When I returned from my Hoffgazing, I emailed Candy, who said, among other things, “HOLY CRAP” and “How was it?”
Sarah: It was breathtaking. Seriously. And I’m SO PISSED that I grabbed the wrong camera cable because I cannot upload the picture of me & Hoffster until I find the right cable.
Candy: DUDE! You took a picture of yourself and The Hoff?
DUDE!
So how long was the line? And what’s he look like in person?
Sarah: Oh no, Hoff’s publicist’s assistant took a picture of ME, The HOFF, and my HOFF PLANE.
I think that plane might need to be a prize on SBTB for something.
The line was probably about 100 people, maybe, and he looks rather sculpted in person, in a scalpel sense, not a Bowflex sense.
Candy: The HOFF PLANE definitely needs to be some kind of SBTB prize, I think.
Maybe some sort of poetry competition? Compose an Ode to Hoff, and win the autographed Hoffplane?
And then… IT WAS ON.
Candy: This Is Just to Say
I have folded
the Hoffplanes
that were in
your printer tray
and which
you were probably
saving
to throw at your coworkers
Forgive me
they looked awesome on fire
So burny
and so crashy
Sarah: Once upon a midnight dreary as I read, confused and weary
over yet another page of Hasselhoff’n lore.
While I pondered, nearly napping, out of nowhere came a tapping
of a HoffPlane flamely flapping, flapping at my bedroom door.
“‘Tis some washed up B-list star, tapping at my bedroom door.
Only this and nothing more.”
Candy: The Love Song of D. Michael Hasselhoff (abbreviated)
Let us go then, you and I
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like yet another drowning victim rescued on Baywatch;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted aisles
The garish guiles
Of straight-to-video movie posters in cult video rental stores
And sticky-floored second-run theaters of yore:
B-movie plots that follow like a tedious argument
Of lascivious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question…
Oh, do not ask “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.
In the bookstore women stand, a train,
Waiting for the Hoff to sign their plane
* * * *
No! I am not Bruce Campbell, nor was meant to be;
Am a driver of talking cars, one that will do
To make a cameo, star in a TV series or two,
Be a campy villain; occasionally a bit of a tool,
Alcoholic, but glad to be of use,
Inexplicable pop star, inexplicable music videos;
Full of publicity stunts, and a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.
I grow old… I grow old…
I shall wear my chains of gold.
Shall I get a nose job? Can I has a peach?
I shall wear fire-engine red Speedos and run upon the beach
I have seen myself singing, each to each.
Sarah: There once was a Hoff from Nantucket.
He liked his booze in a bucket.
The lolrus was mad
Snuck in to Hoff’s pad.
And made off in the night with MAH BUKKIT!
Candy:
h(a
sp
ee
do
te
ar
s)
as
se
lh
off
Sarah: Without warning
As a whirlwind
swoops a Hoff Plane.
Hoff shakes my heart.
Sarah:
i carry a hoff with me (I carry it in
my pocket) I am never without it (anwhere
i go, he goes, my hoff, and whatever is done
by only me is Baywatch, my darling)
i fear
no fate (for hoff is so great, so true) i want
no world (for beautiful hoff is, his nose so sculpted)
and it’s hoff whatever a car has always meant
and whatever the sun will always shine is Hoff.
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the plug and the hair of the bud
and the implant of the Hairclub for Men; which grows
not but that Hoff’s soul can hope and bald spot can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping hoff and I apart
I carry your Hoff (I carry it in my pocket)
Candy: Shall I compare Hoff to a summer’s day?
He is more drunky and less temperate.
Rough strides do shake the darling pecs of Dave,
And Botox’s lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the crashing Hoffplane burns,
And often do his music records tank,
Except in Germany, where people yearn
To hear him sing; to them he doth not stank.
And soon the plastic surgery shall fade,
As shall his hair, and soft his belly grows;
His name would doubtless pass into the shade—
But fame lives long in syndicated shows.
So long reruns are run, and eyes can see
So long lives Hoff, and Kit, and Yasmine Bleeth.
