Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Harry Connick Jr.: It had to be youuuuuuuu...It had to be youuuuuuuu....I wandered around and finally found...somebody whooooo....could make me be truuuuue. And then she died because she was cleaning her closet, and a pickax fell from a high shelf and pierced her brain. She lived for a short time in a coma. And then I pulled the plug. *sniffle*
Old Married Couple Testimonial #1
Old Man: I would tell you about how my wife and I met, but she died in a recent inexplicable forest fire because someone was playing with matches. And she couldn't be here today. So I'll read to you from the letters we wrote back and forth during the war and cry silent but brave tears.
Harry Burns: I need to get to New York for the funeral of my first love, who died because she left some candles burning in her house made entirely out of silk curtains.
Sally Albright: I'll give you a ride. I'm on my way to New York anyway to go to the funeral of my ex-boyfriend who died because he ate some poisonous mushrooms.
Harry Burns: Life is so depressing. Sometimes I read the end of a book to see how it ends just in case I die.
Sally: And I? Like to write letters to those who have died and then tie them to birds in hopes that they will carry them to heaven for me.
Harry: That is touching and beautiful. But now I must marry another.
Sally: I am saddened, but I can only hold my hand out in a manner of longing and scream "Harryyyyyyyyy!" as you drive off into the night.
Old Couple Testimonial #2
Old Woman: It is amazing that we are still together after all these years.
Old Man: *dies*
Old Woman: Noooooo! *dies*
Sally: Being single reminds me of the days when I had love in my life. Before he died in that romantically fatal boating accident.
Marie: Before my married boyfriend died because his necktie was caught in that Kitchenaid mixer, I felt just like you. We won't be single forever.
Sally: No one thought your married boyfriend could live through such a tragedy.
Marie: You're right. You're right. I know you're right.
Harry: I've returned, Sally. I'm not married anymore. She drowned bobbing for apples. I told her that apple was too difficult to get. She didn't listen...she didn't listen.
Sally: Okay, let's be in love then.
45 minute love montage including the following: having a picnic, running through a meadow, holding hands on a beach, kissing in a rainstorm, riding horses, wearing lightning rods as hats, brushing the teeth of rabid pit bulls, participating in a balance beam knife sharpening contest, walking down a dark alley wearing suits made of money, and eating large poorly chewed chunks of meat while not being trained in the Heimlich maneuver.
Harry: This is the best love of my life. Can anything go wrong now?
Sally: Never, my darling!
Harry: Then, I am going to go for a drive in my car with no headlights at night over by Certain Death Canyon.
Sally: Good-bye, my love!
Sally: Boo hoo! Harry was my love. And now he is dead.
Harry Connick Jr.: You like tomato. And I like tomahto. You like potato. And I like potahto. Tomato. Tomahto. Potato. Potahto. Let's call the whole thing off. *falls from his piano bench onto a very sharp metronome, dies*
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Seventh President Andrew Jackson celebrated his 243rd birthday on March 15 with his usual class and sophistication. Remaining very much dead, he spent a quiet night still in his grave at the Hermitage.
There was no birthday ski weekend for President Jackson, just the cold embrace of being buried underground. He did not get to sit in a mountain cabin drinking hot chocolate and slapping the asses of ski instructors. He did not relax in a hot tub after a long day on the slopes. He simply stayed right where he was, dead as a doornail.
President Jackson did not meet up with any friends for cocktails. There was no happy hour with $3 draft beers and well drinks. No one surprised him with cupcakes. He was not made to wear a party hat. No one took pictures or sang "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow."
He did not go clubbing with John Quincy Adams and Martin Van Buren. They did not rent a limo and stand up through the sun roof to wave at hot chicks and shout things like, "I'm in a limooooo!" No one got arrested for public urination or punching Vice President John C. Calhoun in the face.
President Jackson did not wake up with a hangover the next morning thinking, "What the hell did I do last night?" and roll over to realize that his beloved Rachel was not beside him, finding instead a very naked Senator Henry Clay. He did not leap out of bed in horror and search frantically around a strange apartment for his keys.
And the seventh president of the United States certainly did not walk home barefoot because he couldn't find his shoes on the morning of March 16, blaming their absence on Seminole warriors. Instead, he just remained dead. Which is good because otherwise this would all be quite a scandal.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Don't you hate it when you're just sitting at home one night, and your doorbell rings? And you aren't expecting anyone, but you're curious anyway? So, you buzz the person up...and it's another lesbian trying to catch you off guard with a marriage proposal?
Gah! I'm not going to gay marry you, lesbians! Stop asking! I've said it before and I'll say it again. "I'm straight, and I have this well-loved Pierce Brosnan sex doll to prove it! Now, back off before I have to get the hose!"
