Thursday, December 25, 2008

New Years With Maury

Someone just informed me that New Year's is coming up soon, but they also said that John McCain lost the election, so I'm pretty sure they're full of shit.
Anyhoo, I made some resolutions just in case.

1) Don't get gonorrhea again
2) Stop stealing from grandma
3) Tell Mike or Justin that he's the father
4) Learn what "misdemeanor" means
5) Find out what that stain in the bathroom is from

Today, is a special day

Tuesday, December 9, 2008

Anybody got any Raid?


Left- Manis Arora collection
Right- Great kids movie

Lonely MILFs Are Waiting!

Ever since I was 8 years old, I've had an email account. Granted, it was probably something like "boogerbouncer6@hotmail.com" but nonetheless, I am not unaware of the magic of spam and the lolz it can bring. I like the ones that include my full name, especially when it's advertising penile enhancers and they come 20 times a day. (The emails, that is).
My recent favorite, though, is one simply titled "LONELY MILFS ARE WAITING" written just like that. The imagery is just so perfect. Linda the soccer mom drops the pan of lasagna as she reaches for her beeper which alerts her that someone has received the email. She races out the door in her mom jeans to meet up with a 38 year old man who found the email while taking a break from World of Warcraft. They spend the following 15 minutes cavorting on his parents' couch, and she leaves him a casserole to thank him for his time.
Cheers to you, Linda. Cheers to you.

Tuesday, December 2, 2008

Crazy-eyed Motherfucker

So apparently I've acquired this weird habit of having to blink more times than normal, and for longer periods of time. This wasn't so much of an issue until I realized I did it while driving on freeways and whatnot. Essentially I'm Stevie Wonder behind the wheel. In realizing that I don't want to hit small children or more importantly, squirrels, I've been trying to force myself out of this habit by expanding my eyes instead. I'd like to tell you that's not as weird as it sounds, but I look like something from Where the Wild Things Are. I feel as though I'm a science lesson. Not only can children get an up-close view of retinas, but their parents can reiterate the lesson about not smoking crack behind the elementary school.

Monday, November 17, 2008

Happy Halloween

I didn't get to celebrate Halloween this year because the state made me put a sign in my window, but I'm thinking that next year I'd like to go as a roofie. I think it would fit well in Facebook pictures next to my friends dressed as Naughty Nurses and such. It's not as creative as The Joker or Sarah Palin, but goddammit, it's just as funny! Hoo buddy, I haven't laughed this hard since OJ shot people.

New Trend Alert

I'm the Miss Cleo of trends. I can predict them years in advance. Uggs? Called it in the 2nd grade. So when I see the dwindling of the giant bug-eyed sunglasses trend, I immediately know what's about to take place. A combination of Uggs and sunglasses-- Sugglasses? Nah, too predictable. Instead the trend setters are going the opposite route of giant frames and start sporting monocles. So when you buy yours from the "People Named Chauncey" section, you think of me.

Geography Lesson

Lemur Island
is full of lemurs.
Goddamn.

Friday, November 7, 2008

Chuck Manson: Poet


One of my favorite quotes, ever, is by none other than serial killer Charles Manson!
In being asked "Who are you?" while in a snazzy orange jumpsuit, Robert Frost-like Manson replied:

"Nobody
I'm Nobody
I'm a tramp a bum a hobo
I'm a boxcar and a jug of wine
And a street racer if you get to close to me"

I don't know what it means, but I've taken to reciting it as my answer to "How are you?"s from people I went to high school with.

*You can see him recite this poetic moment himself, here.
(And I wouldn't Rick Roll you on such an occasion as this, and that's also that's kind of passe now, innit?)

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

Anybody got a tissue?


I like this dress, I do. It's fluffy and cute like a bunny. I guess the problem is that I don't get the "concept" as Michael Kors would say. Is it meant to outfit Mia Wallace when her nose bleeds like a period because of a coke burn? Because if so, that's absolutely genius. Just think how much money the Olsen twins would save.

Nose tampon dress courtesy of Senada Theory.

Modesty.




In trying to get readership to this ADD-fueled ridiculousness of a blog, I've been researching the art of shameless self-promotion. Usually this is hard to get away with. When the vapid cuntwaffles that are Heidi and Spencer whore it up for the cameras, the satirical websites get a literary boner. But don't underestimate the evils of Speidi. They covet this shit.

The idea that there is no such thing as bad press seemed like bullshit to me until 2003- the year that brought you One Night in Paris. Obviously there were famous tapes before that (Tam-- that's Tommy and Pam) but none seemed to enhance someone's career quite so radically before the gem that was that night vision film. It was arguably better than winning an Oscar because there's no acceptance speech required. Your vag does all the talking.

