I'm Gay For...

Watermelon. The jucier, the better.

This Just In: Crazy Bitch Smokes Pall Malls

The payoff comes at the 0:50 second mark.





Happy Tuesday, my lovelies.

Better Put On a Pot of Coffee, This Might Take a While

Like many of you, my life has been slowly eroding before my eyes. Swine flu, recession woes, global warming, anal leakage... It all eats away at our quality of life.

But now, we see a light at the end of the tunnel. Your favourite hooker-assaulting, meth-smoking TV pitchman, Vince Shlomi is back. Forget that crusty old bitch ShamWOW!, because the Slap Chop will survive in the historical archives marked 'Zeitgeist' for centuries to come.

I am honoured to present the first (I'm In Parentheses) screening of Vince Shlomi's Slap Chop. Enjoy.

3

2

1




Let's forget for a moment that this product hasn't existed for 17 years. Let's also forget that this product is so useless that we've each used this product exactly once in these past 17 years.

Instead, let us please turn our attention to the human embodiment of the divine that is Vince.

Where do I even fucking start?

"All day long, you're going to be slapping our troubles away." This is a pretty substantial statement, especially in light of Vince's recent assault on a prostitute by means of punching and... slapping. And though I feel that the obvious allusion to masturbation is far too lowbrow for this blog, I will nonetheless make reference to it.

I also love Vince's blessed advice to us all: "Stop having a boring tuna, stop having a boring life." Now, I haven't received my Liberal Arts degree YET, but since it is less than a year away from completion, I feel I am qualified to offer my literary assessment. This. is. poetry.
Not since Ezra Pound has the essence of the human experience been captured in so few words.

In closing, let us remember that if Vince can do it with one finger, we can do it with our whole hand.
Just keep slappin' away.

Thought of the Day

Perfect Strangers had the best intro and theme song ever.

After All, Easter is the Guilt Holiday

Let's talk logistics here:

• Buying eggs
• Hard boiling eggs
• Finding/buying crayons to write on aforementioned eggs
• Writing on eggs
• Dyeing eggs (multiple colours)
• Putting eggs in travel-safe container
• Carrying eggs to work
• Placing eggs strategically in fridge
• Awaiting (inevitable!) cleaning of fridge

Versus:

• Pull garbage can over to fridge
• Throw out all contents of fridge

I especially love the underlined "CLEAN" so as to add emphasis.

"Clean the fridge", as opposed to

"Strategically place pre-prepared Easter eggs in fridge to remind nameless entity other than oneself to clean fridge".

I am *so* glad I don't work in an office anymore.

Source

Spring Cleaning

Dear Sir,

Firstly, I would like to extend my kudos. I don't know how you were able to get my email address, but clearly you did some top-rate investigative work, and for this, I commend you.

Secondly, thank you. In my daily perusal of my emails, I happened upon your message. Granted, it was in my Junk Mail, but as they say, one man's trash is another man's treasure.

And this, my good man, was indeed treasure. The title you gave to this email is absolute poetry. In fact, I would like to present (in the Dadaist tradition), my first ever Found Poem:

Found Poem Alpha

Remove Toxic Sludge from your Colon.
As seen on Oprah.

Now, I can only attribute your (correct!) foresight to more of that stellar investigative genius. I do have toxic sludge in my colon, and it does need to be removed! Finally, I can now get the colon-refreshing relief that I so sorely need.

Again, thank you so very much. If I can ever repay you for this wonderful gift, please, do not hesitate to ask.

With warmest wishes and

sincerest thanks,

M. Wood.

I'm Gay For...

Blip.fm

Restaurant Review: Mother Tuckers

Ok, so I've been here many times. I grew up in Calgary, and this place has been around since before Woody Allen fucked his daughter.

A friend and I decided to go out for dinner, and he left the restaurant up to me. What shall I choose?

Being a red-blooded Canadian girl, I like a piece of meat between my teeth. Steak. But where?

"Hey Ryan, we haven't been to Mother Tuckers in a while. You wanna meet there at 6?" "Sure", he concedes, and the date is set.

Now, a little background: Said friend and I go way back to Grade 8, when one day, he walked into my homeroom classroom wearing a T-shirt that read "Ask me about my cat", with a picture of a kitten peeking out of a coffee mug. I commented on how much I loved it (still do), and we have been friends for lo these past 15 years.

We go out to dinner whenever he's in town (flight attendant), and Mother Tuckers has been one of our 'places' for many years. But for some reason, we stopped visiting the establishment about a year ago. Memory provides no apparent motive, hence my (ill-fated) decision to return.

That was mistake number one. Mistake number two came when we sat down, ordered our dinner via the transgendered server, and skipped off to the salad bar.

Horrors. Absolute horrors. Apparently, since we've been away, the restaurant has rented out much of it's salad bar to a family of fruit flies. I concetrated most of my attention of dry goods, such as croutons, and hoped for the best.

Shortly thereafter arrived the entrees. My scalloped potatoes were covered in brownish-tan chunks. Curious, I asked the server "What's this in the potatoes" and the prompt reply? "I don't know".

"Wait wait wait" I call after her as she walks away, "could you find out for me?" "Ya, ok" she agrees begrudgingly. Upon her return, I am informed of the ingredient in question: "Cheese" she says, "but probably way overcooked". Confident that this has cleared up any doubt surrounding the culinary merit of the dish, she again turns on her heel and walks away.

Left with nothing but my wits and "way overcooked" cheese, I err on the side of safety and decide not to consume the carbohydrate element of the meal. Focusing on my sirloin, I dig in. I didn't know it was possible for meat to be flavourless. Like, entirely deviod of flavour. I add salt. No dice. Pepper. Mmmm, my steak tastes like pepper now.

