Facebook is full of FAIL, and yet I am suckered into it like anyone else. What I really love is when I get a friend request from someone I don't know, don't have any friends in common with, and proves to be totally, 100% disgusting.
With that I give you Stevey and his wonderwall:
I think my favorite in that list is "Cheese or Oral Sex?" I would like to know if, in the history of humankind, someone has ever had to choose between the two. I'm pretty sure you can have both, if that's what you desire. I didn't realize they competed against each other often enough to warrant a Facebook group.
Lest you think Stevey is some sort of PERVERT, let it be known:
BoingBoing insists this is for real. I'm not sure it's totally real. I mean "You Are So Beautiful To Me" is playing throughout this instructional video. You'd think there'd be some narration. Still, it is both mesmerizing and absolutely terrifying to behold. I could not help but think of this the entire time:
This man lives in my nightmares. You might recognize him from one of those horrible eHarmony ads. I have been trying to figure out why he deeply troubles my subconscious and I think I have a few leads:
- He has crazy eyes. Seriously. Watch the ad. The whites of his eyes show over his irises and that's always a bad sign.
- He looks just like a dude who called me a JAP in Ohio when I yelled at him for stealing my parking space.
- Ann Marie (his eHarmony bride) seems like she's suffering Stockholm Syndrome. Talks about how she "calms him down" which immediately terrifies me.
Please, someone, tell me I'm not alone in being totally freaked by this dude. HIS EYES SEE EVERYTHING, THEY NEVER BLINK.
There's another installment of the Sarah Palin vlogs. This time, Dina Heath-Barr reveals her very un-Christian feelings for Rachel Maddow. This was actually just an excuse for me to publicly air out my own very Sapphic leanings, because Maddow is pretty much my favorite lesbian, besides Roger Ebert.
Last night Maddow toyed with my emotions and said the word "haberdashery" which was a direct reference to our vlog. I am sure of it. Be still my heart.
Well, hi! If you're new around here it's likely due to the Sarah Palin vlogs. They are quite hilarious, I agree. Want more? Haven't seen the latest batch? Have you seen the face of Dina Heath-Barr?
Palin Vlog #7 (DINA APPEARS)
Palin Vlog #8 (Burning "Go Ask Alice" is good for the environment)
Palin Vlog #9 (First Church of Sarah Palin, Jesus Christ)
Palin Vlog #10 (In which we call for Keith Olbermann's dismantling)
These have been SOOO much fun to be a part of. Sara Benincasa not only does an amazing Palin, but she busts ass and edits these puppies. As a result of her hard work the vlogs have been featured in Wired, Newsweek, Time, and aired on CNN (we love you Wolf Blitzer). I'm still holding out hope that Rachel Maddow will ask us to be on her show so that she can ask me to run away with her. Sam said he was okay with that.
If you're new around here, feel free to have a poke around the blog. You can also catch me on Twitter and Facebook, and see some of my comedy here and here !
Can't get enough of Sara Benincasa's brilliant satirical take on Sarah Palin? Neither can we. I'm telling you, I haven't had this much fun since I was a child. It's like grown-up happy play time where we get to play pretend.
So, here are #5 and #6 - but keep an eye out on Sara's YouTube channel because another one is in the hopper and Dina (moi) makes an appearance!
There is more, so much more Sarah Palin vlogging in store for you all. We had three more, and they are all over the damn internet. Watch these and learn to live again:
Sarah Palin Vlog #2
Sarah Palin Vlog #3 (The number 1 featured comedy on YouTube!)
Sarah Palin Vlog #4
Sara Benincasa not only gave an amazing performance, but edited all of these. The improving between us as Sarah Palin and Dina Heath-Barr was nothing short of magical. Be on the look out for more goodness.
What happens when two couples get together, eat Ethiopian food, and talk shit about McCain's VP, Sarah Palin? MAGIC. This is just a teaser of more to come. Sara Benincasa and I, aided by our domestic partners Sam and Ces, shot probably an hour and a half of this shit, improving pure MAGIC.
