No, not really. I just needed to lure y’all into my post here by using tittehs as my hook. Works like a charm every time–especially if you’re into men with breastesses.
(courtesy manboobsguide.com NOT. KIDDING.)
Man boobs are very popular these days. I mean, I keep seeing stories about ‘em all over the place. Nothing can contain them it seems.
Apparently in the UK, men with squeeze boxes they wear on their chests don’t like wearing them no more. So, men are getting them taken down a cup size or two or three, and in 2011 roughly 790 of these surgeries were performed. This number has doubled in the past five years. In boring doctor terms, this condition is called gynaecomastia.
I guess men don’t like the nipple tenderness and the embarrassment the manly mams cause. Guess they don’t like having their tits stared at on an hourly basis EITHER. It’s like a mammary quid pro quo. I wish this surgery wasn’t an option for some men because then they’d have to deal with motor-boating jokes and nips that are allll about living the high-beam life.
Of course, now that men have boobs, modern medicine is jumping through worn out bras to figure out a way to help ‘em get rid of them.
Huh. Most men spend their whole lives wanting to fondle the goods, but once the good lord has blessed them with a pair of their own, they no likey the jumblies so much anymore.
Have a piece of irony pie.
I have a rule I follow, wanna hear it? Sure you do: Never date a man whose boobs are bigger than yours. It’s just smart living.
I hate chocolate now. (courtesy of Huffington Post)
Some person who hates babies and grown-ups, felt they were necessary for the planet. Now, this person must be destroyed, or at least never, ever be let out in public again.
Something must be said about all of the ridiculous whining, bitching and moaning surrounding the closing of Hostess.
The waxing rhapsodic over crappy junk food has broken the Douche Bag Meter, plus this senseless waste of words and thoughts makes those partaking in it look like dumb-fuck Americans.
I’m jealous of those who have the type of lives where losing sweet cakes o’swill sends them into a sort of self-flagellation, like they’re going to commit some sort of junk-food withdrawal induced suicide. Give me a break and more important, get the fuck over yourselves.
No wonder other countries hate us.
PS: Ten bucks and a case of Entemann’s says another company will buy Hostess and once again, Twinkies, Suzy Qs, Cupcakes and whatever else was spewed out of that factory, will be lining the hips, thighs and gunts of diehard fans from sea to shiny sea.
Folks, you all know that I am constantly striving to make myself smarter than your mopey asses, and today I believe this Herculean effort has been achieved — thanks to my good friend,the Goddess Professor.
Goddess Professor is like the wee bit older friend you had when you were a youngin’, hangin’ out on the hammock in the backyard, who taught us about the the gross stuff that your family refused to teach you. Under the tutelage of people like Deborah, we learned that yes indeed the two men living in the same house down the street were not just ‘roommates’, and the vicar really is a womanizing drunk.
We all had a friend like her, and today we’re better people for it.
**WARNING: THE VIDYAS/ARTICLES/PIX POSTED BELOW ARE DISGUSTING. HEINOUS. APPALLING. PUKE-INDUCING. IF YOU HAVE A WEAK STOMACH, CLICK AWAY. NOW. THANKS!****
There’s only so much job search crap I can do in one day. I scour the job boards, craft carefully worded cover letters and pepper my resumes with the appropriate key words so they make it past whatever heartless screening software most HR departments use. If I spent 8 hours a day looking for a job like Dr. Phil and the other, um, “experts” say I should, I’d be fat-alcoholic-heroin-addict.
But, I’d have great hair. That’s a given.
What do I do when I’m done looking for work for the day? I go for long walks/hikes, read a lot, write my book about my job search adventures and peruse the Internets for the absurd.
Oh, and the GROSS. The very, very heinous.
I’ve had to edit my choices down to three since I don’t want to be kidnapped and thrown into an open sewer in Mumbai due to someone being so offended they feel the need to dispose of McCrabass. Cholera and MRSA ain’t my thing, see.
Really now … if you’re reading this blog, you’re made of sterner stuff.
Caretaker licks monkey’s butt for an hour to help it defecate
Now, it’s not the best dek since it’s almost exactly like the hed, but I’m going to put away my copy editing hat for a bit and just take it allllll in. So to speak. I suggest you do the same.
Yesterday, Wuhan Zoo Monkey caretaker Zhang Bangsheng unbelievably used his tongue to lick a small monkey’s butt!
50-year-old Zhang Bangsheng used warm water to clean a small Francois’ Leaf Monkey’s buttocks, then began using his mouth to lick it, not stopping for over an hour, until the little monkey defecated a single peanut. Only after the peanut was defecated did Zhang Bangsheng laugh with satisfaction.
As it is understood, this small Francois’ langur is only 3 months old, and is the first Francois’ Leaf Monkey to be born in nearly 10 years at this animal park. The Francois’ langur is a rare primate from Guangxi and Guizhou and is amongst the nation’s most protected animals. Because it is so precious, the zoo gave it to model worker and high-level expert Zhang Bangsheng to care for and raise.
So, you lick ass and you get a peanut. This chore mirrors one of my fave phrases: You pay peanuts and you get monkeys.
I hate peanuts now. And monkeys. And butt-lickers.
But, if someone licked MY ass for an hour, I wonder what would happen. Yeah, I said it.
On the first day of the “May 1st” short holiday, Zhang Bangsheng let the small Francois langur enter the monkey exhibit for the first time to meet visitors so it can see more of the world. The next day, Old Zhang discovered that the little monkey had indigestion and difficulty defecating, and immediately became worried. Seeing peanut shells on the ground, Old Zhang immediately understood that visitors had definitely tossed peanuts to the small monkey, and the toothless monkey swallowed the peanut whole. If it does not quickly defecate it, it would endanger the little monkey’s life.
