Category Archives: Etiquette

Oh! Lestra!

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Suripoop!

Is this the oil that launched a thousand chips?
Make haste toward that tiled, enchanted room.
Prepare thy drawers perchance some foul thing slips,
Or thundrous peals from out thy cornhole boom.

Though nature’s oils sufficed from dawn of man
For culinary functions tried and true,
It seems that P&G technicians can
Replace them with an oleated goo.

And now Olestra has begun her reign.
The Dark Queen sits and cackles in the night,
Dispensing bouts of shooting rectal pain.
Her fudge erupts from sphincters once held tight.

Beware the chips that claim to be your friend.
The Hershey squirts will get you in the end. 

Truly and often have the poets confronted us with our own torn desires; we love what we despise, we crave what we cannot tolerate, we desperately need what we can never have. Fecklessly falling for fallacies, we cyclically succumb to snake oil salesmen. And always, the poets are there, taking notes.

viz. this, an epic verse-cycle dedicated to that peerless promoter of poopage, Olestra. This, my friends, is truly a work of art, this generation’s Sonnet 130. It is genius, not any ordinary talent, that could spin such a gossamer web of pure poetry on the subject of anal leakage.

Speak on, sweet lips that never told a lie…

Olean… Olean… Olean… Olean
I’m begging you, please leave my sphincter shut
Olean… Olean… Olean… Olean
Please don’t go and lubricate my gutYou’re found in products everywhere, with fatty taste beyond compare;
Of mouth-feel, so enticing, you’re the queen!
Each cake is tasty, but so brief, each chip is crisp as autumn leaf;
And I cannot eat just a few, Olean

You wake me up when I’m asleep; there’s nothing I can do to keep
From oozing when I’ve had too much Olean
And I can easily see now too, how you can easily flow right through,
But you don’t know what that means to me Olean
(chorus)
Well you’re in every kind of snack, but I could never turn my back
You’re the only fat for me Olean
I have to have this talk with you, my skinniness depends on you
Whatever you decide to do Olean
(chorus)

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save Britney’s sex tape!

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Britney Spears

In the realm of celebrity myths, some inspire more fervent belief than others. No-one really believes that Michael Jackson was black or human once, for instance. But a great many fans have a passionate interest and zealous, if somewhat sweaty, belief in the existence of the mythical Britney Spears/Kevin Federline sex tape.

A mythical sex tape we have covered before at the ol’ raincoaster blog.

But, good people, there’s more to the story than what we wrote there.

Far more.

Rumours surfaced that the former KFed (now known as Fed-Ex) had a copy of the tape, and was threatening to release it unless bought off with millions of dollars and custody of their two children, Tater Tot and Federletus 2.0.

That’s where you come in.

Yes, fans, the spotless reputation of your idol, Ms. Britney Spears, simple Southern gal, single mom, and salt of the Earth (or at least one of those white powders, of one of the planets, maybe Venus) depends upon you. Play this delightful flash game and catch all the sex tapes Federline can throw before they reach the paparazzi.

Play the Britney Flash game.

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dick will make you slap somebody

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And we’re not talking Cheney.

This is public access tv host Alexyss K. Tylor discussing vagina power and penis addiction with her mother.

Seriously, would YOU talk to your mother like that? If I did, my mother would take notes!

Uh, this is really, really NSFW. Duh.

Lessons learned in this episode:
(Read AFTER you watch the video!)

– If the man ain’t comin’, he gonna be goin’ somewhere else, puttin’ his penis in someone else.

– A lot of women will laugh and talk about a man if his penis is small.

– Just because a man is in love with your vagina doesn’t mean he’s in love with you.

– A lot of us get caught up on the dick.

– Dick will make you slap somebody.

– The penis is a heat-seeking missile, like a rocket. Information is encoded in it making it do what it do.

– Men launch their penis up in the vaginal canal. As a woman relaxes and breathes and sits on that penis and rock and move and rotate and find her rhythm and go up and down and back and forth and around in a circle, she starts getting her groove back.

– When the parts of penis hit them vagina walls, harmonizing and making them sing, a woman feels like she’s in church jumping and shouting.

– Dick’ll make you lose control.

Well, he will if you ask him nicely. And then you can slap him; he likes it that way.

But seriously, what kinda church does this woman go to? I think I saw an Emmanuelle movie like that once…

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best. headline. evar.

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from defrostindoors at Bridlepath, who runs the kind of site that doesn’t post undignified stuff like this.

Naturally, we have no such qualms around these parts…these parts right…here…*points*

grab that screenshot!

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then vs now

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“Then” being back when I had a 9-5 (actually, more like a 5am-9pm) with Starbucks and “Now” being now that I’ve lived here long enough to be accepted as “honorary Chinese” at the shops around these parts.

Then: three kinds of pasta
Now: three kinds of seaweed

Then: Kitsilano restaurants four nights a week
Now: poverty vegetarian stirfry five nights a week

Then: jogging at two in the morning because that’s when I got home
Now: jogging at two in the morning because that’s as late as I can put it off

Then: chinos and “dress shorts” five days a week
Now: pjs and workout clothes 9-5, cocktail dresses 5-12. I think I have chinos…

Then: smelled like coffee
Now: smell like whatever Chanel scent I last bought when I had a windfall, currently Allure

Then: SpaLady gym 3x week, running in the rain
Now: climbing apartment stairwells and doing exercise videos 3x week, running in the rain

Note: never, not for a moment, consider joining a single-sex gym. At the SpaLady there was a large group (in all senses of the word) of Eastern European women, all of whom still believed that undergarments were still strictly rationed in the West. In order to preserve the structural integrity of their bras and cheap nylon granny panties, they wore them OVER their t-shirts and polyester slacks with the topstitched crease. And they did this while wearing curlers in their hair, accented with cheap polyester chiffon headscarves.

Please God I never have to see something like that again: a row of them on the stairmasters in front of me meant I would be switching to the rowing machine ASAP. A row of jiggling granny panties, with or without lace elastic ruffles, is enough to turn anyone bulimic.