5 Christmas Songs for the Salty Scrooge

note: I consider myself slightly scrooge-esque in that I don't like "get" christmas. It's fine and presents (fuck yeah, amirite?). I don't find the warm cozy thing enticing at all. After Halloween the year is all downhill, except for shopping. I think this lukewarm response to the holidays was only deepened during my tenure in retail. There are only so many indie-ish/starbucks approved adult contemporary songs that a modern store can play so, hearing the same FUCKING REMIX of some Bing Crosby song, which is fucked up on its own, over and over for two seasons, then only to be followed by the same saccharine drivel while I am doing my duty to re-invigorate the economy is really going to put me in a decidedly uncheery mood.

BUT!

There are several songs that will thaw my icy icy heart (Copyright 2004, My Mom) no matter how often I hear them.

1. Funky, Funky Christmas - New Kids on the Block

My mother tells me I was into KNOTB and that my favorite was Donnie, the bad boy. No matter if you were a fan, I challenge you not to love this tune.

2. Last Christmas - Wham

This song was the single song on the BR soundtrack that didn't make me want to take a powersander to my face. I still love it. Plus props to George Michael for being like I like cruising for anonymous sex and smoking weed, and? Big up to you indeed.

3. All I Want For Christmas Is You - Mariah Carey

First of all, Mariah. Amazing. Lives entirely in a land of fantasy and has the budget to make that shit fucking HAPPEN. The vid below also incorporates one of America's greatest treasures. Johnny Depp.

4. Christmas in Malibu - The Rad Dudes

What is Christmas really for, if not chintzy novelty songs? This is so imbued with the delightful Keanu-esque mentality that one cannot help but be wrapped up in the tubular tune.

5. Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays - N Sync

Shut up you know you love it. P.S. Check Chris's beads out. Looks like a fey pale Williams sister.

BONUS

For the New Year I feel compelled to include this song. Which I listen to in non holiday times as well.

Basically Merry Christmas and Good luck with (judgement) all that.

I just remembered this

I was looking through my list of facebook friends and whenever I do that I go "holy shit. that guy." and typically that's not a good thing.

I saw this guy and I flashed back to how I know him.

It was some sorority (yeah I was in one, I don't know if I have covered that before I know I will touch on that later) invite that I didn't have a date for. Big surprise there I think I had like 5 dates in 4 years (and you don't want to go to the quality not quantity because...just no). 

So on this particular eve I believe I was on Standards duty (briefly: fun police. People barf and then I fill out paperwork and ask them why it is that they fuck up) and a friendly sister decided to set me up. I basically said whatever. 

Actually, now that I am thinking about it, I didn't say whatever. I show up ready to do work by myself and Sister X tells me that these two dudes that she brought were ditched by their would be dates and they have to go with someone and this girl already had a date. OK whatever I'll sign them up under my name.

So I have two dates. One a short surly British Man the other a soft spoken nice guy whose eyes were kinda rapey through no fault of his own. 

They are drinking, I am not. We spend the entire night out on the patio with them chain smoking in my face. 

By the time we get back on the bus to go home, they are both wasted. British Surly guy tells me he likes me a lot and he wants to come to the next dance with me. (Imagine my reaction to that one. ) He then goes on to profess his love for his buddy/roommate in the typical "I love you man" vein..

Then he kisses the guy. On the mouth. It lingers.

And that was my night. 

dreamy

So hearing about people's dreams suck....

EXCEPT MINE!

I wanted to throw this out there to see if anyone can take a gander at my subconscious and perhaps decode this one:

I saw a young John Goodman and found him "striking".

These two dudes murdered two women but I played it cool and was like yeah...no big deal, totally not reporting this action. Then I realized it was okay since one of the murderees is that red haired girl from glee so when she didn't show up for filming they'd investigate.

I was walking outside on a pathway when I had to pee so I literally laid down on the sidewalk and peed (through my clothes) but since I wasn't standing no one noticed.

