I reached a new level of pub trivia idiocy this week. I decided it would be hilarious to not only play for my own team but start my own individual side team with all joke answers! I'm the greatest!

In honor of Meatwad, I named my team the Backstreet Boys and my first 4 or 5 answers were (of course) "Backstreet Boys." After a while, I felt I was boring the host with my constant Backstreet Boys answers, so I started writing him notes on the answer cards such as:

"Are you ok? You seem a little down."
"Be honest - how many of the waitresses here have you nailed?"
"Do you like me?" with check boxes for "Yes" and "No."

In the end, I had the distinct pleasure of having my main team finish first with 155 points and my other side team coming in last with negative 15 points. One of my prouder moments. Maybe I should just retire now.

Some of you were a bit taken aback by the uncharacteristic sincerity and solemnity of yesterday's journal entry. Today, something a little more your speed:

This weekend, I was walking through my neighborhood on my way to meet a friend when I was blessed with the sight of an absolutely stunning young woman walking toward me. She was wearing a summery flower print dress and seemed to be floating down the street toward me. Truly, this was a vision of feminine beauty.

Now, many of you may read my ramblings in this space and have come to think of me as a bit on the "fruity" side, but believe me - your boy is 100% hot-blooded heterosexual male. What - just because I have the occasional dream about hot oil wrestling with the drummer from Aloud? That's makes me "fay" all of a sudden? It's the 90's people. Grow up.

As this woman approached, I gave her the full-out eyeball ogle, as is my custom. Naturally, there's an order to these things. I checked out the breasts first (very nice) and then her face (extremely pretty). Overall, I've got to say - I was thoroughly impressed. Just as I was about to let her pass by to get the rear angle view, I noticed...

She had no right arm. Completely gone. I couldn't believe how I had missed it on my initial visual once-over.

So if that girl is reading this, I've got to say - good for you for making me notice the tits first. Looking so good that I notice your stump arm third? That's quite an accomplishment. I salute you. You're an American hero.

Happy Tuesday, my sunburned little lobsters. I hope everyone had a lovely weekend on America's highways. Personally, I burned enough petrol to keep us in Middle East wars for years to come! USA! USA!

Actually, I had a surprisingly appropriate Memorial Day moment during a holiday visit to my cousin Sean when he turned to me with a smile and said "Want to come to the basement and see something cool?" Now, in past years I wouldn't have gone anywhere near a dank basement with that kid, but in his old age he has mellowed into a family man, so I was reasonably sure that my body wasn't going to be slapped with anything sticky and/or ball pain-inducing.

What he showed me was extremely cool: it was the WWII-era rifle that belonged to his grandfather (my great uncle Big Frankie). I don't know a ton about guns, but I'm pretty sure it was an M1 Garand and it was in absolutely perfect condition... except for a few teeth marks on the butt of the gun, presumably where Big Frankie had knocked the grill out of a few German soldiers.

Big Frankie died when I was about ten or so, but I remember him as an easygoing, fun-loving old guy who enjoyed a beer and a barbecue and spent a good portion of the day laughing with his family. As was common in his generation, I don't think he talked much about the details of what he saw and did in the war. I know my own grandfather didn't talk much about it at all.

Holding this rifle in my hand with the German teeth marks on the butt really floored me. I tried to put myself in the position where someone with murderous intent was close enough that I had to hit him in the teeth with my rifle butt. Then, I tried to imagine the Big Frankie I knew and loved in the position where he was forced to viciously knock someone's head off.

It's really a tough contradiction to get my head around. These kind, decent family patriarchs spent a significant part of their youths living in a war zone, fearing for their own lives and taking the lives other young men. And it happened again with my parents' generation in Vietnam and it's happening now to my generation in the Middle East.

I don't know that I came to any great revelations holding Big Frankie's rifle in my hands. So many thoughts and feelings flooded my brain, from admiration and gratitude for the bravery of so many soldiers to anger and frustration that war is still happening in the world. Mostly, I'm just sort of in awe. I'm in awe of all that the soldiers in the armed forces, past and present, are willing to sacrifice.

Thanks to all of you cats and kitties who came out to the 3rd Sort of Annual Moustache Show last night. It was really a blast - one of the most fun shows we've ever had.

