Greetings Mouthketeers:

As most of you have heard, Michael Jackson, the self-proclaimed “King of Pop,” died yesterday of an apparent cardiac arrest. Although the first thing that ‘pops’ into my mind about this man surrounds the accusation he was a pedophile, (or at least convicted “in a court of public opinion”); now I can issue a sigh of relief knowing that a troubled person is not going to be near children any longer.

And it took death to make that happen.

No child should sleep in a grown man’s bed . . . on the premise they are friends. Are you kidding? Puhleese. All the “Thriller” albums in the world will not stop me from forgetting Michael Jackson abused young children for his own pleasure.

I’ve seen all those interviews and heard all of Michael Jackson’s arguments throughout the years, and the guy was definitely guilty because he spent a lot of time and money on hiring publicists, trying to turn his tarnished image around. If you’re not guilty you don’t spend money on crisis managers, and you don’t run away and move to another country.

When I had the pleasure of repping investigative reporter, Diane Dimond, with her book, BE CAREFUL WHO YOU LOVE, it was clear from Ms. Dimond’s research, this man was a dangerous whacko with a deep, dark secret he did not want any adult to know.  What did he do?  Turn the music up even louder so the masses could not hear the pain coming from those young boys.

Yes, friends. Even when you die, your history will override your passing; and you’ll still be known for how you lived, and how you treated others. Because our society thrives on the negative, there might be a brief honeymoon period right after you die; but then people will start talking.   Be careful who you love.  Be thoughtful as to how you live.

As you know from a previous blog posting, I met Michael when he was a kid—when he seemed normal—churning out those amazing songs many of us have used to define a moment in our own lives. What disturbs me most of all about Mr. Jackson’s death, is he and I were a few months apart in age, and with his passing,  it’s now clear to me  I’m entering a time when my generation will soon be dropping like flies.

Michael Jackson: The King of Pop has stopped. Goodbye, and thanks for a few great tunes.  Why did you abuse those innocent children?  Perhaps your own children, (Michael Joseph Jackson, Jr.; Paris Michael Katherine Jackson and Prince “Blanket” Michael Jackson II), may now be unmasked and live in harmony with the real world.

Isn’t it a bummer Mr. Jackson’s death has out-scooped the passing of Farrah Fawcett?  Rewind the tape, Farrah . . . and give us another fifteen minutes.

Peace.

The Mouthinator.

The Mouthinator entertainment

Dear Mouthketeers:

Farrah Fawcett has passed away at the age of 62. May her big, beautiful locks of hair follow her to Heaven.

Yes, we will always remember her for her acting roles: but it was also amazing to watch her try and find a cure for her cancer. (I’m not sure it was amazing to see Ryan O’Neal follow her; however, I’m sad for him . . . and for their son.)

May she rest in peace, and may the media stop treating this story as if it’s tabloid fodder.

Doesn’t Jacqueline Smith look great these days?  Hang in there, grrrrl.

Peace.

The Mouthinator.

The Mouthinator entertainment

 

Greetings Mouthketeers:

 

Do you remember any of Jon & Kate Gosselin’s divorce statements? Do you recall any of President Barack Obama’s resonating speeches? Well, I bet if you read any of South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford’s emails to Buenos Aires, Argentina, resident, “Maria,” you will never forget them!  That’s why, “If you’re looking for help in publishing your ‘prose de pussycat,’ Mr. Governator,” “I’m there!”

 

You got that right.  I will whore myself out to the big cheese publishing barons of the world in order to help Sandy (uh, Mark Sanford), nail a book deal.  Why not?  He certainly is sexy, (although he will never be a hand model with those bony hands); he certainly can cry on camera (although all men who are caught cheating these days seem to tear up on cue); and, he certainly has a lot of writing talent.  Read this:

 

Lusts Sandy, to Maria, (whose real name will probably leak out in today’s news), “I could digress and say that you have the ability to give magnificent gentle kisses, or that I love your tan lines or that I love the curve of your hips, the erotic beauty of you holding yourself (or two magnificent parts of yourself) in the faded glow of the night’s light — but hey, that would be going into sexual details …“

 

Wow. Did I just read the lyrics to “The Girl From Ipanema?”  Where did this dude study English?  Move over, Barbara Cartland:  When The Sandster gets axed from the GOP, he is gonna wet the panties of his readers (who can only imagine being in the same shoes—or the same tankini—as Maria), or he will be hired as a talking head for the Fox News Channel.    