Then a sexy youth minister started giving me a back rub (unfortunately in a platonic way)

We went to his office and I hoped no one noticed the piss stain on my pants.

John Goodman. (should be noted he was in wrestling gear in my mind)

things that have happened to me that don't happen to other people.

one time I had to show the school nurse my vagina.

I think I was in elementary school but more towards the end than the beginning.

I slipped and fell off the monkey bars vag first onto a bar.

I had some extreme pain and there was something "afoot" in the general region.

So I showed my cooter to the school nurse.

And then there was Britney (Night Two)

Morning.


A harsh morning if I recall correctly. Space Cadet and I wake up and decide to hit the pool because who are you if you don't have a tan (just kidding....but really) I was still in my shade of winter white (which is actually quite blue-ish...I look a bit like a ghost but with blackheads) but had a nice shellacking of spray tan taking my hue to maybe having stood in a sandstorm for about 33 seconds. We lay out and attempt to soak up all of the glory that the Hooters Hotel pool has to offer.(I should mention the fact that it's been about 3 months since I left this as a draft so it might be more fiction than fact but what the fuck right?) Ok so here we are Saturday morning, nursing a hangover by the Hooters pool, of course. We decide that a gourmet meal is in order so we head on into the luxurious Dan Marino's Restaurant because we all know that an excellent football career and even better cameo in the eternal film Ace Ventura: Pet Detective make the best chefs of us all. Allow me to concede that the food was actually pretty good and considering how badly my stomach wanted to retaliate against me, was a fairly high mark. So we eat about as much as we can stomach and begin preparing for the evening that lie ahead.

Off we head back to our rooms, where I believe a nap was in order. And if we didn't nap, then we should have. We begin our evening by selecting outfits which were numerous and sparkly. And the other girls had dresses too. We start boozing AND HOW but we didn't want to get too wasted before the concert as every detail had to be committed to memory! Dressed and ready we head to MGM Grand Garden Arena.

THE SHOW

So basically words cannot describe just how epic the show was. I mean Britney was there. Nuff said.

I will say I wish that she danced a bit more. I have had this discussion with Space Helmet and probably my mother who I like PROGRAMED to love Britney that basically Beyonce ruined everything. Specifically, that she started dancing in like epic-ly high heels. Flash back to the Dream Within A Dream tour Pre-Blackout era she was always in flats or wedges so that she could more easily shake her business much to the delight of the throngs of fans. But then FUCKING BEYONCE had to come along and ruin it by shaking a good deal more business in skyscraper fetish heels. Britney or more likely TEAM SPEARS decided that it was time to follow suit. Why oh why can't a lady wear some fucking Sketchers or whatever. You don't often see dancers wearing Loubs. I digress.

Basically we had a grand ole time.

We head back to Chateau du Hooters and start the real party. We start hitting the sauce and a while into it, it becomes clear that we aren't really going anywhere. At this point, (I don't remember the euphemism that I called this lady previously so I'll call her Big Gay Al.) Big Gay Al decides to tell us that she had informed a friend of hers from high school who is now based in LV that three ladies were down to party. So since we weren't really going out, I slur that we should just invite him to party with us in the hotel room. Biggest. Mistake. Ever.

He arrives and let's just say that rape-y doesn't really begin to describe him. Tall and lumbering. I'll just throw the word lummox out there. Now that that's covered let's go on to see just how the rest of the night turned out.