It's so nice to know that someone is out there living out their Sex and the City dreams these days. We all know what a rare, precious thing that is. Spread those wings, girl!
I wonder what it is someone who gets home between 2 and 3 a.m. on weekday nights could be doing for a living that would sustain the rental prices of Manhattan. What makes things even more puzzling is your ritualistic vacuuming between the hours of 5 and 6 p.m. every single day. This is more vacuuming than any studio could possibly need. The frequent packages from what looks to be your mother on behalf of Pottery Barn and West Elm must mean that whatever it is you do, it has not been enough to sever family ties.
Can I speak freely here? I hate you.
Sometimes when I hear you stumbling, most likely on all fours, up to your fourth floor walk up in what can only be a pair of lead boots from an antique deep-sea diving suit, I find myself with a case of hate-induced Tourette's Syndrome. Words I usually reserve for Ann Coulter pour freely.
We are already on shaky ground, friend. But then last night, in addition to all the other pain and suffering you've so deftly doled out, you invited friends over for activities I can only assume were drunken shuttle runs, rounds of 2 lbs lady dumbbell tossing, and handstands. So as happy as I am for you that you were fully inspired by the 2008 Olympics, I want you to know that I lay festering with rage trying to think of ways I could ruin your life that won't get me arrested. My only relief last night came in the form of your anxiety-riddled Siamese cat, whose unrelenting wailing and anguished meows induced a hate stroke inside my brain so fierce that I knocked myself unconscious with rage.
Maybe one day soon you will fall victim to your own folly (and my hope lies with untreated syphilis). Until then, I will be eagerly awaiting the end of your reign of terror.
Somewhere back in the deep recesses of my brain, sandwiched between the ABC After School Special starring Calista Flockhart as an innovative, forward-thinking bulimic who taught us all about barfing in jars and that horrifying episode on Little House on the Prairie when Sylvia got raped by a mime, lives a darker memory.It’s the hazy memory of an 80s movie staring a young, plump Wendie Jo Sperber (RIP) as a lovable fat chick who is (obviously) a social outcast.
Wendie Jo Sperber, Team Chunk Pioneer
IMDB would have me believe that this was “Dinky Hocker.”All I know is that in this movie Wendie Jo was frantically shoveling ho-hos and other carb variants down her pie hole so fast she could barely breathe.But the scene that is really burned in my memory is the one where she is told by the Queen Bees that she’s allowed to join their sorority. She fully believes this is all on the up-and-up and gratefully partakes in their hazing rituals.They tell her to put on a bikini and wait in one of the rooms of the house for their analysis.As if this is not a horrifying enough proposition, what awaits her is so much worse.
We see poor Wendie Jo, huddled in a corner wearing a bright blue bikini.She looks pretty cute to me, but in TV land she is clearly revolting .When the door flies open it is not a bevy of sorority sisters, buta cute popular guy she has been tutoring and crushing on HARD.Wendie is stuck in the horrible, unimaginable situation of having to then RUN out of the room with her confused Crush looking on in complete confusion while some Alpha Bitch laughs hysterically.
I tell you this tale because this is what I am anticipating I tell you this tale because I feel like a chunky Wendie Jo, huddled in the corner after being nominated for the Hot Blogger Calendar. Surely, this will only end badly.
Part of me wants to win this to represent Team Chunk. The other part of me is terrified that a roomful of evil doers awaits with breathless anticipation to see me running, tears streaming down my face, cellulite bouncing, into the moonlight.
As I begin to rapid mood cycle once more, I looked to Teh Google to self-diagnose. In an effort to see what symptoms for ADD/ADHD might be and if that might be the latest thing to justify my behavior, I found this:
Yes, what if my mental disorder was a GIFT and I learned from this guy:
Look at the gift of ADD he bears complete with a stiff, awkward gesture like so many magi. How could you not want this gift when the packaging comes in the form of Lurch in an ill-fitting Men's Warehouse suit?
This photo is proof that when reporting about obesity, journalists get so excited about churning out another fatty piece that they can barely contain themselves before breathlessly uploading the first picture of a headless fatty they can find.
