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Having survived a trip to the heart of Amish darkness last week, Bryan and I once again mounted our mini-van and headed to another dance competition in Nashville, TN—this one was at the Grand Ole Opry (or “The Grand AOL Opry” as my text messaging spell check kept insisting, giving me a possible glimpse into the not-so-distant future). To catch you up to speed, here’s what I’m involved in:

Terrifying, right? It’s weird how things work out. I first met Dan Raleigh (aka, Fred Price) when I worked for Wizard Magazine…my friend Junkstore Jesse Thompson and I picked his hilarious video Supercycle USSR as Wizard’s “Direct to Video” contest winner. We flew him out to Chicago to collect his prize, and Dan and I immediately learned we shared the same love for things like the Beastmaster and stuffing large plants into hotel elevators. Now, years later, he’s kind of my boss. Check out his winning Wizard video. I should mention that Josh Powers (seen below) is also my boss, which is AWESOME. Do you have a cooler boss than this? I don’t know, has your boss ever stolen a Russian super bike? There’s something else familiar about these two videos…listen closely.

Yep, after you hear the narrator from Supercycle, it’s hard to take the dance commercial seriously ever again. Hooray, Easter Eggs!

Now, on to Nashville…..Click through to hear about the Dukes of Hazzard museum bathroom incident, which country music stars are dicks, and why Tupac and milk go together so well…

This image is probably the single greatest reason Nashville’s Dukes of Hazzard Museum is free of admission. I’m not sure what I’m looking at here, but I am sure I don’t like it. I’ll confess we didn’t even want to go the Dukes of Hazzard museum, but we both had to take massive shits and when you see a sign from the road that says “COOTER’S PLACE,” by law you have to pull over.

Shown: “Heh. It’s slang for ‘vagina,’ get it? Let’s print 10,000 of those bad boys.”

Someone spent hours and hours cross-stitching the Dukes of Hazzard theme song for this exhibit. If this doesn’t strike you as depressing, then you must be the kind of person itching to make a hook-and-latch rug of Robert Pattison’s face.

Shown: “Does your Confederate Flag lose it’s flavor on the bedpost overnight?” A healthy child’s bedroom, circa 1983. Conspicuously absent from the museum were Coy and Vance, and these assholes.

After we wrecked Cooter’s bathroom, we stole matching jackets and got out of there (Upon seeing the restroom devastation, Boss Hog threw his hat at the ground soooooo hard). I have to admit, the toilet flushing noise at the Dukes’ museum bathroom was pretty interesting. As was the disgusting alternative to Irish Springs by the sink.

Our next stop was the Willie Nelson museum. For half a minute or so, I considered paying $5 to see the pool table from Red Headed Stranger or whatever. But having already interviewed Willie Nelson, I figured that was souvenir enough. Also, they wouldn’t sell us this giant-ass photo of, what appears to be, a vintage ad for Willie Nelson’s Stardust Memories Shampoo.

They also had plenty of this, which we’re just going to smile at, ignore and pretend we didn’t see. When in Rome, you know?

This terrifying, paint-by-numbers visage greets each visitor upon their entrance. It’s not without its charm, so I had something similar painted up for the Chris Ward museum entrance as well.

Our quest to find the Grand Ole Opry was a little like Pee Wee’s quest for the Alamo’s basement. You see the REAL Grand Ole Opry isn’t where the New Old Opry is. The Old Grand Old Opry is now called the Ryman Auditorium. And guess what was waiting for us when we got there? A couple of locked doors and this propped up in the corner of the building.

Shown: My heart going boom, boom, boom! Grab your things, I’ve come to take you home!

So, yes… I rescued this book from the Grand Ole Opry: “The Secret Life of Peter Gabriel.” Part of me wants to believe there’s an organization that distributes these like Jack Chick tracts around the city. The back cover promises insights into “the threat of ruin over the WOMAD festival he championed.” OOOO! JUICY! Also, “A broken marriage and the therapy that followed.” OH, DO GO ON!

Bryan and I set up shop underneath a large portrait of Minnie Pearl, who I always loved growing up because she reminded me of my Grandmother (my grandmother also wore large hats with affixed price tags, which seemed eccentric and cute when I was a child until I learned she was a serial hat shoplifter wanted at nine “Lids” outlets in the greater Iowa area). During the entirety of the show, I was only called “incompetent” once (but never “impotent,” which is a victory in my book) by a deranged Dance Dad, and I also learned that Southern Dance Moms are one of three things: crazy, hot or crazy hot.

