Snow Doge saves Jamaican Bobsled Team

Snow Doge very feels

Snow Doge very feels

I’d better get started on a screenplay, because this is the most perfect straight-to-the-big-screen story I’ve heard in simply ages.

The Dogecoin Foundation, an actual charitable foundation based around a satirical cryptocurrency named after an actual dog meme, yes, really, has come to the rescue of the actual Jamaican Bobsled Team, who are actually going to be in the Olympics again.

IF they can ever get there.

The Jamaican Bobsled Team, who are actually called The Jamaican Bobsleigh Team because, I dunno, it’s cuter? have qualified to compete in the Sochi Winter Olympics that start next month in Russia. They are the team made famous by the John Candy movie Cool Runnings, the fictionalized story of how they made it to their first Olympics, back in 1988.

Money has always been as scarce with the team as snow in Jamaica, but this time it’s the Interwebs to the Rescue!

A Crowdtilt fundraiser has gathered more than $20,000 towards the costs of competition (travel, support for families back home, etc) and now the internet’s favorite Shiba Inu gallops in with a shocking $30,778 raised in just 24 hours.

The name of their fundraising site? Dogesled.

Of course.

Snow Doge says: very funds. So Olympics. Wow.

Snow Doge says: very funds. So Olympics. Wow.

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Party On, Rude!

And fuck your manscaper too!

And fuck your manscaper too!

spend more time on your eyebrows bro

fuck you too

Those are the immortal words of the unnamed shutterbug behind my new favorite Tumblr, “FuckYouPartyPhotographer.”

In an effort to appear badass, and perhaps attempting to top their appearance on DouchebagsLoveGreyGoose, douches and douchettes all over the Vangroover club scene are begging someone to take their picture, only to flip them off when they do.

Yes, I said “Vangroover.” Never was a more perfect coinage minted, for that is where these people live: a strange, ill-lit land where everyone is desperate to give the impression they’re not actually from Surrey.

White Rock means never having to say you're Surrey, Simba

White Rock means never having to say you’re Surrey, Simba

Now, one man is striking back. One man, alone, armed with nothing more than an apparently eye-catching and high-quality photo rig, and a permanent place on the VIP list. And it is glorious.

Fuck you, Combover Boy

Fuck you, Combover Boy

FUCK YOU TOO

who are you, Prince William, duke of assholes ;)

If you go out clubbing in this city and fly the colours for the party photographer, and the colours read “Fuck You,” you can be pretty sure that, sooner or later, you will end up on this Tumblr, and NO, he will not take it down.

What are you gonna do, swear at him?

PS I’m pretty sure that on a lot of those tongues flapped out, Miley-style, that bump isn’t a tongue stud, it’s HPV.

A Christmas Clean-Up

raincoaster reporting for Christmas Cleanup duty

raincoaster reporting for Christmas Cleanup duty

Note: Bloggers may be larger than they appear in amusing holiday-themed kitchenwear.

There’s a certain element of bloodthirstiness to many of the holiday celebrations, isn’t there?

Yes, there is. Shut up.

Think about it; who’d be celebrating Christmas now if Jesus hadn’t died young? If he’d quietly expired at the age of 70 or so, surrounded by children, grand-children, and great-grand-children? Nobody, that’s who. You can’t be a martyr without the sticky ending; just ask James Dean. And where there’s bloodshed, sooner or later, there is gonna be an underpaid member of a visible minority with a mop and a pail cleaning up that shit.

This post is about that. Where there’s Christmas Bloodshed, eventually there will be Christmas Cleaning Crews. As I am spending this pre-Christmas day cleaning up the place I’ve been house and pet sitting for the imminent return of The Owners, who clearly have higher house standards than I’m used to (a warming drawer for plates? Does even Goopy Paltrow have one of those?) I thought I would procrastinate by blogging about the process.

I guess digging under sinks to find cleaning products and figuring out what they are each supposed to do has an element of present-opening about it. Or at least it’s akin to digging through the bowl of assorted candies to find the green jellybeans and the licorice allsorts. Only if you get it wrong, you don’t just spit it into your napkin; you get to replace the hardwood floor. So, SUSPENSE! BLOODSHED! Back to the topic…

Remember that old seasonal classic The Night Santa Went Crazy, by Weird Al? Sure you do. In case you forget, here’s a claymation video to remind you.

