Emmy Live Blog

11:10: I'd complain about the baffling oversaturation of Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" in popular culture, but fuck it, that song's the tits, drunken college students doing their damnedest to ruin it notwithstanding. Sopranos wins, goodnight, Gracie.

11:02: Thank God 30 Rock won. If freaking Two and a Half Men did, I'd lose faith in... whatever nebulous governing body it is that votes on these stupid awards.

10:49: Dead People Montage: I barely want to live in a world without Larry "Bud" Melman, but one without him and Charles Nelson Reilly? Christ, bring on the suicide booths.

10:42: Two things: A) How don't you give Hugh Laurie a joke? He's the funniest person they have handy that isn't Elaine Stritch. B) If I never hear Sally Field again it'll be t-- hey, they cut her off and went to a static, silent shot. Thanks, Emmys!

10:38: Does it ever seem like Colbert and Stewart are trying way, way too hard?

10:30: I'm pretty sure the only people who watch The Amazing Race are the people who vote for the Emmys. Or the people who make the damn thing, since there are about nine thousand of them on stage right now. Way to drag, like, best boys up there, guys.

10:17: Elaine Stritch is funnier than everyone else on this damned show put together.

10:12: Were... were there any other nominees in the category Al Gore's heretofore unheard of website just won an Emmy for? Did they just make up a category to get Gore a cheap pop? Did MySpace Tom really lend this any credibility?

Tony Bennett, by the way, says go to Target. So get your ass up there, because that guy only likes things that're great.

10:00: Jesus God almighty, could we get a few more awards for miniserii, movies and dramatic specials? Not to sound like Lewis Black by way of Andy Rooney, but have you ever noticed that there're like fifty awards for this but Guest Actor, Actress, and Best Animated Series get bumped to the pre-show with all the Best Setting Up Lights for an Award Show awards?

9:48: To anyone who hasn't seen Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee: Spoiler Alert, the indians die.

9:31: Whomever this head of the academy cat is, he couldn't look more like Chicken Boo if he started pecking at the ground for feed.

9:22: I want one - JUST ONE - person to enter through that trap door like they were Rey Mysterio. Just launched out full-tilt, accompanied by fireworks and shitty music. BOOYAKA BOOYAKA SIX ONE NINE.

9:10: ROBERT DUVALL WANTS ME TO DIE.

9:00: If you're playing by the rules and have a black hole-like gaping maw like mine, Robert Duvall just cost you like three-quarters of a beer.

8:51: Tony Bennett's awesome, but this bit would've been a thousand percent more notable had they opened on Alec Baldwin pretending to be Tony Bennett. Incidentally, this has got to be putting Britney Spears on extra secret double suicide watch.

8:40 I hate to keep the joke pattern going, but it's Hiegl's come a long way since "My Father, the Hero"

8:30: Lowell wins Emmy, David Schramm kills hooker.

8:29: Thomas Hayden Church has come a long, long way from Lowell...Actually, nevermind I was thinking of Kevin Bacon.

8:26 Props to Katherine Hiegl for calling out the announcer for mispronouncing her name.

8:25: Jamie Pressley wins an Emmy. Yeah, Poison Ivy 3 totally paid off.

8:22: Paula Abdul misses a joke about her because she's clearly about to blow a guy.

8:17: Locke came dressed as a nightclub. And his wife looked like she was about to split open and reveal Quaid trying to get through Mars airport security.

Every time: fuck Ray Romano...and Jeremy Piven

8:05: Is Seacrest's tie made of electrical tape? Better question: Why is Ryan Seacrest hosting this? What did we do wrong?

8:00: AMENDMENT TO DRINKING GAME RULES: Drink whenever there are freaking animated characters on a live action show. Drink whenever there is a musical number. Hell, just start drinking and keep it going.

7:50: Thanks for the countdown clock, Fox, I'd totally forgotten when eight o'clock happened.

Emmy Drinking Game Rules:

Chug while the "Get Off Fucking Stage, Speechy" music plays
Shot whenever an "Ugly Betty" castmember appears on screen
Shot whenever someone whose breasts you have seen, whether in person, in print, or electronically is on screen
Shot whenever a winner thanks God
Shot whenever a winner thanks an agent or lawyer over a spouse or significant other
Shot whenever someone mentions that the show is "green" this year
Three Shots whenever a winner indicts a politician for any reason
One Shot per namedrop during a winning speech
Two Shots every time you actually laugh at something you were meant to laugh at
Shot for every bombed joke

7:40: In manlier news, the lowly Oakland Raiders very nearly just beat the Broncos in overtime, but their attempted field goal bounced off the top of the freaking goalpost, in flagrant violation of any kind of logic and, I think, physics.

Meanwhile, some people are wearing dresses made by other people.

7:35: Jon Stewart appears and college students everywhere shrieked because he's their mouthpiece. A mouthpiece that tastes like Craig Kilborn.

7:25: You think if Omar Epps asked for a ridiculous amount of money to come back to House, they'd call his bluff and replace him with Wesley Snipes? The irony would be delicious.

7:20: Do you think David Schramm wants to kill Tony Shalhoub? Or at least see him get badly hurt? Where's Roy's Emmy, huh? Where?

7:19: Joely Fisher looks like two bald men are struggling to get out of her dress. I stole that joke from Brad Garrett because just like Ray Romano stole his will to live by being the second least funny comedian in Hollywood.

7:14: The pre-show is in full swing, with a scrub squad of interviewers asking who people are wearing. I don't care, you don't care; I'm reasonably sure even God, all-seeing and everywhere at once, is ignoring this in favor of the late football games.

Quick note: I totally thought Denis Leary was Carson from Queer Eye for one baffling second.

