Pickle Surprise!

I’m feeling a little bit sour myself, as I cannot access my blog at the moment, although I appear to be the only blog on WordPress so affected. God knows it’s not the first time I’ve been accused of being affected!

Speaking of which, have a parade of pro-pickle pervs for your pleasure. Presenting Pickle Surprise!

Commentary

Directed and produced by Tom Rubnitz in 1989, “Pickle Surprise!”(1989) is a perfect example of the wickedly-whacked-world-view that those demented denizens at the Pyramid Club could conjure from the ether after just a few rounds of cocktails and a big ole spliff.

Sister Dimension stars as Grandpa Hoofpynpoiers (sp?);
RuPaul is still in pre-Supermodel phase since she is trying to to pass for a lady in one of her favorite off-the-rack Dress Barn ensembles – you still need to fix those teeth you skanky ho.
And my! golly gosh! Lady Bunny gives us only one chin to gawk at!
Supporting cast is David Dalrymple,Maria Ayala. and the ever-lasting piece of sex on a stick, Ms. Lahoma Van Zandt

Where’s the pickle? That’s the surprise!

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I’d like to thank the academy

Vintage Bollywood...where's our one-sheet?of drama at Miskatonic University for enabling me to produce the following Bestial Bollywood action drama. Truly, it is a remarkable and possibly unique cinematic achievement and a touchstone in the history of man/beast homosadomasochistic rasslin’. Best supporting enabler award goes to the Bombay TV Bollywood movie generator, and first runner-up is the Generator Blog.

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tag cloud nine

raincoaster's tag cloud is so way taggier than yours, yo!So there it is: the raincoaster tag cloud, which idea I got from Seismic Twitch who got the Cthulhu chandelier from me so that is what you call fair trade. Thanks to WordPress.com and their security restrictions it’s not dynamic, but at least it does exist and feature Cthulhu rather prominently, even though it appears to imply that God hates Helen Mirren, which even if it were true I would have no way of knowing, so call off the lawyers and the priests already!

When you cast your bread upon the waters, it often returns to you in strange and unusual forms, even if an thousandfold. I mean, who needs that much bread pudding? But after casting nearly two thousand blog posts upon the blog pond, the internet gave a great heave and tossed the following back at me:

the raincoaster game!
Jessica Coen says so!

I have my own game! Mother would be so proud!

In moderately unrelated news, Google has recently re-jiggered their jigs and re-mastered their masters and greased up the series of tubes known as the internet and as a result my Page Rank, which had been a solid and more than respectobiggle 6 back in the day, but which had plummeted to a juicy 0 after the domain change, has clambered back up to a moderately impressive 5, although there is still lost ground to be regained. Operation Global Media Domination has suffered setbacks before, but it can no more be killed than it can be exorcise: like antimatter, OGMD is inherent in the very nature of the universe and should it be eliminated by some unthinkable and unspeakable metaphysical conflict, the existence of existence itself would cease to be, the snake would swallow its own tail, and the world as we know it would vanish in a puff of hyacinth-scented fairy dust.

And nobody wants that to happen, do they?

Got credited “submitted by” on BoingBoing for submitting Helm’s Deep in Candy, which they and TORn picked up: did fuckall for my hits, actually, and Technorati is still steadfastly refusing to see the damn link. They hate me. Mutual, babes, mutual. But I still get up to twenty hits a day from my comments on the Helm’s Deep post: very strange, but I’ll take ’em!

BTW, I outTechnorati BoingBoing on a search for Helm’s Deep in Candy. *thrilled*

Also, the Guardian picked up my Fart Tax story, which I got from the Guardian, and named it “Best of the web” but of course I didn’t get a screenshot. D’oh! Going on the resume anyway. It is a strange kind of incestuousness indeed that makes the participants BOTH look good, but god knows I’m not proud. Arrogant, yes: proud, no.

Rev it up, baby! 

