Conan and Sandler Flip Off NBC, Jersey Shore Rips Off This Blog

Last night was noteworthy as far as Schiff Happens late night tv watching is concerned, which is completely unrelated to the fact that this post is first going up around 3pm. Completely unrelated.

First, Adam Sandler made a fantastic appearance on the Tonight Show as one of Conan OBrien's final guests (check the full show here to see how Conan wasted $1.5 million of NBC's money, and witness the return of an old furry friend). Sandler, rocking the faded green Jets tee (Gang Green don't say I never gave you any love!), serenaded the host and revealed the story of how he and Chris Farley didn't leave Saturday Night Live on their own terms but were actually fired by NBC in 1995 despite being pretty much the funniest humans on the planet at the time. The moment recalled better days at SNL and NBC, when Conan, Sandler, Farley and a generation of standard-bearing comedians collaborated each week to produce some of the most hilarious moments we've ever witnessed. But it also served to show that genius truly is so often unappreciated in its time. The interview fittingly ended when Sandler summed

things up with his then-manager's reaction to the situation those 15 years ago (and Smellson's new favorite quote from now on I can almost guarantee), "NBC: Nothin But C***s!"

After that, I caught "Jersey Shore: Spoof'd!" on MTV. It has apparently been rerunning for a week already, but try as I might, I can't be everywhere this insanely overexposed show is all the time, so I was seeing it for the first time. It was a collection of all the spoofs and sketches that have been passed around to no end since the show stormed into our lives as the greatest reality train wreck in television history, and was noteworthy for just one reason: If the guidos liked a clip, they threw a fist pump as a seal of approval, complete with a fancy graphic.

This is important because, as my tens of faithful readers will no doubt concur, the whole gimmick, is just a repackaged ripoff of The Jersey Fist - my Jersey Fist! I invented rating things on a scale of fist pumps, damn it! I had even just recently resized this photo, featured in this post, to serve as our new official Jersey Fist in future posts.

It's the same as MTV's graphic! Unbelievable. These are the perils of being famous. You pay homage to the glory of the great Garden State and a bunch of Sleaseside guidos rip you off.

So how do we plan to fire back at this outrage, you ask? Well, Schiff Happens is here to officially announce the Jersey Shore Boycott! Won't you join me? Just say "No" to guidos!

Just kidding. I could never stay mad at you, Shnookieshpookies. Finale party is officially on tonight, and the RonRon juice will be flowing! Drop me a line for details. Until then, can we please get Snooks into one of those Snickers commercials? I can see it now...

Inside Karma, a crowd of guidos are battling on the floor.

Voiceover: "Hungry? Grab a Snickers!"

Russ aka "Ron" grabs Snooki and takes her for a piggy-back ride to the beach, where he proceeds to not fuck her. Snooki returns to the house, dejected.

Snookers: "Waaahhh! Nobody wants to f*** me in this town! What the f***?! I'm the f***ing Princess of F***ing Poughkeepsie!"

RonRon: "Still not smushed, err, satisfied? Would you f*** a Gatorade bottle at this point? Try one of these."

Tosses Snickers a Snickers, who voraciously sucks the nuts out of the candy bar, then proceeds to do herself with it.

Snooks: "What? I eat it a certain way!"

It basically writes itself.

Where's Smelly?

As promised, here's our boy, friend of Schiff Happens, former fat kid, "that dick," and star of late night telly-vision!!!!


Looks like someone from the old neighborhood finally done up and come up. If you ask me, he's pretty easy to find, but test your eyesight and see if you can figure out... Where's Smelly Pelly? Special prize to whoever can find Max Weinberg and the Max Weinberg Seven. Like I said earlier today, I had a tough enough time finding Conan, who's obviously right smack in the middle of the thing. Jimmy Vivino is a pretty easy find. Other than that, I'm fairly useless, but I've also been slowly going blind since age 10, so you'll probably have better luck. The pic below is a bit more zoomed in, but at the expense of a few people on the outer edges. Sorry, your staff is huge (that's what she said?).


Congrats to Conan O'Brien, Smelly, and the whole shebangabang down there at 30 Rock.

