Image courtesy of Bangor University

One of my new friends on The Facebook forwarded me an interesting story this week about a group of marine biologists who accidentally caught a 400-year-old clam and subsequently killed it.

I do not find this to be a story of tragedy, but rather one of mercy. How often do you suppose that the average clam falls into a debilitating depression? I find that I am crippled by a general malaise once every decade or so. I was last afflicted with the blues in 1996, when I came to the sad realization that no amount of concentration would ever encourage the growth of a third eye in my lower-back-tattoo region. Even today, I feel some early warning signs of despondency coming on, signs that may or may not be related to my recent realization that my bumbum is no longer fit for film.

Image courtesy of facebook.com

Hey gang. You may have noticed that I recently joined The Facebook. Maybe we are friends? Travolta convinced me to join, so I made him my “Top Friend.” However, I am only number four on his “Top Friends” list, behind Tom Cruise, L. Ron Hubbard, and a leg of lamb he has recently become fond of.

Newspapers tell me that social networks like The Facebook are revolutionizing the way we communicate with one another. I tend to agree. Never before have we had so many different ways to let tangential acquaintances know that we are interested in having sex with them.

For instance, if I post something like “Where have you been all my life?” or “Happy birthday!” on your Facebook Wall, that means that I would likely be interested in penetrating you in any number of different ways. And I can think of a lot of ways, because I’m Christopher Walken.

If I write you a private Facebook Message, that means the same thing as the Wall post, except that I don’t want anyone else to know about my intentions. This is usually because you are funny-looking or are some kind of monster or something.

Photo courtesy of IMDB.com

My buddy Travolta likes to tell people that acting is the hardest job in the world.

He is an asshole.

Acting is easy. It’s just saying words and moving body parts. Sometimes climbing a tree or digging a hole. Easy. Sometimes I don’t even know I am acting. Half of the footage from The Prophecy was just me storming around, pissed off because I hadn’t wiped as well as I probably should’ve. Those camera guys just followed me around and poked me with a stick to get me even more agitated. If you’ve seen the film, you’ll remember that this ploy worked, because I threw a fit and started eating souls. No special effects.

Anyway, the point is that acting is a joke, so I have a lot of free time. So, without further ado, here is Christopher Walken’s guide to spending free time:

1. I like to go into downtown L.A. and wander into a busy office building. I will step onto a crowded elevator. As the elevator ascends, people will start getting off at their floors, and those remaining will shuffle around in a sad little effort to maximize personal space. But I will hold my ground. I will stand pat. And I will inevitably trap a young lady in the corner. And when she says “scuse” and tries to squeeze by, I will scream “AHHHH! HOT WATER BURNS BABY!”. That’s always the best part. I will ride up and down and do this for some time.

I never should have started this weblogging nonsense. The internet is rotting my brain. I have more friends on Digg, Reddit, and Fark than I do in Hollywood. Any time I see something that I suspect might be moderately amusing or interesting, I can’t help but expect an accompanying comments log to confirm or deny my suspicion and further entertain me.

I was in D.C. last weekend for a shoot, and I went to visit the Vietnam War Memorial. I tried to summon the appropriate gravitas, but I couldn’t help but search across the top of the wall for the requisite “1st, bitches!!”.

Associated Press

Hey gang, check this out:

Image courtesy of moillusions.com

As you may or may not know, I can fly. But, interestingly, this is not actual footage of me in orbit. Images like these are called “popsicle illusions”. They make you see things that aren’t actually there, I suppose like when you eat a rancid meat popsicle or something. Mmmmm….frozen babies.

Anywho, I was browsing the internet (or as my buddy Travolta calls it, “the shifty words”) and I believe I came across another pretty good popsicle illusion.

See for yourself:

There has been a lot of talk about Bin Laden’s new video being a forgery. Some mention the fact that the video freezes during the most salient sections. This reminds me of a forged video I made a few years back. Check it out below:

Conspiracy theorists note that Bin Laden’s video freezes at the 1:58 mark, as which point he begins making some of his most prescient observations. Please notice that at the 1:58 mark of my video, my soul actually freezes, at which point I make some of my most prescient leg kicks. Look closely: I am ice fucking cold. I could pull those stupid chopsticks out of your hair, stab you in the kidneys, and eat your nephrons one at a time without dropping a single one.

Notice also that at the 0:37 mark, I make subtle indications that I pay little heed to the social contract. But I am not sure about that part. Sometimes I just like to make faces.

Through all of this, I just keep dancing really, really well. That’s how you can tell that the video is a forgery. You know how we pulled this off? We just pasted my face on my buddy Travolta’s old body. And then just for fun we pasted his new fat face on his old body. Man, he looked like one stupid fat-faced asshole.

I bet you Bin Laden hates to dance at weddings. I bet you he just sits at one of the tables and watches all his uncles and makes snide comments. But then I bet one of his pudgy aunts comes over and tries to drag him out on the dance floor, and he tries to laugh it off, but she keeps pulling, so he goes “No, I REALLY don’t want to” like a little bit too loud. Christ, it’s a wedding, you dickhole.

Photo via IMDB

Have you guys read the reviews to my latest film, Balls of Fury? Sparkling, as always. Enjoy this nugget from Nick Schager at Slant Magazine:

[Walken’s] embarrassingly self-conscious comedic turn is still the “best” thing about this lazy farce …

Reads a lot like most of my reviews. Check this gem from Scott Tobias at The Onion A.V. Club praising my performance in Suicide Kings:

The only redeeming moments come from Walken, whose assured, effortless screen presence stands out from his faceless co-stars.

Or Hal Hinson at The Washington Post commending my turn in the overlooked 1995 classic The Prophecy:

Though the actor does little more than stroll through the film, he creates such an immediate sense of electricity that everyone else seems dim by comparison.

Although these guys seem nice, it irks me that critics consistently describe my performances as “bored,” or allege that I “sleepwalk” through a role. This is false! I sleep in a reliquary, hanging from the ceiling by my ankles. Impossible to walk.

Little known fact: it is difficult to be a Hollywood star. People are always giving me these thick books. Then when I show up on the set, they express disappointment that I did not read the book. They do, however, seem to like when it is my turn to talk at the camera, and I make up funnies or scaries to say. They just point the camera at me and I go: “Close your damn eye sockets if you don’t want me to fuck them” or something else hilarious like that.

Associated Press

A while back I told you about seeing my friend John Travolta’s face grow visibly wider right before my eyes. That night, I stayed up until 4 a.m. on WebMD reading about his condition, Travoltosis. I was surprised to find that John is not the only celebrity in Hollywood with a disease named after him. Here are a couple others I came across:

Adam Sandlaryngitis — Victims periodically break into a kiddie voice that wasn’t even funny on SNL.

Jennifer Anistamnesia — Inability to remember that you were in The Leprechaun.

Lindsay Lohanthrax — Pathological freckling. Sometimes accompanied by mild behavioral symptoms or Lohanorexia. But mainly just the freckles. Eww.

Vin Dieselephantitis — No matter how many weights you lift, you still just look like a really strong fetus. Not to be
confused with:

Associated Press

I saw Travolta’s face grow wider. Not over time, not for a role, but instantaneously — like my bath toy Godzilla that mushrooms when I dunk it in the water.

No joke. I was at the Hairspray premiere afterparty, just chatting it up with him, and I saw that shit move. Naturally, I said: “John, did your face just gain a millimeter of girth?” He pulled me aside and broke down a little. Said he didn’t know who else to tell. He wanted to tell me that he had been suffering from Travoltosis for 30 years.

Travoltosis?