Nothing says I loves y’all like a bouquet and a classic ballad, so here. Don’t say I never did nuthin’ for ya.
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Category Archives: music
The Valentines Day gift that keeps on giving: belly dancing lessons for men
Words.
Fail.
Me.
From the brilliantly twisted mind and elegantly restrained pen of that Bob Newhart of British politics, Jon Henley in The Guardian:
In possibly life-changing Valentine’s Day news, we are pleased to report that the many and varied attractions of Birmingham have just been enhanced by the addition of all-male belly-dancing classes. According to the Birmingham Mail, belly-dancing for blokes helps “trim porky stomachs, achieve ramrod straight backs and turn themselves into sex gods”, and while there are drawbacks – you have to wear a “tight top” so the teacher “can see your belly rolls” – we can, at this late juncture, think of few better ways to show her you really love her.
Donnie Davies confronts Joey Oglesby: what MTV doesn’t want you to see!
Headbutts by angry gay midget tag teams? HeteroFuel supplements? Ladies and gentlemen, this has gone too far.
Here is the raw video of Donnie Davies’ appearance on MTV and the confrontation with Joey Oglesby, the rumoured imposter. It includes shocking footage the network has tried to suppress.
At the time of this post, there had been only four views of this video; don’t let this go the way of God Hates a Fag. Paste it in your blogs, in your websites, play it in your iPods and on your campus television stations. UPDATE: Ooopsie, too late. UPDATED UPDATE: It’s back for the moment, and re-installed.
Watch this video of Todd Quillen defending himself against charges he’s Donnie Davies instead:
and this video investigation by some Web mythbusters, which includes the shocking footage of Joey Oglesby from the video which has been removed.
And for those of you who say I’m taking this too seriously, you need to back off; I was born this way, I can’t help myself sometimes.
We all just need to back up Donnie Davies and lend him a hand.
“Fruity!“
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cash for cadavers, the dead celebrity lottery!
Cash for Cadavers (Oh, how I wish I’d known about them last week, I coulda made a fortune!) is a uniquely morbid, cynical, and celebrity-obssessed betting system.
So it’s got ME written all over it!
This is the way it works, and yes, it is real.
Each team chips in twenty dollars and picks twenty celebrities they believe will die in the upcoming year. Each celebrity is assigned a point value based solely on how many teams picked that specific person. For instance, everyone seems to feel that The Pope‘s number is up, so his point value is very low. People die, points are accumulated, and the lucky schmo with the most points at the end of the year wins the jackpot.
Points are only awarded to bona fide celebrities. For the sake of this game, celebrity status is determined by North American, non-categorically-specific media source. The Associated Press, for instance, runs a national obituary page every day. USA Today, New York Times, CNN, etc. We emphasize that it must be a general news source; if your celebrity’s death appears in Field & Stream but nowhere else, he or she is not a celebrity.
Short, nasty and brutish. I love it! The team names are marvelous: My Death in a Box, Please Sir I Want Some Muerte, Tuesday is Rib Nite At Pete’s Crematorium, Croakin’ 2: Electric Deathaloo, Christopher’s Reeve’s Dancecard, and the delightfully obscure Waiting for Bengt Ekerot. Note that their definition of “Celebrity” is quite strict, and is, in fact, the most detailed part of the website. Well, it’s such a competitive field!
BART THE BEAR CLAWS: (Claws? Clause? Har har.) Animals can be played on Cash4Cadavers assuming that they meet the criteria for “celebrity.” Specific, named animals (like Morris the Cat or Bart the Bear) only; none of that “world’s oldest tortoise” crap. If you want to play the world’s oldest tortoise you’ll tell us its name, Poindexter.
No word on whether stage names are enough to specify a celebustiff, nor any specifics about cases where the soul may have left the body but for whatever cruel and sadistic reason, the Devil hasn’t taken out the trash yet: I would call this the Kissinger Caveat.
Want to see how your picks are doing? Check the Deaths page: I only recognize Art Buschwald, Anna Nicole (the floater is hilarious! See also Paddy Mitchell, eh) and Barbaro. Hey, what’s Arianna Huffington doing in there twice?
I note with interest that it does not actually seem to be against the rules to kill the celebrities yourself.
What? WHAT? I’m just making note of the fine print is all…
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quote o’ the day: but what about Newfoundland?
When it’s three o’clock in New York,
it’s still 1938 in London.
Bette Midler
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raincoaster 