Thanks so much to Hennessy's, D-Tension and WFNX, Noelle and her Organ Beats (who quite frankly used a lot fewer organs than I thought they would. Namely, none), the always tremendous Aloud (and their brave drummer Ross who came out as a homosexual in front of all those judgmental Faneiul Hall patrons. Kudos, Ross!) and our new friends The Sterns (who were absolutely fucking awesome).

A special thanks to our moustaches for being so great. See you next year, fellas!

Everyone have a good, safe long weekend. Enjoy that Cape traffic. I know I'm going to.

Tonight is the big show at Hennessy's. I've been focusing a lot on the moustache aspect of this show, because quite frankly moustaches interest me on both the esoteric and visceral levels. But there's something I've been neglecting a bit during the obligatory pre-show pimp period: how fucking awesome the band Aloud is.

We've played with Aloud a few times in the past. For years, I have counted them amongst my absolute favorite bands, being barely edged out in awesomeness by the 1985 Chicago Bears "Shufflin' Crew." A lot of people thought Mike Singletary's jazz bass solos on the second Shufflin' Crew album were a bit indulgent, but they just don't understand what true music visionaries the Bears defensive line really were.

But back to Aloud. You have not experienced true rock and roll fury until you've seen Jen rip shit up. She is an absolute force of nature on stage. And Henry's not a bad little performer himself. A chronic premature ejaculator from what I hear, but a nice little rock and roller. Seeing Aloud is worth the price of admission alone.

But that's not all you get. No, not by a longshot. I haven't seen The Sterns live, but word on the street is that they're about to take off like nobody's business. And Noelle's band Damone has already taken off into the stratosphere, achieving major label success and touring the world. Her side project The Organ Beats will most assuredly not suck.

And finally, you get to see four douchebags in moustaches. Eh. You can't win them all.

Start your Memorial Day weekend early with us. We'll see you tonight with moustaches a-blazin'.

It's official: the beard is gone. That's right, I'm in full-on moustache mode. Let me tell you - it. is. glorious. You cannot miss this show tomorrow night.

In other news, Scamper almost died last night. After a stirring rehearsal, we decided to stroll in the lovely evening weather to our local watering hole to have a few libations and watch the last few innings of the local nine's baseball contest. As we walked by a softball field, we heard the always dangerous call of "Heads!"

We look up at the last moment to see an errant softball raining down right upon us. We all flinched and contorted our bodies like cerebral palsy sufferers, preparing for our leather-bound fates. Luckily, the ball just missed us, smacking hard on the pavement right next to our feet. It was almost all over, just like that. That ball came this close to richocheting off of all four of our craniums, killing Scamper instantly.

After this near death experience, we were feeling understandably philosophical. We thought about our lives and our place in the universe. More importantly, we asked ourselves - what was the last thing we were talking about right before we died?

We were making fun of former Scamper bassist Marc Roderick's pathetic moustache during the first Moustache Show.

The lesson? Always be talking about something important when you're walking by a softball field. You don't want your last thoughts on this planet to revolve around Roderick and his terrible, TERRIBLE 'stache.

I've had it with this friggin' beard. It's keeping me up at night, as every turn of my head on the pillow feels like I'm exfoliating my tender pink skin by scraping across a manly pad of steel wool. No more. It's moustache time.

Deciding exactly when to shave the atrocious beard into a ridiculous moustache is a tough call. For all its physical discomfort, the beard (while horrific) is at least socially acceptable to look upon. It's not pretty, but it's not a cause for alarm. The moustache, on the other hand, might as well be a giant "I'm a registered sex offender" sign across my upper lip. The last time I walked the streets sporting a lip caterpillar, mothers would unconsciously pull their children closer. Seriously, I showed up at my apartment and Chris Hansen was there with a camera crew.

Still, the beard must go. I have turned into Dave Chapelle's crackhead character with all the face scratching... and of course, smoking crack. That doesn't really have anything to do with the beard. I just like crack.

I have decided the beard will be shorn tonight into a sexy moustache. I'll give you a report on how all the shaving goes. That's right - that's what I've been reduced to on this friggin' journal. Giving a bunch of strangers shaving reports.

