My gal is at it again.
What did I do when I saw her new manicure?
Now, I’m sure that Miss Coco had hers professionally done. I should fucking hope so.
Me? Not so much.
Can’t you tell by how the polish is smeared on my cuticles and finger tips? That’s what makes my manicure so damn special. And I did it allll by mahself.
No comment necessary.
(courtesy Phil V.)
And the piece de la resistance …
And now, a Russian earworm.
For those of you too lazy to click on the above link, here’s the vid:
The website DOES have a certain je ne sais quoi to it though.
When I close my eyes, he is all I see. Sigh.
(courtesy NY Daily News)
I’ve said it a thousand times–I miss headline writing so much. One of my jobs as a copy editor at this healthcare business/policy pub I worked for back in the days of yore, was to write interesting headlines–which I did–but mine were never as interesting as this one.
Rosacea Possibly Caused by Tiny Mites Without Anuses Living on Your Face
I’m off to plunge my face in bleach.
Pick one or two or all of them. Whatever floats your boat.
I’ve given you a selection, depending on which year brings you the bestest/worst memories. In other words, I’m fucking with you and enjoying every damn minute of it.
#1 Mr. Leo Sayer. Nothing says secksy more than a Jew-fro, white duds and an adenoid-killing falsetto.
#2 Mr. Cliff Richard.
I had the pre-teen lady bits shivers back in the day for him — way before Rex Smith and Andy Gibb ended up on my bedroom walls. Cliff paved the way for my Marcia Marcia Marcia/Davey Jones crushes. However, prior to Cliff, there was Elton but my heart was busticated when it was revealed to me that Reginald preferred peen. I still loved his music, but his love for all things male stopped me from planning our huge county club wedding. (side note: My first rock concert was Sir Elton at the now-defunct Chicago Stadium. KiKi Dee showed up too. Elton tossed piano benches into the audience. Got a contact high from the hairdos in front of us who were smokin’ doobies with their parents. I got gum in my hair. I was ten.)
#3 Rex Smith. One of my oldest friends on this rock, Heather, and I would spend hours listening to the dulcet tones of Rex in her bedroom in the large house her family owned in the woods of Wayne. Heather was SO lucky because she OWNED THE RECORD. I was in awe of her because of that, and well, many other things.
This is my fave MOW ever, and Heather, I’m SO gonna marry Rex Smith someday. You can be my maid of honor and throw rice at us as we speed away in Rex’s Camaro.
#4 Andy Gibb.
I loved him so much I even named my horse after one of his songs. Let’s see if you can guess which one. (Hint: It’s not the one below)
He wrote this song for me, you know.
#5 Brothers Johnson.
I love the tummy gurgling sounds at the beginning of this tune. Makes me wanna pee.
There ain’t anything better on Earth than classic R&B music.
#6 FUCK YOU.
Coming soon: The Daily Earworm: Ladies’ Night
But he did.
Yes, the master of “hiking the Appalachian Trail” wink wink has done something men in his sitch rarely do — he’s marrying the woman with whom he had been schtupping whilst married to someone else.
(courtesy of wltx.com)
Y’all remember this ripping good yarn, yes?
Picture it … South Carolina, summer 2009 … a gray-haired, tight-assed WASP, secret Lothario goes missing. His aids claim he was hiking along the infamous Appalachian Trail when really he was outsourcing jobs to the Southern Hemisphere, so to speak. He was chasing la chocha.
Turns out Gov. Sanford wasn’t traipsing along the trail, dodging illegal stills and Darwin’s Waiting Room, he was playing esconde la salchicha with his Argentinean soul mate — Maria Belen Chapur — in the Southern Hemisphere. Ahem. He was south of the border — berry interestink since not a lot of conservative dudes are into eating at the Y. Or so I’ve heard.
Oh hell, just watch this. My words can’t even begin to essplain it all.
Before you hit the comments section and start wailing about how he’s a horrible man, chill. This happens every day. Love is love and it knows no bounds. Live and let live, love and let love. Life’s short.
You get the idea.
The mouth-breathing contingent is thrilled to know that their fab fave guidette, Snooki, has spewed forth from her cheap-beer/gin/Guido spooge soaked lady bits a wee Guido for all of world to see–whether we want to or not.
Little Lorenzo Dominic DeValle entered this world around 3 AM Sunday, and now we have one more reason to continue celebrating mediocrity in this fine country.