Whenever I Google something I inevitably end up on some sort of About.com page. While they often have good info, I loathe the site's clunky design and especially that stroke-inducing frame that appears EVERYWHERE.
After dealing with three days of heartburn, I decided to see what the hell could be causing it. I still haven't found a decent enough answer, but I did find out that About.com's face of heartburn/GERD is exactly what you'd expect.
Straight out of GERD central casting. What sucks is that it's like looking directly into my future. Hold me, Jesus.
I'm not an English major or someone who gets their panties in a knot over spelling/grammar mistakes (mostly because I make so many myself) but I do think in this case, some punctuation would be appropriate. Unless, of course, someone really is casting call girls or call boys ages 10 to 12. Doesn't sound like any educational entertainment I know of.
From that headline, I had assumed the story was about a scientist's taint. It could happen. Maybe he has a particularly unique taint from all the lab chemicals. The actual story was a major let down.
I read today that Jacques Diouf, a UN food agency chief, blasted the West for obesity amidst food shortages around the world. One quote from Diouf on the topic was "no one understands ... how over-consumption by obese people in the world costs 20 billion dollars each year."
I have a lot of problems with the simplicity of this statement. As though there is a secret obese cabal lurking in the shadows, gleefully consuming to spite the rest of the world. But let's not get into nuance. It's not what you come here for, and it's not something I'm particularly good at. Let's get to the nut meat. Amidst this very serious article was the following photo:
What I most love is the contrast of the aggressive, almost vicious look on the fat kid's face as he takes down more cotton candy and the sweet, pensive, delicate look the starving child gives. It's as though the fat kid could easily be eating one of the malnourished child's limbs.
My money is on up-and-down. Apparently, however, that's not scientific enough, so a team of researchers needed to conduct in depth research on the topic, complete with a slide show. Ladies, The Sun would like us to know that this may just revolutionize bra technology. And do you know who we have to thank? One busty blonde who was willing to put it all on the line and jog while a team of horny researchers took photos.
I'm going to go out on a limb and make a contentious statement that might alienate some people - I fucking love centaurs. They are my favorite mythical creatures.
Sometimes I think about what it would be like to be a centaur. In fact, I have a centaur related question that I believe reveals a lot about a person. Ready? If you woke up tomorrow and you were a centaur, would you feel obligated to wear pants/underwear in public?
I asked a co-worker this once and she said to me, "no...I don't believe I would...why would I? That's just beautiful...that's a beautiful thing." There was mist in her eyes.
I can't think of many things that would make a centaur better. They're pretty amazing on their own, but someone else found a way.
Reader, that is a Patrick Swayze centaur. Do you understand what you're looking at? A PATRICK SWAYZE CENTAUR IN A CHIPPENDALE'S UNIFORM! I need to know the story behind this tattoo more than I have ever needed to know the story behind a tattoo in my life. This is not a life half-lived, I am sure of that much.
And, yeah, I took this weekend off. Get off my back and remember:
Facebook is full of FAIL, and yet I am suckered into it like anyone else. What I really love is when I get a friend request from someone I don't know, don't have any friends in common with, and proves to be totally, 100% disgusting.
With that I give you Stevey and his wonderwall:
I think my favorite in that list is "Cheese or Oral Sex?" I would like to know if, in the history of humankind, someone has ever had to choose between the two. I'm pretty sure you can have both, if that's what you desire. I didn't realize they competed against each other often enough to warrant a Facebook group.
Lest you think Stevey is some sort of PERVERT, let it be known:
BoingBoing insists this is for real. I'm not sure it's totally real. I mean "You Are So Beautiful To Me" is playing throughout this instructional video. You'd think there'd be some narration. Still, it is both mesmerizing and absolutely terrifying to behold. I could not help but think of this the entire time:
Oh yeah! When I went to the Found Footage Festival at Comix they showed clips from this video (sans Joe Cocker), and they even had one of the masks there! It's amazing how they manage to make it even more creepy by having those metal spikes sticking out the back of the thing...
I thought it couldn't possibly be real. Now I wonder if it just might be. But I hold onto my initial assertion that there's no fucking way this is real...even if they are selling those masks and shit.
