Category Archives: Culture

Welcome to New York, Ahmadinejad

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Mahmoud Ahmadinejad Totally Looks Like Jake Gyllenhaal
can not be unseen!

The NYC visit of the President of Iran is as good an excuse as we need to re-post this video. View it quick, before Lorne Michael’s little trolls pry it from the internet’s sadly un-tenacious grasp.

IRan So Far

Lyrics via JustJared

They say true love comes only once in a lifetime

And even though we’re from opposite ends of the earth

My heart tells me you’re the one for me

Mahmoud, I remember when it started, saw you on the news

You hating gays, I was eating food

I was feeling you, and even though I disagree with almost everything you said

You ain’t wrong to me, so strong to me, you belong to me

Like a very hairy Jake Gyllenhaal to me

Mahmoud, make my heart beating out of my chest

my mind says no but my body says yes

You ain’t no threat, the only threat I see, is the threat of you not coming home to me

Our love for each other is like when atoms collide

Can’t express how I feel, and yo Adam let’s ride

And Iran, Iran so far away is your home, but in my heart you’ll stay

He ran, for the president of Iran

We ran together to a tropical island

My man, Mahmoud is known for violence

Smiling, if he can still do it then I can

They call you weasel, they say your methods are medieval

You can play the Jews, I can be your Jim Caviezel

S&M, (?) when we’re wrestlin’

You can be the port that I put my vessel in

So I try to (?) but you can still see me

With your sleepy brown eyes, butter pecan thighs

And your hairy butt… Yeah.

And Iran, Iran so far away

Come home, and in my arms you’ll stay

Used to look at the stars and dream

Around the world the same stars we’re seeing

And a twinkle in your eyes Mahmoud

Talk smooth to me, in the night sky

With you pants high waisted, damn so fly

We can take a trip to the animal zoo

And laugh at all the funny things that animals do

Like Eugene, you got me straight trippin’ boo

Hope you look at my eyes and say I’m trippin’ too

You say (?) but they already do

You should know by now, it’s you

You crazy for this world Mahmoud

So give us another Holocaust all you want

But you can’t deny that there’s something between us

I know you say there’s no gays in Iran

But you’re in New York now baby

So time to stop hating and start living

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Punk your ‘Puter!

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funny pictures of cats with captions

Which reminds me of my old friend Mark. I don’t know what Mark is doing for a living right now, but he used to be a building design engineer, a professional driver, a rally judge, and on the executive of the Mini association back before the Mini had a renaissance. He lost his gig as a rally driver when he ruled a team had won because they crossed the finish line first even though they did it on their roof, not on their wheels; the association thought he could use a little “time out.”

Mark is the man Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes grew up to become.

What he really should be is a professional talkshow guest. He has more outrageous stories than your whole bookcase even if it has a complete collection of Baron Munchausen, and as his sister once said to me, the most annoying thing about them is that they’re all true. The one about using a giant pine tree as a slingshot to shoot his friend through a third-story window, nearly causing a fatal cardiac infarction in said friend’s mother, who was in the room, making the bed at the time? True. The one about betting kids a quarter they wouldn’t jump into a hole in the ice he made with an axe in the middle of the Canadian winter? True (best four dollars of entertainment I ever spent, he said). The one about the guy vansurfing and getting slingshotted right off the top of the van by a “welcome rally competitors” banner hung across Main Street? True. The one about the Lambo that’s too long to tell here but awesome? True, and you can ask the police of Washington and Oregon about that, though it’s best to have a lawyer with you when you do.

But the best Mark story dates back to the time nearly 20 years ago, when Macs were new and Nexts were yet to be, and a Maccer had to virtually razorwire his cubicle to protect the Sacred Box. Mark was, you may imagine, something of a prankster, as well as quite possessive; he set up a “fail-proof” defence system. Did it fail? Well, yes and no, depending on whether you think getting woken up at 2 in the morning is a failure or a win.

It is 2am.

The phone rings.

It is a coworker, gibbering desperately, “I’m sorry, I’M SORRY OKAY? HOW DO I TURN IT OFF?”

What had Mark done? Simply set his computer so that, unless while shutting it down you entered a particular key sequence, it would warn you with “Don’t do that, Dave” then go dark for a few seconds, then come back to life and say, “I told you not to do that, Dave.” Over. And Over. And Over.

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There but for the grace of god…

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If moses were Canadian

It’s true: if Moses were Canadian, this would be what the Exodus from Michigan would have looked like.

Pic from this awesome roundup of Russian winter ice pix found via this Japanese blog.

