So apparently the Snot Otter, aka Hellbender aka Devil Dog is endangered. “Very little reproduction has taken place in recent years.” Well, looking at one, I can believe it; he’s totally let himself go. Get that salamander to a gym, give him a good skin care routine and equip him with a few dance moves and next stop: PlentyOfFish!
This was an addendum to a research post about hipsters linked to by Gawker, but thank god for once I read right to the bottom. It is possibly the most interesting research notation I’ve read since the Journal of Irreproducible Results posted the Psychology of the Necronaut.
“Dr. Agnew and Dr. Carleton’s expertise and equipment were invaluable in helping us validate and document the results of our initial cryopreservation trials with the hellbender semen.” — Sally Nofs of the Nashville Zoo, on efforts to develop conservation techniques to sample and freeze sperm from the last surviving hellbender salamanders — the largest kind in North America — which are also affectionately known as “snot otters” or “devil dogs.” Note: We made none of this up.
Blanket octopus and NO THAT IS NOT A SNEAKY MICHAEL JACKSON REFERENCE
Been way too much celebrity around these parts for comfort lately (not that I’m not grateful for three rt’s from John Cusack this morning) so I thought I’d flush out the pipes with this gorgeous beast, surely as lovely in its own way as Paul Newman in his, although far less likely to send underprivileged kids to camp or manufacture (excellent) salad dressing, and far more likely to serve as an entree in a Greek restaurant.
I always wanted to grow up to be her, and I think I may have finally succeeded. Now to get my hands on that wardrobe!
Pucci Galore!
What I like about her is…seriously, everything. I even dyed my hair red for a couple of years! She takes no prisoners, takes no shit, takes names and kicks ass, and she was right: her daughter married a total dork. Derwood was a feeb. I’m sorry, all you Derwoods or Darvins or Dickwads or Whatevers out there, but you’re just not good enough and it would be cruel to let you go through life in a fog of self-delusion, correct?
Endora would NEVER stoop to psychoactives. Other than Martinis, of course
Do you know the Sedona Method? Its aim is to give insecure, dweebish people a feeling of accomplishment. Regardless of whether or not they have, in fact, accomplished anything.
You can see why Endora and I would have a problem with that, yes? [clue for Derwoods: say Yes]
So, from Endora I have taken my vociferous contempt for the inferior, my belief that if one is magical enough one can get away with anything, and my taste for earrings of true splendiferositude.
Endora enjoys Champagne mainly on the plane over Spain
Now, I don’t like to brag (as all my millions of fans know) but I’m kind of a big deal on Twitter, and you may make all of the one-eyed-man-in-the-kingdom-of-the-blind references you like, but it won’t change the fact that I’m the queen of the 140-character realm. One of the reasons for my vast popularity and nearly unstoppable power on the platform of choice for the short of attention span is this video: Mylene Farmer‘s L’Amour N’Est Rien or Love is Nothing.
If you clicked to play the video, then how it contributed to my sudden popularity will come as no surprise, for it is nothing less than a striptease in which the chanteuse gets her kit, as they say, if not her rocks, entirely off. For those of you who did NOT click to play the video, we’ll wait while you rush back to do that.
It’s not the first time we’ve featured the Divine Miss MF around these parts (nor even, it seems, the first time we’ve posted this video, although the other version is down). What elevates this from mere cheesecake to feminine empowerment? It’s a fine line, and Farmer walks right up to it, puts her toe across and then snaps it back in a Fosse-like flourish. To me, what elevates it is, as always with Farmer, the lyrics; she is happy to play on her looks, which she knows are exquisite, and use her body as honey to draw the audience in so it’s at least minute 3:20 before they realize they’ve been listening to a song about how women don’t need to be trapped by the old fairy tales of chivalric, perfect love, or the new ones of political correctness. They’re both cages: one gilded, one woven of hemp, and she doesn’t need anyone’s permission to say she’ll have nothing to do with either of them. She is free to say what she wants, free from the need to apologize for it.
We had some complaints about the visuals in the last post (what, not everybody is fat-carb-chocolate-and-booze-deprived?) so for that reason and also to celebrate the new look around these parts, here is a little something to clear your palate: a Bubble Sunset unicorn chaser.
Bubble Sunset by Khosey1 on Flickr; each bubble carries one of your troubles away! Awww.
raincoaster 