Sure, sure, who doesn’t love a picturesque serial killer with a mysterious backstory, eh? But did you ever think about the poor clean-up elves who had to go in afterwards and sanitize the crime scene so it could be properly staged by the bored housewife the real estate agent hired to make it look saleable? Didja? Well, you’re about to.

There’s a game.

Seriously. It used to be simple: if you could imagine it, there was porn of it. Now we must be all wanked out, because if you can think of it nowadays, there’s a game of it.

Behold Viscera Cleanup Detail: Santa’s Rampage edition.

Tragedy! Santa; the toy giving folk-hero, and purveyor of fine Christmas goods, has had enough. Endless requests from greedy children wanting more and more every year, tax increases, pressure from elf unions, bills, reindeer!
It is your duty, as an employee of Polar Sanitation Inc, to clean up the grizzly aftermath of Santa’s bloody rampage. Elves, reindeer and ruined masonry from Santa’s brief breakdown are all strewn across his famous workshop.
So don your cap, grab your mop, and get this place sorted out so the company can get a replacement in here ASAP, and restore Christmas for another generation!

Can’t imagine what that would look like? Thanks to YouTuber PewDiePie you don’t have to. He’s got a game run-through that would make Freddy Krueger proud.

Laura WAS decorating the Christmas tree...in a sense

Laura WAS decorating the Christmas tree…in a sense

Fuck the Yule Log Video: Lil Bub Wins Christmas!

Lil Bub rules yule

Lil Bub rules yule

It’s a fact! Take that musty old VHS tape of the Christmas yule log and toss it on the fire, because there’s a new time-waster in town. The internet’s cutest cat, Lil BUB, has come out with a full hour of her napping and purring by the fireside.

Seriously. That’s all it is. One cat drooling and making noises and intermittently sleeping, with a fire in the background. Enjoy!

What could be better than an hour of a magical squonking, snorting and purring BUB at a cozy fire?

Loop it on your screen, and let BUB warm your home with SCIENCE and MAGIC this holiday season.

GOOD JOB BUB and HAPPY HOLIDAYS

Shrooms

Gilligan's Island zombies by Once upon a Geek

Gilligan’s Island zombies by Once upon a Geek

Anyone who’s read this blog or my food/booze blog for long knows I’m a big fan of the shrooms. Just the regular ones: I’m already so strange I need white noise apps to fall asleep, otherwise the sound of the Earth breathing keeps me awake. My friends who’ve dealt acid warn me against it: me taking LSD would be too dangerous, like if The Doctor settled down with Jadis, the White Witch, read Ken Kesey, and had a baby named Damian.

Could go either way, knowmasayin’?

So today I’d like to talk about the mushroom meme in zombie literature.

The wha?

Shut up and watch this:

That is a mashup of Richard Cheese’s cover of “Down with the Sickness” and the schlocky Japanese horror movie Matango, known in North America as “Attack of the Mushroom People.” This genius piece of celluloid was the basis for the very-much-dumbed-down-yet-still-enjoyable Gilligan’s Island. And now? “Chernobyl Fungus Feeds on Radiation,” which is a horror movie waiting to happen if ever I heard one.

And it was based on something earlier, and creepier, still: William Hope Hodgson‘s eerie short story The Voice in the Night.

And this is what it said:

“You need not be afraid,” answered the queer voice, having
probably noticed some trace of confusion in my tone. “I am only
an old man.”

The pause sounded oddly; but it was only afterwards that it
came back to me with any significance.

“Why don’t you come alongside, then?” I queried somewhat
snappishly; for I liked not his hinting at my having been a
trifle shaken.

“I — I — can’t. It wouldn’t be safe. I ——” The voice broke
off, and there was silence.

And for goddam good reason, too. Read the rest of it if you prefer not to sleep tonight. So interesting to see the (de)volution: the Edwardian skin-crawler, the Fifties drug allegory, the Sixties bowdlerized Eden fable. Pick your favorite now that you have all of the options. If you want to stay neutral, at least tuck this (very) esoteric erudition away to haul out whenever someone mentions either a) Gilligan’s Island b) the infectious zombie trope (as opposed to the supernatural zombie, which is a whole other dichotomy post).