 

Seriously friends, it’s time for us to live up to what our parents taught us: And that is to be nice people who don’t cheat on their loved ones.

 

Hey, I bet former Illinois Governor Rod Blagojevich is glad he is outa the spotlight today, right?

 

Peace.

 

The Mouthinator.   

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Mouthinator Politics

Greetings Mouthketeers:

I had the pleasure of driving to work yesterday, and during the excursion, turned on the radio and stumbled upon “The Glenn Beck Program.”  Is Beck kidding?  At times, I really like Glenn Beck on television:  He’s eloquent, delivers a great sound byte, and even though I don’t always agree with his politics, think he’s somewhat entertaining too.  And, I realize a lot of people like him. (That guy must make gazillion dollars!) 

But this GB radio show almost put me to sleep at the wheel.  Why?

First: Let’s talk bare bones logistics.  What’s up with that 1980s radio voice, Glenn?  You know, the sound you wanted to hear when you were a kid—as you yelled into a glass or screamed at your bathroom tiles—just to hear your voice echo?  (In radio terms, the “echo” is called, “reverb.”)  Second: What’s up with the promo music?  Is Beck’s show a “Newstalk” show or is it a “Z Morning Zoo?”  A wannabe “Imus?”  Surely not a “Howard Stern,” right?  Puhleese.  Save the scratchy electric guitar promos and the whispering women for a ZZ-Top Reunion.  Third:  How many times do you have to say, “Yadda, yadda, yadda . .?”  (OK.  Maybe that was a cheap shot.  I apologize Mr. Beck for critiquing your vocabulary.)  And Fourth:  If I heard another minute more about Billy Joel’s divorce—which seemed to be a topic of discussion for nearly an hour—I was going to do a jackknife across the highway!

You got that right.  Who the hell cares about Billy Joel’s divorce, and the fact he married a chick more than thirty years his junior?  After Beck ranted on and on about this “Piano Man’s” predicament, they opened up the phone lines to talk about the age difference, and a 53 year-old male caller chimed in and boasted how lucky he was to meet his (now) 23 year-old wife.  However, the fact the caller hinted he met his wife when she was a minor—and the fact Beck and his Z Morningish Zoo crew thought it was funny, was really creepy to me . . . Especially when the next segment was a monologue judging our new President Obama, who the last time I checked, wasn’t joking in the Oval Office about pedophlia.

Let’s not even touch upon the Obama thing, because this is a free country, and if Beck wants to vote for Sarah Palin next time around, go for it baby (no pun)—and bring those stanky guitars with you in the voting booth.  But really, Beck, your persona on TV is a disconnect with your radio host character, and although it’s great you command a huge audience who respects you, I’m not sure I find humor in a caller admitting he played around with a minor before having her baby.  Do you?  On the other hand, if you respected Sarah Palin’s 2008 campaign, you probably aren’t thrown off by really awkward moments.   

In a world where Sarah Palin has the right to scream and yell at David Letterman for making that stupid joke about how he thought Palin’s teenage daughter should get knocked up by baseball star, Alex Rodriguez, why is Beck and company not judging his 53 year-old geezer of a caller?  Instead, we’re privy to hearing Beck’s entourage chuckling in the background about this sick schtick!  Do you think because you’re all guys, this subject matter is acceptable, and a rite of passage only worthy of those who watch Spike TV? Uh, where the hell is Gloria Steinem when you need her?   

This ain’t guy talk; This is NewsTalk . . . Radio.   

Beck:  Tell it like it is—without the reverb, the guitars, and the sales pitch.  Oh, and congrats on your (already) New York Times best-seller, Glenn Beck’s Common Sense, the book you say was ‘scary to write.’ 

Lights out, fellas.

Hey, whatever happened to Soupy Sales? 

Peace.

The Mouthinator.  

The Mouthinator News, Politics, Pop Culture, entertainment

 

Greetings Mouthketeers:

 

I was going to blog about the “dead mom,” the guy who disguised himself as his mother (who died years ago), in order to collect her benefits, but then I thought I’d share some real news that will help you or someone you know.  (We’ll play dress-up another day.  OK?) 