I'm so tired of the indoctrination attempts, I barely got any sleep last night. Yesterday afternoon, when I was at the grocery store, Rosie O'Donnell came up to me and offered to "test my melons for ripeness." And then last night when I was just sitting at home watching Tat Your Ass Off on the Embroidery Channel, I heard a weird scratching noise out on the fire escape. It was Portia de Rossi "just leaving some pamphlets for me to read." The nerve! I immediately shredded the documents, lest I be tempted into a homosexual union against my pastor's better judgment.
It's getting to the point where I can't even walk outside anymore without Meredith Baxter presenting me with roses and a diamond engagement ring. And she won't take no for an answer. I've turned her down four times this week. It's like she has nothing better to do with her time than hide in my neighbors' bushes.
We should all be very happy that gay marriage is still illegal in several states. Because if they legalize it in New York, I'll never get any sleep again. I'll have to barricade my doors against the likes of Wanda Sykes and Ellen Degeneres, only able to sneak out at night while they're hosting awards shows or doing whatever it is that lesbians do when they aren't pursuing me and begging my hand in marriage.
Long story short, we must keep gays from being able to marry. They'll think it's open season and try to intermarry with us straight people against our will. And I cannot and will not let my freedom be compromised as a white American who is allowed to carry a deadly weapon in order to protect myself from wild animals, gang members, and black presidents. Socialism! Flags! Hitler's mustache! Support the troops! Random quote from our founding fathers taken out of context! Et cetera!
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Paramour: Vanessa! I'm so happy you've come. I've spent the day wandering the gardens pining for your beauty.
Spammer: I like my men big, absolutist, and horny! I'm so fucking amative and in action to accomplish your wildest fantasies cum staunch!
Paramour: My god, where have you been my entire life? It's like the moment I met you, it was destiny. A destiny as beautiful as a sunset.
Spammer: I applause to attract in a accompaniment of attributes and appliance my dildo while we talk.
Paramour: Well, if you must, my darling. But you don't have to do all that for me. I love you for who you are. And nothing will ever change that.
Spammer: Don't worry...I'm a appeasing slut.
Paramour: Never! Not you. You are a flower, a beautiful rose. You have thorns that prick, but everyone only sees your beauty.
Spammer: I abounding times appetite you acquire an aftereffect me some crazy things you would like to see.
Paramour: Yes, we WILL get that summer home together one day! And spend our days and nights on the beach, our arms intertwined, living only for the love we share.
Spammer: It would be an corruption to my admirable about-face up, my absolute breasts and my anchored aeon ass if you're not harder the beat you attending at me.
Paramour: You must be patient, my darling. Soon I will sell off my share of the Triscuit corporation, and then I will be able to afford a ring. The biggest ring you've ever seen! I will make you the happiest woman alive!
Spammer: I will not be affairs any stops if we get atrocious central my foot-soldier chin-wag room.
Paramour: Yes, I want nothing more than to have children with you. A boy with chiseled features like his father and a girl with very strong, agile hands like her mother.
Spammer: There's just no apathy to defended a account with me with a bruised dick, sweetie!
Paramour: Pregnant, my love? But how is that possible?
Spammer: But in incident, I buck a bruised dick as a challenge.
Paramour: What do you mean you slept with Reginald? He's my brother, Vanessa! My own brother!
Spammer: Being a cam beginning is crazy fun and accepting guys beam you accomplishing all these bedlam things to yourself is actually wild. You can't concoct how it gets me off.
Paramour: I have no words for the agony I am feeling. Only pain. Only pain! My heart, it has been ripped from my chest.
Spammer: I appetite command authentic that you betoken a abutting one authentic abroad coz I will not in until I see your erect habit-forming as a affect and spitting out my aces juice...man power!
Paramour: NO! I cannot go on this way. Not knowing that you have soiled our love with your unfaithfulness.
Spammer: If you almighty appetite bad, avant-garde into my actionable chat.
Paramour: There is only one thing left to do. I must throw myself upon my own sword. It is the only thing that will take away this suffering. But I go to death knowing that I loved once. I loved well. Good-bye, Vanessa! *throws self on sword*
Spammer: Ohhh if abandoned you can avant-garde your jizz all concluded my address and tits agilely in the present circumstances!
Paramour: I love you too. *dies*
Thursday, March 11, 2010
You've heard of "sexting," but what are some of the other current dangerous cell phone trends out there that could potentially bring about the destruction of humanity? And send us all spiraling out of control in a collision course with the sun? Well, look no further. This is your resource for all things dangerous trend of the sexual texting variety. In alphabetical order!
axting Sending nude photos of yourself chopping wood. (Which is not to be confused with....)
