45:00.004-05:00

Here's my "All Over the Map" from the 10.26.2011 Arkansas Weekly:

The first thing he noticed was, yes, it was damn hot.

“Miserable, right?” Saddam asked the new arrival at the gates. “It doesn’t get better, my friend, but it’s good to see you! Give me a hug! How long has it been?”

“Uhhh...what...,” Col. Qaddafi said. “My head. Owwwie wowie!”

“Oh, you’ve got a hole in it,” Saddam said. “Don’t worry, you get used to it. My neck is snapped. Hey, watch this!”

Saddam put his hands to his head and turned it completely around. “Cool, huh? Hitler loves it when I do that,” Saddam said. “Cracks him up every time. He has a hole in his head just like yours, too!”

Col. Qaddafi tried to put it all together: the intense heat, the sharp pain in his forehead, his old friend Saddam, now with the bendy neck.

“Oh, wait,” the colonel said. “Am I...Am I in Hell?”

Saddam burst out laughing. “Of course, silly! Where’d you think you were? A Denny’s?”

Saddam slapped the colonel on the back. “Come on! Let me show you the place.”

Col. Qaddafi, still dazed, looked around. Beneath their feet was bright orange shag carpet. Black velvet paintings lined the walls. Puke-green vinyl sofas and chairs were scattered around.

“Rasputin was telling me the other day that when Elvis Presley’s interior decorator arrived, Satan had him re-do the entire place,” Saddam said. “Reminds me of my old palace outside Baghdad.”

“Where are the seventeen virgins?” the colonel asked. “I thought I’d be in Heaven with virgins?!?”

“Oh come on. You fell for that?” Saddam said. “That’s what we’d tell all the idiots who would go blow themselves up. Why else would some dupe splatter his guts all over the place?”

“You gotta be kidding me!”

“Oh, but the seventeen virgins are here. Come, I’ll show you.”

Saddam guided the colonel to a large arena filled with thousands of maimed individuals -- all missing legs, arms and other sizable portions of their bodies. In the center of the arena stood seventeen amazingly gorgeous young women.

“There they are,” Saddam said as he pointed to the stunning females. “And there in the audience are all of the suicide bombers and other terrorists who gave their lives for our cause. They get to sit and watch the virgins all day and night, but they can’t walk or crawl to them. They’re stuck being eternally teased by their beauty. You gotta hand it to the boss down here: He’s a clever little devil.”

The colonel slumped to his knees and sobbed.

“There has to have been some type of mistake,” he said. “I am the supreme ruler of Libya! I was destined by Allah to triumph over my enemies.”

“Wow. You got that a little wrong, didn’t you? Hey, listen. I felt a little of the same way when I got here . But I also had time to reflect in my prison cell before they stretched my neck. You and I are a little alike. We were both responsible for the ruthless murders of tens of thousands of innocent people to prop up our hideous regimes. You didn’t think that’d make us popular with the Guy upstairs, did you?”

“I don’t understand,” Col. Qaddafi said. “If this is Hell, then why are you so damn chipper?”

“Oh trust me, this is Hell all right,” Saddam said. “For most of the day, we’re skewered and slowly turned over pits of fire. Then at night, we sleep on hot coals and broken glass. And the only thing that plays on tv are reruns of Saved by the Bell. I can’t wait for Screech to show up down here. I’m gonna slug him in the mouth.”

SCRRRREEECCCH!

“But still, you seem in a fairly amiable mood for someone damned for eternity,” the colonel said.

“Well, I am in a good mood today,” Saddam said. “I just found out they’re serving fish sticks in the cafeteria. Usually, it’s rotten meat every day, but the Devil got a helluva deal through Mrs. Paul’s on a load of fish sticks.”

Saddam pulled Col. Qaddafi up. “Come on. Let’s get going. If Mussolini gets there before us, the sticks will be gone.”

“Oh, one more thing,” Saddam said. “I hope you’re not much of a reader.”

“I love to read all the great writings of history,” Col. Qaddafi said.

“Well, that’s too bad my friend, because down here, you get two choices. You either have the entire library of Danielle Steel or the weekly column by some idiot in Arkansas named Rob Grace. It’s horrific, really. Horrific.”

My 10.19.2011 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

2011-10-26T10:36:00.007-05:00

Here's my "All Over the Map" from the 10.19.2011 Arkansas Weekly:

Random thoughts this week.

I looked all over my apartment last night for my hot rollers. Then I remembered my dad had borrowed them the other day. I think he also has my straightener.

Walking through the mall the other day, a lady stopped me and said I looked just like George Clooney. Then, she said: “Oh, wait. Not George Clooney. George C. Scott! You look just look like George C. Scott! Has anyone ever told you that?”

George C. Scott or our humble scribe -- We can't tell the friggin' difference.

Al Davis, the colorful Oakland Raiders owner, died the other day. His passing occurred 35 years after his hairstyle died.

Speaking of Al’s hairstyle, I’ve often wondered what Lou Holtz would look like with an Al Davis-like pompadour. In fact, I wonder what Holtz’s hair would look like permed.

Al Davis and Al Davis' pompadour

The Arby’s Good Mood Food guy puts me in a bad, almost violent, mood. When he sings, “It’s good mood food!”, I want to shove a french dip sandwich down his throat.

I watched an interview with Richard Simmons the other night. Is it me, or does he seem a little effeminate?

Effeminate? Nawww...

I will say that I have something in common with Simmons and the waitresses at Hooters: We all like to wear hose with our shorts.

I recently drove to the Gulf Coast to attend a friend’s wedding on the beach. The setting was gorgeous. White sands. A cool gulf breeze. Warm water. And dolphins playing near the shore. I had never seen dolphins so close to the beach. And I have to admit I was disappointed I left my spear gun in the room. I’ve always wanted a mounted dolphin in my office. Maybe next time.

I think we can all agree that Corey Hart of the Milwaukee Brewers is a liar. The other night when the Brewers played the St. Louis Cardinals, I never saw Hart wearing his sunglasses.

Corey Hart at night. No sunglasses.

Paying my bill at Mi Ranchito the other day in Batesville, the woman at the cash register told me she likes to read my column. “And you don’t have four chins like you’ve written,” she said. “You just have two.”

And by the way, the other day I made a mistake. I noted that Mi Pueblito is moving into the old Colton’s building in Batesville. This is incorrect. Mi Ranchito is moving into the old Colton’s building. I apologize for the error. But it really wasn’t my fault. That particular column was written by my pet monkey, Simpy. I allow Simpy to write “All Over the Map” every other week because of my busy schedule. I asked Simpy why he made that particular error, and he said he had been drinking a bit when he wrote that column. I would take Simpy to Mi Ranchito to apologize in person for the mistake, but unfortunately, pets are not allowed in the restaurant.

Finally, an 81-year-old man was arrested in Coconut Creek, Florida, for allegedly posing as a doctor and going door to door to offer free breast exams to women. It’s a good thing I read about this guy. Otherwise, Dr. Rob’s Home Boobie Exams would still be in business.

My 10.12.2011 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

2011-10-09T16:18:00.002-05:00

Here's my "All Over the Map" from the 10.12.2011 Arkansas Weekly:

Just a heads up. I am in a FOUL mood.

So it’s pretty much a given that this particular column will be enveloped in poisonous negativity.

First, let me fully state the obvious: I have no apparent reason to be in a foul mood. With the exception of an expanding belly, I have no signs of ill health. I have two children I adore and cherish; an immediate family that still loves and cares for one another; and a great group of friends. I have a roof over my head. Central heat and air. And I can enjoy a nice steak now and then.

I have zero room to b****, if you’ll pardon the censored profanity. I’m not unaware of the blessings in this life.

But for some odd quirk of the emotional circuitry today, I am in a hateful, sour and thoroughly rancid state of mind.

How did I get this way? I haven’t been in such a negative mood in years, yet everything has been gnawing away at my seemingly exposed nerves today.

The simple act of someone not answering my phone call tightens my jaw. When I try to text something, my thumbs keep flubbing the letters. And on the other end of the Rob-is-slowly-going-wacko-today spectrum, if I get a phone call or a text, I get so angry, bothered and irritated, I want to throw my phone across the room and against the wall, hoping it will shatter in a million pieces.

Other trivial things start setting me off. I’m on the road this particular day, making a four-and-a-half hour trip back to Arkansas, and every time I get behind a slow driver, I grip the steering wheel and let out a load of expletives to myself.

Listening to the radio to pass the miles, I hear the right complain about the left and the left complain about the right, and they both sound like spoiled little babies. It makes me want to pull out a handgun and shoot the radio like Harvey Keitel did in that one movie where he also, unfortunately, appeared naked. (And I could have done without that particular image again, thank you.)

Then I see White Castles in just about every town I drive through. Why can’t Arkansas have any White Castles?!? I like those soft little dwarf burgers! Sure, an hour or two later, the heartburn kicks in and I have to make a few restroom stops, but at the time, those mini suckers hit the spot!

By the time I hit the Arkansas state line, my blood pressure is somewhere in the 220 over 700 range. When a log truck pulls out in front me in Imboden and then a tractor – A TRACTOR!!! – outside Smithville does the same thing, I am raging!

Can this day get any worse? I think.

Maybe if I turned on some music, my nerves might be calmed a tad. I switch to a station playing Kenny Chesney.

Bad move.

What is the appeal of this twerp? His songs sound all the same, and he so much wants to be the next Jimmy Buffet, it’s pathetic. And I’m not a Jimmy Buffet fan! Plus, Buffet would never sing about a tractor being sexy! What the hell does that mean anyway?!? A sexy tractor? Tractors are ugly and covered in manure. Do I now have to cover myself in manure to come across as sexy? What am I missing?!? Argh!

Next station. Britney Spears. Kill me now. She can’t sing. Her songs sound the same. And you can practically smell the skankiness emanating from the radio. Yet people still buy her stuff which, in turn, encourages her to spit out more slut music. Congratulations America on your musical taste. We’re all going to hell.

I have a major headache by the time I finally reach the apartment. I pop three Advil, knowing that my liver will simply love that. I go to the bathroom, and the flusher won’t work. I now begin looking for a gun, a sharp object, or wonder if simply jumping from my second story deck will do the job.

I need to lay down. I’m beat. Perhaps, if I just fall asleep for the night, I’ll wake up in a better mood. My body relaxes. My lids slowly begin to become heavy. Slumber is just a few sweet breaths away.

Then it hits me.

Aw, crap. It’s deadline day. I have to write my stupid column.

My 10.05.2011 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

2011-09-30T13:24:00.012-05:00

Dino de Boyardee, of Hackensack, N.J., has not stopped crying since the 'incident'

Here's my "All Over the Map" from the 10.05.2011 issue of Arkansas Weekly. By the way, this is the uncensored version. You've been warned.

It happened in a flash. It happened so fast that, initially, people could not process what they were actually seeing.

Then, when it all came together, the screaming started, en masse, all across America.

In homes with families, the children began to scream first when they realized what it was they were seeing on the television screen. Then, the adults in the room recognized the horror that was being broadcast. Panicked, they moved quickly to their crying children and tried to shield their eyes.

Many adults, whether they were watching with their family or friends or simply alone, also screamed and wept. Some could not move their eyes away from the gruesome image. There were other reports of viewers fainting, vomiting, and/or physically destroying their television out of shock and anger that such a thing could ever happen.

In Dayton, Ohio, one man’s eyes literally started to bleed profusely. And in a suburb of Chicago, 43-year-old Benjamin Calverton witnessed what had happened, then in front of his wife, Sally; his 11-year-old son, Benny; and their 3-year-old cocker spaniel, Toots, he calmly walked to his toolbox, retrieved a cordless screwdriver, hit the power button, and shoved it in both of his eyes, one after the other.

It should be noted that HLN host Nancy Grace has vehemently denied that her right breast was exposed after performing on the September 26 episode of ABC’s Dancing with the Stars, but authorities beg to differ.

Image blurred to ensure your continued sanity

“I’ve briefed the President on the exposure of Nancy Grace’s breast and the now-thousands of reports of traumatized citizens,” said Janet Napolitano, secretary of the Department of Homeland Security, in a news conference four hours after the incident’s broadcast. “He will instruct the Federal Communications Commission to conduct a full investigation as to why this horrific incident happened, and we are coordinating with state authorities to help set up phone centers staffed with therapists and clergy for those who are trying to cope with the revolting sight of Ms. Grace’s hideous and creepy areola.”

In a statement from ABC, the network’s president, Anne Sweeney said: “ABC Television deeply apologizes for the completely accidental exposure of Nancy Grace’s breast on the September 26 episode of Dancing with the Stars. We are conducting a thorough, in-house investigation as to why a section of Ms. Grace’s chunky hooter flopped out on live television, and we sincerely apologize for any trauma this has caused to our audience. We at ABC Television pride ourselves on quality entertainment for all Americans, even though we are responsible for Joy Behar’s popularity by having her on The View. We actually apologize for that as well. And while I’m at it, we at ABC would also like to apologize for bringing a new version of Charlie’s Angels to the air. No one really asked for it, and I’ll admit it sucks -- big time. But you really should check out Pan Am, our new hit show that airs Sunday nights at 10 eastern. It’s going to be a big, big hit – as long as we can keep one of the actresses’ drinking under control.”

Pan Am. Sundays at 10 eastern -- only on ABC! Still the One!

Yet, many organizations do not accept ABC’s remorse.

Donald Wildmon, the head of the American Family Association, demanded the FCC impose a record-breaking fine against every ABC affiliate in the country.

“It’s an outrage what Ms. Grace’s boob has done to the moral fabric of this nation with just one exposure,” said Wildmon. “First, Chaz Bono. Now this. What’s next for Dancing with the Stars? Full scale pornography? If John Holmes was still around, I bet they’d have him as a contestant prancing around Tom Bergeron in an extra small jock strap just waiting for that anaconda to spring out, and – oh, never mind.”

We were unable to locate a picture of John Holmes for reference at this point in the article. Therefore, we found a picture of someone who is rumored to possess many of Mr. Holmes' attributes.

Even those in rural areas of the country were horrified.

“I don’t think I will ever get over seeing Nancy Grace’s teat,” said Jim Congognoson, a 34-year-old professional breakdancer from Thida, Arkansas. “I was watching it with some buddies and the corpse of their grandmother, and I swear I thought even the dead grandmother was gonna toss her cookies.”

