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.


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:

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.


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.