August 24, 2005


Sometimes pain has to be shared. Not like a gift or anything. Just as a measure of dispersing your own emotional debris.

Like the pain I experienced when I tripped across a link to this photo of prop comic Carrot Top working out. (Took a while for my retinas to recover before I noticed the background. Apparently he chooses to work out in Health Magazine Hell.)

Thank God it was in relation to this hysterical story in the Los Angeles Times by Joel Stein, who went to the gym and worked out with Top.

Favorite passage:

After doing some crunches, Top cracked open a cold can of creatine and we headed outside into the crisp Costa Mesa air. And I thought to myself, why can't Carrot Top be a weightlifter, or even an action hero? Why do we allow ourselves to be completely defined by the sliver of identity we've gotten approval for? Why should I have to end every column with a cheap joke?

Then I looked at Carrot Top's hair and his mascara and his giant arms. The man looked like a Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade float of Lucille Ball.

As I said, I felt the need to disperse this visual toxin to friends, each of whom recoiled in horror after seeing the link I'd sent them.

Best response came from Rich at work:

Dude……Carrot Top shaved his chest. He looks like a freakin’ Abercrombie ad.

Must gouge out eyes.

……all good fodder for the “Behind the Music” style documentary of his eventual slide from the pedestal of comedic greatness.

Posted by Jeff at August 24, 2005 08:02 AM | TrackBack
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