And in Batesville, Arkansas, one man was quick to point out that the Nancy Grace on television was not the same Nancy Grace who is his mother.

“I just want everyone to know that my mom, Nancy Grace, is not the Nancy Grace who exposed her own hooter on national television,” said Rob Grace, a columnist for Arkansas Weekly and part-time Edgar Winter impersonator. “However, I will note that I break with most Americans in saying that the exposure of Nancy Grace’s boobie was a terrifying event. In fact, I kind of thought it was sort of sexy. Just like her nostrils.”

Hey, it's Edgar Winter! Or -- is it our humble scribe?

My 09.21.2011 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

2011-09-21T11:27:00.001-05:00

...and here's this week's "All Over the Map."

What in the wide, wide world of sports is going on here?

In Batesville, Colton’s Steak House & Grill gets a nice upgrade with its new building. U.S. Pizza Co. comes to town with a fun atmosphere and delicious salads, sandwiches and pizzas. Another newbie, Bryan’s Grill, is getting ready to open its doors. Mi Ranchito is moving into a larger space that housed the former Colton’s. And there are at least one to two other restaurants in the works.

I don’t know about you, but I’m going to gain at least 100 pounds by the time Christmas rolls around. My fourth chin is already forming. I have to have some self-discipline or I’ll be mistakenly harpooned if I go swimming in the ocean anytime soon. And not to be mean, but I envision myself looking somewhat like an albino Chaz Bono by the time the first snow falls.

Why, suddenly, do we have a wonderful selection of places to stuff ourselves silly? Don’t get me wrong – I love it. We already have a good variety of restaurants, and now, choosing a place to go eat takes a lot longer than it used to.

I think it’s a sign that, in the face of the ridiculously negative and incessant national media coverage of these economically challenging times, our little area might be doing financially better than most.

Look at the major expansion of the White River Medical Center facilities as one example. Or the steady growth at industries such as Bad Boy, LaCroix Optical, Flowers Bakery, FutureFuel, Batesville Cold and others. And during the season, Batesville Speedway can bring a healthy dose of income to the area on certain weekends. (Speaking of racing, let’s not forget Larry Shaw Racing and the Mark Martin Museum as positive factors in the area economy.)

Ever since I came back to Batesville in 1993, I’ve always said this area is a hidden jewel. Sure, there are always some naysayers who sometimes seem as if they’re only happy if they are complaining about our area, but I think you’ll find folks like those in every community. But, it’s cool to see this town grow and develop.

***

One of our radio stations here at W.R.D. Entertainment has started streaming online. Our hit music station, 99.5 Hits Now, can be heard worldwide at 995hitsnow.com. As the flagship station for Southside Southerner sports, alumni of Southside Schools and relatives of the players can listen to Southside football if they live outside of the 99.5 listening area.

And if you want to advertise your business on the new 99.5hitsnow.com, don’t hesitate to call our resident Burt Reynolds doppelganger, sales manager Matt Johnson, at (870) 793-4196, or email him at mattjohnson21@swbell.net.

We hope to have Classic Rock 93 KZLE and Arkansas 103.3 KWOZ streaming online in the near future, and since the Batesville Pioneers and the Mountain View Yellowjackets are broadcast, respectively, on those stations, alumni and fans of those teams will soon be able to listen online as well.

The possibilities of this dang internet thang are amazing, ain’t it?

My 09.14.2011 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

2011-09-21T10:48:00.007-05:00

A little late in posting, but...anyway, here's my "All Over the Map" from the 09.14.2011 Arkansas Weekly:

Nothing much surprises me anymore when I pick up a newspaper. Our modern world has evolved to a point where anything seems possible. Twenty years ago, things such as iPods, face transplants, $3.50 a gallon gas, and a Saddam/Qaddafi-free world seemed ridiculous. Now, such events seem at home in our 24/7 news cycle.

However, I can think of a number of headlines that would cause me to spit out my coffee on the morning newspaper in shock.

For instance, I think if one saw these items in their news feed, one might think hell just froze over:

Tea Party applauds Obama’s Jobs Plan; Bachmann thinks ‘It’s best thing since sliced bread’

Apple introduces iHead; New chip plugs into skulls, tells people what to think for $9.99 a month

Al Gore does 180; Thinks Global Warming is a ‘crock of s#@*,’ plans to buy six SUVs and burn pallet of plastic toys for fun

Research indicates fried foods actually clear arteries; Scientists now say a bucket of KFC a say keeps the doctor away

In heated argument, HLN’s Nancy Grace sucks Casey Anthony into her large nostrils; Emergency workers see Tot Mom’s feet, begin emergency extraction

Arkansas outlaws deer hunting; Majority of citizens rejoice, claiming practice not humane or friendly to our animal brothers and sisters

Ole Miss’ Houston Nutt named AP Coach of the Year

Larry the Cable Guy entertains White House in command performance; Obama in tears of laughter, slaps knee every time Larry says, ‘Git ‘er Done!’

Rush Limbaugh comes out of closet, announces ‘He’s a gay man and proud of it’; Meanwhile, MSNBC’s Rachel Maddow marries Fabio in surprise ceremony

People Magazine names Hee-Haw’s Roy Clark ‘Sexiest Man Alive’

Charlie Sheen announces intention to become priest, takes vow of celibacy

Fight erupts in rural Arkansas Bar; Two men arrested after arguing if wearing linen after Labor Day is appropriate

Family groups praise decision to have Chaz Bono compete on Dancing with the Stars, saying the more transgender role models, the better

‘OK. Yes. I am a fundamentalist Muslim, I was not born in America, and I have the mark of the beast,’ Obama finally admits to Barbara Walters – but promises such things will not interfere with his ability to govern

Jersey Shore star Snooki and Kardashian sisters impress scientists with their paper detailing primordial black holes

Sean Hannity’s head explodes after Rev. Al Sharpton admits to him McCain would have been better president that Obama

Arkansas Weekly columnist Rob Grace receives Pulitzer Prize; Committee praises writer for his ‘consistently intelligent and incisive writing.’

People magazine's latest 'Sexiest Man Alive'

My 08.31.2011 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

2011-08-26T11:17:00.009-05:00

Here's my "All Over the Map" from next week's Arkansas Weekly:

Go Rob!

I’ve finally decided to dedicate myself to becoming a better person – both emotionally and physically.

Life’s too short to be full of regrets, hurt feelings and missed opportunities. That’s why starting tomorrow I will rise at 5 a.m., tuck my t-shirt into the waistband of my gym shorts, pull said shorts tight above my belly button, slip on my tube socks and sneakers, and go for a powerwalk around Walmart. Physical fitness is key to one’s mental attitude, and such strenuous exercise will be the foundation for the New Rob.

After a hot shower, I’ll go to work, refreshed and pumped for the day. I’ll walk around the office with a straight posture, greet my fellow employees with a wide grin, and say: “I certainly hope your day will be as wonderful and rewarding as mine will be! Go Team W.R.D. Entertainment!”

When someone calls me on the telephone, I will answer with a cheerful proclamation such as, “Rob Grace speaking! How may I assist you in making your day run positively and efficiently?!?” If that person is, say, a particular debt collector, I will tell them, “I’m quite optimistic that my finances will soon be in a position where I am able to pay down the balance in a consistent manner. After all ma’am, you’ll notice many of those charges are to the North Little Rock Hooters and an ATM close to an exotic dance club in Jacksonville, but I’ve now made a commitment to be a better person! So instead of visiting those establishments every night, I’ve now decided to only go every other night!”

I’ll also become a better son. I will make a commitment to ensure I visit Mother and Father on a more regular basis, and I will gladly offer my help in locating a new residence for both of them in some type of retirement village on the West Coast. Yes, they’re still active, vibrant and healthy, but I’m currently living in an apartment, and I know their home would be much better for developing my newfound optimistic attitude. Plus, I need the space for the frequent gatherings I will host for all of my friends that I have met in North Little Rock and Jacksonville. Besides, Mother and Father love California. It’s a win-win situation!

A healthy diet will also come with a healthy lifestyle change. For years, breakfast has consisted of cold pizza, 10 to 12 Rolaids, and eight Advils. Lunch would be two Quarter Pounders, large fries and a Coke. And dinner would be the 50 piece Daytona Beach Wings from Hooters and 15 beverages. Now? I will skip the caloric intake breakfast provides and concentrate on fresh fish and vegetables – such as batter fried catfish or tilapia with mashed potatoes and gravy or fried okra – for other meals. And instead of 15 12 oz. beverages, I’ll cut back to five 40 oz. beverages. It will take dedication, but I’m ALL IN!

I also promise to be a better friend. I will choose to offer myself fully and freely to all of my friends. If one friend calls me to help him move, I will say, “Dear friend, I would LOVE to help you move your furniture! In fact, I bet our mutual friend, David, would be more than happy to help you move. Plus, he would be much more effective in helping you move than I would be at this current state because I’m currently clad only in my underwear as I lounge on my couch watching a marathon of Keeping Up with the Kardashians. I think it would be unfortunate and detrimental to the development of my new positivity to miss any second of this fascinating television program. So, I am happy I could recommend that you call David. Thank you, and have a wonderful day!”

Finally, choosing to be around the right people will also be a priority. For the past few years, I’ve met potential new friends online, and in three cases, I’ve traveled to meet them face to face. Yet this has always resulted in disappointment because those new “friends” misrepresented themselves and put me in awkward and uncomfortable situations – particularly with Dateline NBC’s Chris Hansen. However, something positive did emerge from those incidents: I now hold the record for the most appearances on his program, To Catch a Predator.

See, looking at such situations in an optimistic light greatly and positively enhances your mood!

Why don't you have a seat, Rob?

My 08.24.2011 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

2011-08-23T16:17:00.003-05:00

Here's my "All Over the Map" from this week's Arkansas Weekly.

With school back in session, I’ve been thinking a lot about my days as a student.

See, I loathed school. With a passion.

One major reason school wasn’t for me was the fact that I was regularly beat up at school by mean bullies.

I don’t particularly know why I was a target for such bullying. Perhaps it was because the other kids were jealous of my sartorial elegance. Each morning, Mommy would have a perfectly pressed suit and tie for me to wear. On hot days, I wore knee-length trousers and carried an umbrella for shade, and in the winter, a sweater vest kept me snug and warm underneath my blazer. But the other mean students continually mocked me for my stylish wardrobe. Many days, I came home with my umbrella wrapped around my neck or my tie cut in half. Now, of course, I can understand their rage. I mean if I had to wear a raggedy t-shirt with AC/DC across the front and denim pants, I would have had nothing but envy for someone with such a stunning taste in fashion as myself.

I was also bullied because my Mommy walked me to class every day without fail. Sure, some kids might have thought it odd that Mommy walked with me each morning, but deep down, I’m quite certain many of those students would have secretly loved to have had their mother walk them to the schoolroom door, kiss them on their cheek and straighten their tie. It was simply a wonderful way to begin the day -- particularly during the stressful days of high school. Yet after Mommy had walked back to her car, a group of fellow students would then pounce on me like a pack of starving kids hitting a piñata.

It was of no use to complain to the teachers because many times they were in on the action, as well. I vividly remember one time when I told my accounting teacher that a certain pair of slacks enhanced her cellulite. Of course I thought I was doing her a favor, but when she asked me to stay after class, she slammed an abacus over my head.

Physical education class was also a nightmare. Mommy had specifically told the coach that any type of strenuous activity could possibly cause me to have shortness of breath and/or perspiration. Yet the coach seemed to ignore her instructions and purposefully instructed me to double the required exercises, viciously yelling at me all the while. The other kids would laugh and cheer on the coach while I tried with all of my might to do a push up. Mommy and I told my Papa that some type of legal action should be taken against the coach, but Papa ignored our pleas. So, each day after P.E., some girls I had befriended in chess club would help carry me to the school nurse to have a cold washcloth placed on my forehead.

Speaking of girls, I was regularly beaten by them as well. I remember Sandy Kristopher and her ugly face, in particular. Once, in the third grade, she was wearing this horrid Garanimal ensemble that did nothing for her lumpy body. “Oh dear, Sandy,” I said as I looked her up and down. “Did your mother paint that wretched outfit on you? You look like a walrus in Saran Wrap.” The last thing I remember before I passed out from the pain is Sandy successfully shoving my Mead Bee Gees three-ring binder up my bottom.

So, yes, my school years were not memorable. I’ve been in therapy ever since, and I break out in hives whenever I run across my P.E. coach in the grocery store. But, overall, I think I’ve managed to put it all behind me. I must say, though, that I am disappointed my children will not allow me to walk them to class.

I tried that with my daughter when she went to first grade, but I could tell she did not like it.

Because, in her innocent little girl voice, she said she would -- quote -- “kick my ass” if I ever did that again.

My 08.17.2011 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

2011-08-12T13:12:00.010-05:00

Here's my "All Over the Map" from the 08.17.2011 Arkansas Weekly:

This photo was taken shortly after Big Bird's collapse in downtown Batesville, Ark.

Big Bird, the giant feathery talking animal beloved by millions of children over the years on television's Sesame Street, recently collapsed and died Saturday from heat related issues in Batesville, Arkansas. He was 45 years old.

Big Bird had been in Arkansas visiting fellow Sesame Street cast members, Bert and Ernie, at their vacation lake house near Heber Springs. Authorities say the three were in downtown Batesville “antiquing” at various shops when Big Bird collapsed outside Elizabeth’s restaurant.

Jennifer Hidy, a hostess at the restaurant, told Arkansas Weekly that Big Bird looked a little woozy before he fell to the sidewalk.

“It was a very traumatic scene,” she said. “Bert tried to resuscitate Big Bird. Ernie was sobbing and screaming for someone to call 911. And there were a lot of children just crying and holding on to their mothers. To see someone who brought so much joy and laughter to so many people just lifelessly sprawled out on the sidewalk with his tongue hanging out of his mouth was just heartbreaking.”

Billy Dee Carmichael, 7, is comforted by his father, Samson, at the scene after authorities pronounced Big Bird dead as a doornail.

The emotions were still running high after Big Bird was pronounced dead. When this reporter tried to get a comment from Bert, I was physically attacked.

“What the hell are you doing you bastard?!?” Bert screamed while slapping my chest. “Get out of here!”

By the end of the day, flowers, candles and Big Bird dolls lined the sidewalk where he had passed. Gov. Mike Beebe flew from Little Rock by the late afternoon to pay his respects and to comfort Bert and Ernie.

