Friday, October 30, 2009
Hey, everybody. Frightening Friday here.
I'm sorry if I seem depressed. It's just that it's the last Friday of October, and I have to wait a whole year to terrify people with tales of horror again. Next Friday, while you're having your afternoon egg salad sandwich at your desk, you can enjoy that sandwich without fear of choking on it mid-scream. And while you're doing that, I will be sitting at my desk eating a big sandwich made of salty tears.
But don't feel too bad for me. It will be good practice for when I am Sylvia Plath for Halloween. And at least you won't have to go home to your lonely, dark, sad apartment and rush for the light switch anymore, out of fear that chupacabra will grab you in the darkness. And you'll be able to sleep at night knowing that the scratching at your window isn't a vampire wanting to be let in, but simply a burglar.
I suppose we should begin the story...
The pumpkin had grown to deeply resent the headless horseman upon whose shoulders he rode every night. At first it was exciting, riding through the dark on horseback, seeing the townspeople shriek in terror and fall down dead from fright. But as time went on, and the population of Sleepy Hollow dwindled, the pumpkin began to find the activity rather tiresome.
“Ride upon my neck stump!” the horseman had said that first night, with a voice as intoxicating as a warm aged brandy and as gurgly as any voice being emitted from a neck stump.
The pumpkin agreed, as being taken to the county fair and then pureed into pie filling seemed very commonplace. He had been raised from the seeds of a previous blue ribbon champion and was expected to succeed it in that honor. But the immortality of the horseman and chilly night air intrigued the pumpkin, who had never left the tiny patch where he grew. And so he was hacked from his vine, taken from the garden, and became a sort of lumpy, orange prosthetic for the mysterious phantom who terrorized the residents of the tiny hamlet of Sleepy Hollow.
But riding with the horseman was not as fun as it had originally seemed. For one thing, the phantom steed, Shadow, who privately resented his strict diet of fear and sulfur fumes, particularly enjoyed running beneath low hanging branches, unseating both his rider and his rider’s stand-in head. Worse was when one of the townspeople took it upon himself to take up arms against their midnight terror. While a musket ball fired by a near-sighted blacksmith only made the horseman gurgle with laughter, it could do serious and quite permanent damage to a pumpkin.
But the worst part was the headless horseman himself. All night long, he moaned about his missing head. It was all, “Where could it be?” and “If I had just stood five feet to the left, the cannon ball would have missed me.” In a feeble attempt to recreate his own lost head, the horseman had roughly carved a face into the pumpkin with his bayonet, but the effect was not the same. A head was a head, and a pumpkin was a pumpkin.
And so, six weeks after taking his place as the horseman’s head, the pumpkin made a plan to escape. He would wait until the horseman was at the edge of the bridge, and then he would just slip off and roll down the bank and into the river. He imagined the chilly embrace of the current as it swept him around the river bend and away from that headless boor. Maybe he would drop his seeds in the fertile soil of the riverbank. Or perhaps a young lass would find him and take him to the county fair and the fate he had once found so ordinary.
What the pumpkin did not plan on was the intrusion of a gigantic oaf named Abraham Van Brunt, aka Brom Bones.
Brom Bones fancied himself to be handsome, strong, and brave. With a certain amount of ale in his system, he loved to tell tales of racing the horseman through the forest late at night. The tale always ended with the horseman’s crushing defeat and him vanishing into the night in shame. And, of course, the horseman couldn’t just stroll into the drinking establishment and set the records straight. This fact, along with the finely chiseled features of Brom Bones’s perfectly attached head, irked the horseman to no end.
The night of the pumpkin’s escape, Brom Bones was on his way home from a party astride his horse, Daredevil. The horseman saw this as the perfect opportunity to scare the living daylights out of Brom Bones and hopefully shame him into never telling lies again.
As Bones turned onto the river road on his way back toward town, the horseman began to slowly follow him.
Daredevil had always been much more intelligent than his master. When he caught sight of Shadow’s glowing red eyes and flame expelling nostrils, he decided that the river road was not the best place for the pair on that night. Daredevil began to trot; Shadow began to trot. Daredevil began to gallop; Shadow began to gallop. And finally, casting aside all facades of equine machismo, Daredevil broke into a run. And so, the great race between Brom Bones and the headless horseman of Sleepy Hollow was on.
Daredevil was no match for Shadow, who found the idea of being raced by something living to be laughable. Shadow’s hooves didn’t even touch the ground as they sped through the brisk night air.
The pumpkin found this little race to be very inconvenient, but he was not going to allow this little detour to destroy his plans to escape. So, as they neared the bridge, the pumpkin prepared to leap to freedom. But it was then that Daredevil--who was always quite poorly shod, since the blacksmith had such terrible vision--threw a shoe. The wayward chunk of metal knocked the pumpkin from the horseman’s shoulders. Instead of landing on a soft patch of river mud and rolling to safety, he smashed onto the road.
The horseman and Bones rode away. The pumpkin lay in the road, a mess, lamenting his life of adventure.
It was then that the local schoolteacher rode by, caught sight of the splattered pumpkin remains, realized it reminded him of his hopes and dreams, and decided to throw caution to the wind and take that job as a deckhand on the SS Van Winkle. He was never heard from again, as it sank soon after.
I won't even tell you what happened to everyone else. It's far too depressing. Just know that they're all dead now.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
In an amazing discovery on Thursday morning, geographers intensively studying old maps of the United States noticed that Kansas is not only a band that rose to fame in the 1970s, but also, surprisingly, a legitimate part of the United States of America.
"It's an amazing discovery," said Simon Blandon, a professor at the University of Connecticut, one of the individuals who made the discovery. "What we once thought was just an extension of Missouri or a band with hits like 'Carry on My Wayward Son' is actually a state."
The newly-discovered state appears to be geographically similar to Oklahoma, with plains and lightly rolling hills. "It's rectangular," said Blandon, but refused to elaborate out of fear of pioneers rushing there to colonize it before it can be fully explored. "I can't tell you exactly where it is. Just know that it's toward the middle part of the continental United States. And it's pretty large, so it's amazing that it took us this long to discover it."
A group of explorers were sent this afternoon from Washington, D.C., to explore the territory. They are hoping to meet up with some kind of an Indian guide somewhere along the way who will accept furs in trade for his services.