Well, at least the rock and roll show will be good. Hennessy's Upstairs with The Sterns, Aloud and Noelle from Damone and her new band The Organ Beats. Start your Memorial Day weekend early, kittens.

Quick one for your Monday morning, as my beard has gone all Venom on me and started to retract into my face, infecting my very soul and causing me to be even more evil than usual. This morning, I garotted my upstairs neighbor with some dental floss.

The Boston Herald has named this Thursday's Moustache Show as their Show of the Week mostly due to the buzzy return of The Sterns. If you've studied anything about Scamper history (which still hasn't got enough votes in the House to be required as a subject in the junior high curriculum. Get out there and write your Congresspeople, people!), you'd know by now that we're more than happy to glom off the success of others.

So the Herald says come see us. And you should listen to them. They're almost an actual newspaper now.

I was going to write something very clever and hilarious this morning, but I realized that nothing I could come up with would make me laugh as much as this little photo (brought to my attention by the always hilarious Tim McIntire):



Have a great weekend, friends.

Facial hair update: with only one week until the Moustache Show, the fuzz on my previously adorable countenance has officially entered its "atrocious" phase. Seriously - I was drinking coffee on the street corner last night and someone dropped a quarter in my cup. Not an attractive look.

But the show, on the other hand, is going to be quite fetching. First off, we've got one of today's "buzziest" band The Sterns. Everyone who's everyone is talking about these cats. They're so hip that... wait a minute... damn - they're out of style again. Hold on... they're hot again now.

Then, we've got Noelle from MTV's favorite darlings Damone and her side project The Organ Beats. I heard through the grapevine that side projects are actually better than main projects. This bodes well for my upcoming bluegrass/new jazz fusion project with my uncle Bob called B&B's Terrible Music Factory.

And of course, we've got Aloud. What can you say about Aloud? Well, to address the rumors - Henry was eventually acquitted of all those charges, so give him a chance. And don't be so quick to judge. How do you know how'd you react if you were faced with that same situation in Guam? It's a known fact - kids are much sexier there.

Thursday May 24 at Hennessy's in the Faneiul Hall area. Come feel the magic.

It is a fabulous day. The "reverend" Jerry Falwell is dead. I haven't been this excited about a public figure ceasing to be since Nell Carter netted me 54 points in a celebrity death pool. I'm telling you - you don't really know yourself until you find yourself literally dancing around your office upon hearing the untimely death of an 80's sitcom star. It's not a great look.

But I have no such qualms celebrating the death of Falwell. Here are just a few of his hatest hits from throughout the years (courtesy of Slate.com):

On Sept. 11: "The abortionists have got to bear some burden for this because God will not be mocked. And when we destroy 40 million little innocent babies, we make God mad. I really believe that the pagans, and the abortionists, and the feminists, and the gays and the lesbians who are actively trying to make that an alternative lifestyle, the ACLU, People for the American Way - all of them who have tried to secularize America - I point the finger in their face and say 'you helped this happen.' " (Brendo's note: This was actually said on 9/13. Sensitive guy, huh?)

On AIDS: "AIDS is the wrath of a just God against homosexuals."

On homosexuality: "I believe that all of us are born heterosexual, physically created with a plumbing that's heterosexual, and created with the instincts and desires that are basically, fundamentally, heterosexual. But I believe that we have the ability to experiment in every direction. Experimentation can lead to habitual practice, and then to a lifestyle. But I don't believe anyone begins a homosexual."

On Martin Luther King Jr: "I must personally say that I do question the sincerity and nonviolent intentions of some civil rights leaders such as Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Mr. James Farmer, and others, who are known to have left-wing associations."

On Martin Luther King Jr., four decades later: "You know, I supported Martin Luther King Jr., who did practice civil disobedience."

On public education: "I hope I live to see the day when, as in the early days of our country, we won't have any public schools. The churches will have taken them over again, and Christians will be running them."

On the separation of church and state: "There is no separation of church and state."

On feminists: "I listen to feminists and all these radical gals. ... These women just need a man in the house. That's all they need. Most of the feminists need a man to tell them what time of day it is and to lead them home. And they blew it and they're mad at all men. Feminists hate men. They're sexist. They hate men; that's their problem."

On global warming: "I can tell you, our grandchildren will laugh at those who predicted global warming. We'll be in global cooling by then, if the Lord hasn't returned. I don't believe a moment of it. The whole thing is created to destroy America's free enterprise system and our economic stability."