“Big Bird was a wonderful and glowing light to millions of kids and adults,” Gov. Beebe told reporters in downtown Batesville. “I just got through telling Bert and Ernie how much their friendship meant to Big Bird and that Big Bird will always be in our hearts. I will say I was disappointed that Bert used this very personal moment to grill me on my opposition to same sex marriages, but Ernie calmed him down. It just wasn’t the right time to discuss politics.”

Gov. Mike Beebe arriving at the scene of Big Bird's passing.

At Sesame Street, a somber mood fell across the apartments, stores and sidewalks. TMZ reported that a despondent-looking Cookie Monster was sighted wandering the streets with an empty box of Keebler Fudge Shoppe cookies while Maria was spotted cradling a weeping Elmo outside the Fix-It Shop.

However, Oscar the Grouch told the New York Post that he could “care less” about the death of Big Bird.

“He was an idiot,” Oscar was quoted as saying. “We all know he was as slow as molasses upstairs. I mean as dumb as a bag of wrenches, and really, he was also a prima donna. Did you know it was in his contract that none of the kids on the show were to talk to him or make eye contact? Hell, I even talk to the kids! They have more sense than some of these (expletive deleted) morons around here.”

Yet the majority of other Sesame Street residents remembered Big Bird with fondness. Grover told TMZ that Big Bird was “…a really sweet and goofy guy.” And Kermit the Frog released a statement that noted “…while I may be the star of Sesame Street, Big Bird was the heart of Sesame Street.”

Funeral arrangements for Big Bird are incomplete and will be announced at a later date. A public memorial, however, has been scheduled outside Hooper’s Store for September 20. Tom Hanks has been announced as the host of the memorial which will include performances from Paul Simon, Stevie Wonder, Justin Bieber and Bette Midler. Morgan Freeman will read selected poetry and scripture while The Count will deliver an address entitled, “Big Bird: Let Us Count the Reasons Why We Love You.” Big Bird’s confidant, Aloysius Snuffleupagus, is also expected to speak, but his whereabouts are currently unknown.

Snuffleupagus and the late Big Bird in happier times.

My 07.27.2011 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

2011-07-24T17:58:00.009-05:00

Here's my "All Over the Map" from the 07.27.2011 Arkansas Weekly:

Dear readers, in this space I’ve consistently shared many aspects of my life, and by now, I feel most of you have accepted my strange quirks and unique outlooks.

However, I feel I must now explain something about my personal life that might give some pause. In all honestly though, I know most of you will accept this newfound change because I have many caring and loving supporters.

You see, dear readers, I have fallen in love. While it is not a love many of you would consider conventional, it is still…love. And love cannot always conform to what society designates as normal.

So in the spirit of sharing all things about my life, I am here to proclaim that I have fallen in joyous, silly, happy love – with a monkey.

Yes, I know there is somewhat of a slight stigma associated with responsible adults having romantic relationships with animals, but this is not some demented perversion in my case. This is love.

This is a gentle, loving spirit for whom I have fallen. This is a soul with whom I want to spend the rest of my life.

I only met the monkey last week. His name is Wilson, and he came to the W.R.D. Entertainment offices with his trainer for an appearance on the Arkansas 103.3 KWOZ morning show. As soon as I saw Wilson, I was smitten. His innocent brown eyes and delicate limbs looked as if they belonged to an angel. When his trainer brought Wilson out of the studio, I immediately asked for a picture with Wilson. I told the trainer my kids would enjoy it, but in reality, I only wanted to feel the long monkey fingers of his monkey hands touch my cheek and his soft furry monkey tail curl around my neck.

When he perched himself upon my shoulder, I instantly felt an electrical surge shoot down my spine. I’m sure Wilson also felt a kindred voltage of true electricity. In fact, if you look at the picture below, you can see that he too has the realization that he has likely found his soul mate.

I wanted the moment to last forever. In fact, I began walking to my vehicle with Wilson still on my shoulder in hopes that we could drive off and never return. We’d drive to places unknown, holding hands and listening to my favorite Michael Bolton CDs. The wind would tussle his fur, and we’d look at each other as we drove down the highway with “How Am I Supposed to Live Without You” blaring from the speakers.

We’d stop and eat delicious meals at romantic restaurants such as Chili’s or Ryan’s. I would order the freshly prepared loaded potato skins while I’d have the chef puree bananas for Wilson. Sure, other diners might stop and stare at the man and the monkey staring dreamily into each other’s eyes, but Wilson and I would just silently laugh to ourselves, knowing that those people would likely never experience a love such as ours.

Later, we would settle in a little apartment somewhere in the Florida panhandle. Our abode would not have to be fancy, for material things are trivial when compared to the blessed love Wilson and I share. We’d make ends meet by performing for the tourists, and if that didn’t work, I would simply pose for those beefcake postcards that can be found at the tourist gift shops lining the gulf coast highways (see below). In fact, I’d prefer that because then Wilson could stay at home and relax by watching Animal Planet all day.

Sadly, at this point, my fantasy was interrupted. On my way to the vehicle, Wilson’s trainer tackled me just as I had started to run. Wilson desperately clung to my hair, knowing he was about to be separated from his one true love. Screaming, Wilson lunged for my face and gave me a deep bite by which I could remember him. His sharp monkey fangs plunged through my cheek while his long monkey fingers reached for my eye as he tried to stop my tears.

I don’t know where Wilson is now, but I will find him. A love like this is not meant to be divided.

Wilson, I will find you. You have my heart in yours.

Oh, you also have my eye. Keep it in a safe place, and on ice if you don’t mind.

Me and Wilson. A love like no other.

My 07.20.2011 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

2011-07-22T10:30:00.008-05:00

Here's my "All Over the Map" from the 07.20.2011 issue of Arkansas Weekly:

A few months back, I wrote a column that listed things men might not want to say in a rural Arkansas bar. Since then, I’ve thought of other statements and questions that might be inappropriate and/or misunderstood by certain patrons of such establishments – the kind of run-down saloons that can be found off a dirt road in the middle of Nowhereville, Arkansas, USA.

(It should be noted that there’s absolutely nothing wrong with such establishments and its faithful group of customers. But sometimes, things said from a stranger can be completely misconstrued by the regulars around the bar. Take it from someone who tried to sell Avon for Men in a club outside Swifton.)

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar – example #23: Ah, excuse me, but whoever came here in the red Ford pick-up truck outside needs to move it now! You’re blocking my scooter.

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar – example #39: So, Doyle, I know we just met, but let me offer you a grooming tip: moisturizer.

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar – example #18: You guys are idiots! Houston Nutt was the best thing to happen to Razorback football!

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar – example #21: What do you mean you don’t serve Zima?!?

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar – example #44: Actually gentlemen, I think you’ll find a pattern of misogynist thought throughout the lyrics of most songs in the Bocephus catalog. It’s really disturbing.

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar – example #56: Who’s up for a game of charades?

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar – example #64 (This only applies to those who are performing as a musical act in a rural Arkansas bar.): This next song was first made famous by the musical genius that is Boy George.

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar – example #49: Oh, I think I went to school with your wife. Man, she could fill out a bikini back in the day!

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar – example #22: No, silly. These aren’t floods. They’re called Capris.

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar – example #73: Hi, everyone. I’m here gathering signatures for a petition to outlaw deer hunting.

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar – example #75: I could swear you played the banjo kid in Deliverance.

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar – example #98: Actually, I think Keith Olbermann had it right when he said…

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar – example #65: Look, dude, I don’t mean to be rude, but has your girlfriend ever heard of Listerine?

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar – example #88: Could someone change the channel? We’re missing Bill Maher for heaven’s sake!

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar – example #100: Why, yes. My name is Rob Grace.

The absolute best version of "Family Tradition" you'll EVER hear! (NSFW)

My 07.13.2011 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

2011-07-08T14:16:00.004-05:00

Here's my "All Over the Map" from next week's Arkansas Weekly:

I have the normal phobias: snakes, heights, enclosed spaces, the nostrils of television anchor Nancy Grace, etc. You know...the usual.

Yet, I also have a long list of other actual phobias with which many of you might not be familiar.

GENIPHOBIA – Fear of chins. This phobia popped up only recently with the hefty pounds I’ve gained since I hit middle age. The more chins I develop, the more I fear them.

PHENGOPHOBIA – Fear of daylight or sunshine. Although most common among vampires, it can also be recognized in mere mortals – like me. One look at my pigmentation, or lack thereof, and you’ll realize I’ve had this phobia since day one.

COPRASTASOPHOBIA – Fear of constipation. You should see my weekly prune bill. Seriously.

ERGOPHOBIA – Fear of work. Which would explain this column.

GYMNOPHOBIA – Fear of nudity. In my case, this only applies if I’m watching an erotic film starring Rosie O’Donnell and Ernest Borgnine.

ANDROPHOBIA – Fear of men. Particularly if they have large arms, numerous piercings, and they see me wearing my Justin Bieber t-shirt.

GYNOPHOBIA – Fear of women. Particularly if they have large arms, numerous piercings, and they see me wearing my Justin Bieber t-shirt.

DUTCHPHOBIA – Fear of the Dutch. The wooden shoes always creeped me out for some reason.

PROCTOPHOBIA – I think most of you can figure out to which fear this pertains.

CHIRAPTOPHOBIA – Fear of being touched. Actually, I only had this fear as a child whenever Uncle Randy came to visit from Kentucky.

METHYPHOBIA – Fear of liquor. This fear is not constant. It simply appears on mornings after I have consumed a case of Boone’s Farm.

MELOPHOBIA – Fear of music. But only of music performed by either Reba McEntire; the Black Eyed Peas; Kenny Chesney; Cher; Crosby, Stills & Nash; or the cast of Glee. And throw The Judds in there while you’re at it.

ONOMATOPHOBIA – Fear of a certain word, phrase or of names. Words, phrases and names applicable in my case include: overdrawn; back acne; “That’s gonna have to come out.”; Olbermann; “Ladies and gentlemen: Yanni!”; Behar; “Agent Feldman, the gentleman in the Justin Bieber t-shirt with the white hair and four chins will need a full cavity search before he can go to his gate.”; “Rob, you look at little chunky in that unitard.”; Kardashian; “Uh, Dad. Do we have any insurance? The elderly lady I just ran over with my car needs to know.”; and, “Oh, and Dad, she also needs the name of your lawyer.”

My 07.06.2011 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

2011-07-04T12:38:00.009-05:00

Here's my "All Over the Map" from this week's issue of Arkansas Weekly:

One of the many parties on the Spring I missed due to the misunderstanding that is described at the end of this column.

I’ve heard that the Spring River is now a magnet for partygoers across the mid-south. An article published in the August 28, 2001 issue of the weekly newspaper, the Memphis Flyer, chronicled the area’s growing reputation as a summertime destination for rabble-rousers from such states as Arkansas, Missouri, Tennessee, Illinois and Mississippi.

One paragraph in the article, in particular, grabbed my attention. It was a quote from a letter the mayor of Hardy had written to the Fulton County sheriff complaining about the seemingly constant stream of party animals carousing on the Spring every summer weekend:

“We would like to be known for admirable qualities rather than the stabbings, drug bashes, fights, sex orgies, and such that are reported by our police and fire department…”

That sentence was all I needed to read. It was time to take a trip to the Spring River!

So, last weekend I decided to hop on my scooter and cruise up to the Hardy area and enjoy the festive atmosphere on the Spring. Apparently, many participants in the activities on the river are avid motorcyclists, so since a scooter is technically a motorized cycle, I count myself as part of the HOG brotherhood. (For those unfamiliar with the bike culture, a HOG is a nickname for a motorcycle. Technically, it stands for “Harley Owners Group,” but these days it’s a general term for a cycle. Although the day Harley-Davidson manufactures a scooter is the day I will be the proud owner of one. Surely they’ll see the light someday soon.)

The short journey up the highway was simply beautiful, particularly since I was enjoying the vistas through the freedom of my majestic motorized two-wheeled stallion. However, just outside Evening Shade, a livestock truck passed me and roughly three cows in the trailer spewed manure all over me and my scooter. Blinded by the waste on my goggles, I almost lost control of my bike and zoomed off the highway. Thankfully, I was able to slow down to a stop and use a dry section of my riding scarf to wipe off my face.

Later, up the highway, I hopped a fence and washed myself off in a pond while two cows stood silently watching me. One of the cows seemed particularly entranced with my physique as I bathed. I detected a slight grin on her face, and I noticed her head move up and down as her large tongue slithered around her mouth. Feeling a tad threatened and violated, I quickly put on a new set of clothes and scurried out of the pond to my scooter.

I finally made it to Hardy and found a canoe camp outside of town that had “Biker Friendly” on its sign. I knew I had hit the jackpot. I eased my scooter down the road to the riverbank and soon realized I had found my brothers of the road. Lines of motorcycles filled the parking lot and crowds of bikers and babes were scattered in festive clumps along the riverside. Lynyrd Skynyrd filled the air, and kegs of beer were endlessly flowing. I eased next to a beautiful vintage Harley and pulled my HOG up on its stand. I was ready to party.

I stripped off my shirt and sprayed some 700-block sunscreen all over my chest, shoulders and back and then I slipped on my banana-yellow biker vest I had recently made in my crochet class. On the back of the vest was a pattern of a unicorn riding my scooter over a rainbow, and above it, was my biker name: The Happy Gardenia.

The women were going to go insane with lust.

I sauntered over to a large group of leather-clad men and scantily-clad ladies. Slapping the back of an enormous burly man whose vest read “Clawhammer,” I yelled over the music, “So, did y’all like this season of Glee as much as I did?”

The last thing I remember was Skynyrd’s “Whiskey Rock and Roller” stopping mid-song, the entire group of people on the riverside halting their conversations as they turned my way, and Clawhammer’s enormous hand slowly covering my face.

I’m not sure if my last words were, “Oh, wait. You guys don’t watch Glee?” or “Oh, no. Not again.”

I’m thinking the latter.

Ah. The old "Fake Snake Falling in the Canoe" trick. Kudos to those who did this -- you're my kindred spirits.

My 06.29.2011 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

2011-06-24T16:18:00.005-05:00

Here's my 06.29.2011 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly:

I’ve decided to become a celebrity.