Are you done weeping yet, O Bitchery? Behold, a Contest of Hoff Poetry! We hope to do to poetry what Fark does to Photoshop. Let forth your creativity in HoffPoetry in the comments, and post early, post often, post in all stages of insanity. Instead of harvesting them individually and posting for anonymous voting later, we’re going to have voting and poem-posting ongoing in the comments, so make sure you leave a comment as to which one you like best – and feel free to change your vote. Seriously. The Hoff has inspired mass hysteria!
You have until midnight on Friday, June 8th 2007 to participate in this frenzy.
Candy and I are keeping track of the voting as it progresses, and the winner gets a HoffTastic Smart Bitch Prize Package of:
1. The HoffPlane that was (a) tossed at my mother in law and more importantly (b) photographed as being held lovingly by The Hoff. No one has touched it since the Hoffster. What a memento.
2. A copy of the Hoffobiography Don’t Hassel the Hoff of your very own.
3. An opportunity to read and guest-review Smart-Bitch style the Hoffobiography if you like.
4. A $25 gift certificate to Amazon so you can buy something you might want to read afterward. You know, something good.
5. The T-Shirt from the book signing, a size L. Want to see it again?
That ought to inspire you. Bring it!
Just the thought of reciting that in Middle English is enough to make Chaucer turn in his grave.
ROFLMAO!
There is too much awesomeness here. How can we choose a winner?
My votes, in this order:
Joanna S.
HaikuKatie
Aggiedone
I am totally blown away by all of the Bitchery who entered. You guys are brilliant!
Ode to the Hoff of the past
Bet you thought that you could hide or
Escape from him after his Knight Rider.
His car was sexier than his acting.
Then he was back with Baywatch Hotties
Flouncing man-titty and other naughties.
My lusts for him were fast retracting.
Of Hoff, why did you leave the car?
Hoping you could be a star?
Maybe you thought you could catch a girl
While running in your little speedo.
They all thought you really neato.
I tried watching, but it made me hurl.
I really miss Kit.
Those of you having a difficult time picking just one: feel free to vote for more than one. Go to it!
Also, all morning, I had the Monty Python Llama skit in my head, with “Llama” replaced with “Hasselhoff”.
“Un Hasselhoff es un quadrupedo…
“Cuidado, cuidado, cuidado, cuidado Hasselhoooooff.”
When I told Sarah this, she immediately knocked it out of my head by quoting something INFINITELY WORSE.
So here’s another parody. Blame Sarah. It’s pretty much her fault.
Here’s a hassel
There’s a hassel
And another little hassel
Hairy hassel
Dangly hassel
Hassel hassel HOFF!
Hassel hassel cheesecake hassel
Boobjob Pam Anderson hassel
Hassel hassel Yasmine hassel
Hassel hassel HOFF!
I was once a hassel
I lived in a hoff
But I never saw the way
The lifeguard took it off
Baywatch only three years dead
but it told a tale
And now listen, B-starlet
to the safety rail
Did you ever see a hassel
Kiss a hassel on the hassel
Hassel’s hassel tastes of hassel
Hassel hassel HOFF
Half a hassel
Twice the hassel
Not a hassel
Farmer hassel
Hassel in a Kit
all hassled hassel hassel HOFF
Is the Hoff balding now?
Is he all so old?
Is he filled with silicone?
Speedo
Gold chain
Cold
Now my parody’s getting thin
I’ve run out of—FUCK!
Won’t he please retire now
And become a duck
ROFL—holy crap, there are some scarily talented people on here. I’m dying laughing.
Since it’s all about the madness, I cast a vote for everyone who posted a poem.
And two votes for myself.
ROFL
aggiedone and Joanna S.!
YAY!
Once upon a Baywatch dreary
While I drank beer, bored and bleary
With my gay brother’s criticisms of too-jiggly gore.
While I tippled,nearly crippled
Oh the horror! My eyes were stippled!
By a hairy chest, pertly nippled
Nippled to aureoles galore!
Quoth I, “What a whore.”
Ah, instantly I erupted, my laughter uncorrupted
As I scrutinized the remainder of the lifeguard corps.
It was quickly quite apparent
That those nipples were not errant
And the swimsuits near transparent
Transparent down to the pore.
For the rare and fabulous Oxyclear that cleared up every pore.
I fell to the floor.
And the fulsome fun and frantic laughter
That accompanied us hereafter
Thrilled me—filled me with horrific images never seen before.
