A touching tribute to a fallen fruit; bruised but unbowed. And, as always, everyone knows that the best thing about her is her bread, although she was no stranger to a good sandwich. Stolen from Defamer.
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Cash for Cadavers (Oh, how I wish I’d known about them last week, I coulda made a fortune!) is a uniquely morbid, cynical, and celebrity-obssessed betting system.
So it’s got ME written all over it!
This is the way it works, and yes, it is real.
Each team chips in twenty dollars and picks twenty celebrities they believe will die in the upcoming year. Each celebrity is assigned a point value based solely on how many teams picked that specific person. For instance, everyone seems to feel that The Pope‘s number is up, so his point value is very low. People die, points are accumulated, and the lucky schmo with the most points at the end of the year wins the jackpot.
Points are only awarded to bona fide celebrities. For the sake of this game, celebrity status is determined by North American, non-categorically-specific media source. The Associated Press, for instance, runs a national obituary page every day. USA Today, New York Times, CNN, etc. We emphasize that it must be a general news source; if your celebrity’s death appears in Field & Stream but nowhere else, he or she is not a celebrity.
Short, nasty and brutish. I love it! The team names are marvelous: My Death in a Box, Please Sir I Want Some Muerte, Tuesday is Rib Nite At Pete’s Crematorium, Croakin’ 2: Electric Deathaloo, Christopher’s Reeve’s Dancecard, and the delightfully obscure Waiting for Bengt Ekerot. Note that their definition of “Celebrity” is quite strict, and is, in fact, the most detailed part of the website. Well, it’s such a competitive field!
BART THE BEAR CLAWS: (Claws? Clause? Har har.) Animals can be played on Cash4Cadavers assuming that they meet the criteria for “celebrity.” Specific, named animals (like Morris the Cat or Bart the Bear) only; none of that “world’s oldest tortoise” crap. If you want to play the world’s oldest tortoise you’ll tell us its name, Poindexter.
No word on whether stage names are enough to specify a celebustiff, nor any specifics about cases where the soul may have left the body but for whatever cruel and sadistic reason, the Devil hasn’t taken out the trash yet: I would call this the Kissinger Caveat.
Want to see how your picks are doing? Check the Deaths page: I only recognize Art Buschwald, Anna Nicole (the floater is hilarious! See also Paddy Mitchell, eh) and Barbaro. Hey, what’s Arianna Huffington doing in there twice?
I note with interest that it does not actually seem to be against the rules to kill the celebrities yourself.
What? WHAT? I’m just making note of the fine print is all…
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This scene, from Absolutely Fabulous, is the single best hallucination scene ever recorded.
Sure, when I got shot up with morphine I saw angels surfing on the rays of the setting sun over English Bay which was certainly odd, particularly given that my room had no windows, but not really out of the ordinary for me. Lady Penelope sitting on my legs and Richard E. Grant howling to the four winds about how he turned gay because he wasn’t man enough for me and I broke his heart: that would have been noteworthy.
But it would have been Gabriel Byrne in my hallucination.
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When it’s three o’clock in New York,
it’s still 1938 in London.
Bette Midler
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Yes, it’s been awhile since we had one of our patented updates from Operation Global Media Domination, so I know you must all be missing it terribly. I feel your pain. I heal your pain.
In the quest for global media domination, there are many milestones that must be reached: Technorati to make one’s bitch, Gawker commenter status to be gained, getting banned and returning, flamewars to be won, Diggs to be dugg, and most of all, blogrolls upon which to be listed. Yes, having your way with other people’s blogrolls is a critical prerequisite to world conquest, as any link-exchange junkie could tell you. And in the world of blogrolls, well, there are blogrolls and then there are blogrolls, if you know what I mean.
The Manolo has blogrolled me! It is the superfantastic!
Yes, the muse of the mule, the genius of the galosh, the Picasso of the pump, the nemesis of the Croc, The Manolo Shoeblogger has selected yours truly for his blogroll, and has shown us the luv to the tune of about 45 new readers, all of whom are asking themselves what in HELL I have in common with a shoe fashion blogger dandy of delicate sensibilities and refined elegance. Me too, but I’ll take the link, for I loves the Manolo deeply and would never own Crocs: why, for scaring the squirrels out of the garbage I put on a pair of platform thongs with beaded floral straps, I do, even if all I’m wearing on the rest of me is a towel.
TMI. Sorry, Mercury‘s in retrograde or something.
In any case, global media domination is a giving thing, an exercise in community-building at its most basic level (ie I end up owning the community). So in order to keep the karma snowball rolling in the right direction, we here at the ol’ raincoaster blog have added to our own blogroll, and we have done so in the simplest of ways. We surfed around and found neato shit and clicked “Add to Blogroll” (and let no blogger say that WordPress doesn’t have a sense of community; that’s a genius innovation!). So:
Welcome to the blogroll (and not a moment too soon), Cemeteries!
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raincoaster 