"Rosa sat so Martin could walk. Martin walked so Barack could run. Barack is running so our children can fly."
We are a better people today then we have ever been and I, for one, have never felt more pride in my status as an American citizen then I do today. This is a watershed moment for our humanity and ability to evolve as not just a culture, but as a civilization worthy of the children we bring into it.
Change. Indeed.
Obama.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Friday, October 10, 2008
Palin Family Hats - Sarah Palin's Hidden Passion For Meat
Don't fuck around, just go straight to the photo gallery.
http://hatsofmeat.com/
I bet she has matching pasties.
For her daughter.
http://hatsofmeat.com/
I bet she has matching pasties.
For her daughter.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Quiet Arrogance vs. Vitriolic Bitterness: The Presidential “Debate” or Weird, Unsatisfying Meal
PART I: Armchair Nutshell Review
Watching this debate was like going to Thanksgiving dinner and having all the wrong dishes prepared. Sure there were the requisite candied yams and a cute bowl of mixed nuts, but where was the green bean casserole? The mashed potatoes with cream cheese and garlic? The pickle platter? Crunchy and delicious stuffing? My inner child was furious, "Why are they serving tacos, Funyuns and Sour Patch Kids? What kind of Thanksgiving is this?!"
Oh wait, here comes the turkey – make that two.
PART II: Mean Thoughts and Upset Stomach Incurred By Watching Debate in Real Time or Superficial Character Assessment
I am so distressed and, lamenting my decision to watch the debate alone, have been calling my neighbor every eight minutes or so, to laugh, cry, vent, or vomit in sympathetic commiseration. Once my neighbor has gone to bed, I fear that I will become like one of those crazy seniles one sees hanging from the side of a tenement in their housecoat, as I inevitably resort to shouting my comments out the window to no one in particular.
Is it just me, or does McCain look more and more like a disgruntled hobbit, with his chronic wheezing and gasping, and the frantic waving of his stumpy, war-impaired arms (oh, I know, go ahead and hate me for saying anything that is remotely disparaging of a war veteran, or referencing war-incurred injuries at all in anything but a hushed and reverent tone, but come on, he started it by exploiting the subject shamelessly while stumping for the Presidency, which is in poor taste, and besides it has nothing to do with his arms being stumpy).
Sidebar: Please note that I am not demeaning his actual POW experience. Of course this was a life-defining event of which he should be proud. I hate disclaimers, but there you go, for what it's worth.
McCain reminds me increasingly of that cranky, elderly neighbor who just won’t shut up about all of the neighborhood slights he perceives, and insists on personalizing ad nauseum, and who then proceeds to incessantly bluster forth to all and sundry a repetitive and vile list of character assassinations that nobody wants to hear. McCain seems so removed from any current reality outside of his own personal political Disneyland, and so myopically attached to his long-ago military service and POW identity to the exclusion of all other benchmark moments of his life, that he has effectively cemented and walled himself up into a hermetic, intellectual bunker of self-imposed martyrdom. It is mighty unsettling to watch, as reality seems to have become a tenuous concept for him, and a potentially frightening one for us.
This particular fight for the Presidency has brought out a very unattractive side to the once heroic senator. He seems much more interested in spewing distaste and vitriol towards his rival then he does engaging in effective discourse and grave reflection regarding the disaster our beloved country has become. One almost gets the sense that McCain, like George Bush Jr. before him, is more invested in the fight and potential capture of the White House, then he is in actually hunkering down to lead us into the future with honesty, grace, and creative problem solving. Ever the military man, McCain seems much more comfortable losing himself amidst the tenets of war in pursuit of a victory at all costs, then he is exploring the more complex terrain of diplomacy, humility and the implementation of dynamic and achievable strategic ideas.
Sidebar: What the fuck is McCain doing? I am mesmerized. I only hope his private nurse is nearby. Where is the oxygen tank?! I need more near- beer and Twizzlers in order to continue watching this debacle.
For the love of God, could someone please give this geezer a cane??? It is so fucking distracting; he looks like a rabid monkey in its final death throes, jerking around the stage mercilessly, painfully. He blusters, he insults, he panics, he throws around his rhetoric and base dismissals with profligate disregard. The more difficult the questions, the more he limps and gimps like he’s working for all the cheese-covered popcorn and nickels that can fit into his basket; could someone please tell him that he can have as many candied apples and deep-fried sugary waffles that his dark heart desires, as long as he stops trying to simultaneously hump and beat to death the neighbor’s Pomeranian?! I am breathless. I am also quite certain that the final debate question will arrive accompanied by a convoluted pageantry of McCain being hauled out on a gurney, hooked up to a ventilator, and trying to pass off his final response as some kind of deathbed “last wishes.” This won’t work of course, because he is, after all, a vampire, albeit an elderly one. He is… The Accidental Vampire, and Sarah Palin is his blood-thirsty bride.