The Oscars, Shaq and Conan [The Weekend that Was]

Friends, it seems we've developed a bit of a pattern here at Schiff Happens:

1. Blog a bunch of shit during the week
2. Promise to self and/or SH Faithful to continue our unparalleled coverage and commentary over the weekend.
3. Completely neglect weekend.
4. Return Monday with too much to discuss and more empty promises to self and/or SH Faithful to improve weekend posting habits.
5. ...............
6. Profit.

On the one hand, I should have no excuse for basically ignoring this space over the weekends, especially since I have more than my share of free time during these freezing cold, winter-in -New-York lazy Sunday weekends. On the other hand, I don't get paid for this shit, so if you have a problem with my business model then step up and show me the money. Until then, Step 6 is 'Profit' and that's the story I'm sticking with. Right now, a few things that happened over the weekend.

Hail King Shaq, High King and Protector of Twitteronia I recently declared that I had joined Shaq Fu's legion of twitterputian followers in the hopes of connecting with the Big Fella whom I hold in such high esteem (shameless follow me plug). I tweeted his way a few times, not expecting any response, just to let him know that he had yet another admirer. Not two days later, the Big Tweet was reaching out to his people:

"Incredible!" I thought to myself. I replied, wanting to know how many people mob the Big Shaqtus when he posts his location like that, and moments later came another tweet:

If anyone were to doubt the realness of THE_REAL_SHAQ, clearly this post would offer definitive proof. Someone had to respond to this call to arms from the Twitter King himself, and sure enough, people did. Not long after that, Lord Shaq addressed the Twitterpeople one final time with an official decree:

To me, this is just one more example of how Shaq gets it. What other pro athlete puts himself out there like that and actually backs it up? I like to think that this is a response to my homage, albeit indirect. I reached out to the Diesel, and he reached out to the people. Of course, his most recent tweet should not be construed in any way as a response to yours truly.

Come on, Shaq! We all know that toilet texting (or twittering) is the quickest way to lose a phone. I guess it's true what has been said through the ages: For every king, a throne. Long live THE_REAL_SHAQ, King of Twitteronia.

The reports of Conan's death are greatly exaggerated On Friday night, the world bid farewell to Conan O'Brien...sort of. It was Conan's final show as host of Late Night before he takes over for Jay Leno in LA on The Tonight Show. As Conan tore apart his set to give to the crowd, welcomed back Andy Richter and reflected on his long, strange Late Night trip, I understood his emotion, but in the back of my mind I couldn't help but think, "This is effing stupid. He's not really going anywhere - he's just moving to a different time and coast. You don't even have to change the channel!" I do need to commend Conan for his heartfelt farewell, thanks-for-the-memories address toward the end of the show, during which he became obviously choked up and revealed a side of himself that fans generally don't get to see behind his zany antics. As I've been in the habit of wildly praising celebrities for doing so, I'd be sort of a hypocrite not to in this case. However, I'm glad I'm not the only one questioning the funeral of these last few shows. Conan deserves to and should reflect emotionally over the transition, but it just doesn't affect me all that much as a consumer.
The biggest impact I'll feel from the move is now I'll be getting the inside info from Smellson on Jimmy Fallon's musical guests instead of Conan's. Speaking of which, you can totally spot our boy in the big crew photo they showed toward the end of the broadcast. I'll post a screen grab later and you guys can play "Where's Pel?" Actually, Mr. Pel had a decent story of his first and only interaction with Conan. Having introduced himself and explained his role in music licensing to Conan, Pel looked on in wide-eyed wonder as the host of Late Night smiled and said, "Oh, so you're that dick!" Nobody deserves it more than you, my friend.
As far as the actual episode itself, a few quick thoughts. I thought Will Ferrell did a great job and contained all the things I usually hate about him. Ever since Bonnaroo '06, John Mayer has delightfully surprised me - awesome job by him on his "LA's Gonna Eat You Alive" send-off for Conan. I enjoyed the White Stripes and thought that their song choice and delivery was appropriate for what seemed to be a legitimately moving moment for them and Conan, even if we know that they could have rocked Studio 6A to the ground had they so chosen. Finally, Conan played our favorite clip of all time! Better still, he introduced it as his favorite thing he's ever done. Clearly we have great taste.

The White Stripes perform "We're Going to be Friends" on the Late Night with Conan O'Brien finale.


