blog-o-matic

Mad scientist!Because sometimes you’re just too damn lazy to write the blog post yourself. Here, via the Generator Blog, is the Blog-o-matic blog post generator (now improved: 50% less maudlin than the LiveJournal post generator).

My result:

Everything to know about Genes

Last night I dreamt we simply need to realize to make peace on earth. Why am I talking about Genes, you probably wonder… OK, I will tell you something here now… Back in school things were still OK. Like a true poet or something. OK, but back to the story. But something felt awkward. I dreamt of a giant banana. Which isn’t something I post about usually, but…

Read more…

and the LiveJournal Generator:a blue kitten!!! OMG so cute!!!

Your entry is as follows:

Today was really great.
I got out of bed because I had to throw up. I’m really sick. I mean REALLY sick.

I feel sad, because Sarah and Britney are complete bitches. They told everyone I have an STD, just because I slept with both of their boyfriends on Saturday night.

I’m so sad. My kitten got run over this afternoon. I found him when I was coming home from school. His head was all squished. I took some photos. I’ll miss him. Poor kitty.

Last night I had to shave my entire body. Apparently, the lice that I caught from Amanda’s friend are really hard to get rid of. I look quite strange with no hair and eyebrows. I’d post pictures, but my webcam is broken.

I want to tell the world to get fucked.

I am making this journal friends only because I don’t want the world to read what I’m writing, even though I’m posting it on the internet.

Today, I got a digital camera! Yes! Here’s ten thousand photographs of my cat.

I want to say thanks to the world for absolutely fucking nothing! You all suck. I feel so alone, no one ever reads this journal, or even comments to let me know that I’m not suffering alone. It’s cold here, and I want to die, but I cannot figure out how many of you to take with me when I go.

I went to the doctor yesterday, and he said I have bipolar disorder, which makes me different enough to be interesting, but the same as all the other cool people with bipolar disorder.

You should all do this quiz! It’s amazingly accurate. You just put in your name and birthday, and it will tell you Customize.

Type something here.

That’s enough for now. But I’ll leave you with this thought – sharing your life with strangers on the internet is the cheapest form of therapy available. Leave a comment and tell me I’m beautiful.

Created with the Gregor’s Semi-Automatic LiveJournal Updater™. Update your journal today!
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advice columns of the lesser gods

Ramalamadingdong shoesOne does not lightly call the great shoeblogger the Manolo a “lesser” anything, but in a world which considers the phreaky fashion troll John Galliano to be a major god, well we must have a point of differentiation, so there it is.

In the world of advice columns, there is a wide range of approaches and, frankly, quality of advice. I am the humble and ashamed owner of “Can My Bridesmaids Wear Black,” an etiquette book which, at $1.95 for the hardcover on the “Please get these out of our store” table, was overpriced by approximately $2. And all the new (ie late-, as opposed to mid- or early-20th Century) Emily Post books are good primarily as fodder for humorous comparisons with books which don’t suck quite so hard.

In the world of advice columnists, the gods, of greatery or lesseryness as the case may be, there are Miss Manners, Ask a Ninja, Ask a Squid, and The Manolo. Of the first three we shall not speak…yet. Of the Manolo, we shall give only the following, perfect morsel. It is the superfantastic. It will be enough.

Dear Manolo,I’ve bitten the bullet and left academia and gone back to my true love—baking. I am opening a small bakery and I need to some comfortable, yet stylish shoes that have non-slip soles, can bear being covered in butter and sugar, but would still look good when I help in the front.
Kay

The Manolo says,
of the course, there are those who believe that one would be foolish to give up the golden perks of academia, such as the pleasures of frequently reading the papers in which the word “hermeneutics” appears twice in the first sentence, once juxtaposed next to the phrase “Gilligan’s Island”.

What? No more faculty meetings in which the professor of Marxist marketing comes to blows with the elderly Emily Bronte scholar over the matter of parking spaces?

Magritte Bowler shooz

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Valentine’s how-to: the nastiest prank in the world

STD, yoMaybe not the nastiest, come to think of it, as this only applies to those with sex lives that exist in the physical world and not just the universe of slash fic.

Inspot is a truly useful, life-saving website that helps those who’ve been infected with harmful diseases inform others of their risk and encourages a pro-active and positive approach to sexual health. As such, it deserves our wholehearted support and I for one applaud it.

However.