 

Some of us inject a poison, such as Botox, in your faces, (what’s up with those crazy eyebrows, people?), others shove saline or silicone to poof up your bust line—just in case you need a floatation device when you’re swimming; but do any of us slather our bods with pesticide?  If the answer is “no,” why on Earth would we accept rubbing that crap on our dogs and cats to protect them from Fleas and Ticks? 

 

You got that right.  Products such as Frontline, is a P-e-s-t-i-c-i-d-e! (And people wonder why we’re all getting Cancer?  Excuse me.  Are we crazy?)  Please don’t be confused with where I’m going with this.  Just take it for face value, and if you are a dog or even a pussycat owner (or know someone who is), please pass this blog along to them because I’m gonna share some useful info for a change.  Deal?

 

Here’s the setup:  So I have a Silver-Dappled Mini Daschund named Rufus, a little hotdog of a thing who specializes in “whisper singing.” Anyway, the other day we attended the 11^th Annual Dachsie Fest in Westport Connecticut, which was nothing more than a group of hundreds of hotdogs and their slightly eccentric owners and admirers parading around a park, showing off their pooches, and looking to rescue other Dachsie dogs in distress.  During the event, at least fifteen strangers asked me why Rufus’s coat was so soft and silky . . . so in the spirit of sharing my trade secrets for keeping Rufus’s coat the way it is, I’d thought I would also reveal other eco-friendly remedies:

 

Trade Secret Number One:  For a silky beautiful coat, add a supplement called “Dreamcoat” into your pet food everyday.  It’s put out by a former client of mine, called Halo Purely for Pets, and is an organic oil supplement that will not only stop your dog (or cat) from itching, but will cut down on the shedding and dander, and make their coats so shiny, you’d swear you honey bunny is ready to audition for a Preference by Loreal commercial!  You can get Dreamcoat in pet stores including PetCo, as well as on the Internet. 

 

Trade Secret Number Two:  To get rid of Flea and ticks, throw away the Frontline and the Hartz, etc. in favor of an eco-friendly powdered supplement put out by Earth Animal in Westport CT, called Earth Animal Herbal Internal Flea and Tick Powder Yeast Free. (There’s also another version on the site too.)  Friends, when you add this to your pet’s food, it will smell as if you’re feeding them an Italian dinner. According to the store, this stuff will also “clean” their blood while warding off those F&Ts.  (BTW, you can also get Dreamcoat on this site too.)

 

Trade Secret Number Three:  For those doggies who can’t express their anal glands as easily as others (I can’t describe this any further because I’ll be grossed out so please ask your vet about AGs—especially if you have a male dog), I also add a big fat tablespoon of Libby’s 100% Pure Pumpkin (from a can) into the food as well.  This supplement will not only bulk up the food, but help Fido expel his anal toxins more easily.  FYI, the holiday season is a great time to stock up on cans of the pumpkin, which can last for years.

 

Trade Secret Number Four:  Feed your dog Spot’s Stew, also put out by Halo.  This miracle food, which incidentally, can be eaten by anything, including humans, comes in Chicken, Beef, Lamb and Salmon flavors.  I serve Rufus the wet; however they recently launched the dry. 

 

So if you’ve got some trade secrets you’d like to share, please let me know.

 

You must check out a great book called Broadway Tails published by Globe Pequot, and written by Bill Berloni, the guy who found and saved the original “Sandy” for the musical “Annie.”  Bill and his wife, Dorothy, are premier trainers for the stage and screen as well as rescuers.  BTW, I only love eating my hotdogs with Ketchup.

 

Peace.

 

The Mouthinator.

 

 

The Mouthinator News, Pet

 

Dear Mouthketeers:

 

For those of you who care about reality television, last night’s finale of “The Real Housewives of New Jersey” ended with verve—or shall I say, with Teresa throwing a table across a private dining room during her housewarming party at a local restaurant.  However, no one on the show was more classy than Danielle Staub, whose checkered past was unlocked in a book she unveiled at the party, called Cop Without a Badge, written by her first ex-husband.  This book, and all the brouhaha surrounding last night’s last episode of “Housewives,” made Staub, a/k/a Beverly Merrill, look as if she could have played Whitney Houston’s best friend in “Being Bobby Brown.”  However, Staub claims most of the book isn’t true, and used the finale of the reality TV franchise as her opportunity to air her grievances. 

