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.

Conundrum

Help me out here please.

Which one is Donatella Versace and which one is Iggy Pop?

Any luck? No? Well, me neither.

Ok, here’s another.

Holy Former Heroin Addict. I still can’t tell.

Maybe it’ll help if I separate the two, study them individually then try again.

Here’s Mr. Pop:

Those photos don’t do dick for me.

Hang on….

Wow. Jennifer Aniston sure hasn’t aged well. Poor thing. Hon, if you want to look good as you age, you can’t be a dullard. Sadly, Ms. Aniston has the personality of a footstool–but that’s a possible future post.

Back to Mr. Pop — who I dig, by the way. One of the best performers ever — I suggest you spend the moola and see him. Totally worth every damn penny.

He was totally hot once — a total US–UGLY SEXY. Sidenote: We have the same hairstyle here.

Ok, now I’m beginning to see the difference. Iggy has less nose & facial hair –but probably not much –than Donatella. Also, Donatella has a teefus issue. You’d think she woulda taken some of the scratch she used to pay for her plastica to get her teefus fixed. They have doctors for that you know. Good ones too.

Now I’m really confused. My brain hurts.

I need a palate cleanser.

Oh that did it. Much better. Palate cleansed and then some. Thank you, Mr. Irrfan Khan. You’re so pretty.

Not QUITE done with him yet. Funny, he resembles someone with whom I’m closely yoked.

Well played, Bollywood, well played.

Digression can be a bad thing from time to time.

Ici Madame Versace — she’s been committed to memory. Ok. Got it. Good. Finally. Ready to move on.

Aaaaaaaaaand I’m back to square one.

 

 

Body shots

It’s been a while since I’ve done a ‘musings on random shit’ post. It’s not due to a lack of material because I’ve had some choice stories fly through my RSS feed. Sadly, I’ve been neglecting my writing since arriving in LA because of more pressing issues — both good and bad, of course. Today I decided it was time to dial up the snark and loosen up the reins. So, while I was browsing the news items earlier, I came across pieces that caused various reactions.

Have fun!

First, I love fashion. It may not look like it by the way I dress, but I admire those who design odd frocks that people want to wear. Wait … wait .. design EXPENSIVE, odd frocks that people want to wear. I understand that most haute couture pieces are works of art. I get it. I don’t admire those who wear these pieces — please. You’re not all that special. Those who deserve props are the designers. After all, they’re the delicate geniuses who came up with the designs in the first place. That, my friends, takes huge cajones.

So, imagine my surprise while I’m listening to the Dead and combing through fashion week photos on the Internets when I spied this lovely humdinger of a dress or … I … don’t … know …

Will someone please remind me to get my high beams checked? Thanks. Come to think of it, it IS a bit nippy outside today. BOO YAH! Does this dress make me look fat? Hey now! Time to pack my hips in ice. Whoa now!  I don’t know what else to say except that boobs are lost on some people.

And this photo reminds me too much of this shot. And no, I’m not cooking meth in my kitchen. Or snorting blow fish, I just have one of those types of imaginations.

Onward.

There are all sorts of fitness crazes out here. So far, I’ve run across the basics like yoga and boot camps, but I’m thrilled to see more and more MMA places joining the fray. Same with Pilates — not the fake, mat Pilates but the reformer, hardcore kind. However, during my travels, I’ve had fliers stuck on my windshield for different pole dancing schools in the LA area. Yep. My car. Not kidding. If the poor sap who’s being paid 8 cents an hour to litter cars with these brightly colored sheets of paper actually saw me, he’d probably run screaming from the parking lot and douse his eyes with bleach the first moment he had… just to get my visage out of his mental Rolodex. Can you blame him?

But I digress. I gotta give these ladies credit. It takes a lot of strength, flexibility and guts to do these moves. Couple that with being all nekkid and greased up, being pawed at by fat, married dudes from Rancho Cucamonga and you’ve got the recipe for major emotional fuckwittery. I’m sure what keeps these lasses going are the bills that get stuffed into their delicates, and the fact they get to wear some choice footwear. However, this little idea some uptight scaredy-twat is pushing inside the Beltway has bummed some of the ladies out big time.

Why didn’t I think of this?  Sometimes I don’t know where my head is at. Most electronic tablets only need one hand to use … yeah, you know where I’m going with this.

Next time I go to Florence, I’ll be sure to hit this museum because sometimes I’m not grossed out enough in my everyday life. Wonder which exhibit I’m speaking of? Here you go. Feel free to read more about it here.