When asked what he expected to find there, Head of the U.S. Department of New Geographical Discoveries Buddy Van Housen said, "Hopefully oil reserves. Maybe the Lost City of Cibola. Maybe nothing but miles and miles of grass. But I'll tell you what we won't find. People. That place is totally uninhabited. I looked at a photograph of it, and it is empty of human life. Just look for yourself."
"See? Nobody," Van Housen concluded. He hopes that the explorers will report back sometime within in the next six months.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Event: A Halloween Party!
From: The Donners
Location: Donner Pass
When: Late October Until the Spring Thaw!
Come one! Come all! To one of our famous parties. Everyone is invited. Bring provisions! Bring some oxen! Bring a friend!
There will be fun games like Drawing of Straws, a carving contest, and Bobbing for Ankles! Prizes for the best leg of lamb costumes will be awarded. (Feel free to salt yourself or soak in a marinade for a few days for accuracy!)
Directions: To get to the party, take a left at Independence, Missouri. Get caught in a snowstorm after six months of westward travel. Follow the trail to the Donner Lake Shore. We'll be there eagerly waiting for your arrival. With forks.
(**Special thanks to B, who sent me an actual Halloween party invite from some real Donners, which made me laugh in a very inappropriate manner. Thanks, B! Your gift for being so twisted is embedded below.)
Disclaimer: I, in no way, condone the use of animals as musical instruments.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Hey, everybody. Death here. It's almost Halloween, which is my favorite time of year because I win all the costume contests. People always think I'm dressed as Skeletor. Heh. I have so many gift certificates to TGIFridays at this point, it's not even funny.
So, because the Mayor is out doing work-ish stuff today, I thought it might be a good time for me to read some of my awesome poetry. Now, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "Death, poetry is for moody teenage girls and guys who wear turtlenecks. Not people like me who entertain themselves with YouTube videos of cats wearing sweaters and falling off tables." Well, in my opinion, you are all a bunch of cultureless asses. And I can say that because every day you live is one step closer to falling off the precipice of doom. And who is in charge of that precipice? Me.
So, why don't all of you just get comfortable? Pull up a piece of brimstone. Or the leather sofa I made out of Hitler. And let me read you some poetry.
"Because I Could Not Stop for Me"
Originally by Emily Dickinson
Rewritten by me, Death
Because I could not stop for me,
I kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just myself
I slowly drove, I knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For my civility.
Are you paying attention or did you just click over to look at naked pictures of Megan Fox?
Anyway...back to the poem...ahem...
Are you on Facebook right now?
Okay, I get it. Dickinson isn't your thing. Would you rather I read you an excerpt from I Come to the Archbishop by Willa Cather and Death? How about Poe and Death's "Masque of the Red Me"?
Now, what are you doing? Tweeting "Death sucks"? Well...I see how it is. You think you're better than me because you sit at a computer all day wearing a suit and typing things. And I carry an obsolete farming instrument and wander around poking people with my finger until they die.
Just you wait, buddy. I've got a finger with your name on it.
I'm frequently asked how I manage to post something every day. Well, it's all very simple. Firstly, I work two days ahead. Secondly, when I do fall behind, which is very often, I post something from my old blog and pretend I only just came up with it. Thirdly (and this is very rare), I go around to all your houses and steal your computers so that you'll never know I missed a day and give you something much bigger to worry about. Today I'm trying to catch up on some work for my actual job, so I'm going to inflict some of the old stuff on you again. Think of it like reruns. New stuff tomorrow!
The Lifetime Movie Review
Circle All that Apply
My first impression of Danielle Steel’s Fatal Obsession of a Dangerous Heart: A Moment of Truth Movie starring (Candace Cameron / Tori Spelling / Tracey Gold / Jennie Garth / Courtney Thorne-Smith) as (a/an) (abuse victim / stalker / fated airline passenger / jealous ex-wife) who must (overcome all odds / break the silence) about her (stepfather / handsy gynecologist / attractive but tragically foreign gardener) despite (brain tumor / eating disorder / unwanted pregnancy / bunions) was “Didn’t I see this last week when it starred (Judith Light / Meredith Baxter / Lindsay Wagner / Stockard Channing / Angie Dickinson)? And wasn’t the (airline pilot / husband’s mistress / abusive father / school guidance counselor / surgeon) played by (Beau Bridges / Corbin Bernsen / Rosie O'Donnell / Scott Bakula / Kirstie Alley)? Because this all sounds very familiar. No, maybe I’m thinking of that one with (Rob Lowe / JoBeth Williams / Andrew McCarthy / Pam Dawber). This is a little off subject but (he/she) was so awesome in (his/her) guest-starring role on (House / Weeds / Dancing with the Stars / Celebrity Jail Break). I have that episode on (DVD/video). Too bad about (his/her) real-life bout with (narcolepsy / kleptomania / bankruptcy / bad hair cut).” And then I sort of got into it and was unable to shut off the television despite (house fire / uncontrollable sobbing / need to shower). Bottom line: not a bad movie. Definitely better than (The Love Guru / Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull / American Pie: The Naked Mile) which make me want to (slit my wrists / assassinate Kevin Costner / relocate to France).
But seriously, no offense to those of you who enjoy the Lifetime Movie Network. I’m just (hyper-sensitive/overly-critical) since that whole (incarceration / sex scandal / seasonal allergy) thing.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Fed up with the bad press it is getting following the recent confession of former child actor Jodie Sweetin that she continued to use it after she was allegedly clean, methamphetamine has written its own memoir. According to Sweetin's memoir, which will be released November 3 from Simon Spotlight Entertainment, Sweetin continued to give anti-drug speeches while still using in order to fund her drug habit. According to methamphetamine's memoir, Meth: Unmethed, which will be released November 4 from a publishing company that is probably imaginary, methamphetamine faced horrible abuse at the hands of the former Full House star.
"I JUST WANT TO GET IT OUT THERE," said meth in a statement, "THAT JODIE SWEETIN IS A DEMON AND MY NIGHTMARES BURN LIKE FIRE."
The 3,000-page memoir, which was written with the assistance of a ghost writer who was luckily able to type 200 words per minute, mostly consists of several hundred pages of paranoid nonsense typed in all caps, accompanied by pencil drawings of body parts with nails being driven through them.
Jodie Sweetin played the adorable and plucky Stephanie Tanner on Full House for eight seasons. The show was mercifully cancelled before any more innocent children could be forced to join the cast and be subjected to Dave Coulier's extremely unfunny impression of Popeye, which some may argue drove Sweetin to drug use.
