Oh Miranda

Until a couple days ago, I thought Miranda Sings was real. I'd only seen a couple of her videos, and I felt bad laughing at them. I just thought she was slightly autistic with a touch of palsy. I finally looked her up and found out it's just a character. Yay, now I can laugh. If you watch her older videos, you can see when she hasn't quite nailed down her look that she's so so pretty. And then you watch more and she talk about haters this and that and dating celebrities and whatnot. I guess I would have figured it out after a while, but there are some bitches making serious videos out there that are insanely laughable. But this is the first video I saw of her; and taking it as serious, I got a little uncomfortable and thought Mr. Rainbow was a douche:

Just Because

Snizteresting

Well this is interesting. I just noticed that Blogger has a feature that tracks my blog's stats. Things like traffic sources, audience, and all-time posts. I don't think it's been around for very long since it lists only a fraction of the hits I know this website has had.

It would seem that a lot of my traffic is a mistake. My post with the most views is What Is A Hybrid Snatch? And other twat-themed posts are in the top ten. I'd say fine, that makes sense, I talk about ladyparts a lot. But based on traffic sources, it seems like straight guys are googling dirty things which lead to my site. Here's a list:


pussy type hybrid 186


pussy type: hybrid 105


hybrid pussy type 75


fuck you 56


adrien brody 51


fuck women 20


pussy types hybrid 15


fat fuck 13


gay fucking 11


pussytype hybrid 9

Oh well. Maybe along the way, some of those guys took a break between beating off to actually read a little bit and enjoy.

Totaly Disappointing

Until today I haven't owned a legit copy of one of my favorite movies. I was excited to find it in the mail today, but a little dismayed at the tagline on the cover. Please tell me it's not an accident.

Robyn's Björk Tribute

I have to start by saying no one can cover Björk well. It's impossible. Her crazy voice and the demons in her head make it so. I've heard a whole album of covers, and they all sucked donkey dick. The only other one I've enjoyed is "All Is Full of Love" by Death Cab for Cutie. And that's probably because the original is one of my favorite songs. Robyn's version here is. . . passable. She has a good voice, but of course it is nothing compared to Björk's psychotic elf version. That being said, I have a few comments:

a)Robyn, honey, I love you, girl, but get yourself some toothpaste.
b)I love how Björk looks absolutely UNBOTHERED (and for good reason).
c)I can't decide if Robyn's outfit is atrocious, fantastic, or both.

Books Are For Fat Girls and Ugly People

That's why my best friend says anyway. I disagree. Reading is fun! Right? I read a lot, and I have some good recommendations for you. I'll dedicate this post to just one book though.

I tore through James St. James' Disco Bloodbath in a few days. I had already seen the movie based on it starring Macauley Culkin and Seth Green: Party Monster. Oh you've seen it? Crazy goodness, right? It's all about the wild New York club scene from the late 80s to early 90s. And murder. Delicious murder. I always enjoyed the movie, but the book just did me in. It. Was. Fantastic. I don't think I've ever been so entertained by a book. It's not that it was so laugh-out-loud funny, it was just crafted so well. I read it on the iPad and made good use of the highlight function. I must have highlighted a total of 3 pages of text. I need to get to work memorizing it. I thought it might be fun to share with you the best of the highlighted portions. The euphemisms and dragtalk will spin your head, so pay attention. The first is a great quote from Party Monster the movie that I just had to include:

"It doesn't matter what you look like. I mean, if you have a hunchback, just throw a little glitter on it, honey. Go dancing."


Another time, Musto and I were posed in our corner of the Palladium bathroom with our force fields UP. We were saying deply superficial things to each other, and looking very soigné doing so. Nobody would have dared to approach us. We were that good.

"Oops! Anal Leakage! Gotta go!"

"Sometimes I kidnap leettle children and SET THEM ON FIRE!"

Futuristic Geisha Gangsters (what a fantastic look! oh this is me writing, not JSJ)

Just your average, typical trailer-park trannie from Austin, Texas.

Ida stripped naked and pulled a full string of LIT CHRISTMAS BULBS, one at a time, out of her ass.

It wasn't all sequins and cocktails, kids.

Speaking from experience, there are people who have too much space between their ears, and given the time, do nothing but free fall forever inside their heads.

So let it be noted. So let it be done.

There was a spirited debate over who it would be more fun to fuck: Macauley Culkin or Emmanuel Lewis.

Everybody enjoys a good overdose.

Gone the way of Stacy Q and men in pearls.

"I know. Apparently Valerie Harper got all the different ways to tie them from her personal secretary. My favorite is the turban style with the big ball in front. Makes my nose look smaller."

For almost nine months in 1990, I wore a bloody wedding own and glued flies to my face. Some say I was a bit touched that year, and to be sure, there was a slightly unbalanced look about me then. I just like to think I was being fashion forward.

But, I will gladly pay you Tuesday for a bag of cocaine today.

"Let him have his moment."

"Gurgle snerf."

Drug addicts are funny that way. Just spinning around, lost in their own little world. Doing so much, accomplishing so little.

When it's right, you can feel it from the tip of your heel to the top of your wig.

Hmmm. . . yes. . . why, by cracky! I think she's right.

I only weighed about twenty-seven pounds. . . but those were SOME TWENTY-SEVEN POUNDS, I tell you! Each and every one of them STYLISH TO A FAULT! TWENTY-SEVEN pounds of fabulosity!