It’s also a tool ripe for abuse; the perfect way to mindfuck someone who has it coming. We at the ol’ raincoaster blog would never encourage you to unleash this monster on an innocent party, but what about those who have it coming? Well, that’s quite another tale of mystery and imagination.

Sexually transmitted diseases (STDs) are more common than you know. In the U.S. alone, there are 15 million new cases each year. Talking to your sex partners, even virtually, helps take away the stigma associated with STDs. AND it’s scientifically proven to reduce transmission.

** Did you know that some of these STDs make it 6-10 times more likely to transmit HIV from an infected person to his or her sex partner – no matter who has the STD first?

TIPS ABOUT THE SITE

  • Notify everyone you’ve had sex with in the past six months. Oral sex counts, too.
  • Try looking through your old emails and your online address book to complete the list.
  • If you decide to compose a personal message, put yourself in the other person’s shoes. Think about how you were told—what you liked and what you didn’t—and put the best of it into words.
  • You don’t have to provide detailed medical info—this email card will automatically provide links to what they need to know.
  • You can send postcards anonymously or from your email address.

Take a damn good look at that last line and then reach out and touch mindfuck someone.

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equal-opportunity gold digging, a guide for men

Barbara Hutton and Baron von Cramm 

It occurs to us here at the ol’ raincoaster blog that the ancient art of gold digging is confined, in these sadly decadent modern times, almost exclusively to the fairer sex.

This is unfair.

Obviously smelly, hairy, balding guys with uncertain bowel control deserve cynical marriages of convenience as much as lithe, buxom teenage blondes do, but how to achieve gold digging parity in an uncaring world?

Never fear, gentlemen: we at the ol’ raincoaster blog have a solution. Simply implement the following steps in order and watch the millions roll your way.

  1. Barbara Hutton, setting the world on fire and vice versaGive women a lot of money. It doesn’t matter where you get it from, but get it and give it to them across the board. Until there are rich women there is no point in attempting to gold-dig them. We suggest starting by paying and promoting your employees using criteria other than gender. We also suggest personal donations, when appropriate (you have my banking details, don’t you? I gave them to that Nigerian guy…). Change property and inheritance laws so that the loot is divided on the basis of relation, not gonads. Vote for women, because everyone knows politicians never retire poor.
  2. Wait till the crop of solvent women produced by the above innovations reaches, and passes, maturity. Wait till they start to remind you of Bea Arthur in Maude; that is the earliest point at which most women will become ripe for gold-digging. They need to have outlived their estrogen, but don’t wait till they’ve outlived most of their contemporaries as well. No sense overdoing things.
  3. You want someone whose ancient passport picture looks something like this,Barbara Hutton in about 846BC ie Belle of New Orleans at the Time of the Louisiana Purchase. If nothing else, it means her granddaughters might be worth pursuing on a recreational level. People who don’t know your age will assume you fell in love with her when she looked like that; people who can tell your age should be told you met in an internet chat room, and that she tends to deny it if asked out of embarassment.
  4. The way to succeed at gold-digging is the same as the way to succeed at any endeavour: Practice, practice, practice. You’ll need to be able to whisper endearments at intimate moments without getting her name wrong, among other critical skills. This is the secret behind the eternal popularity of monogrammed pillowcases, btw. I bet you wondered. But anyway, you will need, at some point, to go to bed with the object of your … intentions. Yes, you will need to bonk the Bea, to gamahuche the granny, to roger the retiree, to sex up the sexagenarian. You’re going to have to put it in and keep it there. Don’t worry, we’ve thought of everything. Use this handy-dandy item to practice until you can complete the act without a Carmen Electra poster hanging over the bed; it is extremely unlikely that the woman you’re attempting to gold-dig will allow a Carmen Electra poster to be placed over the bed, unless she is very unconventional indeed, or, indeed, Joan Jett.
  5. Keep your figure till after the wedding, and yes, there must be a wedding: remember, living in sin cuts you out of all those silver, gold, and Wii anniversary gift-getting occasions.
  6. Don’t neglect those little touches that mean so much: encouraging her love of fast cars with enormous blind spots, lighting her cigarette, cigar, or crack pipe (see if you can get her to work her way up), putting the coke dealer on speed dial, thoughtfully buying her skydiving lessons for her 80th birthday, or teasing her that she is too chicken to stand on the cliff’s edge and close her eyes.

Just don’t let Howard Stern mix your drinks.

Unless I’m in your will.

And so they were married...over Zsa Zsa's dead body!

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how to act, by Ian McKellen

By way of Ricky Jervais’ Extras:

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