We start boozin some more and he decides that no of course we should take our show on the road. OHHHKAAAYYY..... so I throw out there that I basically am unwilling to pay for a cab (shock there...I will climb any mountain....to avoid paying for transportation or parking) so this leaves us with clubs that are close (which being off strip limits us to tropicana or MGM) or the elegant night spots that Hooters hotel has to offer. So we hit Dixie's Dam Bar which I will describe as being like Coyote Ugly but without all the ambiance and filled with lazy strippers. I am all for strippers in the on-screen sense (probably too terrified to go in the real life sense...not enough purell in the world and I don' t think that a biohazard suit follows dress code....maybe if it was assless but that somehow defeats the purpose) but when they aren't really giving their all (they're going to be hygienists!) it's pretty depressing. Also you know it's a good club when it's really brightly lit. I mean they weren't even going to give you the luxury of dim lighting to obscure the sadness that lurks in the shadows. So we hang out for a while and ole rape-y makes friends with an asian new zealander or something (totally fabricated but it was some random shit like that). Also of note there was a pole and so a photoshoot was in order. I realized later that the phrase "dance lessons ten cents" which only lends more class and elegance to the whole eve. We head back up to the room after absorbing enough local culture and continue boozing. By the way raperino is drinking up our drinks....gross.

This is where shit goes downhill. There was a photoshoot of course but its where that went was where it was no bueno. The photoshoot ends in a natural winding down fashion when he goes "don't stop taking pictures" "I'll take your slutty pictures"

Let's just say that for anyone who has ever seen these photos is that slutty really isn't one of the words. It's usually way more visceral than mundane sluttiness. I mean they are all about being as ugly or chromisonally challenged as possible. So I start giving the side eye like nobody's business. I then decide to pull the sheets over myself as to protect from any overly pervy moves.

It should also say that Big Gay Al was not the subject of any of rapey's affection, that honor goes only to me and Space Helmet. I am under the sheets when he starts to rip the sheets up and snap pictures of what lies beneath.....

I am terrified and am trying to cling to what dignity I had left. I then fall off the bed after a series of escalating hide and seek moves between myself (i.e. the Moranis....my vag is named Rick Moranis...don't ask) and rapey. I am on the ground and by the way he keeps taking pictures and I look increasingly violated. In one shoot I am fully under the sheets and Big Gay Al is posing on top of me as Rapey is lurking/hovering above me. All you can see are my hands....thanks for defending my honor, friend.

This eventually ends (thank jesus) and he starts lumbering to a corner. Around 3 I stand above him and point to my watch. Then I kick him and point again to my watch. He then says ....I can't drive home.

Yeah because Vegas is really hard to get around in super wasted. Lummox takes up like half of the floor space and is really hard to wake in the morning. I should have just vomited on him.

And I am pretty sure that covers it all....we did another cameo at the val party (aka the Hooters pool) which was generally awesome as the pool wasn't heated at all so it was frigid (which I am kinda into...explains a lot...or not) and the hottubs were fucking cesspools so we dare not enter....drive home primm....end of story.

FIN.

And then there was Britney (Night One)

This has been in mind for over a month but don't worry this is what my brain capacity has been dedicated to.


I saw Britney Spears in Concert at the fabulous MGM Grand Garden Arena.

Consider my world rocked.


Here's the set-up:

Sunshine (myself plus the space cadet and the busy beaver let's call them) decide that we obviously must reconvene in order to live the Britney Experience. We couldn't get three seats next to each other at the $150 price range in LA or Anaheim (before they added more dates) so we obviously see this as the perfect excuse for a Vegas trip ( I am sure that at some point down the road I will pontificate on my love of Vegas, so don't you worry). After buying our tickets and booking flights (I drove because I love to drive and continually disregard the fact that my car is made for Tokyo Drifting or whatnot and as a result the seats are equivalent to the back row of a transatlantic flight).

The Beav can't make it till Saturday so I drive in on Friday to spend the day with Space Cadet. I grab some In-N-Out (any excuse really) and meet up with her in the parking lot of the Tropicana. We figure, who cares where we stay because most of the time won't be spent in the room. We head up to registration and begin checking in when the concierge (that doesn't seem appropriate) informs us that they are "out" 500 rooms and they will be sending us to a different hotel. My mind swims with thoughts of slightly more upscale digs. She then finishes her sentence by saying "and you'll be staying at the Hooters Hotel, just next door." It's hard to describe the noise I made in response. A chuckle of disbelief? A chortle in jest? At any rate she gives me a look as if I told her that I enjoyed rubbing my shit on her mom's face and I make like I didn't just make a chortle of any kind. As I didn't book the hotel and Eager Beaver was still at work in LA, we reluctantly drag our shit back to the car and drive even more reluctantly, into the Hooters Hotel parking lot.

