Well, I get a fair few from people who want me to check out their websites for All Best Ambien Viagra Love Pillz. But I certainly don't get any like this one. From ElleGirl, of all places, via Gawker. Apparently, while the envelope is on the letterhead of a hospital (let me guess what kind of wards they have…) the return address is an Alaskan homeless shelter called the Glory Hole.
Of course it is. Isn't this where Don Simpson came from?
Behold, the chart which means more to me than an ECG, more than a roundel of feed stats, more than a breakdown of paycheque deductions (I think that's what it's called…paycheque… so hard to remember).
The Blog Hits Chart:
Should I worry that the original size of this chart was 1040x666? Naaaaaaaaaaah.
In unrelated news, a friend of mine set me an intriguing test a couple of years ago. Can you name the seven deadly sins, WITHOUT consulting so much as your cat, much less Google or an actual Bible? Bet you can't, and I bet I know the one you leave off…everyone does. But not as completely or as well as I do.
Where was I? Ah yes, blog stats.
I have to say, when I went to bed last night things were looking good. I had already hit my "feel smug" baseline, which is 200. Now, you readers and I know quite well that if it weren't for a certain pair of nesting bald eagles and another pair of nesting bald eagles and my tendency to post the URL of relevant blog passages on the Guardian newsblogs (which are otherwise starved both of relevance and passagity, or is that passagassity?) I'd never see 200 hits in a day even if I caught Stephen Harper eating a baby on YouTube and you and I both know he's too smart for that: he has them brought to him pureed, in smoothies. Well, he must; he's never been photographed eating a baby, but who can tell what's in those cups eh? EH? Answer me that, me lad!
Where was I? Oh yeah, smug.
And when I got to the compy in the late PM, just before the statcounter clicked over from Today to Tomorrow, I was dumbfounded, for lo, I had done almost double the hits of my previous best day ever.
All because of bald eagles, ball-chasing Boris, and Beautiful Agonies.
And I, consumed in the glow of the ascendant short-tailer or is that bodian as opposed to long-tailer, clicked away for a moment, beaming with the irreproducable joy of having seen that graph approach the very top of the box.
FOOL THAT I WAS! FOOL, I SAY!
For lo, when I clicked back WordPress had analyzed the hit trend and decided to bump me back to the bottom of the graph; they have put the top bar at Eight Fucking Hundred and Ten Goddam Hits!
You know, in Fisherman's Wharf there are barrels and barrels of crabs and the fishmongers don't put any lids on them; they don't need to. When a crab makes a break for it and tries to crawl out, the others reach out and pull him back to the bottom.
Not that I'm bitter. Continue reading
image heartlessly stolen from Guido
A story has come out that could mean a big change for Boris Johnson, Tory MP for Henley and Shadow Minister for Higher Jinks. In fact, the truth is incredibly dirty. If this gets out, it could be the end of his career. But he'll do all right; from all reports, the man really knows how to use his head. Using the skills taught me by the inimitable (perhaps) Mirror, I have pieced together parts of a stunning whole. Below are actual quotes from Johnson himself, a pseudonymous poster on his blog, and some excerpts from an article on the whole sorry affair in the Telegraph.
— —– was chanting "We want Boris" as he limbered up, waving his arms like a slightly rusty blond helicopter. The cheers grew and the cry of "Boris, Boris" became irresistible.
"I haven't p—-d since I was 18."
On he bounced, to raucous celebration.
The sight of the mop-haired MP for Henley's head powering into ——————'s groin brought a roar…
After…Boris, lager in hand, said: "I was going for the ball with my head, which I understand is a legitimate move."
"I felt an enormous sense of achievement every time I actually touched the ball."
He insists that his m———s are in good working order but his chances of getting the call from Carole Caplin are slim.
"That was a lot of fun," said Boris. "I rather fancy doing it all over again. Do you think they will let me?"
Online sources tell raincoaster chances are good. One remark from a grateful fan:
your tackle last night made my life…Thanks Boris!!
