Or, "How To Bang Winnie Cooper"

Ah, romance.

The Italian poet Dante was not immune to the sweet bliss to be found in the wooing of a beautiful woman. Neither were Romeo nor Cyrano de Bergerac. Goethe's Werther offed himself.

These men had desire. These men had passion. These men had burning lust.

But what they didn't have was $2.

I'm Gay For...

The slutty chair from Pee Wee's Playhouse. She taught me everything I know about what it means to be a woman, and how to please a man by making him sit on my face.

I'm Guessing He's A Republican

If creepy anamatronic hillbillies leave you a little unsettled, I would skip this video.



When I was 13, Uncle Klunk raped me with that banana.

Also, they serve pizza. Apparently.

No Water For Me, Thanks

Not having living during the era in which this was marketed, I naturally have questions. I have several questions.

1. Is this a joke?
2. How much does she pay for the storage locker where she keeps her intestines?
3. How was childbearing negotiated during this age? For that matter, how was conception negotiated?
4. Is the brand named "Erect Form" because, when the corset is off, the wearer topples over like a poorly designed PlayDoh sculpture?
5. No, really. Is this a joke?

I also must point out that this contraption was marketed as 'comfortable'. I have to agree on this, it does look comfortable. Then again, I sleep with bamboo shoots under my fingernails and knitting needles poked through my eyelids. Ahhhhh. So comfy. It feels just like snuggling with gramma.

Hairstyles That Need To Happen Again

That's it. Just this one. Make it happen, people.

Photo

I'm Gay For...

Jennifer Tilly.


Special thanks to Eric from www.tiptaptip.com for reminding me how much I love her.

Oh, My Aching Tiddies

Hey ladies!

Does your seatbelt dig in to your shoulders, neck or chest? Are you plagued with safety belt irritation at the site of contact? Have you ever wanted to get motorboated by a stuffed animal?



This adorable little bear will lie spread-eagled over your chest as you drive your hybrid car while wearing khakis and inoffensive pastels. The soft velour fabric feels almost sensuous against your skin. Or at least it would feel sensuous, if you hadn't given up orgasms for financial security back on your wedding day in '96.

The TiddyBear also doubles as a modesty device for today's Mormon mom-on-the-go. Is a little extra cleavage proving to be a point of contention with your husband's other 6 wives? Cover up your scandalous melon-crack with a plush chastity device.

But wait! It's not just for the ladies! Men can also use the TiddyBear! Sure, wearing a glorified Beanie Baby across your bitch tits takes a toll on your manhood, but you probably handed over the keys to your balls years ago, anyways.

And bonus- it's yellow! The colour of sunshine!

And urine.

The Bitch Is Back

Yes, MOTHER, I have been away from the blog for far too long. I've been busy. I'm sorry. What exciting activities have been selfishly occupying my time? Since you're so fucking nosy, here's a list.

• School
• Volunteer fire department
• My laughably empty social life
• Watching movies
• Corrupting juvies
  
• Knitting afghans
• Judging people who I catch reading "Twilight"
• Showering with football teams to save water
• Showering with Horshack to save Kotter
• Cleaning the venetian blinds
• Weeding the yard
  
• Reading the bard
• Encouraging Kanye to express himself
• Shaving my legs
• Shaving your legs
• Shaving Horshack's legs
• Enjoying the weather
• Employing the leather
• Sucking at life

Glad to be back. I missed you bitches.

Love,
The Irreplaceable
Michelle

I'm Gay For...

Hummus. Fuckin' eh.

Thought of the Day

Is it wrong that I get turned on while watching men eat bananas?

ABBA Met the Same Fate

I love this style of upper-body dancing. I call it "The Unfortunate War Veteran".

Also, girls-- please don't get too excited about Ken. There's not much flavour South of the border, if you know what I mean. But that hair he's rocking... that hair is man enough for twelve eunuchs. And I love his "I don't give a shit" attitude. So typical of the underground-club-coke-and-bareback-for-cash 80's man.

I forgot how 80's style was capable of morphing a 10-year old girl into a 34-year old Michigan housewife. A tightly-coiled perm, eyebrows as thick as molasses, and a good sweep of blue eyeshadow for good measure could turn Stephanie Tanner into Mrs. Seaver.

