Just For Laughs Comedy Festival 2013, Montreal

Andy Kindler, me and Marc Maron at the Hyatt Regency Montreal, right after Andy's (annual and always) legendary State of the Industry Address.

*****

Andy Kindler, Sarah Silverman, Marc Maron and me between shows.

*****

POWER BREAKFAST: Andy Kindler, Marc Maron and me. Montreal smoked meat, eggs, toast, OJ and lots of coffee.

*****

The fearlessly funny Sarah Silverman doing what she does best... and she MC'd TWO galas back to back that night!!!

*****

The incredible Marc Maron and the incredible Sarah Silverman!

*****

Marc Maron and me, flying back to work on season 2 of MARON on IFC. Look! Sarah Silverman is on our plane. She's so pretty :)

*****

Lawyers, Guns and Knowledge...

For a lot of people, 2012 is a year they could have done without. Natural disasters that were off the scale, political idiocy, another 'apocalypse' panic and several heart-wrenching mass shootings. Too many people lost too many loved ones. Just when we thought we were getting out, with our tails between our legs, came the cruelest cut of all. Twenty first graders, along with six of their dedicated teachers, were gunned down in one of the most vicious massacres in American history.

I can't begin to imagine the sorrow that the families of these senselessly taken innocents will carry for the rest of their lives. The horror, grief and, yes, anger is radiating all over the world from this idyllic little town that will never be the same again.

The brokenhearted ask, "Why?" The shocked and angered ask, "What can be done?"

Along the outskirts of this tragedy, the camps are forming and the media is in hyperdrive. What to do about guns? What to do about schools? What to do about the mentally ill?

The ghouls and the bottom feeders are also coming out from under their rocks. At least one person has already been arrested for scamming donations in the name of one of the fallen children. Emotions are running high. Unfortunately, nothing realistic has followed any statement that has started with, "This wouldn't have happened if..."

One talk show pundit suggested a national database of the mentally ill. This is after we just spent the last twenty years convincing people with PTSD and Clinical Depression that they have a disease no different than diabetes or cancer and that they should not be embarrassed about coming forward to seek treatment.

The Hitler scenario is being brandished ("the first thing he did was take away everybody's guns") and Gun Free Zones are being cited as prime targets for future monsters.

Guns are not going to go away.

The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms regulates the three biggest arguably preventable killers in this country. 'Regulate' means revenue.

The Firearms Lobby is not going to stop throwing its drunk uncle money around any more or less than Big Oil, Big Pharma, Big Tobacco, Big Booze and Big Whatever Else. They know how to play this game way better than the rest of us.

Well meaning, devastated and desperate people are trying to do something, anything, to prevent something like this from ever happening again. They feel helpless against this juggernaut. They search for language that will empower them. Unfortunately, they look towards the worst possible source for language empowerment- The Media.

The Media LOVES finding buzz words. They don't care exactly what they mean as long as they're in the ballpark. The more syllables the better. Yes, those must be the better words. These are the people who, in this age of WsMD (not WMDs, btw), really don't know what all this weapons grade uranium, plutonium, warhead, A-Bomb, H-Bomb stuff is all about, but 'thermonuclear' sounds really important.

They end up sounding like characters spouting the merits of the sports drink Brawndo in the movie Idiocracy.

They are not alone, it seems.

Major cities have gun 'buy back' programs in an effort to thwart some of the violence. These tend to be neighborhood versions of The Antique Road Show, as a lot of broken revolvers and showpieces that have been rendered unable to fire are the bill of fare at these events.

According to Bryan Suits, a Veteran and talk show host who knows a LOT about weaponry, the LAPD paid several hundred dollars (each) for two unloaded 'AT4' (short for 'eighty four' millimeter) rocket launchers. These are disposable weapons. You pull open the sights, fire the rocket inside and throw it away. These 'AT4s' were no more dangerous than the spent cardboard tubes of Roman candles. The LAPD bought themselves a couple of plastic pipes and, of course, the media was all, "Oooh. Rocket Launchers."

What am I trying to say here?

If you want to change something, it kind of helps to know what you're changing. Believe me, your opponents will make it clear very quickly that you don't know what the hell you're talking about.

Do you want to be an effective voice in firearms reform?

Take a firearms course.

Know what to say when somebody asks you what's the difference between a stripper clip and a box mag. Stop calling everything an AK-47 and, for the love of all things, take the time to learn what the hell is the difference between an automatic and a semi-automatic weapon.