As I kick open the doors (like I am going to touch anything in the fucking palace that Valtrex built), my sense of dread only deepens. I didn't really think about what the "theme" of the hotel was (tits? ornithology?) but as it turns out it's basically as if someone decided to bring all the luxury and glamour of St. Petersburg, FL to Paradise, NV (just to be a nerd, techincally Vegas, the strip part, isn't in Las Vegas...kinda like the Vatican!)

I am not really good at negotiating in spite of being told that I have "solid gold balls" since approximately 4th grade (they retract when I really need them), so I don't really put up much of a fight with the agency that we booked the hotel through. We were going to make the best of it. We get into the room, that doesn't even have a mini-bar mind you, and what lovely accessories have they left for us? A plastic Bud Light ice bucket and a Hooters magazine which should really be renamed Busted Faces Monthly.

After settling in to our new surroundings, the Cadet and I start to prepare for the evening's festivities. A friend set us up by putting us on the list of the members only Hard Rock Foundation Room at the top of Mandalay Bay. It's pretty ritzy and if anything I stand for refined elegance with a rock n roll twist. We pre-game like champs and the night is going pretty well. Cadet even learned a lesson! If you use a bathroom item offered, you must tip the attendant, it's like the only reason they are hanging out in the loo (aside from the scat fetish...dirty bitches). Basically after that the old lady allowed us to basically pass off the flask of Jimmy Beam in the stall. There wasn't actually a dancefloor which was quite dissappointing but they were at one point showing The Lost Boys on the TVs. We head out onto the balcony where we start basically drinking out of the flask out in the open.

It should be said that I don't really make "friends" in bars (or anywhere...) but this is not the case for the Cadet, who caught the eye of a tiny Azn. One should note that the Cadet stands proud at 5'11" and the azn, didn't. But he and his friend who finds me so fascinating that he literally walks away in the middle of saying something and doesn't really ever come back (swoon!) do buy us drinks. Cadet ends up with a beer and I got a crown and dc (I don't really know how I swung that one) after the drinks and he continually slaps my friend's inner thigh, we declare it high time to leave.

As we walk out the Cadet hands me the flip flops that she brought in her purse for aching feet. Interestingly enough, my feet didn't actually hurt. Until I put on the flops that is. It was like when you wear those soccer athletic spa massage-y sandals for the first time and what should feel like comfort, seems more like searing pain. I do not change back into the heels, that would make too much sense.


Here's where it gets really good. We head back to the hotel and I promptly put in my silocone ear plugs (they are AMAZING, I started using them when I lived in a room with 7 roommates) and pass the fuck out.

I awake later, being tapped on the shoulder. I sit up (at this point I should mention that I do not sleep with a shirt on) and see the Cadet standing above me along with about 4 burly security guards.

"Tell them you know me"

Slowly pulling the sheets up I respond, "Yeah, I know her. Way to go" then promptly fall back onto my pillow in time for me to see the men RUN out of the room. It was like I had some Total Recall shit going on.

In the morning I find out that dearest Cadet got locked out of the room (she doesn't remember why) and had to walk down to Security in the lobby wearing a sleep t-shirt, no bra, soccer shorts and was of course, barefoot. Since the room wasn't registered to her name and she had no ID anyways, they had to check with the occupant to make sure that they weren't letting in a lunatic (that I didn't previously know).

Way to go indeed.

Part 2 to come.

I've made a huge mistake

I have already found someone I know (and don't want to know any better on JDate)


You can't really say that you're shallow on your profile (No fuggos?)


Oy.

Jew-wanna-man

Ok so how jewish is jewish?

I mean I wasn't raised jewish and I didn't come out of a jewish vagina so that's pretty unjewish.