On Bishop Desmond Tutu: "I think he's a phony, period, as far as representing the black people of South Africa."

On Islam: "I think Mohammed was a terrorist. I read enough of the history of his life, written by both Muslims and non-Muslims, that he was a violent man, a man of war."

On Jews: "In my opinion, the Antichrist will be a counterfeit of the true Christ, which means that he will be male and Jewish, since Jesus was male and Jewish."

Sadly, there is no Hell in which Falwell's soul is currently burning. But at least he's gone from the earth. And the world is a better place without him. Hooray!

Like many mediocre rockers by night, I'm a cubicle jockey during the day, excreting the 9-to-5 hours of my rapidly-escaping youth away like so much kidney waste. While working is, in the words of Bart Simpson, most definitely for chumps, office life does provide the occasional distraction from the monotonous march toward retirement/death.

Yesterday, two of the older ladies in my office got into a heated argument over when the best time was to buy stamps. Let me repeat that - they were arguing about stamps. At one point, it got so vicious that one of the women said - and I quote - "Forget it! You're not even listening to what I'm saying!" and stormed off. It was truly a tremendous moment in the history of office life.

I wish I had more details about the exact pros and cons of the "when is the best time to buy stamps?" debate, but I can't say I fully understood who was on what side. To be honest, I was having a hard time getting past the "Oh my God, they're yelling at each other about stamps" portion of my thought processes to get into any real nitty gritty semantic analysis.

Sometimes, after spending forty hours a week slowly sucking the life out of you, the day job gives back, just a little bit. Anyone else have any ridiculous stories from work they'd like to anonymously share with the group?

Big news for your happy Monday, friends. In case you haven't checked it out yet, Scamper has two new songs up for your discerning aural palate up on our MySpace page. So in between yanking your dignity-stick to dirty come-ons from MySpace's top-rated desperate Russian brides, feel free to drop on by our neck of the virtual woods and have a listen. In return, we'll politely pretend to actually care about your opinion. That's a free service we provide here at Scamper Industries.

In other, moustache-related news, this beard is driving me crazy. It's itchy as all get-out and makes me look like one of these douchebags that spends his weekends attending bluegrass festivals. Seriously, I found myself at Johnny D's in Davis Square this weekend and was shocked at how much I blended into the furry-faced decor. It was genuinely frightening.

I am quickly learning the awesome power of the scraggly mess on my face. For instance, I was sitting at breakfast on Sunday morning, minding my own business when a jazz brunch broke out around me. And this was in my own kitchen! Shocking, I say.

I will endure for another ten days. These are the sacrifices I make for the Moustache Show. I hope you gorgeous clean-faced jerks appreciate it.

We've got one of your classic "bad news/good news/bad news/mediocre news" situations for the big ol' Moustache Show on May 24 at Hennessy's in Faneuil Hall (notice the correct spelling, Nate a.k.a. "jerk").

The bad news: Rooftop Suicide Club finally followed through on the promise inherent in their name and are now officially dead to us. Due to their untimely demise, they will not be joining us for our night of rock and roll merriment.

The good news: The slot will be ably filled by The Organ Beats featuring superstar Noelle from the band Damone.

The bad news: As multi-talented as Noelle is, I doubt she'll be able to grow a moustache in time for the show.

The mediocre news: I'm having a salad with grilled chicken on it for lunch today. What? I told you it was mediocre.

Time for a quick facial hair update - as I put in the necessary growing time to have a semi-decent moustache for our 2007 Scamper Moustache Show at Hennessy's in the Fanuiel Hall area with Aloud, Rooftop Suicide Club and The Sterns, my beard has officially passed through the "older brother on Party of Five" phase and entered into its "George Michael in a rest stop men's room" period. For those of you feeling lucky, I expect the true scraggle of a homeless gentleman to appear somewhere around Wednesday of next week, so place your wagers accordingly.

Now, many of you have been asking my about my conspicuous silence regarding the return of Roger Clemens to the Yankees. While most of my burning soulhatred for that chunky cow-humper magically expelled from my body somewhere around September 2004, he still wrinkles my cumberbund a bit. I mean, the guy is a dick.