Methamphetamine is a central nervous system stimulant drug that can be taken in a variety of ways, none of which are advised by anyone who likes his or her skin to be blemish-free. Also not advised is visiting this website.
Don't do meth, kids.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Friday, October 23, 2009
Just when you thought it was safe to go back to the internet, Friday rolls around again, and you think, "Ah, the end of the work week." And then I leap out of the internet equivalent of the bushes wearing the internet equivalent of a terrifying werewolf mask and cry, "The end of the work week...and ABSOLUTE TERROR!" Perhaps you assumed I had given up on frightening the daylights out of you and took up a different hobby, like cross-stitching kittens on throw pillows. But here I am once again with a tale of the utmost ghastliness. It's time once again for Frightening Friday!
So, prepare yourself. Put down that flaming hot soup and pick up something that won't make a flaming hot mess in your lap if you begin to quake with fear.
And so we begin...
Christie was a babysitter. Not only that, she was the best babysitter ever. If the kid she was babysitting was hungry, she fed the kid a very nutritious meal. If the kid wanted to play a stupid board game like Chutes and Ladders, Christie played it until her eyes bled and pretended like she was having just the most fun. And if the kid's parents said, "Kid needs to be in bed by 7:30," Christie gave the kid a Quaalude at 7:10 on the button.
And so Christie found herself one Halloween night sitting on the couch at one of her very frequent babysitting gigs and thinking, "Kid sleeping, plenty of popcorn, and a movie. This is the life. Absolutely nothing bad could ever happen." But of course, whenever an innocent babysitter thinks those thoughts, something terrible is bound to happen.
I should mention at this point that the house where Christie was babysitting stood in the middle of a very dark and very spooky forest. Near a bottomless pit, and a cemetery, and a bog, and an abandoned mental hospital, and a Civil War battleground, and a place where some kids drove off a cliff on prom night and died. The parents and their kid chose that place to live because they were not allowed to keep their shed full of antique swords, axes, and torture devices within the city limits, and the rent was totes cheap because there was no electricity. (Right now you're thinking, "I thought Christie was watching a movie." She was watching it on her laptop and had many backup batteries. Now, just read the story.)
And so Christie was watching her movie by candlelight. The kid was snoring away innocently as a cherub in his bed shaped like a race car. And just then....the phone rang.
"Hello?" said Christie.
"What's your favorite scary movie?" said a raspy voice.
"I don't watch scary movies because I love Jesus," said Christie. And then, she hung up.
And so, Christie continued to watch her movie, which was getting really good. (The Titanic had just hit an iceberg, and everyone was likely doomed, except Kate Winslet.)
And suddenly, there was a scratching noise at the window. "Scritch scritch scritch," went the noise, which sounded very much like a mental patient with untrimmed fingernails scratching on a pane of glass. Christie glanced up from her movie.
"Who's there?" she called.
"Mwahahahahaha!" came the reply. "It's me. A murderer with a hook for a hand. And I'm hiding in your bushes."
"Oh," said Christie. "Were you planning on murdering me or something?"
"No," said the murderer, "Just hiding from the cops. Is that okay?"
And because Christie was the best babysitter ever, she responded, "Probably not. You're a stranger, and I'm here all alone, save for a sleeping child."
So, the hook-handed murderer very politely went elsewhere to hide because he didn't like children. (They have sticky hands and smell like bologna, which is a very impolite generalization to make, but hook-handed murderers are only polite about certain things.)
Christie became engrossed in her movie again. And suddenly, there was a thumping noise from upstairs.
"Thump thump thump," went the noise, which sounded very much like someone dragging a corpse across a wooden floor.
And then Christie remembered that the house didn't have a second floor, so it must be the vultures who roosted in the trees outside feasting on hook-handed murderer on the roof.
Ten minutes later, the parents of the sleeping child arrived home from their Halloween party. And because it was Halloween, they paid Christie $8 an hour instead of her usual $4 (and gave her a fun-sized Snickers bar, which was her favorite.) Christie pedaled home through the darkness on her bicycle, only slowing down once to run over a zombie cat that someone had buried in the nearby pet sematary.
**The pictured haunted dwelling is not necessarily the one from the story, but one that is much more haunted and therefore much more terrifying.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Count Dracula--aristocrat, scourge of Transylvania, and mystical being who thrived on the blood of humans--passed from immortality Thursday at the age of 512, following a grisly attack in his home.
In what is being called a "heinous hate crime against the undead," several individuals broke into Count Dracula's castle around 5:30 AM, made their way down to his coffin chamber, pried open the lid, and savagely cut and stabbed him, finally driving a sharp piece of wood through his chest cavity. Dracula, sensitive to daylight and wooden objects being shoved through his chest cavity, immediately succumbed to his wounds.
Two men, Dr. Abraham Van Helsing, 61, a medical doctor and self-proclaimed vampire hunter, and Jonathan Harker, 32, Exeter solicitor, are being held in the staking. Several other individuals were questioned and released. A third attacker, Quincey P. Morris, 34, was injured in the attack and remains in critical condition at Transylvania Memorial. Charges against the three men are expected.
According to those closest to him, Dracula was at times a reclusive individual who generally avoided daylight and religious idols. But a charming vampire, he always welcomed wayward travelers into his home, and before draining them of their blood, was sure to treat them to a nice meal and good wine. Dracula was also generous toward several causes, particularly bat species preservation and the eradication of Italian food.
Police are investigating a possible connection to the recent deaths of Lucy Westenra and R.M. Renfield.
Dracula is survived by his three vampire brides, and his wolf and rat minions.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
We are gathered here today in the presence of the high cerebral being to celebrate the mutual attraction of this male life form and this female life form and bind them together under the gaze of the eyestalks of those individuals who slithered here today.
The great book of Ansoxx teaches us that mutual attraction and the wish to mate is patient, as females must dig themselves up from under the ground after a four-year maturation period. And it is kind, unless we are forced to thin the population of males. It is never boastful, except during the death-bringing epidemic of 25800, when everyone had to wrestle for nourishment, and the Queen was the only available egg layer. And it culminates in a joining of tentacles and exchanging of mucous sacs.
If any being here feels that these two should not be joined as mates, say dissenting words now or face the pain of being eaten by the Vylort beast after the traditional time period of 17 days.
