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PoliceCat: Blog

PoliceCat: Lending A Helping Hand In The Comedy Neighborhood

Posted Wed Sep 26, 04:39 PM by Alex Berg

Spiderman impersonator and fellow Thirty:30 member Kevin Pedersen recently asked us to help out with a video he was producing for called Superbooze. Fernie directed it, I edited it, and this is what the end product looks like:

Neat, huh? It's featured content on FoD this week. Check it out in it's native environment by clicking here. Enjoy!

Written by Kevin Pedersen
Directed by Alex Fernie
Edited by Alex Berg
Starring Drew Difonzo-Marks, Amanda Sitko, and Jeff Sloniker

What!? No new sketch today!?!

Posted Mon Sep 24, 12:17 AM by PoliceCat

We know, we know. This week’s featured sketch isn’t new. It isn’t new at all. But we have a good reason!

First, we featured it since, hey, it’s football season. So get your “tight end” jokes in while you can.

But, secondly…we’ve been hard at work on a brand new live sketch show of epic proportions. Your favorite PoliceCats have teamed up with some friends (Kevin “Spidey Sense Pedersen, Mel “Blind Faith” Cowan, Todd “The Report” Fasen) to bring the fastest paced sketch show in LA to life.

Thirty:30 is a show where we give the audience 30 sketches in 30 minutes. In case you’re keeping score, that’s one sketch every minute. Considering that the average length of those mammothly unfunny “Leave Britney Alone” parody sketches that are all over the internet is about 3-4 minutes (and feel 3-4 hours), this is quite the undertaking. And as such, it’s taken up quite a bit of our time.

Don’t fret, new sketches will be coming your way soon. Very, very soon. But, until then… Here’s a sneak peak of what you can expect. And for you LA folks, show details are on their way!

Meet Our Friends, Turkeyneck

Posted Mon Sep 17, 12:03 PM by Alex Berg

Ladies and Gentlemen, meet Turkeyneck:

For more high quality sketch comedy, point your browsers to Turkeyneck consists of a few hysterical people we're friends with and a few more plain ol' hysterical people, so go check it out, turkeyneck.

PoliceCat: Beloved By Youngsters

Posted Sat Sep 8, 10:14 AM by Alex Berg

A co-worker of mine recently brought his daughter to my office. At some point in the afternoon, she came by my desk looking for something to do, so I handed her a box with a stapler, some tape, a few highlighters, and a bunch of PoliceCat stickers I had laying around with. Half an hour later, this is what I got in return:

Defacing our faces

A citation

A ticket, and also my current cubicle nameplate filler-upper

PoliceCat Goes Indie

Posted Wed Sep 5, 03:07 PM by Alex Fernie

Who likes music? I do!

A little while ago, friend of PoliceCat Jason Greene asked me to help out with a video promoting the imminent release of up-and-coming Indie darlings The Deadly Syndrome.

If you don’t know their music, head over to their Myspace Page and give a listen. It’s good stuff. Their album comes out Sept 11. Go buy it!

Until then, you can check out the video here! File it under “Good for fans of Wolf Parade and the movie Scanners.”

My Brain Has Melted

Posted Sat Sep 1, 08:18 PM by Alex Berg

I've never done well with heat. Anything over 75 degrees causes me to sweat profusely. It's been over 90 degrees lately, which means that all the energy my brain normally expends on, say, not being a complete idiot, is being spent on trying to cool me down. This "thermal dementia," as I have come to call it, has made the past few days unique- simple things have become difficult, and I was not braced for the crossover.

For instance, today I forgot how to peel an onion. Most days, this wouldn't be an issue, but in that I realized my predicament only when confronted with an onion I needed to peel, it was quite a problem tonight. Standing, dumbfounded, in my girlfriend's kitchen, I knew full well that there was a way for me to use the knife in my right hand to circumvent the protective, papery skin of the Bermuda onion in my right. I just didn't know what that way was.