Yep, this is real. Except the song has been dubbed over the original narration on how to use the mask. The nodes deliver a mild current to tighten facial muscles (in therory), like those belts that stimulate the abs.
When I first saw the infomerical (around Y2K), I laughed. Then I kept watching...strangely mesmerizing. ;)
Deep breaths. I'm fairly confident Obama will win next Tuesday..."Dancing With the Stars" AND the Election. Done deal.
My biggest fear? The Hot Mess from Alaska keeps gunnin' for power. Forget "A chicken in every pot" -- we're gonna be seein' bumpers with this sticker: A GUN IN EVERY HOUSE AND A BABY IN EVERY BELLY.
This man lives in my nightmares. You might recognize him from one of those horrible eHarmony ads. I have been trying to figure out why he deeply troubles my subconscious and I think I have a few leads:
- He has crazy eyes. Seriously. Watch the ad. The whites of his eyes show over his irises and that's always a bad sign.
- He looks just like a dude who called me a JAP in Ohio when I yelled at him for stealing my parking space.
- Ann Marie (his eHarmony bride) seems like she's suffering Stockholm Syndrome. Talks about how she "calms him down" which immediately terrifies me.
Please, someone, tell me I'm not alone in being totally freaked by this dude. HIS EYES SEE EVERYTHING, THEY NEVER BLINK.
h'omg. THANK YOU FOR WRITING THIS POST. it needed to be written pronto-stat. forget his eyes. i have trouble looking past his large cro-magnon chin. it practically pushes the picture from 3D straight into the fourth dimension. YES. I MEAN IT ALTERS TIME. THAT'S HOW MUCH IT PROTRUDES.
He's very "Flowers in the Attic." You want to put the book down because you know it's going to a Really Bad Place but you keep reading in hopes of the children getting rescued by a long lost and very kind Uncle and then you get to THAT PART and you just wish you had never. read. the book.
There's another installment of the Sarah Palin vlogs. This time, Dina Heath-Barr reveals her very un-Christian feelings for Rachel Maddow. This was actually just an excuse for me to publicly air out my own very Sapphic leanings, because Maddow is pretty much my favorite lesbian, besides Roger Ebert.
Last night Maddow toyed with my emotions and said the word "haberdashery" which was a direct reference to our vlog. I am sure of it. Be still my heart.
Well, hi! If you're new around here it's likely due to the Sarah Palin vlogs. They are quite hilarious, I agree. Want more? Haven't seen the latest batch? Have you seen the face of Dina Heath-Barr?
Palin Vlog #7 (DINA APPEARS)
Palin Vlog #8 (Burning "Go Ask Alice" is good for the environment)
Palin Vlog #9 (First Church of Sarah Palin, Jesus Christ)
Palin Vlog #10 (In which we call for Keith Olbermann's dismantling)
These have been SOOO much fun to be a part of. Sara Benincasa not only does an amazing Palin, but she busts ass and edits these puppies. As a result of her hard work the vlogs have been featured in Wired, Newsweek, Time, and aired on CNN (we love you Wolf Blitzer). I'm still holding out hope that Rachel Maddow will ask us to be on her show so that she can ask me to run away with her. Sam said he was okay with that.
If you're new around here, feel free to have a poke around the blog. You can also catch me on Twitter and Facebook, and see some of my comedy here and here !
Can't get enough of Sara Benincasa's brilliant satirical take on Sarah Palin? Neither can we. I'm telling you, I haven't had this much fun since I was a child. It's like grown-up happy play time where we get to play pretend.
So, here are #5 and #6 - but keep an eye out on Sara's YouTube channel because another one is in the hopper and Dina (moi) makes an appearance!
Sarah Palin Vlogs, Unearths Complex Family History
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
There is more, so much more Sarah Palin vlogging in store for you all. We had three more, and they are all over the damn internet. Watch these and learn to live again:
Sarah Palin Vlog #2
Sarah Palin Vlog #3 (The number 1 featured comedy on YouTube!)