Now, if there are no dissenting words, I will continue with the joining ceremony.
Do you, Crovat Hiberx 6000, take Velert Wellux 12 to be your lawfully wedded egg layer?
And do you, Velert Wellux 12, take Crovat Hiberx 6000 to be your life mate until such time that you lay your eggs and then feed upon him?
And now the vows. Repeat after I speak, if you will.
I, Crovat Hiberx 6000, take you, Velert Wellux 12 to have and to hold, from the time our mating period commences until you lay our eggs and then remove my head, continue to have intercourse with my body while it slowly dies, and then begin to feed upon my corpse. Then, and only then, will our vows be broken.
Very well. And now...
I, Velert Wellux 12, take you, Crovat Hiberx 6000 to have and to hold, until you have implanted your spermatozoa in my horlax and I have humanely dispatched you.
If all present accept these vows, then, by the power vested in me by the Arluxian Space Council, I now pronounce you mates.
You may rub tentacles.
And now, the Queen egg layer will now approach the altar to perform the necessary sacrifices. Those of you who aren't chosen may go in peace.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
From the reporters who brought you recent headlines Robert Pattinson Can't Get a Date and Robert Pattinson May Quit Acting...
ROBERT PATTINSON DOES HIS LAUNDRY.
Watch the 23-year-old hunkpire as he sorts his whites from his colors. Ogle while he adds the right amount of laundry detergent. Stare as he sits drinking a cup of tea while he waits for the spin cycle to finish. Stand back and admire as he bends over to transfer the clothes from the washer to the dryer. Peer at him adding a dryer sheet and selecting the right heat setting. Gape as he pulls the laundry from the dryer and begins to put it away. Lay eyes on him folding his socks. Goggle while he irons his shirts. And gawk while he finishes everything up and closes his closet door. You will be RIVETED!
"Action-packed from beginning to end!"
-The Teenage Girl Times
"OMG, he's so dreamy!"
"I can't wait until the sequel when he scrubs his bathtub!"
-Vampire Fan Girl Weekly
"What are you people doing in here?"
-Our camera crew
"Run for it!"
Coming to a search engine near you on October 23, 2009!
Robert Pattinson Does His Laundry.
If you see one news story this year, let it be this one...
Monday, October 19, 2009
Country music artist Garth Brooks announced Thursday that he is returning to the music business. And with his return, the streets of Nashville were quickly emptied. Upon hearing of Brooks coming out of retirement, the entire population of Nashville, TN, went into hiding.
"Shhhhhh! Don't tell him we're here!" said around 619,626 people, ducking down and hiding underneath a really big dining room table, to comedic effect.
Now 46, Brooks retired from country music in 2000 to pursue a career as a full-time dad and rich bastard. "I got to a point," Brooks said at the time, according to an interview I just fabricated, "where there was so much money in my bank account, I just didn't have room for any more. So I started putting it in my sock drawer. I ran out of space there. So, I just burned the whole house to the ground and built a new one! With a pool shaped like a guitar! I hated it, so I burned that to the ground and built ANOTHER one shaped like a big hat. And now I'm happy."
Brooks skyrocketed to stardom in 1990 with the release of No Fences, which featured the anthem of drunken turds everywhere, "Friends in Low Places." He followed that album up with some other one, and then another one, and then some other one, and did a bunch of concerts on TV, which definitely interrupted our regularly scheduled programming at the time.
"Hey, where did everybody go?" asked Brooks, arriving in Nashville. "I thought I had friends in low places. Get it?"
"And that is the reason we're hiding," whispered far superior country music artist Loretta Lynn. "He's such a twat."
Nashville residents only returned to their homes after Brooks announced that his shows would take place in Vegas.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Friday, October 16, 2009
Welcome once again to the most frightening thing you will encounter all week. And it's not a naked man chasing you with a water balloon. It's Frightening Friday! Once again, I will tell you a terrifying tale, and you will get really scared. And while I would love to reassure you that you won't die from fright, I can make no guarantees. So if you die after you read this story of horror, your relatives cannot sue me for everything in my bank account--which I can assure them right now is not much.
If you do die from terror-induced heart palpitations, it's your own fault anyway for not following a heart-healthy diet in the first place. If I were you, before I even started reading, I would eat a salad and run a few laps. In fact, go ahead and do that now. I'll wait...
Done? Okay, NOW! Join me in a frightening tale of the highest level of fear-inducement...
Witches lived quite happily in the town of Salem for many, many years. And while they had warts and large, pointed noses and wore long, black dresses and tall, conical hats, the warts were actually very becoming with their features and they were always sure to wear pink and purple striped socks with their outfits for a bit of color.
Unfortunately, going by names like Warthazel and Broomhilda made them stand out terribly among the Salemites, who typically had more traditional names, like Mary and Cotton. So, while the witches just really wanted to live peaceful lives and go about their days of brewing potions and racing through the night on their brooms, the people of Salem had to go and be all annoying and oppressive about it.
You see, the people of Salem were ridiculous and extremely religious and had no senses of humor at all. Not even when Goodwife Brewster thought it would be funny to put farting powder in Samuel Putnam's evening tea, and especially not that time John Hubbard wrote "Kick me" on the backside of William Hawthorne's trousers and stood back and watched in amusement as everyone in town did as he asked.
So, while Warthazel and Broomhilda were just going about their business one night of mashing scorpions for a potion that would give everyone in Salem candy, the people of Salem decided to come to their hut with pitchforks and torches and set the witches on fire in a way that would guarantee them no candy ever again because that is just plain rude.
"Come out, witches! And submit thine selves for a roast on the stake," said Goodman Polpot.
"We are not at home," said Broomhilda, throwing her voice in a quite unconvincing manner.
"Yes, you are," said Goodwife Mussolini-Brown, unconvinced by the unconvincing voice.
"Okay," said Warthazel, and the two witches went outside to face their punishment for doing nothing at all.
"Ye stand accused of being witches," said Reverend Adolf Green. "How do ye plead?"
"Uh...guilty," said Broomhilda. "We told you we were witches when you 'colonized' this place."
"Yeah," said Warthazel. "How is this suddenly a problem? Didn't you guys like last year's crop of gumdrops?"
"No!" said Goody Mussolini-Brown. "We hated them! All of us preferred the licorice from the year before."