My favourite part-- skip to 0:21 when Barbie asks Ken to join the band- she's still dancing!! Bitch is a fucking slave to the rhythm! I'll bet she rode the scene hard until 1993, when she found Jesus and renounced her sinful ways. Ken left her and headed to Seattle where he played drums in a band called Reject-ulation until he got his Masters in philosophy.

Ah well... we all have to grow up sometime.

If it's melted, it counts as a food group.

A word to the wise: Don't let yourself get so hungry that, as soon as dinner is made, you forget to turn off the stove.

Oh, This? It's Just a Pamphlet on Existentialism

I like to support small business when I can. If I need to buy a book, I try to find it at local, independantly-owned bookstores. But occasionally, I find myself in the mouth of the beast... Chapters. (Shout out to my sister Sarah-Hi! Please don't let this stop you from buying me gift cards for books!)

I guess I've been away too long, becuase on my most recept trip I found some new and curious section headers.

I come from a time (and a sensibility) in which books are categorized into such genres as Self-Help, Gardening, Wellness, Travel, Cooking, Fiction and Literature (yes, they ARE different), and so on.

So you can imagine my surprise upon discovering:

Human Resources!

American cuisine too exciting for your palate? Try... Canadian Cooking!

Need some mid-grade quality parchment with which to wipe your ass? Why not check out... James Patterson!Wait, wait, wait. That last one is fake, right. Right??

Oh. It's real. I see.

We're all fucked.

Thankfully, I have acquired a list of exciting new genres coming soon to a Chapters near you:

• Sweatpants!
• Armenian Baking!
• Meercat Husbandry!
• Pogo-Ball Maintenance!
• Do-It Yourself REM Sleeping!

If you need me, I'll be in Hermaphrodite Erotica.

I'm Gay For...

The tiny little tables in the middle of a pizza. Sure, the adult in me knows it's there to prevent the cheese from sticking to the top of the box. But the 8-year old girl in me knows it's there so that my Barbies have a table to gather around while discussing the current Book Club selection.

"Oh Barbie, don't be so naive. Moll Flanders is no victim."

"Dammit, Skipper, you did this last month with Heart of Darkness! I have an opinion, and it shan't be stifled!"

"OK you two, simmer down. Here, have some petit fours and we'll choose our book for next month. Now, I've been hearing a lot of interest in Pynchon. But I would like to suggest Edith Wharton in honour of Stacie's upcoming trip to Boston. Now, who's for some port?"

Thought of the Day

Are you ever tempted to buy a hearing aid so your hearing becomes MEGA SUPER HEARING? I would use it not for good, but evil. And by evil, I mean eavesdropping on other people's conversations and using the acquired information to gently destroy them.

Cue Miss Grundy's Arm-Crossing Disapproval

Oh, for the days when narcotics were the only things we needed to teach our kids to avoid. What a utopian notion. Thomas More would have been pleased.

The message couldn't be more clear: experiment with drugs and end up shivering in a wooden box with a crudely-drawn vagina staring at you like the Eye of God.

Thank sweet baby Jesus that the illustrator has clearly depicted what drug users and dealers look like. Stay away from people with strange hats and ziz-zagging smiles. In fact, anyone out of the ordinary should be avaoided altogether. This includes: men with hair, women with smiles, anyone with irises in their eyes, and anyone over 1.5 feet tall.

Based purely on the font, I'm pretty sure this PSA appeared in some sort of Archie vehicle, which is hilarious because the comic featured some of the most obvious junkies of a generation.

That asshole Reggie had a huge problem with the blow. He and Veronica totally used to road trip from Riverdale to SoCal to get the good Colombian shit.

Fuckin' Moose had wicked 'roid rage and he's always pissed because his balls keep shrinking. Midge just laughs at him, so he punches her lights out.

Big Ethel has to slip some E into guys' drinks at parties, because it's the only way she can get anyone to touch her.

And please, let's not forget about the biggest basehead at Riverdale High-- Jughead. Bitch eats so many hamburgers, he shits lettuce, pickle and tomato.

Remember kids: Be wise, not weird.

Seacrest out.

Things I Hate: Office Edition

I know you feel me on these, darlings. Let's hate together. Let's love hating together. Naked.

• Grown women who covet stuffed animals.
• Related: Grown women who display stuffed animals and cutesy figurines at their desk. This is not going to get you a husband, girls. And while you're at it, get rid of the plushies from your bedroom, too. Nothing tells a man "Run like the wind" quite like staring into Nemo's dead, plastic eyes while plowing the HR girl.
• The office douche-anova. If I don't fall all over you on my first day, I must be a lesbian. Or, pardon me, 'carpet muncher'.
• When someone finds it perfectly acceptable to let me listen to their diarrhea-induced anal squirts and gurgles. Have a little shame, people. And please-- don't grunt.
  