So while weighing these aforementioned celebrities who have mastered this art of promoting themselves, I quickly realized that once again, Oprah wins everything. Who else could possibly put their photoshopped face on over 96 covers without getting a flake of criticism? Oprah. She pimps herself so well, she should teach classes. And you know what she'd have her students read? Her fucking magazine.

Monday, October 27, 2008

I'm Being Followed.

I have a friend that believes Rasta colors follow her. And I never really thought about what, if anything, follows me... but then it hit me like Mike Tyson on PCP.

Jimmy motherfucking Buffett. Not only was Margaritaville recorded to give grey-haired boaters something to pass off as music, but to torture me and control my life, too.

See, it's how I rate my days now. If I hear the song, I probably stepped in a puddle and lost my wallet or something. If I didn't, then things are alright.

So here we have a photo of The Jimster wearing what appear to be Rasta colors. Further proof, my friends, further proof.

Sunday, October 26, 2008

Vocabulary Lesson!

What I learned the other day: "twat" is not a synonym for "twit" even though they sound alike. Isn't that neat?

Also, why yes, that is a vagina couch. Why do you ask?

Just two kittens out on the town

My brother is convinced that I'm on the path to being a crazy cat lady. He also has this thing about my future children being disqualified from swim meets because of their flipper feet, but that's another post.

Anyway, I usually counter him with something about his lesbian haircut, but I'm afraid he may be right.

I mean, yes... sometimes I do start my morning by asking each of the cats how they are that day, but it's called being polite. And YES, I do come to school most days covered in a sea of fur reminiscent of Robin Williams' arms. And, okay, when I practice speeches for class, my audience members purr with approval, but that could also be my unique friend Stephanie.

So, alright. Maybe my brother is right. But when he's living alone because his gender is too confusing for potential companions, I'll be cuddling with Muffikins and Fluffikins thankyouverymuch.

Father Knows Best

Everyone should have a daughter as respectful and adoring as mine.

Julia wrote:
THERE IS NOTHING IN THE EMAIL EXCEPT "SENT FROM MY IPHONE"
WERE YOU THE KID IN THE BACK OF THE CLASS SHOVING PENCILS IN YOUR NOSE? JESUS CHRIST

Frozen Head Ted

There are a lot of reasons why I don't understand Ted Williams' desire to be stuffed in a freezer. The first being that if I had a gazillion dollars to spend in death, I would want my body transported in a gold hearse with rims and hydraulics, or for it to guest star on Law and Order SVU. I would also want all my living homies to win a yacht if they correctly guess the exact hue of my cold, blue hands.


I also don't understand the theory behind this, when I really think about it (which is mostly when I'm reaching for Lean Cuisine in the grocery store). His head is popped off his body like a grape, then frozen (which deteriorates human tissue...) and then in 100 years he's supposed to get microwaved and be all set to hit another home run?


Besides, apparently the The Red Sox are like a big team and have like legit players or something. So they don't really need an icicle dude holding out for the new lineup, anyway. I only know this because of that exquisite movie with Jimmy Fallon in it. Changed my life.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

TV Review: The Pickup Artist

The basis of the show is to train helpless men who are having trouble approaching women and give them the confidence to be the creepy man offering you a drink who can't guarantee it's roofie-free. The teacher of these horny monkeys is seen above, in all his nail-polish-and-guyliner glory. He calls himself "Mystery" presumably because it's a mystery women touch him, and he's written books about the subject of picking up women. His students learn to use "props," like a feather boa, to entice women into speaking with them or they ask them questions about their hair. The women then read overwhelming signals from their gaydar and pretend to find this endearing so they'll have a new shopping buddy. This is omitted from the show for ratings or something. I'm gonna have to give this show two nail-polished thumbs down. Sorry, fake Criss Angel.

Irrelevant:

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

But what I REALLY wanna do is direct

Okay, readers are writing in that I'm getting too political (no I'm totally kidding- nobody reads this) so here's something random:

I kind of want to hold a seance. If nothing more than for lolz.
Best case scenario? We get to interview Larry King.

Birth Control

I know that the Duggar's are popping out bbs like a gumball machine because they think God told them to or some shiznit, so I'll lay off just in case they're on the arc (in pairs, naturally) and have room for one more.
What I don't understand, though, is the argument against birth control in general and how immoral it is.

So they say it kills babies. But the babies aren't born yet. So it's not even abortion (WHICH SHOULD BE DAMNED TO DAMNATION), but rather a pre-ordering of a baby. It's like being in the drive-thru of a McDonalds and deciding that a #2 with Cheese suddenly doesn't sound so appetizing anymore, so you drive off (or PULL OUT, amiright?). You haven't ordered. Billy behind the register isn't particularly concerned that his fingers won't burn .005 calories by pushing the buttons to complete your order, and you're happy that you won't be having diarrhea later. No harm done.