But even I've got to admit that the way they announced his return? Totally bad ass. Instead of holding a press conference for a bunch of Cheeto dust-covered reporters, they brought the announcement directly to the people at Yankee Stadium. While the Red Sox fan in my cringed, the pro wrestling fan in me "marked out." If the Sox want to compete, they're going to have to bring in either Pedro Martinez with a bionic arm or Lex Luger.

I love this game.

Early last week on my way home from my bi-weekly pedicure and eyebrow wax, I was walking behind a couple of young neighborhood gentlemen and was fortunate enough to overhear the following conversation:

Gentleman #1: You're such a douchebag.
Gentleman #2: You don't even know what a douchebag is.
Gentleman #1: Yes I do.
Gentleman #2: What is it then?
Gentleman #1: It cleans the vagina.
Gentleman #2: That's what a douche in general is. What's the actual douchebag?
Gentleman #1: What do you mean?
Gentleman #2: How does the bag come into it?
Gentleman #1: I don't know the specifics...
Gentleman #2: That's what I thought. Douchebag.

As I listened to them, I realized - for someone who uses the word "douchebag" as often as I do, perhaps I don't know the specific workings of the device as well as I should. Maybe I shouldn't be throwing the word around as cavalierly as I do. This guy would have totally schooled me.

I consider it a lesson learned.

A fun time was had by all at TT the Bears last night with some acoustic lovin' from our own Nate Diggity, Dave Mirabella, and Paul Janovitz. Lots of good music, good friends, and svelte women walking on my spine in the pool room. You know - your typical night of acoustic rock and roll.

In other news, the excellent Ultimate Warrior/Iron Sheik confrontation has been captured (of course) on video and put on the internet. Warrior is the one in the suit that looks nothing like the Ultimate Warrior anymore. Sheik is the one that looks exactly like the Iron Sheik and is crazy.

People, if you don't enjoy the Iron Sheik yelling at the Ultimate Warrior at an autograph signing, I really don't want to know you. It is the measuring stick by which I decide your worth as a human being. So choose wisely.

Be sure to check out your chum Nate's foray into solo acoustic wonderfulness TONIGHT at TT the Bears with Dave "Don't Call Me Mike" Mirabella and Paul "Don't Call Me Bill" Janovitz. It's TT's "Other Side of the Bear" series. It's a little more sensitive, perhaps even bordering on the romantic. So bring your scented bath oils and Nicholas Sparks paperbacks - you will get some sloppy lovin'. It's a bonafide brendo-tee (that's a combination of "Brendo" and "guarantee." It's my new thing that I'm working on.) It begins at 8:00 and it's only $3. Nate's on first in the "foreplay" slot. It's what he does best.

In other "wicked awesome" news, apparently retired wrestling legends The Ultimate Warrior and The Iron Shiek got into a confrontation at an autograph signing. According to PWInsider.com:

"Warrior got into an incident with the Iron Sheik on Sunday at a sports convention in Edison, NJ. Both men were there signing autographs. When Warrior saw Sheik, he demanded that Sheik leave, saying that Sheik had talked badly about him in the past. Sheik got upset and acted as if he was going to go after Warrior, but Warrior called security and the situation was resolved."

Even years after retirement, these guys just keep on giving the entertainment value. And you people wonder I love pro wrestling so much. See y'all tonight.

People, the countdown is on. May 24 at Hennessy's in the Fanuiel Hall area. Moustache Show '07. Why do I tell you this now? Because Brendo beard-growing season has officially begun.

I give you this warning just in case you happen to run to a hideous scraggly-faced beast roaming the streets of Boston this weekend. Rest assured, it is only your buddy Brendo and NOT Jason Bateman from Teen Wolf, Too! Just because I have a cousin named Scott that occasionally "van surfs" with a guy named Styles that tries way too hard and clearly can't see that his platonic buddy Boof is way hotter than the supposed "hot" blonde chick in the school play even though she is much sluttier - all these coincidences do not make me Jason Bateman from Teen Wolf, Too! Really, I cannot emphasize this point enough.

Speaking of wolves, you'll have reason to howl on Monday night at TT the Bear's when our own feral Nate Rogers plays a solo show with Paul Janovitz and Dave Mirabella, both of whom (in keeping with the wolf theme) have lupus. If you ask nicely, Nate may just grow a full beard for you during the course of his set. He has that kind of power.