"Exactly!" said Reverend Green. "Now you both must get burned at the stake because we are displeased by this year's candy bounty."
As you can imagine, the witches found this entire process to be really stupid and annoying. So, they flew away on their brooms, as witches are wont to do. They eventually settled elsewhere and lived happily ever after.
Later, local Indians, tired of the stupid tactics of the stupid colonists, very politely asked them to leave. The colonists agreed after many hugs and smiles. And the colonists sailed back to England where they would live to this day if they weren't all dead. Everyone was quite happy, and the Indians had all the candy they ever wanted.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
1. My feet hurt. I wore new boots yesterday, and now my feet are covered with blisters. And since I type my posts with my feet and I don't want to get blister juice all over the keyboard, I am giving myself a day off.
2. I'm so loopy this week, I realized this morning that I forgot my dentist appointment yesterday. And the fear of impending gingivitis is making it hard to concentrate on writing funny things for you to laugh at.
3. Growing concern over the fact that I just ended that last excuse with a preposition.
4. We had no internet at work for most of the day. "Why does that matter?" my boss asks. "Oh, it doesn't," I respond. "Never mind."
5. I had a very important meeting to attend. They did not serve pie there, so I am still not sure why it was important.
6. I have "Bartleby, the Scrivener" disease. If you don't get this excuse, I advise you to go immediately from this blog to here and read up on some delightful American literature.
7. "But I don't like Melville," you quip.
8. "Fine, then," I retort. "Then go here and read up on that episode of SpongeBob where Plankton steals SpongeBob's brain and puts it in a robot who says, "I don't wanna," when Plankton gives him orders.
9. "I don't like SpongeBob either," you complain.
10. At this point, I hate you, for the record and wish you would go here instead.
11. "Well, that's not very nice," you say, as you spoon feed oatmeal to starving orphans.
12. "You deserved it," I respond.
13. "I don't like you," you say.
14. "I don't like you either," I say.
15. "Fine, I'm leaving," you exclaim dramatically.
16. "I can't let you do that," I say.
17. "What are you doing with that pickax, Bethany?" you ask.
18. "Oh, nothing," I whisper, in the manner of a serial killer.
19. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" you scream.
20. And that, my friends, is why there is no blog post today. I have PMS, and I just can't fucking handle it right now. Hugs!
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Gentlemen, I would like to start this important business meeting with a hearty and very masculine harrumph. “Harrumph!” Now, to business.
First off, who brought cupcakes? Very good. Hand me a chocolate one. Thank you, Johnson. Well, well, well…is this a marzipan rendering of my hindquarters with you smooching them? You’ve really outdone yourself this time, Johnson. Congratulations, I just made you VP in Charge of Exclamatory Sentences, effective immediately.
I have a shiny new quarter for the next executive who raises his hand and gives me the sales reports.
What do you mean we don’t have sales reports? How else are we going to find out what’s going on in the sales department?
What do you mean we don’t have a sales department? Isn’t there some kind of a sales department founding committee to take care of things like this? I can’t be expected to construct all of these popsicle stick houses and create a sales department, too.
Okay, then. For now, we’ll proceed to the monkey spanking reports. Who spanked a monkey this morning? Anyone? Well then, gentlemen, we need to work on spanking more monkeys more frequently. We’ll found a monkey spanking task force and pull the trigger on this thing. That will increase productivity as illustrated in this chart. See this blue line that goes up? That shows that our monkey spanking will increase steadily over the next year, if we...Wait! This is the inappropriate acts with a lawn ornament chart. Where is the monkey spanking chart? Oh, here it is under the gingerbread village. Are you all looking at the chart? All on the same page here? Good…
Next order of business. Has anyone seen Mr. Jenkins? No? Get the Finding Jenkins task force on this immediately. I sent him out for licorice nips two hours ago…
Okay, next on the agenda. This is an ordinary piece of paper. But watch! I fold here and here and here and voila! It’s a scale model of Wetherby’s appendix. Applaud!
Thank you! Thank you. And now a dramatic reading from our company handbook…
(Day 1 transcription truncated)
Thank you, Gentlemen, for coming to Day Two of our important business meeting. I’m wearing this false mustache because today is Bring Your Father to Work Day. And my father was killed in an unfortunate paper pushing accident and was unable to make it. I guess he was pushing some paper across his desk, got a paper cut, and it became infected. Several years later, he died. So I am here on his behalf. Who has jelly beans? I’m starving! I had no time for breakfast because I was digging up my father to steal his false mustache.
And now, to business. Let’s get out our cell phones and make some random calls to area businesses asking if they have Prince Albert in a can. Johnson! Put away that miniature replica of 15th century Venice and pay attention. We’ll have miniature replica show-and-tell after we make s’mores…
Next order of business? Oh, I have an idea. LAYOFFS! Who should we fire? I’m going to fire the coffee maker and that chair for starters. Johnson, have them escorted from the building. Quit your sniveling, Wetherby. You can sit on Anderson’s lap for the duration of the meeting. Anderson! Make room on your lap for Wetherby…
What’s next on the agenda. Nothing? Okay, let’s order lunch and charge it to the CEO’s Ultra Platinum Visa. It will make him very angry. Someone call my assistant in here to take our order. I think I’ll have a pot of soup with exactly 6.5 oyster crackers.
Assistant! Oh, good. You’re here. Order Baxter some fresh applesauce and ten raisin scones for Johnson. I’ll need you to spoon feed me when the food arrives. Get a few ketchup packets for yourself…
Now, where was I? Ah yes, balloon animals. I want everyone's balloon animals on my desk first thing in the morning. Any questions? Good. Let's adjourn.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Well, hello. I noticed you looking at me from across the launch platform. Was it my oversized cranium? It must have been. It's absolutely enormous. I have a big brain.
But don't get me wrong. I'm totally humble about it. And the fact that this space launch was completely my idea. We're going to see what's out there, you know, in the far reaches of the galaxy, pick up some specimens, dissect them, and then harvest their brains for study. I'm completely in charge of the whole operation. That's why I have the extra large laser cannon. So people will recognize that I'm the leader.
You're a very bountiful looking female. You're eyes are so big and black and empty, I can see my own reflection in them. And it is so beautiful. Tell me, have you laid your fall eggs yet? A sensuous creature like you should never be without a mate. And I was just noticing that your horlax is pulsating. Am I turning you on? I must be. I bet it isn't very often that a male of my caliber approaches you so casually. But I like to make the first move, unlike some other males. Confidence is so important, don't you think?
