Peaches Canned, Spoiled, Rotten

Peaches Geldof is Miss Ultimo Thule

What are you doing here, when you could be over at my True/Slant blog TheCelebrityIndustrialComplex, watching me rip Peaches Geldof a new one? It’s honestly one of the meanest things I’ve ever written, and I cut quite a LOT of the meanness out before I posted it, because I am such a freaking softie.

Especially when it comes to Eurotrashy, chinless, illiterate junkie whore wannabe failed underwear models. As I said elsewhere:

She’s a classic second-generation-rich fuckup. “Shirtsleeves to shirtsleeves in three generations” they say. She was born rich, has spent her “adult” life trying to get street cred while wearing Balencifuckingaga, and has for no reason other than the irresistible appeal of the trainwreck in progress, been making a half-million a year for the past several years being, essentially, a rich crackwhore wannabe.

And now, she’s failed. At least she got one thing right: if you’re going to have your picture splashed all over the internet for shooting junk with the stranger you bonked senseless and then dragged to the Scientology Celebrity Center hot tub, be sure to be wearing your sponsor’s product. Right above the blood-encrusted bandage on your thigh. Way to stay classy, Miss Ultimo Lingerie!

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Zellers knows its market

Zellers knows its niche

via doozywhoop

Talk about a perfect fit!

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Quote of the Day: On Bettie Page

Bettie Page mirror mirror

Just how much was she the mistress of desire, and how much a mere meat puppet?

We’ve stared at her photos for so many decades, looked into those eyes and perceived so many countless life-affirming fantasies. We’ve assigned to her superhuman attributes on the basis of a consistently and profoundly confidant photographic demeanor. Given the brutal facts of her post-pinup life, we’re left to wonder whether we can still sustain the precious illusion…

It takes very little introspection to arrive at one of the primary reasons for Bettie Page’s appeal. Her image, as silently projected through thousands of photos (and even a few hundred yards of film), creates a personal illusion for each and every one of us. The mystery is almost sacred. We have no idea who she is, yet each of us feels as though she’s a personal friend. We are convinced her smile is genuine. We are assured that her grimace is a put-on.

This is a Blogathon post. Don’t just sit there, SPONSOR ME!

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Requiem for Franklin on a G String

Technically, it’s a bikini.

Raised, as I was, to learn the ways of the woods old-skool, telling direction with nothing more elaborate than a stick, tracking lynxes and bobcats, and finding fresh water aided by the smell of unseen ferns, I cast a skeptical eye on modern technology dependent on batteries, satellites, and whether or not you’ve renewed your license on that sorry-ass copy of Outlook on your computer back home.

Not to mention the three hour hike around the lake that was invisible to the GPS. Remember, when you’re using one of those things in Canada you’re rather in the position Columbus was in; ie, you have a pretty good idea more or less where A is, and B as well, but you don’t exactly know what you’ll encounter when you try to connect those two dots, because nobody’s done it yet. What will you encounter? Almost certainly things. Like lakes. And barbed wire. And lynxes and bobcats.

So, for me, I prefer the old-skool tools. After all, a cigar may not always be a cigar or a rock a rock, but a stick is pretty much more or less always a stick and even when it’s not, you can usually get it to hold still long enough to work. Cold-blooded things such as stick insects and other items which spring to mind are known to slow down, even to the point of immobility, in Arctic conditions.

Surprisingly, if the temperatures are cold enough, you can even get a bikini to hold still long enough to be put to practical use.



“Due to our proximity to the Magnetic North Pole, our compasses are currently going haywire, said navigator Ann Daniels. “The earth’s strong magnetic field on this part of the ocean means that the compass needle simply spins uselessly in its housing. As such, we’re currently relying on more traditional methods for day-to-day navigation, using the sun (for those few precious hours each day when it graces us with its presence), and using wind direction, as indicated by the panties…”

Polar Panties of Power!

Polar Panties of Power!

If only Franklin had toted a pair of these along on his fatal expedition, perhaps things might have gone very differently. While Gizmodo says there is no word on whether the woman pictured above actually wears the windsock panties when they are not otherwise occupied, certain of the more broad-minded among us (and I refer, of course, to myself) are wondering whether or not there might be any Englishmen among the team.

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Hell, this offer is nearly unspeakable! Particularly after the Snuggie Lawyers (TM) get ahold of it!

Plagued by drafts? Chilled to the bone? Frozen out by business contacts, loved ones and fantasy objects alike? Just work it, using the patented technology and hawt couture of the WTF Blanket!

Yet another item that didn’t make the cut at the parenting blog, for obvious reasons. Well, actually it was the poor little doggie thing. No dog would wear that; they all have too much self-respect!

Oh, wait

Pity poor Cindy the Poodle