 

Staub isn’t the only one to have a book haunt her for years. 

 

 

 

 

Years ago, my mom was washing dishes as she was listening to NPR, and while she heard the interview, couldn’t believe the guest was talking about her life—the guest being James McBride, New York Times best-selling author of The Color of Water.  You see, the story was about McBride’s mother who never told anyone about her past, and the author was on a mission to find out about his white mother’s family tree.   Little did anyone know but my mom was McBride’s mother’s first cousin, and after the NPR interview aired, Water played a big role in breaking up our family, just as Cop played a big role in severing ties with many of the cast members on “Housewives.”

 

Although I won’t tell you whom my mother’s character was in Water, (the names were changed to protect the “innocent,” I guess), what I will tell you is the story puts my mom and her immediate family in a very bad light; and even though the critics propelled McBride’s book to classic status, I know the writing is filled with lies.  (Where is Michiko Kakutani when you need her?) 

 

Apparently McBride stuck a mic under his mother’s nose and let her rant, and those rants were enough for him (and his editor at Riverhead), to craft his tale.  Boy, is McBride lucky he didn’t publish his book after A Million Little Pieces, where author James Frey tweaked his tome simply to sell more copies and be famous, I assume.  If the timing of McBride’s book was released after the Frey story, there would be no way in hell Riverhead would have published it without a level of vetting or at least convince McBride to get off his ass and do the fact checking himself.  Since McBride must’ve made a ton of money after the book pubbed, should McBride have given a portion of his royalties to the family members he hurt as an apology? 

 

At the end of the day, the “Housewives” knew who they were, and had an opportunity to air their “point-counter-point” reaction to the book on their show; however, McBride never met my mother, never bothered to do his homework, and obviously, never suggested a retraction to run on a TV show or an NPR interview where my mom could air her grievances. (Actually, she didn’t want to be part of any publicity surrounding the book.)  When Water was released, there were no reality television shows used as platforms to set the record straight and give an innocent person a vehicle to say their peace.  However, as housewife Caroline Manzo eloquently said in the finale of the “Housewives” show, “If someone attacks my family, I will attack back.” So, without further adieu, all I can say to James McBride is, “Fuck you, asshole.”

 

Did you mom ever wash your mouth out with soap?

 

Peace.

 

The Mouthinator. 

The Mouthinator entertainment

 

 

Dear Mouthketeers:

If Ruth Madoff isn’t going down as the “Eva Braun” to one of the most disgusting financial terrorists on the planet, she’ll go down as a woman who best resembles Meg Ryan—without the poufy-puffy lips.  Why?  I had the “pleasure” of seeing not one, but two shots of Ruth Madoff in the New York Times “Sunday Styles” section yesterday, where this woman’s “story” was apparently worthy of a front page.  But what is Ruth/Eva/Meg’s revelation these days?  Newsflash:  She’s waiting for her husband Bernie Madoff/Adolf (Hitler) to await sentencing.

That’s the story. (I would have loved to be a fly on the wall when the publicist pitched this non-story to the writer.)  And wait, there’s more to learn:  Eva/Ruth/Meg has been ousted from her beauty salon in NYC (they won’t even visit her privately in her penthouse apartment on 64th Street in Manhattan), and from the Amagansett, New York florist who decorated her husband’s annual corporate party in Montauk, the tip of Long Island.  Wow.

But what is probably the most shocking news of all is the Times didn’t even have the clout to get an interview with Eva/Ruth/Meg herself.  What’s up with that?  You write a cover story about someone who doesn’t do anything, hasn’t even committed suicide, and all you can come up with is a few quotes from a wife of another former evil financier and a couple of soundbytes from an attorney, as example?  Yadda, yadda, yadda . . . Y-A-W-N.

In a world where the news business is greatly tanking, (because, in my opinion, the public is sick of reading the same old stories over and over again), I think the SundayStyles section is getting desperate for attention.  Perhaps I’d be interested if Ruth/Eva/Meg squeals on Bernie/Adolf and tells the truth; however, until then, what clout does she really have except being married to an asshole for 49 years?  And the last time I checked, living with a puss-faced criminal for almost half a century isn’t very stylish either.  Unless she’s a cloister nun disguised as a rich woman, how could this chick not know what her hubby was up to?  She must’ve had a conversation or two with him before ordering his flowers or before she highlighted her hair the color of “Soft Baby Blonde,” according to the paper, no? 