Of course, these days the easiest route to becoming a celebrity is by having a starring role in a reality television show, and with my new part-time job, I have the perfect opportunity.

You see, I’ve recently started coaching children to compete in beauty pageants.

I won’t lie. My inspiration came from the TLC hit, Toddlers & Tiaras. I figure if audiences can be fascinated with such contests and their contestants, then why can’t cameras follow those that coach the little cutie pies?

The name of the show will be Rob’s Little Divas. I’ve already hired a production company out of Nashville to follow my adventures, and, despite some problems, the first episode is now being shopped to television executives.

In the initial show, the cameras record my coaching of four-year-old CaytLin McBladder as she prepares to compete in the Little Miss Prune Festival in Steprock. I’ll admit the experience was a tad frustrating, but such frustrations will add some drama to the show.

The episode opens with my arrival in the Sparklez Van at the McBladder home outside Thida. The Sparklez Van is my customized Chevrolet Astro with a mini-salon in the back, complete with a hairstyling station, a spray tan machine and a full selection of gowns and costumes. The Sparklez Van also features a large photo of my smiling face on each side of the vehicle, and the exterior is bedazzled with faux emeralds and jewels (sparklez!).

I met with CaytLin and her mother, Dezaraye, and we discussed how we will approach the pageant. As an exotic dancer at a club in suburban Grubbs, Dezaraye had some experience in show business, yet – as you’ll see in the show – I bristled at her suggestions.

“I was thinkin’, ya know, maybe for her talent, I could fix her up a little mini-skirt and halter top with some mini-high heels and a pole, and teach her some pole dancin’ moves,” Dezaraye told me between deep sucks on her Newport menthol.

Part of being a successful pageant coach is having the ability to diplomatically shoot down any ridiculous idea the parent might offer and suggest a more reasonable and, as in this instance, tactful possibility.

“How about this, Dezaraye?” I offered. “Let’s do something that might come across a little less offensive. Who’s the hottest act in music right now?”

“Insane Clown Posse.”

“Uh…no,” I said.

“Slayer? Marilyn Manson? 2 Live Crew?”

“Actually, Dezaraye, I was thinking Lady Gaga.”

Dezaraye nodded. “Oh, yeah. The chick who wears the beef dress! Hey! I got an ideal!”

“A what?”

“Why don’t we dress little CaytLin in a beef dress?” asked Dezaraye. “Except instead of beef, we’ll have to make the dress out of Lunchables. My boyfriend, Scab, can’t afford no steaks right now cause he says we went over the family budget this month on meth.”

It was at this point in the conversation that I realized I probably should not only begin pre-screening the contestants, but also the parents of the contestants. The remainder of the episode only confirmed this realization. As you’ll see when it airs, the program later finds Dezaraye and her mother, EthelAnne, in a heated catfight over the affections of Scab; CaytLin attacking the family pit bull, Molly, with a crow bar; CaytLin attacking me with a crow bar; CaytLin’s eight-year-old brother, Demon, vandalizing the Sparklez Van by spray-painting a moustache on my picture; Molly consuming the Lunchable dress while CaytLin was wearing it as she practiced her Lady Gaga lip-sync/talent dance; Dezaraye explaining to CaytLin what a “disco stick” is; and Scab and his buddies beating me senseless after I innocently noted that they could likely model for the Abercrombie and Fitch catalog.

As I noted, there were some problems with the episode.

Nevertheless, I think Rob’s Little Divas will be one of the most successful reality programs in the history of television.

I’m just hoping doctors can reattach my face before a network picks up the show.

My 06.08.2011 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

2011-06-07T16:25:00.004-05:00

Hutton watching his buddies at Tumbling Shoals, Arkansas

My 13-year old son, Hutton, has become an avid motocross rider. After a few years of testing out hobbies such as fishing and music, he’s finally found something he loves. The speed, the competition, the dirt, and the jumps all appeal to him in some natural way much more than his other attempts at having a serious pastime, and I have to say, it’s really cool to see one’s child dive into something with such interest and vigor.

It’s also making his mother and me absolute nervous wrecks.

He’s been tooling around on a dirt bike for about three years, zooming along his neighborhood streets and trails with his friends. And every time I know he’s on the bike, I get a cold feeling in my stomach. A motorcycle, whether it’s a street bike or a dirt bike, is a dangerous mode of transportation.

Last year, Hutt started traveling with some pals to the dirt track at Tumbling Shoals. His first few races found him extremely cautious, but with experience, he’s starting to build up some confidence – which is a good thing, but also a tad terrifying. The confidence brings more speed and more air. When he makes those jumps on the track, the amount of time he spends in the air until he safely hits the ground seems like an eternity for me. I’ve seen other riders lose control in mid-air and fall with a violent thud, and I don’t ever want to see Hutt land like that. After such accidents, I’ve turned to other fathers knowing they have the same thing on their mind: Why couldn’t our sons have taken up chess instead of this?

***

Most of you know I’m not the most mechanical guy around. I couldn’t tell you how to find a spark plug on a cycle, how to replace a spark plug if I did find it, or what the hell a spark plug even does.

It’s sad, really.

So, Hutt’s on his own when his bike has mechanical issues. Which is why I deeply appreciate the dads of his friends. They have the ability to instantly pinpoint an issue and fix it right there at the track. Meanwhile, as those dads try to communicate to me what the problem was and how to fix it in the future, a certain type of fogs envelops my brain and what I’m hearing sounds as if it’s another language.

For instance, one of the dads may tell me something that is totally coherent to a mechanically-inclined person, but to me, it comes out like this: “See, Rob, the air filter’s gonna need to be cleaned out with a little gasoline so the carburetor fumes make the necessary transmission fluid flux with the com-generator next to the throttle maintenance regulator, but make sure before you slack the screw piston, the plug is tight or else it’s gonna lactate all over the accelerator maintainer.”

Meanwhile, I’m standing there slack-jawed with a string of drool dangling from my chin as I slowly nod my head.

***

Transporting the bike has been an adventure as well.

Having a full-fledged trailer is not in the budget for our motocross team, so his mom found a neat metal rack that can attach to the back of any vehicle with a hitch. But for some reason the actual process of attaching the rack and strapping in the bike is a struggle for me. My son has inadvertently learned some new and colorful profanity from his dad every time I try to shove in and take out the metal pins that hold the rack in place. And it has taken me a little less than a year to slightly master those new-fangled buckle straps with which you tighten and hitch the bike into place. Before, Hutton’s mother had to stop what she was doing and come out to properly show the doofus father how to properly strap down the bike.

I know there are many sexist men out there who would rather die than have a woman show him how to do something like strapping down their son’s dirt bike.

I am not one of those men.

I can, however, teach some people how to properly nap.

My 06.01.2011 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

2011-06-07T16:08:00.006-05:00

Top Secret Memos from Rob Grace to Arkansas Weekly Staff

December 14, 2010

TO: Arkansas Weekly Staff

FROM: Rob

Thanks to everyone for their contribution in making the Arkansas Weekly Christmas party so successful! The egg nog and sausage balls were delicious, and the decorations were perfect.

I would, however, like to apologize for getting sick on the gentleman hired to play Santa. I had some bad fish before the party, and it must have sparked an odd chemical reaction in my body. Not only was I terribly nauseated, but, according to some of you, I was also slurring my words and bumping into people. The illness apparently also prompted me to ask the Christmas tree on a date.

Crazy what food poisoning can do, huh?

Oh, and contrary to what The Roving Fisherman said, I was not “…drunk off my a**…”

It was the fish. Okay?

Thanks,

Rob

***

January 10, 2011

TO: Arkansas Weekly Staff

FROM: Rob

I will be out of the office from January 24 through January 28.

Upon my return, you may notice that my face will be somewhat tighter, my brow higher, my lips slightly enlarged, and the bags under my eyes gone. To end any sort of office gossip before it starts, my new appearance will not be the result of some type of cosmetic surgery.

Obviously, I don’t need such procedures because I think we can all agree that I am a damn handsome man. I am simply going to a colonics spa, and as such, my skin and features will be even more fresh and striking-looking after my sessions.

Thanks,

Rob

P.S.: If a Dr. Howell from NuFace Surgery Clinic calls for me, please put him through immediately.

I am using him as a source for a column on which I’m working.

Rob (left) and his brother, Chippy, at a recent fundraiser for Lindsay Lohan's legal defense fund.

***

March 22, 2011

TO: Arkansas Weekly Staff

FROM: Rob

Whoever stole the Justin Bieber action figure off my desk needs to return it ASAP.

Just put it back where you found it, and I won’t ask any questions.

Thanks,

Rob

***

May 16, 2011

TO: Arkansas Weekly Staff

FROM: Rob

I would appreciate it if some of you would stop touching my new moped. I try to keep it free of smudges and dirt, but I keep finding greasy prints on it. Apparently, some of you are rubbing my new paint job to see if the glitter comes off. Let me help you out: The glitter is mixed in with the paint to give my moped a permanent sparkling sheen.

So, now you know. Please stop touching it.

Thanks,

Rob

***

May 20, 2011

TO: Arkansas Weekly Staff

FROM: Rob

I am not pleased with some of you.

I do not appreciate the fact that my Justin Bieber action figure was anonymously returned to my desk – clothed in a Barbie dress! Apparently, some of you think this is funny! I find it appalling that some of you think Justin is a cross dresser! Well, I’m here to tell you: he most certainly is not!

Also, whoever put my moped on the roof of our office building is fired, but I’d appreciate it very much if they could get it back down for me.

Thanks,

Rob

My 05.18.2011 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

2011-05-13T11:38:00.007-05:00

Here's my "All Over the Map" from the May, 18 2011 issue of Arkansas Weekly.

I’ve decided to venture into the world of concert promotions. In fact, this summer, I plan to produce an exciting concert extravaganza at Batesville’s Riverside Park that will be remembered for years to come.

I have yet to come up with a proper name for the concert, but I’m leaning toward either Robstock or Robalolpolooza.

It will be an all-day event that, in addition to a variety of major musical acts, will also feature such thrilling activities as rides on carnival attractions that have been rejected by state safety inspectors; topless square dancers; and “Pin the Tail on the Unsuspecting Hell’s Angel.”

Of course, the main attraction will be the music, and brothers and sisters, do I have the musical line-up to end all musical line-ups.

Well, actually, I don’t have the musical line-up to end all musical line-ups yet, but I’m working on it. In fact, let me share with you some of my ideas.

I’ve put a call into the offices of the Rolling Stones, and I’m quite certain Mick and the boys will make their debut appearance at the inaugural Robstock (or Robalolpolooza). They’re asking roughly $10 million, and though that’s not in my budget, my thinking is a sponsor like Dollar General or that Little Rock gold and diamond exchange with the rubber chicken commercials might jump at the chance to pony up the cash. Think about it: the gold and diamond business could supply the Stones with a giant, inflatable rubber chicken that could be slowly inflated as the boys play the “Sympathy for the Devil” intro. Talk about corporate synergy!

I’ve also put in a call to the offices of a musical act that defines the 1980s, an act so legendary and monumental that their appearance at my festival will guarantee a sellout. I’m talking, of course, about DeBarge. What person does not want to dance on the banks of the White River to such fantastic songs as “Rhythm of the Night,” “All This Love” and “Who’s Holding Donna Now”?

I did contact another 1980s act, but I soon realized there were certain legalities that would prevent them from appearing. After inviting Wang Chung to play, I learned from my lawyers that the act of Wang Chung-ing is actually illegal in six states, including Arkansas.

(EDITOR’S NOTE: We interrupt this edition of “All Over the Map” to inform Rob’s readers that the above Wang Chung joke was incredibly lame. Plus many readers born before 1970 and after 1986 might not get the reference to the band’s song, “Everybody Have Fun Tonight.” The song included a refrain that noted, “Everybody Wang Chung tonight…” – thus the line referring to “Wang Chung-ing.” We apologize to all those semi-expecting somewhat intelligent humor in this space.)

I do, however, have one more act I plan on booking – and it’s an exciting one!

Are you sitting down?

Here we go: it’s Rick James!

Now, I know what you’re thinking: Rob, Rick James is dead. However, I’ve been informed there is a touring company that produces a musical show that features Rick’s former band and back-up dancers performing with the corpse of Rick James! Apparently, Rick is propped up in front of a microphone and holding his guitar during the show. Backstage, technicians remotely manipulate the late musician’s mouth with wires in sync to his vocals on such big hits as “Super Freak” and “Give It to Me Baby.”

Talk about an exciting stage experience! Although, I did hear that Rick’s left ear fell off during a recent appearance at a county fair in rural Tennessee. It’s hoped it will be reattached by the time of my festival.

(EDITOR’S NOTE: We again interrupt this edition of “All Over the Map” to apologize to the fans of Rick James for such a tasteless joke. In fact, we think we’ll just stop Rob’s column right now for your benefit. There’s no need to prolong the agony.)

My 05.11.2011 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly (UNCENSORED)

2011-05-06T11:25:00.008-05:00

Details are starting to emerge regarding Osama bin Laden’s life behind the large walls of his compound in the town of Abbottabad, Pakistan. For instance, one of bin Laden’s wives says she never left the hideout for at least five years. There was also the report of some neighborhood kids who kicked a soccer ball into the compound, and when they went to retrieve it, guards gave them money and shooed them away.

And after talking to well-placed sources in the Central Intelligence Agency, I managed to obtain other tantalizing information about bin Laden’s time in his secret lair.

Two years ago, intelligence analysts traced a call made from the compound to an Abbottabad Pizza Inn. Fourteen large “chicken fajita” pizzas and three cinnamon strombolis were ordered for delivery under the name of “Sammy B. Laden.” Agents then monitored the restaurant over a 16 month period and determined that Thursdays were pizza nights at the compound because that same order was always delivered on that particular night during this time.

Wednesdays were discovered to be movie nights because agents had infiltrated the town’s Blockbuster. The video store’s computer also revealed that bin Laden had a particular affinity for romantic comedies staring Kate Hudson, had yet to return the store’s VHS copy of How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, and had a total of 749 rupees in late fees.

Kate Hudson seems to have had some impact on bin Laden’s life. Inside the compound, agents found pictures of the actress thumbtacked to the walls. And, surprisingly, blonde wigs and a large collection of women’s clothing were discovered in bin Laden’s main closet. One analyst even told me that a surviving member of bin Laden’s security team revealed that the madman sometimes dressed as a blonde female and ordered underlings to call him “Kate” while he was in drag. The guard also told U.S. authorities that “Kate” would sometimes host Bunco parties with other terrorists, and that she “just adored” singer Michael Buble.

