Thursday, January 31, 2008

Smurfs are dobro in Hrvatska

Words fail me. This is incredible, yet a wee bit bizarre. Nearly 400 Croatian men, women and children dressed up as Smurfs in the hopes of breaking the world record. But they celebration turned to disappointment when they discovered they had found erroneous information on the Interweb and were still a few Smurfs short. I guess some crazy American college kids are the current title holders, which no doubt came about after some chick in the dorm bought boyshirts at Urban Outfitters with a faded "retro" Papa Smurf on the ass, which subsequently lead to Smurf mania taking over whatever dorm they lived in because of those uber-obscure retro pop culture references only made by the really cool underground hipsters who handle product assortment for Urban Outfitters. And then they decided to dress up as Smurfs because it was a really cool thing to do.

Ok. That's just my theory.

What don't they give world records for these days? But more importantly, I just want to know who decided to organize a bunch of people into a gaggle of live Smurfs. How much Sljivovica did you drink to come up with that idea?

But I did always think Gargamel was Serbian.

The coolest puzzle ever

Well, not really, but someone took one of my Flickr photos and made this little ditty. It's kind of cool, and there are even varying degrees of difficulty.

Wednesday, January 30, 2008

Completely random separated at birth thingey

Was I the only person who has been thinking this? I can't be.

Sunday, January 27, 2008

An observation for Sunday

You know how you know you're in a ghetto Target? The women's department is fronted by maternity wear.

Thursday, January 24, 2008

See? I'm not the only one!

BeehiveHairdresser posted similar thoughts on a possible conspiracy behind Heath Ledger's death in relation to those fun-loving scientologists. There is also the Google translation-to-Spanish-like-playing-a-Beatles-album-backward oddity. Oh, and what about the mysterious masseuse? And if you've happened to catch Jeff Conaway on VH1's Celebrity Rehab, you start wondering about all those people who died young of "possible drug-related" deaths because he, somehow miraculously, continues to exist.

Hey, I'm not accusing anyone, but anything is possible.

Wednesday, January 23, 2008

One of the most offensive items I have ever seen

You're curious, aren't you? Just know you can't go back once you've seen it. Because when I say it's that wrong, I seriously mean, it's just that wrong.

If D.W. Griffith made ashtrays...

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

I'm pitchy

Damnit. I think I'm watching American Idol again. Yet I am not being taken in by any of these sob stories or the subtleties described to me by an anonymous friend who actually places financial wagers on this competition (He is amazingly accurate, too). The show fills me with hatred, which I do not need any more of in my life. It makes me hate dumb blonds even more than usual. I spend most of the time wondering what Simon Cowell's closet looks like. Seriously. Are all those nearly-identical shirts color-coordinated, folded, on hangers? How many does he have? How big is his closet and exactly how is it organized? Are some of the shirts folded and others hanging?

But there is nothing else on, right? Damn writer's strike. Wait, who is this guy...he's not bad looking...not a bad voice...STOP. I'm not getting hooked. Oh, but Paula can see it in her eyes. She wants this guy. Oh, and he's going to Hollywood. Ok. Now this chick, someone tell her she does not sound like Mariah Carey just because she has a huge rack. Why are there so many commercials? How can someone not watch this crap without Tivo? Didn't there used to be people with some sort of talent on here?

I'm merely watching this season to count how many times "I think you're good, but not as good as you think you are" is said by Mr. Cowell. Because this is the second I've watched this tripe this season and I think I have heard it about 5 times.

However, allow me to present my very own American Idol, by way of Deutchland and New Jersey.

Presenting the Mad German:

My thetans are smelling a conspiracy

Ok, ok. Hear me out. I think the Scientologists killed Heath Ledger. They had to do something to get out of the spotlight, right? Look what 9/11 did for Gary Condit!! Set up the supposed accidental death / suicide of an actor NO ONE was expecting to go so soon and boom, Tom Cruise's crazy rants are relegated to page five of the gossip blogs. But why Heath Ledger? Because he was in the "gay cowboy movie?" Or perhaps because Michelle Williams is a far better actress than her former Dawson's Creek co-star ever will be, oh, and since Ms. Holmes did get booted from The Dark Knight, which also stars Ledger as The Joker. Oh, and throw in some sleeping pills, which obviously proves "psych" drugs are bad and kill and should not be abused and will destroy the world, if not just those promising celebrities. So boom. Tom Cruise's anti-Xenu rants are sent temporarily to the back burner and he's the Hollywood version of Gary Condit.