My friend fared mildly better, but his prime rib looked... off-colour. Nothing really obvious, but, you know when you look at someone's face and you just know they're about to puke? Now you see what I mean.

Upon procurement of the bill, I toddle off to pay my portion by means of debit. I ask the host "Where can I pay this on debit?" and he walks away. I follow. He turns around and sneers "No, wait over there, I'm going to go get it". A wireless debit machine! So modern. But he doesn't come back with a wireless debit machine. He comes back with a second copy of my bill. I explain I've already recieved it from the server. And-- here comes my favourite part of the evening-- he says "Well, you didn't have it in your hand when you came up to me the first time!" and snatches it from my hands. Not having moved more than two feet from where he left me, I certainly did have the bill in my hand. Stunned by the sheer rudeness, I handed him my debit card. He swipes, I punch away, and the transaction is completed.

Later, in the movie theatre, my friend's stomach starts to hurt. Big fucking suprise.

Rating: 2 fluorescent dinner rolls out of 5

Here, Smoke These!

No matter what, NEVER EVER tell your wife that the Newport Girl came out of the TV and handed you a pack of smokes. The old battle-axe just won't understand.

Thought of the Day

Phlegm is fucking gross.

I'm Gay For...

Used book stores.

RAVE: Twitter

Hey, are you on Twitter?
Hey, are you on Twitter?
Hey, what's up? Oh me, not much... Hey, are you on Twitter?

It's like, the best thing ever!!!

First, you create an account. Then, you search for people. Yay! Can't find anyone? Try searching again! Ok, still haven't found anyone? Ok, try searching one more time. Oh, oops, it appears you have exceeded your maximun search allottment for now. Please wait an hour and search again.

Now that you have a whopping 5 friends, you can update them! And, just as exciting, they can update you. Then, you update back! Actually, they're not on Twitter right now, you might want to wait the standard '1 hour - 8 days' which is the typical time between most Twitter updates. Unless of course, there are "Too Many Tweets" (cute!) and you can't update, in which case, just wait longer.

Why don't you just send a text message, you ask? Because these are the friends that you're really not friendly enough with to exchange numbers. Isn't that what Facebook is for? Well, yes... and no.

You see, Facebook allows you to interact with people in a much more complex manner. But who needs that in this work-a-day world? It's just *so* much better to express yourself in 140 characters or less. After all, the deepest and most consequential feelings can be expressed in 140 words or less:
"I love you"; "I'm really happy"; "I love pistachios"; "Where's the remote"; "John Mayer sucks"; "I hate when the remote is covered in pistachio crumbs"; "Where did that remote get to again?"

Hey, guess what?
I'm 'following' Anderson Cooper! And John Mayer! And Ashton Kutcher! I know, exciting, right?!?!? Well, actually, no, they didn't add, me. Um, no, I don't require their permission to 'follow' their updates. Why is this such a big deal? Because my life is such an empty vessel, I love attaching myself to more successful people so that when my 5 Twitter friends look at my profile, they see that I 'follow' famous people. No, this doesn't mark me as a shameless social climber, but as a Really Cool Person who has the connections to 'follow' famous people whose participation is not in any way required.

Hey! I gotta go now, but I'll text you later! Wait, scratch that... I'll just post an update! Are you on Twitter?

Pepsi Presents Faith

God loves you. He wants you to have a fuller, richer life.

He's thought about it for a while now, and he has some new tricks up his sleeve to make your life better.

Joel Osteen Ministries, Inc. presents....... THINGS©!

And not only Things... NEW Things©!

Tired of the old Things of deities past? Sick of God's gifts which never seem to change?

Now available, right from the Big Guy in the Sky, direct to your door, The New Things© of God will make you a believer all over again. Experience what it means to be one of the faithful in these hard times. Today's Christian knows that God's grace doesn't come in the form of wisdom, experience or miracles, but in Things©.

FAQ

What are these Things©? How will they improve my life?
The exact nature of JOM, Inc. Things© is a closely-guarded secret,
but you have the guarantee of Joel Osteen himself that his Things©
will dramatically improve the greatness-ocity of your life.

How do I get Things©?
By simply making a cash donation to Joel Osteen Ministries, Inc., you will recieve
The New Things of God©. (Cash dontations only please, no prayers, good

works, or acts of faith are redeemable for Things©).

Can I get Things© for my family and friends?

Of course! Things© make great gifts! Simply make a cash donation to J.O.M, Inc.,

and we will send you Things©. What could be more simple? Not sure what to get for

ther person who has everything? Why not buy The New Things© of God for:

• Weddings
• Anniversaries
• Birthdays
• Graduations
• Divorces
• Civic Holidays
• Thursdays
• 3-Days Sober Celebrations
• Bar Mitzvahs
• Ramadan
• Ascension Day
• Colonial Independance

Things© also make great:

• Hostess Gifts
• Police Bribes
• Doorstops
• Coffee Table Decorations
• Salad Toppings
• Lures for Unsuspecting Children
• Grizzly Bear Repellents

The New Things© of God are now available, and supplies are limited! Get yours now!

Source (Unfortunately)

Happy Earth Day, Bitches!

Don't forget to recycle-- paper, water bottles, men.

There's a Yeast Joke In Here Somewhere...

Did you know-- a lot of brown bread is just white bread coloured brown?

All kinds of people are doing it!





I miss the good old days when it was perfectly natural to sexualize baking.

Thought of the Day

You can't get much cooler than Mickey Rourke.

Photo

I'm Gay For...

Louis XV-era French writing desks.

RANT: Creepy Next-Door Neighbour.

Hi!
It's me, the girl who lives next to you! I know you know who I am, because you've seen me walking into my apartment many, many times. I also have looked at you with scornful contempt after watching you dump disgusting garbage sans bag down the garbage chute.