Some other clues to bin Laden’s personality were found inside the home. For instance, a large collection of books by Dr. Phil was found on the bookshelf next to the Koran. Other books discovered included Suicide Bombing for Dummies, The Terrorist’s Guide to Dating and Sunset in St. Tropez by Danielle Steel.

The kitchen was apparently stocked with standard cultural food such as dates, figs and hummus. Yet agents were surprised to find a plentiful selection of Hot Pockets, SpaghettiOs, and Slim Jims. Another shock came with the discovery of some items forbidden by Islam such as Underwood Deviled Ham sandwich spread and 40-ounce bottles of Colt 45 malt liquor.

On the hard drives of the seized computers, analysts discovered bin Laden actually kept a Facebook page also under the name of “Sammy B. Laden.” Apparently, he had 435 friends including Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez, and former MSNBC host Keith Olbermann. His “likes” included “Mass Murder,” “Hamas,” “Tanning,” “Death to the Infidels,” “Carrot Top,” and pages for the aforementioned Hudson and Buble. He was also a fanatic (no pun intended) at playing FarmVille.

bin Laden's favorite comedian?

Posts on his Facebook page included:

“America will go down in flames after this big boy is finished with them!”

“Just got word two of our brothers blew themselves up while preparing a suicide vest. How many times do I have to say this: PLUG IN THE GREEN WIRE BEFORE THE RED WIRE! Idiots!”

“Is it asking too much for SOMEONE in Abbottabad to put in a P.F. Chang’s?!?”

“Friends: Don’t click on the free iPad link. It’s a VIRUS!”

“OK. I’ll admit it. I cry every time The Notebook comes on the satellite.”

Finally, it’s interesting to note that bin Laden was apparently on Facebook the night of his assassination because his final Facebook post was this:

“Am I crazy or does anyone in town hear helicopters? Wait, what the he--OH SHIT!!”

My 05.04.2011 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

2011-05-02T15:49:00.004-05:00

NOTE: Arkansas Weekly goes to press each Friday, so the column below was written before the news of Osama biting the dust was released.

I get letters from many of you, my dear readers. A good portion of these letters begin with something along the lines of, “Will you please just do all of us a favor and walk in front of a speeding bus?” or “I bet you wear panties and sleep with your mommy when you’re scared!” or “Dad, we’ve decided to stop speaking to you until stop writing that nonsense and seek professional help.”

I receive some fan mail – although such correspondence is usually from a lonely prison inmate or my mommy.

And I also receive letters from many of you seeking advice on a variety of topics. However, I’m always wary of giving such advice, particularly in such a public forum. For instance, if someone wrote me asking if they should pursue skeet shooting as a hobby and I told them that’s a great idea, then they could be skeet shooting one afternoon and actually shoot someone in the face – which would be a horrific thing because, obviously, I’d likely be sued by both the shooter and the person that is now without a face for giving said advice.

This is why I’d like to have someone else answer some questions from my readers. This absolves me of any incorrect advice my guest columnist might offer while also allowing those readers to have their queries answered. Of course, I haven’t told this guest columnist of my legal concerns, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him – unless he gets a subpoena after giving advice that causes someone some type of harm, physically or mentally.

So, answering the following questions from my readers is my good friend, Vurl “Buddy” Reeves. Vurl, a retired used car salesman and former Walmart greeter, is 85, and being so old and decrepit, has plenty of life experience to offer.

The first question comes from Chester in Possum Grape.

Gas prices are really crazy. Can you recommend a vehicle that gets good gas mileage?

Thanks!

Dear Chester in Possum Grape,

Yes, gas prices is crazy, and it’s all Obana’s fault. I mean, I just don’t see how we can survive with that foreigner in the White House. Not only is he a foreigner, but he’s also a Muslim communist. Next thing you know, he’ll be rounding up all the Christians and Republicans and sellin’ us to the China people to help pay off all that money we owe ‘em.

Anyways, back to your question. Seein’ as how you’re from Possum Grape and all, I’m surprised you need a vehicle. I thought all y’all still rode donkeys to get around over that ways. So, that’s my advice: stick with your donkey and leave me alone. I’m in a bad way with the gout.

Vurl

***

The next question comes from Reggie in Oil Trough.

Since Easter has come and gone, is it now appropriate to wear linen?

Dear Reggie in Oil Trough,

First, how are they coming with indoor plumbing over there in Oil Trough?

Anyways, let me get a couple of things straight: You’re a man and you wear linen? Ooookay, big boy. Next thing, you’re gonna tell me is you watch that Okra Winfrey show and you wear moisturizer while you sleep. In other words, I bet you’re one of them fellas that’s a little light in your loafers. Don’t get me wrong – I gotta a few cousins like that, and the jury is still out on Vurl, Jr. Why, I seen him walkin’ to his pick-up the other day with a little swish. It was a slight swish, but I seen it. But, whatever floats your boat, Reggie. Just don’t get any funny ideals if I ever end up in Oil Trough on my way to Tunica. I been married 57 years to my angel, Myrtle, and I think I’m quite comfortable in my manliness.

Anyways, as for your question, how the hell should I know? I wear nothing but Hanes briefs, Arrow shirts and Haggar slacks. Now, leave me alone. I got the indigestion from a big plate of them fried jalopenas at the Sonic, and the Tums ain’t working.

Vurl

***

Finally, this question comes from Ethel in Thida.

I just received a legal settlement that resulted in a large sum of cash. Should I put the proceeds into stocks and bonds or just a high interest money market account?

Dear Ethel in Thida,

Well, first question I got is how do you know about such things as “stocks and bonds” and “money market accounts” seeing as how you’re from Thida and all? I thought all you folks over there just buried your pennies and nickels in a bunch of Mason jars out in the backyard next to your grandparents.

Anyways, as for your question, it’s quite obvious you don’t know about the current financial situation our foreigner in the White House has situated us in. What you need to be doing is puttin’ all that cash you got from your likely “whiplash” settlement into gold because when Osana Bin Laden and the China people take over America, all of us in the Southern Christian Resistance will be trading for goods with gold, fur, wild game and rodent meat.

Now, leave me alone. I just ate a bunch of 99-cent tacos, and my stomach is actin’ as if a good case of the trots is in my immediate future.

Vurl

***

EDITOR’S NOTE: We apologize in advance to the fine communities of Possum Grape, Oil Trough and Thida for the ridiculous comments made by Mr. Reeves.

My 04.27.2011 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

2011-04-28T13:12:00.007-05:00

Not that you care, but there are some interesting things about me that you may not know.

For instance, I think if more folks began their day as I do, they would be refreshed and energized. I usually wake up around 6:20 a.m., pour myself a glass of a cold diet cola, and then soak in a hot bath for 40 minutes as I catch up on email and the news on my cell phone. I find that a long hot bath relaxes and prepares me for the day.

Around 7 a.m., I’ll remove my wet pajamas and shower before taking the kids to school. While driving the kids to school, I usually notice that they’re still tired from the night’s sleep. So to wake them up and infuse into them a hearty sense of alertness, I’ll wait until I see a large truck heading our way -- ideally an 18-wheeler -- in the opposite lane. At just the right moment, I’ll quickly veer my car into the truck’s path while screaming as loud as I can: “OH NO! MY STEERING’S OUT! WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE!”

Of course, I’ll steer my car back into our lane just as the truck passes, usually with its horn blaring. I then turn the car around and take the kids back to the house so they can change their pants.

Many of you also may not know that I also have a large collection of celebrity toe jam – perhaps the largest of its kind. In my room devoted to the collection, you’ll find donations from Regis Philbin, M.C. “You Can’t Touch This” Hammer, renowned fiddler Doug Kershaw, Ben “Roots” Vereen, former Secretary of State Henry Kissinger, Carol “Hello Dolly” Channing, Kirk “Growing Pains” Cameron, Jerry Springer, comic superstar Louis Anderson and consumer advocate Ralph Nader. Each sample comes with a picture the celebrity scooping their nail residue into the plastic cup I had provided by mail for proper authentication. I’m hoping to pass the samples onto my children because, in the future when cloning will be the norm, I’m certain the collection will be priceless. For example, utilizing the DNA I’ve collected, future generations will be able to enjoy the Cajun fiddlin’ of a cloned Mr. Kershaw, the fine comic styling of a cloned Mr. Anderson, and the majestic parachute pants of a cloned Mr. Hammer.

(I should note that for some reason the children want nothing to do with my collection of toe jam, thinking it’s “creepy,” “disgusting,” and “just another example of why people make fun of you, Dad.” Of course, I realize that’s just kids talking, and they’ll soon come around and accept it.)

A very special clip of Mary Tyler Moore, Doug Kershaw, Ben Vereen and The Manhattan Transfer. I'm still seeking toe jam from Ms. Moore and the Transfer folks.

My 04.13.2011 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

2011-04-07T12:54:00.007-05:00

I’m a busy guy.

Between my duties here at W.R.D. Entertainment; writing this column; training for the decathlon events in which I regularly compete; researching and working on my soon-to-be-published 1,700 page historical novel; teaching my line dancing classes; and starting my own cult, I barely have time to breathe.

So, obviously, it’s rare that I make public appearances for one of the radio stations here at W.R.D. But when I do appear at a broadcast from one of our fine sponsors, I have to make sure W.R.D. Entertainment makes it worth my time.

Because of my time constraints as well as my stellar reputation for quality broadcasting entertainment, I have a list of requirements W.R.D. Entertainment must meet before I do such broadcasts.

For instance, due to an unforeseen staffing issue, I was recently asked to broadcast from an area car dealership on our pop music station, 99.5 Hits Now. Before I agreed to commit to the broadcast, here is the list of my requests W.R.D. Entertainment will honor in order to secure my talent:

1: The services of two large bodyguards will be made available to me (at W.R.D. Entertainment’s expense). There will likely be numerous women who will try to touch and/or kiss and/or rip off my shirt and/or present me with paternity results and/or subpoenas. It will be the responsibility of the security team to ensure none of these situations develop. However, I might make exceptions if such women look similar to Hooters waitresses (except, obviously, if said women try to present me with paternity results and/or subpoenas).

2: A (NEW) 54 quart Coleman Stainless Steel, Steel Belted Cooler filled with ice, 12 Heinkens (bottles), freshly sliced salami (NOT pre-sliced “lunch meat” salami such as from Oscar Meyer or Hormel), smoked salmon and 24 bottles of Evian water. NO OTHER PARTY is to take ANY ITEM from cooler WITHOUT my permission.

3: One package of gourmet olive oil and garlic crackers.

4: Two packs of imported Dunhill “International Lights” cigarettes and stainless steel ashtray.

5: A (NEW) La-Z-Boy leather (NOT vinyl) recliner will be made available to me (at W.R.D. Entertainment’s expense). Recliner will be placed under a large beach umbrella with a side table for the placement of my cell phone, beverages, snacks, laptop, cigarettes, ashtray and my mini oxygen tank. Cooler mentioned in Item 2 must be placed on other side of recliner.

6: A local physician; masseuse (female); and hair stylist (female) experienced with coloring and mullet weaves must be on-call for my needs before and during remote broadcast (at W.R.D. Entertainment’s expense). W.R.D. Entertainment MUST provide resume of physician and photos of masseuse and hair stylist for my approval two days before broadcast.

7: A golf cart with driver must be on-site to ferry me to restroom facilities when needed.

8: I will NOT participate in autograph sessions or photo opportunities with fans – particularly children. However, I might make exceptions if such female fans look similar to Hooters waitresses.

Potential photo opp participant for Rob = NO

Potential photo opp participants for Rob = YES

So as you can see, these requirements are pretty reasonable, particularly for someone like me.

I invite everyone to come out to my first scheduled remote in years this Friday at Mark Martin Kia as I broadcast live on 99.5 Hits Now!

***

UPDATE: I’ve just been informed that since submitting my guidelines and the writing of this column, I will not be broadcasting at Mark Martin Kia this Friday. For some reason, W.R.D. Entertainment has found another announcer.

Oh, well. This will give me more time to focus on beginning my new cult.

"All Over the Map" from the 04.06.2011 Arkansas Weekly

2011-04-07T12:38:00.008-05:00

Several unique bills have surfaced during the most recent session of the Arkansas legislature. Lawmakers have debated such issues as the merits of allowing concealed handguns in church, the banning of cleavage and underwear baring wardrobes on students, and the adding of the state sales tax on internet purchases.

However, there have been some legislature moves that have not been as widely discussed in the state media.

For instance, the House and Senate overwhelmingly passed a law banning television commercials that feature Flo, the annoying insurance spokesperson who causes many people to shoot their TV sets.

“I have had at least seven of my constituents ruin brand new high-definition sets with a firearm because they can’t stand those damn commercials,” state Sen. T. Blanston, Jr. told me. “Two residents in my district actually left their homes in the middle of a television program, went to purchase pistols, and then came back to their houses to shoot their TVs – just out of sheer rage at Flo. The woman is like nails on a chalkboard.”

It’s interesting to note that a similar bill -- one that would have required Geico Insurance explain their commercials to people over the age of 65 as well as to people without a sense of humor -- did not make it out of a House subcommittee.

Arkansas legislators also approved another bill somewhat similar to the student wardrobe guidelines. The “cocked hat” bill, as it was nicknamed at the capitol, targets young men and women who wear their baseball hats with the bill cocked to the right or left side. If signed by Gov. Mike Beebe, the law will allow other parties to slap those wearing “cocked” hats directly across the face without fear of legal prosecution. Some opponents argued that it should also be aimed at those who wear baseball caps with the bill facing the back, but proponents of the measure noted citizens might twist that aspect of the law to physically attack actual baseball and softball catchers.

The influence of the Tea Party movement was felt in some bills that were proposed in subcommittees. One such bill would have mandated that pictures of Glenn Beck be displayed next to Gov. Beebe in offices of state agencies. Another bill would have ordered the arrest and waterboarding of Keith Olbermann if he ever set foot in the state. And a measure that would have mandated that all Arkansans not only speak English, but also think in English, was also discussed. All failed to make it to the House floor.

Other interesting tidbits about this legislative session included the proclamations of KATV meteorologist Ned Perme’s tan as the Arkansas State Tan and David Bazzel’s teeth as Arkansas State Teeth.

