Five Things: 12/5/13

Gosh, it’s gonna be a balmy 18 degrees today in Chicago..down considerably from the upper-50s we had yesterday. Welcome to winter, now bend over.

1) SHAMELESS SELF PROMOTION TIME: The app I’ve been working on for the past few months goes LIVE today. It’ll be available for FREE on iTunes for iPad and iPhone. Android’ll happen in early ’14. This is a very cool app, folks. It’s like Pandora/Spotify but for news. Yes, you can customize the news you want to hear. Right now, we’re mainly Chicago-centric, BUT we do national and world stories. Soon, we’ll be moving to Dallas, LA and the rest of the major markets.
The best part? You’ll get to hear my dulcet tones–especially later today AND this weekend.

2) Oh, for fuck’s sake, CNN, get it RIGHT. You’re a frickin’ media company with some pretty smart people working there (supposedly). How difficult is it to check your work?

(via Media Matter for America)

(via Media Matter for America)

None of this would’ve happened had they hired ME some four years ago.

Yes, I’m that good.

3) Could English pig jizz be the answer to China’s problems? Well, for some of them anyway. (via the Guardian)

UK and China agree £45m pig semen export deal

Environment secretary Owen Paterson says he has also begun negotiations to export pigs’ trotters to China
I’ll translate. Chinese pigs aren’t that great–they suck, in fact–so the Chinese are seeking the help of Brit pigs and their super sperm to make the Chinese ones better.
Or, you can just read about it here.
Side note: UK porcine semen is an excellent name for a punk band filled with has-beens, OR for an ’80s tribute band.
4) Couple of things here…why would any woman want to become a virgin again? Why? Because losing your virginity was so much fun the first time? Give me a break. You know it sucked, so why go through it again? Y’all do realize there are some ethnic groups in this world that cut up the whoo-haas of young girls to make sure they remain a virgin, right? ‘Tis a little thing called genital mutilation. It’s forced too.
Second, I don’t know if this is real, but it’s fucking funny.
Screen shot 2013-12-05 at 7.39.49 AM
For those of you gals who like a challenge, and are all about reliving your youth, but not in the typical way, this may be for you.
5) One of my muses. Enjoy.

 

Five Things: 11/22/13

No preamble today, so let’s dive in.

1) I mean, really..why NOT make a 5 1/2 hour film about self-loathing and sexual addiction? Wait, it’s been cut down to 4 hours because it, um, isn’t quite marketable. Odd for a director to give up final cut of any film. Really. It is.

Now, I’m not a Von Trier fan at all, and yes, I’ve seen all of his films because for a while there, I was considering cutting off my lady bits with garden shears. I needed to watch a ‘how to’ vid.

What’s really special about this week is the trailer for “Nymphomanic” was released. And, well..just have a look-see.

I wouldn’t be surprised if Von Trier’s editor’s in rehab now.

2) So much for the days of yore when kids would play games like kick-the-can, freeze tag and if they had a pool, Marco Polo. It appears the game du jour is the ‘knockout’ game.

It’s pretty simple really. A kid, usually a teenage boy, runs up on some random stranger on the street and knocks ’em out cold with a punch to the head. That’s all. No robbery, no other type of assault–just a punch–and boom, the victim hits the ground with a thud.

Glad to see that society continues to slide down crap mountain.

3) I get it, you can’t afford to go skiing this year. Sorry about that. But, YOU can fool your friends into thinking you snow-plowed on the bunny hill by doing this….

(via the Daily Mail)

Are they taking the piste? Wearing goggles in tanning booth for ‘fake ski tan’ effect is bizarre new beauty trend

‘Tis true. We’re close to bottoming out as a society, folks. When someone is willing to be a melanoma poster child as an attempt to impress people who probably don’t give a shit about them, it’s time to re-evaluate your life. At this point, you’re just a shell of a person.

Kim Kardashian. Of course. (via the Daily Mail)

Kim Kardashian. Of course. (via the Daily Mail)

Exactly.

4) The people of Stonehenge. (via various)

Screen shot 2013-11-22 at 11.17.00 AM

Screen shot 2013-11-22 at 11.16.37 AM

Screen shot 2013-11-22 at 11.19.52 AMScreen shot 2013-11-22 at 11.19.33 AM

 

I no longer feel the need to bathe.