It's really not so implausible, is it?

'Tis a shame, too, because I really liked Heath Ledger. Sometimes, you just get a hankering for a guy with just-past-the-chin hair. But most importantly, he was talented, which was obvious even in one of my favorite guilty pleasures, 10 Things I Hate About You. He brought me to tears in Brokeback Mountain. And as a huge Batman fan, I still cannot wait to see him as The Joker in The Dark Knight. But I guess its a fact of life, really, the talented ones go and we're left seeing unnecessary press on people in MTV pseudo-reality shows and people like
Tom Cruise making $20+ million a picture.

Friday, January 18, 2008

Shocking family confessions

I am suffering from a wicked hangover. Just in case you were wondering. But this is my first entry using my brand new MacBook Pro. And that's really effing cool.

I am now going to watch Celebrity Rehab. Because it will put things in perspective, knowing I'm not in nearly as bad shape as Jeff Conaway.

In other news, I drunk dialed my mother. I typically do this, so don't laugh. I know she loves it. If you know anything about my mother, you know that she's a die-hard Republican in name, yet will not come to terms with her closeted liberalism. I often tell her she raised me to think the way I think and her openness about certain subjects makes it impossible for her to be conservative. Because I'm drunk and filled with piss and vinegar, naturally I bring up politics. Instead of fighting...the most beautiful thing happened. The most beautiful and incredible thing in the history of political parental discourse. I notice she is not as combative to the things I am saying and I realize...I realize she may have begun coming around. She says she would vote for a democrat if they were the best person and she has done this before in the past. My hopes were buoyed when I discovered she does not like Huckabee, and she has better sense than to elect a Mormon. She doesn't like McCain's position on immigration. She will always bash Hilary, and that is fine, but as we've been occasionally discussing politics for the last few months, I have noticed she is completely and totally unable to express her dislike for one man. I continuously point this out, but this time, oh, there is something different in our conversation this time. She's not telling me to shut up or trying to change the subject with as much fervor as she usually does when I bring up such topics. I push a little more and she doesn't want to go there but it is too late to turn back. And it basically went down like this...

"Mom, if the election were held tomorrow, who would you vote for? If you do not answer this, your drunk daughter will not allow you to get off the phone."

"Well, the election isn't being held tomorrow -"

"Just say it, Mom, say it! Say it!"

"I don't know what you want me to admit."


"Fine. I would vote for Obama."

Friday, January 11, 2008

Every Kitchen Needs Butter Boy

Upon writing SEO content in my day job, I stumbled upon a most curious item.

Introducing Butter Boy. Butter Boy is a corn cob butterer, because in this day & age, why should you be expected to actually butter your ear of corn all by yourself. If there are remote controls, there should be corn cob butterers, right?

At first I thought I was just a bit of a sicko. My sense of humor leans towards the perverted or lewid at times. One look at Butter Boy and well...look at him.

But then I read the description of good ol' Butter Boy and that's when I was sold. This was not your average corn cob butterer (But then again, is there such a thing as an average corn cob buttering tool).

Butter Boy makes buttering your corn-on-the-cob fun and easy! Just insert a stick of butter, pop the top, and butter your corn. Put him in the refrigerator in between uses. Take him with you to barbeques, picnics, or just have fun with him when eating at home. The Butter Boy makes kids smile from ear to ear. Made of plastic and dishwasher-safe.

Come on! You know you're thinking the same nasty things I'm thinking, too! Read just a little bit more...have you gotten to the feature stating Butter Boy hugs the corn for easy gliding on of butter?

Hot butterly pleasure can now be yours. For $6 + shipping. Just admit it. You know you want a Butter Boy to call your own.