Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
In what context is it alright for a grown woman to sit on the couch in her apartment alone and shout angry things to a television broadcasting sports?
- "Just shoot, fuckface!"
- "Trip him with your stick!"
- "Punch him in the eye!"
- "Learn to skate, asshair!"
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Bandwagon jumper? Heck yes, I am.
As is my custom on this blog and in my life, I will veer away from relevant current events and draw from my own experiences. Self-indulgent. I know. You love me anyways.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Monday, December 14, 2009
Bonnie Tyler® brand razors. Because every now and then, you need a really good shave.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
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.
But what they didn't have was $2.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Sunday, October 25, 2009
If creepy anamatronic hillbillies leave you a little unsettled, I would skip this video.
When I was 13, Uncle Klunk raped me.
He used the banana.
(Also, they serve pizza. Apparently.)
Friday, October 9, 2009
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.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
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!
Saturday, September 19, 2009
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.
- 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
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
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.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
American cuisine too exciting for your palate? Try... Canadian Cooking!
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:
- Armenian Baking!
- Meercat Husbandry!
- Pogo-Ball Maintenance!
- Do-It Yourself REM Sleeping!
If you need me, I'll be in Hermaphrodite Erotica.
Monday, August 17, 2009
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?"
Monday, August 10, 2009
Sunday, August 9, 2009
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.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
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.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
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.
Monday, August 3, 2009
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.)
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Saturday, August 1, 2009
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"
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!"
- "OMG, when I saw that, I totally LOL'd!"
Monday, July 27, 2009
"Who's a girl gotta knock boots with ta getta Tom Collins 'round here?"
via MadMen Yourself
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
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".
Sunday, July 19, 2009
"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.