And this goes beyond the aesthetic similarities. I was lucky enough to attend one of the recent Faith No More reunion shows at The Williamsburg Waterfront in Brooklyn and I have to say, braving the heat and the hipsters was worth it. Despite being a long-time fan, I had never seen the band live, and the performance exceeded expectations- as did the antics of Mr. Bottum. He is the Shaffer to Patton’s surly Letterman, cracking jokes between songs and providing commentary while Mikey plays it cool. He is the guy in the band everyone else regrets giving a mike to. He also seems like he is having the most fun, probably because the reunion is a welcomed break from his current day job, fronting Imperial Teen (yikes!) Just kidding, Rod, we love you.
Now if only Paul Shaffer would come out of the closet, you guys would practically be the same person. That dude is on some serious denial trip. Maybe he should sleep with Courtney Love. That shit is scary enough to turn any man gay, if he doesn’t put a gun in his mouth first. Rock on, sweet prince!
Posted in Gay and Lesbian, Music, Television
Tagged Courtney Love, David Letterman, Faith No More, Glaven, Jerry Lewis, Keyboards, Kurt Cobain, Mike Patton, Paul Shaffer, Roddy Bottum, The Late Show
A public service announcement brought to you by Dr. James C. Dobson, your friendly neighborhood homophobe.
Remember, sexuality is NOT a choice. Counseling is readily available to help combat that pesky same-sex attraction.
Bowing to the forces of political correctness, the American Psychiatric Association (APA) in 1998 issued a position statement “rebuking” practices that are broadly referred to as “reparative therapy” for homosexuality.
Contrary to the “findings” of the APA and other mental health “professionals”, homosexual rehabilitation does work. Just ask this former gay. He is so straight, it makes my dick hurt.
Not convinced? Well tough titty. The Bible clearly states that homosexuality is an abomination, in Leviticus chapter 20:
If a man lies with a male as he lies with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination.
Leviticus also states that shellfish are an abomination, but we’ll just ignore that part, because lobster are fucking delicious. And as for the verses concerning the right to make other races your slaves… THIS INTERVIEW IS OVER!!!
You now have all the facts. Go forth and be straight! God bless.
Ian McEwan, popular author of (what I assume to be) stuffy British lady-books, returns with the pseudo sci-fi of Solar. The dense molecular cloud of my words collapses into a ball of plasma to form a review over at The Cult. READ IT, before it goes supernova.
I don’t know about everyone else, but I had Ian McEwan’s Atonement pegged as a lady book from a mile away. I’d never read the novel, but I’d seen the movie trailer and it had manipulative tearjerker written all over it. Hence- lady book. Whether I was right or wrong, this impression was the reason I initially had little interest in Solar. But then I read a post on IO9 calling it one of the year’s best science fiction novels and I became intrigued. I love me a good, literary sci-fi novel, so I set about acquiring a copy.
Oh, and apparently I can’t write a review without offending someone’s delicate sensibilities these days. This time around, someone took exception to the term “lady-book”. Seriously. Click HERE (you might have to scroll down.)
Posted in Books, Opinions Are Like Assholes, Reviews, Science
Tagged Ass Sun, Astronomy, Atonement, Chuck Palahniuk, ChuckPalahniuk.net, Ian McEwan, Lady Books, Solar
Remember how Mel Gibson threatened to kill Oksana Grigorieva over an interaction with their gardener? Turns out it happened during a placenta-burying ceremony in their backyard . Apparently Oksana smiled at the gardener, because ordering a man to handle the putrid waste expelled from your loins is a known seduction technique. Naturally, this prompted Mel to fly into a jealous rage, even though he’s the one who ordered the ceremony.
This is it- the catalyst that turned Mel’s life into an F5 level shit-tornado. It’s sad, because the whole thing could have easily been avoided. If your wife is a known hussy, you don’t let her strut around like a pig in heat while immigrant workers handle her womb leavings, you ship that slop off to some hippie artist to be crafted into a cuddly toy (that apparently needs to be hermetically sealed.) Nothing ensures the future scarring of your offspring like the prominent display of a trophy sewn out of your amniotic sac, except for maybe the public airing of their father’s hate-filled rants against women and minorities.
How does one prepare a vacated placenta for sewing, you ask? It’s simple. All you have to do is cut the fetid thing open, cure it with sea salt, dry it out, and then treat it with tannin and egg yolk. Doesn’t that sound yummy? I don’t know whether I want to make crafts with it or eat it, like a great big veiny omelet.
If only Mel had seen this post on Colt Monday, he wouldn’t be in this mess.