I just wanted to send a quick note to say what a creep you are. I'm not sure what the specific infractions are, but I know that you're violating your parole.
When you make those frighteningly violent noises at about 1:30 in the afternoon, I have to put my textbook down to explore the possibilities. What are you doing to make such a sound? I would describe it as sounding like a bag of potatoes being hurled at a wood-panelled wall, followed by the wailing lament of damned souls.
I have reflected on this, for lo these past 3 years we have been sharing a wall, and I am now ready to present the only possible origins of the terrifying cacaphony:

1. You are a serial murderer/rapist a la Jeffrey Dahmer. I sincerely doubt this however, because I have an unsually well-developped sense of smell. Which leads to...

2. You share your apartment with an anal fissure-stricken water buffalo. Again, I would probably sniff this one out, so we move on to the most likely scenario...

3. You have 32 speakers pointed at our shared wall, and you watch "Cannibal Holocaust" every afternoon at full volume.

If this is correct, please signal that I have solved the riddle by remaining completely silent.

Sincerely,
Michelle

Anyone Need An Organ Transplant?

Because this ho doesn't deserve any of hers.
She decided it would be fun to jump into the polar bear enclosure at the Berlin Zoo to give a shout out to her favourite furry bitches. Apparently she timed it just right, too- feeding time. Enjoy.




Seriously. Someone needs to just take her liver and give it to some old Grandmother.

On The Next Episode Of "Mad Men"

Ok fellas, we've got the Lane Bryant account. Now, they've told us they're sweet-talkin' the Chubby demographic.

They've put together a Chubby Fashion book, full of Chubby-size clothes for the typical All-American Chubby.

Keep in mind boys, that this is not your father's Chubby. This is a new, bold and modern Chubby we're courting. We need to think outside the box on this one, and really sink our hooks into those Chubbies.

If we make good on this, the Husky account is gonna fall into our laps, like the food that falls out of the mouth of a Chubby.

Now. Who's gonna handle this one? How 'bout you, Jones? That wife of yours can give you some inspiration.

Let's break for lunch, and don't forget boys-- we need those Chubbies.

I'm Gay For...

Mr. Nutty - Peanut-encrusted chocolate Easter novelty.

Thought of the Day

Sometimes-- just sometimes-- it's OK to go without a shower for a week.

Um... No Chocolate For Me, Thanks....

I'm.... not even going to say anything.

Proselytism FAIL

I just went to get some coffee and on the way I FOUND A SAVIOUR!

... So many questions.

Let's begin: Why the excessive (ie. exclusive) caps?

I mean, I *guess* religious tracts found on kitchen appliances warrant caps. God certainly speaks and writes in caps.

As for Jesus... I'm not so sure. He probably gave God shit for writing in caps. He's all "Bitch, please".

This note also features one of my favourite usages of exclamation points: Excessive!

Or, rather, EXCESSIVE!!!!!!!!1!!!!!!

Because with each additional exclamation, I come closer to the Lord!!!!! Here I come, Sweet Baby Jesus!!!!!!!!! Testify, tell it to the sky!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I must note that there are 10 exclamation points in total. If the study of Renaissance art has taught me anything, it is the iconographic meaning of numbers in 15th and 16th century religious painting.

Mrs. Klondike (for such is her name) is clearly alluding to the 10 commandments. In addition, the 5 ellipsis points after her concluding statement refers to the 5 wounds of Christ, (an apt reference during this most sacred season of Lent). Combined, 10 + 5= 15. 1+5 =6, the number associated with Creation. The red font suggests The Passion, which is completed on Easter Monday.

Therefore, the iconographic interpretation is thus:

The body of Christ, residing in the Klondike Bar, is meant to be accepted as the Eucharist on Good Friday. There will be additional Klondike Bars purchased on Easter Monday, which will then undergo transubstantiation and be stored in the freezer next to the peas.


(In other words: Bitch, please. It's just ice cream).


Source

Thought of the Day

Gretchen Mol's breasts in "The Notorious Bettie Page" are perfect.

Just.... perfect.

Species: Puma Concolor Cougarus

Attn: Woman with Huge Newsanchor Hair

at the Gym.

Dear Hair,

I just wanted to go over a few things with you while I have your attention.

First of all, please don't ever give me that look again. Contrary to what you might believe, you are not hot shit. You're not even hot tuna. You are a cranky 45 year-old crusty bitch. It's not my fault your vagina dried up and fell off.

Secondly, it's a gym. People go there to work out (ie. exercise). No matter how you slice it, one set of three reps on each machine does not constitute exercise. I can see just by looking at you that you're not the type of gal who likes to sweat, but if you're going to go to the gym and sit on the machine that I'm waiting to use, at least make an attempt to look like you're getting something out ot it. To be honest, I'm not sure why you even joined a gym. Your workouts last about 15 minutes in their entirety, and when you get on a machine, I suspect you do so because you simply need a place to sit.

And lastly, the hair. "Who's hair?" you ask, looking around in every direction. Your hair. Now, I know that popular Cougar-Bar trivia games remind us that hair is, in fact, dead. I concede this point. But I feel that you might have taken this fact and decided that there's no point in nourishing something that's dead. I completely agree (and so do many of my late plants).

But-- and here's the rub-- something dead attached to something living is legally able to claim status as a semi-living entity. I would suggest conditioner, but frankly, it's too late for that. May I suggest olive oil, followed by a leave-in treatment of clarified butter (or ghee, as my Indian friend says). That should be the first step in restoring movement to your hair. I don't mean texture and body, but actual, visible movement.

Please take these suggestions to heart.