So, tell me about yourself. Me, I'm just an average Arluxian looking for love and adventure out there in the enormous galaxy. I love my life. I enjoy just kicking back on the weekends, hanging out with my boys, and you know, watching the Probe Bowl. But I'm a romantic guy. My last mate said that I was too nice sometimes and treated her too well. It didn't work out. She was really intimidated by my position with the Arlux Space Council.
Tell me, do you like Hovercruisers? I own one in silver. To match my skin tone. It can reach up to 400 hrps outside of the atmosphere. Would you like to go for a ride sometime? Grab a few frosty selemians and just let nature take its course? I'm not going to lie. I find you to be very attractive, and I think we definitely have some potential for a future together. What do you think? I've got a good job that I love. I can buy you anything your little herplank could ever desire. And I know how to treat a female of our species. Also, my most recent rectal sellix results came back clean. So, I'm good to go.
Don't say a word. I'm just going to commit my marnox number to your memory via brain scan. You give me a call sometime. Okay? See you later, beautiful.
Monday, October 12, 2009
So, you want to lose some weight? All you eat is raw spinach with carrot slivers covered with a dressing made of laxatives. You jog 10-15 miles every afternoon wearing 25-pound leg weights. You even take your Anabolic Fat Burner Meth Caplets every morning. But nothing is working! You are still over the triple-digit mark, and all of your thinner friends make fun of you for shopping in the women's department. Never fear! I have some great tips to help you lose weight. Permanently!
1. Never! Eat! Again! It's all so simple, I'm amazed I only thought of it just now as I was penning this wonderful and very informative blog post. Think about it! What do we really need? Lots of nutritious vitamins and water, right? So, if you simply take a vitamin supplement for breakfast, lunch, and dinner with a tall, frosty glass of H2O, the weight will simply melt away.
*Fashion tip: Once you drop 75-80 pounds, you'll definitely be able to fit back into those 6-9 month onesies from babyhood. Pair one of those with some thigh high boots and a cardigan for a daring fall look!
2. Chop off a limb! Think about it. You don't really need two arms. And one arm, on average, makes up 5-6% of the total body weight. So, if you weigh 105 pounds and remove one arm, factoring in the weight of the arm and blood loss, you will end up weighing between 98 and 99 pounds! No drastic diet necessary!
*Fashion tip: Two words. One glove!
3. Travel everywhere with several thousand helium balloons. Helium isn't only an unreactive, colorless, and odorless monoatomic gas, and the second most abundant element in the universe after hydrogen. It's also for making fat things weigh less! One balloon can lift around 14 grams of mass. So, if you weigh 100 pounds, grab around 3,000 balloons every morning, and you will weigh only about 92.7 pounds!
*Fashion tip: Watch out for low-flying aircraft!
4. Die! Yes, it's drastic. But think how thin you'll be as time and decomposition melts away all that disgusting fat. And just think, you'll never have to eat another flavorless steamed vegetable.
*Fashion tip: Write out funeral seating place cards beforehand and put those individuals who displeased you during your lifetime in the very back row!
After following one or more of these weightloss plans, you will absolutely see results! Without dieting!
***Disclaimer: This post was written in jest. Don't really do these things. They are dangerous and quite stupid.
****The photo featured at the top is the now-deceased tiniest waist world record holder, Ethel Granger, at 13 inches. Her waist must be totally smaller now that she's dead.
*****Have more dieting ideas? Post them in comments.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Welcome to the second Friday of October, which brings with it the second installment of Frightening Friday, wherein I tell you a bonecurdling tale of terror, which will surely make you wet your pants and cry like a young person whose gender is irrelevant.
And again, I will enjoy knowing that as you lie in your bed at night and wonder if that dark shadow in your closet is a werewolf who is preparing to eat you, I will lie in my bed knowing that the sinister shadow in my closet is only my vacuum cleaner. And while you wonder if that sound under your bed is a clown monster thinking very hard about jumping out to torture you with fear, I will sleep peacefully knowing that the sound under my bed is only a colony of mice.
NOW! Change into your adult-sized Pampers and prepare yourself for terror!
And so we begin...
All the zombies loved to eat brains. Some of the zombies liked to eat intestines. A few of the zombies enjoyed eating dismembered limbs. But only one zombie liked to eat all of these things sprinkled with paprika.
And that zombie was named Berniece.
Berniece the zombie was made undead during the Great Zombie Apocalypse of 2015. Everyone in the whole world perished during the apocalypse, except millions of zombies and a few hundred humans who had barricaded themselves inside local school buildings, shopping centers, and flame thrower emporiums.
Sometimes the humans would let down their guard at these makeshift fortresses, and zombies would swarm in, tearing people limb from limb and enjoying a nice meal of fresh brains. Or, on other occasions, the humans would venture out in search of food or hand grenades. The zombies, who were not as dumb as they looked, would groan in amusement at these tasks and then simply limp over and feast upon the humans with zeal. The zombies thought it was great fun.
Early in her zombiehood, Berniece found herself unsatisfied simply feasting upon flesh of the living. She tired of spending her days standing outside the well barricaded doors of the VFW with the other zombies as they tried to claw their way inside to get to the humans hiding there. Berniece longed for something different.
One day, while some of the other zombies were running down the street after bus filled with people trying to escape the city, Berniece stumbled into a shop that had a very strange scent. It was the smell of spices. (And dead spice shop owners, but that is neither here nor there.) The shelves of the shop were filled with spices. Salt! Pepper! Paprika! Cumin! Cardamom! For the first time in the period since she died and woke craving the flesh of the living, Berniece was filled with hope. No more bland brains for her!
And so, Berniece became the only zombie in the history of zombies to walk around the city carrying a salt shaker and a spice grinder. At least until 2020 when the last of the human population was wiped out, and the zombies were forced to feed on each other. After many years of that, all the zombies eventually starved to death, which led to a rise in the rat and cockroach populations. They learned to walk upright and threw fun parties every single day until the end of eternity. And all was well.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Friends! Romans! Countrymen! Lend me your forks!
For I, Fat William Shakespeare have arrived in New York.
Yea, it is I, the corpulent bard. It has been too long since I blogged last. I've been toiling away at a new production of Romeo and Juliet where our heroes engageth in a frankfurter eating contest at the Isle of Coney and die very tragically indeed.