Sarah Palin Vlog #4
Sara Benincasa not only gave an amazing performance, but edited all of these. The improving between us as Sarah Palin and Dina Heath-Barr was nothing short of magical. Be on the look out for more goodness.
What happens when two couples get together, eat Ethiopian food, and talk shit about McCain's VP, Sarah Palin? MAGIC. This is just a teaser of more to come. Sara Benincasa and I, aided by our domestic partners Sam and Ces, shot probably an hour and a half of this shit, improving pure MAGIC.
It's so nice to know that someone is out there living out their Sex and the City dreams these days. We all know what a rare, precious thing that is. Spread those wings, girl!
I wonder what it is someone who gets home between 2 and 3 a.m. on weekday nights could be doing for a living that would sustain the rental prices of Manhattan. What makes things even more puzzling is your ritualistic vacuuming between the hours of 5 and 6 p.m. every single day. This is more vacuuming than any studio could possibly need. The frequent packages from what looks to be your mother on behalf of Pottery Barn and West Elm must mean that whatever it is you do, it has not been enough to sever family ties.
Can I speak freely here? I hate you.
Sometimes when I hear you stumbling, most likely on all fours, up to your fourth floor walk up in what can only be a pair of lead boots from an antique deep-sea diving suit, I find myself with a case of hate-induced Tourette's Syndrome. Words I usually reserve for Ann Coulter pour freely.
We are already on shaky ground, friend. But then last night, in addition to all the other pain and suffering you've so deftly doled out, you invited friends over for activities I can only assume were drunken shuttle runs, rounds of 2 lbs lady dumbbell tossing, and handstands. So as happy as I am for you that you were fully inspired by the 2008 Olympics, I want you to know that I lay festering with rage trying to think of ways I could ruin your life that won't get me arrested. My only relief last night came in the form of your anxiety-riddled Siamese cat, whose unrelenting wailing and anguished meows induced a hate stroke inside my brain so fierce that I knocked myself unconscious with rage.
Maybe one day soon you will fall victim to your own folly (and my hope lies with untreated syphilis). Until then, I will be eagerly awaiting the end of your reign of terror.
Dear Diana, I cannot even begin to describe the glee this post has brought me. I seriously just read it out loud to my mom while uncontrollably laughing through every sentence. Love 4eva, Sam
Somewhere back in the deep recesses of my brain, sandwiched between the ABC After School Special starring Calista Flockhart as an innovative, forward-thinking bulimic who taught us all about barfing in jars and that horrifying episode on Little House on the Prairie when Sylvia got raped by a mime, lives a darker memory.It’s the hazy memory of an 80s movie staring a young, plump Wendie Jo Sperber (RIP) as a lovable fat chick who is (obviously) a social outcast.
Wendie Jo Sperber, Team Chunk Pioneer
IMDB would have me believe that this was “Dinky Hocker.”All I know is that in this movie Wendie Jo was frantically shoveling ho-hos and other carb variants down her pie hole so fast she could barely breathe.But the scene that is really burned in my memory is the one where she is told by the Queen Bees that she’s allowed to join their sorority. She fully believes this is all on the up-and-up and gratefully partakes in their hazing rituals.They tell her to put on a bikini and wait in one of the rooms of the house for their analysis.As if this is not a horrifying enough proposition, what awaits her is so much worse.
We see poor Wendie Jo, huddled in a corner wearing a bright blue bikini.She looks pretty cute to me, but in TV land she is clearly revolting .When the door flies open it is not a bevy of sorority sisters, buta cute popular guy she has been tutoring and crushing on HARD.Wendie is stuck in the horrible, unimaginable situation of having to then RUN out of the room with her confused Crush looking on in complete confusion while some Alpha Bitch laughs hysterically.
I tell you this tale because this is what I am anticipating I tell you this tale because I feel like a chunky Wendie Jo, huddled in the corner after being nominated for the Hot Blogger Calendar. Surely, this will only end badly.
Part of me wants to win this to represent Team Chunk. The other part of me is terrified that a roomful of evil doers awaits with breathless anticipation to see me running, tears streaming down my face, cellulite bouncing, into the moonlight.