Shown: “Your Google search for ‘Southern Dance Moms’ returned 1 result.”

I also chatted up an usher and Johnny Cash look-a-like who has been at the Opry for quite a while. He told me a semi-uncomfortable story about Charley Pride, and confided in me that Kenny Rogers and Roy Clark are dicks in real life. We really hit it off and talked about life, love and music for 45 minutes. The next morning, he wouldn’t let me bring my coffee into the Opry, even though I was part of the crew. “No Outside Drinks,” he told me, sternly pointing at a sign. I have a feeling that, somewhere, Kenny Rogers is telling a story about some dick usher he met in Nashville who made him throw away his ginger pop.

It’s high-time I gave a shout out to a store called HAPPY JAPAN, that I encountered in the middle of nowhere on the way to my first-ever Piggly Wiggly. They have a really great online store that has Sushi Stuffed Animals and Black Black gum. Go check ‘em out! And guess where you can’t buy Black Black Gum? Piggly Wiggly. Nice segue, right? But Ho-Lee Shit you can find a whole lot more...at just one store! I have ALWAYS wanted to go to a Piggly Wiggly. Did you know there’s a Piggly Wiggly on top of a mountain in Tennessee, and it’s the only place in the state you can find Mr. Pibb? Believe it. The place is  7-8 aisles of goddamned shopping magic.

Shown: Your government and a cartoon pig in unholy legion together.

Unfortunately, the one thing I was looking for wasn’t at the Piggly Wiggly, but rather at a gas station in Kentucky. Now, to me, this is a bit overpriced: Any truck driver at a Lion’s Den Adult Bookstore down the interstate would give me the same thing for free.

Of course the absolute best part of the whole journey was staying with Junkstore Jesse and his wonderful wife, who even let Bryan stay even though they don’t know his horrible, horrible secret.

Besides, where else do you get to see this first thing in the morning?…

Shown: Strictly 4 My C.O.M.P.L.E.T.E Breakfast

…Or spend time with the legendary Dick Towel?!?!?!?

Shown: Actual sizes.

\

YA’LL COME BACK NOW FOR NEXT WEEK’S JOURNEY INTO ST. LOUIS, MO!

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Left: What I’m filming every weekend. Right: “I was just doing my job.”

We rolled into Lancaster, PA last week right in the heart of Amish Country. And that night, there was a funny video going around the YouTube about our sudden situation. Except it’s not so funny when you’re sitting in a hotel in Pennsylvania, buried under one of the worst snowstorms in US history.

So besides being stuck in a town with hundreds of dancing children, it got stranger. In fact, everything in this town seemed…very not right. And that’s before I saw an Amish family going down the road, smiling from ear to ear, bundled up and holding a giant keyboard they’d just bought from Target. The town next to Lancaster is called “Intercourse,” for one. Imagine my disappointment after Bryan and I followed the sign for “INTERCOURSE: 10 MILES.”

“Intercourse: Lancaster County is about Families Doing Things Together.”

Then the hits just kept on coming…no pun intended. Was Pennsylvania founded by 13 year old boys?

And, of course, to get to Intercourse you have to first drive through Blue Ball (traffic is really backed up there. Just painful). From there you can get to Paradise, and eventually Fertility.

This is all very unfortunate. Probably as unfortunate as the town’s main liquor store being literally right next door to its rehab center. “Lord grant me the serenity to…aww, fuck it. Jager bombs are calling my name!”

THIS WEEK’S STOP: NASHVILLE, TN…where I’ll be staying with Junkstore Jesse! Stay tuned….

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Being somewhat of a talented Greeting Card designer, I decided to do a little Freelance work for Carlton Cards in Cleveland, OH to expand this fantastic line:

CLICK THROUGH FOR MORE!

And then one that doesn’t split hairs…

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You know what they call a “cheeseburger” in Minnesota? A Juicy Lucy. It’s a hollow hamburger filled with deadly molten cheese and IT’S DELICIOUS. The problem is, I saw this sign in Wisconsin…

…And their Juicy Lucys are a little different, apparently. If it’s three things people love in Wisconsin, it’s cheese, Tommy Bartlett’s Robot World, and eating a gas station cheeseburger after a good piss. Mmm…juicy! [SAD TROMBONE!]

