shaken, not slurred

I got nothing as far as Oscar picks are concerned. I blame it on the Ice Age we’re currently experiencing on the East Coast- as predicted by Dennis Quaid in The Day After Tomorrow.

While everybody else goes all Jimi Hendrix over directors and dresses and actors and adapted screenplays . . I prefer to concentrate on the peeps who serve up golden boy. I’m funny like that.

So . . . Neil Patrick Harris as host? To borrow from his classic turn as Barney- the hilariously jaded misogynist pig- on How I Met Your Mother . . . Gee? Meet Nius. You guys are related, and I . . am your father. Okay, maybe that was Barney and Cayman Thorn, collaborating at last call. Scary thought.

There is nothing but scary good potential involved in a Neil Patrick Harris night at the Oscars. He’s young enough to play with hashtag, and mean it. He’s old enough to remind certain of us folk how he survived the deadly career affliction otherwise known as Child Actor (See Doogie Howser). Not only survived it, he kicked ass on it.

No matter how well things go tonight, he’s not married to the Oscars (Which, no doubt pleases those cranky Christian conservatives). He can take this Academy Awards thing and he can leave it just the same. And that right there brings some much needed edge to an awards banquet that has gone too long to the dance with Billy Crystal.

Okay. You didn’t ask me for my Oscar nods, so this is what you get . . .I only go with the Big Five on account of my attention deficit . .  something or other, don’t remember. . sorry.

Best Actor- Alex Rodriguez. He’s not nearly as handsome as Streep, nor as pretty as DiCaprio. But he’s so damned good at lying his ass off that the sporting world has called him out on it. That, is some work right there.

Best Actress- Bruce Jenner. Too soon?

Best Director- Stephen Spielberg. Too late?

Best Picture- Joe Biden Too disturbing?  

Was that five already? My ADD is saying nah, but that pic to my right is asking me to leave the room before I attach a chicka or a bow wow to it (too late! Fucking ADD, why do you insist on following me into dementia?! Give me some time to breathe!)

Anyways, hope you enjoyed this Oscar night special as much as, umm, I did?

Fifty Shades of Hey!

50 shadesHere’s some stuff that makes me go fifty shades of hey. . .

Who really thought Fifty Shades of Grey would make for a solid flick? Here’s the Cayman Thorn math on why E.L. James’s booty tips don’t translate to the box office


Say adios to fifty percent of your audience before you get to post production, because dudes do not want any part of this movie. With dudes, if it’s not actual porn, it may as well be Disney. Women will go . . but not in the droves that created major bank for the book. Half of the female population will stay away because they don’t want to show up to a soft porn movie all by their lonesome, or worse yet, with a female . . friend. And of course, there’s a quarter of the other half of that female population that won’t go out of religious indignation. Shame of it is, these females really, really want to check the shit out, because they didn’t buy the book. Where the fuck were they going to hide it?  In the linen closet? That’s for liquor!

So . . you’re down to twelve and a half percent of the population. Half of that population is gay. Gay people don’t do stupid shit when it comes to cinema, like, blow twenty bucks on a flick about heterosexual people trying to appear interesting.

We’re left with six percent. Out of which you have the homeless, shut ins, public officials who get all this shit for free, the elderly, the underage, Comic Con peeps, serial killers who have better things to do with their time and the Duggars.

Basically, eleven people are gonna see this flick. And there’s your Cayman Thorn math on Fifty Shades of Grey.

And not for nothing, but I will read Fifty Shades before I read A-Rod’s apology letter.

Kanye West is bat shit crazy, but I would read his apology letter if it was set to music.

As for someone who is NOT bat shit crazy in the least, Kelly Clarkson is a cool chica in my book. She’s comfortable in her own skin, and she’s not going all Marie Osmond on us. She’s cool with her body image. Good for her. And even better for young girls who need that kind of example.

If the Cubs win the World Series this year, as predicted in Back to the Future 2, I’m going to hate Michael J. Fox for the rest of my life. Sadly . .