Most disgustingly, some yenta image consultant quoted in the piece actually suggested Ruth/Eva/Meg could change her image if she simply devoted her time to a charity, predicting that “an orphanage or a pet shelter would be a good place to start.”  Image Consultant:  If you get any salary for your advice you should be fired.  The American public won’t shed any tear for Ruth/Eva/Meg simply because she sits at the reception desk at the local ASPCA every Saturday.  Are you kidding?

My Account Executive, Khuong, and my AAE, Abby, do more charity work than anyone I know, yet no paper features them.  And that’s precisely why the New York Times and all the other papers are tanking:  Because they’re not putting much news value on the local scene anymore, and in fact, the Metro Section has really shrunk in the Times these days.  A current trend on the Internet and on television; however, is to promote real people on the street as iReporters, who can respond to real news as it really happens.

I might cancel my subscriptions to the New York Times because if I wanna read these wannabe news stories, I’ll just go on their website.  I’m beginning to pull my news from the Internet anyway; and frankly, I will find more about Ruth/Eva/Meg on Google, than in the Times, so why bother?

It takes too long to drive to Montauk, doesn’t it?

Peace.

The Mouthinator.

The Mouthinator Finance, Lifestyle, News, Pop Culture

 

 

 

Greetings Mouthketeers:

 

We’ve all watched the legendary, Cher, turn back time—transitioning from a 60ish year-old senior to a 17 year-old somthin/somthin throughout the last decade.  Now, Cher’s, gay daughter, Chastity Sun Bono, will be transitioning her own way as she announced late last night she will become a male and has asked to be called “Chaz.”  You got that right.  I’d say Chaz has some big balls to go ahead with this.  You go, boyyyyy! 

 

I had the unique experience of meeting Chaz’s parents, Sonny and Cher, at the Playboy Plaza Hotel in Miami Beach in the early 1960s.  On a hot December day, the two were tanning by the pool, and to add to the excitement, the Jackson Five were swimming in the pool right next to them.  (True story.)  There I was, as tall as I was wide, plopping in and out of the water and running up and down the patio—trying to entice my secret love, Cher Bono, to notice me.   

 

So I went over to Cher and asked for her autograph. 

 

She was lying on her stomach, and Sonny was propped up on his back, reading a book.  Tragically for me, Cher wouldn’t turn over to acknowledge my existence; however, Sonny was kind enough to autograph his name—and hers—on the playbill I had gotten the night before from their show.  (Imagine seeing the “Sonny and Cher Show” at the age of six with your parents at the Playboy Plaza in Miami Beach Florida . . . Unforgettable.) 

 

Who cared about Michael Jackson, who looked like a real person in those days? All I wanted was to meet Cher, and she didn’t give me the time of day.  I never forgot how she dissed me, and when I was fortunate enough to represent Olympia Dukakis six years ago (and told her my devastating Cher story), the uber talented Dukakis—who starred with Cher in “Moonstruck”—promised me Cher was a very nice woman who ‘would apologize to me if she knew she had hurt me.’

 

Now that I’m (apparently) an adult, I don’t need Cher’s forgiveness or her love for that matter; however if there’s anyone who needs Cher now, it’s her newfound son, Chaz.  It must suck being a man stuck in a woman’s body.  Hell, it certainly sucks being a man stuck in a chubby body as I’m sure it’s a tragedy being an older woman who has just realized she has lost her looks.  The grass is always greener.  What can we all do but live our lives the way our gut—not necessarily our God—tells us to.  I’m not necessarily convinced God created transgendered souls; however, I know God loves them.  Read your Bibles people.  Page 34:  And God said, “Thou shalt love White People, Asian, Black, Indian and Transgendered peeps.”  (OK.  Sorry.  It must be page 36.)

 

Chastity was a very, very cute little girl whose parents paraded her on their television show as if she was a toy.  Now the toy is turning into a boy, and I sure hope Cher will still want to play with him. 

 

Good luck, Chaz.  Wishing you all the best.

 

Does anyone remember when we all used baby oil mixed with Iodine as a tan accelerator? 

 

Peace.

 

The Mouthinator. 

