I win! My royal is prettier than yours!
I got this (sadly unembeddable) quiz from Archie, and it is, let me put this plainly, the fucking shizznit. I mean, how did it know that Carl Philip and I were destined for one another (and who wants to break it to the poor boy?)? I’m looking forward to a royal wedding of my own, very soon. You’re all invited, as long as you’re bringing us something in a bottle for the pressie.
Steve Jobs, Ringmaster
Today in My Imaginary Boyfriend News (well, actually last week in My Imaginary Boyfriend News, but things are always complicated chez Operation Global Media Domination HQ) Gawker reports that Steve Jobs made his stage appearance at … who gives a rat’s ass what it was, like I can afford anything he previewed anyway!
At something…
Without his wedding ring.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, quibble if you must; deny; harangue; make ridiculous claims like “he’s lost a lot of weight and probably just took it to get re-sized”. Tell yourself whatever lies you need to let you sleep at night.
I KNOW.
At last, I’m one step closer to getting a free Macbook!
cross-posted from TeenyManolo, with a bit of editing
Everything old is goo again!
(I had to; it was there)
Yes, GenX’s favorite toy (besides Pong, that is) is celebrating its thirtieth birthday this year. As with everything and everyone who turns that undeniably-adult age, its tastes have changed over time to something more…sophisticated?
Say hello to Love Slime, Hot Slime, Relax Slime (?) and Elegance Slime (????).
From TrendsInJapan via Gizmodo.
Note that the company says these fragrances are “scented to appeal to adult sensitivities” rather than scented to enhance adult activities. Like that is going to stop anyone.
Speaking of which, it appears that Mrs. Bill Murray is tired of being slimed and has filed for divorce. I guess she has no tolerance for middle-aged ennui and reinvention of self? Or she could have just asked him to wear a condom.
In related news, here’s a story about some of my colourful relatives. Expect The Sister to pop up any second to deny it…
At my cousin’s wedding they had little pots of slime at the place settings. I kid you not. In the wedding colours, too. It was floral-scented. All my now-grown and dapperly be-suited cousins spent the entire wedding dinner sticking their thumbs in the little pots to make farting noises. And people wonder why I live at the other end of the country.
This round so totally goes to Canada. Why? Well, let’s see…what did the widely respected Guardian have as a front-page headline two days ago?
Like, duh. You think he’s going to do it in a graveyard at midnight, a Vegas Chapel of Luv, or some unpronounceable South American bureaucrat’s office? No; he’s Peter Fucking Phillips and he is going to goddam well get married at Windsor Castle and we DO NOT NEED A NEWSPAPER to tell us that.
The story, strangely, appears to be offline now. Perhaps they came to their senses, or perhaps I’m not the first to have remarked on the remarkable stupidity of that headline.
And what, you may ask, is this world-beating entry from the Socialist Republic of Canuckistan? Just this:
Naturally, it takes more than a grizzly bear attack in which he gnaws on your brain to keep a Canadian down; the fellow actually picked himself up after the bear was done with him and drove himself 25 kilometres to a gas station, where they called for help.
His hands were so swollen and bloody, he could barely get his keys out of his pocket, said Case, an experienced outdoorsman.
“I knew that if I didn’t drive and have the fortitude to control things, I was going to die.”
Case then drove 25 agonizing kilometres to the closest town to seek help. He finally reached a gas station and asked the attendant to call for an ambulance.
“I think my brains are hanging out,” he said. “I don’t know what’s happening here, but I’m alive. I started wiggling my fingers and toes…”
“I said [to the doctors], ‘There’s nothing hanging out that you’re not telling me?’ They said, ‘No, you’re OK’”
“They started using the peroxide and, ‘Ooh,’ I said, ‘that hurt more than the bear!’”
Badassery. We haz it.
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