As far as Brian Williams is concerned, I’m really thankful he’s not an air traffic controller . . . Why he insisted on making shit up? No fucking idea. Brian Williams making up news that didn’t happen is like Brad Pitt making up women he didn’t have sex with. No need! But I will say this. The man will get back, and he will get paid. Journalism has been replaced with consumerism inside the uber competitive market of fast food news. Pretty sells. And Brian Williams . . he can sell pretty.

Nascar came back? Again?

I love the Association, but the NBA All Star Game should never come back.

Rumor has it Michael Shannon might have snuck his crazy self into Batman vs Superman as Doomsday, and lemme tell you . . I haven’t been this ready for crazy? Well, since this morning.

If Bruce Jenner serves time, does he go into a male or a female correctional facility?  Personally, I’m hoping for Area 51.

Those fucking douchebags- otherwise known as 5 Seconds of Summer- went and fucked around with an all time classic, “What I Like About You”. This becomes Reason # 4,318 as to why I would punch these assholes in the face if I ever score a backstage pass to one of their slumber parties.

I’m confused. Is it ISIS or ISIL or IS . . . or should we just call ‘em the Cleveland Browns?

With Tiger Woods taking time away from his game (since 2009) . . . can he bring Alex Rodriguez with him? That’d be super convenient for us Yankees fans who are hating the idea of being mathematically eliminated before pitchers and catchers . . .

Speaking of golf, Tim Tebow can crush a golf ball from what I’ve read. And if I was ever gonna watch golf again? I mean, after that one time when I watched Tiger Woods win his first Masters? . . . Tebow could get me to watch.

Speaking of football. I hope the New England Patriots win again next year. Just to clear up the ‘Gate’ shit for once and for all. I realize that I suck as a Miami Dolphins fan, but hey, I learned from them.

I don’t agree with President Obama on much (Outside of Cuba and Guinness and Five Guys and Immigration . . okay, maybe we’re cooler than Snoop Dog,), but anyways, leave his family alone already. And please stop with this whole POTUS bullshit because it is extremely disrespectful to the office he holds. He’s the President of the United States. I didn’t have to vote for him to be very good with that fact.

Chris Christie does realize that a Super PAC has nothing to do with fast food, right?

And lastly, but not leastly, here’s one for those musical miscreants whose faces I ain’t punched just yet. This here, is how the A side of rock and roll is supposed to sound.







Vera ListWith temps chillier than Kris Kardashian’s undergarments, it’s high time for another list of hot chicas, served up by yours truly. I tried reaching Vera Farmiga- again- in the hopes that she might be interested in writing the foreword to this post, but she declined. Actually . . her husband declined. And then her lawyer declined . . and then, yeah . . the authorities, they felt the need to get all up in ‘ma business.

Anyways . . . on with the show!

Eva Green- The ivory skin. The boil that purrs below her surface. The way she strikes you with that wicked glance . . and the British accent. And so, you mean to tell me if the colonies had lost the Revolutionary War, we’d have even more of that going on over here right now? What the fuck were we thinking?

Katie Seagal- She’s the Lady MacBeth of biker babes. And she’s sexier than ever. And speaking of SOA babes . . .

Ally Walker- How do I put this nicely? Her character on Sons was a total cunt. She made bikers cringe, she made men get down on their knees to satisfy her needs. I’ll take your 50 Shades of Grey and I’ll raise you her.

Natasha Henstridge- Speaking of bad girls, she plays the kind of hard core bitch that makes this boy swoon. She’d toss her lover in a compactor if he didn’t master her domain. I’m in deep love with that kind of sexy.

JNatashaada Pinkett Smith- Since I’m on a mean sexy streak, I’d be remiss if I didn’t include JP Smooth. The way she plays Fish Mooney on Gotham . . well, I have to believe that’s what you’d be getting late in the night. Some Victoria’s Secret, with Barry White running the turn table, and a bottle of bub sitting on the bedside table. Okay, where was I?

Julianna Margulies- Elegance? Check. Sophistication? Check. Confidence? Check. Beauty? Check . . . You get ‘me point, the woman is Boss. (Fun Fact: Carol Hathaway, the character she played on ER, was set to be killed off early on, but the show’s writers came to their senses and she ended up hanging around for six season, becoming the only actor on the long running hit show to win an Emmy.) Sexy? Check!