This was followed quickly by fears of tabloid coverage:
Oh lord, I'm inadvertently giving the News of the World about all they need for a Bozza cover story.
I'll be more careful when analysing Johnson's tackle in future.
So perhaps his career as MP for Henley and Shadow Minister for Higher Jinks is over, but could this be the start of a new one? Say, Minister of State for Health Services?
Read on for a lovely shot of Johnson's tackle. Continue reading
Yep, as Sploid reports, Jesus does indeed love porn stars. 
And now, they can love him right back. And no, we're not talking about a "creative re-enactment" of passages from the Book of Matthew, you kilt-liftin', mango-slimin', spay cam porn-watchin' perv!
"spay cam porn"????? I ask you!
After another Bible publisher backed out, NavPress had agreed to publish a New Testament paraphrase on behalf of XXXchurch.com, an anti-porn ministry.
The books, whose covers will read "Jesus Loves Porn Stars," will be distributed at porn-industry conventions later this year.
Well it's high time is what I say! Everyone knows that porn stars are entirely dedicated to the pursuit of biblical knowledge, if only of each other.
Now, in addition to gaining access to the words of God, it appears that they will also be allowed access to the words of Shakespeare, whom at least a few elderly, pipe-smoking, elbow-patched professors still believe is god. It's a little like a cargo cult, but with sherry instead of coconut rum.
NEW YORK (Reuters) – A new television reality show invites porn stars to test their serious acting abilities in London's theater district, raising the question: Debbie can do Dallas, but can she take on Chekhov's "The Cherry Orchard?"
Well wasn't it Chekhov who said that if there's a gun on the wall in the first act, it must go off before the close of the third? Indeed, that's a principle that porn has taken to heart (and several other organs) far more than conventional theatre and cinema. "The money shot" indeed.
And while we wish said actresses all the luck in the world making this transition, it must be said that the material is ahead of them. Not Shakespeare: as far as I know he never even wrote a satyricon, much less a straight-up porn. Or even an at-an-awkward-angle one. But that classic of cheerleading cinema, Debbie Does Dallas has been denatured and played off-Broadway last year. And check out some cast bios. Things have cum full circle jerk.
Susan L. Schwartz (Debbie) Susan has been
preparing to play Debbie her whole life, beginning with her starring role as Molly Pitcher in her childhood performance of the WOMEN OF THE REVOLUTIONARY WAR. As a member of the Footlights while studying at Cambridge University, after two summers at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, and while studying at the National Theatre in London, everything was leading up to this moment.
Tonya Canada (Roberta) NYC credits include: THE CHERRY ORCHARD
I wonder if either of them were in Godspell? In any case, we can be sure that the complete story will be told in one of the Guardian's blogs.
Okay, so maybe money can't buy you love. But, as any moderately successful capitalist in the world can tell you, it sure can rent it!
China's getting the hang of this capitalism thing, and no wonder: they pretty much invented it. Restaurants? Invented them. Money? Yup, invented it, including the paper it was printed on. And throughout much of Asia, when you hear about violence against the prosperous middle class, it's pretty much indistinguishable from violence against the Chinese, who form the bulk of the merchant class throughout the region. Is this racism, or revolution?
Sometimes the protest can be very subtle indeed. This week the dreadfully-named Guardian arts blog Culture Vulture features really very good reporter Jonathan Watts at Beijing's Dashanzi International Art Fair. You won't find any bombastic revolutionary types there; they were rounded up a few weeks ago and, frankly, carted off to the void. But you can still see social criticism of a more restrained nature.
Cash is used for political ends by veteran artist, Huang's Rui, whose "Chairman Mao 10,000rmb" spells out Cultural Revolution slogans with banknotes. The same material is exploited by young artist Wang Sishun, who has cut and folded a giant 100rmb note into the shape of a vagina. "Before you couldn't buy anything in China. Money was useless," he explains. "But now it can buy anything, even sex."
It's charming and, I suppose, heartening that we live in a world where there are people who still find that noteworthy. So to speak.
raincoaster 