heartlessly stolen from Pharyngula along with the title.
Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net
Category Archives: Weird
a lucrative sideline…
from the Archive
Lucrative. Outdoorsy. Bizarre. Potentially fatal. I tell you, this has me written all over it. I wonder if Crimestoppers pays by the bale or by the grow-op when you turn them in…
I’m just sayin’…one might run into such things from time to time on one’s travels. And one must think of the future. A future, perhaps, under an assumed name, but it certainly wouldn’t be the first nor for the last time for lil’ ol’ raincoaster here, as you can probably imagine.
Again, there exists the distinct possibility that the grow-ops, knowing on which side their bread was hemp-nut-spreadded, would pay one to keep such information to one’s self. And the fact that, should one take such money with every intention of turning them in anyway and should one thereafter actually do so, there would be, insofar as I can see, no law whatsoever that would compel one to give that money back. I mean, they can hardly claim under contract law for an illegal action: and I, I mean “one,” couldn’t be charged with blackmail if one never intended to keep the secret. One would, obviously, be guilty of lying to pot gangsters but while this is indeed stupid, I do not see that it is actually illegal. It’s not like they’re airline security monkeys.
How much…?
Donnie Davies performs God Hates a Fag: the infamous video
Yes doubters, it’s the real thing! Now that every single one of the Right Reverend Donnie Davies‘ websites has had the plug pulled on it, the entire Internet, apparently, experiencing the online equivalent of a Coyote Morning, the banned video is hotter than Helmand heroin.
Naturally from the very first we at the ol’ raincoaster blog have been on this like santorum on a rentboy. The video file was lovingly ripped at great pain and uncountable expense from a ripped copy of a ripped copy of a MySpace video which had been smuggled out of Celebrities in the bottom of a converted Boblbee, and God, who hates a fag by the way, only knows what the quality is like on this poor bugger. Sod’s law.
Yes, people, it is a joke. You may climb down from the ceiling now.
Latest UPDATE HERE: what MTV doesn’t want you to see!
Lyrics over the hump…I mean JUMP!
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Helen Mirren topless: tardis companion hot
The ever-classy Sun has provided us today with one of the true greats in the field of service journalism, an immortal story that will live long in infamy and on fansites…well, at least till this time next year.
They have dug up topless shots of all of the Oscar
My favorite part of the whole thing is the headline “Mirren was GRIPPED by fear” just under her picture. Although it must be said that the dark horse winner is Dame Judi Dench, whose 100% natural A-list knockers easily lead the pack by a head or at least an erect nipple or pair of carefully-placed leaves.
DAME Judi gives an elegant performance as the appropriately named Titania in this unique 1968 interpretation of a Shakespeare classic.
The judges felt her sense of ironic joie de vivre, along with two of the best knockers in the business, made her a candidate we couldn’t ignore.
A real trip down Mammary Lane . . .
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I married a spy…and all I got was this lousy cottage in Essex
Well I, personally, didn’t marry a spy, although there’s still time (interested parties leave contact details in comments section, plz). No indeed, this is a piece from the Guardian, interviews with three wives of, all of whom are well past their “tempt the Russian delegation with your best meatballs, won’t you dear?” stage, and only some of whom have recovered. Fascinating reading, if only for the satisfaction of thinking to yourself Well, I’d at least have shot someone for fuck’s sake! Might as well stay in the playgroup, you lot of wankers.
Special bonus pointlessly salacious and juvenile tidbit: the interviewer’s name is Fanny.
In 1939, 18-year-old Betty Farmer was being wooed by a man who was not only good-looking and charismatic, but also, apparently, had a job “in the film business”. When he whisked her off for a few days holiday in Jersey, she was surprised by the two rather shady looking men who accompanied them, but kept her concerns to herself.
On their second day away, over Sunday lunch, with the sunshine dancing on the sea outside, Betty‘s paramour kissed her briefly, before hurling himself through a closed window and running down the beach, chased by the police. Betty had no choice but to rely on his repeated promise: “I shall go, but I shall always come back.”
With a lede like that, how can you not finish the piece?
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Technorati me!
raincoaster 