the Reverend Ted speaks! to sexiest man alive George Clooney

This is what a sex god looks like in embroyonic form

Yes, Reverend Ted is still kicking, and he’s never one to begrudge a fellow celeb’s good fortune, as you can see by this full-page ad he took out in Variety today, and which I stole from Defamer.

Let us pause for a moment to give thanks for Defamer; now that Gawker is run by the kind of characterless swots your parents always wanted you to turn out like, there is a rapidly-shrinking pool of sources for good blog post swipitation. All hail the theft-worthy posts of Defamer!

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Technorati me!

the return of Mad V

It’s pretty much unheard-of that I post a video before I even load it up to watch, but, ladies and gentlemen (and Metro) Mad V is back (from the ashes of corporate sponsorship), with a call to arms!

Or hands, as the case may be!

This is an invitation, to make a stand, to make a statement, to make a difference.

Write something, anything, on your hand and share it with the world.
What will you choose to write?

Join in
Be part of something
Post your response now

-Closing date 4th Dec 06

moonbat conspiracist on Al Jazeera: The Nobel Prize Is Racist and Stems from the Protocols of the Elders of Zion

Paranoia will destroy yaIf Al Jazeera‘s going to be interviewing these cryptopaths on a regular basis, I may have to get cable; this interview (from Halloween, no less) is historic in its moonbatty loop-tasticy.

Following are excerpts from an interview with Samir ‘Ubeid, an Iraqi researcher living in Europe, which aired on Al-Jazeera TV on October 31, 2006:

Samir ‘Ubeid: I don’t call it the Nobel prize – I call it the “Hubal” [idol] prize.

Interviewer: Hubal?

Samir ‘Ubeid: Yes, because it often encourages heresy. It encourages attacks against the heritage, and encourages those who scorn their people and their culture…

Interviewer: In other words, if you are a traitor to your country, you deserve this prize.

Samir ‘Ubeid: If you are a traitor to your country, and a heretic, who curses his Prophet, you deserve a Nobel Prize…

Mother Teresa was brought, along with a group of people like her…

Interviewer: Some say the prize was awarded to her for her missionary activity in Africa, India, and so on…

Samir ‘Ubeid: Let’s assume she was righteous, according to the logic of the media, which is now controlled by the Jews and Hollywood. When they awarded the prize to Teresa, they were trying to award an “artificial hymen” or “artificial honor” to this prize. My colleague said that there is democracy. What democracy is there, if out of 1.5 billion Chinese, only two or three were awarded the Nobel? If you examine the Russian scientists and writers, who shook the world with their literature and their knowledge… What about Sakharov, what about Tolstoy? In addition…

Interviewer: But Sakharov was awarded the Nobel prize.

Samir ‘Ubeid: I meant Chekhov. Chekhov! Chekhov!

Yep, some days, thinks the interviewer, it really is worth digging them out of the caves for an interview. Can’t you just picture him patiently steepling his fingers and straightening his notes as he tries hard not to burst into derisive laughter?

“For this,” he thinks, “I went to Oxford.”

Bart's not taking any chances

Gene, Gene, the Dancing Machine

Are you old enough to remember the Gong Show? No? Are you old enough to remember drugs then? Or preschool? If so, this will make perfect sense.

I just thought we needed a raincoaster equivalent to the Unicorn Chaser, after the Michael Jackson eye-ripping soul-destroyer of a post below.

the king of pop and lord of the abyss

the king of pop and lord of the abyss

From Defamer comes pictoral evidence that Michael Jackson, the so-called King of Pop, is well on the way to Transition in the classic Innsmouthian mode, if not actually Arkhamian.

Eagle-eyed commenter Valet of the Dolls was the first to suggest the uncanny resemblance to legended and unspeakable aquatic hybrids. I think the connection is more sinister still.

It is the Thing on the Doorstep.

There are black zones of shadow close to our daily paths, and now and then some evil soul breaks a passage through. When that happens, the man who knows must strike before reckoning the consequences…The butler, tougher-fibred than I, did not faint at what met him in the hall in the morning. Instead, he telephoned the police. When they came I had been taken upstairs to bed, but the – other mass – lay where it had collapsed in the night. The men put handkerchiefs to their noses.

What they finally found inside Edward’s oddly-assorted clothes was mostly liquescent horror. There were bones, to – and a crushed-in skull.

Well yes, but he paid for that. And the nose is his own; he still has the receipt!