This was without a doubt the lowest, saddest moment of my life. Friendless in Poughkeepsie. Dancing alone on bloody stumps. At least I looked amazing. I'll give me that much.

"He looks just like Brooke Shields in Pretty Baby." And he did. A sexy little baby.

She picked up the plate of glass from the glass-top table and held it high over her head (where she got the strength and the balance to do it, I'll never know) but she stood there, for about ten or fifteen minutes (or so it seemed at the time), with the glass gleaming wickedly in her eye and that terrifying expressions on her ugly old mug of pure lesbian rage unbound.

Michael began having crack seizures. Just for the attention, I was convinced of that. Always at the MOST INAPPROPRIATE TIMES.

For better or worse, we were all family by this stage of the game, and like all families we were capable of monstrous acts of cruelty to each other.

(I guess this a quote from Stanislaw Lee): "I give you bitter pills, in a sugar coating. The pills are harmless--the poison's in the sugar."

But before the cutrain falls, let me leave you with one question--ponder it as the events unfold, then riddle me this:
If one day, Mother Teresa was out weed whacking and accidentally chopped off Hitler's head--WOULD THAT NECESSARILY BE SUCH A BAD THING?
I mean. . . if a person commits a crime, and no one cares--can we all just adjust our lip liner?

If letters had eyebrows, these would be arched.

Evil must be baked at 650 degrees.

LET'S TALK ILL OF THE DEAD, SHALL WE?

Funny, that no matter where you are in the world, there's always someone eager to help you destroy yourself.

I mean, who blessed this unholy union of tack and greed, anyway?

Why, oh why, must we always go through pigs to get our truffles?

And when I looked in the mirror for comfort? Why there was some strange leathery old faggot staring back at me with yellow, rheumy eyes.

Prunella Turkeyneck!

I kick a palm frond from my path, then reflect how nicely it would look rising out of my wig--did I have a couple dozen bobby pins tucked into my clutch?

Squirtle, I Choose You!

I found this adorable little creature in the parking lot at work. At first I thought it was dead. It wouldn't be the first time I found a random dead animal in the parking lot. But after a moment, it slowly moved its little head. Maybe Parking Lot Squirtle defeated the Parking Lot Lobster that I saw back in April. Squirtle was just sitting on the black top, and I didn't know if I should do something with it. It reminded me however of an incident from a couple weeks ago.



It was a hot, sunny day and I encountered a worm on the sidewalk. I was convinced there was no way it would survive on the hot pavement, so I felt terrible and planned to move it to some moist earth. But then a thought struck me: how fucking arrogant of me! Who did I think I was? I was prepared with good intentions to move this worm to what I thought would be a better life. But really I didn't know what was best for it. Maybe it was on the way to see its little worm babies. Or perhaps it was "meeting the sun," giving up on its life. Who was I to get in the way of his plans? So I let the worm be.

I put the turtle back where I found it, said good luck, and went to wash my hands. No salmonella for me, thank you! I hope it's okay. Part of me wanted to go back and bring him home. But again, I thought of the worm and stayed put. Maybe next time I'll snatch that shit up in a pokéball.

Awwww

Sea otters hold paws so they don't drift apart. TOO FUCKING CUTE. I found this adorable tidbit because I was looking for more information on otters. Not real otters, mind you. The gay slang. Are you familiar with bears? Well otters are the sexy version: lean, hairy gay guys. I like that.

Living Nightmares

Well, I know what will be haunting my dreams tonight:

Ready for Dick on Valentine's Day

Also from the best friend pile today comes a delightful paragraph about revenge. Earlier this year I had a date with a guy we'll call the Joker. I liked his smile, but the bff said he looked like the Joker. Old school giant grin Joker, not new school Heath Ledger jagged face. Nothing came of the date, and really I was just smitten because I was so attracted to him. He was a complete mess in every other aspect. I saw him last weekend, and he's not as cute as I thought he was. I generally like 'em skinny, but this bitch was a toothpick. He looked like Ethan Hawke with AIDS. Anyway, Brady asked me why I even thought I could date such a mess. I told him "I wanted to jizz all over his jokerface." This was his response:

You could still jizz on that fugly joker's face. We could lure him to an undisclosed location with promises of big cock and then get him naked, on his knees and blindfolded (ready for dick on Labor Day). Then BAM you pull off the blindfold and jizz right in his eye. Then he'll have to have an eye abortion to kill your baby.

EYE ABORTION. I love it. That phrase also works for when you wish to unsee something. Allow me to explain the hilarity that is being ready for dick. It comes from this fantastic video that I've shared before (that is worth watching at least once every day, as are all videos by this guy):




At about the 1:20 mark, Blanche says "giiiirls, ya'll ready to get dick on Valentine's Day?" So now we've worked that phrase into our everday lexicon. If I'm getting ready to go out and look cute, then I'm ready for dick on Valentine's Day. If I'm feeling snizzy and want to play with myself, I'm ready for dick on Valentine's Day. If I have a date and plan on making a move, I'm ready for dick on Valentine's Day. From there, the leap to other holidays was simple. Hence, ready for dick on Labor Day. You could also be ready for dick on Guy Fawkes Day, Boxing Day or Arbor Day.