And if you're ever rude to me again, I will set a cougar trap for you next to the Ab Glider and tell our fellow gym-goers you're the one who leaves puddles of sweat on the machines.

Ta,

Michelle

Photo

Where The Buffalo Roam

My Dream House

Highlights:

-Library (no paperbacks, thank you) with a large writing desk mit blotter. Next to said desk are antique cut-crystal decanters filledwith scotch (namely Glenkinchie) and free flowing wine (Chateauneuf-du-Pape or even a nice Cotes du Rhone will do just fine). Oh yes, and a large globe. So fucking civilized.

-French country kitchen with marble-topped counters, fines herbes growing in a pot on the windowsill

-Manor-style four poster canopy bed

-Did I mention the wine and books?

(Sadly, I will never, ever get to own this gem located en Provence because I have chosen the underpaid profession of elementary school teacher. I will tenderly mould the soft brains of your over-indulged children, just so they can get hooked on crystal meth at 17 and move out with their 32 year-old boyfriend named Jason.)

Don't Shoot the Messenger

Or, shall I say "Preese, no shoot me, humbre Westerna man!!"




I know, right?!?!?! I love how this video has been assigned the tag 'Borderline Racist'. If this is borderline anything, it's the borderline between a Bob Hope stand-up routine and a typical Saturday night with the Klan.

I feel that I must bring attention to the fact that, while this ad ran in the 60's, I was born in 1981 and I can remember colouring with Crayola crayons which had colours named 'Indian Red' and 'Flesh' (that is to say, caucasian flesh. Obviously, they made the same mistake as those crazy Old Testament writers who confused skin with flesh. "Oy, what a mistake I've made!" says Rabbi Krustofski).

This abominaiton is actually *terribly* appropriate for me to have found today, because mere hours ago, I attended a lecture on Orientalism at my post-secondary home away from home.
Edward Said, this one's for you, big daddy.

(By the way, I'm pretty sure Poor Chinese-Type Baby's mother is Betty Rubble. I always knew she would leave Barney... I bet she caught him and Fred 'polishing' each other's 'bowling balls'.)

Lap Jockey, Take Two

Is it just me, or does this REALLY look like Katherine Hepburn? Not even like young K. Hep, but the Kathy we know from On Golden Pond? Was she still getting it regular at that age?

Anyway, I digress.

I've become increasingly fascinated with these ads-- they all seem to follow the same formula:

*Clean (aka caucasian middle-class) 'girl' to tempt the unsheathed member.
*Hold on there, cowboy!
*Revelation of sluttishness and disease.
*The more you know

Also-- "prophylaxis"? Is this the state of being equipped with slash wearing a prophylactic? It kind of sounds like some weird German sex fetish involving choking on a condom.

In other news, Kittens.

Thought of the Day

Hey, Winter!
Fuck you.

Just Released: Grapefruits are Awesome!

This infomercial has the same confusing, misplaced aggression as my current favourite, "ShamWOW!" .

Also, please note the 'Before' at the 0:57 mark... I'm pretty sure it's Mama Cass.

Why I Love St. Patrick's Day

1. Green in the new black.

2. Puke is the new yack.

3. Some of my favourite people are Irish.

4. Slutty girls at the bar rubbing up on guys all day long as if it were 1:30am.

5. Number 12 green food dye makes whoever you're talking with look like they just gave a sloppy BJ to the green CareBear. (I'm looking at you, McTeer).

6. Everyone busts out a story relating the purported Irish-ness of their lineage. "My uncle's third wife was married to an Irish guy".

7. Three words: Leprechauns are hung.

Hey, Predictive Text!

You fucking suck!

Or, if I hadn't corrected you, "Your ducking pucker"!

Over the years, I have had my phone in my pocket right next to my no-no bits, I've answered it post-coitus, and I've even sent a text message on the toilet.

But even with these levels of deep intimacy, I have yet to figure out the intricacies that make up my phone's predictive text function.
Ok, I'll admit it. I like to swear. A lot. perhaps it's not so much a fondness as a nervous tick. I digress.

When I choose to express my discontent for a grade I have received from my post-secondary professor, I feel that it is not some software application writer's decision how I express it.
No matter how you slice it, "That's apricgq haven't medication a ducking a!" just doesn't express my fury like "That asshair gave me a fucking B!".

Because, let's face it, folks, there is no such thing as an apricgq. They went extinct the same year as the entaidbag.

No one, nowhere, wants to "Dual" your "Aunt" all night long, nor are they interested in seeing your "Thus" shake like a "Solarmid" picture.

Sigh. I guess I'll just have to go back to Multi Tap.

That's what she said.

Photo Source

Good Ideas, Bad Ideas

Good Idea: Supporting small businesses, going green, dontating to your local food bank.

Bad Idea: Barfing red wine over your balcony into a snowbank, making it obvious that YOU are to blame for the recent series of vomit puddles found all over a densely-populated apartment building. I'm looking at you, suite 2102.

Thought of the Day

Hey, McSweeney's!

I sent you some funny shit like weeks ago. It's not going to stay fresh forever. I like you, and I want to see my name on the McSweeney's Internet Tendency. I could do something for you in return... I've never attempted it, but I have this sneaking suspicion that I would make a great drug mule.

Sincerely,
M. Wood

Oh CNN, you never fail to disappoint.

As per my daily routine of visiting my four favourite news sites, I came upon CNN.com today and discovered what is potentially the most suprising news story of the year. Look out Barack Obama-- there's a new story on the block. Stop the presses, because we've got one hell of a scoop, and it has nothing to do with Ben and Jerry's, people.
According to the Atlanta-based news service, there's "No good way to tell kids they have cancer". Fucking Yikes.

