welcome to home

hows about now? shall we give this another shot?

thefeard is in the building.

no it's not.

this blog.

it hasn't been around in a while.

but it's back.

it's back baby!

Guess who's coming to dinner...

So, I believe it's time that The Feard come back from its hibernation. The Feard is happy to be returning, though in all honesty, it can't recall why it left in the first place. It probably had something to do with a rusty vagina. Most problems usually do.

Anyfuck, be on the look out for a new look, new content and new reasons to fear the Feard.

How insane!

How nuts is this?

2005 Waste of My Time Awards

Twenty-five comments about the 2005 American Music Awards:

1. Mariah Carey hurts my head.
2. Lindsay Lohan should go back to doing nothing.
3. Kenny Chesney and Will Smith were sitting together. Are they an item now?
4. Cyndi Lauper is amazing. Take Bono's World Peace for the Mothership Prize away and give it to her.
5. Gwen Stefani. Give me a break.
6. "R. Kelly couldn't be here tonight, because he is trapped in a closet. We accept this award on his behalf."
7. Babyface? More like Oldmanbutt.
8. Serena Williams is 13 feet tall.
9. Shakira? More like Shitkira.
10. Why is Nicole Ritchie the special Utah correspondent? Come to think of it, why is there a special Utah correspondent?
11. First and foremost, God doesn't give a shit that you, Will Smith, thanks you. He's busy causing trouble in other lands, far, far away. And here, too. (See No. 2)
12. Get Will Smith off the motherfucking stage. He's not Bono. He's not even Cyndi Lauper. He's an asshole. Go thank God or something.
13. Missy Elliott on crutches. Let the hilarity ensue.
14. Who's this guy hosting? Oh, why it's Cedric the Un-entertaining.
15. Gretchen Wilson looks like my old Polish cleaning lady. That lady knew how to be Polish. And eat raw garlic.
16. "Unfortunately, The Black Eyed Peas couldn't be here tonight. They're stuck in a Best Buy commerical. We accept this award on their behalf."
17. The Eurythmics are awesome. Take Cyndi's award away and give it to Annie and Dave. Sweet bands are made of these.
18. Kay Jewelers and Babyface are presenting the greatest moments in American Music Awards history. Do they realize no one cares?
19. Who is that alien John Stamos is standing next to? Catherine someone. Catherine the Alien.
20. Oh, look! Macy Gray is standing on her own! She's been practicing.
21. Backstreet's back! And no! It's NOT alright!
22. Paris Hilton is presenting with the plumber from "Desperate Housewives." He's hot. She's not.
23. Kelly Rowland of Destiny's Child fame should stop talking. She's not the one we paid to listen to all these years, and she's not the one we tuned in for tonight.
24. I'd usually say after a shitty 54-hour awards show, "Well at least Joan Rivers was funny." But this time, no Joan Rivers.
25. The letter I just wrote out in longhand on my personal stationary:

Dear Dick Clark,
After you get out of your coma because you're 392 years old, hire Joan Rivers. She's better than the 423 days of music and awards I just watched. Have fun in the hospital. Peek-a-boo! ICU!
Get it? ICU? Intensive Care Unit? More like Intensive Coma Unit for you, Dick, huh? Haha! Just kidding Dick.
Best wishes,
Benjamin Siegel

Thank you, and good night. We'll see you next year!

The Beating of Hillary Duff's Head

As I watched -- I mean suffered through -- the American Music Awards tonight, I could help but to notice a few things. But first, here's my interpretation of Hillary Duff's single, "Beat Of My Heart." The chorus goes like this:

The beat of my heart
The beat of my heart
The beat of my heart
The beat of my heart
The beat of my heart
The beat of my heart
The beat of my heart
The beat of my heart
The beat of my heart
The beat of my heart
The beat of my heart
The beat of my heart
The beat of my heart
The beat of my heart
The beat of my heart
Here we go again
The beat of my heart
The beat of my heart
The beat of my heart
The beat of my heart
The beat of my heart
The beat of my heart
The beat of my heart
The beat of my heart
The beat of my heart

She's going places with songwriting like that. She's going to hell.

YOU WIN A HAIRPIECE! YOU WIN A HAIRPIECE! YOU WIN A HAIRPIECE!

A joke, if you will so indulge me.

Q: What does Oprah say to her best friend Gail and live-in friend Steadman when they're arguing over who the better soulmate is? Oh, and Oprah's getting her hair done at the time.
A: "Weave me out of it!"

Thank you, folks. I'm here all hour.