 

 

The Mouthinator Lifestyle, entertainment

 

Greetings Mouthketeers:

 

We’ve got a Ling sentenced to twelve years hard labor in North Korea, we have a Von Brunn suspected of shooting at the US Holocaust Museum in Washington DC, and now we have a Prejean dethroned as Miss California in Los Angeles. (Where else, but Cali?) 

 

Jeez, do we really need to hear from this woman and The Comb Over (uh, I mean, The Donald) again on this subject?  She weathered the storm after the way she answered the gay marriage question while competing for the Miss USA crown, and she survived the blitzkrieg of reporters after her topless photos surfaced on the Internet.  So why couldn’t this chick hold onto her title?  Hmmm. Something tells me she didn’t put out for The Comb Over; and he said, “You’re fired!”

 

According to ”newsbreaking” accounts all over the Web and on traditional TV and radio, this woman isn’t meeting up to all of her “contractual negotiations;” therefore, Trump (the owner of the pageant), canned her.  OK.  Gubuy dearie.  See ya on the unemployment line.  Next!

 

Can’t the American “culture” just chill out when it comes to covering people who offer nothing in the news except a tit, an ass, and a beautiful smile?  I mean, really . . . you have Hilary Clinton trying to stop a nuclear Holocaust in North Korea, and this Carrie Prejean story is number twelve on Google Trends at the time of this posting.

 

I suppose I am adding fuel to the fire by even blogging about this subject for the third time, but I’m totally stumped as to why we can’t let beauty queens stay beautiful?  We don’t need to hear from them about gay marriage for God’s sake . . . especially when they’re parading around in high heels and wearing nothing but a Brazilian wax.  If I were a judge, I would have asked the contestants if they could name all the ingredients in a Mojito, not what their strategy is for world peace.

 

Is The Terminator still the Governator of California?

 

Peace.

 

The Mouthinator.

The Mouthinator Pop Culture, entertainment

 

Greetings Mouthketeers:

 

So the new, third version of the iPhone, called 3GS (“S” stands for “Speed”), is scheduled to roll-out later on this month, promising faster speed, faster apps, a 3-megapixel camera, a camcorder, voice control, a built-in digital compass, Bluetooth tethering and a voiceover feature…

 

Blah, biddy, blah, biddy blah, blah blah.  Do I really need to tether, and do I really, really need a compass? Honestly, I know where I’m going, and those who don’t aren’t the ones who will buy this thang anyway.  What about the typing feature???  Is it me or am I the only one who realizes the reason why the iPhone isn’t as popular as the Blackberry is because the iPhone’s typing keyboard sucks.  You got that right. The keyboard is designed for those who have toothpick fingers, smaller than those of a little person or a chimp for that matter.  Who the hell designed this keyboard and why don’t they hunker down and reinvent it? 

 

Doesn’t iPhone understand if they morph the keyboard into a harder apparatus, they will  b-l-o-w  the lid off Blackberry and any other PDA in the category?  OK.  We love the screen, the apps, the ability to search on the web; but we’re living in a world where—for whatever reason—we email people, and we need a function that works for us, not the other way around.  That’s why I give the iPhone a big fat “F” for that facacta keyboard. 

 

Couldn’t those geniuses on the west coast at least invent a voice-activated email feature so you don’t even have to touch the keyboard?  Just speak into the mic.  It’s great it will have a new camera, but not everyone wants to feel as if they’re a twenty-something who works at TMZ, finding the need to spontaneously snap a photo of Britney Spears everytime she comes out of a limo without any puddy pants on. (That grrrl takes the “Vagina Monologues” to a whole new level, doesn’t she?)

   

And since we’re on the subject of snap, could the customer service sods at AppleCare speed up their convos or are they all waiting to audition for “Stepford Wives 3?” Jeez, when you call those peeps with a problem, it’s as if you’re speaking to the special needs set—they are soooo slow, I just wanna run through the streets naked with a whistle bobbing against my thighs after every phone call I have with AppleCare.

 

Apple and iPhone need to stop smoking weed and walk into the streets, asking fans what they want, what they need.  Or perhaps they should merge with Blackberry, pull the best from each thing and raise the standard of their version of excellence? 

 

Wasn’t the Osmond’s “One Bad Apple” a great single?    

 

Peace.

 

The Mouthinator.   

The Mouthinator Lifestyle, Pop Culture, Technology