BUT i have an estranged rabbi uncle! Also, the jew blood runs through my veins and I feel like the sarcasm also gives me more jew cred.

I ask this because I want to be on J-date.

I don't think it's technically a fetish when my real type is "having of a pulse" but I totally cop to loving the sarcasm and well neuroses are the ties that bind.

It's a whole nother discussion when it comes to online dating in general but I am a nerd and I don't really go outside except for going to movies and I am terrifying and apparently other nerds scare easy? I don't really have the answer to why I don't really meet people but that's a nother nother discussion. I think online dating is fine when you're not of MTV age and I think I am still in their demo for another two years.

Because I didn't meet anyone in college I immediately feel behind in the game. I mean don't get me wrong because I'd rather be in my situation than married to anyone I met in college. Really. And I am sure there were amazing nerds hiding but alas I went greek so I kinda shot myself in the foot with that one. On the plus side being greek was way more rape-y and now I could end up writing a straight to dvd classic. I like to keep positive.

So do I wait er out or well lower my standards?

Whatever I guess, back to the jew-scussion.

It would be weird if I joined a black dating site. Does the same apply with a religious and cultural tradition instead of skin color?

There isn't really much of a point to this as, even if I did join, I almost guarantee that I am going to get enough attention to boost my self asteem to like indigo on the terror color coordination chart, get creeped out and quit.


Are there others like me, indoor cats, nerds, sitting on their couches at 3 am watching Buffy (hopefully not...maybe BSG...yeah...more masculine. Male buffy fans...confused people or TV nerds, perhaps both) thinking the same thing?

For the record I have been on J-Date and I tried as much as I could to assert my lack of any knowledge of Jewish religion or history (My mom, former deacon at Bel-Air Pres, called me the worst jew ever because upon reading about Alfred Molina's Playbill interview, I asked my mother, what's a YAR-MULKE?) but then I got an IM from a rabbi who wanted to chat me up? What was he looking for? A rebel (Dottie)?

Basically any sort of face to face human interaction terrifies me and so I prefer digital screens. Not that this is case in point.

If life was Three's Company (which I wish it was) I would be some freakish Mr Roper/Janet/Jack hybrid. That sounded cooler than I expected. Throw in Mrs. Roper's caftans and I embrace 23-yr-old spinsterdom.


Until then, there's always cable.

Yeah, I'm a lazy douche

So it's been more than a month since I have graced you with my lovely witicisms.

I am going to give you an excuse, not a reason, for my absence. I am lazy and then I saw that my "friend" (you know the person you call a friend but find yourself counting down till they leave your presence...if you're reading this it's probably not you) had a blog and I read like three lines of an entry and I rolled my eyes more times than when I read Cosmo (I was in the dentist's office cut me a fucking break) and I was like "do I sound like that?" "do I sound like that much of a douche bag?" It basically justified the whole lazy blogger (oxymoron?) fear and basically I wasn't going to stoop to that level. Two months later....


I realize that no matter how hard I may try (very, very hard) I will never be the douchebag he is and if I am, what are you doing reading this?

So basically the message is that I am back, bitches.

Wonderhauer, now with 90% more resolve!


I have a lot of back material to work with so batten down the hatches.


On a final note, what does it take to become a fitness celebrity? Can I just buy some airtime, wear spandex and commit to mono-syllabic speech punctuated with often completely unrelated, always forceful hand gestures? Speaking of raging narcissism, I got an email (actually two, because this bitch just didn't get the hint) from facebook saying, let's call her sumdumbitch, sumdumbitch suggests you become a fan of sumdumbitch. Literally asking me to be her fan? This girl who clearly comes from the home life that most american idol audition round "competitors" come from thinks, that despite having seriously tree trunk legs, she's going to be a model. What kind? Hand model?

I love how the only thing that our generation has to bind us all together is raging narcism and being easily amused. I think by being post-post-modern it's basically equivalent of fighting in a world war or inventing important shit. They may as well give up the search for the cure for AIDS because honestly, does anyone think we're going to last long enough for the world to see another generation of Heidi and Spencers? I hope not.