Don't get me started about this 'assault weapon' vs. 'assault rifle' bullshit.

On top of everything else, you'll know what to do should you ever come across a firearm. I don't mean one being pointed at you in an alley. I mean not standing on a chair like a 1950's housewife who just saw a mouse until somebody comes to 'do something about it'.

Know how to safely pick up a gun and move it out of reach. Know if the safety is on or off. Know how to put said safety 'on'. Know how to unload a loaded weapon.

You can then stand on a chair all you want.

This is an emotional subject born of the mother of all emotional events, but level heads must prevail. I'm trying to think of an oh-so-clever 'laws don't kill people, people kill laws' sound byte on which to sign off. Nah, I think I've had enough catch phrases for 2012.

Nutflexing...

 Outcasts (TV Series 2010)

Hey, let's take a thousand people (Two thousand? Three thousand? I don't know, you only always see the same dozen people), launch them to another star system, make them live in a hell hole made out of cargo ship containers and handball courts and place them under the leadership of compulsively secretive nut jobs, each with a sordid past of their own. Where were the psych screenings when they put this crew together? 

I wish I had a nickel every time somebody says, "Don't tell anyone about this" and "I can't tell you that."

Let's throw in a gang of exiled genetically modified personae non gratae, the Outcasts outcasts, who are not only the most miserable lot of sad sacks, but also somehow created a baby, even though you never see any genetically modified women. 

Oh, there's a baffling atmospheric problem that only blows up approaching ships that are carrying nice guy colonists, but bad guys who have come to take over have no problem getting through. Plus, there's ridiculous power struggles between the two law enforcement groups within the colony (the 'cop' guys and the 'army' guys). They keep arresting each other, backstabbing each other and/or beating each other up. 

After the first two or three episodes, it becomes 'lie, do something sneaky, beat each other up, rinse, repeat'. The only thing that ever changes is the fact that they seem to make a conscious effort to show the Security Head Lady prance down a corridor in a new and sassy military tailored jacket (but not quite a uniform) in the beginning of each show. 

Yep, no visible means of sustaining life, but the bar is always stocked and Ms. Top Cop apparently packed a jacket for every day of the year. 

*****

Green Wing (TV Series 2004)

 Gratuitous fast forward and slow motion gimmick combined with vignettes where the characters barely have the chemistry of a casting call first read. Move on to something else, lest you hate all of England based on this foolishness.

 

*****

 Transformers: Dark of the Moon (2011)

I've done some weird things to pay the bills but, seriously, what problem is once respectable actor John Turturro financing to be a clown in these movies? What does Michael Bay have on Frances McDormand, John Malkovich and BUZZ FREAKIN' ALDRIN for them to prostitute their legacies in this toilet?

*****

 Immortals (2011)

Other than a brief visit with Freida Pinto's amazing behind (even if it's a body double, amazing is amazing), this is just another very well made bad movie. Between the ridiculous (and useless) fashion designer helmets and the moronic battle strategies, this should just be called 'The 301... Ways To Smash Somebody's Head'.

*****

 200 Motels (1971)

Sorry, Frank (posthumously), I had to shut it off around the eight minute mark. The high speed back'n'forth Benny Hill 'effect' was just too much. Zappa is indeed a genius and the music in this 'film' is great, but the home made amateur quality is just a shameful waste of precious footage. 

You are much better off watching Frank Zappa: Apostrophe/Over-Nite Sensation. A wonderful documentary that showcases Zappa, his family, many of his long time brilliant band members and session producers. Keep an eye out for Ruth Underwood, who played those frantic signature vibraphone riffs in so many Zappa creations.

 *****

 GI Joe: Rise Of Cobra (2009)

Three quarters into this I realized I was watching a live action version of Team America. They screw up and/or get their butts kicked in every encounter. What a bunch of covert over-funded losers.

Now you know... and knowing is half the battle. 

*****

 Starcrash (1979)

Best. Movie. Ever. Especially when the bad guy says that the Universe will be his by sunset. He says this in space... to somebody else... who is in space.

*****

Atlas Shrugs Again

2030 The Real Story of What Happens to America By Albert Brooks (St. Martin's Griffin, Paperback, ISBN 9780312591298, 384pp.)

Who or what do you think of when you think of Albert Brooks? 

Do you think of the Joe Schmo who finds himself scrutinized in Purgatory in Defending Your Life? Perhaps you've recently seen his turn as a very tough and very serious bad guy in Drive. 

