It's the Sixteenth Minute that really gets you

K-Fed's kick-game may be ridiculous, as Dave pointed out last week, but apparently his money-game, rap-game, food-game and booze-game are not so hot. First, the rapper had to give away tickets for a recent show at Chicago's House of Blues.

Then, according to Page Six, Brit Brit cut off the poor guy's credit cards and cell phone.

Even worse, he's now stooped to grubbing for food:

He and his entourage of eight wannabe rappers showed up at downtown burlesque joint Corio for a comped dinner that would have cost him $1,200, a source tells us. An eyewitness at the next table reports, "He just kept ordering more and more food and then asked for it to be put in containers so he could take the food out to the clubs with him. Then he started putting napkins in the tops of the tequila and vodka bottles and stuck them under his coat trying to sneak the liquor out with him. It was really unbelievable to watch.

Please, people. Don't just sit by and do nothing. Donate now. For the cost of a bottle of Cristal a day, you can make sure Federline gets fed.

A Conversation that May Have Taken Place between Sufjan Stevens’ Bass Player and His Wife the Evening after His Audition

An aprtment in Brooklyn. Early evening. Bass player sits at a table, looking into space. Wife enters.

Wife: Hey!

BP: (Blankly) Hey.

Wife: Well? How’d it go?

BP: It went, you know, alright.

Wife: Just alright?

BP: No, I mean it went good. Well. Really well, you know?

Wife: Do you think you got it?

BP: I do. I mean I did. I got it. I know I did. He told me.

Wife: He did!?!

BP: Yeah, he hired me on the spot.

Wife: So what’s wrong?

BP: Nothing.

Slight pause as BP wistfully looks out his apartment window.

Wife: No, seriously. What’s up? You’re usually jazzed when you get a spot. He’s not an asshole, is he? Like Bright Eyes?

BP: No, no. He’s nice. Totally nice. Unfailingly polite, really. It’s just that…

Wife: What?

BP: There’s a costume requirement.

Wife: A costume requirement?

BP: Yeah.

Wife: What is it?

BP: I have to wear butterfly wings.

Wife: Bufferfly wings?

BP: Yeah.

Wife: You mean, like, on your lapel? Like an AIDS ribbon?

BP: No, I mean like actual butterfly wings. Real wings. Wire and cloth. On my back.

Wife: On your back?

BP: At every show.

Wife: Why?

BP: I’m really not sure.

Wife: You didn’t ask?

BP: It was an audition. I didn’t want to seem like an asshole or like have him say something like, “You know if you don’t understand why I’m asking you to wear butterfly wings I don’t see how you can be in this band.” We need the money.

Wife: Well, it’s not that big of a deal. I guess. You wore that weird leather outfit when you played back-up for Placebo even though it made your chest look like a shriveled testicle.

BP: Yeah, but, at least I was in the background with them. They kept me in the dark. For this I’m going to be right out front. Playing bass. Wearing butterfly wings.

Wife: Yep.

BP: Yep.

Slight pause.

BP: It is weird, right? I mean I’m not just being a hipster douche bag, am I?

Wife: Oh, no. It’s weird.

BP: Okay. I just wanted to make sure.

Saturday Night's Allright for Barrelhousing

Come join your favorite little literary mag this Saturday night, from 8 til 10 at the Big Hunt in DC (1345 Conn Ave, Dupont Circle south exit on the metro's red line) as we celebrate the release of our new issue! There will be readings, hair metal, quizzes, stuff, and revelry.

Shitloads of revelry.

What's the deally? Kate Stein will be reading from one of Issue Three's best stories, "Resin." We'll also be reading some Ed Asner poetry, some normal poetry, and we'll give you a special sneak preview of our next issue with Paul Maliszewski (whose last name we can now type really fast; seriously, you should see it) reading from his story "Dear President Bush."

And did we mention there will be hair metal?

Come join us at the Big Hunt, 1345 Conn. Ave, Washington, DC (we'll be in the basement), from 8 til 10. Readings start at 8:30. Barrelhousing goes all night long.

Oh, we'll charge you a cool five bucks at the door. All that cash will go to help offset printing costs, which we pay out of our own, mostly empty, sad little pockets.

Come on out on Saturday. Bring everybody you know! Hope to see you there!

K-Fed May Be on His Way to the Poorhouse, but His Kick-Game is Ridiculous

In all the election news last night you might have caught this insistent scroll just below the chattering heads of Chris Mathews and Keith Olbermann: Britney Spears files for Divorce from Dancer/Rapper Kevin Federline.

As bad a week as its been for the Republicans, it may have been a worse one for your boy Federline. And "rapper/dancer?" Who says MSNBC has no sense of humor.