I second and third and fourth these genius ladies. Now I'm going to go cry into my cleavage. I mean, the illusion of cleavage I create when I scrunch my knees up to my chest. Leg cleavage. What?
As I begin to rapid mood cycle once more, I looked to Teh Google to self-diagnose. In an effort to see what symptoms for ADD/ADHD might be and if that might be the latest thing to justify my behavior, I found this:
Yes, what if my mental disorder was a GIFT and I learned from this guy:
Look at the gift of ADD he bears complete with a stiff, awkward gesture like so many magi. How could you not want this gift when the packaging comes in the form of Lurch in an ill-fitting Men's Warehouse suit?
This photo is proof that when reporting about obesity, journalists get so excited about churning out another fatty piece that they can barely contain themselves before breathlessly uploading the first picture of a headless fatty they can find.
Whenever I Google something I inevitably end up on some sort of About.com page. While they often have good info, I loathe the site's clunky design and especially that stroke-inducing frame that appears EVERYWHERE.
After dealing with three days of heartburn, I decided to see what the hell could be causing it. I still haven't found a decent enough answer, but I did find out that About.com's face of heartburn/GERD is exactly what you'd expect.
Straight out of GERD central casting. What sucks is that it's like looking directly into my future. Hold me, Jesus.
I'm not an English major or someone who gets their panties in a knot over spelling/grammar mistakes (mostly because I make so many myself) but I do think in this case, some punctuation would be appropriate. Unless, of course, someone really is casting call girls or call boys ages 10 to 12. Doesn't sound like any educational entertainment I know of.
From that headline, I had assumed the story was about a scientist's taint. It could happen. Maybe he has a particularly unique taint from all the lab chemicals. The actual story was a major let down.
I read today that Jacques Diouf, a UN food agency chief, blasted the West for obesity amidst food shortages around the world. One quote from Diouf on the topic was "no one understands ... how over-consumption by obese people in the world costs 20 billion dollars each year."
I have a lot of problems with the simplicity of this statement. As though there is a secret obese cabal lurking in the shadows, gleefully consuming to spite the rest of the world. But let's not get into nuance. It's not what you come here for, and it's not something I'm particularly good at. Let's get to the nut meat. Amidst this very serious article was the following photo:
What I most love is the contrast of the aggressive, almost vicious look on the fat kid's face as he takes down more cotton candy and the sweet, pensive, delicate look the starving child gives. It's as though the fat kid could easily be eating one of the malnourished child's limbs.
I'm sorry but if you are a fat turd from the the bountiful folds of the American heartland, you are going to consume carbs, growth hormone-injected meat, and palett after palett of beer. What has the East African desert ever offered us besides dust? Distribution is the issue, not consumption.
My money is on up-and-down. Apparently, however, that's not scientific enough, so a team of researchers needed to conduct in depth research on the topic, complete with a slide show. Ladies, The Sun would like us to know that this may just revolutionize bra technology. And do you know who we have to thank? One busty blonde who was willing to put it all on the line and jog while a team of horny researchers took photos.
I'm going to go out on a limb and make a contentious statement that might alienate some people - I fucking love centaurs. They are my favorite mythical creatures.
Sometimes I think about what it would be like to be a centaur. In fact, I have a centaur related question that I believe reveals a lot about a person. Ready? If you woke up tomorrow and you were a centaur, would you feel obligated to wear pants/underwear in public?
I asked a co-worker this once and she said to me, "no...I don't believe I would...why would I? That's just beautiful...that's a beautiful thing." There was mist in her eyes.
I can't think of many things that would make a centaur better. They're pretty amazing on their own, but someone else found a way.
Reader, that is a Patrick Swayze centaur. Do you understand what you're looking at? A PATRICK SWAYZE CENTAUR IN A CHIPPENDALE'S UNIFORM! I need to know the story behind this tattoo more than I have ever needed to know the story behind a tattoo in my life. This is not a life half-lived, I am sure of that much.
And, yeah, I took this weekend off. Get off my back and remember:
