How ’bout now, kittehs?
Yes, THE MEMES HAVE COLLIDED!!!!! Duck and cover, because here comes the perfect storm of awesomeness: lolcats meet Russian Rickroll sensation Trololo!
Category Archives: Humour
Pole Dancing: Raising the Bar
No word from the sponsoring federation on whether or not this talented performer won the US National Pole Dancing Championships, but surely it’s gotta be hard to beat a woman who can shoot light out her ladybits.
Related, more flexy dancer.
Promises, Promises
Yep, that’s the way this scam works.
Every downturn in the economy causes several things. Maybe even more than several. But the one that annoys me because it shows that not even people who are paid to write and get printed on actual physical paper have anything even approaching an institutional or professional memory:
The fact that every frakking newspaper on the planet comes out with the same faux-callow retread: OMG, Post-Secondary Schools Are Like Totally Ripping Off the Unemployed.
Yes.
Of course.
It’s what they’re for.
Far too many of them anyway, and if you doubt that, you can take a quick browse through Barbara Ehrenreich’s Bait and Switch: The (Futile) Pursuit of the American Dream.
Which doesn’t make my decision to apply to grad school any smarter or dumber than before, for lo, I am a terrible snob, and I wouldn’t go to some podunk Potemkin College. There are only three schools in the world who seem to be offering the opportunity I’m looking for: one in the UK whose name I can’t remember, Stanford, and Simon Fraser University, which happens to have the new school of Communication, Arts and Technology just about a ten minute walk from my apartment.
And of these, SFU is the greatest, because it’s the most wide-open, the most affordable, and smack-dab in the middle of a community to which I am connected up the proverbial wazoo. I’m not connected to them literally up the wazoo because I don’t like them that way, okay? Okay.
I’ve been told that Stanford has a program for deserving people from out of the country with whom they want to work, and I’d like to think I’m one of those people, they just don’t know it yet. And the UK would be nice, and I’m pretty sure I could use BoJo’s webguru as a reference, and I can easily get an EU passport, what with having been born in France and so on. And god knows, I haven’t got enough paperwork in my life, so here goes a round of rooting through online prospecticusses and presumably interviewing, because when you’re the scholarship applicant, they’re not gonna take a shot in the dark: they want to look in your actual eyes and see if the retinas match with anyone on the Ten Most Wanted list.
Especially if you’ve indicated a preference for distance learning, a desire to collect professors’ home addresses, and you’ve listed a cabin in Montana as your address.
As if that weren’t enough, I’ve also taken on a major role with the Social Media Club of Vancouver, and I’m applying for more paid blogging gigs, as well as upping my post frequency on True/Slant.
Which is basically all my posts tagged WorkLife Balance are ALSO tagged Speculative Comedic Fiction.
Next up, figuring out how to apprentice myself to this guy. I spent a significant part of last year trying to convince local hotels this would be a good idea in advance of the Olympics, to no avail. Obviously, the man has mad hotel-persuasion skillz.
Promises: hmmm, isn’t that the name of a rehab center?
St Patrick’s Day Quote o’ the Day: the Fuckin’ Irish
As opposed to the Fightin’ Irish, who are generally football teams at Catholic high schools, which makes them predominantly Filipino, Chinese, Korean, South American and Italian, at least in this city it does, and it’s always a cheap laugh when I see them on the bus in their team sweatshirts. But am I being racist, or are they?
Hmm.
In any case, to celebrate Saint Patrick’s Day here are the three most brilliant quotes about the Irish since Dave Allen died and went to…nowhere? Wherever he went, I’m sure he had a bit of apologizing to do, particularly after the bit about the Pope jousting with the Archbishop of Canterbury.
Quote the first, from Departed screenwriter William Monahan, via Susie Bright’s Journal, whom I used to read all the time in Mondo 2000 and so on and which blog I only stumbled across because she posted a link to my blog on Facebook. See, being referrer-stat obsessed has a payoff!
I’m Irish. I’ll deal with something being wrong the rest of my life.
and Quote the Second, from the same source:
What Freud said about the Irish is: We’re the only people who are impervious to psychoanalysis.
and Quote the Third, from my boss, the Manolo, who says he doesn’t have an Irish bone in his body. Still, he’s got our number:
If Darby O’Gill = Uncle Remus for Irish People, then the Pogues = N.W.A. for Irish People.
Amen to that!
Unicorn-less Unicorn Chaser
I don’t know about you, but I could use a good unicorn chaser after that last post. What about some nice pastrami and a side of Michael Caine‘s mojo?
Or maybe you believe in the power of Boombox?
Well, I’m not sure that one will work; youtube’s farked up their layout so much I’m no longer able to tell if a video is embeddable or not. If it’s not, well, that’ll only depress me more. Gee, thanks Samberg.
SHATNER!
raincoaster 