Lauren Cohen- As Maggie on Walking Dead, Cohen provides a deft combination of muscle and smarts. It’s been a slow and beautiful burn since we first met her on the farm back in season 2. Not to mention, yeah . . . the British accent.

Stacey Dash- Those caramel eyes could talk me into anything. The rest of her would just seal the deal.

Rosario Dawson- My mouth waters whenever I utter her name aloud. Rosario . . . Rosario . . Alright, that’s enough. My cat’s giving me this look that’s basically saying, “Maybe it’s a good thing you cut my business off, dude . . .”

Sara Bareilles- I have this dream that the zombie apocalypse has arrived, and she’s my girlfriend. Sara sings me to sleep every night after three hour love sessions by the fire. And then I wake up. And I realize . . no zombie apocalypse yet. Zombies are fucking slackers.

CobieCobie Smulders- She’s simply my latest guilty pleasure on a show (How I Met Your Mother) I swore I would never watch but am currently binge watching. She can come off as indifferent, but that’s only cause you need to do your homework in order to gain her extra credit. Her sense of humor is drier than a gin martini on a budget and when her laugh comes out to play? Ballgame.

Kelly Brook- Oh my God, the eyes. The hair. The ample bosom. The . . where the hell was I? Oh yeah, the everything about her. She plays demure to the loveliest conclusion this side of a California sunset. And the British accent, oh my God . . .

Welp, that does it for my latest installment of what’s hot. I’d like to thank Vera Farmiga for her lovely inspiration, as per usual. And remember kids, if you got shades on during sex? You’re doing it wrong. . .



Big Papi is the last man standing when it comes to my social endeavoring. My circle of friends has become female-centric for very good reason. Dudes are way too high maintenance. As a man of a certain age, I no longer feel the need for male bonding. Meh, I was never very good at it to begin with.

For one thing, guys love to engage in pissing contests. Literally, figuratively . . either way, it’s an ugly mess of unrequited testosterone. For another thing,  guys talk about how they ain’t got time for love. Until they get drunk. After which, they love everyone. Not to mention the gossip factor. Guys are the worst. Whereas women gossip over shit they know to be true, guys gossip over shit to which they have no fucking clue.

I realize I’m generalizing on these points, and I have no problem with that.

Anyways . . . I was going to invite Big Papi over to watch the Super Bowl since he’s the last dude I will probably ever hang out with on a semi-regular basis. And then I thought about Big Papi’s Big Game rules.

Big Papi’s Big Game Rules

1-Watch pregame shows.
2-Ring Bologna is the mother’s milk of Roman numerals.
3-An inability to leave well enough (beer) alone, by introducing a really stupid idea (tequila) into the proceedings.
4-Fourth meal? Or is that five? Maybe it’s six…..
5-Watch the entire fucking game.

Obviously, Big Papi’s Big Game rules suck. And I have a big problem with #5. I mean, what if it’s a blowout? What if there’s a Grease marathon on AMC? What if I can partake of an impromptu booty call? What if I want to catch up on Sons of Anarchy? What if I just don’t feel like pondering Tom Brady’s perfect life for three and a half hours?

So I called Big Papi yesterday to gauge his interest in chilling at the crib. I was willing to compromise, so I knew the conversation was going to be brief.

Me: Wassup man? I got a question for you . .

Big Papi: Hey! What are you doing for the game?

Me: I was just about to ask . . well, what are you doing?

Big Papi: It’s gonna be me and the boys. We’re gonna get pizza and I got a shitload of beer in the basement. You wanna come over?

Me: As amazing as that sounds, I’m gonna have to pass.

Big Papi: Got plans, huh?

Me: Yeah. I started taking meth and that shit is a commitment. Thing is, I’m still pretty, which means I’m just not trying hard enough . . .

Big Papi: What?

Me: Nah man, I’m gonna chill at the crib.

Big Papi: Well, if you change your mind, just come on by.

Me: I’ll call you Sunday. . .

So my Super Bowl Sunday is officially set. I’ll have my grub and my beverage(s) of choice. And I’ll have my main man . . Mr. Speaker. I’m hoping for a good game, but if all else fails, Sons of Anarchy catch up is getting gooood.