Sidebar: I would love to broach more debate-related issues of substance with intelligent candor, but since neither of the candidates saw fit to do this, then neither will I. Instead, I will return to my heretofore superficial observations of this knuckle-biting yet sleep-inducing debacle, which has now, mercifully, ended.
As distasteful as McCain has become, Obama has certainly not been perfect; his arrogance and intellectual superiority have been out on display in a rather unflattering light at times, like an elegant and well-rehearsed dance performed across an unlit stage. Particularly notable were Obama’s reactions when chastised for ignoring the basic “rules of the game” when moderator Tom Brocaw graciously attempted to rein in both unruly candidates with respect to the ever-diminishing time. Of course, McCain ignored these rules just as egregiously as Obama, but he managed to come across as more of an ignorant and impassioned hedgehog with a hyperactivity disorder, while Obama appeared to convey that he was simply more important than the rules, as well as Mr. Brocaw for that matter. It was insufferable.
Watching this debate was like going to Thanksgiving dinner and having all the wrong dishes prepared. Sure there were the requisite candied yams and a cute bowl of mixed nuts, but where was the green bean casserole? The mashed potatoes with cream cheese and garlic? The pickle platter? Crunchy and delicious stuffing? My inner child was furious, "Why are they serving tacos, Funyuns and Sour Patch Kids? What kind of Thanksgiving is this?!"
Oh wait, here comes the turkey – make that two.
PART II: Mean Thoughts and Upset Stomach Incurred By Watching Debate in Real Time or Superficial Character Assessment
I am so distressed and, lamenting my decision to watch the debate alone, have been calling my neighbor every eight minutes or so, to laugh, cry, vent, or vomit in sympathetic commiseration. Once my neighbor has gone to bed, I fear that I will become like one of those crazy seniles one sees hanging from the side of a tenement in their housecoat, as I inevitably resort to shouting my comments out the window to no one in particular.
Is it just me, or does McCain look more and more like a disgruntled hobbit, with his chronic wheezing and gasping, and the frantic waving of his stumpy, war-impaired arms (oh, I know, go ahead and hate me for saying anything that is remotely disparaging of a war veteran, or referencing war-incurred injuries at all in anything but a hushed and reverent tone, but come on, he started it by exploiting the subject shamelessly while stumping for the Presidency, which is in poor taste, and besides it has nothing to do with his arms being stumpy).
Sidebar: Please note that I am not demeaning his actual POW experience. Of course this was a life-defining event of which he should be proud. I hate disclaimers, but there you go, for what it's worth.
McCain reminds me increasingly of that cranky, elderly neighbor who just won’t shut up about all of the neighborhood slights he perceives, and insists on personalizing ad nauseum, and who then proceeds to incessantly bluster forth to all and sundry a repetitive and vile list of character assassinations that nobody wants to hear. McCain seems so removed from any current reality outside of his own personal political Disneyland, and so myopically attached to his long-ago military service and POW identity to the exclusion of all other benchmark moments of his life, that he has effectively cemented and walled himself up into a hermetic, intellectual bunker of self-imposed martyrdom. It is mighty unsettling to watch, as reality seems to have become a tenuous concept for him, and a potentially frightening one for us.
This particular fight for the Presidency has brought out a very unattractive side to the once heroic senator. He seems much more interested in spewing distaste and vitriol towards his rival then he does engaging in effective discourse and grave reflection regarding the disaster our beloved country has become. One almost gets the sense that McCain, like George Bush Jr. before him, is more invested in the fight and potential capture of the White House, then he is in actually hunkering down to lead us into the future with honesty, grace, and creative problem solving. Ever the military man, McCain seems much more comfortable losing himself amidst the tenets of war in pursuit of a victory at all costs, then he is exploring the more complex terrain of diplomacy, humility and the implementation of dynamic and achievable strategic ideas.
Sidebar: What the fuck is McCain doing? I am mesmerized. I only hope his private nurse is nearby. Where is the oxygen tank?! I need more near- beer and Twizzlers in order to continue watching this debacle.