In extremely-related news, I found this delightful little metric on Blogpond. How could raincoaster here resist something called EgoSurfing? I ax ya. My results, which vary between 10,000 and 12,000, give me a ranking of “Common” which is surely the first and last time someone will be able to get away with calling me that; you can insult me, but only if you manage also to give the impression that I am original in my sordid vileness: is that too much to ask?

Recently I was whining about the effect of blog quietude on hits and a friend of mine expressed complete bafflement at my interest in the subject; more than this, he managed to imply that working for fame was invalid, whereas working for money was right and good. More on this some other time, but being, as I knew he was, of a quantifiable turn of mind, I simply looked at him and quietly said “During the time I’ve been visiting you I’ve gone up seven thousand, five hundred places on Technorati.”

Where is your 2% annual raise now?

And finally tonight, also in OGMD news, we present some of the top searches that have led people to the ol’ raincoaster blog. Let us give thanks to Donnie Davies, may he rest in peace, Helen Mirren‘s tits, and the immortal triad of Beautiful Agony, Beaver Shots, and Blackzilla.

Strangely, nobody wants to look at Doug‘s beaver shots. They much prefer Lori’s. Maybe I should host a sort of photographic carnival of beaver shots, an internet-wide challenge for the best beaver shots out there. But that would artificially game the hits, and that would be so, so very far beneath me.

Wouldn’t it?

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Helen Mirren topless: tardis companion hot

See? Totally tardis-worthyThe ever-classy Sun has provided us today with one of the true greats in the field of service journalism, an immortal story that will live long in infamy and on fansites…well, at least till this time next year.

They have dug up topless shots of all of the Oscar nominees for Best Supporting Actress, and what an eyefull it is, too. Defamer brought the story stateside, where I found and lifted it for your viewing pleasure. Naturally, let it not go unsaid that the Sun link is NOT SAFE FOR WORK, SCHOOL, REHAB, OR THE COMPUTER ON THE SEX OFFENDER WARD. And NEITHER IS THE FULL TOPLESS HELEN MIRREN PIC ON LOLEBRITY.

My favorite part of the whole thing is the headline “Mirren was GRIPPED by fear” just under her picture. Although it must be said that the dark horse winner is Dame Judi Dench, whose 100% natural A-list knockers easily lead the pack by a head or at least an erect nipple or pair of carefully-placed leaves.

DAME Judi gives an elegant performance as the appropriately named Titania in this unique 1968 interpretation of a Shakespeare classic.

The judges felt her sense of ironic joie de vivre, along with two of the best knockers in the business, made her a candidate we couldn’t ignore.

A real trip down Mammary Lane . . .

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I married a spy…and all I got was this lousy cottage in Essex

Works great on bloodstains...also gunpowder residueWell I, personally, didn’t marry a spy, although there’s still time (interested parties leave contact details in comments section, plz). No indeed, this is a piece from the Guardian, interviews with three wives of, all of whom are well past their “tempt the Russian delegation with your best meatballs, won’t you dear?” stage, and only some of whom have recovered. Fascinating reading, if only for the satisfaction of thinking to yourself Well, I’d at least have shot someone for fuck’s sake! Might as well stay in the playgroup, you lot of wankers.

Special bonus pointlessly salacious and juvenile tidbit: the interviewer’s name is Fanny.

In 1939, 18-year-old Betty Farmer was being wooed by a man who was not only good-looking and charismatic, but also, apparently, had a job “in the film business”. When he whisked her off for a few days holiday in Jersey, she was surprised by the two rather shady looking men who accompanied them, but kept her concerns to herself.

On their second day away, over Sunday lunch, with the sunshine dancing on the sea outside, Betty‘s paramour kissed her briefly, before hurling himself through a closed window and running down the beach, chased by the police. Betty had no choice but to rely on his repeated promise: “I shall go, but I shall always come back.”

With a lede like that, how can you not finish the piece?
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