• The ever-present Asshole with a Bluetooth.
• When management-types say things like: "Getting our ducks in a row", "Playing a little catch-up","Let's touch base", and "Coming down the pipeline".
• Self-righteous kitchen notes. I know my mother doesn't work here, bitch. I left my mug in the sink because I'm fucking lazy.
  

Also-- that's not coffee. That's liquid apathy.

An Open Letter to My Current Apartment Building

Dear Shit Shack,

Please accept this letter as notice of my imminent departure. I've found a better place.

These last three years have had their ups and downs. I'll never forget the time I came down to the parkade and found four soiled diapers waiting for me next to the garbage bin. Nor will I forget that one Christmas when the neighbours purchased singing Christmas lights which played "O Come All Ye Faithful" ad nauseum for the entirety of December. It was great background music for my final-exam study sessions.

But it wasn't all bad. You have been good to me, too-- you have provided for me. I always knew if I ever got hungry, I could pick off the cheese and dried up Italian sausage from the discarded pizza boxes which were an invariable installation next to the garage door. And I needn't ever have worried about income, because there was always a steady supply of beer bottles and empty cans of Monster Energy Drink to be found in the stairwell, ready to be cashed in.

In every relationship, communicaiton is key. And you understood this. I never felt unsure of my responsibilities or obligations to you, thanks to the endless parade of threatening letters from the resident manager. Whether a soft reminder to "Walk QUIETLY in the stairwell, don't RUN!!!!!" or a gentle prompt to "Take down ALL CHRISTMAS LIGHTS by January 3rd !!!!!!!", I always knew what was expected of me. In fact, I took one of these notices and slipped it into my scrapbook, a keepsake to remind me that "If you let any transients into the building, you will face IMMEDIATE EVICTION !!!!!!!!!"

And so it is with a full heart and an empty wallet that I make my home somewhere else. I will never forget your moisture-warped balcony door, nor will I soon forget your uneven heat distribution.

My new place will be an adjustment, it's true. But I want you to know that you'll always be in my heart, increasing in value by the maximum legal limit every 6 months.

Love,
Michelle

Next Up: DIY Flip Book to Read While Being Excluded by the Other Children

I love how the photographer didn't actually snap a shot of a completed craft. I guess he figured that an unformed lump of clay being poked by one developmentally-delayed finger was the perfect image to convey the book's intended message: "Kid's a little slow? Keep 'em busy with piss-poor handicrafts. It's the best you can hope for".

Also, please note the lamentable self-righteousness: "Through their hands, they shall learn".

And what craft project is complete without swastikas?

(All jokes aside, this actually makes me really sad. I hate everyone.)

Photo

Thought of the Day

When are they going to come out with a film version of WKRP in Cincinnati? I've been waiting like...forever.

I'm Gay For...

Robert Downey Jr.

Yes baby, of course you can snort coke off my ass. Just please don't leave me.

This Just In: Oprah Not Conducive to Orgasm

While listening to Joel and Jenn, hosts of my favourite podcast/carnival of mortal delight that is Squidpod, I at once felt such camaraderie with Joel as he listed off qualities which he considers unfuckable. According to Mr. Squidpod, anyone who says the following is instantly off his list:

• "On Oprah I saw..."
• "Jenny McCarthy said..."
• "Yoga pants are SOOO comfortable"

Joel.
I feel you, my brother.

Some girls are fucking retards. So are some men (but that's another post).

Though I don't sleep with women, there are certainly boundaries which, when crossed, warrant my disdain. So, at the risk of offending some friends and the public at large (and by public at large, I mean the 6 people who read this blog), I would like to present my own list, which I like to call...

"If You Ever Say This To Me, I Will Kick You in the Clitoris":

• "That totally reminds me of something I read in Twilight..."
• "...and then I saw the man of my dreams. There he was, with a Bluetooth and an Ed Hardy shirt, the sun glistening on his shaven head..."
  
• "Where did you put my Gilmore Girls box set?"
• "Awwww, he treats me like a princess!"
• "No, it's true! I read it in an email my mom forwarded to me!"

And finally, nothing earns my disgust quite like...

• "OMG, when I saw that, I totally LOL'd!"

