Not here. Here. I’m far too lazy to run polls!
Here, via Fark, are a few samples from The Funniest‘s thread of the funniest images on the Internet. There are some old standbys like the Jedi Squirrels, which was a top post on WordPress for at least a month, but there are also some fun new ones, such as these which I have heartlessly ripped off to give you a taste of the delights which await you in the original thread here.
The only thing country music has to recommend it, really, is the trainwrecks of lives it uses both as source material and delivery system.
Here is drama queen Faith Hill at the Country Music Awards, running through her rehearsed bashful aw-shucksing and triumphant grinning, only to realize a split-second later that the announcers had, in fact, called Carrie Underwood‘s name.
Can you lip-read, boys and girls? I knew you could.
from Gawker comes word of NaDruWriNi, which isn’t officially called that but should be: ’tis the National Drinking and Writing Festival, ’tis, but even we Canuckistanis shall co-opt it, for lo, we are very co-opterative up here at the socialist roof of the world, and lo, we drink more than they do, so there.
Alas, the glorious day has passed, but as they point out on the site, the next Festival is a mere 51 lost weekends away. Think of it as physical training and carry a notebook small enough to fit in your pocket so it sticks with you when you lose your purse, as you surely will around word 2,800, if I can believe what my shockingly disreputable friends tell me.
Naturally, you’ll want to pay attention to your choice of booze. Feeling feline? Go with gin. Working on a piece about the high life? See if you can’t round up a crystal Champagne flute and magnum of Cristal, or at least a couple of straws and a jug of Cribari. Working on a murder tale? Well then, what’s their poison? Kimveer Gill had Jack Daniels for breakfast his last day on Earth; Christian Brando had three Negronis and then shot his sister’s lover; Robert Frisbee drank something like seven French 75’s and a bottle of wine before bludgeoning the poor, foolish little old lady who paid for his cocktails.
Yeah, just a little something to set the mood.
I would post excerpts, if only I could read the handwriting. Click and decipher for yourselves. This is what Gawker found, from last year, and it’s representative:
observation #5
i was going to write about
an old man i saw
but am now so drunk
that i cannot concentrate enough
do do so
or remember him
h9old on
giveme a sec.
Seriously, you cannot beat this headline. via, um, can’t remember but with a headline like that is must be FARK.
Japan’s air sex world champion licks himself into shape
Japan has recently claimed the world air guitar championship, but Weekly Playboy (10/2) notes that less well known is that Japan already had a world champ in another virtual sport — air sex!
Just like air guitar pits competitors prancing around on stage empty handed but acting as though they were playing a hot riff, air sex requires players to simulate sauciness as though with a partner, but actually while alone.
“Air sex was originally invented by guys who
couldn’t get girlfriends, but desperately want to have sex,” J-Taro Sugisaku, the self-professed creator of air sex, tells Weekly Playboy…
“You must be warned, though air sex can be very dangerous,” Sugisaku says. “Normally what happens with a display is that you perform the same way you normally would when having sex. I’ve seen guys who put on air sex shows that clearly display they’re still virgins. I’ve also seen other guys perform such incredibly authentic fake fellatio that nobody has been left in any doubt that they could only be bisexual. Let me reiterate: Air sex can be dangerous.”
Japan’s reigning air sex world champion is a feller who goes by the name of Cobra. His theory for successful air sex is that it involves more than just blowing…
Cobra then proceeds to put on an 8 1/2-minute display of air sex for the weekly, with moves including ear nibbling, sphincter licking, attaching a condom while kissing, ejaculation and afterglow. Cobra says that the knack of bogus bonking lies in openness.
“You can’t care about what women watching your performance are thinking about you. When you get down to air sex, you’ve got to immerse yourself in the air sex world,” Cobra says. “Air sex can’t be performed in half-measures. If it is, you’re only asking for trouble.”
Wow, so men can’t fake it either.
From Lois Peterson‘s Surreywriters list. Note that this is not paid writing work, which is, of course, how I came to hear about it:
On Sunday the Province will lanch the Sunday Serial Thriller, a 12-part mini-novel set in Vancouver.
The first and last chapters will be written by Daniel Kalla, with the the other chapters contributed by Province readers. Prizes to be won include a trip to Mexico.
Complete details, and the first instalment, appears in the Sunday Province.
raincoaster 