As you may recall, I was brought back to life, in 2005, by a merry band of scientists who love the theatre. But, alas! High fructose corn syrup and trans fats in modern delicacies have made me morbidly obese. So, as I champion the benefactors at the channel of Bravo to bequest me my own reality programme wherein I lose weight in a very entertaining manner, I will continue to guest blog on the township of Bethville web site.
Today, I address fashion, as New York is a great metropolis of privilege and interesting fashion choices. So, let us to the gallery! Make haste!
Here, we see a very elegant lady and...what ho! Is that perchance a delectable cheeseburger with a seeds of sesame bun? T'would be a pity for so fine a lady to eat so vile a thing. Fare thee well, cheeseburger! Into my stomach! Anon!
Alackaday! Sir Walter of the house of Raleigh! (Nature that washed her hands in milk? Fie! A curse upon ye and thine miserable attempts at turning a phrase!) He is wielding a kabob most juicy and wearing some items of armour. He cannot move his arms! So, I eat his kabob!
Queen Elizabeth Regina Gloriana! Mine lady! I kneel before thee most humbled. Before I eateth thine cookie most delicious.
Well, now my gut is full to bursting. Pray pardon me, dearest readers. I must now adjourn to mine privy. Fare thee well until the time is next!
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
If you build a time machine, go to section 1A.
If you eat some Doritos, go to section 1B.
You get an old refrigerator box out of the dumpster and some pipe cleaners. Now, you just have to figure out how to travel through time.
If you decide to decorate the time machine with glitter and magic markers and forego the fancy science stuff, go to section 2A.
If you spend many years toying with theories of the universe, go to section 2B.
Mmmmmm...Doritos! You eat them and you eat them! And they are oh, so good. But while you are eating them, you are approached by strange individual with nunchucks!
If you fight him, go to section 3A.
If he is a surprise celebrity guest, go to section 3B.
Well, the glitter glue you used, in combination with the magic marker fumes, caused a chemical reaction that sent you back in time to 1978. Convenient!
If you head to the disco, go to section 4A.
If you prevent my parents from having sex, which results in me never being born, go to section 4B.
Who do you think you are, Stephen Hawking?
If you actually are Stephen Hawking, go to section 5A.
If you are actually Dr. Emmett Brown from the 1985 movie Back to the Future, go to section 5B.
If you are someone else, go to section 5C.
Whoa there, John McClane. It's just your neighbor Ted, martial arts enthusiast. Apparently, he's given himself a concussion trying to make a sweet video for YouTube and wandered into your apartment in need of medical assistance. And now you've broken his arms as well. Nice work, jerk.
It's Michaelangelo from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles! You love him! He loves Doritos. You are best friends for life.
It's ladies' night at Studio 54. You get tangled in Rod Stewart's chest hair! AAAAA!
You interfered with the time space continuum. Universe will self destruct in 3...2...1...
Hi, Stephen Hawking!
Doc! Read the letter! It's super important! No, really!
Oh, no! You stepped into the quantum leap accelerator and vanished! And now you are forced to travel through time, putting right what once went wrong and hoping each time that your next leap...will be the leap home.
If you face a mirror image that is not your own, go to section 6A.
If your only guide on this journey is Al, an observer from your own time, who appears in the form of a hologram that only you can see and hear, go to section 6B.
What were you people thinking with season 5? There's actually an episode called "Revenge of the Evil Leaper." Wow.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
This post was written to thank the adorable, wonderful, hilarious, awesome people who read Welcome to Bethville! on a daily (or even weekly or monthly) basis, have added me to their blog rolls, re-post links to other sites, follow WtB on Twitter, and are generally supportive of my blogging endeavors.
I appreciate everyone who drops by. In fact, I am painting a large mural of all of you on my living room wall, so if you want to be included, please send a detailed description of what you look like to firstname.lastname@example.org. If you aren't too ugly, I will immortalize you in finger paint and gaze up at your face as I eat my evening nachos.
Secondly! If you are on Facebook, and you aren't too busy, become a fan of Welcome to Bethville. I post exclusive content in the photo gallery, like "Fun with Donald Trump's hair" and "Historical figures with oversized food items" and I'm adding new things all the time. I'm also on Twitter as BethvilleMayor.
Thirdly! If you have any questions, comments, or things you would like to see posted, you can always contact me at email@example.com.
And lastly, thanks again for being such terrific, loyal readers. I only post every day to amuse you people. So, if I haven't fallen down the stairs and broken both of my legs, I'll see you tomorrow.
During a recent archeological dig through his refrigerator, scientist Peter Cabot discovered what might be the missing link to something he cooked between 18 and 20 months ago.
The substance, brown and fuzzy in texture and smelling a bit like feta cheese, has been analyzed carefully. And Dr. Cabot has determined that it is neither fruit nor vegetable in origin. It may, in fact, be a meat product or something from the cheese family, based on a set of striations along one side of the substance that may have been made with some sort of cutting tool.
Entombed for at least the past 18 months behind a jar of pickles, the mystery substance was discovered during an excavation of the middle refrigerator shelf, where short things and jars are normally kept. It was wrapped in a plastic shroud that was possibly at one time a Ziploc bag of some variety. A brown oily liquid had seeped from the substance and contaminated other objects found nearby, including an onion from February and a container of yogurt dating back at least two weeks.
Cabot calls the substance, "An interesting find," and has been able to trace it back to what he refers to as his "Mediterranean period." During that time, Cabot was using a lot of shellfish and orzo pasta in his cooking. But further tests will have to be conducted before he can determine exactly what the substance is.
This is the biggest culinary discovery of this nature since a three-year-old Thanksgiving turkey was discovered in a garage refrigerator in Nebraska with the giblets still intact in 1996.
Monday, October 5, 2009
What can be said of the delicious cheese and rice that was delivered unto us last Sunday at the church potluck? It was an unlikely combination of undercooked white rice, cream of mushroom soup, and aged cheddar. What might at first have looked like something Ethel just threw together using whatever she had on hand ended up being not too bad. I had several helpings of it myself before moving on to the Orange Dream Jell-O salad and washing it all down with several glasses of grape Kool-Aid.