Put A Donk On It

This will make sense later.


While I am not exactly as gung ho on the Anglophilia as English is, I do really appreciate the magical gifts the brits give us. Girls Aloud. Sugababes. Sasha Baron Cohen. Many many British men in dresses. Bedazzled. Their gifts are numerous. While most of those gifts are ignored by the American public, there is one lost in translation moment I have. Their version of white trash also known as chavs are pretty amazing. Ali G is one such iteration and Katie Price aka Jordan is certainly their style icon. Now we come to it....


There is a musical phenomenon known as donk.


I first came across the donknomenon on a little site called Popjustice. It is in their words "literally quite good". Basically its a thirty-something year old straight male blogger who writes about pop music. Britney, Kelly and of course scores of music that will never make the leap across the pond (but for digitally). This is where I am informed of the glittery magical music that will be on my iPod and in my brain henceforth.


Donk is a kinda techno-y noise and well its this and this and this


and for kicks here is a donk-ed remix of a song you know and love!



Allow me introduce you to the Blackout Crew.....a boyband for todays youth!




It's like a mensa group picture.


Key among chavs and Donk lovers alike is sportswear. Not in the ironic bearded hipster trash kind of a way (if this is you don't worry...I inexplicably own upwards of 4 individual windbreakers) but in the kind where nothing is ironic...not even in the Alanis Morissette kind of a way.

Kind of like wiggers in a country that pretty much invented being Vanilla....these are not the Lock, Stock characters....trust.


Wow I just googled chav for your viewing pleasure but not even my Google Image Search Go! skills can withstand how face meltingly awesome the collection of pictures on Urban Dictionary are.....and the definition if a lack of irony and presence of windbreakers didn't make it real clear for you. I aims to please.




They start young....you'll see a trend here.




I do appreciate the return of the neckerchief a la fred from Scooby Doo.



You're never too young to get involved in your kids' lives!


Gollum put a donk on it....so I have been told... I am not much of a reader.

Defying the Obvious

No, I am not talking about today's date.


Let's talk about the heat instead!


I really do like the heat. I don't really do anything above 93 degrees (barring 98 degrees of course) because at that point I think the major systems start shutting down. I like the sweating and the licks of fire you can kinda feel on your skin. Plus I mean TALK about the season my wardrobe was coordinated for....well I mean if you want to get specific due to the light materials and prominence of floral prints it's probably spring but technically its not summer yet just...99 degrees out today.


Here's the snag with the whole sweltering situation.


Well there are two but black leather interior just calls to be so 3rd degree ass burns are a price I must pay.


Let's talk about real burn.


So I don't know if you suffer from this phenomenon but if I walk more than like 6 paces my thighs have formed some Congo-esque atmospheric conditions. I mean like UNCOMFORTABLE.

So the burning has commenced. Okay, what to do? Chances are this is happening to you not in the comfort of your own home but rather en route to a location and perhaps this voyage is only the beginning of your day!


Enter the John Wayne walk. You don't want the thighs to touch so you have to waddle a bit (which can be really awk if you have some big ole thighs because I mean a little "just got off a horse" walk is cool but people will start looking if you look as though you tried to do the splits but realized that you are bulky and awkward about half the way down.


I figured that this phenomenon was suffered by myself and the other fatties only (I found out some normies also suffer) but the enemy was given a name when a chick I was talking to oh so eloquently referred to the event as, get this,




chub rub



Let's think about that again.


chub rub


There are a lot of ways to describe the fat.....but chub is not among my favorites.

fuck you, chub rub.



There is no climax to that story I just wanted to tell you about that literally quite horrendous name for skin irritation. Huzzah!

Google Image Search Go!

Zany

Main Entry:¹za·ny

Pronunciation:\ˈzā-nē\

Function:noun

Inflected Form(s):plural zanies

Etymology:Italian zanni, a traditional masked clown, from Italian dialect Zanni, nickname for Italian Giovanni John

Date:1588

This was from some sort of retail page where they were profiling their zany customers....is this who shops at Anne Geddes?