Thanks to YouTube, his iconoclastic 'National Anthem Auditions' on The Flip Wilson Show or his bar setting short films on SNL may be your strongest impression. Maybe it's... look, let's just stop there. Albert Brooks, be he sung or unsung, has been running through our heads in a myriad of getups for decades. 

Like many of his contemporaries, Brooks is a brilliant man. Like many of his contemporaries who know what to do with their super charged brains, Brooks is very prolific and varied in his creativity. 

It's been said that every comedian wants to play Hamlet. Why? Because, at the end of the day, comedians are very serious people. Is 2030 Brooks' Hamlet? 

No. 

Comedians want to play Hamlet, not write Hamlet. 

What Brooks does here is take on the genre of speculative fiction. Like most baby boomers, he's seen more amazing events, both good and bad, in his lifetime than any previous generation. That fertile mind can't help but to ponder the shape of things to come.

In 2030, he's taken a half dozen issues from our present day concerns, including corporations, health care, out of control debt, international relations and natural disasters, and extrapolated them into a possible future scenario.

Prediction: bleak.

Brooks has put a lot of work into crafting his future America. A great deal of the nation's problems start after we discover the cure for cancer. Our relationship with China has anything but gone away. Just for good measure, Mother Nature decides to have one of her tantrums.

These events are humanized through the lives of a dozen characters, ranging from captains of industry to disenfranchised twenty-somethings to the Oval Office. One could say that this is the first time Brooks has had to breathe life into a dramatis personae without the aid of an ensemble of amazing costars. Like a good writer, he likes them all and doesn't play favorites with the blood, sweat, tears, warts and scent of each of his co-protagonists. 

2030 is a long read, but it is a steady read. Like I said, don't expect any futuristic surprises to fall out of the sky. With the exception of the aforementioned cancer cure and the prediction of remote control surgery, this 2030 is pretty cut and dry. 

Brooks does throw in a clever gadget here and there, but some things get lost in the shuffle. It seems some characters have wristwatch communication devices, while others have to wait until they get home to get a voice-mail from their boyfriend. There doesn't seem to be anything in between. Cell phones seem to have disappeared. I really don't think a picture phone heads-up display in your windshield while you're driving would be a good idea.

I looked over a couple of other reviews after I finished reading 2030, just to avoid accidental plagiarism, and I noticed several other reviewers touting this book as hilarious. I'm wondering if we read the same book. I'm wondering if they really read 2030 or just assumed anything by Albert Brooks would be funny.

Sure, many of his characters have a sense of humor. Sure, Brooks throws a little whimsy into his futuristic narrative. Maybe it's me, but I did I didn't find these people's lives 'hilarious'.

Considering the long arc of the story, the inevitable conclusion seems rushed. One central character, although already a philanthropist, suddenly becomes the love child of JFK and Michio Kaku the moment he takes the oath of POTUS. 

It would take for a lot of xenophobia in America to get cured, along with cancer, for such a rapid turn of events to take place.

Maybe there's something in the water, be it contrived psychotropic drugs or toxic waste, that effects these rapid changes. 

I see a sequel, Albert.

The Book of the Deadpan

By now, you should know there is no instruction manual for life. There is, however, one for the Apocalypse, Armageddon or, at least, 2012. It comes in the form of Encyclopaedia of Hell: An Invasion Manual for Demons Concerning Planet Earth and the Human Race Which Infests It by Martin Olson, Tony Millionaire and Mahendra Singh.

With Olson at the keyboard and Millionaire and Singh at the drawing board, it's hard to single out who is the brashest iconoclast in this Unholy Trinity. 

This book is not for the faint of heart, weak of mind or thin of skin. Everybody is offended in this book. 

Everybody. 

Just when you think you are the last cool guy standing, gloating alongside Olson and his vivisection of Humanity's hypocrisy and dogma, he will sucker punch you right where you live. 

Don't worry about how this classified Demonic document supposedly landed in Olson's hands. Just go along for the ride. There's a lot of stuff going on here. It is, as promised, an alphabetized encyclopaedia of human repulsiveness, gloriously detailed with hilarious disdain. I think the fact that they use the 'paedia' spelling is clue enough as to how creepy this is going to be. 

It's also a book within a book. Or, rather, it's a book within a book about the book that's getting composed as we read it. 

