It has come to my attention that about 80% of the "Whoop-doo!" Nation hates words. They're not necessarily illiterate, they're just highly attuned and accustomed to the Mac & Crack readless junctures that inhabit their daily lives. Sometimes I forget that most media is being digitally injected into the skin of the populace around me. The nutrition found here needs to be squeezed off like juice and run through an I.V. drip. So, in honor of you folks that run for the hills upon sight of words, I have decided to make this edition of the "Whoop-doo!" Nation a squeezey pulp. Less words, more "Whoop-doos!" How ironically fitting that I start things off with a book.

Damn you words!

Boos! And Whoop-doos!

The Dassler Brothers? Whoop-doo!

Sneaker Wars? Whoop-doo! Awhile back I reported on an Independent film by Pauly Coober that focused on the shoe feud between German brothers Adi and Rudy Dassler. Together they created the Adidas sports shoe franchise. After a bit of warring between the two, Rudy broke away from the company to create the Puma sports shoe company. WonderBunny AfterShocks is in the process of finishing up their score for the forthcoming flick. Well, if you are looking to get your shoe history fix on a bit early, Barbara Smit has just released an incredibly engaging look at the Dassler bothers and the story behind their Adidas and Puma empires. While Coober's film only covers the early days of Rudy and Adi's feud, this engrossing tome dives headfirst into the entire history behind these two shoe enterprises. It is definitely one of this year's best books. Its too bad you bitches don't like to read. You're really missing out on some great drama.

Boos! And Whoop-doos!

Ewing? Whoop-doo!

The Adidas 1988 Ewing Olympic Conductor Hi?Whoop-doo! Who doesn't love Patrick Ewing? He was one of the greatest ball players that ever lived. And he had exquisite taste in court apparel. This is the only shoe you will ever need! It has style, it has grace, and it comes in both black and white (though I think the white one's are a better fit). After reading about Rudy Dassler and his alliance with the Nazis, you will want to throw your Pumas in the trash and get a pair of these tight Adi Dassler's. No doubt about it. Fuck the Nazis. Support Adidas!

Boos! And Whoop-doos!

Indy in Hardcover? Whoop-doo!

The Crystal Skull Novel? Whoop-doo! Attention all of you Spoiler hogs! Now you can ruin it for everybody seven days early! That's when Lucasfilm is releasing the official hardcover novel of the next Indian Jones installment. Learn the secrets of the spaceship early on. Find out the truth about Mutt Ravenwood before all of your friends get a chance to (I hear he is a homosexual). Get your piss and moan on a full seven days in advance. Read it twice before you even see the movie. Know every nook and cranny before the rest of your neighborhood. Yup, it's all right here, waiting for you to delve into its pages. This is truly a great moment for film history. Because nothing translates to the page like a good old fashion George Lucas slip-on-a-banana peel joke. How hard will it be for you to not jump to that last chapter? The one that finds Indy flying off in a spaceship with the aliens from Close Encounters of the Third Kind? I bet you don't get out of K-Mart without throwing it down in disgust. And that thought makes me laugh. So does the thought of you buying a book at K-Mart.

Robbie Reader? Boo!

Brittany Murphy? Boo! I think Robbie Reader is a pervy jerk with horrible taste in woman. How else do you explain this unauthorized autobiography he has thrown together for the five-year-old masses? Seriously, what fourth grader is actually going to be caught reading this thing? Lucky enough for those of you that want to peruse its plethora of Brittany Murphy facts and trivia, the book is made up mostly of pre-op pictures. Right before Murphy got an injection of Meg Ryan fishlip oil. Still, I'm not trusting this Robbie Reader fellow. This looks like an easy access wank book for the effortlessly aroused. What has pre-teen literature come to? Where are the Hardy Boys? It looks like one of them is in ol' Robbie Reader's shorts. And it seems he's got a Superfudge for Luanne Platter. Indeed.

Boos! And Whoop-doos!

Pixar and Disney? Whoop-doo!

Ultimate Movie Mix Coloring Book? Whoop-doo! Finally, a book the entire "Whoop-Doo!" Nation can get behind. No words. And Lots of pictures. That you can color. For those of you with a really short attention span, this thick sucker doesn't focus itself solely on one story. You get the whole Pixar family, here. So, one minute you can be coloring Nemo, and the next minute you can be scribbling in the red super suit of Mr. Incredible. This thing is packed with thrills and chills, and excitement galorous. For just five bucks, this packs at least three nights of excellent entertainment into one handy-dandy easy-to-carry item. Hurry, supplies may run out fast!

Boos! And Whoop-doos!

Valerie Bertinelli? Boo!

Losing It? Boo! Fat or not, Valerie Bertinelli is still hot at fifty-some years old. I don't mind looking at the cover. Heck, I might squeak it clean with some Mop & Glow on a coin toss. That doesn't mean I want to sit and listen to how she teamed up with her "Fat but not really fat, yet still profiteering off of actually fatties" best friend Kristie Alley and how they went cruising around in a convertible burning calories. This is the type of story you listen to your mom jibber jabber about on the phone while you play Minesweeper on mute. If Valerie Bertinelli wants to tell me a story I might actually read, its going to have to involve Kristie Alley donning her Vulcan ears while the two of them accidentally bump rug burns playing a game of douche knuckle. (Even at 300 pounds, if Kristie donned that Starfleet Uniform, you know you'd be all up on her back churning out some Pink Jollybee Joy Juice for the stain game). I don't need some overwrought tome about how she successfully went on a diet. Gag me with a stubbed dildo and call me Molly. That's what these profitable words would do to the butchest Army General. And you know it! This book puts the Die in Diet! Its blacker than beet poop on the cock of a negro at midnight in a room with no light. Yeah, it's a black.

Boos! And Whoop-doos!

Tori? Boo!

sTORI Telling? Boo! Again, the whiney prose of a spoiled white rich kid that comes at you kicking through doors. Why would I want to read this mess of a biographical bitch session? It's like holding your sister's hand through sex therapy. Here's another girl that comes at you as a best friend. She bitches in your ear. Then she leaves. There's no chance of you ever banging her. So what's the point. This book should come with a warning: You will not get to hump Tori Spelling after reading, you will just get to be imaginary best friends with her. This is for the lonely girl that doesn't have anything better to do than sit in the Border's and read this book on a Friday night. It's an Iron Maiden of torture that you should definitely stay far way from. Speaking of Iron Maidens...

Boos! And Whoop-doos!

Bill & Ted? Whoop-doo!

Bill & Ted's Most Excellent Adventures!? Whoop-doo! Evin Dorkin is a mad genius. And he was fruitfully able to carry on the adventures of Bill and Ted in this two-volume set that originally ran through Marvel Comics as a twelve-part mini-series. Many cameos abound from both feature films, and we get to see life after Battle of the Bands. It starts out with them taking a job at Wetzel Pretzels and ends with them battling zombies, aliens, Satan, and most evil of all, a couple of record executives. There are even two letters from my old band The Love Sick Flesh Puppies included in the back pages. If you've been dying to see a sequel to Bill and Ted Go To Hell, this officially licensed property is it. Excellent! Just in time for Street Kings. You can read it in line. Very few word, and beautiful pictures. Everything you could want in your weekly reading endeavor. Fuckers.

That's it for me on this lovely Spring evening. I'll see you illiterate sons a bitches later. Make Peace like Clifford Peache! Whoop-doo!