For the love of God, could someone please give this geezer a cane??? It is so fucking distracting; he looks like a rabid monkey in its final death throes, jerking around the stage mercilessly, painfully. He blusters, he insults, he panics, he throws around his rhetoric and base dismissals with profligate disregard. The more difficult the questions, the more he limps and gimps like he’s working for all the cheese-covered popcorn and nickels that can fit into his basket; could someone please tell him that he can have as many candied apples and deep-fried sugary waffles that his dark heart desires, as long as he stops trying to simultaneously hump and beat to death the neighbor’s Pomeranian?! I am breathless. I am also quite certain that the final debate question will arrive accompanied by a convoluted pageantry of McCain being hauled out on a gurney, hooked up to a ventilator, and trying to pass off his final response as some kind of deathbed “last wishes.” This won’t work of course, because he is, after all, a vampire, albeit an elderly one. He is… The Accidental Vampire, and Sarah Palin is his blood-thirsty bride.
Sidebar: I would love to broach more debate-related issues of substance with intelligent candor, but since neither of the candidates saw fit to do this, then neither will I. Instead, I will return to my heretofore superficial observations of this knuckle-biting yet sleep-inducing debacle, which has now, mercifully, ended.
As distasteful as McCain has become, Obama has certainly not been perfect; his arrogance and intellectual superiority have been out on display in a rather unflattering light at times, like an elegant and well-rehearsed dance performed across an unlit stage. Particularly notable were Obama’s reactions when chastised for ignoring the basic “rules of the game” when moderator Tom Brocaw graciously attempted to rein in both unruly candidates with respect to the ever-diminishing time. Of course, McCain ignored these rules just as egregiously as Obama, but he managed to come across as more of an ignorant and impassioned hedgehog with a hyperactivity disorder, while Obama appeared to convey that he was simply more important than the rules, as well as Mr. Brocaw for that matter. It was insufferable.
Additionally, while Obama seemed to finally hit his stride after a couple of questions, his initial posturing when answering the very first question was disingenuously off-putting and disappointing. As toxic as McCain was, Obama held sole responsibility for setting the tone that carried throughout the remainder of the debate, which ultimately consisted of these two using and abusing any available aural space by filling it with blind rhetoric to the exclusion of all but their own proscribed talking points. Perhaps things would have gone that way regardless, but Obama had the floor first, and given his considerable charisma, eloquence, and natural air of authority, he could have led the debate in a different direction, encouraging a dialogue more clearly delineated by his honesty and intellect. It was also ridiculous that neither of them could offer one single name of a potential cabinet nominee. Well, other than the fantastical name dropping of Warren Buffet, or perhaps Santa Claus and Peter Pan. Since the Easter Bunny is already occupied in Great Britain quietly overseeing Parliament, at this point my vote is with Santa and his ever-dependable cabinet of adorable reindeer: Rudolph, Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, and Blitzen.
Another thing: it was blatantly clear that the network airing the debate is unquestionably and publicly on Obama’s side. While this is certainly great news for Obama fans, did anyone else notice the "creative" lighting in effect? I wonder if Oprah lent them her lighting crew for the occasion (for those who don't know, she has the best lighting in the business). This would be very, very clever, because if Fox News had lent them their lighting people, then Obama would have either looked more completely black than is genetically possible for a human being, or completely invisible (which, for Fox’s audience really means the same thing). Not only was the lighting very flattering to the handsome Barack, but he also appeared magically and significantly less black; in fact, when the camera panned to include Obama, along with several white “undecided voters” in the background, all were inexplicably THE EXACT SAME COLOR - a sort of pale, tepid, cooked-pork-loin gray. Presumably Mr. Obama has not been employing the skin bleaching techniques of Michael Jackson of late, so it seems likely the network was "softening" his visage for the benefit of those frightened Americans still impaled on the last remaining fence of a thankfully decreasing racial divide.
Sidebar: Yes, Another Disclaimer: I deplore racism in all forms, including well-intentioned producers who decide to do things like this, even for a good cause.
Back to the “undecided voters” for a moment. I truly felt sympathy for these pale, hapless participants who looked more like audience members from a real-estate infomercial as they sat, stiffly clad in their middle-class office-wear, clammy hands clasped tightly in their laps, thin, tense lips pursed and beaded with sweat. They all appeared to have been kidnapped and held hostage, cleverly and quickly snatched from benign American street corners, and smuggled in wordlessly by the candidates’ respective vote-procurers. I am sure that upon their release, having witnessed this debate, they too will elect to skip Thanksgiving dinner this year. Bad memories.
"And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound."
