Category Archives: Entertainment

suffragettes died for this? mid-Atlantic update

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The title I stole from Guido Fawkes, as I also stole the invitation below; a more missable evening of patronizing “entertainment” and ugly bridesmaid shoes I have never seen. This is what the Brits think will engage women voters and have them rushing the polling places like they were selling Manolos at half price! If you vote Green, do you get 10% off Birkenstocks?

if I vote Labour, do I get birkenstocks?

However…

This is what Gawker unearthed today, and it shows the Americans to be equally stereotypical, issue-free, and patronizing.

Seriously, I think I need a girl drink…

pandacam!!!

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Longtime readers of the raincoaster blog will recall our fondness for crittercams of various types, as well as our ridicule of the Guardian NewsBlog when it gave up its barely-credible claims to newsworthiness entirely and gave itself over to liveblogging a pair of nesting carrion crows who just happened to be right outside the office window.

Let us remind you that the primary difference between raincoaster and the Guardianistas is about £15 an hour, and the fact that raincoaster lists eaglecams, peregrincams, and pandacams rather than flyingvermincams.

Standards, people; we’re all about the standards!

Look: baby panda!

pandababy, baby!

Conan O’Brian does the Monster Mash

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Stolen from Gawker. Why is it that none of the tall, handsome white boys can dance?

what is, like, up with Americans

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It’s the cholesteral.

Seriously, though, the way I feel right now, I’d order three of these.

shrimp on a treadmill

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Just what it says. You’ve had shrimp on a bed of rice, so go wild, kick the jambs out and try shrimp on a treadmill.

This isn’t the scholarly, narrated, boring version of the video, the one linked to by everybody and his brother the Total Farker. Naw, it’s the colourized, Flight of the Bumblebee-scored, cheaply amusing version, just as you’d expect from the ol’ raincoaster blog.

And this concludes Cthulhu Day.

Oh, one more thing.

Parsnip.

The Parsnip that bubbles and blasphemes at the centre of the pressure cooker forever, or at least until Grandma remembers she left the stove on