Dating Is The New Not-Dating

I should be paid for coming up with this stuff. My latest idea for a TV show:

Intimidate, the show where a lovely young lady must endure a knife-wielding bastard through rounds of scare tactics and horrible fake designer fashions. If she can stand the test of the blind date from hell -- if she can indeed survive non-stop indimidation -- then she wins a second date (which will invariably end with a murder). Coming soon to the NBCBSABCWBMSFOX superchannel, between Geraldo's new mustache-athon and Oprah's latest weave.

Oops I Puked My Pants v.2

Update: Okay, so he's been at his table playing chess now for three-point-no-seconds and is now back in the loo. That's 15 times. I'm not leaving my seat until he leaves. I hope he's not a homeless fetishistic chronic bathroom-using tapeworm victim.

I just can't STAND his kind.

Oops I Puked My Pants

I'm sitting in this here coffee shop in this here city not so devoid of hotties, and one boy who doesn't draw my attention for the right reasons has been on my mind for the last two hours.

I've been here since 7 p.m., it's not 9:19 p.m. and he's gone to the bathroom 14 times. He's in there for about a minute or two at a time, walks out, wait until one or two more customers uses it, then goes back for another round.

He's either got really bad indigestion (maybe he ordered the quiche) or tapeworm. I'm not a doctor, but from where I'm sitting -- a cool 15, 20 feet away I'd say -- I can safely say it's quiche or tapeworm. Take my word for it.

Right now, he's waiting for another go-around, and he's listening in on whoever's in there. Do we have a fetish on our hands? (Well, his hands, not ours.)

....

......

Um, excuse me. I had to vomit in my mouth.

Yabba Dabba Do-You-Have-an-Umbrella?

I don't discount the atrocities of a devestating category-5 hurricane. Certainly Wilma will ruin many a life and destroy our faith in the Gods of the Gulf (aka Jeb and his going-steady, Katherine "Al Gore So Did Not Win in 2000, Jesus Told Me So" the former Florida attorney general), to say nothing of our national adoration of one Mr. Fred and his Flintstone clan.

(This is why they* invented The Weather Channel. And that pig-fucker Al Roker. What a douche.)

But as it seems we're in for a season of mutiny, we should discuss plans to conquer Mother Nature's Storm of the Century of the Year 2005: Live on Ice. Word on the streets is she's a bitch who hasn't kicked her smack habit and isn't about to go to Promises. We can only hope.

So here's my idea: In order to curb the enthusiasm of celebrites and those who wish to get their photos taken carrying boxes of bottled water and cheese sammages to victims, I'm going to donate all the money required to bail a major Southern metropolitan city from a hurricane, fromt he dinkiest of rain trickles to the most horrific category-a million.

Here's what I want in return: At the time of payment (my PayPal account is currently frozen due to some bad betting on a life-sized Jared Leto poster--er, I mean, an old, uh, book of something--but I'm good for it), I request the naming rights to said as-yet-unleashed storm. That's right. I get to name it, for a to-be-determined sum of American currency, and the money goes to the victims of the horrible, devestating, really bad hurricane.

It's a brilliant idea, and unlike some of my gems, one I came up completely on my own. People have rolled their eyes, but I think it's because they're embarrased they didn't come up with it on their own. They'll learn.

In the meantime, I am taking donations for what I am calling Help Save The People From the Hurricanes of the Future Fund. Any donation is welcome, nothing is too small.** So open your pocketbooks, take out your wallets, and give, give, give! Wilma needs our attention.

Or should I say, Hurricane Bjork.


*I want to start a Web site called www.they.com where we, I mean "they," say everything they always say. You know, they say there's going to be snow this weekend. They also say drinking one glass of wine a day combats heart disease. I didn't say it, they did. I mean us. We are they, and us are you.

**Nothing below $4 million, please. This isn't PBS. We know you have it.

Chew-me-up-and-spit-me-out-bacca is Back!

There was a girl we, I mean they, called Chewbacca in high school. She had monstrous red hair and a mouth that could make your eyes water in fright.*

Anyshit, here's a story you're going to love. It's got all the elements of a heartbreaker: Intrigue, international espionage, some really huge hairy man tits. Be careful. It might bite.

My favorite paragraph is the fourth, but some say the sixth is a killer too. Read them all. Have a toilet handy.

-Ben-bacca

*I typed freight by mistake at first, before realizing it didn't make sense to say "eyes water in freight." Unless, of course, you were on a train and you were crying. Back to my stories.

Carrie Oakey

Why are people so afraid of karaoke? It's a lovely way to spend an evening out at the local dive with your friends and your alcohol. It's also the best way to show off your Neil Diamond infatuation.
Everywhere around the world. He's coming to America.
Oh yes. He is coming. To. America.