The session also included the passage of legislation prohibiting texting while operating motorized scooters in Walmart; allowing Facebook friends to harass other Facebook friends who constantly bombard them with Farmville posts; and funding research into the cheese content of Hanke Brothers Siding commercials.

Finally, Gov. Beebe signed into law a bill that would ban middle age men with initials of “R.G.” from writing weekly newspaper articles that attempt, but miserably fail, to be somewhat humorous.

And I think I speak for most of Arkansas in stating that I think such a law is absolutely ridiculous.

"All Over the Map" from the 03.30.2011 Arkansas Weekly

2011-04-07T12:22:00.004-05:00

Image doctored at request of lawyers.

Here's something I bet you didn't know about me.

In between my duties here at W.R.D. Entertainment and my column in Arkansas Weekly, I've been writing a book. And now, after a year's work, I can announce that the book, entitled Green Vengeance, will be published in this summer.

The book is non-fiction, and it is based on some rather intense investigation work I completed over a six-month period. The subject will be extremely controversial, shocking and surprising.

I'll explain.

In late 2009, I received a FedEx packet from someone by the name of F. Baer. Inside, I found only a USB memory stick. Intrigued, I plugged it into my laptop and discovered a potential crime so hideous that, if true, will turn a beloved entertainer into a possible pariah.

(For the purposes of this particular synopsis of Green Vengeance, I will utilize pseudonyms for the main parties involved. This is also being done for legal reasons since my publisher’s lawyers have not finished proofing the final draft of the book.)

Green Vengeance is the story of a popular celebrity couple undone by betrayal, deceit, and a fatal desire. For years, K.T. Freg and Miss Swyne (remember – these are not their real names) enjoyed a professional and personal relationship. The two appeared in a number of films and were the primary cast members of a popular television show.

F. Baer (also a pseudonym), a comedian who has worked with the couple for years, claims that he entered into a torrid affair with Miss Swyne in 1995. It was a secret he kept hidden for years – until now.

“How are yaaaa?” Baer said as he answered my initial phone call at the beginning of the investigation. He seemed upbeat despite the horrific story he had to tell. “You got my packet? I didn’t know if I should email it or snail mail it, so like a banana, I split the difference! Get it? Banana? Split?”

“If this is true what you’re telling me, this is going to be bigger than the O.J. case,” I told him.

“Hey, I understand! I’m over the heartbreak, but I just want to make sure that green little (expletive deleted) pays for his crime.”

Baer then told me how Miss Swyne privately confided to him that she was unhappy in her relationship with Freg.

“She explained to me that the public had always thought that Freg was such a sweet, lovable and innocent man, but in private, he was a monster!” Baer said. “And I believed her because I had worked with the bastard for years, and I had seen his dark other side. He would torment everyone on the set, and no one could talk back to him because he was the star!

“I know for a fact he drove one of his co-stars, this kid, to nervous breakdown. The kid just had a supporting role. He played a lab assistant to this scientist character, and one time the kid blew his lines in a sketch, and Freg went nuts. Freg started cursing and breaking beakers and other glass stuff on the set. The kid who played the assistant was never the same. He was always nervous and blabbering from that point on. It was sad.”

Baer explained to me that he became the proverbial shoulder upon which Miss Swyne would cry, and that Baer’s sympathy finally morphed into a secret romance.

"I can’t explain it,” Baer told me, “it just happened. I think she also knew that I was the only guy in the cast who would stand up to Freg, and in a way, perhaps she thought I could rescue her from this crazed, egocentric madman.”

Baer’s voice cracked.

“It turns out,” he said, “I couldn’t rescue her. I failed!”

And with this, Baer broke down in tears.

***

This is just a taste of the sad and twisted tale that will finally unravel with the publication of Green Vengeance. Obviously, my publishers want me to save the horrible secret I have discovered with the help of Baer and a crack investigative team until this summer’s publication.

But I will tell you that Baer has a vast amount of evidence supporting a theory that Miss Swyne has been killed. Baer says that he believes Freg found out about his relationship with Miss Swyne and that Miss Swyne suddenly disappeared only to be replaced by an imposter.

Green Vengeance will reveal all of this upon its publication. But I will leave you with a disturbing, yet tantalizing clue that possibly supports Baer’s theory. Directly below, you will find a picture taken by a private investigator hired by Baer. It is a picture of what Baer sadly claims is the body of Miss Swyne. The picture, snapped at a Hollywood barbeque contest, was taken two days after Baer last saw the “real” Miss Swyne alive -- two days after she told Baer that Freg had discovered their illicit romance.

“I’m telling you,” Baer said to me, “that picture is proof what how evil K.T. Freg can be.”

Take a look for yourself, dear readers.

This Week's "All Over the Map" - ZOMBIES!

2011-03-21T12:04:00.004-05:00

Here's my "All Over the Map" from the 03.23.2011 Arkansas Weekly:

I’m often surprised how people can take me seriously.

Or, should I say I’m often surprised how gullible some people can be?

I think it’s the latter. And I don’t mean that in a negative way. It’s actually somewhat sweet.

I’ve mentioned in these pages before about how some readers actually believe the outlandish things I’ve written. Last year, some people really thought I was quitting my job and moving to New York City to become a mime after I wrote that in this space. Many folks think my adventures with Vurl are non-fiction (although Vurl decidedly is not non-fiction). And I noted a few weeks ago that some of you thought Nancy Pelosi really did throw her underwear at the President during his State of the Union speech.

I can sort of understand folks taking my writings somewhat seriously -- particularly if they just started reading my stuff and/or they don’t know me too well. But what I can’t understand is when my friends and family believe some wild tale I’ve concocted just to see their reaction.

Last week, when the power was out throughout the area, the two women in the Arkansas Weekly office asked me if I knew how the blackout started.

“Oh, man…You didn’t hear?” I said as I sadly shook my head. “A dude was hang gliding in the Melbourne area, and he flew into some transmission lines.”

The women let out gasps. “Oh, no!” one said. The other looked as if she was about to cry.

“Yeah, horrible,” I said as I moved on down the hall silently laughing to myself.

I suppose a freak accident like that could happen, but the tale still seemed too outlandish for folks take seriously. And of course, there’s the question of whether the doomed hang glider story was even funny once it was determined I made up the thing. Based on the ladies’ reaction when they later discovered the tale was a joke, I would say “Yes.”

Now, I know it was funny the other night when I blurted out in front of a bunch of friends that the University of Arkansas had just hired Bobby Knight to replace the recently canned basketball coach, John Pelphrey.

As we all sat around a fire, I made the proclamation while pretending to find the story on my iPhone.

“The Hogs just hired Bobby Knight!” I screamed.

“What?” a few collectively said. Then another said: “No! That can’t be right!”

“That’s what EPSN dot com is reporting,” I said.

The wife of one friend let out a big “All riiigggghhht!”

“This is just what the Razorbacks need!” yelled one pal.

Only one friend that night didn’t believe me, but he had to switch the television to ESPN just to be sure.

However, none of these tales compare to the one I successfully passed off to one particularly gullible friend a few months back.

“Oh my gosh,” I said, “have you been watching CNN?”

“No, why?” the friend asked.

“It’s scary stuff. They’re breaking in with news that a lethal virus has escaped a chemical lab in Russia. The virus kills people, but then their bodies come back to life, and then they eat other people. And they can’t contain it. It’s spreading like wildfire across Europe!”

“Are you kidding?” she asked.

“No! I’m serious! I mean, it’s like zombie stuff. Their bodies are dead, but they move and walk and eat other people!”

“Oh my gosh, Rob. What are they going to do? They don’t think it will come to America, do they?”

There was genuine fear in her voice which filled me with amazement. What started as a stupid little joke that I thought would be immediately laughed off had turned into a testament to one person’s extreme naiveté.

A nice person would have let my friend down easy, saying something like, “Oh, you know I was kidding around. There are no such things as zombies.”

But, obviously, that person was not me.

“Yes,” I said. “They think there are people on flights and ships heading this way that unknowingly have the virus. The government really doesn’t know how to contain it. They’re really scared.”

After a few moments of my friend’s stunned silence, I had to give up and let her in on the joke. My tale was growing more outrageous by the second, and I finally burst out laughing at the concept.

“You really weren’t that gullible were you?” I asked.

She didn’t answer me. And she never has answered my question.

Because that friend hasn’t spoken to me since.

March 9, 2011 "All Over the Map"

2011-03-21T11:59:00.003-05:00

Updating from the road, and my blog formatting is all messed up. No big. Here's my "All Over the Map" from the 03.09.2011 Arkansas Weekly:

I think we can all agree that Charlie Sheen is not well. He may be drug free, but his mind is obviously a tad scrambled, likely from the long-term effects of smoking large amounts of crack – a drug he’s freely admitted to using.

"I was banging seven-gram rocks and finishing them because that's how I roll,” the actor recently told ABC News.

He’s also made some other outlandish quotes during his recent media blitz.

“I am special, and I will never be one of you,” he has stated.

Or, how about: “Clearly I have defeated this earthworm with my words – imagine what I would have done with my fire-breathing fists.” This was made in reference to Chuck Lorre, the producer of his hit show, Two and a Half Men. Lorre and Sheen have been at odds because of Sheen’s consistent bad boy behavior.

Other recent quotes from Sheen include:

“Resentments are the rocket fuel that lives in the tip of my saber.”

“That was an old brain. I have a new brain. I have a 10,000-year-old brain and the boogers of a 7-year-old.”

“I’m not bi-polar. I’m bi-winning. I win here, and I win there.”

“Touch my children, and I will eat your hands off your freaking arms.”

“I’m alive. Bring it.”

"I am on a drug. It's called Charlie Sheen. It's not available because if you try it once your face will melt off, and your children will weep over your exploded body."

“I’m an F-18 bro, and I will destroy you in the air and deploy my ordnance to the ground.”

And, my favorite, when asked if he had abused a woman after a particular incident:

“Women are not to be hit. They’re to be hugged and caressed…She was attacking me, though, with a small fork – like a cocktail fork. And she had it with her; that was the weird part. What was she doing with, like, a shrimp fork in her purse? She stole it, clearly. From a buffet.”

Clearly. From a buffet. Of course!

Despite his frightening behavior, I have to admit that I am in awe of Sheen’s lively vocabulary and prose. Some addiction experts have observed that his grandiose and arrogant statements might be the side effects of crack cocaine and the withdrawal from years of its abuse, so I must cushion my admiration with such caveats.

The glitches and kinks cluttering Sheen’s head and manifesting themselves through his bizarre behavior have to be related to some type of deep intoxicant abuse. Here’s hoping a sliver of reality will crack the chemical and mental gunk that’s coated Sheen’s self over the years, and a strong sense of humility will set him on a path of recovery.

But saying all of that and banking on the notion of Sheen positively reassembling his life, I still want the man to have the spirit to churn out more beautifully mad and wacky statements after his hoped-for mental salvage.

Zingers like:

“We are high priest assassin warlocks.”

"There's my life. Deal with it. Oh, wait, can't process it? LOSERS."

And, finally:

"If you borrowed my brain for five seconds, you'd be like… ‘Dude! Can't handle it, unplug this bastard!’ It fires in a way that's maybe not from, uh...this terrestrial realm."

Wow. It’s obvious he’s delusional because, clearly, I’m the only person who could make such a statement.

Mideast Unrest Meets Hee Haw

2011-03-01T09:35:00.007-06:00

Here's my "All Over the Map" for the 03.02.2011 issue of Arkansas Weekly:

Most experts believe that the next dictatorship to fall amid the current international unrest would be the rule of Maj. Gen. Omar el-Kuma of the Middle Eastern country, Fungia.

If you haven’t heard of el-Kuma or Fungia, it’s understandable. It’s a fairly new country -- formed in 1974 after the countries of Tunisia and Algeria got into a spat over who could use the remote control for the single television set the two countries shared every other night. In a landmark session, the United Nations declared neither Tunisia or Algeria could have the remote, and a neutral country would be formed in the middle to control access to the remote for each of the feuding countries.

Thus Fungia was born.

In 1979, Maj. Gen. el-Kuma declared himself Supreme Ruler of Fungia in a bloodless coup after former President Mahmoud “Johnny” al Shoney resigned and moved to south Florida to open a deli.

Because of the size of Fungia, the rule of el-Kuma has gone largely unnoticed in international circles. However, reports have surfaced detailing the leader’s sometimes bizarre behavior and lifestyle.

For instance, diplomatic cables have noted that el-Kuma is an enormous fan of the American television show, Hee Haw, and his devotion to the show has influenced his rule in many ways. Fungian soldiers and el-Kuma underlings are required to proclaim, “SAA-LUTE!” to their leader when in his presence. The license plate for el-Kuma’s limo is “BR-549.” Hee Haw cast reunions and celebrations are held every year in the capitol city of Tonailia, and many of the surviving Hee Haw Honeys stay in the presidential palace during such events. And there is a consistent rumor that former Hee Haw regular, George “Goober” Lindsey, is el-Kuma’s right hand man. Some diplomats have even speculated that it is Lindsey, not el-Kuma, who truly pulls the strings in Fungia, but there has never been evidence to support such claims.

Further signs of el-Kuma’s eccentricities include his belief that the Cookie Monster from Sesame Street is a real creature. As such, el-Kuma has outlawed all baking and selling of cookies in Fungia believing that, in doing so, the Cookie Monster will not attack the country.

Maj. Gen. el-Kuma has also authored a book, informally known as the “Purple Manifesto,” that is required teaching in schools across Fungia. The leader claims the Manifesto was divinely inspired, however Western analysts that have studied the Manifesto note that it is entirely composed of lyrics to songs written by the American pop star, Prince.

Speaking of Prince, the few photographs and videos of el-Kuma show the leader usually dresses like the pop star, circa 1985, during the singer’s Purple Rain phase. These images also reveal a man consistently accompanying el-Kuma who looks very much like George “Goober” Lindsey. The man, known as “Goober X” by analysts with the Central Intelligence Agency, is always shown standing directly behind el-Kuma and whispering into the leader’s ear.

These same CIA analysts believe that el-Kuma’s rule is the next to topple in the volatile region. They note that some Fungians have staged demonstrations where hundreds of copies of the Purple Manifesto are burned in protest. Apparently, many have discovered pirated copies of the Purple Rain album and were shocked to learn that “Darling Nikki” was not an actual angelic apparition that supposedly appeared to el-Kuma in a hotel lobby one evening, but was rather, instead, an insatiable slut.