And the Oscar goes to...who cares, you haven't seen any of this shit Every year I get suckered into the Oscars thinking I'll find something new to enjoy despite not having seen any of the movies. Nope. Wrong again. Springsteen was snubbed for Best Original Song long before Sunday night, and there were obvious shenanigans afoot as his buddy Mickey Rourke was hosed for Best Actor. Yea, I formulate opinions without seeing the actual work. Wanna fight about it? The best moments were Ben Stiller having a go at Joaquin Phoenix and Seth Rogen and James Franco's Pineapple Express-inspired look back at the year in comedy. I always preferred them in Freaks and Geeks myself.
The one silver lining this year was that Twitter made the show bearable, specifically the hilarious running commentary of Kevin Pollak. If I didn't have his sardonic, bitterness-infused, 140-character jokes to keep me company, there's no way I'm staying up late enough to see the entire city of Mumbai accept the Best Picture award for Slumdog Millionaire. Slumdog, incidentally, was the only "Oscar buzz" movie I saw this year - besides The Dark Knight, but, you know, that doesn't count because it's a superhero movie. FML - so maybe it's because I have no basis for comparison, but before last night, I hadn't considered that people might have actually not liked the movie. Yet there were my roommate and his girlfriend, returning from the theater as the awards were just beginning, telling me they weren't huge fans and trying to understand what the big deal was. While I enjoyed it, it's hard to read this and not find yourself agreeing with a whole bunch of it. But that's America - we're still gonna go for the underdog love story every time.

That's why you have to root for me, America. I may be sloppy on weekends, but with your support - Please make my day and weigh in on any of this stuff. I'd truly love to hear your opinions - my underdog story will have a happy ending that you saw coming miles away but gets you all choked up anyway. And then, on that glorious day....

...Profit.

Just give me baseball already [or How to call A-Rod gay in 1864]

A-Fraud, A-Roid, maybe you wanna show her your A-Face.


I'm worn out on A-Rod, and steroids, and hypocritical hero-worshipping nonsense about athletes as role models.

Makes me long for the days when they used to play it like real men, the old fashioned way.

Conan O'Brien 1864 Baseball
by Youpinadi



Gammons: You seem peevish.
A-Face: I hope I have not caused you any vexation or unpleaseant cogitations.
Schiff Happens: You ass!
Interview ends, A-Face leaves the room.
Gammons: That gentleman likes to ply his seed in the other melon patch.

Sweet merciful crap, give me some apple hurling and stick mashing already.

Spring training is nearly here, and not a moment too soon.
I've been enjoying watching the NBA more than any season I can recall in a while, but I'm still watching the Knicks, who reminded me tonight that they still suck.

Besides, all of this A-Hole garbage gets me fired up. The season needs to start so I have somewhere to direct all of my hilarious anger.
Effinay-Rod!
Get out on the damn field and do what you get paid your millions to do.
Just win and the rest takes care of itself. In the end, that's all I care about. Any fan who says otherwise, or is willing to act shocked and disappointed that you did that shit is lying to themself.

You're an entertainer. You perform for my amusement. You're a $300 million circus seal, only you are exceptionally good at the exceptionally difficult albeit relatively inconsequential sporting challenge of hitting a round ball with a round piece of wood...and I prefer baseball to the circus. I really don't give a shit if you want to cheat and make an ass out of yourself - it's your money and your reputation - provided of course that you WIN. 3-letter word, starts with "W" - stop me if I say something that rings a bell.

Not to say I condone what you did, you frosted-tipped lying sack of cheater; I just won't shed a tear for my poor kid brother and all your many fans who will never worship your lipstick wearing ass again. We always knew you were kind of a prick. Now you're just a Webster's-worthy douche defined. Either way, you were never some kind of American hero. Writers who built you up that way and want to rip you now, and "Think of the children!" loudmouths who want to call you out for being a bad role model, see above re: lying to themselves. Again, not off the hook. You still cheated, and everyone still hates you.

BUT
(3-letter word, starts with "B")

All of that is irrelevant if you just do your effing job, specifically in months ending in -ober.

Now just give me baseball, so I can watch it all happen.