I haven't had the pleasure of listening to that album yet, but believe me, I will. In the meantime, Salon has this fantastic and well-timed interview with the spectacularly self-deluded Mr. Federline.

If Borat shows us anything, it's that the best way to expose a shallow, stupid, pompous dickhead is to just ask them questions and let them talk. They will do all the work for you. And so let me share my favorite little exchange with K-Fed, for the rest of all y'all haters:

Federline:...I look past all the other stuff. I don't care about your money. I don't care about your fame. I don't care about any of that.

Salon: The watch you're wearing is worth more money than I've made in the last five years.

Federline: That's my baby. Whenever I made some money that's the first thing I went and bought.

Salon: So there are certain aspects of the lifestyle you probably enjoy.

Federline: Of course, of course. I have my fetishes like everybody else does. My shoes -- my kick game is ridiculous.

Salon: How many shoes do you have?

Federline: Probably like 80 to 100 pairs. My watch game is ridiculous -- just jewelry in general. It's an investment. I bought this [points to his watch], and it's already gone up in value. All the jewelry I'm wearing has already gone up in value.

Salon: You're not planning on selling it anytime soon are you?

Federline: Hell no. I ain't getting rid of it. I'm going to go out and get some more...

Good luck with that, douche bag. Good luck with that.

Wing-Nut Strikes Back

Hey, remember this guy, our June 2 Wing Nut of the Week?

Apparently when he said the church needs "more than moral values, it needs customer value," what he meant was "great deals on meth and gay hookers."

Or, well, he's still denying that he had sex with the gay hooker. He only got a massage. And bought some drugs. Which he didn't take! He threw them right away! Pinky swear!

Welcome (back) to the O.C., bitch!

What the fuck is going on with The O.C.?

I stopped watching roughly midway through last season, at the point when Marissa switched to a public school populated by the entire cast of West Side Story. The show seemed to have lost its mooring, and its sense of humor, so I felt like maybe the best thing was to take a little break. You know, love something, set it free, blah blah blah.

But I couldn't stay away forever, so last night I tuned into the season opener to see what my old pals in Newport were up to. I guess if I want to keep watching, I'm going to need to spend a few hours at Television Without Pity, because Jesus I have no idea what's what anymore. I mean I'd heard through the grapevine that Marissa was dead, but I'm not sure what's going on with the rest of the characters.

Ryan's living in the maintenance room of a dingy bar and bare-knuckle boxing sweaty, shirtless dudes in a cage.

Seth's working at a comic book store instead of attending college.

That ultra-chipper student government girl who last I saw was just a one-dimensional bit player is now apparently Summer's super-best-friend.

And Summer's going to Brown, where for some reason she's turned into a caricature of an environmental activist. Also, her dad -- who I'm pretty sure used to be played by a different actor -- is married to Julie Cooper?

I mean, seriously, I know I missed some episodes, but ... whuh?

I'm willing to give the show another chance, even though last night's episode was pretty ridiculous. I mean, bare-knuckle boxing? Really? And did I mention that the Cohens attempted to get Ryan back via sappy autobiographical comic book presentation? Did I mention that the kids at Brown were playing a dijiridu? Or that this led to the following line of dialogue: "But Summer, it's your turn to jam on the dij."

So, yeah, pretty ridiculous. But that last line gives me hope that maybe the show is going to start being funny-ridiculous again instead of just ridiculous-ridiculous. One can always hope.

Dr. Jones Denied Tenure

File this hilarious article under "I wish I thought of this first, though I had 20+ years to do so and didn't, so maybe I should just pack it in"

Relevant Excerpt:

"Dr. Jones's interpersonal skills and relationships are no better. By Dr. Jones's own admission, he has repeatedly employed an underage Asian boy as a driver and "personal assistant" during his Far East travels. I will refrain from making any insinuations as to the nature of this relationship, but my intuition insists that it is not a healthy one, nor one to be encouraged. Though the committee may have overstepped the boundaries of its evaluation, I find it pertinent to note that Dr. Jones has been romantically linked to countless women of questionable character, an attribute very unbecoming of a Marshall College professor. One of these women was identified as a notorious nightclub singer whose heart he attempted to extract with his hands, and whom he then tried, and failed, to lower into a lake of magma. Another was a Nazi scholar he was seen courting just last year who, I'm told, plummeted into a fathomless abyss at Dr. Jones's hand. And, of course, no one can forget the slow decline and eventual death of Professor Abner Ravenwood after Dr. Jones's affair with Abner's underage daughter was made public, forcing her to emigrate to Nepal to escape the debacle."