Warning: Don’t think your headphones will protect you from annoying seat mates who want to chat and cut your head off.
Archive for July, 2008
On bacon lollypops. You have one day. You have been warned.
It’s an energy drink from England that tricks you into buying it and taking it home and thinking you can win.
Not to harp on feminists (after all, without feminists, what would we compare cool chicks to?), but they’re bent out of shape about a video game now.
I have to give them credit for “fat-hating, heteronormative assholes.” That’s rich.
Spec beer ad makes feminists lose their minds and boycott the beer that had nothing to do with it. Also makes boners.
BET has released the trailer for their new Black Panther cartoon. Sassy black Huggy Bear-type characters were apparently around in Africa 8000 years before Jesus.
Cyclists attack car for having the audacity to be using a road.
I wonder what sort of art we’d get if women had hearts?
The new tagline: Hot Girls Make Great Clothes.
The new campaign: Some women just too ugly to work there.
I wish I had kept all my receipts.
I honestly can’t make heads or tails of this. And that scares the shit out of me.
You only have to watch the first 30 seconds or so to see why Brooke Hogan is my new favorite girl facsimile.
Unless you want to hear a guy refer to the threesome he had as a “three-and-some.”
Seriously, America is fucked. Hard.
Bob Garfield thinks Omnicom is committing hate crimes by making fun of speed walkers, and compares last year’s Snickers Superbowl spot to the murder of Matthew Shepard.
Check, please. I’m out.
Someone has taken the time to compare scenes from the trailer to panels from the book.
This viral thing works pretty well when you have a mental patient who wants to eat your placenta as your spokesperson.
In the secret code I share with Mandi, because of all the sex, Gloop Gloop Gleep Gleep!
(that means, “Thank you for the Boba Fett commercial. And all the sex.
It was the best I had in years.)
because you will deserve it.
Even though it’s pretty clear from the trailer exactly what happens, including the “shocking” ending, this is still my kind of movie.
South of the border way, you can get more than just a massage with release. You can have someone killed. I love the intertubes.
It’s two great tastes that taste great together!
I wish I had thought of making Bratz-style characters out of the girls of Firefly.
X-mas shopping’s done!
About five years ago, my mother still had hope sheâ€™d become a grandmother one day, and was adamant that I wasnâ€™t putting enough effort into finding my future ex-wife. While I was home for the holidays, in an attempt to calm her down, we signed up for one of those online matchmaking services. I picked out the picture of myself that made me the least suicidal, and tapped out a fairly charming little ad that was really more to get Mom feeling better about her spinster son than finding me a mate. Ironically, I had actually just started seeing someone, but for reasons I didnâ€™t want to go into, I wasnâ€™t really comfortable telling my mother about it.
So as time went by, Iâ€™d get the email updates from the site, but as I was dating someone, I never paid much attention to them. And in the five years the profile was up, I had one girl email me to say she was interested. One. In five years. And, I hate to say it, she was, like me, not a pretty person. Though I canâ€™t really be sure, what with all the metal studs in her face and the tattoos on her cheek. Iâ€™m sure she was super cool.
Now, I know I am not an attractive person. I understand this. Iâ€™m even ok with it most of the time. That girl I had started seeing behind my motherâ€™s back? She explained early on in our relationship that she was â€œonly going to date ugly men, because all good looking men are assholes.â€ At the time, I actually rationalized that it was a nice thing to say, because it meant she respected me enough to be honest with me about my looks. I can be pretty retarded when I need to be.
So last month, more as a social experiment than anything, I took my picture off the profile. In less than five weeks, Iâ€™ve gotten eight women to express some interest in letting me buy them things. And interestingly, seven of them demanded that I post a picture of myself, lest I never hear from them again. I suspect the eighth one was going to wait to see what kind of car I drive. I considered actually complying and putting the picture back on, just to see what sort of creative excuses theyâ€™d come up with, but it seemed like a lot of effort just to prove something I already know.