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Thanks to the ever-resourceful and only seemingly-benevolent Colin in the WP forums, I now have a timely, sensitive, and highly effective method of payback the next time I’m stuck at a public computer beside some mouthbreathing, grunting microcephaloid. Or the next time you are!
Make sure the offending lower life form can see your monitor. Close your eyes in a moment of prayer, perhaps moving your lips slightly in an inaudible entreaty. Then sigh deeply, look heavenward, and hit this link:
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Definitely pic o’ the day quality, this image is a painting by Douglas Herring which I found via the Squidblog. Yes, it may have been painted ten years ago, but obviously it was lying dormant all this time, waiting until the stars aligned in the ancient pattern once again.
Look around you, people: can “Mercury’s in retrograde” explain all of this?
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Finally. After years of muddling around, pooping out gold records and platinum extensions, dropping babies and husbands in record time, Britney Spears finally has an epiphany.
“I’m a fake!”
Yes, dear.
A source told Britain’s News of the World newspaper: “She was crying and shouting, ‘I am the Antichrist!’ Then she started screaming, ‘I’m a fake!’
Of course, that source also told them that the staff at the rehab center was totally freaked out by the incident and suicide attempt, which I am absolutely 100% certain never, ever happens in a rehab, so naturally they were a bit befuddled.
In that very six-degrees way, I am connected to Britney. I know a guy whose (cousin? brother-in-law? sumpin’) had the job of driving her around town while she was here filming Crossroads. He said she was a just sweet, dumb Southern girl looking for a fun time who just happened to have millions of dollars and millions of fans. She’d hop in the van at the end of the day and ask, “So where do you want to go for dinner? Can we pick up your friends?” and they would, all twelve or fifteen of them, and Britney would always pay the tab. So all the nasty things one might say have to be mitigated by the fact that she really is just a decent kid at heart.
That said…
She’s not the world’s greatest actress, but you certainly can’t tell it from the press she’s been getting lately; they’ve swallowed her ridiculous script whole. This is not how people who are going insane actually act; this is how people who are acting insane but whose agent hasn’t been able to get them good material act.
Then again, perhaps it’s her PR who is the Oscar-worthy one, as she’s managed to convince the entire world that Britney has rented an entire wing at Promises when Promises, in fact, does not have any wings at all, not even vestigal ones. She should get at least a Saggie for getting them to swallow the whole “I am the Antichrist!” and suicide attempt, IMHO (btw, I’m so used to Web 2.0 nomenclature I originally spelled that “AntiChrist“; is the Antichrist Web 2.0? I think he’s more machine language, myself, but must look that up in Revelations).
But I love this:
“Justin was distressed to learn about the state Britney was in. Lynne was touched by the gesture but begged him not to go. He promised to hook up with her at a later date.”
(c) BANG Media International.
I’ll bet he did, BANG Media. I’ll just bet he did.
But probably not till she’s lost thirty pounds or so.
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Suffer the little children to keep away from this creepy, Pedophiterian light switch plate from Jesus of the Week.
Jesus looks entirely too happy to see them. What do you think he’s saying to them, anyway? I bet it’s in a husky whisper, too.
Do you think it’s nope, can’t do it. Strange: all I wanted to do was mildly twist a handful of the words from the Last Supper, but something in me won’t let me do it.
Maybe the Cartesian bet-hedger? My father always said he didn’t believe in God but that he, Dad, was agnostic, not athiest, and when you’d ask him why the apparent contradition, he’d happily tell you there was no point pissing off God and he, Dad, didn’t have any proof that He, God, didn’t exist, so why take the chance?
Quite sensible really, and I wonder how that’s been working out for him the past couple of years. Probably not that well: something tells me God likes those who bet to win.
Speaking of which, what are the odds they found the body of Jesus? And what I really wanna know is, have they found any suspects? I never trusted that Loki, myself.
And now, a few words from King Missile, the Los Angeles-based performance art phenomenon, on how cool Jesus was. How cool was Jesus?
Jesus Was Way Cool
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Lyrics over the jump Continue reading
raincoaster 