It’s not a tumah …

For the most part, I believe that plastic surgery and all sub-categories of it are a good thing. It helps people with jack shit for self-esteem feel better about themselves by correcting hook noses, weak chin issues, sagging earlobes and boobage, and facial lines as deep as the Grand Canyon. Of course, plastica is used for good, like when someone was maimed or scarred in some horrible manner. But this is not the case here.

Sometimes I wonder which image I would prefer staring at: A plate of rotting meat mixed with maggots, feathers, rotting eggs, or someone sitting across from me with a sutured visage complete with pus and yuck oozing out of it.

Hmm .. I’ll take the meat please

Of course, plastic surgery is rife with those who abuse it.

(courtesy cdn.sheknows.com/)

 

 

(courtesy of thumpandwhip.com)

I could write a book called Dull Knife: Profiles in Bad Plastic Surgery, but nah. Not into it. Anyway, you get the idea.

Now, we’ve got a bunch of nimrods who are into shooting buckets of saline into their foreheads, then pressing a thumb in the middle of the bulbous splotch to add a little more drama. No, not to eliminate lines, but to look as if they have a bagel IN THEIR FOREHEAD. I mean, when I first saw this new look, all I could think of was Rocky Whathisname from “Mask.” Or Joseph/John Merrick.

Now, if I were to do this, I’d add a big eye to the ‘hole’ and cover up my real eyes, then  act like a cyclops. It would give me something to do.

Someone please essplain to me why this is necessary because I’m at a loss.

A little of this, a little of that …

After a night filled with crappy sleep, I woke up to this on the tee vee:

.. and now I worship all things Morey Amsterdam.

(courtesy of the latimes.com)

He’ll be my soul mate in the next life.

G’head and laugh, but you’ll be so jealous. Just watch and learn.

I imagine that writing a sitcom in this day and age doesn’t resemble anything like this image …

(courtesy timfowlar.com)

First, the writers are too old, and aren’t sporting the appropriate attire. Depending on the show, there’s probably more booze, hooch, porn, chocolate, juicing supplies and Larry Gelbart’s biography strewn about. Or Seth McFarlane’s. Or Tyler Perry’s. Not enough ironic facial hair either and there isn’t a MacBook Pro or iPad in sight because you know, you can’t write anything without either one of those tools. Fuck ideas, the tools will make you a great writer. Pffft.

Yesterday, I had a job interview for part-time, fill-in holiday work and believe it could go either way. In all honesty, I wasn’t looking forward to it because if you’ve been paying attention at all during the past year, “luck” and “job search” are two concepts that hate each other in my world. To quote Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer, those two ideas “frighten and confuse me”, so I don’t know how to react when confronted by either one. Sometimes I’m struck dumb when these two phenomena meet, and I just end up staring at a light switch for hours on end. What’s real sad is when I applaud said light switch–I can be heard yelling out “bravo” and tears can be seen streaming down my face in appreciation.

No video of this occurrence exists so don’t ask.

Imagine, if you will, not ever having to get up in the middle of the night to pee. Sweet Jesus, isn’t that an incredible thought? We’ve all peed during our slumber with gross results, right? But imagine if you could actually sleep n’ pee without the unpleasantness associated with it upon waking up in the morning?

Fortunately, the Japanese have once again invented something to help us be even more lazy. It’s a toilet and a bidet all rolled into one exciting sleep aid.

(courtesy of France24.com)

(courtesy of giantrobot.com)

I love how the Japanese get how fucking lazy we Americans really are. I wish we could admit to it, but we’re all too busy telling the rest of the world how fucking appreciative they should be of us and our obnoxious, holier-than-thou ways.

Of course, this invention has other uses than to help lazy sots, it can be used for those who are elderly and bed-ridden for whatever reason.

And to answer your next question, I’ve already ordered one for me and each of my friends.

The Daily Retro

Hmmm… what is it about this book that makes it creepy by today’s standards?

1) That Cheryl Tiegs was once a shill for some sort of NAMBLA-esque how-to book?

2) That this book is better than the Bible?

3) That I actually owned a copy of this book once upon a time?

4) That Ellen Peck was either a big, giant perv OR a cougar waaay before it was cool?

5) That when I look at this image, “Seasons in the Sun” by Terry Jacks pollutes my internal safe place, and I … can’t … make …. it …. stop?

6) That the word “groovy” will never go out of style, ever?

7) That looking at this book again has caused me to order every flavor/scent of the old-school Bonnie Bell Lip Smackers and Tickle Deodorant just now?