Another thing: it was blatantly clear that the network airing the debate is unquestionably and publicly on Obama’s side. While this is certainly great news for Obama fans, did anyone else notice the "creative" lighting in effect? I wonder if Oprah lent them her lighting crew for the occasion (for those who don't know, she has the best lighting in the business). This would be very, very clever, because if Fox News had lent them their lighting people, then Obama would have either looked more completely black than is genetically possible for a human being, or completely invisible (which, for Fox’s audience really means the same thing). Not only was the lighting very flattering to the handsome Barack, but he also appeared magically and significantly less black; in fact, when the camera panned to include Obama, along with several white “undecided voters” in the background, all were inexplicably THE EXACT SAME COLOR - a sort of pale, tepid, cooked-pork-loin gray. Presumably Mr. Obama has not been employing the skin bleaching techniques of Michael Jackson of late, so it seems likely the network was "softening" his visage for the benefit of those frightened Americans still impaled on the last remaining fence of a thankfully decreasing racial divide.
Sidebar: Yes, Another Disclaimer: I deplore racism in all forms, including well-intentioned producers who decide to do things like this, even for a good cause.
Back to the “undecided voters” for a moment. I truly felt sympathy for these pale, hapless participants who looked more like audience members from a real-estate infomercial as they sat, stiffly clad in their middle-class office-wear, clammy hands clasped tightly in their laps, thin, tense lips pursed and beaded with sweat. They all appeared to have been kidnapped and held hostage, cleverly and quickly snatched from benign American street corners, and smuggled in wordlessly by the candidates’ respective vote-procurers. I am sure that upon their release, having witnessed this debate, they too will elect to skip Thanksgiving dinner this year. Bad memories.
"And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound."
Friday, September 26, 2008
Holy Black Cats, It's That Time of Year Again
Insane Halloween Costumes
by Chris Bucholz
We feel the need to point out that we didn't photoshop this, although clearly, this is exactly the kind of thing we'd photoshop were we inclined to create a monkey costume with an obscenely large sack and a tiny penis.
On a related note, if any of our readers work for a charitable organization, we'd be willing to bet that the "monkey with an enormous ball sack and tiny penis costume" might just be the hot new successor to those rubber Livestrong bracelets.
From the world famous "Party Costume" line of party costumes, we have here a bodysuit patterned with what appears to be one of those Magic Eye things. "Don't focus on my ass. Focus through it."
Nothing says "I love the US of A!" and "man camel toe" like an American Flag bodysuit.
If you ever wanted to connect your head to your penis like some insane M.C. Escher drawing, this Halloween, consider the Mobius Giraffe.
This is sort of what we'd imagine a holiday film by Quentin Tarantino would look like.
Dasher: "Have you ever given a guy a foot massage?"
Blitzen: "Fuck You."
Here' a giraffe, wearing a nice yellow collared shirt. Plaid too. Guess he couldn't afford the bottom half of the giraffe costume, so he wore the yellowiest thing he could find.
The closer you look at the way the mouth is hanging open like that, the more you have to wonder if we've stumbled upon an outfit for an unusually specialized type of fetish.
This might be the most racist thing we've ever seen.
This eggplant clearly has somewhere to be, so we won't keep him.
We were a little torn about whether to use this picture or not, as the model is clearly not Japanese. We decided to include it, and a few others, simply because they were too ridiculous to pass up. Our favorite part of this one is the cocksure look on the guy' face. "Yes, that is the lower body of a swan ballerina, thank you for noticing. My skull is an enigmatic and magical being, and has a complicated back-story and creation mythology. I would be happy to explain it to you over coffee, or perhaps a drink sometime."
And finally, we have the last costume from Japan. And we don't mean the last costume in this article, or the last costume wefound. We mean the last costume ever. The Omega Costume. Over the course of researching this article, we discovered that the huge amount of heroically retarded costumes we saw were only incremental steps of the development process of the Japanese Costume industry. Incremental steps that led to this, the greatest costume to ever exist:
by Chris Bucholz
Full Body Costumes
On a related note, if any of our readers work for a charitable organization, we'd be willing to bet that the "monkey with an enormous ball sack and tiny penis costume" might just be the hot new successor to those rubber Livestrong bracelets.
Masks
Dasher: "Have you ever given a guy a foot massage?"
Blitzen: "Fuck You."
The closer you look at the way the mouth is hanging open like that, the more you have to wonder if we've stumbled upon an outfit for an unusually specialized type of fetish.
And finally, we have the last costume from Japan. And we don't mean the last costume in this article, or the last costume wefound. We mean the last costume ever. The Omega Costume. Over the course of researching this article, we discovered that the huge amount of heroically retarded costumes we saw were only incremental steps of the development process of the Japanese Costume industry. Incremental steps that led to this, the greatest costume to ever exist:
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Gulp, The Rachel Zoe Project; Ignore If You Don't Have Cable
I just watched a couple of episodes, against my better judgment, and my mouth was so dry from hanging agape throughout the ordeal, that I had to plunge it into my iced tea in order to hydrate it enough to smirk, or eat. Well, maybe not eat.