There are already signs that el-Kuma sees the writing on the wall, and that his days are numbered. There are some reports the leader and Goober X were recently sighted in disguise at a Fungian travel agency checking on flights to Phoenix, Ariz.

Goober X?

However, one analyst has stated el-Kuma made an address on Fungian National Television last Tuesday where he stated, “By the purple blood of my ancestors, I shall not leave Fungia until the bitter end! But, if I see the Cookie Monster coming my way, brother – PPFFFFT! I’m gone!”

My "All Over the Map" from the 02.22.2011 Arkansas Weekly

2011-02-26T12:00:00.003-06:00

Continuing my ketchup, here's my "All Over the Map" from the 02.22.2011 Arkansas Weekly:

The Academy Awards ceremony will be broadcast this Sunday for those of you interested in such things. I used to be an avid follower of the Oscars, but over the years I’ve realized it’s nothing more than a shallow celebration of spoiled, overpaid and Botox-ed individuals who wouldn’t be caught dead in a Waffle House.

Of course, had I landed that plum role on Beverly Hills 90210 for which I auditioned in 1989, I might be singing a different tune. I’m quite certain that my career would have taken off to the stratosphere, and I would be walking the red carpet on a regular basis. Damn you, Jason Priestley!

I sometimes wonder what would have happened if Priestley had been in a major automobile accident on the day of his audition, and fate would have landed me in the role of Brandon Walsh. I can tell you that the trajectory of my rise to fame would have been fast and bright.

Yes, I would have graced the covers of such magazines as Tiger Beat and Teen Beat, yet my magnetic personality and my mysterious, yet devastatingly handsome looks would have also garnered the attention of Rolling Stone, GQ and several female supermodels with exotic accents.

Quickly, all would have realized that 90210 was a completely inferior home for my intense Brando-like raw talent. Much to the disappointment of my fans, I would have been released from my contract within two years in order to concentrate on my film career. My final 90210 episode where Brandon choked to death on a chili dog at the Peach Pit would have been the highest rated television broadcast since man walked on the moon.

Through the 1990s, I would have worked with a variety of directing legends: Scorsese, Kubrick, Spielberg, Tarantino, Coppola, etc. All would have told the press that I was the leading actor of my generation and possibly the best actor with whom they ever had the privilege to work. As such, actors such as De Niro, Pitt, Cruise, Pacino and Hanks would be intensely jealous of my career and would collectively procure the services of a professional hit man to kill me and get me out of the picture – and their way.

Unfortunately their plan would have backfired when I successfully fought the assassin with my bare hands as he tried to kill me during a romantic liaison with Cruise’s then-wife, Nicole Kidman. After ripping off the would-be killer’s scalp with my bare hands, he would have confessed to me that the aforementioned actors’ plan, and I would have gone to each of their homes and unleashed my deadly kung fu skills, leaving them weeping for mercy, completely bloody and battered.

My romantic adventures would have been legendary and made Hollywood Casanovas such as Warren Beatty and Jack Nicholson blush. A particular incident where paparazzi would catch me in a hot tub with Penelope Cruz, Winona Ryder, Sharon Stone, Julia Roberts and Heidi Klum would have cemented my lothario status, however a later catfight that found Klum and Stone pulling each other’s hair out over my affections would have been a slight stain on my celebrity since it would have been discovered that I encouraged – and even videotaped – the violent showdown. As such, several prominent women organizations would have called for a boycott of my films, and I would have seen a gradual decline in my career.

In 2003, a year after the incident, I would have disappeared from public view for a two year period. During this time, I would have blazed through my millions of dollars, spending money on luxury automobiles, large amounts of cough syrup, and a bad investment in a chain of spray tanning salons.

I would test the waters in 2005 with an appearance in a Lifetime movie where I played a handsome veterinarian in a small town dating a teacher played by Jennifer Love Hewitt. My character is then shocked and heartbroken when he finds out she has fallen in love with one of her kindergarten students. I also would have participated in an episode of Celebrity Fear Factor only to be disqualified when I vomited all over Stephen Baldwin after trying to eat a live pregnant catfish.

With my comeback sputtering along, I would have finally decided to give up and head back to Arkansas with my tail between my legs. To pass the time and pay the bills, I would have opened a Chinese buffet and fed my performance urges by acting in community theatre productions and dancing in a Statue of Liberty get-up in front of a tax preparation business.

Dissatisfied with all of this, I would have finally held my nose and, in order to pay the rent, I would have waded into possibly the lowest form of employment muck: I’d start writing a nonsensical newspaper column.

Now that I look at what could have happened if I had made it to 90210, I count my lucky stars for Jason Priestley. Things really worked out for the best.

Writing a newspaper column? Please. I’d jump off a cliff if I ever had to resort to that.

Wait a minute.

"All Over the Map" Ketching Up Again

2011-02-26T11:52:00.004-06:00

My "All Over the Map" from the 02.16.2011 Arkansas Weekly:

I am not a serious man in these pages. Most of you know this because I am often told that I have a somewhat twisted and/or deranged sense of humor.

For instance, take my recent column where I provided a play-by-play analysis of President Obama’s State of the Union. During the speech, I wrote that a bored House Speaker John Boehner practiced his nunchuck skills while the President spoke; that Vice President Biden had a pizza delivered to the chamber; and that former House Speaker Nancy Pelosi threw her underwear on the presidential podium. I also wrote that the address concluded with the President declaring that he was the Antichrist.

Many of you might not find any of that funny, but no reader would take such nonsense seriously, right?

Sigh.

I received a voice mail last week from a very irate-sounding woman.

“Well, I would leave my name, but I doubt very much you would call me back,” said the woman. “I’m calling about that disgusting article you wrote. I’d like to know where you got your information, and how could you do that to the President?”

All right, I grant you I’m not the most politically correct doofus around. Do you think Blazing Saddles, one of the funniest movies ever made, would ever be produced in 2011? Or Airplane would have kept its subtitled scene of the “jive-talking” guys with Mrs. Beaver in this day and age?

(Then again, television’s South Park does break about every taboo imaginable.)

Anyway, I digress. The woman’s voice mail confused me a bit. Did she not get that it was all a joke? Did she really think I thought all of that happened – because she did ask “where you got all of your information”? Is it “disgusting” to poke fun at any President or Congressional members? I don’t think so. I’d make jokes at the expense of George W. Bush and Barack Obama.

As for the Antichrist remark, I’m not making fun of Obama. I’m obviously making fun of those who really believe Obama is the spawn of Satan. It’s a ridiculous concept on the face of it.

Oh, why am I even worried about this? It was a joke, and if it offended anyone, my apologies, but lighten up a bit, would you? Having a vibrant and silly sense of humor is an essential part of life.

If we can’t laugh at ourselves, then what’s the point of getting out of bed?

***

I do want to clarify one thing, though. It’s perfectly fine of me to make fun of some people and things, but it’s not funny if you make fun of me.

I’m sensitive, and my feelings are bruised very easily.

For instance, I’m very touchy when it comes to my lack of pigmentation. So, if you call me “Casper” or “Liquid Paper,” well…you’re going to make me angry, and I might stomp off and cry. And for your information, I am able to have a tan. I just have to spend three weeks in a tanning bed.

Or, if you make fun of the fact that it’s my dream in life to become a beauty pageant coach for toddlers, my cheeks might become blood red and I might throw a coffee mug at you. Then I’ll stomp off and cry.

And don’t ever – ever – make fun of my perm I recently received. I think perms for men are coming back in style. If Mike Brady and the Brady boys could all get perms, then any red-blooded American man can rock a perm.

But if I catch you making fun of it, I’m going to tear my shirt in a rage, hit you in the arm really hard, and then run away from you really fast. Then I’ll cry.

My new perm. Don't even think about making fun of it.

My Fight Club. My Rules.

2011-02-04T12:37:00.007-06:00

Here's my "All Over the Map" from the 02.09.2011 Arkansas Weekly:

I recently re-watched the Brad Pitt film, Fight Club, and it got me to thinking.

If you’ve never seen the 1999 movie, it concerns two guys who start an underground club where men, bored of their tedious and meaningless lives, go and willingly beat the living phooey out of each other. Their violence against each other reinvigorates the club members, and they decide to go unleash their chaos on that self-centered and spoiled outside world they initially chose to escape.

I like the film because of all of the beating-the-phooey-out-of-each-other. Fists. Blood. Flying teeth. Yeah – that’s a man’s movie!

That’s why I’ve decided to start an underground fight club of my own. We’ll be having a preliminary meeting in the Arkansas Weekly parking lot tomorrow around midnight.

But, please, don’t tell anyone. I need to keep this on the down low.

If you’re interested in my fight club, I have some ground rules.

First rule of Rob’s fight club is we don’t talk about Rob’s fight club. I have to admit that I really don’t understand this rule because if we don’t talk about fight club, how are people going to know to show up at fight club? It seems pretty self-defeating, doesn’t it? But that was the first rule in the movie’s fight club, and Brad Pitt must have had a reason for that particular rule. So, I’ll follow his wisdom because he’s Brad Pitt, and everyone should always follow the advice of a celebrity – particularly a handsome one.

Brad Pitt. Celebrity.

Second rule of Rob’s fight club is when Rob fights in a bout, Rob is not to be hit. You can throw air punches, but don’t hit me – particularly in the face. Obviously, I can hit you in the face, and I will win the bout, but you can’t hit me. My fight club. My rules. Besides, I’m on a blood thinner, and I could literally die if someone actually managed to land a punch and made me bleed.

Third rule of Rob’s fight club is all of my opponents have to be over the age of 75 and have some sort of physical disability. It’d be great if most of my opponents were blind and/or were missing an arm or leg, but I will settle for a guy with cataracts and a limp.

Fourth rule of Rob’s fight club is we don’t fight any night that Glee is on television. In fact, we’ll have Glee watch parties on those nights, and after the show, we’ll have sing-offs based on themes of my choosing. For instance, the first Glee sing-off will be based on the music of Hall and Oates. And I get to play Daryl Hall (the tall one). Remember: My fight club. My rules.

Fifth rule of Rob’s fight club is we do not accept ninjas. If you’re a ninja and feel this is unfair, then start your own fight club. I don’t trust ninjas, and I haven’t since they started following me in 1994 after I infiltrated an arm of the Asian-American Calculus Club of Greater Sacramento during my days as an assassin for the infamous Cannoli family of Pine Bluff. This was also around the time I was diagnosed with a slight form of mental instability, but I attribute that diagnosis the ninjas. They must’ve somehow intimidated the psychatrist.

Sixth rule of Rob’s fight club is we will have “Lawn Implement” night once a month. This means members must use some type of lawn care tool during their bouts. Garden shears, Weed Eaters, electric shrub clippers, hoes, leaf blowers, lawnmowers, machetes, etc. – it’s all fair game. However, I draw the line at rakes. We don’t want someone to put an eye out or anything.

Finally, the seventh rule of Rob’s fight club is someone must be assigned to bring a dish of food each night. Bean dip, a casserole, nachos, a nice quiche, and chicken wings are some examples. But nothing spicy. I sometimes get a little acid reflux, and when that happens, I’m simply useless.

If you have a problem with any of these rules, then I’ll say it again: Form your own fight club.

My fight club. My rules.

Things You Might Not Have Noticed at This Year's State of the Union

2011-01-30T15:26:00.005-06:00

Here's my "All Over the Map" from the 02.02.2011 issue of Arkansas Weekly:

Last week’s State of the Union from President Obama has been the hot topic with most major media outlets for the past few days. However, a very interesting aspect to any State of the Union is observing the chamber during key points of the address. For instance, take a look at some of the things I noticed during the speech.

8:03 p.m.: President takes podium, shakes hands of Vice President Biden and Speaker of the House John Boehner. Surprisingly, President Obama opens with a joke: “Forgive me for being a few minutes late, but I just flew in from Ohio, and boy, are my arms tired.” Democrats roar with laughter; Republicans not so much, but I did see Sen. Mitch McConnell crack a smile.

8:07 p.m.: After going through some recent issues that have been on the minds of many Americans, President gives a shout out to the producers of The King’s Speech for their 12 Oscar nominations announced earlier in the day. “However,” Obama notes, “I have to say that I am personally disappointed Burlesque was not nominated.”

8:17 p.m.: I notice Biden appears to be texting.

8:25 p.m.: Camera cuts to former Sen. Robert Byrd. Graphic on screen says that Byrd’s last will and testament specified that his corpse attend each State of the Union for the next five years. Sen. Leahy, sitting next to the former Senator, is covering his face with handkerchief.

8:30 p.m.: This part of speech is dragging a bit. I see some members of Congress yawning. Speaker Bohener stands and stretches. Pulls out some nunchucks, practices a bit.

8:36 p.m.: Now the mystery of who Biden was texting earlier is solved. Dude from Domino’s delivers a box of pizza. Obama, looking slightly irritated, says: “Uh, Joe, I hope you ordered enough for everyone.” Chamber roars with laughter.

8:40 p.m.: Oh wow! The guy with the rainbow wig and John 3:16 sign is sitting next to Sen. Schumer. Where has he been lately?

8:42 p.m.: Uh-oh. A pair of panties is thrown on podium. Secret Service agents immediately tackle the culprit: former Speaker Nancy Pelosi. First Lady looks very upset. Stands up in her box and starts yelling to Pelosi: “B****, you wanna a piece of me?!?”

8:43 p.m.: Things seem to have calmed down. Interesting to note that when Pelosi was being escorted out of chamber, Biden looked at her, put his pinky and thumb to his face, and mouthed, “Call me.”

8:47 p.m.: President utilizes Speaker Boehner’s career as an example of fulfilling the American dream. Biden tries to stifle laugh every time President says “Boehner” but fails.

8:47 p.m.: Well, it's over. Pretty decent speech. However, the last part where President said, "Oh, and by the way, I'm the Antichrist!" seems to have shaken up a few folks. Personally, I think he was joking. But his eyes turning black and the forked tongue slithering out of his mouth were great special effects!"