So that now, to stop the sobbing
Of my hilarity, uncontrollably lobbing
The Hoff plane led me past the fact that the show was a bore
Yes, I said that Baywatch was a huge bore.
That it is, and nothing more.
Presently, amusement left me, sense of humor had bereft me
As my digusted brother made his progress to the door.
I love my brother in the main,
But on this topic he’s insane!
He has Hasselhoff on the brain,
A character flaw in him I deplore.
I can’t believe we had the quarrel,
And to this story there’s no moral,
He wants the plane, nothing more.
That’s right. The plane, and nothing more.
Someone HAD To do Poe—might as well be me.
The Modern Hassel-Miracle
in modest tribute to Gilbert & Sullivan
The Hoff he is a man of high attraction most emphatical,
The eyes of brown, the hair so perfectly sine-wavy natural.
He confidently poses in his Speedos most elastical;
In sunlight his hip flexors show development quite radical.
An open shirt reveals expansive man titty piratical,
A leather jacket lends panache that women find romantical.
Because he knows we’d hate to see him shuffling and rheumatical,
He generously pays a doc to keep his features affable.
He generously pays a doc to keep his features affable
He generously pays a doc to keep his features affable
He generously pays a doc to keep his features affable
While treading water Hoffy teaches safety techniques practical,
On Wednesday nights he volunteers to save the Malibu Seagull.
The way he leaps in to the breach, an action figure on the beach,
His gallantry inspires us each to follow his examplical!
The way he leaps in to the breach, an action figure on the beach,
His gallantry inspires us each to follow his examplical!
On someone else the Hasselhoffin’ charm would be ephemeral,
For most actors end their careers endorsing stuff for hemorrholds.
But Hoff’s appeal transcends the normal limitations epochal,
His gleaming teeth and chiseled jaw a marvel orthodontical.
The Hasselhoff attracts attention good and plain fanatical,
His private life is targeted for reasons enigmatical.
The tabloids try to catch him with a blemish or detractable,
His fans are desperate for a glimpse, they’re lovingly tyrannical.
His fans are desperate for a glimpse, they’re lovingly tyrannical
His fans are desperate for a glimpse, they’re lovingly tyrannical
His fans are desperate for a glimpse, they’re lovingly tyrannical
Hoff’s moral fiber is a type no superhero school can teach,
The way he leaps in to the breach, an action figure on the beach,
A demigod just out of reach, accepting glad tribute from each
Buoyant and Coppertonèd peach he saves from Neptune’s watery reach!
A demigod just out of reach, accepting glad tribute from each
Buoyant and Coppertonèd peach he saves from Neptune’s watery reach!
His sense of humor unimpaired by mockery inimcal,
He even gives his autograph to those who find him laughable,
Those jealous peeps who futilely deny his music’s danceable.
He graciously takes photographs with those who make a spectacle.
His equanimity to his detractors must enbaffle ‘em
He’ll answer to the Hoffster, Hoffy, Hasselhoffelheffalumff.
If Hoff could be engaged to pose for romance novel cover stunts,
There’d be a record lineup to be swept up on his camel hump.
There’d be a record lineup to be swept up on his camel hump
There’d be a record lineup to be swept up on his camel hump
There’d be a record lineup to be swept up on his camel hump
Enquiring minds ask whether he got both Pams horizontical,
But someone so sincere would never play such games erotical.
Hoff’s moral fiber is a type no superhero school can teach,
His gallantry inspires us each to follow his examplical!
Hoff’s moral fiber is a type no superhero school can teach,
His gallantry inspires us each to follow his examplical!
Iffygenia gets all of my votes. Holy crap, that made me spew root beer at my monitor.
*we’re not worthy!*
*we’re not worthy!*
Here’s mine, you can sing to it! (apologies to whichever filthy rich songwriter wrote the words to “clap your hands”).