Cayman Thorn’s Top 5 Prop Bets: 

Odds Al Michaels will use the word hashtag during the game- 3-2 . . . Odds Al Michaels will know what it means? Not good. . .

How long will it take Idina Menzel to sing the National Anthem?- Over/Under 2 min 5 secs . . . How long will it take John Travolta to fuck up her name?- Over/Under, 7 seconds

Odds Richard Sherman leaves the game to be present for the birth of his first child?- 20-1 . . . Odds Bill Bellichick places a call to the Seattle locker room impersonating a doctor? Bettah. 

How many times will Giselle be shown on TV?- Over/Under 2 . . . How many times will I think of Giselle during the game?- Over/Under, 5,000. 

Odds Marshall Lynch grabs his crotch after scoring a TD?- 5-2 . . . Odds the league investigates his balls? Not happening. 

If you’re looking for Cayman’s fearless prediction for Super Bowl 49, I’ll give you this instead . . . The Patriots storm out to a 28-0 second quarter lead before the referees replace their regulation footballs with Nerf footballs. The Seahawks score the next 35 points to take the lead into halftime. The teams trade touchdowns at a historic pace, with the Patriots leading 84-81 at the end of the third quarter. Referees discover the reason for the curiously high score- both teams are using basketballs, and to make matters worse? They’re over inflated. The basketballs are replaced with hockey pucks. With the Patriots down by four in the closing seconds, Tom Brady puts the biscuit in the basket to clinch his fourth ring.



The Dark SideCall me silly, but the last time deflated balls were a big deal? Bruce Jenner was trading in his Olympic gold medal for estrogen treatments.

Hell if I can’t muster up the rage so many people are feeling over “Deflate-Gate”. I know, this isn’t the first time the Patriots have cheated the rules. And I know, over the last decade they have achieved a level of villainy right up there with the Yankees, Darth Vader and Cheesecake Factory serving sizes. They win with more regularity than Charlie Sheen’s little black book. They win with a coach whose reputation is shadier than the most ruthless Capo di tutti capi; with a quarterback whose life makes Brad Pitt’s look ordinary. And sometimes it seems as if they’re never going to stop winning, by whatever means possible.

The Patriots had the, umm . . . balls to try and gain a competitive advantage? Welcome to sports.

I don’t have to be a Patriots fan to appreciate the resonant quality of this organization, even with the most casual of fans. The Patriots are intriguing in a way most teams- my Dolphins included- can only dream of. All that winning amid all the questions as to how they went about their business, it engenders a deep seated enmity that will only grow more interesting as time goes on. Forget box scores, the Patriots are a political op-ed.

giseleIf a story came out tomorrow that the Jags deflated footballs, or the Jets spied on other team’s practices . . it wouldn’t even move the needle. Because those teams are the bottom of the food chain. And there ain’t no sexy in that. Tom Brady is the easy target, after all. He’s got the perfect smile, a Hall of Fame resume, and he wins the Super Bowl . . like, every night.

And am I the only one who finds irony in the fact that, of all these “Gates” New England has been linked to, they were basically given a pass for Aaron Hernandez? Which is precisely why I’m okay with applying some moral relativism to the New England Patriots of Brady and Bellichick when it comes to their on field shenanigans.

I could go all Chapelle on these NFL players who whine about the integrity of the game being compromised by deflated balls, but that’s too easy. Instead, I’d like to ask them one simple question: If Tom Brady is such a horrible guy because he didn’t fess up to his PSI preferences when given the chance to tell the truth . . why don’t they consider Ray Lewis a horrible guy for not fessing up to what he knew about a murder, when given a chance to tell the truth? Sanctimonious? Meet bullshit.

It strikes me, that if the proper PSI of a game used football was such a big deal, then the league probably should have been keeping tabs on it from the get. And all these players who are busy piling on the Patriots now should probably do what the league wasn’t doing.

Grow some balls.

Life is the happening of a place we’re never quite gonna get around to understanding. As much as we want to get it, it ain’t happening.

Think about it . . .