Not only did CNN see fit to inform the public at large about this breaking headline, but they (correctly!) decided to make it their lead story on CNN.com.
I have prepared a list of possible headlines for CNN to fall back on as they plough through the inevitable muck in attemping to back up what will inevitably be remembered as 2008's most sensationalistic claim.
"Genital herpes no picnic"
"Losing home and family to fire puts damper on holidays for local man"
"Religion continues to be point of debate in most countries"
"Study: Sex often leads to pregnancy, say docs"

Once again, I'd like to extend my personal kudos to Ted Turner's CableNewsNetwork for keeping us abreast of breaking news, as it happens.

Post Script: I find Anderson Cooper to be quite attractive.

ShamWOW!

This guy is such an asshole.

When his fiendish gaze molests me through the television, I have to do deep-breathing exercizes and make myself some cammomile tea.

Thought of the Day

Can Milk please get into theatres already??

Freckled Misfortune

I weep for you, Little Red.

When I look into your hopeful and mentally unsound gaze, I can see into your future. What does tomorrow hold for you, you ask? Well, I'll tell you, but you're not gonna like it.

The unfulfilled dreams that will come to be the defining theme of your adulthood will makes themselves known on this very special Christmas.

You see, Little Red, you're not going to get that Schwinn. Not even close. The most exciting gift you'll get this Christmas is the noctural emission that you will experience Christmas Eve. From there, it's all downhill. Not just during Christmas. For the rest of your life.

Though you will go to college, you will spend the majority of your time getting nosebleeds and being taunted for your red pubic hair by precocious co-eds.

This trend of utter failure to gain acceptance by women (or society in general) will lead you to become a cantankerous old codger who calls the cable company to complain about the lack of a Channel One.

RIP Hopeful Little Red.

If You Read This Blog...

Feel free to comment!

I like being criticized. A lot.

I like the one-way-blind style of social interaction. It fascinates me. I also like the one-way-blind style of sexual interaction, but that's a whole different post.

It's actually really weird, because I just assume nobody reads this page, but the other day I installed a counter to see if anybody actually visits my home here on the interweb, and all of a sudden I see there have been 170 (unique) visits in a very short period.

I like to hear feedback. You can even be bitchy. I can handle it. I'm tough!

Your comment might look like this:

"You self-righteous bitch. Where the HELL do you get off?"

Or, it might resemble this:

"I hate your face but I think your funny"

Or you might be inspired to write me a love letter:

"hey i m 15 & horney u single?"

The point is, please comment! If you do, I might flash you my boobs.

Thought of the Day

Swiss Chalet is like.... really really tasty food.

Momma Don't Take My Kodachrome Awaaaaay....

Ever wonder if you're someone's everything?
I’m everyone’s everything.

Last song played more then three times?
Kodachrome. I’ve also been having a musical affair with American Girl by Tom Petty. Even though I am the consummate Canadian girl. I’ll pay for it in the afterlife, I’m sure.

Tie yourself to someone for a day, who is it?
A bartender anywhere in the Miramichi.

Do you drink?
Drinking is where I’m a Viking! Although a certain drunken East Coaster who’s name rhymes with Schmara Flancy would strongly dispute this claim.

Did you take a nap today?
No, but I gave a nap today. And by nap, I mean rim job.

What's something nobody knows about you?
"Don't Stop Believin'"by Journey is so beautiful it makes me cry.

Couch, sofa, or chesterfield?
I’d rather do it in the bushes, if it’s all the same to you…

What always makes you laugh?
I don’t want to sound jaded, but it takes a lot to make me LOL. (Ok, this is a total lie. I laugh 24/7. Anyone who knows me already knows this. I laugh longest and loudest at penis, sex, and poo jokes).

Who's the last person you ate out with?
Bahahahahhahahaha!! No! No!

Are you a jealous person?
Not unless you have something I want.

Who do you hate currently?
Betti White. And by hate, I mean love. And by love, I mean adore in an inappropriate way.

What is your hidden talent?
I can answer questionnaires at a moderate speed and post them on a blog that I’m sure not even one person reads.

Your best friend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do?
Remind him he’s a big homo and ask him to take me for burgers at the White Spot.

What’s on your bedroom floor?
A bra, a copy of Dubliners, and durable, moderately-priced berber carpet.

Beer, Wine or Liquor?
Beer. I’ll liquor only if her boyfriend says it’s ok.

RANT: To the Asshair Who Doesn't Know How to Properly Dispose of Garbage

I'm not sure you're aware that there is a garbage storage facility in the building, so let me give you a few (polite!) pointers that will no doubt clarify the issue of waste disposal.

Tip #1

There is an assigned area for the purging of household waste in this building. It's called the Garbage Chute. It's at the end of the hall (right next to my place!), and you are able to throw 'garbage' down a special 'chute' so it goes into the dumpster.

It's really fun to use! You open the door, throw the garbage down, then watch and listen as it makes it journey to the dumpster. If this doesn't sound like something you could get interested in using, why not make a game of it? I like to play a game called "Garbage Suprise!" in which I silently wait for someone to open the chute on a floor below mine, and then throw down the loudest trash I have (suggestions: old dinner plates, marbles, a bag full of broken glass, etc). It gets the junk out of your house, and the noise and sudden appearance of falling garbage scares the bejeesus out of your neighbours. (I like to think of myself as the queen, and the people who live below me as my jesters-- their shouts of terror-induced suprise is how they entertain and please me). You also live on the top floor, like me, so feel free to formulate your own garbage-related fantasies.

Tip #2

Just because it looks big, doesn't mean it can't get any smaller. I know that pizza boxes look positively monstrous in comparaison to the opening of the Garbage Chute (hereon referred to as G.C), but if you fold them up, they'll go down just fine. This means you won't have to leave behind big trashstuffs in front of the G.C, which, did I mention, is right next to my place? In an ideal world, you would recycle these boxes, but I realize these concepts are quite new to you... And the holidays are coming, so I don't want to put any more stress on you than necessary. So, in brief-- make big things littler.