If you’re Hoffy and you know it,
Clap your hands! *clap clap*
If you’re Hoffy and you know it,
Clap your hands! *clap clap*
If you’re Hoffy and you know it,
and you’ve got the hair to show it,
If you’re Hoffy and you know it,
Clap your hands! *clap clap*
If your mullet’s hue is fading,
Clap your hands! *clap clap*
If your Baywatch bod’s deflating,
Clap your hands! *clap clap*
If your ass is still no tighter,
Than your days as the Knight Rider,
Your fans know you’re still a fighter,
Clap your hands! *clap clap*
If you’re no longer lusty manbeef,
Clap your hands! *clap clap*
If you’re now film’s comic relief,
Clap your hands! *clap clap*
If you feel so out of place,
When Adam Sandler slaps your face,
Spray Happy Gilmore with some mace,
And Clap your hands! *clap clap*
If you now awe the frauliens,
Clap your hands! *clap clap*
Germany pays all your bar fines,
Clap your hands! *clap clap*
You’re the Germanic William Shatner,
Just leave off the orange tanner,
And your fans will just get fan-er,
Clap your hands! *clap clap*
If you’ve just written a book,
Clap your hands! *clap clap*
And some Smart Bitches want a look,
Clap your hands! *clap clap*
Your face on Sarah’s paper plane,
Will just increase your worthy fame,
Just you remember who to blame,
And clap your hands! *clap clap*
ROFL—okay, this is the impossible situation. How are you guys going to pick just one winner? So many different awesome poems on here…
I vote for Iffygenia’s poem
I also vote for myself – because it seems like something Hasselhoff would do. ^_^
I must say—Iffygenia you are my Yoda! I definitely cast a vote in your direction. Gilbert & Sullivan never had it so good, not even with eachother!
Oh, and of course, one for my criminal use of the General Prologue—I’m not egotistical. Nope. Uh-uh. No, siree. Hey, anyone want to make an origami plane out of a picture of my face? Anyone? Anyone?!
Oops! I forgot to add a vote for HaikuKatie as well…“Thirteen Ways of Looking at the Hoff” was absolutely brilliant!!
Just the thought of reciting that in Middle English is enough to make Chaucer turn in his grave.
Now now. Chaucer had a sense of humor. And surely he would admire the Hoff’s knack for self-promotion.
the rosaceaed Hoff
junk
Oh shit. Oh shit. My brain, it bleeds.
Ok, regular reader, never commented, but sometimes there’s inspiration.
Smiling at virgins
Teeth gleaming whitely at night
Hoff slinks silently
Loping like a wolf
That hunts only in autumn
The Hoff slinks alone
Realization hits!
A chill sliding down her spine
She knows he seeks her
Night falls around them
His ego intoxicates
them, lighting the night
In the style of John Donne:
Invoke nostalgia of red-speedoed Hoff; for, now,
You but drink, mumble and try to consume
Your surgeon’s knife to alter, sculpt and make yourself new.
Fame, like royalty checks, to others are due.
Alright, I had to join in. This is just too much fun! You are all very, very witty!
“The Hoff”
Hoffy! Hoffy! Burning bright,
In a Speedo oh so tight,
What immortal “Baywatch” fan
Could frame they faithful symmetry?
In what distant shows or book-
Writings gleams the fire of thine eyes?
On what ambitions dareth thee aspire?
What new career dareth they reach?
And what a fake tan! Such an art
Could twist the sinews of a heart.
And when a heart begins to beat,
What dread hair and what dread man-titty!?
Mitch Buchannon—Michael Knight—
In what soap opera was thy brain,
For surely there could be no career
Better suited to thy grace?
When the stars threw down their towels,
And watered LA with their tears,
Did thou smile at a TV movie to-be?
In “Dodgeball” we adoreth thee.
Hoffy! Hoffy! Burning bright
In a Speedo oh so tight,
What immortal “Baywatch” fan
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
My solicitor would like to add that I have never heard of anyone by the name of William Blake.
Ok..one vote for HaikuKatie, hope I made the deadline (it’s 11pm central!)
These are all terrific!!
d’oh!
here’s hoping that this will get counted as a vote, even though it’s past midnight here. (it’s not midnight on the west coast yet! that counts, right?)
this is such a tough decision, but my votes are:
haikukatie
iffygenia
and
joanna s.
(unless i can vote for candy. that damn llama song is going to be stuck in my head for another week and a half now, but i don’t think i mind. it was that funny.)
Hey, nobody votes on a weekend except Commies and Canadians (or is it the French? Which, as far as I’m concerned, is the same fucking difference).