Mr. Blanston Returns for a Visit with Rob

2011-01-21T15:59:00.011-06:00

Here's my "All Over the Map" for the 01.29.2011 issue of Arkansas Weekly:

Regular readers of this column know that my role model, as well as best friend, is the acclaimed journalist, celebrity and all-around raconteur, T. Blanston, Jr. T., as most of you will remember, has traveled all over the world – sometimes in dangerous and war-torn areas -- in pursuit of groundbreaking stories. Many of these stories have resulted in the exposure of scandalous crimes and regime changes, as well as numerous awards for T. They’ve also allowed T. to maintain the life of a jet-setting playboy who never met a beautiful woman (or a fine whiskey) he didn’t like.

When T. is not globetrotting, he spends time on his gorgeous property, Rancho Paradiso, which overlooks “Loch Greers Ferry.” There, T. enjoys entertaining friends who will fly in from all over the world. I can tell you that I recently attended a dinner party at Rancho Paradiso that included such guests as former Clinton adviser Vernon Jordan; pro tennis star Roger Federer; celebrity couple Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban; legendary actor Sir Anthony Hopkins; talk show host Jimmy Kimmel; Playboy model Holly Madison; business leader extraordinaire Warren Buffett; music legends Kid Rock, Willie Nelson and Tony Bennett; and the wacky and acclaimed comedian, Gallagher.

(Side note: That particular party went swimmingly until Gallagher sledgehammered a watermelon all over Sir Anthony. I must say it was quite the sight to see Jordan and Kid Rock hold the comedian while Hopkins took the sledgehammer to Gallagher’s knees. The screams were probably heard in Prim. And, don’t worry, Gallagher is fine. Buffett paid for the new kneecaps.)

He's fine. Don't worry.

Yesterday, I ran into T. at a reception in Little Rock honoring the former Arkansas Democrat-Gazette editor John Robert Starr. The conservative Starr was unable to attend since he died almost 11 years ago, but he was there in spirit via a large painting of the journalist that depicted him shirtless and holding what appeared to be Bill Clinton’s head.

And it was there, as I stood admiring the portrait during the reception, that T. found me.

“Rob,” T. said as he walked up with a whiskey on the rocks in one hand and a Dunhill cigarette in the other, “tell your daughter I ran into Justin Bieber at the Golden Globes last week, and I’m convinced he’s the next Leif Garrett! And I mean that in a good way – not in a Celebrity Rehab way!”

Likely the most underrated video of all time. Watch and luxuriate in the aura of Leif.

We laughed and ventured over to some comfortable leather chairs to briefly visit.

“T.,” I said, “tell me what’s going on in your world.”

“Rob, I just returned from the small eastern European country of Slatvikia where I uncovered a horrible underground subculture that is slowly going mainstream. Apparently, poodles are being hunted for their fur that is then sold on the international black market!”

“That’s terrible,” I said. “And I don’t even like poodles.”

“I know. I know. But I will admit that when I was dating a supermodel I met in Berlin, I bought her a poodle fur stole that felt remarkable.”

“Well, we can’t be politically correct all the time,” I noted. “I once wrote a column advocating the industry of raising poodles for the pet snake market, and I caught all types of hell.”

T. shook his head.

“You would think that in 2011 people would be acceptable to fully nourishing the millions of pet pythons and boa constrictors of the world. Studies have shown that frozen rats are low in the nutrients most reptiles need.”

“Playing devil’s advocate,” I said, “wouldn’t some call you a hypocrite? Here you are exposing the terrible practice of killing poodles for fur, yet you’re condoning poodle farms for snake food.”

T. held up his hand.

“I hear your point,” he said. “However, I think we all can agree that killing an animal for one’s fashion style is horrible, correct? But a pet snake eating a poodle is simply part of nature. Snakes in the wild eat dogs, cats, swine and the occasional unfortunate Brazilian Pygmy. Think of the jobs that could be added if poodle farms started popping up across the state. And I believe you share with me the view that this would solve the growing problem of undernourished pet snakes that’s sweeping across the country, if not the world.”

“It is troubling,” I said. “I was thinking about purchasing a boa constrictor for my kids, and I certainly would want the reptile to be healthy in the long term.

“Changing the subject, how is everything else going in the world of T. Blanston, Jr.?”

The future Mrs. Blanston?

“Well, I’m currently dating most of the Jersey Shore girls, but I’m also secretly courting Betty White. I’m trying to keep that quiet. Snooki found Betty’s bra in my suitcase one night, and she went nutso. I’m telling you that situation is a catfight waiting to happen.”

“Betty can throw down,” I said. “I’m sure you’ve heard the legendary story about the time she slugged Ed Asner.”

Former victim of Betty White's five fingers of death?

T. nodded and finished the whiskey.

“Rob,” he said as he stood, “the well is dry, and I must replenish. How about I call you this weekend? Snooki and Jwoww are jetting in from the shore, and I have the rap group Insane Clown Posse flying in from Michigan. Should be Jell-o shots galore.”

“I’ll be there!”

ICP baby! Pass the Faygo!

I shook his hand and watched him head to the bar. And it was then I realized he had not been wearing any pants.

There’s only one man who could get away with such a bold fashion statement, and his name?

T. Blanston, Jr.

Insane Clown Posse. No snarky remark is necessary.

Next Week's "All Over the Map"

2011-01-07T13:01:00.010-06:00

Here's my "All Over the Map" from the 01.12.2011 Arkansas Weekly:

Hello. I’m Rob Grace, and today I’d like to discuss proper topics of conversation if you happen to find yourself in a rural Arkansas bar.

I should note that I’ve never actually been in a rural Arkansas bar. Some of my friends have, and they’ve all warned me to never walk into such an establishment – particularly if I’m wearing, say, a scarf or my SpongeBob t-shirt, and/or I have lots of “product” in my hair.

“The place will just go silent when you walk through the door looking like that,” a pal once said to me. “Trust me, every eye in the bar will be coldly fixed on you, and the next thing you know, we’ll start finding pieces of Rob scattered throughout a nearby soybean field.”

So, in the interest of some of my fellow semi-metrosexuals as well as other men who might like to hunt but still hum along when a Lady Gaga song comes on the radio, I offer this handy guide of what not to say in a rural Arkansas bar.

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar -- example #1: Excuse me, fella. But, it smells like you use Axe Dark Temptation shower gel, too!

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar -- example #2: You guys mind if we change the TV? There’s a Project Runway marathon on Lifetime.

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar -- example #3: You boys like my Tennessee Vols t-shirt?

Except for what appears to be a full set of teeth, the thing above is your typical Tennessee Vols fan.

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar -- example #4: Hey guys, if I ever form a dance group, I’m gonna call it Sparkle Explosion!

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar -- example #5: Spanky, I’ll take one Sex on the Beach. And be sure you put one of those cute umbrellas in it.

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar – example #6 (after the guy sitting next to you shows you a picture of his wife): Oh, I know her! Is her belly still pierced?

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar – example #7: Seems like I read somewhere that during World War II John Wayne dodged the draft.

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar – example #8: You boys say hello to my new Justin Bieber action figure.

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar – example #9: What do I think of Sarah Palin? You mean that moron from Alaska?

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar – example #10: Spanky, if you don’t mind, turn down GAC. Thanks. Guys, hello? If I could have your attention, please. Thank you. Gentlemen, I know you don’t know who I am, but if I could take this opportunity to talk to all of you about something I truly believe will change your life for the better. Who here has heard about the wonderful benefits of Scientology? Raise your hands.

I may not believe in Xenu, but you got to admit, Scientology founder L. Ron Hubbard had style!

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar – example #11: You boys like my new Hello Kitty fanny pack?

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar – example #12: Excuse me, but has anyone ever told you two that, except for the camo and beards, you guys are dead ringers for Siegfried & Roy?

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar – example #13: You like who? Johnny Cash? He’s a popular rap star, isn’t he?

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar – example #14: Is it me, or does this camo make my butt look big?

And for example #15, never – ever – say this in a rural Arkansas bar – particularly if this bar is within a 45 mile radius of Batesville or Newport: Actually, I really enjoy those columns Rob Grace writes. He seems quite intelligent.

"And after Rob saw this, the idea for Sparkle Explosion was born!"

This Week's "All Over the Map"

2011-01-03T10:46:00.006-06:00

Here's my "All Over the Map" from the 01.05.2011 issue of Arkansas Weekly:

With the new year, I’ve decided to worry about a few things.

2012 will be here before you know it, and if the Mayans and John Cusack are right, the world will experience a smorgasbord of massive calamities – floods, earthquakes, hurricanes, a possible new Kardashian reality show. I mean, it could get that bad.

In all honesty, I really don’t think the world will end in 2012. No, the end of the world should occur sometime in the 2040s when one of Jon and Kate’s satanic brood is revealed to be the Antichrist.

Besides, my concerns aren’t that apocalyptic; they’re simply on a much smaller scale.

For instance, my daughter will be 16 in 2011, and this means she will be able to drive without her mother or myself sitting next to her, digging our fingernails into the dashboard while also, at least in my case, testing the control of my bladder restraint. I’m thinking of having the mayor of Batesville install electronic signs throughout town that will flash warning lights whenever her vehicle is within 500 yards. This will, I hope, give other motorists time to get out of the way.

There’s also the continuing (and troubling) infatuation she has with pop star Justin Bieber. In fact, she told me this afternoon that she wants to purchase a life-size cardboard cut-out of Mr. Bieber.

“That’s creepy,” I informed her. “You’re going to wake up in the middle of the night, and he’s going to be standing over your bed.”

“Oh no, father,” she said. “Justin’s cut-out will be sleeping beside me in my bed.”

See what I mean? I should be concerned, shouldn’t I?

I have some worries about her brother, as well. Apparently, he’s very close to owning just about every video game that has been produced by the United States of America. I’ve heard stories of people so obsessed with playing video games that they forget to do normal everyday things – like eat. Of course, I’m one to talk. Every time there’s a What Not to Wear marathon on TLC, I completely forget to do the basic things like eating, grooming or getting out of bed to use the bathroom. But, hey, that’s why they invented things like Depends, right?

Speaking of the bathroom, I’m beginning to worry that the ring around my toilet is actually moving at times. When I’m shaving in front of the mirror, I swear I can see the ring behind me slowly creeping toward the rim. Yet when I quickly turn around, it instantly zips back to the water’s surface.

I’m concerned about the state of country music. When the Arkansas 103.3 KWOZ afternoon guy, Ken Loggains, says on-air, “Coming up, a little bit of Reba, some George Strait, and Gwyneth Paltrow…,” you know something isn’t right. Or maybe I should just be concerned about Gwyneth Paltrow.

Finally, I’m concerned about my taste in music. Ever since I took over programming the music for W.R.D. Entertainment’s Top 40 station, 99.5 Hits now, I’ve noticed I’m listening to people like Bruno Mars, Nelly, Neon Trees and other artists people over the age of 40 aren’t supposed to listen to. It’s scary that I’ve listened to the new Kanye West album more than the latest Springsteen release. It’s also scary that, unbeknownst to my daughter, I’ve actually been enjoying some Justin Bieber music as well.

See. I should be concerned, shouldn’t I?

"All Over the Map" from 12.29.2010

2011-01-03T10:35:00.004-06:00

Still playing catch up, here's my "All Over the Map" from the 12.29.2010 issue of Arkansas Weekly:

And so we say goodbye to 2010.

I really have no beef with 2010; with the exception of all things Kardashian, it’s been a pretty decent year. The economy shambled a little bit in the positive direction. Unemployment in the area dropped below the national average. And David Hasselhoff’s new realty show was canceled after two episodes.

The latter event unequivocally proved The Man Upstairs really likes us.

Of course, there is still the matter of the aforementioned Kardashians. Why, as some theological professors and religious leaders have likely pondered, is the world still subjected to this group of no talent, obnoxious plastic buffoons? I’m still waiting for the episode of Keeping Up with the Kardashians where the youngest, 13-year-old half-sister Kylie Jenner, goes on a drunken rampage after a botched Botox session.

In fact, while we’re at it, let’s give each member of the Kardashian clan a looksee, shall we?

First up, the three stooges of vapidity: Kim, Khloe and Kourtney. Kim, of course, is best known for a sex tape that “leaked” with a fourth-class rap star named Ray J. (Here’s something about celebusluts that might surprise you: When a sex tape is “leaked” in the celebuslut world and the celebusluts performing in the tape are “shocked” that the tape somehow ended up on the Internet, it’s a fairly good bet that the celebusluts in question were in on the thing all along in hopes of getting a fix of the much-needed publicity they crave like a vampire craves blood.) Kim is also known for having a posterior roughly the size of a Hyundai.

Khloe is best known for marrying Los Angeles Laker Lamar Odom. Khloe is the tallest of the Kardashian sisters, and as such, somewhat resembles a flamboyant gay Sasquatch. The oldest, Kourtney, is in my opinion, the most stable and prettiest of the older sisters, but she is saddled with who may be the most obnoxious boyfriend on the face of the Earth – Scott Dick. Oh, wait I’m sorry. Scott Disick is his name. My fingers mistyped. Oops. Disick is best known for a drunken temper tantrum, in which he tried to shove money down the mouth of a waiter who shockingly didn’t treat Dick – oops, there go those fingers again – Disick like the prince he believes he is.

There’s another half-sister, Kendall, who’s in high school and likely on the same Hell-bound path of her sisters, and then there’s the brother, Robert, who, like big sis Kourtney, seems to have a bit of rational thought now and then. However, I sometimes wonder if Robert feels left out for not being named Krobert.

Finally, there’s the parental unit: Kris and her second husband, former Olympian Bruce Jenner – the enablers of the family. Actually, Jenner sometimes acts as if he has possession of some common sense, yet in the last few years, he’s been going under the knife at the urging of Kris and the girls, and as such, looks like a 61-year-old white Michael Jackson had Jackson lived to that age. Recently, he also did the cheesiest thing a 61-year-old man could do: He pierced both of his ears. Look, have we not learned anything from Harrison Ford? Unless you are Keith Richards, Bono, Morgan Freeman, Bruce Springsteen or Willie Nelson, then no man over the age of 35 should have his ear or ears pierced.

So, thanks to the E! cable channel, we can ponder the purpose of this family that revels in all things insipid, decadent and Botoxed while being paid millions of dollars. Personally, I think God has them around as an example of what we should aspire not to be.

And I’ll admit it. I, in a small way, contribute to the lifestyle of the Kardashian clan. Every time I come across their show on television, I can’t look away. It’s like a kar krash with kompletely inkompetent kelebrities known for kelebrating kheesiness.