7:00: The Drudge Siren, America's least productive blog, is live blogging America's least productive television season. A season where NBC decided it didn't have a budget for new sitcoms and decided to dump all its money into reality television. Hopefully we can continue this practice in futility, much like the Roman Empire right before it fell: weak, fat and really homoerotic.

America! Listen! This is Important!

For many months have I talked about restarting this crappy blog. All it took to push me over the edge was the looming fate of a major black athlete.

So Mike Vick, thank you. You may be going to jail now that all your friends have turned on you, but you saved an occasionally funny blog. Think of us when you're strip searched upon arrival to your low security jail. Think of us when you trade your autograph for cigarettes. Think of us when people are watching you pee.

Does it make me a bad person that I really want the Cowboys to trade for him right now? Sure he's over-rated, but is this worse than Michael Irvin's cocaine habit? Is this worse than finding Nate Newton with two hundred and thirteen pounds of marijuana? A little, I suppose.

Newsflash: For God's sake, Wikipedia can be edited by anybody with hands

Fox News is running with an "exclusive" right now about a mysterious Wikipedia edit that would seem to have confirmed Nancy Benoit's death over half a day before police found the bodies.

Here's the edit in question. For those of you unable or unwilling to click through links, I'll summarize, as I love you. Our intrepid internet wizard added "stemming from the death of his wife, Nancy," to a sentence explaining that Benoit wouldn't be appearing on that night's WWE pay-per-view due to "personal issues."

Now, this was one of a bunch of theories floating around that night - wrestlers no-showing is kind of a big deal, "personal issues" is one Hell of a blanket cause, and wrestling fans are occasionally given to bouts of rumor-mongering and hyperbole. "His wife got in a car accident" was the most common explanation for his absence, but I actually heard "he got home and his family was throwing up blood" more than once, and that's now a slightly less insane alternative to the truth.

Anyway, it turns out our anonymous friend, identified only by an IP address, was actually right, even if he was just groping in the dark or just repeating a rumor he'd heard on some backwater forum. Since a story about a guy who goes by "The Canadian Crippler" when he isn't going by "The Rabid Wolverine" killing his family and leaving bibles beside their corpses before hanging himself on his weight machine wasn't nearly sensational enough, somebody thought they'd have to add an air of freaking prognostication to the mix, and now a sentence fragment's been spun into some kind of wacky conspiracy theory.

The post came from Connecticut! WWE Headquarters is in Connecticut! Maybe they knew! And then ran an in-hindsight extremely poorly-thought-outthree-hour tribute to a child killer anyway, just to cover their tracks.

Look, anybody can dismiss the edit as gossip or rumor or blatant lucky-guessery, but it takes a special kind of person to think it's news. They went to the trouble of tracing the IP address' location, but nobody thought to, I dunno, click on the damn thing on the Edit History page? I mean, that only shows you every edit anyone's ever done from that address, which is a pretty good barometer of their reliability.

You take one look at this thing and through the magic of Internet Profiling, you know it's a freaking fourteen-year-old from Naugatuck, Connecticut. He edited the Government section of the Naugatuck page twice, once to swap out the actual mayor and deputy mayor for what're presumably the names of his buddies and make someone else the president of the "Board of WINNNNNNNGS" and another time to add a vice president to that same storied group. I guess to have an order of succession in place in case of assassination or impeachment. Point is, ain't nobody editing that page unless they live in or around Naugatuck. So that settles how I know where he lives - how'd I scientifically determine his age?

Well, he's edited the page on the African wild ass, and extremely endangered species, four times, once to replace the entire page with the word "piss." He's also edited Ron Artest's page five times, generally to point out that Artest is, in fact, a black guy in the most offensive way he can think of. So he's either fourteen or a jackass. I'll give him the benefit of the doubt, I guess.

Point is, how the Hell do you look at that and think "damn, maybe the same guy who thought the world needed to know exactly how hard he wants to bone Stacy Keibler has some kind of inside track on this story!"?

Edited 6-29 to add: Well, I'll be, it was all a "terrible coincidence."

Taking a bullet for you, our readers

We here at the Siren, when we can be bothered to post at all, post entirely for your benefit, dear readers. To that end, we have taken part in a cruel experiment, an experiment waiting to sink its ground-corn teeth into you when you least expect it - while you shop for groceries.

It's tempting, I know - you see a mysterious Doritos bag, all black and labeled with a callsign that'd be more at home emblazoned on the side of some kind've superplane the Skunk Works would've banged out to show Stalin what's what - but don't be suckered in by the air of enigma. Suffer not these chips marketers dare call "X-13D."

The gimmick's simple - you eat the chips, you make use of your tongue to divine whatever the Hell the flavor was intended to be, and you name them accordingly by submitting suggestions on the Doritos website.

The problem is, the chips taste like balls.

I mean, just utterly, impossibly bad. The closest to a compliment they received in our initial tasting was "they taste like Arby's." But even that was tempered by the follow-up, "until the aftertaste, then they taste like ass."

That said, I don't think they'll like my suggestions:
Edit: Two and a half hours later, and my hand still smells like these accursed doom tortillas. To put this in perspective, I've since washed my hands at least twice and eaten a tuna sandwich. When the stink of your chips cannot be defeated by the tandem attack of chopped-up fishy bits and soap, you've invented the food equivalent of mass murder.

Double damn it.

Mr. McMahon hoax?

For any of you watching WWE's Raw on Monday night or visiting the WWE website, you saw Vince McMahon presumably killed in an explosion. After calling every local Wilkes-Barre, PA hospital that would conceivably take a burn victim, I have come to the conclusion that Mr. McMahon is badly burned, but still alive. Stay tuned to the Drudge Siren for all the latest information on this possible hoax.

Bobby Flashpants!

You're a homo.