Pass the salt

My fourth grade teacher was named Mr. Bland, and while he lived up to that moniker on an hourly basis, there was a quality he posessed that was informed, vibrant; very un-bland. To this day the first thing I think of when I think of Mr. Bland, besides the obsessive computer jokes and musings about how the world was going to crumble before our eyes if we didn't back up every library book on a simple personal computer, or how he took great pride in the newspaper hats he made us assemble like cheap Americanized oragami on Paper Day (because reading the paper would be too easy, too...bland) ...

Okay, so the third thing I think of when I think of Mr. Steve Bland was a stupid joke he told us about a headless man. Like the myriad folds of the Peter Pan-like newspaper hat, I can't remember the steps leading up to the final product. But what I do remember is the punchline: "You better quit while you're a head."

We'd laugh, mostly to comply with his threats of a doomed natural existence on account of the un-archived books. But we'd also laugh because he was just too simple to be taken seriously. "Quit while you're a head." Pause. "Get it?"

Oh man.

Pay My "Rent"

I am sitting here with my coffee listening to the new film soundtrack to "Rent." Like most people between the ages of 20 and infinity who were touched by "Rent" nearly 10 years ago, this is a moment long in the waiting. I can't say I ever felt this show was destined for the large screen. It was written for the stage by a man who loved the stage, and though its heart and soul is universal in physical and intellectual scope, it never lended well in my mind to the realist language of film.

That said, all firsthand accounts of the film's Manhattan and San Francisco shoots claim it to be a moving and effective translation. Chris Columbus, who reminded us a few years back that leaving children alone at home is a bad idea, is said to have had a personal connection to this text and the musical form as a whole. Let's hope he's right. I certainly give him a lot of credit for going for the gold with this one -- mess "Rent" up and you're going to have many angry pseudo-Bohemians knocking on your door. And they're likely to have a guitar. Good lord.

Despite any prejudiced forethoughts, I look forward to this film as much as I do the upcoming screen-to-stage-back-to-screen adaptaion of Mel Brooks's "The Producers." Now that should be good. Let's hope "Rent" can pay its bill this time.

The Dreamers

What a crock of shit this movie is. Don't see it.


Scrach that. See it -- the NC-17 version -- if only for more glimpses at Michael Pitt's bodily goodness. But like all lovelies, just imagine him without all the talking. Looky, no hear...y.

An Apple a Day, or So They Say

Apple has not approved of the use of their gay dancing black man as
seen on the bottom right of this window. They have also not
disapproved, so there you go.

I have started calling my lady friends "boo" and my male friends
"Mark." Why Mark? Why not?

On the topic of Mark, do you know why so many gay men are named Mark?
Or why so many Marks are born gay? Or why we park in a driveway and
drive in a parkway?

E-mail me at bdsiegel@gmail.com with your thoughts. Until then, be kind, rewind.

Phrases recently overheard on an episode of MTV's "Next," causing me to vomit repeatedly in my mouth

Come on ladies, which one of you is going to scale this mountain of manhood?

If she has no sass, she can kiss my ass.

Hey Benjamin, you didn't pick me and you missed out on this (lifts his shirt up).

I'm Hillary, I'm 20, and there's no way (I won't get picked) because (moment of pause) I've got a third nipple.

I'm Nicole, I'm 19, and my strategy is to have no strategy. I don't need one.

I thought about going blonde, but I talked to my hairdresser and he goes, "Prepare for six months of depression, because people don't notice you as much." They don't see the light, you know what I mean? (Snaps as if to say, "You go girlfriend" and "Can I get a witness, ladies?")

(There was also a girl named Kourtney with a K.)

(Six minutes later...) What? Look at you and your jock-ass basketball uniform. Bye Bye! You don't even deserve to see my third nipple! Bitch! (Sashays and shauntays off in a tiffy.)

(Back in the trailer, one girl comments on the current girl's cold shoulder): To be honest, she's been the least friendly. I told her, "I like your bracelet," and she goes, "Thanks."

I hope he appreciates my tan.

(After taking a lie-detector test and being dumped for admitting there was a more attractive girl on the bus): I should have lied. Why didn't I lie? I always lie.

(When asked if she'd ever cheated on her boyfriend, Kourtney with a K says): Yes.
(When then asked if she was a virgin, Kourtney with a K says): Yes.

(Guy): Kourtney, I completely respect the fact that you're a virgin. We've been on a date for 42 minutes, so you've earned $42. You can either take the money or go on a second date with me.
(Response): You know when I said I thought you were hot on the lie-detector test? Yeah, I was lying. I'm out of here.

Upon what is happening, upon?

I just changed the channel and fell upon "The View," where upon I heard upon Barbara Walters say upon hearing Meredith say something about semen, upon: "Premature ejaculation IS part of the orgasm."

That's a view I never thought I'd get. Keep it closed, Barbara. Stick to topics you know about, like Fidel's favorite Estefan song and what kind of tree Katie Hepburn is.

Good lord!