I don't get it, but maybe it's because I'm not a huge fan of babies. (Why do they stare? It's so impolite.)

This is not a LolCat

This is my speshul cat, Yoda. Apparently he was named because he was an ugly kitten with huge ears, but whatever. The pageant mom in me thinks he was always adorable. FUCK THA HATERZ

Saturday, October 18, 2008

Happy Fucking Thanksgiving.


As you can probably decipher from the title, Julia is not a fan of Thanksgiving. And Julia only speaks in third person when she's angry.
While Easter takes the cake for having the dumbest traditions (egg hiding for Jesus- what kind of fuckery is that?), Thanksgiving wins the award for Most Ironic. Right, let's stuff everyone in the family together like the bread crumbs up the turkey's ass and call ourselves... wait for it.... "thankful." And this little fuckfest of joy doesn't just last an hour or two, no no, it requires an all day dedication to sitting around a table staring at a dead bird. This year I hope we can trade places.

Thursday, October 16, 2008

John Wayne Gacy? More like John Wayne Silly-Facey!




Kids-- Don't talk to strangers. Strangers who try to give you and your friends candy and little knick-knacks are dangerous. If this person does not immediately leave when you ask them to, scream for Mom and Dad or someone to call 911. *

*all of this is void if they have funny clothes on and big shoes.

Children having clown phobias is so strange to me. I mean nothing screams Happy Birthday more than having a floppy-footed monster pull thin, long fabric out of their sleeve (is that a weapon?) and squeeze an air horn repeatedly to forbid you from going to your happy mental place.

And aside from the not-at-all-confusing undertones of the whole damn thing, you know Billy has never forgotten the incident outside 7-11 where a similarly dressed schizophrenic told Mommy she was a demon whose insides were rotting.

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

Because I Like Lists: Top 5 Most Embarrasing Crushes








#5) Andrae Gonzalo: Really the only thing that makes this embarrassing is that he's gayer than Richard Simmons in drag dancing to Wham and french-kissing Lance Bass whilst drinking a Cosmopolitan. Sigh.....








#4) Aladdin: First major offense? He's taken. That Jasmine bitch found him first. Second? He's not REAL. Yeah, but he's so dreamy...










#3) Tommy Lee: Umm yeah. His body is pretty much composed of the 3 Ds- drinks, drugs, and diseases. He's also not much of a romantic, as his most memorable gift to Pam was Hepatitis C. But he's got the bad boy thing going on and apparently that wows me? Yeah, I should probably take a course on feminism or something.








#2) Brett Michaels: I think I'm 10 STDs short of being a dating candidate, and also am not fooled by the bandanna cover-up trick. With that said, he's kind of.....charming.








#1) The Interrupter from Conan: Aside from the fact that his stories about his life commonly end with him stalking or peeping on people in bathrooms, he looks like a cross between Captain Hook and Weird Al. I honestly can't explain this one.

Thou loggerheaded fat-kidneyed moldwarp!


Old people are usually pretty passive. This is why you never see them trying to take out tourists with their scooters or flipping the bird from their Crown Vics. So what's the dealio, John McCain? I can't watch the current debates without cringing at his smarmy facial expressions and bitchy statements that rival with a Gossip Girl episode. He's like an overgrown child who never learned that you don't call someone a doo-doo head simply because you don't like their t-shirt... or economic policies.

*Title courtesy of Shakespearean Insult Generator

What was George Clooney doing in Illinois?

"Sex triggered a life-threatening stroke in a healthy 35-year-old Illinois woman, her doctors report.

Sex- and orgasm-triggered strokes in relatively young women and men are rare, but not unheard of. They require a combination of factors and events not unusual in themselves, but which are highly unlikely to occur at the same time.

The 35-year-old woman's symptoms were typical of this unusual kind of "cryptogenic" stroke, says Jose Biller, MD, professor and chair of the neurology department at Loyola University, Chicago.

"This young woman ... while having intercourse had numbness on the left side of her face, slurred speech, and weakness in her left arm," Biller tells WebMD. "When she was transferred to our care six hours after onset, she was completely unable to move her left arm, her face was paralyzed, her speech was garbled, and she was in a state of panic."


Rest of the CBS News Article

Hot Coco



Some little girls want to be princesses or The President, and some little girls want to be starfuckers with clothing that clings to their lady parts like saran wrap.
I was the ladder.
Each year my mom would take me to the local Frederick's of Hollywood and let me pick out my outfit for Career Day. And each year on that day we would go for ice cream when I was asked to leave. Apparently paste is appropriate in elementary school, but not pasties. Fascists.
So as my Rock of Love audition tape makes its way to VH1, let me raise my champagne mug to Coco- the ho. the myth. the legend.