The Enemy

I wracked my brain, but no semblance of any onion-peeling motor programming could be found. For a full three minutes I stood in complete silence, turning the onion over and over like a monkey with a rubik's cube. Three minutes, by the way, may not seem like a long time if you're driving, or listening to music, or successfully peeling an onion- but when you're being foiled by an onion it's an incredibly long time.

Being hungry, I didn't want to wait any longer. I started to act. I started by excising what I knew I didn't want to eat. Defiant in the face of my newfound ignorance, I sliced off the onion's gnarled root. It was progress- not much progress, but progress nonetheless.

After a half-hearted attempt at the final peel, I recalled that the top of the onion also had to be removed before any real progress could be made. As I sliced off the top of the onion part of me was proud of what a good job I was doing problem-solving. This was countered, however, by most of me, which was ashamed that this onion was a problem to start with.

I was now left with a thick disk of onion. In my mind, I could picture how I wanted the onion to look when I was done, and I felt that I was nearly there. Surely, thought I, now that this onion's top and bottom have both been removed, the insides ought to slide right out, and I actually tried to squeeze the sides of the onion to move this process along.

Idiotic, I know, but it made sense at the time.

Foiled again, I set off at a new tack. I made a vertical slice along one side of the onion, hoping that I could then peel the top layer off. You know, like a lint roller. I was in the home stretch now- all I had to do was coast across the finish line. This final step should have been easy- then again, I shouldn't have had a difficult time in the first place.

Eager, I picked the onion up in both hands and started to peel. It was more difficult than I anticipated. Apparently, a freshly cut red onion exudes it's redness, and that redness is slippery. My already antidextrous fingers now thusly greased, a struggle only Hemingway could truly write about took place: man vs. onion. No weapons, no rules, and no winners.

My first attempts at a delicate and gentle peeling had failed miserably, leaving me with papery onion skin under my fingernails and the sting of defeat in my eyes. Frustrated, my approach became animalistic.

I began to tear wildly at the onion, no longer trying to salvage the innards who had motivated my struggle this far. The skin, my foe, finally succumbed to my will, one palm-sized chunk at a time. The scene on the cutting board when I finished was utterly macabre. It looked as if my onion had accidentally awoken a wolverine and barely escaped with it's life.

At long last, I beheld my prize- a purplish sphereoid, about half the size of the onion I started with and worth none of the trouble it caused. I had done something again for the first time, having been driven to do so by an even mixture of hunger, obstinance, and ignorance, and I was ready to savor the fruits of my labor. Or vegetables. Whatever- it's more of a starch anyways.

Why You'll Never See The Exterior Of Berg's Car In A Skit

Posted Tue Aug 28, 06:30 PM by Alex Berg

PoliceCat sketches don't feature cars particularly often, but you may have noticed by now that when they do they feature one car: Fernie's car.

My car never gets featured for one very simple reason- it looks like this:


And yes, this is my real car. According to me, it is a piece of shit. According to the DMV, it is a 1990 Toyota Camry, making it just slightly younger than my brother and just slightly older than a scar on my left thumb from injuries I sustained during cub scouts when I was in third grade. Any bells or whistles it may have once had had long since disappeared by the time it came into my possession, and, as evidenced by the paint job, I haven't exactly been going out of my way to keep it in mint condition.

How it all happened is pretty simple, really. In the summer of 2005 I was working for TV Guide Network's short lived TV-themed home makeover show Ready, Set, Change! as a production assistant. Basically, it was my job to help the carpenters do whatever it was they needed to do to turn whatever house we were working on into whatever show the homeowners liked. Notable examples of our crew's fine work include the Gilligan's Island backyard, the Cheers living room bar, and the Leave it to Beaver kitchen that an aging Eddie Haskell came by to sign off on personally. Joy.