And it reminds me of my music nerd friend Stephen. No matter what music nerd story you have, he can one-up it. No, trust me, he can. I don’t care about your “the time I slept with Mick Jagger” story; thousands of people can say the same (perhaps even tens of thousands?). He can top it with the “time Elvis Costello played an acoustic set in my flat.” He’s from London, and he has many friends who still haven’t left the small ville they called home way back when. Many of them are music nerds as well, and to them he was, one day, attempting to explain the difference between the Canadian music scene and the British music scene. He finally said, “This year, I’ve bought not one but two albums featuring songs where horses go through the ice.”

That about sums it up, no?

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What Did You Do Today, raincoaster?

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Desert Island disc-less

via fleetfootedfox

Nothing much, just:

Posted:

Discouraged a half-dozen or so people from attempting to pull the broken glass out of the door of the office and break in. I have some powerful stink-eye. A junkie kicked the glass door in the other day, but we have bars too, so even if you did scabble with your paws and get all the broken glass and the glass patch and the vinyl patch out of the frame, you’d just be stuck standing there looking in, only with you’re own blood all over your hands, and wouldn’t you feel stupid then, eh?

Watched an old lady get helped out of her wheelchair so she could root around in her bag for her crack pipe, and then watched as she dropped the pipe and the burning crack onto her slipper socks and then tried to suck the crack out.

Declared a moratorium on talking about dead people. Until BusyBeeBlogger pointed out that would give VanityFair nothing to talk about, so I said it was okay as long as the people were dead, fabulous, and not of my circle of acquaintances. Which describes most of the people they write about to a T. Or even an I.

Read Gawker and got depressed.

Pre-posted for the next couple of days. I’ll have to do a linkpost and something for TrueSlant Monday, but otherwise can take a day and a half at least off without feeling guilty.

Realized that, of my top ten posts, only one is less than a year and a half old. And got more depressed.

Self-diagnosed (probably accurately) with this fancy new, imported death fungus (25% fatality!). Have to get myself back to the doctor; maybe I should just camp there? I have every one of these symptoms INCLUDING the one only reported in animals so far. And I’ve had these symptoms for two months now.

Dealt with the post office, the bank, the other bank, Fido, the Sister, the Shebeen Club event on Monday, and American Apparel, who apparently wishes to send the Manolosphere some shoon.

On the plus side, when I go over to Victoria to speak at WordCamp Victoria, they’re putting me up at the Fairmont Empress. Yes, you may now envy me. Oh, AND the afterparty is going to be a gin tasting at Clive’s with a representative from Victoria gin and perhaps another gin which hasn’t been released to the public yet. Gotta hand it to that Dutch Courage: it works. There I was snarking about how you could use the stuff to strip paint and BAM! They ping me on Twitter and offer me another sample to see if it hasn’t improved. That takes courage of SOME kind, for sure.

Victoria gin is the third gin company that’s offered me a bottle, but it should be noted that Beefeater hit me up on Twitter and offered, but never actually came through with the goods. Bombay, of course, did. Not that I keep track of these things.

I submitted my blogs to Zemanta for consideration for inclusion in their devastatingly clever little linking system.

I offered up my services as a linkblogger: if I’m going to spend two hours every two days doing this, I might as well resell the end product: doing so will actually increase the value of each link, as it’ll be coming to any particular post from an increasing number of blogs. So, if you know a gossipblogger who’s got better things to do with his/her time than read and link, let me know. The more people who buy the service, the cheaper it gets.

Checked and re-checked Google and Bing for why they’re not indexing Lolebrity properly: I think it all comes down to this topless Helen Mirren photo. Hell, I even photoshopped out the nipples AND covered them with @ signs: what do these people want from me????

And, of course, did this post.

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Eyjafjallajokull Volcano Eruptions, Worldwide Chaos Explained

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I tried to tell you. I tried to tell you why:

Just why.

It’s really very, very simple. If a picture is worth a thousand words, then here are three thousand words plus a few extra which, together, explain everything:

Godzilla Eyjafjallajokull volcano lightning, bitches. You see Him, don't you?

In this picture you can clearly see that the “volcanic” phenomenon are actually caused by the return of Godzilla. This is consistent with previous Godzilliandamage and destruction to property manifestations: fire breath, atmospheric disturbances, , disrespect of rule of international law, atomic disturbances and worldwide panic. Obviously, last time we buried Him so deep He dug His way out all the way over in Iceland, and His proximity to the surface of this tiny island nation explains the aberrantly swollen economy, its subsequent bust, and the remarkable prevalence of superpowers, in particular indie music stardom, among the population.

You still doubt? Contrast and compare:

Hampstead Heath opens the last seal YAY

Hampstead Heath, yesterday.

The Seventh Seal Party Conga Line

The conga line in the Seventh Seal.

Questions?

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