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| The Crotch-Soda Wars |
| 05.26.05 (9:27 pm) [edit] |
You've probably noticed that I use the word 'crotch' alot. Some of you probably think if I had a boyfriend that I would use it less. You'd be wrong. Crotch is not just a place on Earth, it is a state of mind. To be in the crotch is to be in a tight, sweaty, sticky place emotionally or physically. Crotch is also an awesome curse word: "Sod off, you crab-infested crotch!"
If you think I'm obsessed with crotches, then you don't know Jack. Well, actually, you don't know Mal (who happens to be obsessed with Jack, Captain Jack Sparrow). Mal, a fellow blogger, uses the word crotch at least 2,327 times daily. One day she wrote crotch on a piece of paper and her Dad held it up to the back window of their car while they were on the freeway, completely confusing other motorists. This lead to me to believe that crotch can be abused. It is possible to become wear out the crotch. Fortunately, neither Mal not myself have reached that point yet. We're still honeymooning with the crotch.
Case in point - Mal's creations. (scroll over each image for a message from our sponsors)
And now the Crotch of the Month...(drum roll): Gerard Butler...
...proving that size may not matter but it sure makes it easier to get your point across.
Photos Courtesy of Gerrygasm at LiveJournal.com.
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| A Match Made in Heaven |
| 05.21.05 (5:51 pm) [edit] |
...a heaven where barf-bags and ginger ale are kept handy. Tara Reid has signed on to host E! Entertainment Television's world-wind, party-crashing, guilty pleasure "Wild On". I cannot think of a single individual more suited for the job. It's as if all the hard work Tara Reid has put in dancing on tables, having gross men do body shots off her skeletal frame, snorting coke, throwing up in the flavor of the month's lap and giving the paparazzi a free peak at her butchered tatas has led up to this very moment. Party girls out there should take note. You can be a ho like Tara too and get your own TV show where you're paid to do something you'd do for free.
Now speaking of well made matches in the real world, my friend Missi Jackson has found herself a bonafide beau and he's a real cutie. He's perfect! He watches The OC and Everwood. That's right! He's a film buff with a great sense of humor from all accounts and Missi Jackson seems really happy at the prospect of spending more time at Happy Hour or in front of the TV set with this guy. I guess he deserves a nickname of his own. He's just that cute. Hmmmm... I got it. I will call him Missi-Match! Get it? Heh. I crack myself up.
Also worthy of note, I got AE addicted to Veronica Mars!! At first she resisted my attempts but after watching Jason Dohring (who plays Logan Echolls) for more than 20 seconds, she fell in love with the show. Now I have to keep reminding her that not only is he married, he's a Scientologist (just like my arch-nemisis Tom Cruise). Speaking of that waste of human flesh, Tom Cruise is now dating the wholesome cutie Katie Holmes. That right there is a match made in hell, the kind of hell in which Satan is tired of being mistreated and by his partner, Saddam Hussein. Let's size them up. Katie stands at a graceful 5'9" and must kneel down 2 inches so she does not end up kissing Tom's large forehead when they make out in public. All their public displays of affection have left many feeling squicky while others cynically mention the release dates of their upcoming films. Apparently Spielberg has spent a fortune on War of the Worlds and isn't taking any chances that the gay rumors surrounding Tom Cruise might hurt his film. Rumor has it that Katie's been promised a role in a Spielberg film if she can hang in there with Tom until June 29th. Ok, Rumor doesn't have it. She's too busy trying to get over the fact that her mother is having Ashton Kutcher's baby. I made that whole crap up.
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| Review: Bennifer II - Demonseed |
| 05.09.05 (11:13 am) [edit] |
Bennifer II: Demonseed is a Labor of Pain!
Reddy Burgin, Cokeville News
“Bennifer II: Demonseed” is one of those films that should have really thrilled. It should have been the first truly Oscar-caliber flick of Jennifer Garner's career with its West Virginian Family values, larger-than-life chins, and reasonable ensemble cast. Its director is Us Weekly, the never-to-be-Pulitzer-nomi nated celebrity scandal rag behind such films as “Britney's Preggers” “Brad Shags Angelina Noisily”, “Paris Hilton is an Alien” and “The Blade Trinity Hottie is a Rugmuncher." Its star is one of the hottest TV actors around, Jennifer Garner of the “Alias” series and “Felicity.” It's leading man is also one of the biggest male-bimbos in Hollywood, Ben Affleck of "Dogma", "Changing Lanes", "Chasing Amy" and "Breakfast on Jennifer's Ass". And its supporting cast of Jennifer Lopez, Casey Affleck, Matt Damon, Michael Vartan, and Scott Foley is a casting directors’ dream list if he were unable to get Kiera Knightly, Jeremy Irons, Liam Neeson, Brendan Gleeson, and Edward Norton.