5) Finally, for those extreme Oprah fans, there’s this little gem.

An Oprah for all sizes! (via Awesomely Luvvie)

An Oprah for all sizes! (via Awesomely Luvvie)

FYI, I’d totally wear the Gene Simmons one though.

Read more about it here.

Rut City, Population: Me

I’m fried. Burned out. Toast. Beat to a pulp. Dead behind the eyes. Numb.

And I haven’t done anything physically taxing. It doesn’t make sense.

I’m suffering from knowing that I have no purpose, nothing to offer and nothing to show for my roughly four decades on this rock.

I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again: Being unemployed blows fucking donk.

It has zapped my energy, my will to create as well as my will to be out among the living. Sure, teeny, tiny freelance gigs trickle in from time to time, but that ain’t enough to put the thoughts of tri-state crime sprees out of my noggin. I listen to my friends bitch, whine and moan about their jobs, and I have to turn off all of my impulses to fucking throttle them with my she-woman strength.

There are times when I feel like this character from Game of Thrones, is hiding in the  surprisingly under-utilized section of my soul–she’s a loyal, badass who will fuck you up if you cross her.

Brienne of Tarth (courtesy of pandawhale.com)

Brienne of Tarth (courtesy of pandawhale.com)

A bit maudlin, I know, but I’m allowed. I still scroll through shitloads of job leads every day. Some I apply to, others get trashed.

Then, there are those job leads that cause me to utter aloud WHAT THE ENTIRE FUCK??

Don’t believe me? Here, check out this gem from a Houston all news-all the time-radio station.

Enjoy.

jobdescription

The actual requirements for the job–news editor/managing editor–were much shorter, see. And, they were typical news editor/ME duties like solid news judgment, assignment desk duties, AP Style knowledge, etc. When I read this list of “requirements” my first thought was, “Huh, yeaaaahhh…aren’t these requirements for being a well-adjusted adult?”

Not so fast.

So, as the news editor/ME, I wouldn’t be allowed to do my job–which entails being direct, sometimes demanding and expecting professionalism at all costs–but I’m not really allowed to express what I want for fear of hurting feelings or putting someone off.

I did send them a resume/cover letter combo platter and here’s a snippet of what I wrote, but nicer.

I’m a seasoned professional who is capable of working with others under stressful situations, and I expect that out of my colleagues as well. I’m tough, but fair because I realize that the news business is not always so. As for ‘evolving self-awareness’ — if you can explain what that is exactly, you’ll be able to hire whomever you choose.”

Of course, they called me.

Turns out, they have no clue about anything, and want tons of experience for roughly 9 bucks/hour and no (surprise!) relocation expenses paid even though this was advertised on a NATIONAL journo jobs website. A friend pointed out to me that the previous news editor/ME probably either got fired, or quit because he/she was doing their job, and not playing wet nurse to a bunch of fucking over-sensitive, pants-wetting, maladjusted dipshits.

Yeaaah … I’m gonna have to give you a big, fat NO.

The bigger picture here is this is what I am (and the millions of other US citizens who are unemployed) up against: These wish lists of skills put together by completely clueless hiring managers and HR departments who don’t know what they hell they’re talking about. I was recently asked to take geometry/algebra test for an editing job.

Yep, I shit you not.

I said no, then told the hiring manager that if I was going to be eliminated from consideration, is should be on a level playing field. I told her that testing me on something I haven’t done in almost 30 years is grossly unfair. She agreed and I didn’t have to take the test. I interviewed, and we’ll see if I get a call back.

Back to Houston, care to wager that they have an incredibly high turnover rate?

PS–I’ll be in NYC next week, so I’m sure I’ll have plenty to say. So, watch this space.

The Balcony is Closed

It’s been a while, I know, and I was all ready to write about something I came across earlier in the week.

However, I feel the need to pay tribute to someone who’s work meant a great deal to me–Roger Ebert–who died today after a long battle with cancer.

The Eberts at an event I covered in 2007.

The Eberts at an event I covered in 2007.

His death saddens me tremendously because he was a huge voice, not only in film criticism, but in life in general. His prose and wit were unmatched (except by his late-partner in crime, Gene Siskel), and there isn’t a film critic today who comes close to his abilities. He knew how to read a film, then discuss it in a way that wasn’t condescending or obnoxious.