One day, a can of gold spraypaint and I were left unattended on set. As I drifted out into a sea of boredom, the harsh spray of impulse began to sting in my eyes, blurring my vision- the can of gold spraypaint began to look like an island of fun, shimmering on the distant horizon. Impulses, crewmen on my ship of boredom, helped me plot a course through these treacherous waters, promising me that plentiful bounty awaited me upon that glistening golden isle. Foolishly, I gave into these impulses, and strolled out to my car with two cans of spraypaint (primer and gold). This was my first and only effort:

The "Woo!!!" that started it all

Regret sank in before the paint dried, and I trudged back to set. I knew I couldn't undo what had been done, and I resigned myself to the fact that my car was now not only a piece of shit but a ridiculous piece of shit, and I found some solace in the fact that at least I'd never have to spend long looking for it in a parking lot.

I didn't know exactly what to do, so I wandered around set half grumbling to myself, half looking for sympathy. I didn't get any, but a friend of mine who also worked on the show was intrigued by my story. Spraypainting a car, she told me, sounded like fun to her. So I told her to go nuts. And she did.

My friend's "nuts" on my car

I stood there, on the side of the road in Venice Beach, watching her spraypaint my car for about twenty minutes. I could have stopped her whenever I wanted. Heck, she would never have gone near my car with that spraypaint had I not handed her the can. And yet, when she was done, all I could think about was how I'd have to drive this incredibly ridiculous piece of shit around town. In case words don't do it justice, here's the full photo spread:

The Hood

The Dramatic Angle

The Extreme Close Up

...and THAT is why you'll never see the exterior of my car in a skit. Unless we write a skit specifically about my car. Other than that, get used to Fernie's Volvo- it's here to stay.

Sunset Junction

Posted Thu Aug 23, 03:04 PM by Alex Fernie

This past weekend, PoliceCat headed towards the skinny jean capital of the West Coast, Silverlake, to attend day 2 of the yearly Sunset Junction street festival. In case you don’t know, Sunset Junction is a large street fair featuring food, rides, people selling stuff you don’t want, mobile HIV testing labs, and three stages of music. Bands this year included Blonde Redhead, Sea Wolf, Eskimohunter, The Buzzcocks, Hot Hot Heat, the O’Jays and a bunch more. Some of which I specifically avoided. She Wants Revenge, I’m looking at you.

The sights of Sunset Junction. One guy dancing alone.

Not only was this one of LA’s largest street to-dos, but it was also Mr. Alex Berg’s belated birthday party. After gathering a local watering hole 4100, people were ready for Sunset to get Junctioned!

First up, business before pleasure. A PoliceCat’s work never ceases. So, as we shuffled around in the ridiculous heat, we broke out the PC stickers. It’s always important to put stickers places. Never forget that. As all our pals gathered at 4100, sitckers were stuck to all sorts of body parts. Legs, backs, chests. When people looked at this group of LA based comedians, they thought two things.

#1: “ Wow, there’s a lot of guys wearing glasses over there.


#2: “ What is PoliceCat?”

PoliceCat affiliates Drew and Chad make up the PoliceCat Street Team!

Second up, health before pleasure. Let me give you some advice. When wandering around a street fair, ALWAYS take advantage of any impulse vaccination booths. For example, as we strutted through the streets spreading the gospel of PoliceCat (read: trying to find a cheap sausage stand) we discovered a large woman with a microphone. What was she yelling into that microphone, you ask? Things like “Hey, y’all…get your Hepatitis Vaccine now!” And we listened. We lined up. And we got ourselves Hep Vaccined OUT! A and B! Fuck yeah! And now, all we gotta do is go and get two more shots over the next six months. THAT’S how PoliceCat rocks a street fair.

Finally, fun before pleasure. We cannot recommend the “balloon wars” stand enough. Big water balloon slingshots? What’s not to love? Word of advice, the guys who run such booths HATE it when you forgo the slingshots and just start throwing the balloons. But when you’re there, balloons raining down around you, the unforgiving sun scorching your back and blood thirsty onlookers stare and cheer, waiting for a direct hit, well, you forget the rules. We did what we needed to do to survive. And so what if I turned on Berg? So what if I sacrificed him. I survived, dammit. I survived.