8) That I actually owned a copy of this book once upon a time?

Discuss.

Life’s 47% Pageant

Last night, I dreamed that this was me in my new, seizure-inducing living room.

(courtesy of worldofwonder.net)

Hey, it’s a huge improvement over the dreams I usually have where this character makes an appearance in one form or another:

(courtesy of wikipedia)

I know. Ouch. Somedays I’m Saturn, other days I’m his son. Either is a bummer no matter what.

This week marks yet another unpropitious anniversary–20 months of unemployment. Or, to reiterate what I said to my friend Braulio recently, it’s been a fucking weird year.

Meh.

I could bitch and moan about it, but what’s the point? I’ve got some freelance work that’s keeping me one step ahead of the law so mankind is safe for the time being. Plus, it’s much more fun to provide witty, acerbic yet caustic commentary on what’s been happening in the world lately. As we all know, there’s a plethora o’ material.

In. His. Wet. Dreams. Herman Cain is the gift that keeps on giving–kinda like herpes and his GOP brethren. When he says stuff like: “Stupid people are ruining America, and we’ve got to take it back” you know it’s time for him to return to making shitty pizza and leave the tough stuff like maintaining control of all four limbs and making actual decisions about big important things — like how to solve this country’s problems — to those who have a titch more experience in such matters. Knowing which type of pizza sauce is tastier, makes you an expert in, well, nothing.

Folks, Russia’s latest export is a super hot-model. Yep. I know. Yawn.

Let’s try this again.

Folks, Russia’s latest export is a super-hot model is a DUDE who looks like a CHICK.

Meet Stanyslas Fedyanin. He’s prettier than everyone ever. Kudos on mastering tucking your sack back.

(courtesy buzzap.jp)

And we’re back to Russia, or in this case, the Ukraine. They’re all the same to me. Anyway, that part of the world births some of the oddest shit.

Anastasiya Shpagina is no exception. Apparently, living a real life isn’t enough so she’s now an anime person or character or whatever fanboys call them. I don’t really know what that is either. Maybe the videos below will provide some sort of explanation.

FYI: Dziga Vertov would be disgusted by the horrible camera angles.

Hope this helps tame your latent-girls-dressed-as-anime-characters-fantasy, pervs. If these examples didn’t take away the schwing you’re feeling in your nether regions, you can always get some broad to dress up like an anime character–money is always a good enticement. This vid will show you both how! Just keep the volume at a reasonable level because we all know how well sound travels up from your mom’s basement. You wouldn’t want to interrupt her canasta tourney.

Wanking Roger.

Gentlemen, when you’re too lazy to give ye olde pud a wank, there’s this.

Sigh.

If you use it, I wouldn’t go about all willy nilly bragging about it. Masturbation is one of the few great rights we have left and if you’re not up for it, I’d keep it to yourself.

“Get in the ring”

It’s no secret that I follow politics. Why do I torture myself you ask? Oh, because I’m an emotional cutter.

But, seriously, I follow politics because I love studying human behavior– especially the magic knickers, Kenyan birth certificates, dressage horses, videos from 1998 that have nothing to do with nothing, et al. It’s all fascinating to me.

Each presidential election cycle is more whacked-out than the previous one, and as we draw closer to Election Day, I find myself saying on an almost hourly basis “Well, just when I thought it couldn’t get any whackier, ______ happens.”

In this particular case, ______ is our favorite pearl clutcher, Ann Romney. Take a listen to the clip below from an interview Mrs. Romney gave to an Iowa radio station yesterday. The fun starts about 1:23 in.

http://www.radioiowa.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/AnnRomneyInterview.mp3

So, this got me thinking (I know, there I go, working without tools again)….Hmmm…

Sure, I can go into the usual talking points about how her husband is basically a spineless chump who is shaking his campaign Etch-A-Sketch on a daily basis, or how he’s pandering to a particularly dangerous segment of his base who believes that Obama wasn’t born here, but that’s just too easy. Plus, it’s been done.

Instead, I’ve decided to have some fun with “Stop it. This is hard” and Mr. Romney’s recent 47 percent gaffe. You’ll see and please, feel free to join in on the fun.

“Stop it. This is hard. Sometimes I have to drive one of my many Cadillacs through neighborhoods inhabited by 47 percenters in order to get to one of my mansions. I don’t like white-knuckling it.”

“Stop it. This is hard. I had a horse in the Olympics and it was so difficult making sure he had the correct hoof polish.”

“Stop it. This is hard. I didn’t know what to do with the tax write-off Rafalca  awarded us, so I bought some fur-lined mom jeans for Mitt.”