Ebert was a writer, first and foremost, and that made him so good at his job. His love of film just added to that talent.

As most I’ve mentioned before, I grew up in the Chicago area, so watching Siskel & Ebert, and eventually just Ebert, was required of all Illinois citizens. Also, we had to read their columns to learn how to write criticism, and well, how to write in general. After Siskel died, Ebert was the only critic I paid attention to. Sure, Kenneth Turan, A.O. Scott and Manohla Dargis are fine, but…meh…their work doesn’t compare to Ebert’s.

I’ve met Ebert a few times and each meeting, he was kind, gracious and witty. The most memorable was years ago when I was a senior at the University of Wisconsin. My father had the same lawyer as Siskel and Ebert, and said lawyer had an open house at his fab, newly rehabbed greystone in one of Chicago’s tonier neighborhoods. I was an obnoxious, know-it-all film student who became quite verklempt when I heard my father say, “Oh Mr. Ebert, I’d like you to meet my darling daughter, Julia. She’s a film student at Wisconsin, and will be graduating in a few weeks. Hey, any advice you can give her would be GREAT! THANKS!”

Aaaand, my dad disappeared toward the bar.

Thanks, dad.

Great.

This guy is gonna eviscerate me, test me on my knowledge and I’m gonna, like, dieeeee. Imagine my surprise when the exact opposite happened. Ebert and I spent the next hour or so discussing Kurosawa and how important his films are to not only the film world, but to the world in general. We discussed other film makers as well, but I believe that Ebert was touched by the fact that someone so young with an odd hairstyle, dug someone like Kurosawa. Siskel eventually tagged in and the two of us discussed Truffaut for another hour or so.

Needless to say, it was one of the most memorable moments of my life.

I could go on and on about Ebert, but I won’t. I do suggest reading his past columns and his essays on contemporary American life. He had a lot to say and the world will feel this tremendous loss for years.

I leave you with two things–one of my fave Ebert’s quotes, and a Sneak Previews/Siskel & Ebert episode where the two critics discuss the disturbing trend of violence toward women in films.

“’Kindness’ covers all of my political beliefs. No need to spell them out. I believe that if, at the end, according to our abilities, we have done something to make others a little happier, and something to make ourselves a little happier, that is about the best we can do. To make others less happy is a crime. To make ourselves unhappy is where all crime starts. We must try to contribute joy to the world. That is true no matter what our problems, our health, our circumstances. We must try. I didn’t always know this and am happy I lived long enough to find it out.” —Roger Ebert

And the clips–

Plus, a bonus out-take bit with Gene. Classic.

RIP, Roger. The City of Big Shoulders won’t be the same without you.

Damn.

Nocturnal Emissions

Insomnia sucks for the most part, but what it doesn’t suck at is getting me to gaze into the deep, dark crevasses that make up what’s left of my soul. Some nights I think of fluff — like fuzzy kittens, soap scum and sweaters made out of love, merino wool and sunshine.

Then, there are the nights when I can’t get the frightening images of acid wash jeans, people who insist on wearing PJs out in public, post-WW1 German porn and the Dave Matthews Band out of my noggin.

Tonight is no exception and here’s what’s rattling around in what’s left of my once-semi-brilliant mind.

1) When the first-time writer of a hit movie tells an interviewer that he/she just simply sat down with a “How To Write A Screenplay In One Weekend” book, and wrote that semi-literate–but funny celluloid sensation–they’re lying to you.

Here’s what really happened: The studio wanted to work with this person because they’re popular and funny. So, these clueless execs buttered them up, then asked them for an idea and maybe a rough draft of a script. Upon first the reading, the must-hire D-girl who’s fucking the junior exec, quickly learned that this particular popular person is much better at doing late-night sketch comedy. Ahem–mum’s the word, see. So, the studio then hires a team of script doctors (at about $200k a pop) et voila–hit movie!

2) While I’m on the Hollywood trip, here’s another tidbit: When an actor/actress/singer thanks their assistant in their Oscar/Golden Globes/Emmy/Grammy acceptance speech, they’re really thanking their drug dealer. True story.

3) Bulimia never, ever goes away–it just manifests itself in other forms–like the urge to dye one’s hair purple, or start a blog, or build the original Roman Empire out of unused tampons.

