I'm Gay For...

Hummus. Fuckin' eh.

Thought of the Day

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

ABBA Met the Same Fate

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you can imagine my surprise upon discovering:

Human Resources!

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

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

Oh. It's real. I see.

We're all fucked.

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

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

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

I'm Gay For...

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

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

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

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

Thought of the Day

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

Cue Miss Grundy's Arm-Crossing Disapproval

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Remember kids: Be wise, not weird.

Seacrest out.

Things I Hate: Office Edition

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

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

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

An Open Letter to My Current Apartment Building

Dear Shit Shack,

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love,
Michelle

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

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

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

And what craft project is complete without swastikas?

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

Photo

Thought of the Day

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

I'm Gay For...

Robert Downey Jr.

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

This Just In: Oprah Not Conducive to Orgasm

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

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

Joel.
I feel you, my brother.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dumb broad.