Dumb broad.

Not Pictured: Summons to Appear in Front of House Un-American Activities Committee

"Who's a girl gotta knock boots with ta getta Tom Collins 'round here?"

via MadMen Yourself

And He Always Wants to Control the Tunes

I long for the days before we, as a culture, harnessed the power of subliminal messages.

This offering, designed to encourage the conservation of precious fuel for the war effort, could not be more liminal. It's the advertising equivalent of printing your message on a length of 2x4 and wallopping your intended audience with it in the face.

I love how sad Hitler looks- he clearly has so many other things to do! "Ich told you to take the 508! Das highway is always bottlenecked at rush hour! Scheisse!"

A Little Tense

For Christ's sake, fella.... It's just coffee.

If you're gonna hit her, hit her for giving your boss a rusty trombone at the office Christmas party. Jesus.

Glamorous Wedding FAIL

I love the kid on the left. He's so fucking over this shit.

This image inspires so many questions. Which one is the groom? Is it post-syphyllitic Henry VIII in the upper left hand corner? Or perhaps the toothsome Larry Flynt impersonator in the tux next to the bride?

At least we don't have to play this guessing game to find the bridesmaids. The lovely, virginal handmaids kneeling on either side of the blushing bride are clearly taking their duties very seriously.

What I wouldn't give to have been a fly on the wall during the first consultation with the wedding planner: "Ok, for your wedding, I see..... plague-era London! Hooded tunics, codpieces, doublets and calf boots as far as the eye can see! And hats? Oh, heavens, yes! Above all, hats!"

Even the people dressed normally have gotten it all wrong. Over on the right, Uncle Bruce's jacket sleeves are trying to crawl out of frame.

Tip: If you're going to have a theme wedding, make it something like "We'd really prefer monetary gifts" or "Everyone settles... eventually".

Photo

Thought of the Day

There's a lot to be said for the contributions that senior citizens make to this world. Who else would enusre that stock in Werther's Original and linament never plunge?

I'm Gay For...

...squidpod.

There comes a point in every woman's life when she must admit she has been outfoxed. Whether she loses her husband to a Filipino transsexual named Jade, or she loses the big promotion to a 22-year old with braces and gonorrhea, she must admit defeat.

For me, that day is today. I have oficially lost the title of "Awesomeness Personified". And not just to one person, either-- there are two victors tied for first place.

Who are these specimens of wondrous hilarity, you ask? Who are these superhumans who warrant the praise of me -ME!- a woman who once had sex on the front lawn of a Catholic Church with a gay man- to bow down in defeat?

They are Joel and Jenn of squidpod.

Words are cheap, I know. I say a lot of things are awesome-- turkey stuffing, sunglasses, rocking chairs. But Joel and Jenn-- and please don't mistake the following statement for hyperbole-- are the best thing on this fucking planet since Jesus.

Don't believe me? Indulge me by considering the following excerpts from their podcasts:

Jenn: "I picked up a couple of great books the other day..."

Joel: (audible sigh of disgust)

"It twists so you can drill things in awkward places"

"Tron! It was TRON, for fuck's sakes!"

"The verb of maternity is... matronly?"

"There's days when I come home and... I don't want to live in a fart"

"It's gonna feel tight 'cause it's poking through nylon"

"You basically have 4 hands"

"...and continue to screw like crazy"

"I knew I instantly liked you when you maimed me in my eye"

"There's some squares, and they need a little bit of help. And that help is Wild Turkey"

"So I was working at my monkey research laboratory job..."

"I think he might be dead"

And my personal favourite:

"If anyone asks why your Ikea catalog has holes, tell them it's 'cause the Swedes are assholes"

Now that you Know, now that you are in sync with the universe and all of it's mysteries and pleasures, do not let this knowledge go to waste. Leave this stinking dog turd of a blog and go to squidpod. It was nice knowing you.

No, A Flow Chart Has Nothing To Do with Menstruation

Clicking on a picture embiggens the smallest image. Related: I suck at the internet.

Choosy Moms Place Faith in Junk Science

"How soon is too soon? Not soon enough."

Mothers who love their children pour cola down their throats. And there's no such thing as too soon. Douche with it. Mix it with rum on the night of conception. Fry up the afterbirth, stick it on some rye bread and wash it all down with a Coke.

Apparently children who drink cola at an early age are more popular and are in for a "lifetime of guaranteed happiness". An outrageous claim, to be sure, but it's based on evidence collected by the Soda Pop Board of America, so you know it's non-biased.