4) Naming your children the correct name is vital to their future. Adorning them with monikers like Brittany, Tiff’ny, Zephyr, Madison, Schylur/Skylar, or Savannah, well, they’re bound to grow up to be total assholes, and will either yank their puds for money or spend a lot of time spinning nekkid around a steel pole at a dank truckstop bar on the interstate. I can’t believe that unimaginative parents in this country feel the need to sully the awesome reputations of two of my favorite cities by naming their sub-mental spawn “Madison/Madysun” or “Savannah” because both names are “unusual.” Get over yourselves because you’re only doing your kids a disservice by bestowing them with awful names. Stick with the classics.

5) If you insist on naming one of your kids Marquis, at least have the fucking sense to pronounce it correctly–it’s “Markee” not “Markwiss.”

6) The more I think about it, the more I believe that Stalin was just misunderstood.

7) Write Yiddish and cast British. Never fails. Ever.

8) Once I deem you to be a douchebag, there’s no way to recover. It’s just best to move on and realize that me calling you a douchebag is actually a gift–a kick in the ass of sorts–to get you to fix your douchebagness. Trust me on this–I’m a damn good judge of character.

9) OJ did it.

10) I’ve said this before, but there is no such thing as a social media/content management guru. If you introduce yourself to me as a social media/content management guru–and say it with a straight face–well, you’re about to be called a word that rhymes with schmoucheschmag. Gurus can only be found in ashrams in India, by the way.

11) My god–I love peonies.

12) You know, that rug really DID pull the room together.

13) I can really see a future with this gentleman. He’s all sorts of secksy in his thong, and not to mention his pathway to adventure, which has me a-quivering by the way.

Picture 3Is that a cat?

14) There’s nothing wrong with nom-nomming on chocolate cake with chocolate buttercream frosting for breakfast, lunch and dindin. But you must realize that stuffing your face with all that chocolate goodness will cause you to resemble a mutant hamhock after about a day of this diet. Never fear monkehs–that’s why god invented eating disorders.

15) Everyone should own this album.

ffym

For those of you who have difficulty reading the above image, it’s Ben Harper’s “Fight For Your Mind.” It’s haunting, sensual and beautifully produced.

One of my fave songs ever–

You’re welcome.

16) Elvis is king–Costello, not Presley. Puh-leeze–I’ve never cared for that drug-addled twat.

 

 

 

A Somber Anniversary

This week marks a frustrating and sad anniversary for me: Two years ago–January 21, 2011–was my last day at my editing gig at a trade/B2B publication here in Chicago.

First, allow me to back it up a titch and regale you about how the fun began two weeks earlier.

I arrived at work on that crappy cold-as-fuck morning, had just enough time to put my stuff down on my desk, take off my coat, and say hello to my co-workers before the Editor-in-Chief asked me to take a walk with him. I found this a bit odd since he never paid me much attention, unless it was to gripe about something, or if he needed me to order some sort of pen.

So, when we rounded the corner that separated the newsroom from sales, and into a small conference room where the resident HR drone was waiting, my stomach flip-flopped. My mouth went dry and my chest felt like it was going to resemble Kane’s in “Alien”–but with my heart bursting out & smacking both the EIC and HR right in their mugs instead of a parasite that would eventually kill the entire fucking masthead. A wry smile crossed my lips for a brief second at that thought, but it quickly vanished when I heard the following:

“Um, yeah. Julia. We’re going to lay you off–it’s nothing personal of course–we’re just eliminating your position so we can add more to the sales team.”

What happened next few minutes was a blur. I do, however, remember giving the EIC a look that would kill a planet, tightening my jaw until it ached and feeling the tears starting to build up. Sadly, the death glare didn’t land because he wouldn’t look me in the face, but he did manage to set the land speed record for waddling out of the conference room so he could alert my colleagues of my fate.

You know, to save face and look like a fucking hero.

“Gosh, we really like Julia, but tight budgets are preventing us from keeping her on. So, I know she’s looking for work, so please help her out if you can.”

My immediate boss was absent that day so when she got my tearful phonecall an hour later, needless to say, she was furious. The next couple of weeks were a blur of phonecalls to friends slash possible employers, resume prep, buckets of tears, lashing out at everyone, allowing my shocked soon-to-be-former co-workers take me out for lunches and post-work drinks, and trying my damndest to not kick both the EIC and ME in the balls. It took alll of my god-given strength to NOT throw my ass in the shitastic Chicago River when I learned that an intern would be doing my job.

Not personal, eh? Go fuck yourself.

The last couple of years hurled all sorts of puke/jiz-filled crappy crap at me. I don’t know which moments were the most fucked-in-the-head: Was it the the snow storm that hit the area about a week after I was canned? Or was it the pubic-hair freezing cold that pounded Chicago in the ass afterwards? Or, was it going out to LA to look for work and have many jobs dangled in front of me only to have them taken away just as I was making arrangements to move my life west? Maybe it was three interviews I had with a certain Chicago media outlet that always hired someone too young and inexperienced over me, only to have that person leave a few months later because the work was “too hard.” This happened three times.

It coulda been the publisher in Florida who flat-out asked me my age during a phone interview, and when I gently reminded him that what he was asking me was, gosh, ILLEGAL, he proclaimed he didn’t care. I ended the interview soon after.

Perhaps it was the approximately 500 carefully crafted resumes with the appropriate key words and phrases I sent out that were probably mocked, laughed at and tossed in digital circular files–I have no idea which one of these events have helped push me down Crap Mountain the fastest, but I do know this much–

THE LAST TWO YEARS HAVE BEEN A MAJOR PIG FUCK.

Somedays, I can’t move. I don’t leave the apartment. I read my New York Times, the New Yorker, maybe watch my stories on the tee vee, watch porn on the computer–anything to distract me from the fact that I am a miserable failure. While I am well aware that there are many in my situation–and in worse situations–I can’t worry about them. Does that make me cold & heartless? Naah, it makes me realistic because I highly doubt they give a red rat’s ass about me.

Other days, I work on my book that no one will ever read, do Bikram yoga and consider cooking meth in my kitchen. I help other friends find work, read reports and a thesis or two for a pittance. I cheer when my friends find work, and am sad for them when they lose their jobs. My happiness for their successes is genuine, but so is my anger and resentment. It’s difficult to be around friends who are successful and have jobs, so I don’t go out much. Plus, this city is expensive.

I’m thankful for my health (knock on wood), and the facts that I’m well-educated, and don’t have a mortgage or kids to worry about. I don’t want to think about where I’d be if either of those were a factor.

I felt some cold-comfort upon learning that both the EIC and ME were canned under new management. Since it’s not my style to revel in someone else’s misfortunes, my happiness immediately turned to concern because they both have families and mortgages. But then again, they’ll probably find work before I do, so fuck ’em.

So, what am I to do? Keep getting out of bed every day. Keep on with the writing because my book is turning out to be a gem.

And most of all, not listen to those folks who tell me I can’t succeed. One of ‘those folks’ happens to be me, but that voice is getting fainter and fainter with each passing moment.

I think Madonna said it best below.

McCrabass+Porn=Faith Restored

Now, you all know that I once worked in the movie biz, correct? I ain’t shittin’ you on this tasty tidbit, monkehs. It’s all that time spent in dark, dank editing rooms with mostly self-important gasbags who wouldn’t be there if it weren’t for the casting couch or nepotism, that have helped make me into the McCrabass that I am today, and for that, you should be fucking thankful.

I was involved in the great celluloid caper for a long, long time. Most of my tenure in Hollywood was fun, but sadly, the more craptacular moments tend to be in the forefront of my memory these days. Don’t know why that is, but I’m thinking it has to do with the ancient hospital bill I found the other day –I sliced the tip of my finger off with a butt splicer while working on a film directed by Adam Rifkin.

Or maybe it was the ripping good yarn I told a friend recently about getting chewed out by a very angry lesbo broad editor from Philadelphia, who hated allll straight women–especially ones who were smarter and more LIKABLE than she ever could be –even if she had the large rod removed from her anus.

(courtesy Ebay)

(courtesy Ebay)

I don’t know what caused me to only think of the few realllly shitty times I had working in editing. It happens from time to time in life, see.

However, earlier today, my good pal Alice, alerted me to the fact that the AVN Awards took place in Vegas the other night, so I had to check out the most clever titles from last year. Wouldn’t you know it? The titles alone have not only restored my faith in filmmaking, but in humanity as well.

Take a gander, won’t you? And if these titles don’t titillate you and warm the cockles of your heart, then you have bigger problems than I ever will.

Thanks to Gawker for this list.

