from the WOW report, which I found by doing my daily slog in the salt mines, during which I admire my manicure and listen to loud music and eat snack foods and drink refreshing beverages and get paid to read gossip blogs.
It’s a brutal job, but somebody’s got to do it.
What smell? What are they talking about? I change my Underoos every day.
Honestly, some people.
I think, actually, this is what Cthulhu wears for a pedicure.
From the Manolo…I will not link you directly to the horrific, browser-destroying Chinese source site, because yea verily it is horrific, even unto the browser-destroyingness.
Come to think of it, I could get the effect of any of the three shoes featured just by walking around my neighborhood barefoot. The decaying zombie feet might take a couple of days to ripen properly, though.
uh, blog content.
Yesterday I unplugged for the entire day and read the only example of chick lit ever to fully engross me: the quite non-fictional Lindsay Moran‘s Blowing My Cover: My Life as a CIA Spy.
And it occurred to me: given that most women buy their own perfume, rather than leave it to some guy, why are there no perfumes that are marketed using the superhero archetype? Or the superagent one? I would totally buy something that made me feel like Supergirl or Emma Peel; in fact, that’s how I choose perfumes: by balancing alluring qualities with kickass ones, which is how I ended up with Chanel #19, Allure, and (in my dreams) Midnight Poison, DKNY Red, and Stella McCartney, all of which can be described as kickass yet fuckable.
Is it related that today I am wearing my cape? I should totally make an indoor cape, for blogging, just to put myself in the right mindset. Why should imaginary people have all the fun?
Seriously.
Also, it keeps the tentacles warm.
I have previously annointed Pat and Mick‘s YouTube masterpiece as the most Eighties music video of all time but, having now seen what you are about to see, I must reconsider. This has everything, including Giant Squid, a midnight zoo jailbreak, skydiving, a luau, flaming tiki torches, an octopus drummer, and a David Hasselhoff cameo. What more could you possibly want?
via metafilter
Alas, I have no way of knowing if it’s true. There are no testicles handy (sigh) except for all of these ones in jars, and they just sit there, they don’t dangle. Please do examine any testicles that come to hand and report back in the comments.
From Popbitch:
“Re last week’s mailout testicle story… The higher
of the two is always on the same side as which the
male writes with.” – fleetwood_smack
But…my god! What of the illiterates?!?!?!?!
raincoaster 