It seems the half-dozen Demons assigned to creating this manual fall prey to their own vanities, interpersonal relationships and the disgusting habits of humans. Along with desperate communiques to the publisher, they grumble and snipe at each other through a whole second layer of footnotes on each page. 

This leads us to the artwork and design of Encyclopaedia of Hell. Just as the sound guy and the lighting guy are the unsung heroes of any bar band, Tony Millionaire and Mahendra Singh are indeed the fifth and sixth Beatles in this 3D assault on your senses. Every page is a madhouse, like a type case composed of columns, side bars, footnotes and wonderfully perverse illustrations.

I have been told that the immense amount of design does not do well when sent through the meat grinder of an eReader, so I suggest only the physical paperback book.

The torch of 'What's It All About' and The Cosmic Joke has been passed, once again, from Kurt Vonnegut to Douglas Adams to Martin Olson.

Encyclopaedia of Hell: An Invasion Manual for Demons Concerning the Planet Earth and the Human Race Which Infests It by Martin Olson, Tony Millionaire, Mahendra Singh - Feral House (2011)  Paperback 240 pages  ISBN 1936239043

The 800 Pound Gorilla In the OTHER Room

The first computer I ever had (well, the first new computer, not counting a generous hand-me-down) was a PC Desktop. It came with a game that was basically a practice version of a WW2 fighter plane battle.

I liked shooting things as much as any boy and this threw in the gift of flight. I played and played. Oh, how I learned to fly and shoot. I took off and landed with the greatest aplomb. I soared and dived with the prowess of an eagle. I could shoot little buildings at the landing strip while flying upside down at an altitude of five feet. I was the greatest fighter pilot in that virtual landscape.

Problem was, I was the only fighter pilot in that virtual landscape. There were no other planes, not even computer generated opponents. I had no one to test the cut of my jib.

My new computer also came with a coupon that allowed me to play this game on line with others. I practiced until I was the Black Widow of the skies. Then, I cashed in the coupon.

The screen was alive with fire and bullets. I barely got a chance to look out the cockpit before I was going down, mortally wounded by a bogie on my six. I logged in again and, again, I was rendered to bloody scrap metal before I could make even one shot count.

I thought I was God’s gift to dog fighting, but I had stepped into a world where a lot of people had been doing it for a lot longer.

Something similar is going on at Twitter, but with one important difference.

There’s lot of comedians on Twitter and a lot of people who fancy themselves comedians. Twitter has heralded an age of mass communication within an age of mass communication.  

Don’t get me wrong, there are a lot of very funny people on Twitter.

But there are also a lot of people who should have done a little research before hitting that button. Why? Because what they think is an oh-so-original golden byte has been done already. A lot.

There are a ton of veteran comics, some well-known, some not (to the novice). It also seems, however,  that a large chunk of the Twitter comedy scene consists of a new guard that has access to a worldwide forum without checking their work.

At the proud risk of sounding like a BSG geek, there are more than twelve models of comedians. It isn’t just Patton Oswalt, Louis CK, Dane Cook, Lisa Lampanelli, Lewis Black, Jeff Ross, Sarah Silverman, Eugene Mirman, Patrice Oneal, Bo Burnham, Mark Maron and Daniel Tosh.

There are hundreds and hundreds, possibly thousands and thousands, of full time comedians who have been at this for a long time and have already captured a lot of the meme-geist of the modern world in their respective bodies of work. A lot of it is copywritten, a lot of it has already been broadcast, but it gets eclipsed by the omnipotent search and destroy nature of Twitter.

I have many friends in the stand up comedy scene in both NYC and LA, as well as the UK Festivals. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen a gaggle of comics talking shop, when one will suddenly ask the others, “I’ve got this new bit. I don’t think anybody’s done this already, right?”

They then try out the bit and a ‘thumbs up’ or ‘thumbs down’ consensus ensues. The ‘thumbs down’ is usually footnoted with the accreditation of the original writer performer.

Not only is this self-editing system not in place in the Twitter comedy world, there seems to be no way to point out the infraction in the faster-than-light tsunami of tweets.

It’s only a matter of time before an idiot comedy club audience member shouts out, “Hey! I read that on Twitter! You’re stealing from Twitter!” while a comic is in the middle of his or her signature piece that they’ve been doing for years.

