I was going to save this for a rainy day, and it was actually pretty nice, but I screwed up my neck in my sleep. As I’m unable to turn my head to the left, it qualifies as a metaphorical rainy day in my book.
The most horrifying shit ever
It will never cease to amaze me, the depths to which grown men and women will sink in the name of entertaining children.
My parents bought this for me on a whim for my 5th birthday. I really didn’t know what to make of it at the time, but I was a media whore and was starved for recorded material, so it ended up in my collection. It didn’t get played very often. On its initial play my mom thought it was so corny she accused my dad of being behind it. He swore innocence, and I believe him. Corny as my dad is sometimes, this is waaay below him.
But god, what a cloying, annoying horrid piece of work. Can you imagine the poor guy who had to record all the different versions for all the various names? (You can hear where the different names are spliced in, barely.)
And what’s with those eyes on the star? He be doin’ some fucked up drugs.
Happy Birthday Justin
The internet is a place of assholiness. The sooner one realizes this, the happier one’s online stay will be.
Perhaps the funniest story of internet jerkiness I’ve heard in a long time came this week from This American Life on Public Radio International. (Unfortunately not on Sirius, but available as a free podcast), wherein three forum dwellers tell of their greatest achievement: sending the perpetrator of a Nigerian Bank Account scam on a 1,400 mile wild goose chase to the edge of Darfur with the hope of scamming a church out of cash. The story also includes a silly outfit and a sign that calls Mohammed a child molester.
It’s so wrong. And at the same time, absolutely fucking hilarious. Listen for free here. (The story starts at just over 5 minutes in.)
I’ve been listening to a lot of NPR lately, mostly in podcast form. (Thank you, Apple!) One of their podcasts is nothing but a compilation of all their food-related stories. Me like.
So the podcast came up on my iPhone this weekend and what followed was a 9-minute talk with a correspondent as she pretty much shat her pants over the wonder that is… FIGS.
Yes, figs. “They taste NOTHING like Fig Newtons!” she gushed. “They are the world’s most perfect food! They go with ANYTHING!” The woman was so enthusiastic it was as if she’d had the Fig Commission hire Tom Cruise to dip his balls in honey and tea bag her.
She was persuasive. I thought for a minute, and realized that I’d never tried figs either, though I’d seen them at the 24-hour produce stand near my apartment for many years on end. In fact, the only person I’d ever even seen consume figs was Anthony Hopkins as Hannibal during the last scene of the mostly crappy Silence of the Lambs sequel. And he was a serious foodie!
So I stopped at the produce stand today and bought a crate. They’re good, but nothing special. Hardly anything worth dampening one’s panties over. They do have a sweet, delicate flavor and a pleasant aroma… but the “perfect food”?? Methinks NPR’s cooking contributor needs a second hobby.
Mayor Michael Bloomberg is, in my opinion, the best politician I have ever experienced in my lifetime. Sure, he’s had his failures as Mayor (Jets Stadium), but the man has simply worked miracles for this city. Schools are better, crime is down even further from the Guiliani years, our budget is balanced, things are cleaner, cops are better paid… the list just goes on. NYC has a 24-hour toll-free customer service hotline, for crying out loud! And he didn’t take a single dime from a single contributor or lobbyist to run for office. He paid for all of it himself. The man made billions on his own.
So when the man chimes in about the state of the country, I listen. In a quick Labor Day interview with Channel 4, he quickly distilled the root causes of what’s causing this country to truly self-destruct, and voiced his disgust that neither presidential candidate has addressed these causes in any satisfactory way. In his words, America is committing suicide.
The scariest thing is, Bloomberg is WAY not the type to exaggerate for the media. He means it. One of the best economic minds in this country is truly convinced that our protectionist policies are in the process of putting the entire country through a slow death. And it’s not a partisan thing; he’s pretty critical of both parties.
THIS is why I get so sick of the pedantic circus our presidential elections become. THIS is why I tune out. THIS is why I throw up my hands and decide not to even pay attention anymore. Bloomberg has, in this one 5-minute interview, voiced everything that’s wrong with American politics, and why I can’t even pay attention anymore without putting my head in my hands.
Because the idea of a SquareSoft prettyboy needing to refinance his home is hilarious to me.
From a shitty video game website I stumbled on
I’m a die-hard Obamite.
That said, I have to admit that I just can’t get Sarah Palin off my mind. It’s horrifying. It’s disturbing. It’s oh-so-right. She’s hot. She appeals to my sexy librarian fetish, hardcore. If she ever dressed in a labcoat I’d be done for. With the beehive hair and the up-tight glasses, even the New York Times couldn’t help but notice that she’s clearly the “ugly girl” in the movie the jock falls for after a “makeover” that consists of letting her hair down and putting on contacts and lipstick.
All of this, of course, shoves my inherent male feminist guilt into overdrive. Suddenly I feel creepy because she’s a successful role model of a woman and I quite literally have no use for her other than as eye candy. Her voice is irritating. Her politics are vomit-inducing. Her world knowledge, so far as anyone can tell, is nonexistent. She has absolutely nothing to contribute to the world stage, or perhaps even to dinner party conversation amongst the sort of people I identify with.
But Jesus, if she were only well-educated, secular and studying particle acceleration. Then I’d RESPECT her. AND still have my boner.
The retarded kid is baggage too, come to think of it.