Make it from scratch? Puh-leeze! There are easier ways to satisfy a craving for seafood. Who needs the real thing when Japan and McDonald‘s do fake so very well? This tag team of Giant Octopus and Enormo-CollossoGigantor Squid is enough to put any budding Iron Chef off.
stolen from Pink Tentacle, which has a collection of several such bizarre, Mel-Brooks-ish Japanese-Neanderthal-vs-Gigantic-Ancient-Beast commercials.
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Some of those New York intellectual types can be rather tightly wound. Here, the OriginalUnoriginal reports as eminence grise Harold Bloom, the king of litcrit heavyweights, Sterling Professor for the Humanities at Yale University, and Berg Professor of English and American Literature at New York University, goes apeshit on some hapless Pottermaniacs.
“It’s crap! It’s fucking crap! It’s double fucking crap!” He ranted at the assembly of overtly nerdy adults and blank-faced children – many wearing faux dark-rimmed glasses and wizard hats – who seemed more perplexed by Bloom’s sub-references than intimidated by his harangue.
“What’s a Northrop Frye?” one school-aged boy with an “I Heart Hogwarts” t-shirt asked his mother.
“I don’t know,” she responded. “Maybe some kind of breakfast special?”
He was taken away in an ambulance, attended closely by officers of the NYPD, but was expected to make a full recovery after a course of treatment at St. Mungo’s Hospital.
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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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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 