Clever Title of the Year
Asphyxia Heels the World, BurningAngel/Vouyer
Brooklyn Egg Cream on the Roxxx, Seymore Butts/Pure Play
Chocolate Covered Crackers, Black Magic Pictures
Chocolate Yam Yams, Black Storm/Monarchy/Vantage
Does This Dick Make My Ass Look Big?, Vouyer Media
Look Mom, My First Black Penis, Mike Hunt/Juicy
My Wife Caught Me Assfucking Her Mother, Devil’s Film
Nice Shoes, Wanna Fuck?, Electric/Hustler
Occupy My Ass, Bobbi Starr/Evil Angel
She Plays a Mean Rusty Trombone!, Lethal Hardcore/Pulse
Show Me Your Shithole, B. Pumper/Freaky Empire
Somebody Shave Me, Zero Tolerance Entertainment
The Spit and the Speculum, Mike Adriano/Evil Angel
Subtle Fragrance of Her Private Parts, Swank/Pure Play
We Vow to Bang Black Beotches, Kelly Madison/Juicy

And, the mostest cleverest title is …

Does This Dick Make My Ass Look Big?

Hmm..dunno if I agree. Personally, I’m torn between My Wife Caught Me Assfucking Her Mother (Who hasn’t had that happen? It’s totally relatable, that’s why it strikes a chord with me), and the more high-brow The Spit and the Speculum.

Talk among yourselves about which one you like the best while I figure out how in the entire fuck I’m gonna get a press pass for the AVN Awards next year.

30 Things I’m Dumping in 2013

Here’s a long-ass list of stuff I’m dumping from my life in 2013:

1) Unemployment

2) Ambien

3) Trying to please people who don’t give a shit about me.

4) Not taking care of myself emotionally.

5) Not taking care of myself physically.

6) Chicago

7) This overwhelming sense that I’m a complete failure.

8) Forgetting friends’ important life events.

9) Swearing

10) Unsightly pit stains.

11) Body hair that’s long enough to braid

12) The body in the trunk of my car.

13) Bread–the food, not the band.

14) People named Poindexter, Mitt, Karl Rove, and Cheney.

15) The gangsta lifestyle. I don’t have the ass for it.

16) Gene Hackman’s knickers

17) Cheap liquor

18) Cheap hookers

19) Leo Sayer –he’s been hogging my couch for too damn long.

20) Expectations of any sort.

21) Sarcasm

22) My bad attitude toward stupid people who are more successful than I am.

23) My bad attitude toward asshole people who are more successful than I am.

24) Clutter

25) Self doubt.

26) Fear of success

27) Stuff

28) That chaise on the sun porch. It’s a chaise of pain.

29) That weird item in my glove box. It’s starting to creep me out.

30) Threeve.

 

 

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.

Good head(ers)

Something must be happening in the news world because some of the headlines I’ve read have been top-notch, A+, guffaw-inducing. Or, editors are finally understanding the wonderful world of SEO.

Of course, the stories are worth a read too, but the real craft — the real stories — are the heds.

Ahem.

Courtesy of Yahoo.com

Angry ex-girlfriend goes ballistic, rips off man’s scrotum

See what the editor did there? Aces.

Let’er rip.

The rest of the story is balls too.

This next one, I don’t even need to read the rest of the story. From Mother Nature Network.

Rocker gets rabies shots after bat urinates in his eye

Torche guitarist Andrew Elstner shares his strange and informative experience on Facebook

 

If you feel the need to move onto the rest (but what’s the point?) of the story, you can here.

When I initially read this hed, I thought the Queen was adopting her new granddaughter in-law. Or, Kate Middleton is adopting the Queen. Or the Queen is pregnant is Kate Middleton. Huh. The main lesson here is never read a hed until after the Ambien fog has lifted.

From The Frisky.

Kate Middleton Forced To Get Pregnant As Adoption Won’t Work For The Queen

Oh, NOW I get it. Duh.

This next one isn’t the most compelling headline, but it’s just so damn cute!

From io9.

Picky hermit crab lives in a multicolored LEGO shell

I love that the hermit crab has been dubbed ‘picky’ when all he really did was want a bigger place to house his gigantic crab ass.

It’s a cute story, natch.

Of course there’s vidya of Harry the Hermit showing off his new digs to his jealous aquarium mates.