Instead, the project is so irritatingly boring and predictable that it’s darn-near vomit-inducing. It is not a disaster on the level of Gwyneth Paltrow’s insane “Apple,” which was arguably one of the worst celebrity pregnancy epics ever made. But, hey, in that film’s defense, at least “Apple” wasn’t boring. Who am I kidding? "Apple" was boring. I mean, both her parents are boring. Paltrow’s spawn had the face of a cocaine-addicted conspiracy theorist, eyes like a magic 8-ball, and paced back and forth, ranting about the government. “Demonseed,” by contrast, moves with all the grace and momentum of a senior citizen student driver trying to merge onto the local interstate and as a result has garnered as much interest as Pauley Shore's sperm on ebay.
Current Mood: :evil: bitchy
Current Music: B.Y.O.B. by System of A Down
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| Who is this Nat person? |
| 05.05.05 (2:37 pm) [edit] |
On a recent trip to Austin, I overheard one of my friends being asked this very question when I was standing right next to them. No, really. After introductions were made, I was asked to describe myself. I was feeling lazy so I said "chatty" and walked away to get a drink.
Hmmm...shall I talk about myself or the things I find interesting (which is essentially me talking about myself but in a less obviously self-centered way)? Anyway...
Who am I? I'm a somewhat educated television junkie with a penchant for exaggeration and fickleness when it comes to fantasy men. One week I'm in love with Viggo Mortensen, then I'm in love with Eric Bana. This week I like Hugh Laurie. Last week I loved him. I'm currently trying to lose the 30 lbs I gained at University and having a difficult time doing it. I joined a gym though, so we'll see. I'm between boyfriends at the moment and the downtime has lasted 10 times longer than the longest relationship I have ever had. I hate the following public figures: Tom Cruise (because he is faker than Pamela Anderson's tatas), Gwyneth Paltrow (because after she gave birth to Apple she acted like we should be so lucky that she didn't quit acting to stay home and raise her demonseed), Paris Hilton (that's a given, I know), Brad Pitt (because you don't cheat on Jennifer Anniston with skanky Angelina Jolie, you cheat on her with your agent's secretary like a normal celebrity), Sarah Jessica Parker (Sex and the City is over - you're doomed, bi-otch, doomed!!), Orlando Bloom (nothing personal but I find his fans a little scary), John Travolta, Owen Wilson (who's nose looks like a circumsised penis) and David Spade (just because). Hmmm...I sound charming, right? Not quite.
What I'm doing right now? Well, in a few minutes after I finish typing up this stinking pile of words, I will settle down to another in a long line of Dean Koontz novels. Yes, I read that supermarket $7.99 generic thriller swill. Tonight's choice cut is Frankenstein Book One - The Prodigal Son. Before that I read From the Corner of His Eye which built up so much and then just failed to do anything for me at the end, despite my really really low expectations after reading The Face. I really don't know how many Koontzies I have read but it's probably more than the Surgeon General recommends for pregnant minds.
Who will I be dreaming about tonight? Surprising, it's Michael Rosenbaum. I want to shave my head and rub it against his like the Coneheads and see what happens. If that doesn't pan out, I think I'll crack open a bottle of Vat 69 and share it with Ron Livingston.
This made me laugh so hard, I had to change my underpants: The People vs. Arnold Vosloo
I know, you're like who is Arnold Vosloo? He's that bald guy from The Mummy with the mouth that can move mountains of sand. He's also ImhoTerro, er...I mean Habib Marwan from this season of 24. Anyway, some ex-fans of his got a little upset with his general lousy attitude towards his career and fans and launched this website. Be sure to read the guestbook/comments. The site is just a joke but some people took it way too seriously.
Hmmmm...I've written way more than I intended. Toodles.