Tip #3

There are a lot of people in this world, which means a lot of garbage. Someone saw that all this garbage was blowing around and making a mess in big cities, so they got together and invented "Garbage Bags". I know, right? What better thing to put down a Garbage Chute than a Garbage Bag!?!? This always gets me to thinking about the chicken-or-the-egg debate, but that's a little advanced for you, so I'll try and focus.

The garbage bag will hold all your trash (or 'rubbish' if you're from across the pond-ha!) and when it's full, you tie it up and throw it down Big G.C!

This means you don't have to stomp down the hallway (past my place-Hi!) and throw out one item at a time. As much as I love opening up G.C and forensically investigating what you've been storing in your fridge for the last 4 months. It gets a little stinky and sometimes the old food gets on the handle of the G.C and it then transfers onto my hand. I like to think you're a big chutney fan, but I can't go on lying to myself anymore. It's not chutney, it's liquified Kraft Dinner. And it smells... not so nice. I only know this because the G.C is right next to my place.

Now I know that these are hard economic times, the government is on the brink of collapse, and the local competitive sports team isn't doing too well, but I would love to give you the gift of proper garbage disposal this Christmas.

It's what Jesus would have wanted. Because the only thing better than the Big G.C is the Big J.C!

Merry Christmas!

The nice young lady who lives right next to the garbage chute.

RAVE: Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer

Ok, I'm just going to say it.

I love you.

I love the shit out of you.

It's because of you that I'm gay for claymation.

Where do I even begin?

When we first met, I was 6 and it was Christmas Eve. I had just cut my sister's finger so bad she needed stitches. She had the scissors I wanted so I could make paper snowflakes. So I took them, and a bloodbath ensued.

As my parents were thus occupied, I settled in for some Christmas Eve television. And then..... you entered my life.

I will never forget the instant connection we shared-- it was as if my heart left my body and joined with yours in timeless stop-motion animation.

I would never be the same.

Sure, we've had our ups and downs. I doubt you'll ever forgive me for the year when I had to choose to watch National Lampoons Christmas Vacation instead, because it was scheduled in the same time slot. What can I say? I really love the part when the cat gets electrocuted. But you have never been far from my heart.

Every Christmas season, there you are. You are my rock, my pillar of strength. I laugh when Rudolph is marginalized for his red nose. I cry when the Head Elf won't let Hermie be a dentist. Hermie is the dentist of my heart. He fills the cavities of my soul with a bonding compound of happiness.

I am forever altered by you, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. And when we get old and grey and make our way into the next life, I know you will by my side, with love as precious as Silver and Gold.

Yours forever,

Michelle

xoxo

Proposals For New TV Shows

1. Blunt Force Trauma
Starring British heartthrob and crooner James Blunt, this reality drama-dy will focus entirely on the lives of one of his female stalkers. Cameos slated for the first several episodes include Jessica Rabbit, Markie Post, Judge James Ito, and the Kool-Aid jug man.
Good watching? Oh YEAH!

2. Walden- The Series
Reworked from Henry David Thoreau's Transcendental masterpiece, Walden- The Series will strike a chord with senior citizens everywhere. Essentially one hour of nature photography, the show will serve as a gentle respite from the terror found in our Post-Post Modern world. Bronson Pinchot will make a brief appearance as Super Space-Bot #2 in the show's pilot. Mayim Bialik will be a series mainstay, appearing as a useless pile of leaves.

3. Teddy Ruxpin 2092
It's the year 2092, and the evil Queen of Sugar Mountain is secretly assembling an army of Gummi Bears. Fierce and terrifyingly pliable, the Gummi Bears will no doubt carry out the Queen's plot to enslave the human race. Our only hope is Teddy Ruxpin, the anamatronic justice-seeker from deep in the Siberian rainforest. Will Teddy save us from the Queen's sugary doom before it's too late? Tune in to find out!

Things I Hate (With Only One Justification)

1. Girls who pose in pictures as Charlie's Angels.

2. Books that are entitled "Confessions of (anything)"

3. Outhouses

4. Rosie o'Donnell

5.When girls say that their significant other "treats me like a princess". Cringe. Your lack of creativity in defining your relationship suggests that your love is as cliched and meaningless as the phrase itself.

6. Non-stick pans which turn out to be something other than non-stick.

7. Unwashed mullets.

8. Washed mullets.

Thought of the Day

Defecation and Deification look very much alike.

Five Things I Will Never Understand About Halloween

1. Halloween costumes that feature the photo slash name of the entity it represents. A Ninja Turtle does not wear a green bib that says "Ninja Turtle"

2. How my body can metabolize 4 kilos of halloween candy.

3. The mystical quality/ magic ingredient that makes Cheezies so irresistable

4. How ANYONE can look me in the eye and tell me they don't love the video for "Thriller"

5. Why this glorious day comes no more than once a year

Consider It Reduced

But..... what does it mean??

Where do I even begin with this? Have the reductions already been taken? Are the reductions pending 'taken'?

I feel it necessary to point out that this sign graces the window of a plus-size store, which leads to more questions. Do the purported reductions involve the clothing itself? Or the size of the salespeople?

Some mysteries were never meant to be solved.

I Hope Someone Throws Up In His Face On Halloween

And in our newest "White Trash Fabulous" line, here is Tucker modelling the rib-tickling Suicide Bomber costume. Paired with the Saudi headdress, the plush dynamite and detonator will be sure to "blow away" the neighbors this trick-or-treating season.

Next up, how you can stitch together a wedding dress in minutes using disassembled maxi pads! It's a bargain hunters dream, period!