Many amongst you were obviously more in favor of the deviled eggs that Sylvia made, which were gone within five minutes. But those who joined me in eating the cheese and rice went home that day with bellies filled with righteousness and a new appreciation for rice, cheese, cream of mushroom soup, and Ethel--who is now favorite parishioner, I might add.
After all the leftovers were put away, and we all went home to our respectable homes to watch football, all I've been able to think about is that cheese and rice. And hoping that it would keep well with only that piece of foil covering it.
And so, Wednesday, in the hopes of enjoying some cheese and rice for my lunch, I went down to the church kitchen, and alas, the cheese and rice was no more. It was apparently resurrected from behind the Waldorf salad and ascended to the mouth of some hungry and very selfish individual who didn't want to share the cheese and rice with the rest of us, particularly me. And so I pouted about it for several hours and finally had to eat a dried out bologna sandwich with Miracle Whip that may or may not have passed its expiration date. I am still very annoyed. And nauseated.
All that remains of the cheese and rice is an empty Tupperware dish and a hole in the back of the refrigerator where it sat for those three days. I really hope that hungry parishioner is pleased with his- or herself, depriving me of what I thought would be a tasty lunch.
But let us now, with reluctantly forgiving hearts, hope that one day Ethel makes the cheese and rice again. Maybe as soon as this Christmas or for the Easter potluck in the spring. Until then, we will just have to live with the memory of that wonderful cheese and rice and hope that we can have it again soon.
And now, let us sing from our hymnals on page 256 the first two verses of "Old Rugged Crockpot"...
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Friday, October 2, 2009
(Hey, look, everybody! It's Tim Curry! You know, that guy who played a bumbling hotel manager in Home Alone: Lost in New York!)
Welcome to Frightening Friday, a special story time that I have decided will take place every Friday this October. You will read the absolutely bloodcurdling tale I have written each week, and it will give you the scariest nightmares you've ever had. And then, I will sit here giggling over how frightened you all are while enjoying this very unfrightening PG movie I rented from Netflix and drinking hot chocolate. So, prepare yourself! For doom! And terror induced pants wetting!
And so we begin...
Once upon a time, there was an evil clown who terrorized children. And he was quite terrifying, from his blood red nose to the oversized shoes he wore that, when he walked, squeaked like the cries of dolphins trapped in a tuna net. He made balloon animals that exploded instantly when any child touched them, making the child weep in surprise and extreme disappointment.
The clown, whose name was Buttons, also hid out in sewers and tried to coax children down there to join him forever and ever, but hardly any children ever went, except the really dumb ones. And no one missed those kids anyway.
One afternoon, Buttons lit a terrifying bag of poop on fire and put it on the front porch of some small child, and the child came outside and simply looked at it in confusion.
"What are you doing?" asked the unfrightened kid.
"Rawr! I'm scaring you!" said Buttons. "Now come here so I can turn your intestines into the best balloon poodle ever."
"You're weird," said the kid, and went back inside his house to continue building a pipe bomb.
Buttons was sad. He wasn't as scary as he had originally suspected. "Kids these days! You gotta wield a chainsaw or they will just laugh at you," grumbled Buttons as he squeaked home to his sewer in disgust.
But as he approached his favorite drain, he noticed something strange. There were a pair of eyes peeking out of it at him. "Hey! Hey, you," said a gruff voice.
"Who's there?" asked Buttons.
"It's me! The terrifying sewer clown, and I'm going to eat you," replied the voice.
"No, you're not. I'm the terrifying sewer clown," said Buttons. "Who are you?"
"Uh....." said the voice.
"What are you doing in my sewer drain?" asked Buttons.
"Okay, you caught me," said the voice, "I'm the terrifying clown from the circulation desk at the library, but every time I say, 'I'm gonna eat you, kid!' the librarian tells me to be quiet. So I decided to move down here where it's more scary and less shushy."
"Well, I already live there, so you'll have to find another place to terrorize children," said Buttons.
"All right. I guess I'll do that," said the other clown, whose name was Clover.
As Clover crawled out of the sewer drain and skipped away to a place where he could be more terrifying, Buttons stared at the pink suspenders and rosy cheeks that Clover wore and realized that he was fifteen times more terrifying than that guy. It didn't matter that one kid didn't think he was scary.
So, from that day onward, Buttons became the scariest clown who ever lived. He popped out of the closets of all the young people with blood dripping from his eyes. He threatened to gut children with his extremely large and extremely sharp balloon chainsaw. And he lit bags of poop on fire with a blow torch that expelled the flames of hell. All the children who had previously thought he was stupid became extremely frightened and needed therapy for many years afterwards.
It should be noted that Buttons had no sense of smell, and did not realize that part of what made him so scary was that he hung out in sewers and lit poop on fire. But he was happy anyway.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Whenever I read a headline having to do with some celebrity collapsing or being rushed somewhere, I feel a little bit of sadness in my heart. Not because I'm afraid that the person will die, but because it's always something unimportant. Like when your phone rings at 4 AM and it's your friend totally drunk and weeping because she saw a guy that looked like her ex-boyfriend. Or when your mom calls you and says, "I have bad news," and it's that your parents' dog got run over by the gas truck, but he's fine.
So, when a celebrity is "hospitalized and released" within an hour because of some food poisoning crisis, I wonder if I really needed to know that. Or if it's just a lot more of that overshare that is becoming an increasingly invasive part of our lives.
That said, I predict it's only going to get worse. And so, using my psychic powers, I've compiled this list of extremely important celebrity headlines from the near future.
"AAAAAAAA! Is That My Shadow?" Asks Courteney Cox
Charlie Sheen Has Foot Cramp, Rushed to Podiatrist
Alec Baldwin Confesses to Oprah: I Suffer from Severe Constipation
Rihanna Says, "This Tattoo Really Itches"
McConaughey Wonders If It's Herpes
Anne Hathaway Drank Too Much Last Night and Now Has a Hangover
Hugh Jackman Carries Heavy Box Without Proper Lumbar Support
Patrick Dempsey Stubs Toes on $4,000 Sofa, May Have Gotten Blood on It
Drew Barrymore Quite Close to Grease Fire in Kitchen
Halle Berry Slept Weird
Jack Nicholson Has Terrible Dining Experience
Jessica Simpson Gets Hurt Feelings
Brad and Angelina Go In for Cleaning, Dentist Pleased That They're Flossing
Gwyneth Suffers from Blouse Stain
Got another celebrity headline? Share it in comments.