I will say that I have my doubts about the authenticity of this photograph.



Zany or dismal? YOU decide!



There is a saying "don't hate the player, hate the game" to which this man replies "I invented the game....literally all games"




High School Musical cast, the before picture.



I remember when I was an eager teen in the mid 80's. All I had was a dream and a unitard.



One of the people in this picture is named Zany Janie....I do not know whic.



Somebody saw the Jonas Brothers: 3D Concert Experience



Yep.








Aaaaaaaaaaaaaand, one for the road.

Manners: When is it okay to say cum dumpster in public?

Well technically, probably never.


Unless you subscribe to the Wonderhauer school of "I jus don give a fuh"


Storytime: So I was in a Ralphs foraging for some funfetti or maybe ice-cream, I don't really keep track of my nuclear leaning* nutritional habits, when I get in line at the self-checkout (amazing invention, totally circumvents the cashier experience, only con is that you miss out on any possible acrylic nail action). The line isn't too long but after about 3 min there is a bit of a traffic jam. I peer around the gentleman in front of me so as to see exactly what "the commotion" was. I feast my eyes upon 3 chicks in varying degrees of stripper-wear. We have classyslut who was mosly in sororstitute gear (shorty shorts, natural hair gel, etc), dumbslut who is wearing only forever21 and all the wrong items (ladies you know what I am talking about) and megaslut who literally looks like she was on her way back from the dayshift to hang out at a Greyhound bus station or some shit (I am quite clearly not as elegant and refined as she is so I couldn't really begin to follow her habits).

Here's the best part. So all three are each at a station and basically they finish up in terms of sluttiness (least to greatest) and we are left with the ho who even Vh1 reality dept rejected. She couldn't get her stack of crinkled one dollar bills into the machine.....so she could buy Popov Vodka....not even the kind they upgraded to glass bottles.



It was at this point where I start to get a bit miffed that they are taking up my precious time. My compadre says to me "Well that's what you get for dressing like that"

To which I respond, "No, that's what you get for being a cum dumpster."

We see the man in front of my rustle a bit then turn around slightly, enough to reveal his now tomato red face. How dare I offend his senses.


Moral of the story.....cum dumpster is a powerful word....so best not use it in any sort of family setting....or directed at a specific stripper/Ralph's cashier (think of the acrylics).

Post Post Script

Spoiler Alert!

My blow by blow of the experience known as KNOWING

Posted in the comments section for those of you who are planning on experiencing it for yourselfs.

Post Script.

So I forgot to add these pics of N.Cage and one random one that could not be ignored.




I think that one is literally from GQ.
Nic Cage redefining "GQ motherfucker" daily.



Showed up dressed like this to be the President (or whatever) of Mardi Gras.
Leather pants + Leather trench with Feather detailing = Haberdasher Extraordinaire.



Peas be with you!


AAaaaaand the random one.

2009 Predictions

I will go to jail.




Evidence:



Those are directions from my house to Conan's.


It's only a matter of time.

GHOST RIDAAAA!!!

Is this post in 3-D?



NO, BUT YOUR FACE IS

An Ode to Nicolas Cage


I find myself defending my entertainment and lifestyle choices with much regularity and the one that most people guffaw the most about is my unabashed, unbridled love for one Nicolas Cage. I present images that would warm even the coldest heart to the man, the myth, the legend. Cage.



Let's start with a long hard look into reality.



Now, his hair is a point of much contention to which I say, if Nic had a full luxurious head of hair like say Robin William's groin area, would I have had the good fortune of seeing Mr. Cage driving down Wilshire in his Bentley Convertible, top down, asian child-bride in tow, wearing a fucking hat last seen on Dame Judy Dench so as to control the comb over floppage? Doubtful.