Lifetimes of work and decades of honing and wordsmithing are being chiseled off and trotted away by people who have no clue.
      No clue, but everybody’s ear.
*****
Postscript:
Since the original publishing of this post, at least two examples were brought to my attention. This is not a witch hunt. This is not talking trash about anybody. This is just trying show what I'm talking about.
Some time last year, Rob Delaney and Jenny Johnson were crowned the King and Queen of Twitter at (what I believe was) the National Lampoon Twitter Awards.
Rob Delaney is a very funny, talented and articulate guy. He has a lot going for him right now and more power to him. His personal back story is an amazing juxtaposition, as told in his one man show, Naked and Bloody. His Twitter style is not for everybody. It's a lot of bodily functions and uncomfortable sexual situations, but he's relentless and prolific. I've seen him eventually actually make even the most offended person laugh.
I'm not a comedian, let alone a standup comedian out there on the circuit. I just throw things up on the 140 as a way of working out and warming up. I submit for your approval:

Geniuses think alike. Some time later, Rob posted:

Rob Delaney doesn't know me from a hole in the wall. He didn't steal this from me. He thought of it himself. The difference is Rob has 290,366 followers. Probably more by the time I finish typing this sentence. I have... let's see... 74. But I'm on his heels like white on rice.
Like I said, I'm not a standup, but I would freak if I saw this happening to my act. I hear the rule used to be that the first person who did it on TV owned it. Well, even then, I'm sure a lot of people had to cross material out of their notebooks at 12:36 am on one night or another.
But it's not that easy to get on television (I'm sure some would argue with me, but you know what I mean). The Information Superhighway has changed the concepts of fame, notoriety and ownership.
Jenny Johnson is another very funny person and I don't think she's even a professional comic. She's a producer at a television news station somewhere in Texas. Again, her humor is not for the faint of heart. She swears like a sailor and her comments about her family can make a biker's jaw drop. I personally applaud her for her hysterical and unwavering attacks on Chris Brown (usually in response to one of his tweets) as she will never, ever let anybody forget what he did to Rhianna.
 I was, however, disappointed to see this from her:

There IS a burlesque performer named Amber Alert, and she's been around for quite a while. Yes, it's a clever idea, but it was Amber Alert's clever idea. I wish Jenny had taken two seconds to Google the name to discover this. This is like saying, "Bozo would be a great name for a clown."
Has it all been done, people? Is it just a matter of who has the biggest megaphone?

Do You Know The Way To San Jorge?

 

In the beginning, there were the Ancient Ones: Burns and Allen, Jack Benny, The Marx Brothers et al, and demigods of the court, such as the writers for Sid Caesar’s Show of Shows.

When I think of the Dawn of Contemporary Stand Up Comedy, I think of Lenny Bruce, George Carlin and Richard Pryor- the iconoclasts. Woody Allen had a foot in both realms, having been one of Caesar's writers, and moved on to flourish in the new light.

I wonder what people like Lenny Bruce and Jimi Hendrix would have come up with had they lived even another ten years. You can see Carlin, Allen and Pryor in old Ed Sullivan Show appearances. Try to peer into those eyes and see how much more was lurking in those shiny clean geniuses dressed in their Sunday best.

It’s an oversimplification, but you can also see a little bit of Bruce, Carlin, Pryor and/or Allen in every comic that has followed, right down to the newest larvae in every back room performance space. There is a movement to name a street after George Carlin and I wonder how that would sit with the man.

A while back, here in New York City, they renamed the seventy-six year old Triboro Bridge after Robert F. Kennedy, forty-three years after his death. Nothing against Bobby Kennedy, but the timing was just boggling. I envisioned forty-three years of red tape or one lone proponent badgering every mayor for four decades until somebody buckled.

We can’t escape being told about how bad the economy is and how funds have to be cut back for everything, every day, everywhere. We are also constantly being told how important tourism and commerce is to the city. I never see a dime of it, but let’s just play along.

Why, at this time, would anybody want to spend four million dollars (according to the NY Times) to confuse every tourist and truck driver coming into the city?

A little less known program is replacing all street signs, which are written in all caps, to first letter cap only. In other words, BROADWAY is being replaced with Broadway, etc. Why are perfectly good street signs getting tossed? Because some study concluded that, after over a century of driving, ALL CAPS is now considered harder to read and causes more accidents.

The 59^th Street Bridge already had two names. Its fancy name is the Queensboro Bridge. Well, it’s neither now. It was just renamed after former Mayor Ed Koch. I actually heard him on the radio gushing about the honor. Of all people, wouldn’t a former Chief Executive Bean Counter see the hassle? Not to mention that this is going to make every copy of the Simon and Garfunkel song either a priceless collector's item or worthless.