So if you care about the future of your child, force some of the bubbly brown down his throat and make the little bastard gargle with it until his teeth fall out.

Faded Beauty, Faded Dreams

It ain't easy being a dime-dancer. Fellas coppin' a feel wherever they please, stinkin' of whiskey and trouble. When I left the farm, Mama told me about the city, she told me "Bootise, you ain't never gonna make it in that big town!" But I had myself a dream. I's gonna be the star of the stage. They's was all gonna come from miles around, just to hear me sing and watch my twinklin' toes dance all over that stage.

But Mama was right. I shouldda listened to her, and stay put at the farm. Ain't no one in this town wants to hire a chubby farm girl. They all tells me "You're too damn fat!" and they're right.

So now, I keep my figure down. I work at the Swingin' Pigeon, givin' it away for a measly dime. I still get to dance, and I really shouldna be complainin'. But I just gets hungry. I gets so hungry.

21 Things People Hate About Me

"Michelle, why are you such an insufferable bitch?"

This is a question I'm often asked, by friends and strangers, by clergy and laypersons, by the young and decrepit alike. It's been one of the great mysteries of my life-- How could you hate me? ME! As is typical of my personality (and number 14 on the list) I've decided to compile a list.

1. I am a biblio-snob of the worst sort. Twilight? Bitch, please. I wouldn't be caught dead with that book in my hand.


2. I crack my bones.


3. I wear (forbidden!) outside shoes at the gym.


4. I ask questions that are absolutely none of my business.


5. I sing along in the car to every single song. I'm a terrible singer, too. This is not modesty, either. I am truly terrible. It's why I love kareoke so much.


6. I love opening my mouth and showing people half-eaten food.


7. I always grab my friend's cigarettes and insist on lighting them. The first drag is always the best, anyway. The rest is just anticlimax.


8. I openly mock those who use poor grammar.


9. I roll my eyes about 5 dozen times per day.


10. I love the movie "Drop Dead Gorgeous".


11. I have a super-humanly strong sense of smell, and I will tell you if you stink.


12. I always whine that I want a pot-bellied pig. Apparently they get really big. Whatever.


13. I compulsively buy stationery. Pens are a particular problem.


14. I compile lists incessantly.


15. I become obsessed with things very intensely, and I devour every piece of information I can find on the subject.


16. I refuse to watch The Godfather.


17. I love watching strangers eat really messy food. Shawarmas= hilarious.


18. Anything that comes out of my purse smells and tastes like perfume. Mints, gum, etc.


19. I rarely finish a drink. I just drink 75% of it, and either give up or get a new one.


20. I cannot (CANNOT) sit at a restaurant without hanging a spoon off my nose.


21. I fully expect you to adore me for the above idiosynchracies.

Thought of the Day

Barbecue-flavoured chips and beer go really, really well together.

Non-Violent Persistence

I present to you, my microscopic viewing public, my very first passive aggressive note.

I feel I must mention that this is not my first attempt to solve this problem- I have tried the assertive option, the aggressive option, and now I am left with little else in the way of protest. I am very new to this type of problem-solving. Usually, I just flutter my eyelashes and say "Please?"or hit whatever I want over the head, but these methods have been of no use in this particular situation.

Not my best effort, I'll admit, but I was in a hurry. You see, I had a load of unmentionables in The Washer (so capitalized as there is only one blessed functioning machine- Allah be praised), and I had to scribble down this note so I could stealthily sneak it in and tape it up. Also, if you leave your laundry in the machine for more than 2 minutes after your load is done, someone will take it out and (if you're lucky), put it on top of the dryer. Not in the dryer, mind you. On top.

I'm not really into creepy apartment-dwellers fondling my knickers and delicates, so I had to rush.

I digress. Here is my contribution to the world of spineless whining:

Ghandi would have been proud.

The First Step is Admitting You Have a Problem

Meat is the new black.

via Passive Aggressive Notes

I'm Gay For...

Grey Gardens. Why? Please allow the following quotes to answer your question.

Little Edie: If you can't get a man to propose to you, you might as well be dead.

Big Edie: The cat's going to the bathroom right in behind my portrait.
Little Edie: Isn't that awful?
Big Edie: No, I'm glad he is. I'm glad someone's doing what he wanted to.

Big Edie: He always compliments me on the way I do my corn.

