Here it is, folks: the penultimate paragraph in the most hotly-anticipated book of all time. I stole it from Gawker, and have secreted it over the jump so as to preserve the innocence of any innocents who happen to stumble across the demented galaxy which is the ol’ raincoaster blog.
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This is the kind of thing I think about ALL THE TIME. Oh, goody: a soul mate!
via Defamer
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Well, it’s true. The problem is, I’m a chick, so instead of learning from Mia Sara‘s insipid bimbette, I learned from the master. I learned from Ferris.
So, of course, I’m still single.
Oh, I attract my fair share of men. I attract more than my fair share of men who, while technically men, aren’t actually men in any real sense. See my posts on zeta males for the passive-aggressive response thereto. I attract men who are to Mia Sara as I am to Ferris Bueller.
And this is why I am still single.
Hey, why is the Groucho Club in London in the first place? I mean, was he a regular? Was he a citizen? Was he even “a bloody foreigner” who hung out there and presumably dazzled their women with his superior orthodontistry?
You have to ask these things. If you’re me. And me still single…imagine!
In any case, here is a lovely article from Australia’s Sydney Morning Herald on the life lessons in the great American masterpiece Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. This is all ye know and all ye need to know.
From the Sydney Morning Herald:
As the school secretary points out, “the sportos, the motorheads, geeks, sluts, bloods, waistoids, dweebies, dickheads – they all adore Ferris. They think he’s a righteous dude,” and I’d have to agree.
Ferris Bueller pretty much embodies everything I believe a man should be: a little dangerous, immensely charming, funny, an optimist, adventurous, challenging, a bit dodgy, curious, subversive, latitudinarian and a dab hand with the sheilas.
Anyway, what follows took far longer to produce than it looks, so please read on and discover the secret to life according to Ferris…
And when you do, tell it to the men who are asking me out.
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It’s sweet, don’t you think! Can’t we all just get along?
from b3ta passed along by azahar
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And, really, shouldn’t it be spelled “doughnut” if only for old-time’s sake? He’s an old-fashioned boy at heart, ya know.
Looks to me like ol’ Homer here is simply taking advantage of the “Special Relationship” to coax the Cerne Abbas Giant into a friendly game of ring toss. You’ll notice that Homer is proudly wearing tighty whities, while his British counterpart goes sternly commando. This is traditional with what’s known in a certain crowd as “Special Relationship Games:” the Yanks just do it to the Brits over and over and the Brits just take it. Just be glad it’s not lawn darts they’re playing.
According to the Sun, Limey pagans are threatening to perform terrifyingly effective rain dances that will wash away every trace of the offending Yank. Oh, that’ll teach ’em! A bunch of loopy New Ageists holding hands and pretending to be Lakota Sioux.
I have a feeling this is Churchill‘s fault, but I’m gonna blame Thatcher anyway on general principles.
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raincoaster 