Marcel Marceau Is Silently Expressing His Concern.

Life, she has not been good to me.

Zees is why, when I wake from ze four-day slumber brought to me by ze angels of Absinthe, j'aime buver ze Chocolat Poulain. Because, as we say in Paree, "Better chocolat zan a pistol to ze face"

Source

Unsettling As It Gets

I'll just give you the gist of this one:

1. Husband locks wife out of the bedroom due to her smelly snatch.

2. Divorce papers are drawn up.

3. Don't let this happen to you. Douche with Lysol.

4. Smell gone.

5. Happily ever after.

Source

A Few of My Favorite Words

Precision, emprisioned, nihilist, masticate, emancipate, ecumenical, she-male, rescind, pontificate, occipital, crusade, rhetoric, correlation, tongue, autumn, olfactory, exemplify, empirical, imperial, fever, scrumptious, modifier, tablet, sexualized, maple, immigrant, summation, indecent, Chaucer, forensic, patriarchal, auger, esoteric, sublime, transcendant, allele, fortitude, supplement, linament, emancipate, matrix, reconcile, hustler, memoir, villify, sanctity, annihilate, swell, dextrous, prostrate, ambivalent, ho-bag.

Also, I HATE when people randomly use the word disestablishmentarianism. What are you trying to prove?

But my favorite word of all time?

douchebaggery: [dus-bAEgEri] the state of being, or the activity of acting like a douche. Fr. douche, as v., to cleanse one's vagina by means of a nozzled apparatus. As n., an object consisting of a nozzle attached to a bag, containing fluids which cleanse the inner and outer vaginal area.

Source

I refuse to bestow a title unto this post.

Sarah Palin? Really?

An Open Letter to Scientology

Fuck you.
That's right. I'm talking to you, Scientology.
Fuck you.

Who do you think you are?
First, let's talk about pedigree. A science-fiction writer? Really?
Because, the last time I checked, sci-fi authors were right next to infomercial hosts in the Least Credible Human Beings department. Following a religion that was started by a sci-fi writer is as ridiculous as following some treasure hunter who found a few golden plates in..... wait..... Nevermind.

And you really know your faith will hold up to the test of time if the only way you can get people into your church is to trick them. And don't underestimate the power of B- and C-list celebrities as spokespeople. Nothing says "Respite Of The Soul" like closeted middle-aged caucasian men.

Next, we'll move on to doctrine.
Or, at least we'll move on to doctrine in theory, because apparently you have no doctrine. Watching a Scientology conversion video is like trying to have an orgasm for 7 hours. Nothing is actually accomplished, and you get so frustrated you want to chainsaw someone's face off.

Also, who is this Xenu person? Because I could have sworn it was a fabrication of L. Ron Hubbard's imagination... You know, just some standard H.G Wells-ish bad guy. But I was wrong.... Xenu came here a long time ago and messed up our shit, and his grandchildren stayed here to make life difficult for people. Not like Concentration Camp-difficult, but "My family just doesn't GET me"-difficult.

As if this laundry list of foolishness wasn't enough, you also demand huge amounts of cash from your followers. There is absolutely no precedent in Western Civilization for asking parishoners to pony up mon....oh........wait....

I was wrong.

I guess you are a legitimate religion.

Please find enclosed your tax exemption forms.

Regards,
M. Wood

I am a swinging lamp of antique fashion.

My creative juices have dried up for the day. Please, someone, anyone, make me juicy again.

I think I need some structure.



How do you like your coffee?
The same way I like my men-- ground up and in the freezer.

Can you touch your nose with your tongue?
No, but I can touch YOUR nose with my tongue! And by nose, I mean genitals.

What's your favorite element?
The element of surprise.

What are some of your favourite things?
Reading in bed, bedding in red, camping, building campfires, baby yorkies, baby Yorkies.

What was the last book you read?
The last book I read for my own pleasure is "She's Come Undone", which I've actually read about a dozen times.

Name a movie you really hated.
Ugh.... 300. What a horrible movie. I do not understand why so many people like this movie.

What item couldn't you possibly live without?
My iPod. Well, I suppose I could live without it, but life would not be as sweet as it is now that I can listen to the entirety of the Motown Library whenever I want.

Describe the perfect day.
It would involve beer, a private screening of Silence of the Lambs, and possibly cake. And by possibly, I mean definetely.

What was the last movie you saw at the theater?
Lars and the Real Girl. Really, really good.

The last time you cried...?
I'm not a big crier..... I usually bottle up my emotions until they manifest in panic attacks.

Do you believe that the cup is half empty or half full?
It depends on who's wearing it.

What do you do for fun?
Hustle Japanese businessmen.

What 3 words would your best friend use to describe you?
Malignant. Yeasty. Rancid. But she's wrong. I'm actually pretty rad.

What is your favorite candy?
Blue Whales. The gummies, not the actual whales.

What did you do last night?
Translated Middle English and went to bed with Dubliners. The book, not the actual people.

He may need suds of another kind....

Yikes. This guy looks like he's staring at something he'd like to eat with some fava beans and a nice Chianti.

Lonely, sexually neglected, devoid of magenta.

He needs a break. And what relieves a middle-aged red-blooded man better than.... a bubble bath!

Not just a bubble bath, but a bath with PURE foam, the kind of foam exclusive to Ivory. Banish from your mind the impotent froth of Dove. Discard any notion of the uninspiring lather of Pears. True satisfaction can only be found in foam as pure as the driven snow.

Something about that smile tells me he dropped the soap......