I mean he is kinda old, cut him some slack. They say baldness can be caused by too much testosterone. Oh I am sorry that Nic is so goddamn badass that his folicles needed a vacay in Club Med to recover from 24/7 badassing/ass-kickery. My bad.

Okay, the man is pushing 50 (technically 45...but then again ass kicking takes a toll, see above) I get it. Let's check out what's going on under the hood.



Slightly terrifying. But let's put it this way, if he were ever to hold me captive I would be Stockhokming all up in his business.

Flash back like 20 yrs.....



NOT TOO FUCKING BAD NOW???
I mean seriously, if we have learned one thing its to appreciate hottness retroactively.


Let's get serious.






Here are some facts.

I hate boring "entertainment."
I love things that are ridiculous.
Nic Cage embodies the latter and fucking WAGES WAR against the former.

No matter how horrible the project, Nic brings like 11298% to the table. From Bangkok Dangerous to Adaptation (legit amazing) he leaves no emotional/psychological stone unturned.





Nic is smiling because he just slapped the acting game in the face with his dick.

Now since most of you, my devoted angry mob, are here because well I have like 3 friends, you have probably seen Ghost Rider.

For those who haven't I provide solid evidence that you should re-evaluate that situation.






Omigod, my face is literally being lit aflame. Fuckin hilarious. Crazy laugh time!


BOW DOWN MOTHER FUCKER



God bless the ubiquity of photoshop. Expression for the masses. New Relgions being formed as we speak.



"Wow, that's embarassing, just a second ago I was wearing pants, I swear!"



This is fake, BUT at one point Nic Cage was attached to star in a Tim Burton version of Superman. They even did wardrobe tests, apparently to taunt me and the adoring public.



Flying Elvises, selling your wife to James Caan. Classic Cage.



Whoever says the man isn't 100% made of awesome is really just lying to themself.



Also, extremely suave.





THIS IS A REAL PHOTO.


AMEN.

FANTASY BLOCK PARTY

In theory, if all the clouds align or whatever, here is a situation that is literally possible.


I saunter to the table with sushi. I ask Michael Jackson what kind of moisturizer he has been using because he looks fabulous; we discuss gloves. I head for the jello mold and I compliment Mariah on adding glitter and marabou to her Hello Kitty mold and Nick Cannon on, smiling so consistently.

Then Rapper X (I can only guess the house is occupied by a rapper due to the sheer number of Escalades) and I discuss kicks for a while and decide to form a partnership to make all glow in the dark shoes.

I then high five the little girl from the "landlady" funny or die (typically the latter) video with will ferrell.


I saunter back to my pad and carouse with the ghost of Burt Reynold's old face.


This is all prompted by the fact that Mariah and Nick just put down a bid for the Fleur Dr Lys estate ($125 mil) 4 doors down from me.





It's versailles recreated.


Marie Antoinette is attributed with "let them eat cake" to which Mariah responded "cake?"

pictures in the ONTD post

Google Image Search Go!

See, already following up on the reoccurring post thing.


This week's topic: bears.


Let's kick things off right.


I mean right there. Fear, intimidation, and apparently Bank of California's entire marketing scheme. Free checking and bears have always been synonymous.



Lightening things up a bit....here's bear showing us his asshole!


This one's called President Boosh Bear......I like how it looks like it's wearing a shorts suit....while holding a gun. More like the president of San Franciso or Canada or some shit.


Don't worry, mine's already in the mail.


I remember this but apparently not enough to know why the one in the back is wearing a shower cap and why the one in the front is like a total dick.




Better not to ask.



It's a pretty fair assumption to believe that the kids in the above photo are siblings. I get that. But why are two of them dressed as parents and one is the kid......West Virginia, I am looking at you.




The story attached to this picture was something about bears demanding food, which I totally get. I don't know why they are looking on a road and in oil tankers. They are Russian bears.


Here's a link to yet another Russian feat...this time the venue isn't bears, rather, the dynamic world of European Nationalistic Pop Music Competitions.


What you see there is true. Enjoy.