You start by getting slapped in the ass by a dude in a butcher coat, just to make sure you’re awake. After which you wail away as if Nazi’s have invaded the maternity ward, while strangers surround you and laugh at the squeals you’re asking them to take seriously. And then life really starts fucking with you.

Every single one of our life stories is a snowflake- possessing a completely unique definition of the known whilst using it as currency for all the unknown. Our soulful fingerprints are cultivated from the channels of crimes and misdemeanors, rises and falls, inventions and re-inventions, lonesome walks and bad company nights.

Life is always busy figuring you out, but it’s never gonna be cool when it comes to returning the favor. It gifts you its best and it punishes you with its worst, after which it’s left to you to figure out the math on those diametrically opposed places, and to somehow forge a confluence that doesn’t read of the Manson family tree.

I once wrote somewhere that life is like a speeding train and we, the clueless passengers; busy staring out at a still life picture. We don’t realize just how fast we’re moving until we exit the train and look around, shaking our heads in wonder at the deception.

Life gives you enough, and it lets you know that is all you’re ever gonna get. Enough. As a kid, we’re too busy believing that days last forever and as adolescents we’re too busy proving it. As young adults, we play with money and sex and new found titles until it bores us into being more responsible. By middle age, we come to understand mortality on a level that feels way too personal. And from what I hear of folks who make it to their golden years? They’ve learned that while the days might be short, the ability to curse at kids without repercussion? Is fucking awesome.

To which, there’s a final chapter. And if you’re really lucky, you find peace there. I remember listening to John Kennedy Jr talk about his mother after she passed. The kid framed portraits when he spoke. Never more so than on the day mama died. His recounting of her final moments was of a circle, filled with close friends, family and her books. I’ll never forget that. She turned enough into everything.

It’s all you could ask for.



You can’t have your cake and eat it too- Why have it then? Who buys a cake just to look at it? Isn’t the whole point of having a cake so that you can eat it?

Kill two birds with one stone- On a scale of 1 to 10, the degree of difficulty would be like, 200. It would be akin to catching two fish with one hook. Or marrying two Kardashian girls with one bank account.

Neither here nor there- In other words, it’s nowhere to be found? Sorta like Kate Gosselin’s television career.

Burning the candle at both ends- Where do you find that candle holder? Sharper Image?

Cayman on Life

I don’t understand people who ask Would you mind terribly? -Before you ask, shouldn’t you have a pretty good idea as to how they’re gonna take your query? And if you do, and if you believe that maybe . . just maybe, they will mind terribly, then you might be a sadist.

A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush- The guy who coined this is probably the same guy who invented porn.

Take it with a grain of salt- Which is 5,250 grains of salt short of your average Applebee’s entree.

Up a creek without a paddle- If you managed to get up the creek without a paddle, you’re doing just fine. So stop bitching.

Cayman on Liberty 

Is it really so difficult for people to understand what free speech means? Every time someone says something really stupid and gets trashed as a result, they compound their own stupidity by railing on about how their rights to free speech have been compromised. No, they haven’t. They’re taking censure to mean censor, which is not the same thing at all. Speech is free. The resultant backlash? Not so much. So the moral of the story is this. Don’t say stupid shit. Unless you’re Miley Cyrus. She can’t help it.

Leave well enough alone- If you tell me to leave well enough alone, I’m gonna fuck with well enough, on principle.

A day late and a dollar short- The modern day equivalent? “Sucks to be You!”

Making a mountain out of a molehill-  If you ask me, that’s pretty fucking impressive. I mean, that’s Superman shit right there.

Cayman on the Pursuit of Happiness

How come a trip to the DMV lasts half a day while the average love making session goes thirteen minutes? If life is so short, why are we busying it up with the wrong stuff? See? This is why John Lennon should have been President. He used to spend weeks in bed having sex. That dude knew how to prioritize. (Thanks to mom for the 411).

Get up on the wrong side of the bed- It’s called Vegas.

Idle hands are the work of the devil- So, what you’re saying is, masturbation is NOT a sin after all? Bonus!

Let the cat out of the bag- Try getting a cat into the bag. See how many eyes you got left after doing so.

Biting the hand that feeds you- Is perfectly understandable, if they just ate Doritos.

A means to an end- Is how I bid you adieu.








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