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.

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?)

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.

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.