Sunday, October 12, 2008

And Now, A Special Message:


I updated this blog about the last time Madonna was relevant, but I'm back in all my nobody-reads-this glory! So if you see a plentiful assortment of posts from all hours of the day, remember that I'm just trying to dumb down the world, one post at a time.

Friday, July 11, 2008

You are NOT the father




...Because the baby was cloned!

So there was this dude, let's call him Rael... because he nicknamed himself Rael... and he used to drive race cars and write about them. After most likely hitting the dashboard one too many times, he grew to believe that he was 'special.' Not shortbus special, but "the angels who created the world speak to me and tell me what to do" special.

Rael would take his quasi-philosophy and hold a conference in Paris, France, which is a rather ritzy place to debut your crazy. You'd think dragging a wooden crate from behind a Piggly Wiggly would be sufficient, but I guess his dreams were out of this world. (Zing!)

Essentially the beliefs of this religion (and I may paraphrase) are that these aforementioned Angel People are "human-like" extraterrestrials (La Toya Jackson, anyone?) who created Earth and like to chat about it. Sometimes these martian characters zip down to Earth via UFO to drop off prophets like UPS packages. These include, but are not limited to, Jesus, Buddha, Muhammad and our guy Rael, of course. Jesus, Buddha and Muhammad didn't seem to mention the UFOs or Raelianism when they were here, but it's nice that they're included anyway.

Anyway, Rael and his peeps wanted attention which is odd because you'd think someone who claims to talk to UFO people in his spare time would have been hugged a lot as a child. They decided that the answers to the worlds problems (such as over-population) is cloned babies, and they started an organization called Clonaid to practice this hobby. Some people have Easy Bake Ovens, some people have Clonaid. To each their own.

Then in December of 2002, the day after Rael's pal Jesus' birthday, a baby girl popped out of the cloning machine and was named Eve. After giving the mother a day to peacefully bond with machine-created daughter, they gave a heads up to the media that this bambino wasn't born the lame human way-- it was manufactured like a Toyota.

We still haven't seen baby Eve or her cloned sister, but her sixth birthday is coming up and I hope they rent a moon bounce for the party. It just seems fitting.

Wednesday, July 9, 2008

Banana Hammock


Yeah, okay Bed Bath and Beyond. My first thought was definitely "Fruit and Vegetable Hammock."

...And nothing relating to Borat

You Got Somethin on Yo Face


The 'stache is many things. A statement, a dare, or an act of rebellion if you work at Disney World. But most of all, it is that hilarious little gem you find in family pictures from before you were alive.

Celebrate the 'stache with Mustaches of the Nineteenth Century

Saturday, April 19, 2008

Putting the I in Ireland

Pictures From my Trip/ Shameless Photography Promotion

Nick Nolte, is that chu?






Sunday, April 13, 2008

Socrelosis Madraeus

Common Name: Soccer Mom
Symptoms Include:
*Knowing who Gayle King is
*Reading Danielle Steel novels
*Having the same haircut since 1998
*Spending a third of your life in the Starbucks line
*Believing that Tipper Gore makes a solid argument
*Wearing jeans up to your bosom
*Driving an automotive shrine to your child
*Owning a Peter Gabriel and/or Phil Collins CD
*Dressing your whole family in Crocs
*Considering 9:30 PM to be 'late'
*Neglecting your steering wheel because your cell phone needs to know the best recipe for parmesan chicken RIGHT THEN
*Categorizing your closet into 2 sections. "Trackpants" and "Not Trackpants"
*Finding Dr. Phil 'charming'


If you or someone you know has 3 or more of these symptoms...
well I don't know what you can do. But THROW THE CROCS AWAY

Friday, April 11, 2008

Chaving a Wonderful Time

I like to spice up European vacations by scouting for Chavs. This charmer did not disappoint. He had the full ensemble AND vomited in the street!

Here's to You, Swamp Thing

In a world where a DUI is like an initiation ritual into the vapid world of the too-rich and too-famous, a violent, heroin (Or is it coke? Or meth? Or crack?) addicted lump of hair is like discovering your third batch of herpes. You'd rather it no be in your life, but you're not too worried about it. Anyway, aside from being the unofficial sponsor of Betty Ford, she is also known for her powerful voice and unique sound. Back to Black (is she talking about her teeth here?), her internationally successful second album, is credited with reviving the Motown sound with hints of rock and roll along the way. Her talent is immense, though her addiction takes precedence in the press, and she is a breath of would-be fresh air in the music scene. Thanks, Amy, for keeping my ears entertained and Mexican gangs in business, all at the same time!