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4 Comments
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| I miss you! |
| 05.02.05 (3:00 pm) [edit] |
Well, you'll notice that it's been almost two weeks since my last blog. I've been having impure thoughts about Hugh Laurie and I wished a certain blonde heiress-turned-actress the worst possible death on multiple occasions. I wonder what my act of contrition will be? Anyway, I've been busy working on the dissertation, or should I say that I've been busy saying that I'm busy working on the dissertation. Before I go back to business, thought I'd share this weird dream I had with you. According to my diary, I had it back on April 19th, and I'm not sure of the events that influenced it or not.
I was a guest at a wedding and I arrived a few days early (you'd better get comfy...this isn't a short dream). I was at the final rehearsal. The maid of honor was also the wedding
coordinator, so I had to stand in for her during rehearsals. Suddenly the bride got nervous and started projectile vomiting all over the church. The groom saw this and with a nervous stomach of his own, he started to go as well. Green puke was all over the altar. The wedding was postponed for a day so they could calm down and the place could be aired out. Then I discovered that the bride and groom, who apparently are both cousins of mine (Jamaica is a small island, ok, so let's get on with this), were actually poisoned and if they hadn't thrown up when they did, they would have died. We discovered who had poisoned them. It was the groom's mother's boyfriend who was married and wanted her to shut up and to stop her from confronting his wife about her pregnancy. So at the hospital I called the groom's mother "Cousin f--king bitch, whore, slag, c*nt, asstrader..." and some other words I'm not sure I even know what they mean. Safe to say, she felt bad and said she wanted the man dead. She asked for my help.
All of a sudden I was an invisible assassin. She told me if I killed the boyfriend that she would tell me where to steal over $3 million from some mobsters she worked for. So
I agreed to kill the boyfriend who turned out to be Corbin Bernsen from LA Law fame sans hair and the barest traces of attractiveness. Yikes, I know. So I get to his mansion and I notice his wife is packing her BMW X3 with suitcases and boxes, and trying to leave quietly. She's sneaking out while he's in the shower. I'm not surprised that a man like Corbin Bernsen takes long showers. Must be hard exfoliating that reptilian skin. Anyway, she's also opened up the safe in the house and removed money and jewelry. So as the
invisible assassin (I'm wearing an MI6 engineered invisible suit because nobody does it better than those in Her Majesty's Secret Service) I sneak in and relieve her of some of her cash and a diamond tiara (because my cousin might want to wear it at the wedding to match the one his bride is wearing) before turning my attention upstairs to a naked Corbin
Bernsen in the shower. Blech. I come in and the room is all steamy and not in a good way. Ewww. I open the shower doors and he assumes I am Sheryl, his wife, coming for a quick fondle (ugh) but all he sees is my form in the mist. It's too late by then for
him to scream because I've already slashed his throat with a razor (Man, why am I so violent in this dream?) and I leave him slumped over in the shower like he's trying to clean out his pubes from the drain. Anyway, I dry off, head downstairs to see the Mrs. taking the last of her bags to the SUV. I leave her alone out of pity. I mean, she's married to Corbin Bernsen and he cheated on her with a f--king bitch, whore, slag, c*nt, asstrader.
Then the dream goes all Mission Impossible on me (minus Tom Cruise because then I would be projectile vomiting). I'm apparently at the warehouse where the f--king bitch, whore, slag, c*nt, asstrader told me that her boss does business. I have with me a briefcase that can also go invisible like my suit. I wait till the boss is making a deal and money changes hands and follow him to the money room. The money room is this large vault like that of Scrooge McDuck and it's loaded. More than the $3 million that I was told about. I don't get greedy. "Greedy gets you killed," I tell myself. I take what's mine and place it in the briefcase but not before they notice that there is someone in the money room. They've got motion-sensors. They lock me in the money room but they can't see me. I wait patiently at the door for them to open it so I can slip out behind them. They've got infra-red but fortunately the suit doesn't even give off a heat signature. They have to use a motion-detecting device, but I am so still, the only the thing moving is my heart beating and the blood in my veins. Finally they give in, open the door, I wait till the guards pass me and have the motion detector pointed away from me. I slip past and fly away. That's right. I fly away. All of a sudden the MI6 suit has a zero-gravity feature. Then I wake up when Bud brings me tea. He says, "Did you sleep well?" I say, "Well, I was having a nice dream, f--king bitch, whore, slag, c*nt, asstrader!" Well, I didn't really say that to my doting brother but my eyes did.
The End.
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