Because the monkey is too small, it wasn’t suitable to use medicine to let it defecate. The only way was to lick its butt, to prompt it to defecate the peanut, and so the scene at the start of this article occurred.
That’s dedication. I hope they give this zoo keeper real food from now on. Or let his family out of whatever Chinese gulag they were in for whatever reason. Either way, this guy deserves some sort of prize and perhaps some type of bleach-based mouthwash. Oh and new teefus.
I wonder what the little monkey will use to throw at the tourists who are mocking it since it can’t shit properly?
Fuck me sideways – this is gross! I need a Silkwood shower after reading it.
There Will Be Blood and Pus
The following is beyond gross, but I can’t look away.
I’m so glad that Smell-o-Vision ain’t available on the Internets because I’m sure the stench of what you’re about to watch would cause your skin to melt.
I bet you don’t want to eat raw cookie dough, cottage cheese or Redi-Whip directly from the can ever again, eh?
The background chatter is what seals it for me. Apparently, cysts the size of Ayers Rock are not unusual for Gary. This begs the questions: Just HOW disgusting IS Gary? Has he ever been to a doctor? What does his diet consist of? Why are all heinous cyst/zit extractions done in a disgusting bathroom or in some trailer park? Why are there always screaming children in the background? Why are they ALWAYS rednecks or dudes looking like they’ve spent waaaay too much time in Purvis’s meth hut?
Betcha can’t stop watching it. It’ll haunt your dreams, I can guarantee it.
But wait! There’s more!
At least the kitteh was ok. But, I can’t help but think of the scene in The Fly. You’ll know what scene I’m talking about after you watch this next clip.
It’s astounding. I’ve been spent the past few days going over and over in my head, racking my brain, searching my memory banks, peering into the deep, dark, disgusting depths of my soul to figure why I am such a colossal fuck-up. Who in one of my past lives did I piss off? Was I a Nazi guard at a deathcamp and now karma is kicking me in the ass? Did I abuse orphans in Calcutta back in the day? Did I kick puppies or something? Who did I pick on when I was a child that caused the universe to sit up, take notice, and make a point of making sure I don’t succeed in anything at any cost? Was someone recently a recipient of a dirty look that wasn’t a dirty look, but a witness to my face when I’m deep in thought? Who the hell knows.
Or am I a complete moron who happens to be a wonderful actress and has oh so many people fooled?
Somewhere in between lies the truth.
I’ve been in LA for a little over a month and it’s been a huge struggle, not a challenge, a struggle. I’ve had a few painful-as-hell job rejections and sent out tons of resumes for jobs that actually fit my skills set — more so than when I was in Chicago — but so far, nothing. There’s more opportunity out here for someone like me — this town seems to ‘get’ me. I’m more comfortable here, and can’t see myself living anywhere else. (well, maybe San Fran or NYC)
But, who the hell was I to think I could get a job out here? How delusional am I? Quite, obviously.
On the plus-side, I’ve met somegreatpeople who are fun, inspiring and NICE. That’s huge with me — NICE.
I’ve also “met” a lot of folks via email who don’t like to return emails. Or phone calls. Lordy, I hope they’re never out of work and in need of contacts because, well, we all know how karma works.
I’ve come to the conclusion, however, that I do everything wrong. EVERYTHING. When I try to make things better for me, I get slapped down in the most obscene manner. It’s astonishing to me. My friends and family who are experiencing huge successes, I curse them under my breath. “Die in a fire,” is what I hear the evil Julia saying more and more. Some folks I know aren’t any smarter than I am. The bad part is, the decent and kind Julia is taking her own sweet time at punishing the Evil One. It ain’t pretty, but it’s the truth.
So, what do I do about this? No clue. My psyche is spent. Worn out. Frayed. Beat. Fucked. I’m down to eating one meal a day because I don’t want to spend the money. I don’t answer phone calls anymore. Thank dog for voicemail.
I might as well take up running — maybe I’ll be as successful as Jim Fixx was.
It’s been a while since I’ve woken up to 70 degree weather — in January. Am I complaining? Hell no — especially since I know what kind of atmospheric fuckery is going on back home. This morning was spent contemplating my next few moves for ye olde career and getting used to the quirks of the apartment. I do think it’s haunted — I just hope my little apparition doesn’t turn into a wraith and drink all of my wine and eat my Trader Joe’s Molasses Chews.
Last night, I dined with my dearest friend, David at Casa Bianca Pizza in lovely Eagle Rock after he dropped off a box of my supplies I sent to myself — really, it’s not as masturbatory-fabulous as it sounds — my box was filled with droopy sweaters, tampons and various other sundries. The pizza was excellent, even better was the conversation — it was almost as if I had never left California lo those many years ago. But I did leave and the friendship changed, but there are some common threads left that are still quite strong. We’re different people from when we were roommates with Kimmie Kim at the Palazzo on Beverly Glen and Olympic, which is a good thing the more I think about it. Also, I don’t think any of us could survive the Lump again.
I drove in circles today — it’s safe to say I haven’t found my bearings quite yet. York Blvd. goes in all sorts of wacky directions and I’ve yet to find a news stand. The Trader Joe’s in my old hood is still hopping — so much so that a local lesbian hit on me in the cheese section. Yeaaahhh … you’re nice — mom-nice — but there will be no tapping of that. Wait … I’m in LA …. maybe I should consider it since things are different out here, it’s the land of fruits and nuts, dykes, trannies, d-girls, clowns and the Kardashians. They’re people too! C’mon! Hmm.. hmm.. NO. I love women, but I don’t LOVE women.