And to wrap up the day, as the sun finally started to go wherever it goes at night, the very British and VERY old punk band The Buzzcocks played. They were loud, they were fun and they looked a lot like some dads going through the biggest mid-life crisis ever. Punk’s not dead, it’s just really concerned about the sub-prime mortgage crisis.

Buzzcock fans love PoliceCat! Check out those stickers.

That was it. Berg, a little affected by the beer and sun, wandered towards the front of the crowd and wasn’t seen again. Anti-Hep club members Jim and Drew apparently wandered into a El Pollo Loco and caused a scene. And a few more of us, made it to sing Karaoke until our bodies said “Fuck you, I’ve had enough of this day, go to sleep.” That and some guy started singing Roundabout by Yes.

Turn of the Screw,


An Open Letter to Daft Punk

Posted Thu Aug 9, 08:30 PM by Alex Fernie

Dear Daft Punk,

Recently I was listening to a certain song by LCD Soundsystem and I got to thinking. If Daft Punk is willing to play in HIS house, why not my apartment? So, consider this an invitation to come and play at my place of residence.

I’ve got a pretty sweet place. Two bedrooms (I bet Berg would be cool with you guys crashing in his room.) Two FULL bathrooms. A kitchen and an oddly shaped living room that doesn’t get much sunlight. So yeah, I live ok. But the way I figure it, your trademark electronic sounds and house-y beats would mesh perfectly with my off-white walls and the religious hispanic family that lives in the apartment upstairs. They want to wake me up at 8AM on Sundays with spanish-language sing alongs, well, then they can bop their heads to some bipping and booping and drum machining at 3AM on a Thursday. It’s only fair.

Let’s talk logistics. In all honesty, your giant pyramid thing probably wont fit in here. Low ceilings. So, let’s compromise. I’m willing to take a day off from work to build you a smaller, LA apartment sized version our of plywood. It’ll probably be two-dimensional and you’ll have to stand behind it, but it should get the point across. Also, I don’t know about all those crazy lasers. Our electricity bill is already pretty high.

In terms of crowds, I think we can expect indie rockers, ravers, technoheads, e-faces, neo-indie rockers, hipsters, dipsters, pierced lip-sters, trippies, punks, dafts, aging aesthetes, electroniacs and Steve Aoki thanks to you guys. We can promise to bring at least 10 Los Angeles area comedians thanks to us. So we should have a good headcount. I imagine we can fit, oh, 20 to 30 in the apartment (if we use the kitchen). BUT, if you open the windows, a bunch more can stand outside. My friends Todd and Joel will work security and this guy Drew will sell Merch. They’re all pretty cool. See, I’ve thought of every aspect. so, seriously, come and play a set in my apartment.

Look, I know you guys aren’t actually robots. And I’m ok with that. It’s cool with me that you’re Human After All (zing!) and actually just two french dudes (french dudes being, of course, the scientific opposite of robots.) So you don’t have to worry about disappointing me once you get here. I’m sure you show up to a lot of gigs where people supply you with surge protectors to recharge and motor oil to drink and are then disappointed to find out you actually just want a bottle of wine and cuisine with heavy sauces. It’s ok, I know, I’ve done my research. But I wont tell. Your flesh and blood is between you and me.

So, yeah. That’s it. I think it’d be pretty sweet if you came all the way Around The World (zing!) and played a show in the living room. I couldn’t pay you in anything besides Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles and hugs, but, if you’ve ever had those waffles or had a hug, then you’ll know it’s worth it. Please consider it. Come back to LA One More Time and show us some Digital Love (double zing!).


Alex Fernie

PS What the hell is going on in that video with you and Kanye?

A Glimpse Of The Future

Posted Thu Aug 9, 02:58 PM by Alex Berg

…courtesy of Berg’s Ski and Snowboard Shop

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