“Stop it. This is hard. You try having conversations with some of your husband’s 47 percenter campaign staffers! I LOATHE talking to serfs!”

“Stop it. This is hard. I have to pretend I like people who aren’t exactly like me.”

“Stop it. This is hard. We had to sell stock to get to this place.”

“Stop it. This is hard. You try being married to a man who doesn’t know his ass from his elbow.”

“Stop it. This is hard. You know how difficult it is to get John Boehner to cry about someone he doesn’t give a red rat’s ass about?”

“Stop it. This is hard. Why didn’t those bitches at the RNC 2012 believe my insincere “I love you” during my duller-than-paste speech?”

“Stop it. This is hard. I just learned that some LGBT folks have families. They’re ruining my America.”

If I had a nickel for every time the Romneys said something stupid, I’d be in their tax bracket.

Aaaand SCENE.

Major League Pantomime

I was alerted about this vidya earlier today by one of my sisters, and it still makes me cackle like a scary old broad who’s watching her mangy, rabid dog chase the neighborhood chirrun out of her damn yard.

This happened at a recent Chicago Cubs/Pittsburgh Pirates night game at Wrigley Field.

One caveat here — I am not a baseball fan. It’s not something I follow, but I will go to a game from time to time if the ticket is free and I’m plied with enough alcohol. Kidding about the alcohol part. Ok, ok …I’ll go if there’s an unlimited supply of ballpark hotdogs and Coolie Coos (or whatever they’re called) waiting for me at the park.

I do know this much about baseball: The Cubs blow donk and Wrigley Field is the world’s largest beer garden–but probably with more piss and puke strewn about, and guys with up-turned collars on their polo shirts and backwards baseball caps. Ew.

Plus, I used to live near Wrigley, and I grew weary of Cub fans from Schaumburg sullying my neighborhood with their shitty beer vomit and Schaumburgian ways. And the post-game puke on my car always killed my sunny disposition, and that memory is still knocking around the obsidian-like part of my soul.

However, this performance may restore my faith in America’s Game or whatever it’s called.

 

Revenge Roman Style

History is one of my favorite subjects and since I was raised in the public school system, my knowledge of US history is strong while my knowledge of world history ain’t that great. Fortunately, studying history is in my blood — my father is a history buff and I am now embracing that “inheritance” full-on.

Then there’s my pal, Tom Sito. I worked with him at Disney Feature animation years ago, and we got along right away because of our quick wits and fondness for trivia and history. Sito sends out a daily history email, which I’ve been getting for about 15 years now and not only is it informative, it’s a HOOT.

One of the today’s entries is no exception.

96 A.D. ROMAN EMPEROR DOMITIAN ASSASSINATED.

Domitian was a crazy tyrant in the mold of Nero and Caligula. He once ordered all the fortunetellers, sorcerers, swamis and such driven out of Rome. Their guild got together and retaliated by doing a group prediction of Domitian’s assassination: Sept. 18th on the eleventh hour.

Domitian pretended not to care but on the day spent all day locked indoors with a sword under his pillow. He didn’t come out until his slaves and butlers assured him the eleventh hour had passed. Domitian came out and was promptly murdered by his slaves and butlers. They lied. It was the eleventh hour. 

BUT WAIT! IT GETS WEIRDER … A Roman mob drags Domitian’s body through the streets on a hook and chain. They tried to stuff him into the sewer but he was too fat, so they tore the body to pieces and threw the chunks into the Tiber.

BUT WAIT! IT GETS EVEN WEIRDER!! The Roman Senate told his wife the Empress Valeria no hard feelings, if she needed anything…. She requested to be allowed to keep one statue of her husband in the Forum. The Senate approved. Unbeknown to them fishermen had fished out the pieces of Domitian. Valeria took the fish-knawed chunks to an Egyptian doctor and had him sew them back into something resembling a man. Then she told her artists to make a statue of the cadaver. This horrid statue she put in the forum to remind Roman’s of ‘their ingratitude’.

See? I fucking love this stuff. He was chopped up, tossed into the Tiber, then scooped out again by a grieving but pissed off Empress, and sewn together then put on display for all of Rome to feast their eyes upon. Back then, it seems the Romans had it all over the rest of civilization when it came to enacting revenge on those who have wronged them. Today, folks do shit like make films that they know will incite riots and the rest of the world watches in horror as revenge is delivered fast and harsh. Quite cowardly, in my humble opinion.

Kinda makes me wonder what living during the time of the Roman Empire was really like.