Tuesdays With Maury: Now Even More Depressing

i actually took the time to make this. but why?

 Some people have jobs that don't allow them to watch The Maury Show everyday. Other people don't have jobs and watch The Maury Show everyday. I'm somewhere in between. I record both episodes daily. If you want to know what you've been missing (sex for cheeseburgers, for example), I have created "Tuesdays With Maury", a horrible tumblr page with a tiled background and images that will give you nightmares, daymares, schizophrenia and irritable bowl syndrome.

For those of you who don't know, this title was inspired by "Tuesdays With Morrie", a (probably) depressing, sappy book by Mitch Albom, who I think sucks because he made me cry when I stupidly read "The Five People You Meet In Heaven" right after the death of a close friend, thinking it would make me feel better. Well, it didn't. I cried even more. For making me cry, Mitch Albom, I give you this tribute and hope that if you somehow find my crappy website, it will make you cry, too. 

I once went to a Maury taping and it felt like being in a four-hour line for a new roller coaster at Six Flags, but without any ride at the end. Except for a horrible bus ride at the end. I'm convinced that some of the people at the taping took the hour-and-a-half long bus ride from the Old Navy near Port Authority to Stamford, CT, for no other reason than to be "discovered" by a producer and get on the show. Their bus conversations were worse than what actually happened on stage. The guy across the aisle from me on the bus was on his cell and told the person at the other end, "Hang up, call the cops, and call me back. She can't take the kids from you like that." I couldn't escape.

The best part of the whole thing was watching to see if I would get on TV, which meant that I watched more Maury in those following months than ever in my life. But there was a payoff: My right arm, cocked in a "boo", was made famous by the producers when they chose it, along with some other peoples' "boo faces" (who I doubt received and compensation for the use of their likeness), for a pivotal crowd shot at a highly emotional moment of the show.

my 15 seconds of fame

There is so much I could tell about that taping, such as the line at the metal detector and the TSA-style security checkpoint (that didn't even bat an eye when they looked in Carlen's purse and, presumably, saw the water-filled fake boob she found at some bodega) but I think it will have to wait. I am exhausted just from uploading photos to the tumblr page. Maury is exhausting.

P.S. Here's a tasty Jimmy Dean Sausage link that's worth sharing, and a parenthetical explanation of how I found it lest you think I'm a crazy person:

- this site is like reading a Dr. Bronner's soap bottle about paranormal activity. I think a ghost groped or soaped me or both in the shower this morning. Even the sitemap makes me feel like an autistic tarot card reader in the West Village made it using Geocities, Microsoft Word 97 clip art and a surprising, almost otherworldly knowledge of SEO. (T-shirt design idea > Image search: "Rhyme of The Ancient Mariner Etchings" > spooky pentagram etching > this web paradise)

Does A.C. Slater Sit Backwards On The Toilet?

spare a square, Mr. B?

Test results are inconclusive. But Mario Lopez has aerobics instructor levels of spandex photos floating around on the internets, just waitin' to be downloaded by some retro, '80s-loving pervert/blogger with perpetual boredom/no social skills/insomnia/indigestion. I hate myself.

just another reason for self-loathing

The McDonald's in my neighborhood is open 24 hours on Friday and Saturday nights, which means two things: One, I have an even unhealthier option for late-night drunk snacks than going to the bodega for a bag of kettle chips, a beef patty (pictured above, except sliced open and stuffed with pepperjack cheese before being microwaved) and a large VitaCoco; and two, they must have some sort of policy in that vagrants are allowed to loiter overnight. Both of these scenarios — eating late-night QPCs and photographing hobos — are near and dear to my heart, but one is going to cause my heart to explode from joy, the other explode from cholesterol...

Behold number three, "Dream Team", in my ongoing series of Homeless People Trading Cards (and another), in which I capture the unsheltered citizens in my neighborhood in their natural environment, like a National Geographic special created by a mental patient with photoshop.

this was the happiest meal i've had in weeks...

For some reason, looking at this photo has me thinking about that song "Holidae Inn" by Chingy. (whatever happened to him? Is he working the front desk night shift at a Cleveland area Radisson?) I got to wondering just what his street cred was really like. What if Chingy was homeless when he wrote that song and it was sad and depressing, talking about trying to bathe at the McDonald's or like a (hot) Carl's Jr. or something on Friday and Saturday nights and dreaming of a hotel room, but then Snoop and Bishop Don "Magic" Juan wandered in for a McFlurry and Chingy recognized Snoop and spit a few rhymes for him, Bishop Don trying to preach to him about turning his life around but Snoop — ever the savvy businessman — knew that even though the current version was depressing and totally unmarketable, especially since homeless Chingy was using a window washer's squirt bottle as a "mic", he saw some real talent in that kid, thinking almost out loud "If this shizzle wasn't about some homeless nizzle, it'd be off the hizzle" (or something like that, I think his mouth was full of Butterfinger McFlurry at the time). I scoured the internet and found the "Lost Lyrics" to the original song, when his name was Squeegie, due to his famously streak-free skills washing car windows on Sunset.

But out of those humble beginnings, this star was born, so we must appreciate his unfortunate roots and poor penmanship/grammar/spelling and love Chingy for the man who produced this:

I need to go to bed, but before I do, single solitary reader-prisoner, I will announce that I am going straight up Nick Denton and expanding my publishing empire to two horrible blogs, the second of which I am hoping to launch maybe tomorrow but realistically more like later this week. It is called "Tuesdays With Maury", and the idea is to take the choicest screenshots from the two daily episodes of the Maury Povich Show and post them on a tumblr blog, and maybe even try to teach a life lesson or two in the process like Mitch Albom does in that book, allegedly. I have not, nor do I ever envision myself reading it. Here's another little teaser, a PR shot from the play that was made from the made-for-TV movie that was made from the book. Enjoy, or whathaveyooz.

there's so much maury can teach me if i just plug my nose and keep an open mind about the elderly

Coming Soon... more gloom

THIS IS TOP SECRET! MORE INFO COMING SOON! (maybe even as soon as tomorrow, as long as I don't get too drunk bowling Sunday and can actually function, which, judging by the people I am going bowling with, isn't likely to happen. So maybe Tuesday. Or Monday, depending on the hangover. Who cares? No one...)

TEASER MILEY CYRUS NIP SLIP PHOTO:

this is the extent of my abilities as a human being/adult — well, this and tying nooses, which i will be doing now for myself, after i get a slice of peperoni/sausage/homemade mozz from Italy Pizza, the best slice within 20 blocks of here, and then maybe take a nap. but then: much-deserved suicide.

I've already said too much (haven't said enough / that's me in the corner, crying alone to michael stipe lyrics)