Big Edie: France fell, but Edie didn't fall.

If you haven't watched it, you haven't lived. This statement is absolutely without hyperbole.

Oh, The Woes of the Middle Class

Dear Resident Manager whom I will, one day, draw and quarter,

Hey there. We have a situation. Since November, the second of the two washing machines on my floor has been broken. Nope-- correction. It has been broken, repaired by your 80-year old husband, broken again, and again repaired. The cycle begins anew every 2 weeks or so. Now mathematics has never been my strongest area of expertise, but it is my calculation that this machine has been broken for 255 of the last 270 days. Clearly, this repair job is ineffective. Actually, I feel strange using the word 'repaired', because we both know this is not what he does. This is the same man who replaced a fuse on my stove... with another fuse from my stove. Now, instead of a malfunctioning right burner, I have a malfunctioning left burner. I blame myself, really. I obviously need to be more specific.

Please, please, please hire a real repairman for the building. I know you love your husband, but he is as useless as a hat full of busted assholes. The man has no clue now to fix shit. My Aunt Nita could do a better job. And she's 98 years old. And she's dead.

I suppose having two washing machines in good working order for a floor with 30+ residents is a lot to ask. Believe me, we've tried to make due. We currently solve the problem as follows: each Sunday, we draw straws to determine who will get to wash their clothes that week. It's kind of fun, actually. When I awake on the Lord's Day, I'm never sure if I'm going to have clean clothes that week, or if I'll have to rotate my wardrobe another 360 degrees. It's terribly exciting, really. It kind of makes me feel powerful and dangerous. Like the sun.

One thing I ask of you, however, is to actually empty out the stagnant wash water from the broken machine. I'm sure you're aware that the machine always breaks mid-cycle, leaving a basin full of grey water. I'm not in love with seeing the floating crust of dirty clothes. You think I'm exaggerating? Observe.

Yummy.

Love,
Michelle

P.S. I'm fucking serious. I will have you drawn and quartered. It hurts.

Thought of the Day

Why don't people still get glamour shots? They were so... just... glamourous.

Because I'm a Legend In My Own Mind. And In Yours.

James Lipton's Ten Questions.

1. What is your favourite word?
Reciprocity

2. What is your least favourite word?
Prolapse

3. What turns you on?
Really good cologne, and Daniel-Day Lewis as Bill the Butcher in "Gangs of New York".

4. What turns you off?
Reciprocal prolapses

5. What is your favourite curse word?
'Cunt'. I so rarely get a chance to use it, though. People are so sensitive about being called 'cunty' these days.

6. What sound or noise do you love?
Thunder, and the sound of the bones cracking in my neck.

7. What sound or noise do you hate?
When someone's nose is whistling. Or the creepy accents that men in California have.

8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
I would like to get my Ph. D in sass. Also, I would like to work the machine that makes those little donuts.

9. What profession would you not like to attempt?
Anything in sales or professional sports.

10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
"Welcome home. You did a great job, but next time around, can we please watch the goddamn language?"

Synergy, We Hardly Knew Ye

Care to take a little stroll down memory lane?
No?
Too fucking bad. Watch it.





....?

What the hell were we thinking in the 80's?

So, Synergy is Clash? No? So she's the polar opposite of Clash? And she can jam Jem's concert with scary crotch-rays? But she can also make Clash into Jericha. But Jericha is actually Jem, right? And The Holograms are actual holograms? But, where does Jem come from in the first place? How does this work?

Looking back at the 80's, it's easy to see the tremendous effect that all the blow and Flock of Seagulls had on us.

As a child, I was a huge fan of Jem. I asked, begged, PLEADED for a Jem doll for Christmas. When I finally got one, I experienced such deep disappointment.

Jem is a fucking tranny. I know this, because I ran to my room to get my Ken doll as comparaison. She is bigger than Ken, has no hips, and her face bears the expression of an individual who is straining under the pain of a poorly-executed tuck.

Actually, upon further inspection, I'd venture to guess she has the shit sweats from a long night of Boone's Strawberry Hill and Moons Over My Hammy.

Also- please note the earrings. They stick into her head like voodoo needles. Once, I poked them into her neck and pretended she was Frankenstein. "Raaaaarrr!"

Don't even get me started on the hair.

I'm Gay For...

This place.



Why?
The coffee= other-worldly.
The music= delightful.
And best of all, it makes me feel gloriously pretentious.

Caffe Artigiano, I heart you.