I’m serious here. Some misguided Midwestern bagel shop decided that nothing says “fun atmosphere” like baked goods reminiscent of a mummy’s ladyblossom.
So, how, exactly, would a bagel like a vagina be a good thing? How could a bagel be like a vagina?
Does it shoot out babies if you get it too close to Tom Brady?
At least now we know what Britney‘s abusing: the English language. I suppose that was on Fox, so I missed it.
Video over the jump, if you really need to see it. But you might want to take a gander just because the work she had done recently seems to have turned out rather better than her usual “just lipo and tan everything below the hairline” look.
Stolen from The Manolo, who got it from Hilary, who got it from This Hour Has 22 Minutes, here is a lovely CBC-production-values-worthy commercial for that superstar of the footwear fashion world, Dorcs!
And here’s what I have to say about that:
I know many a geek. I know many a nerd. I know many a wonk. I know many a D&D player. I even know a woman who makes her living making suits of ring mail.
But, thankfully, I do not know anyone who would wear these things publically. Do I??????
It’s astonishing the lengths to which people will go to justify their purchase and public wearing of these hideous plastic gnome-sandals.
“They’re fun!” leads one to speculate unkindly about how existentially bleak their lives must have become.
“They’re comfortable,” really means nothing but “I’ve given up trying and my spouse and I haven’t had sex in three years, but I’ve come to accept it.”
“They’re in now,” really just means “Everyone in my Dungeons and Dragons group is wearing them.”
“I wear them all the time,” followed by a raised eyebrow, hopefully begging puppy face means “The scene I will throw having a self-esteem meltdown is far, far more painful than simply swallowing your opinion and enabling me, so what’s it gonna be?”
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?
A still of this video was used (much to the subject’s apparent dismay) as the cover of the December, 2006 Vanity Fair. I think the difference between this and a typical cover shoot is pretty clear, and it’s really very surprising that Pitt didn’t reserve some rights as a condition of posing, but he didn’t and his agent let him pose anyway so I suppose he’s got no legal right to complain. I would, however, say he’s got a moral right to complain: is this on the cover because it’s a great piece of art, or because it’s Brad Fucking Pitt, in soaking wet tighty whities, holding a gun? At least there’s one aspect of this work that’s unambiguous: the commercialization. And I, of course, am adding the Brad Pitt tag to it, not the Robert Wilson one.
Still. Cool. I just wish there were a way that YouTube could display it as it was meant to be: as a continuous loop.
:: 
:: 
:: 
:: 
:: 
:: 
:: 
:: 
:: 
:: 
raincoaster 