It's time for a new feature on the ol' journal this morning: Things That I Just Don't Get. I'm not terribly bright. As a result, there quite a few things in this world of ours that I simply don't understand, so there's a very real possibility that this one's fixing to be a loooooong list. Let us begin at the beginning.

Here's what I just don't get: why isn't Bruce Campbell the biggest movie star ever ever ever?

Bruce Campbell is, in a word, awesome. After Evil Dead 2 and Army of Darkness came out, Hollywood executives should have beat down his door with piles of money, well-written scripts, and three-picture deals. But the fact that I had to hyperlink his name to his IMDB page speaks volumes. It's possible that many of my younger/dumber readers may not even know who Bruce Campbell is. And this, my justice-loving friends, is simply wrong. He should be at the top of the A-list. He should be the only movie star that matters. And yet, he's not. I just don't get it.

As proof, I present a list of movies in which Bruce Campbell would have been better than the actual star.

- Tango and Cash with Bruce Campbell in the Sylvester Stallone role cracking wise and blowing shit up with Kurt Russell. A kick-ass movie made even more kick-ass by the presence of Bruce Campbell? Oh, I think so.

- The Star Wars trilogy with Bruce Campbell as Han Solo. Blasphemy? Maybe so. But Bruce Campbell plays an excellent swashbuckler (as evidenced by his portrayal of the Daring Dragoon in the short-lived but excellent TV series Jack of All Trades). Harrison Ford? Overrated! Give me Campbell!

- The Morgan Freeman role in Driving Miss Daisy. Don't typecast Bruce Campbell just because he happens to be of Caucasian descent. God, you are so racist like that.

- Every Nicolas Cage movie. Use your imagination here and insert Bruce Campbell in every single role Cage has ever played. (I will accept arguments that Cage knocked Raising Arizona out of the park, but that's all!) Much better, right? And yes, I even include Leaving Las Vegas in that list. Imagine Bruce Campbell licking booze off Elisabeth Shue's tits. Now that's a sexy symbolic manifestation of the disease of alcoholism!

- It's ironic, but Bruce Almighty starring Bruce Campbell? I say absofrigginlutely. In fact, I'd replace him with Jim Carrey in everything except Dumb and Dumber and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. That's right - I'm suggesting Bruce Campbell is better than Jim Carrey. Deal with it.

But is Bruce Campbell the biggest star in Hollywood? No. He plays a bit part as the snooty usher in Spider-Man 2 and his biggest role of the past five years was playing Elvis in Bubba Ho-Tep. Why? I just don't get it.

Anyone want to help me out on this one?

A verbatim conversation with my boy Madden yesterday as the day was coming to a close:

Me: Have a good one.
Madden: You too - I'll see you Saturday.
Me: (frantically searching my date book) Wait - what's Saturday?
Madden: We're going to see Spider-Man 3.
Me: We are?
Madden: Absolutely.
Me: I mean, I will. But I don't remember ever talking about it.
Madden: In my dream last night, you agreed to see Spider-Man 3 with me on Saturday. I consider that a legally binding agreement.
Me: Madden, we've been over this dozens of times - I don't have the ability to read your mind, despite your continued insistence that I do.
Madden: Legally binding! See you Saturday!

So I guess I'm legally obligated to see Spider-Man 3 with Madden on Saturday. Any lawyers out there that can get me out of this one? I've been to the movies with Madden before - he gets a little handsy.

As is my custom, I was checking out the News of the Odd section on ol' Yahoo, which might as well just be called "Don't Visit India Ever Ever Ever" section. It seems like a good solid majority of the crazy shit that happens in the world happens in India.

We've got Richard Gere getting burned in effigy. (And not for his performance in Somersby, which was, in my view, a bit forced).

We've got a bride deciding her fiancee is too drunk at the ceremony and marrying his brother. (Vinny better watch his back on this one come November).

And how about a side order of a guy getting beheaded for not milking his cow?

And that's just the stuff from the Indian tourism board website. Hoo ah.

Yup. That's what I've got for you this morning. Disparaging an entire culture based on 6 paragraphs on the internet. I rule.