First, I would like to discuss the husband. A lot of people have joked that he clearly seems gay, but he is too much of a wuss to be gay. He’s a dorky mama’s boy who wears so much jewelry that it looks like he robbed a gold kiosk at the Palisades mall, and he’s way too into his hair. I haven’t watched enough of this garbage to figure out what he actually does for a living, besides pout and put on scarves, but I fear the Grateful Dead conversation in one of the episodes may provide a clue. The thought of he and Rachel at a Grateful Dead show defies my ability to conjure even a shadow of this image to my mind’s eye. Do they tailgate in those get-ups? I also couldn’t help but notice that he has an icky paunch, and puffy hands. ICKY PAUNCH AND PUFFY HANDS, I won’t sleep now and my gag reflex is going into overdrive.
During the New York Fashion Week episode, I bet when he asks Rachel to drop him off at 21st Street and Fifth Avenue, he is actually going to have sex with a sloppy, teenaged Shoshanna Lonstein type that he picked up earlier in the week at a falafel stand near Union Square. And what the fuck is up with that plaid “newsboy” cap-hat he plopped onto his Katie Holmes bob???? I bet he has a “guitar” propped up somewhere in their apartment that he doodles on mercilessly, and every opportunity he gets, he waxes on about the “band” he used to play with back in New Jersey before he became a banker (just a guess, but I bet he is some sort of nebulous "hedge fund guy"). Insert picture of Dawn Wiener’s brother’s band playing in the garage in Welcome To The Dollhouse…
I guess for Rachel, it must be like having a sister. You know, that sister who tries to be a cool, butch tomboy despite the fact that she whines when you don’t pay her enough attention (he's her Sam Ronson!). He plays pool! He drinks beer! He’s a Deadhead! This guy is 13 years and a highlight away from turning into a dead ringer for Martha Stewart. Can’t you picture it: in 10 years, he’ll be waving a turkey baster full of Brad’s sperm at a now-Rue McLanahan-resembling Rachel who, pointing to a wrinkled and dehydrated vagina in a pickle jar, will scream, “Taaaaaay! Get in here and get inseminated! Are you kidding me right now? Let’s Bounce!”
He looks like he exfoliates.
First, I would like to discuss the husband. A lot of people have joked that he clearly seems gay, but he is too much of a wuss to be gay. He’s a dorky mama’s boy who wears so much jewelry that it looks like he robbed a gold kiosk at the Palisades mall, and he’s way too into his hair. I haven’t watched enough of this garbage to figure out what he actually does for a living, besides pout and put on scarves, but I fear the Grateful Dead conversation in one of the episodes may provide a clue. The thought of he and Rachel at a Grateful Dead show defies my ability to conjure even a shadow of this image to my mind’s eye. Do they tailgate in those get-ups? I also couldn’t help but notice that he has an icky paunch, and puffy hands. ICKY PAUNCH AND PUFFY HANDS, I won’t sleep now and my gag reflex is going into overdrive.
During the New York Fashion Week episode, I bet when he asks Rachel to drop him off at 21st Street and Fifth Avenue, he is actually going to have sex with a sloppy, teenaged Shoshanna Lonstein type that he picked up earlier in the week at a falafel stand near Union Square. And what the fuck is up with that plaid “newsboy” cap-hat he plopped onto his Katie Holmes bob???? I bet he has a “guitar” propped up somewhere in their apartment that he doodles on mercilessly, and every opportunity he gets, he waxes on about the “band” he used to play with back in New Jersey before he became a banker (just a guess, but I bet he is some sort of nebulous "hedge fund guy"). Insert picture of Dawn Wiener’s brother’s band playing in the garage in Welcome To The Dollhouse…
I guess for Rachel, it must be like having a sister. You know, that sister who tries to be a cool, butch tomboy despite the fact that she whines when you don’t pay her enough attention (he's her Sam Ronson!). He plays pool! He drinks beer! He’s a Deadhead! This guy is 13 years and a highlight away from turning into a dead ringer for Martha Stewart. Can’t you picture it: in 10 years, he’ll be waving a turkey baster full of Brad’s sperm at a now-Rue McLanahan-resembling Rachel who, pointing to a wrinkled and dehydrated vagina in a pickle jar, will scream, “Taaaaaay! Get in here and get inseminated! Are you kidding me right now? Let’s Bounce!”
He looks like he exfoliates.
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