The Boss doesn't pump his gas - he pumps his fists

It has only been a week since we last checked in on him, but Bruce Springsteen has been so damn busy making headlines that it feels like we need to run a weekly recap on all things Boss. In true Garden State fashion, we're going to attempt to bring you up to speed on The Bruce by rating his recent newsworthy moments on a scale of one to five Rockin New Jersey Fist Pumps. Five Jersey Fists for the most bitchin possible news, one Jersey Fist if you'd rather pump your own gas than read that story. And away we go!

So, back in January, Springsteen released a greatest hits collection exclusively with Wal Mart. Just ten bucks for E Street's greatest hits? Not a bad deal, right? Well, not until you recall that Wal Mart has been accused of anti-union practices, paid major fines for violating labor laws, basically represents all that is soulless and evil in the world of corporate sleaze, and, you know, pretty much violates all of Bruce's core principles. The fans called him out on it, and Bruce issued a heartfelt mea culpa, calling the Wal Mart deal a "mistake." We can't let him off the hook entirely for the Wal Mart exclusive, but for hearing his fans and copping to his misstep, Bruce gets 2 Jersey Fists here.


Springsteen's PR blitz continued and really kicked into high gear at the Super Bowl, where he and the band gave their first press conference since 1987 (this still makes no sense to me) to joke about The Boss' complete lack of interest in football and speculate on the highly anticipated halftime show. No details were given, but Springsteen promised a "12 minute party," and on Sunday that's exactly what went down. The show was every bit the electric, rollicking performance that Springsteen fans have lauded for the last 30 years, and The Boss cemented his Super Bowl legacy when he delivered the most widely watched crotch-first into-your-living-room power slide in television history. Around the world, it was Boss Time. This is a no brainer: 5 Jersey Fists. Great 4-song set, vintage Springsteen ebullience, and a power crotch slide smack into a cameraman...come on. The look he gave to the camera right when it happened was worth 3 fist pumps by itself (Yes, I am aware that only Bruce's vocals were actually "live," but if the National Anthem can be pre-recorded, then so can Steve, Max and the Big Man. My opinion on this will not change. The 5 Jersey Fists stand).


Everyone loves the halftime show, except for Stephen Metcalf, Slate's resident high-minded shit-eater who trashed the performance because the set list failed to include "The Wrestler." Really? Granted, the song is wonderful and just won a Golden Globe, but really? Stephen Metcalf, you sir have earned yourelf one single solitary Jersey Fist - right in your fucking eye. That's how we handle things in the Meadowlands.


Not long after the Super Bowl performance (the very next morning in fact), tickets for Springsteen's "Working On A Dream" world tour went on sale on Ticketmaster. Legions of fans tried to log on and buy tickets at 9:00AM, but many encountered erroneous error messages and, worse still, were automatically redirected to Ticketmaster's reselling secondary site, TicketsNow, which offered tickets at far above face value. Once again, corporate America was putting the screws to The Bruce. Bad idea, Ticketmaster. You do not fuck with E Street Nation. Having learned quickly from the Wal Mart flare-up, Bruce, manager Jon Landau and the Springsteen Tour Team posted a strongly worded apologetic letter to fans on Springsteen's official site, condemning Ticketmaster and publicly railing against a possible merger between Ticketmaster and LiveNation, who just one week prior had infuriated Phish fans with a similar fiasco (and actually managed to make hippies everywhere nostalgic for their longtime nemesis, Ticketmaster, which has in fact always sucked). The New Jersey Attorney General announced an investigation into the incident, and Ticketmaster has since apologized to Springsteen and vowed to make amends to befuddled fans (riiiight....). You have to applaud The Boss' reaction to the situation, and at least Ticketmaster is admitting that they effed up, but none of that changes the fact that I didn't get tickets for shit. 2 Jersey Fists.


Late Monday night into Tuesday morning, long-standing rumors were finally confirmed when Bonnaroo announced its lineup, which will be headlined by 2 nights of Phish and one night of Springsteen and the E Street Band. I stated my opinions (and got Cartman's thoughts) on this matter months ago when the rumors came out, and I have since made it abundantly clear that I plan to be haulin ass to Tennessee come June. The lineup could not possibly be better, but it's worth raising an eyebrow over the fact that fans of Bruce and Phish just experienced epic ticket on-sale disasters, and as the two companies who perpetrated said disasters now talk of merging, the two bands will meet as headliners of the biggest festival of the summer. I'm no less excited, but there is reason for pause when the first wave of 'Roo tickets go on sale Saturday at noon, and though we can be glad that Bonnaroo at least takes care of ticket sales through its own site, this tiny seed of doubt knocks this news down a peg to 4 Jersey Fists.


