Ghost riding: SO 2007! The new hotness: Ghost Whipping.
I’m not sure where the whipping comes into things, as there are no apparent signs of ghost abuse in the video; perhaps it refers to what your underwear does under these conditions?
Raj can gloat all he wants about his pimped-out ride, but does he have a sun roof? Sun floor? Sun doors? Sun hood?
You know my sweet ride is crazy insane, going walking pace hee-yah in da BIKE LANE!
Lyrics over the jump. Continue reading
Hey, it’s summer and there’s a Gawker commenter meetup tomorrow and I have to get presentable and meet someone I’ve never seen before for drinks at Connor Butler in three hours and I still have to get this apartment ready for a houseguest or at least throw the sheets in the washing machine and take out the recycling so he doesn’t think I’m an alkie and make a post about my new blogging classes and I was supposed to get the press release out today but instead I had to wrestle with the damn computer for hours and restart upon restart and don’t even ASK about the Zune and besides, there’s a total buckpassing issue that I have to solve one way or another in the next 12 days not that you asked but have you heard anything? and don’t even ask about the personal life plus there’s an event going on tomorrow that I’m really looking forward to and was supposed to have all the sequins sewn on by today but I don’t but Irwin says the event doesn’t exist and I suppose an arts administrator would say if an event falls at Trout Lake but nobody administers it does it occur at all? but then I’m an anarchist, so what do you think I said, eh? Plus I’ve had two requests in the past 24 hours for a sandbagging tutorial (ie “I have a troll on my ass and I want to lay the smackdown on him; can you help?” Oh, baby, it’s what I DO!) which I totally would have done except:
A) why let the enemy read your battle plans and
B) computer problems (see above).
So I don’t know about you, but I need this. A mashup of Britney Spears’s Toxic and the B-52’s Love Shack:
I know, I’ve been heavy on the YouTubes lately (and even have a couple of Atenes up my sleeve) but I cannot NOT post this: my second-favorite Sesame Street character performing my third-favorite piece of music:
Everybody meep along!
They say it’s traditional.
So it must be all right, right?
Right?
from dissfunktional
This thing, it’s up there in the Octopus Sex Man Gets Off realm, only apparently it involves tens or even hundreds of thousands of Chinese women.
I don’t really know how to report this sickening story other than with the straight (or, rather, deeply twisted) facts, so here they are:
Feral donkey a ‘boost’ for women’s sex drive
* Top (End) donkeys sought for libido aids“They’re after a lot of donkey *****. As much as they can get their hands on,” Mr Fleming said.
NORTHERN Territory donkeys could soon be helping to increase the sex drive of Chinese women.
I guess even they‘ve completely given up on Chinese men.
Well, I’ve never been one to dip a toe in when I could plunge over the cliff taking an entire bus with me instead.
So…Facebook.
MistressCowfish suggested I start a group, because after Friending people, Grouping is teh hawtness on Facebook, which sounds to my elderly ears like a rave gotten completely out of control, but whatever.
I have Grouped.
If you’re on Facebook, you’ll find me at The Deadbeat Club (cue Metro‘s bitter humour…).
Inspired by glorious deadbeats throughout history such as the authors of Frugal Indulgents, Dorothy Parker, Oscar Wilde, Quentin Crisp, Vincent Van Gogh, and that guy … you know … that guy whose name I can’t remember, who destroyed his priceless collections and then killed himself rather than let the collection fall into Ceasar’s hands. See, if Boris would join the group he could tell us who that was.
Yes, surely in a Deadbeat Club there’s some room for rich, sore losers. Especially if they’re buying.
Ladies, Gentlemen, and the Undecided, please raise your glasses, mugs, or sippy cups to our anthem:
The Deadbeat Club by The B 52’s
I was good, I could talk A mile a minute, On this caffeine buzz I was on We were really hummin' We would talk every day for hours We belong to the deadbeat club Anyway we can, We're gonna find something We'll dance in the garden In torn sheets in the rain We're the deadbeat club We're the deadbeat club Going down to Allen's for A twenty-five cent beer And the jukebox playing real loud, "Ninety-six tears" We're wild girls walkin' down the street Wild girls and boys going out for a big time Let's go crash that party down In Normaltown tonight Then we'll go skinny-dippin' In the moonlight We're wild girls walkin' down the street Wild girls and boys going out for a big time Anyway we can We're gonna find something We'll dance in the garden In torn sheets in the rain Chorus Oh no! Here they come The members of the deadbeat club
raincoaster 