Potato Lover

I love Irish people. Especially this one:

Ah..... the delightful days of summer. Days of ice cream, suntanning, barbeques, sand castles and of course, extra smoking.
And what better way to take advantage of your newfound freedom than..... smoking the cigarette of extra smokes! What does this mean? Why, it means that each cigarette contains 10% more puff-potential than the leading national brand. Gone is the soul-wrenching butting out of the cigarette that just didn't last long enough. You'll butt out knowing you sucked every last nico-tastic puff.
But wait, you ask, don't extra smokes in the season of extra smoking just add up to a whole lot more smoking? Of course it does, but this is America. And doing something right means doing it to excess. We didn't drop the bomb on Hiroshima in order to smoke a reasonable amount, we did it so that we can smoke ourselves into oblivion, God Dammit!
So enjoy your summer. Get on your best wool coat and turtleneck, head to the beach, and smoke those mothers!!

Now With Extra Quality!

I always wondered what people did before television was invented....

That's A Pretty Big 'But'.......

Watch out sailor... She's not what she appears. Don't be fooled by the starched white collar or perfectly coiffed pageboy hair. Ignore the saint-like ethereal glow that seems to be emanating from her very soul. She's a lap-jockey, and when she goes slumming, a rubber is the farthest thing from her mind.
She's Frenchified, and she'll destroy you and everything you hold dear. She is the Communism of sex.

Really? Because if a guy did this to me, I would punch him in the dick.

Source

Wrong Wrong Wrong

Jesus Christ on a cross. What the hell did you have to smoke for this to be appetizing?

Let's examine each component of this specimen separately.

What I assume to be bread, (however this assumption may very well be as wrong as an ironing board in the kitchen) seems to have been given a greenish tint. I cannot comment as to whether this is the genesis of mould, a food additive extracted from crash victims found near Area 51, or if the tint was added to intensify the redness of the tomatoes slash 'spaghetti'.

I use this term loosely, because it does not resemble any spaghetti I have ever known. It could possibly be better described as earthworms wriggling in the afterbirth of a jack'o'lantern. Have you ever dropped a string of spaghetti in the sink, and then you see it days later, water logged and repulsively swollen? I take comfort in the fact that I don't have to smell it.

The tomatoes are fine. They will help clean out the inevitable clog of goo that will form in your colon after eating this abomination.

Mmmm.... Hunger-Induced Hallucinations

Libby's. For when you're so mother fucking hungry, you'll wear window sheers instead of expending the energy it takes to do laundry.
Addendum: Who picked out that wedding ring for her? It looks like a clearance item from Fifth Avenue Collection.

Pleasure Derived from Silicone

Lars and the Real Girl is a really really good movie. Go see it.

Highlights

• An anatomically correct supporting actress made from silicone


• Fantastic acting by Ryan Gosling


• That Canadian actress that played the leading role in Life With Billy


• Pink bowling balls


• A non-romantic comedy that contains both romance and comedy


• Did I mention there was a silicone love-doll?

Cookies for Souls

I'm really uncomfortable even looking at this old Karo Syrup ad.
This child is... somehow.... not right.
I'm not sure if it's the sculpted eyebrows, the cryptic gender of the child itself, or the association of nudity with cookies.

All I know is that I'm pretty sure it knows that I touch myself, and it likes the fact that I know that it knows.
Also, I dare you to find a nipple. Male or Female, it should have a nipple plainly visible based on what we can see of its torso. No nipple= probably not even human.

I appreciate the word usage in the recipe. Nowadays, if someone used the phrase "three-way cooky" in a sentence, everyone's head would turn to the haggard blonde at the end of the bar.

Seeing as though we're playing fast and loose with the spelling of words, I'm not sure what to make of the 'scrumpshus' exclamation at the top. It's either A.) supposed to be cute, as if 'it' spelled the word incorrectly like little 'its' tend to do, or B.) the ad was written during war time. All the nutrient-absent powdered egg and canned meat everyone was forced to eat tooks its toll on the ol' grammatical skills.

Speaking of nutrients, please note how corn syrup is described as nourishing. Because Karo is rich in dextrose, the sugar your body uses directly for energy. Uh, ya, I'd say it's rich in dextrose, considering it's ONE HUNDRED PERCENT dextrose! It's syrup! Although I'm sure this would have been a big selling feature at the time- everyone just needed that extra kick of energy to get them to the next uncertain and terrifying day.

That being said, where can I buy that nifty cookie jar?

My Blood Is Your Blood

During a search for vintage advertisements and magazine articles (a burning interest of mine), I came across this ad. It can only be described as a masterpiece of 50's style misogyny, served on an avocado-green melmac platter.Please indulge me by considering the following:

You poor son of a bitch.

How DO you manage every month? I'll bet during all that cramping and irritability, she doesn't even have the energy to make you your weekday dinner of a full beef roast with all the trimmings. Broads. They always complain the loudest.

Note how miserable this guy looks. Furrowed brow, excessive head-turning. He radiates the melancholy of a man whose whites aren't quite their whitest, and whose drawers weren't starched OR ironed. Lazy bitch.

One can just imagine the after-dinner conversation down at the Lodge:

"..... some new-fangled ailment called PMS. Why, just last week, Bob and Vera down the street separated. Now, you didn`t hear it from me, but word is that he had put up with one too many of her monthly 'temper tantrums'. Sure he`s been nailing every secretary this side of the Mason-Dixon line, but it`s no excuse for her to snap her dishtowel in anger and storm out of the room. These childish outbursts are exactly what us fellas DON`T need after 7 hours at the office. When we come home, we like to have our dinner hot, our children quiet, and our wives emotionally repressed. It`s the American way. Feelings are for communists.

Thank God she saw the ad for Femicin in Photoplay, no more of that moody business. Now she`s back to acting like the woman I married. Heh heh heh, without the cherry of course. Another bourboun, fellas?"