And, while we’re at it, there’s nothing I’d rather drink after changing a little boy’s diaper than warm, acidic Land O Lakes orange juice. Come to think of it, there’s no phrase I’d rather see than “Grip N’ Go Milk” as I’m wiping down a baby’s frank and beans. So, if I’m reading this right, we’ve got milk, milk, Orange-ade, and down below where the fudge is made. Some poetic soul at a Baraboo, Wisconsin Quick Stop must be very pleased with himself. [GRIPPY TROMBONE!]

And speaking of things I wouldn’t put down my throat (Cock Soup notwithstanding), there’s this drink from my local coffee shop: The Ball Dropper. Actually, this drink is pretty damn good. And before I was even halfway done, I sounded like Barry White. When I was completely done, I had crossed into Tay Zonday territory. Thank you, Ball Dropper! I am victorious over nature. [DEEEEEEP RIIVVVERRRRR TROMBONNNNEEE!]

In keeping with the food theme: here’s one meal of a man, Tom Selleck. But why isn’t his $9.99 action move “Night Passage” selling? Is it because it’s got a pink border, and joins movies like Legally Blonde and the Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants in the “Girls Night” series of DVDs? Because I can’t imagine a better idea than getting all the girls together, popping open some Jack Daniel’s Raspberry Coolers, and throwing in the ol’ Jesse Stone: Night Passage (the prequel to “Stone Cold,” where Selleck “relocates to a small town only to find himself immersed in one murder mystery after the other.”) But the only way you can find Tom Selleck’s Girls Night Out-approved action fest is to swing by Office Max, where this display resides. Let’s say I enter “Girls Night Out DVD” in my GPS. And lets say my GPS then directs me to an office supply store, and to a romantic comedy DVD kiosk within that store, and then to a pink-bordered, made for TV Tom Selleck cop movie. It is at this point that I light my GPS on fire, collect the insurance money and sue Google Maps for gross and malicious incompetence. [SELLECK TROMBONNNNE!]

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If there were a way to replay the noise Super President’s doughy sidekick makes right before Steel Man punches him in the face, over and over on an endless loop, I think I would be the happiest person alive. It’s kind of like “HOO GEET!” or “HOON GLEEK!” I’m sure his voice directions were great:

Director: Ok Jerry, in this scene, Steel Man—who is clearly not a man by any stretch—walks into the “impenetrable base.” He does this by walking through the open door. Then, he punches you in the jaw, not killing you instantly. You need to make a noise that captures this.

Voice Actor: How about, Hoon Geet?

Director: Hmm…”Hoon Geet.” I like it, but maybe give me something in a “Hool Jeet.” Oh, hell, you’re the actor: Hoon Geet it is.

Voice Actor: Then what should I say?

Director: Oh nothing. Then we have this scene where the unstoppable Steel Man—who could snap a man like a Baked Lays with his bare hands and is immune to bullets—well, he’s gonna get scared off by a dinging bell, after going to all the trouble of breaking into the place.

I would like to add, upon watching this again, that though NO SECURITY SYSTEM ON EARTH is a match for this robot, Super President sends his powerless sidekick “Jerry” into the fray and is all, “Ehh, call me if you see the killer robot. And remember, he’s got super powers.” Jerry’s just staring at his walkie talkie and pissing his pants.

By the way, if you think the phrase “You were wrong, Sales,” is just bad grammar on the robot’s part, you probably need to watch this post first.

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And speaking of crappy animation, I guess it’s a good time to announce that I’ve been pegged as the new Animation Guy over at UGO.com! Thanks to my time over at Worst Cartoons Ever, I’ll have a weekly column discussing everything cartoon related. I think the column is tentatively called “Celling Out,” which is a pun on animation cels and the lengths I’ll go to in order to make a buck (Sean T. Collins originally penned this one, I believe. I put out a call-out for catchy names amongst friends. UGO didn’t go for my suggestion…”Acme Sweatshop”…or my friend Ryan’s suggestion, “Cock Garage.” But I’m still holding out hope for “Cock Garage.”)

Also, you’ll probably see classic Chris Ward edits like this as I go:

Translation: Hands off the Masturbating Bear, scum!

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