Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
I gotcher cash back rewards RIGHT HERE.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Where are the Frog Brothers when you need them?
I know, you’re like, “JESUS H. W. SHATNER, not you, too?!” but take it easy. This is not one of those demoralizing confessions I sometimes throw out at y’all, thank the Pompous, Corseted One. This is where I ask you, seriously, what. the. fuck.
Over the year or so since I first heard of it, I’ve gone from “Not interested, thanks, I’m well past fourteen,” to “Huh, it’s that big a deal, eh? Whatever,” to “Guess I should check it out; after all, I scoffed at Harry Potter till I read it, and that shit fucking rules. Besides, I like YA fiction, done well.” So I had half a mind to stand around in a book store reading it when next I had the chance, but a girl next to me on the bus -- a cute 28-ish Asian woman in professional attire -- unwittingly spared me the effort. She was deeply into what I gather is the first of the series – and given the print size, I joined in with barely a need to conceal the fact that I was reading over her shoulder.
You GUYS. Come ON! Leaving out the fact that it’s about vampires*: There’s all this striding down corridors** and sighing and staring and abrupt turning*** and my god with the ADJECTIVES AND ADVERBS! It read like fanfic written by a teenage virgin – just leaden and overwrought and cringe-inducing, the kind of stuff a normal person would find buried in a footlocker in the attic of her parents’ house while home for her 20th high school reunion and realize with shocked and terrified glee that she had a GOLDEN GEM to present at the next Sarah Brown joint -- but instead, this Stephenie Meyer person (who can’t even spell her own name properly) is a multi-millionaire off of it. Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!
*Which, for fuck’s sake, ladies, can we give this up as a Thing that’s supposed to be sexy? Didn’t Tom Cruise prove beyond doubt that it isn’t?
**Corridors? Seriously, corridors? In millennial America?
***On one’s heel, naturally. Is there any other way?
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Only one thing could draw me away from the soft glow of electric sex in the window.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Five o'clock in the a.m., for no good reason
Thursday, December 18, 2008
I do not need another step between me and toast
Things I Wrote in a Notebook During Meetings at Work Two to Four Years Ago (In Which I Remember Neither the Meeting, Nor Writing These Things During Them)
abyssus abyssum invocat
hell calls hell
--binLaden Family Singers
Whoooooo’s High-Pitch? This is Kelly Clarkson!
Do you mine if we dance wif yo dates?
“People don’t like to read on the Web,” a couplet:
Make it SCANNABLE, keep it SHORT
HIGHLIGHT keywords, use a SPORK
CorpComm: It’s a gravy, AND a floor wax.
CorpComm: Perfecting the art of plausible deniability.
CorpComm: We couldn’t be more surprised if we woke up on the floor with our faces sewn to the carpet.
CorpComm: Penmanship. Stewardship. Statesmanship.
CorpComm: Man spricht Deutsch.
Denham’s Dentifrice [extremely elaborate invented logo for fictional product]
… has a business purpose! [jotted underneath]
No fightin, no cussin
Just love for a drug called ROBO-TUSSIN
Labels: balls in YOUR mouth sir, balls o'clock a.m., caffeine - cocaine - what's the diff, cryin' amazacrazy, cubejammin', half a dozen awesome, I'd rather take a beating, rando, that's what your mom said
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Cuts like a knife
Nicole, Nicole, Nicole. Good SHATNER, woman – where does it stop, this eternal terrible chase for the unwinnable prize of eternal youth and physical perfection? You are 41 – it’s debasing, trying to look 21. Who gives a shit about 21-year-olds? I mean, they’re gonna be 41 eventually too, and there’s always someone younger, thinner, prettier, creamier-skinned – why not take the best care of what you’ve got, and wrest free of the power you’ve allowed other people to have over you?
PS: This goes for every woman – I don’t mean to pick on NicKid specifically. Age gracefully, is all I’m saying. To all of us.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Who throws a shoe?
But as hilarious as it was – and it WAS hilarious! -- leaving aside for a minute whatever loaded cultural baggage accompanied the gesture (and of course the fact that the shoe-thrower has probably seen sweet daylight for the last time), it was pretty shocking. I mean, it wasn’t lethal or even really dangerous but it was violent, and I had to wonder how the guy was able to do it not once but twice. Il Douche never travels without an ass-army of security, plus where was the Secret Service? I mean, damn. I hate the motherfucker with the fire of a thousand dying suns, but how’d they let anybody get that close with ill intent? Are they just not bothering anymore, since there’s only like 35 days of this insane bullshit left?