Finally, Wednesday we learned that "Working On A Dream" became 2009's biggest debut, selling nearly 224,000 copies in its first week for a No. 1 ranking on the Billboard top 200. Most of those sales actually came before the Super Bowl performance. The album was given a 5-star review in Rolling Stone, and following all the crotch-sliding, Bonnaroo hype, and Ticketmaster hoopla (any publicity is good publicity!) should only go on to sell even more. More importantly, Springsteen finally knocked Taylor Swift (ok, I'm sorry, but... who?) out of the top spot after an eight-week reign. Long live The Boss!
4 Jersey Fists.


So now that you're all caught up, don't forget to buy your Bonnaroo tickets on Saturday. Until next week, when I'll inevitably have to recap yet another blitz of Springsteen news, enjoy Conan O'Brien's best attempt to recreate Bruce's Super Crotch Slide. This should keep you well entertained all weekend.

Conan sticks it to Cleatus yet again

And when we say sticks it to him, we mean it. I already loved Conan O'Brien, but if he keeps up his series of insults against FOX's dancing football robot, he goes into my hall of fame. It could only be better if Conan were somehow simultaneously taking on this guy.

In case you missed the first one, peep Wednesday's post. Round 2 is below. I can only hope Conan himself will take on Cletus head to head in the coming days. Super Bowl promo anyone?

Jimmy Fallon praised by critics, and other brain-exploding news

Some odd news and notes that may be deemed click-worthy by some of you...


Conan throws Masturbating Bear under the bus. "I'm hosting 'The Tonight Show.' That's the show I watched with my dad when I was 10." -- "Tonight Show"-bound Conan O'Brien is aging and maturing, much to the chagrin of poop joke enthusiasts everywhere. He also hates Cleatus the dancing FOX football robot, so at least we can all support that. [Chicago Tribune]

Fallon defies odds, appears likable. Meanwhile, O'Brien's "Late Night" replacement, Jimmy Fallon, has managed to win over a few fans and critics with his online videos. "He may still not know exactly what the word “vlog” means, but he clearly senses this new-media stuff is sober business," says New York Times digital-culture writer Virginia Heffernan. Hold your breath until March 2, when Fallon gets his first chance to break character and laugh at his own jokes on actual TV. [NYT]

Is that the kind of thing that you think you might be into? "We try our best. We just don't have much time, money, or skill." -- Jemaine Clement of Flight of the Conchords, which returns to HBO officially this Sunday. Of course, if you've visited SH before you've already seen the first episode. [A.V. Club]

Get ready for some Chocolate Pain, bitch. A remix of the Pork and Beans video from Weezer, updated with more internet favorites and a YouTube-within-a-YouTube construction. Plus, the band gets South Park-ified, which sort of completes the circle. Weezer allegedly created the remix to capitalize on the theoretical millions garnered by the original. [Videogum]

LeBron James to lift Cleveland's spirit before stomping on its soul. The King has released an official announcement of his upcoming January 18 announcement. That's the date LeBron will most likely upstage the "Mannings vs. Williamses" DSRL showdown and launch his new ad campaign. Not much is known, but recently leaked photos have him donning a Browns football uniform, which seems appropriate since he's probably the only person who could save them at this point. Cries of Photoshop fraud abound, but the pics are real and the ads will serve as a painful reminder of actual Photoshop dreams that could become reality in 2010. [LeBron 2010]

I'm gettin higher...in the world. “My sales have tanked, but I still got you. Download this, it sounds like shit” -- Neil Young has released a pretty hysterical one-shot music video for what is allegedly the title track of a forthcoming studio album. With a blues beat blasting in the background, Young plays air guitar, waxes on the economic crisis, and sports headphones plugged into an apple, which he takes a bite out of. Stick that symbolism in your pipe and smoke it, Steve Jobs! [Rolling Stone]