Brand new shiny things are built in NYC all the time. You want to honor somebody? Name a new thing after them. You know who else would have had an exquisitely articulate rant about this baloney? Carlin.

Carlin was a bullshit filter. Yeah, he had an ego, as obviously present in his confidence, moodiness and tenacity. But would he want a shrine? He was a destroyer of shrines. If he was still here, I’d picture him saying, “You wanna rename something? How about renaming the fucking government! Yeah, replace each and every one of those fat, corrupt gas bags with somebody who doesn’t have their hands in everybody’s pocket.”

I guess we'll never know for sure. Carry on.

Is Oscar Really A Grouch?

(revised and reprinted from my comment in the May 19, 2011 Laughspin.com editorial section)

Supposedly, everybody loves to laugh. How many times have you been channel surfing with some friends or looking up at what's playing on the TV as you've bellied up to the bar in some gin joint and one of you enthusiastically points to the screen and shouts, "Oh my God! I LOVE that movie! That was the funniest movie I've ever seen!"

Then why, after the goods are delivered, are comedies not given any more respect than a two dollar whore after she's done her job?

Is comedy a form of porn?

The arc of a comedy movie, in its mere approximate 90 minutes, can span days, years and even eons. In real life, most people can't generate that much humor, especially under dire circumstances. I wonder if this invokes a greater suspension of disbelief in viewers and they unfairly prejudge comedies as brain candy (thank you, Kids In The Hall) or somewhere on the path to Sci-Fi.

So, maybe comedy is pornographic science fiction.

What did the rare Oscar winning comedies, It Happened One Night (1934), You Can't Take It With You (1938), Going My Way (1944), Tom Jones (1963), The Sting (1973), and Annie Hall (1977) share with each other and movies in general?

They all seem as diverse as the eras in which they were made. Annie Hall created a fashion trend, but so did Gordon Gekko ten years later. The Sting, riding the momentum of the previous year's Butch Cassidy And The Sundance Kid, perpetuated the feel good anti-hero with a heart of gold. Tom Jones' anti hero golden anatomy was a bit lower, but might have also served as a herald for the sexual liberation and fashions of the coming decade.

AMC's filmsite.org also cites other borderline or hybrid comedies, including The Apartment (1960), Terms of Endearment (1983), Driving Miss Daisy (1989), Shakespeare in Love (1998) and American Beauty (1999), but I feel this just disperses the issue (and the genre) until you can't tell a dramedy from a coma.

Comedy is watching something bad, awkward or, at least, unexpected happen to someone else.

Is comedy sadistic pornographic science fiction?

If it is, no wonder so few comedies win Best Picture. Talk about being pigeon holed.

The Dead Horse That Just Won't Die

Hot honey Mila Kunis is all the rage this week as she poses in her underwear for the cover of the annual GQ Comedy issue. Lack of clothing somehow translating into a year of comedy aside, why did Mila get the gig?


Why not, let's say, Jennifer Aniston? Both are talented actresses associated with hit TV comedies and currently promoting comedy films. But their film careers vary from comedy to drama. Mila Kunis could have just as easily been on the cover of the 'Ballet' issue. Or the 'Hospitali­ty Industry' issue.

Was this the “Women In Comedy” issue? No. If it was, would  Amy Poehler or Tina Fey have posed like that? An absurd play on the cheesecake cliche would have been perfect. Mila Kunis dressed up in Meg Griffin's dowdy clothes would have been brilliant. Her natural beauty would still shine through and it would be tip of the hat to one of the iconic comedies of our time.

But she wasn't plugging Family Guy, was she? Nope. She's on the Friends With Benefits junket.

GQ is Playboy Lite, but it tries to keep the same foothold in the male psyche where he keeps his mental cufflinks, cologne, keys to his sports car, jazz records and ‘artful’ appreciati­on of the female form and it features women in various stages of undress.

Is Kunis 'funnier' than Anniston? No, but is she considered 'hotter' by GQ's demographi­c?

This is just another hot pic of a hot babe on the cover of what just might as well been the 'Toaster' issue. She has a studio full of publicists barking up every media tree. Her movie is a comedy. They dovetailed Mila's latest film into a yearly theme issue. Good for her. Bad for any outstandin­g full time comedy writer/per­former (male or female) who should have received this year’s nod.