The other thing about it is, Boy Georgie himself didn’t seem all that bothered – I don’t think he should’ve run off screaming like a little girl, but there was a serious shortage of give-a-fuck on his part; he reacted like it was some sort of frathouse shenanigans. The whole incident was just bizarre.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
The Clooney called. He wants the whole Ocean’s Eleven thing back.
So, Caper Scene ensues. The spazzy blonde ziplines herself down the side of a tall building, cuts a circle out of the glass window, and, contrary to walkie-talkie admonitions from Hutton, prepares to let herself in, clearly certain she can defeat the various security systems without waiting for backup.
And I go, “Oh man, gymnastic robbing. There’s gonna be gymnastic robbing in this thing.”
Do I have to tell you I was right? Cause I was. Sometimes I hate being right.
Monday, December 08, 2008
In Bromstad We Trust
We never channel-surf (we are TiVo people), but at some point a couple of weeks ago, the Happy Fun Box fell upon HGTV and we idly watched the second half of, I think, Designed to Sell ($2K budget to fix up some pathetic disorganized house to get people to buy it) while folding laundry, and then it kept rolling into this staging show (some chick makes you pick up all your broken-ass shit, buys you some area rugs to “define the space”), Property Virgins (first-time home buyers gradually downgrade their expectations, because like DUH!), My First Place (same, but more FAIL; both feature HILARIOUS prices in the Midwest and South and Arizona and whatnot, numbers that are hysterically, head-bashingly funny to the Gleemonexes, who no longer think $759K for an 1100-sf 3/2 is all that terribly outrageous [except that, of course, it is]), Deserving Design (Vern Yip brings pretty to the unpretty who do Good Work), Myles of Style (giggly gal throws together some real vivid hodgepodges, some of which are actually cute), My House is Worth What? (HAAAAAAAAAAAAATE), House Hunters (three houses, the rich douchebags always pick the one I like least), House Hunters International (amazing what $350K will get you in Spain), the one with that stupid big-fake-boobied Constance Ramos (she always just fucks up whatever was already there; Mr. Gleemonex will never forgive her for what she did to this one gorgeous coffee table), Divine Design (sweet bleeding Shatner does that woman like upholstery). We basically sank the weekend on this unholy shit, y’all. We don’t even own our own place – it’s like MIND CONTROL.
But anyway. We have our favorites now, you betcha we do. And the best – undeniably the most awesome – is Color Splash with David Bromstad. BROMSTAAAAAAD! God, we love this fucking guy. He … he knows things. He has talents, he has vision, he has what seems to me a ridiculous mastery of serious technical construction shit – and as a former aspiring Disney illustrator, the man can just stand there in someone’s yard painting a big-ass piece of art, freehand, for them in double-time. It’s crazy. And the color combos – holy balls, is he good. I mean, sometimes it looks like it’s gonna be wheels-off, but he always makes it work, and you’re like, he’s a got-damned GEEENIEEUS. Yesterday, he zeroed in on a piece of glass tile and I was like, “Unnnnh … I don’t know about that one,” and Mr. Gleemonex goes “Shut up, it’s Bromstad,” and I was like, “You’re right. I trust the Bromstad.” And damned if it didn’t work!
So, to sum up: Yay Teevee!
Labels: balls in YOUR mouth sir, booze makes things better, demoralizing confessions, douchebaggery, first-world problems, they ain't takin the TEE-vee, things that are great, unholy obsessions, yes Sensei
Thursday, December 04, 2008
Satan’s Favorite Fruit
The only reason they’re even in my house is, I cut them up for my baby to eat, because she [hack! ptui!] likes them and they’re good for her. But fourteen seconds after they’re out of that loathsome leathery peel, which drapes over your hand and besmirches your clean skin no matter how you contort to avoid it, they start to blacken in the center and get slimy (even the ones you buy almost green). How can something whose natural state is so close to putrescence and decay be good for you? HOW? And why do they smell so bad, like they're off-gassing benzene like a plastic toy made in the worst most neglected chemical dumping ground in China? And why do otherwise normal people ruin perfectly good smoothies and fruit salads and tropical juice blends with this unholy substance? To slice them onto cereal is an abomination, to put them on PB sandwiches is profane, to douse them in chocolate and freeze them is BLASPHEMY, a crime against Shatner and all humanity.
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
No wonder you directed the one about Satan banging Mia Farrow
Learnin about Cuba, havin some food
Monday, December 01, 2008
Great Moments in Parenting, Vol. I
Gleemonex, somewhat reluctantly: So I guess we have to clean up our language around her now, huh? Stop dropping all those F-bombs?
Mr. Gleemonex, judiciously: Nah. Not until she’s got her pronunciations down better.