Via The Superficial:
Tickle the donkey's chin for the asstacular NSFW version
…and then I’m gonna drink that shit. Coco beware!
Coco ain't got nothin' on me!
Some people just can’t be satisfied with good ole’ fashioned porn. Bukkake, triple penetration, golden showers- normal stuff. They have to tart up their fetish, presenting it as “intellectual” or “artistic”. Case in point, the sculptor behind The Unicorn Orgy. I found this on a site called The World Dream Bank, which is a labyrinthine repository of nightmares and nocturnal fantasies. Basically, they use the excuse of uncensored subconscious to post fetish porn. From what I’ve read, the majority of the posts revolve around some form of bestiality (surprise), although the “I had a dream I fucked a dude, but I swear I’m not gay” dream is a close second.
Anyways, some dude spent years sculpting this, after having himself a torrid unicorn sex dream. He added the feral cat-man and wood nymph later. He is very frank when describing his freakish dream, like he is a college psych professor introducing freshman to Freud:
I witnessed a secret reunion of long-separated unicorns–transparent ghostly unicorns–that turned into a wild party, and then… a unicorn orgy!
That last part cracks me up. It’s like he is trying to maintain decorum then is overcome by libido and loses control. The term “Unicorn Orgy” should always be accompanied by an exclamation point. He probably climaxed as he typed it. Needless to say, I place the blame firmly on Unicorn Man‘s taut, lavender shoulders.
All ur sons R belong to me
Or should I say director’s trim? A revamping of one of my very first posts, written well over three years ago (!). The words are the same, but it has been updated with some shiny new pics of hairy-lipped honchos. It should serve as a warning to all- now, more than ever, the proliferation of hirsute hipsters in our fair city borders on epidemic.
Indie hipster shitheads are the new yuppie. Urban semi-professionals- more American Graffiti than American Psycho, simultaneously involved in and concerned with gentrification- have been systematically infiltrating the boroughs and taking over. Take Brooklyn, for example. A once thriving Hasidic community is on the verge of a turf war with these parasites, a war that will be fought not with bats and chains, but with facial hair.
You sicken me
Hipsters have ruined the non-ironic mustache for everyone. There was a time when a man could display his unshorn nose pubes with pride. A man could channel his inner Burt Reynolds without fear of comparison to the gay porn icons of yore. But then it was appropriated by the fad conscious. And when they sink their teeth into something they lock their jaws like a pit bull and shake until it is dead.
I eat Brooklyn for breakfast
Do you really think you can win against someone for whom the mustache is a time honored right of passage? The gay cowboy? The 14 year old Mexican boy? Do you think you can win against a culture (the Jews) whose hirsute history is thousands of years old? I think not. Irony is a dead scene, man. Unless you can bring it like this guy, don’t even fucking bother.
The Cyclone of mustache rides
If it smells like Bigfoot’s dick, it probably is Bigfoot’s dick. So if you are camping and you detect a musky melange of decaying wood and animal sweat, watch out- you about to get raped.
Obviously, there must be a whole race of Bigfoots out there, because like humans, some prefer men and some prefer women. Some prefer cutie-patooties (above) while others prefer mentally disturbed homeless ladies (below.) Whichever category you fall into, I have it from a very reliable source that once you go Bigfoot, you never go Bligfoot. That’s the truth, sister. You can quote me on it.
And remember, if you are raped by Bigfoot- it’s not your fault. But it’s also not an excuse to go around molesting young boys. The existence of Bigfoot has yet to be fully acknowledged by mainstream society, therefore the fact that he raped you as a child is not the best defense when you are caught inappropriately touching the neighbors kids. Trust me.
…and she’s taken that love a little too far.
That’s right, America has gone snowblind. There are monuments celebrating youthful whiteness all over this fair country of ours. Don’t believe me? What if you hear it from someone you trust? Wikipedia:
The birth of the first white child was a celebrated occasion across many parts of the New World. Such births are a matter of pride for many townships, and they are commemorated with plaques and monuments at the location of the event. The birth was seen as such an honor that it was at times controversial as to who could claim the title. As European settlers spread throughout America and Australia, the birth of a “White” child symbolized the growth and increasing permanence of their expanding civilizations.
The KKK took my baby away
There’s even one in Northern Tennessee that goes as far as celebrating the slaughter of “those savage redskins” that same winter. Thankfully, the precious bundle of ivory joy was preserved. He was needed to propagate the whiteness. It’s amazing these edifices to ethnic cleansing still exist. Just because they call it “Northern” Tennessee doesn’t mean it ain’t the South, if you know what I mean. Being white never felt so right!
Healthy white baby? Five years? What else you got?