Axeting Sending nude photos of yourself while smelling like a $2 gigolo.
boxting Trying to send a text message of a sexual nature while wearing large padded gloves and lying on your back before the referee can count to ten.
exting Sending unwanted nude pictures of yourself to all of the ex boy/girlfriends in your contacts list.
faxting Exchanging sexual images when your technology is out of date.
foxting Sending sexual text messages while astride a horse and with the assistance of several hounds. (Primarily done in the United Kingdom.)
hexting Sending a sexual text message that comes with a free set of facial warts.
indexting Hiding sexual photos of oneself in the back of a book and then returning it to the library.
Lexting A nude text message sent by supervillain Lex Luthor, usually to Superman.
loxting Nude text messages of yourself smeared with cream cheese and covered with capers.
Marxting The act of collecting all your nude texts and distributing them among the people.
saxting Sending gratuitous snapshots of your woodwind instrument.
smallpoxting Sending gratuitous images of yourself covered with pus boils.
TexMexting Sending racy images of yourself eating a burrito.
Tyrannosaurus rexting Trying to send racy text messages, only to discover that you have no opposable thumbs and eating your phone in frustration.
tuxting Racy text messages sent by Bond, James Bond.
vexting "Sorry, we are unable to send your nude text message at this time. Please try again later."
vortexting A sexual text message....that never arrives.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Welcome to the Bethville Rehab Center! Now in easy online choose-your-own adventure format. It's fast! It's simple! It's completely free! You can get off drugs in just a few minutes by reading this blog post. To begin the program, read on.
You are addicted to drugs. You admit you have a problem.
If you want to stop drinking, scroll to section 1A.
If you would like to quit using heroin, scroll to section 1B.
If you would like to stop using methamphetamines, scroll to section 1C.
If you would like to read testimonials from other people who have found success through this program, go to section 1D.
If you originally tried Celebrity Rehab, and it didn't work, go to section 5A.
Stop drinking, idiot! Your breath smells like puke.
Did you stop drinking? If you did, congratulations. You get a gold star sticker for your efforts! Here it is:
You may now proceed to section 4A.
If you are continuing to guzzle that scotch and soda, please go to section 2A.
Stop doing heroin, idiot! Don't you know that heroin can kill you?
Did you stop doing heroin? If so, congratulations. Please respond in comments with your address and mail me $100, and I will send you a fancy plaque to hang over your mantle to commemorate you getting off heroin. If you read this and immediately did heroin again, see section 2A.
Meth? Well, now you're just being gross. Why not take just a steel brush to your face and yank out all of your teeth while you're at it? STOP DOING METH RIGHT NOW.
Did you stop doing meth? If so, congratulations. Please respond in comments with your mailing address and mail me $300, and I will send you a commemorative set of dentures to replace all the teeth that fell out during your addiction. If you didn't stop doing meth, well, you're fucked and you should go to section 3A.
"I used to do drugs, and now I don't!" --A guy
"Me too!" --Some other guy
"What the hell is this? I thought I clicked on LOLCats."--Your mom
PUT THAT DOWN RIGHT NOW.
Did you put it down? Good. Now you can go to section 4A.
If not, go to section 5A.
What? I told you that you're fucked. Meth head.
REHAB MEMOIR MAD LIB
I was once addicted to [addictive substance]. Then, I went to rehab. There I met several interesting individuals like [name], [name], and [name]. Unfortunately, [name] died because he just couldn't kick [addictive substance] no matter what he did. But I didn't. I lived and now I am an inspiration to all, especially [celebrity].
You're a total dickhead.
Disclaimer: Obviously you shouldn't try this program if you are really on drugs. If you are confused by this disclaimer, please go to section 5A.
Monday, March 8, 2010
In a win that surprised absolutely no one who attended the 82nd Academy Awards last night, actress Janet Gaynor once took home the Academy Award for Best Actress, making her the first actress in history to win an award in the Best Actress category. Gaynor won the award for films Seventh Heaven, Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans, and Street Angel. The award was presented by Douglas Fairbanks, who called Gaynor "a very talented little lady" and tickled fans by giving her a congratulatory pat on the backside.
Nominee Gloria Swanson, frustrated at not receiving the award, died in protest in 1983.
When asked about the win, Gaynor said nothing, as she was a silent film star.
Janet Gaynor accepted the award in a gown designed by someone who is totally dead now, or a burlap sack, depending on who you ask.
"Did you see her dress?" typed one reporter on his fancy new Smith and Corona typewriter, "Did Lon Chaney throw up?"
But despite criticism of her fashion choices, Janet Gaynor hoped to pave the way for other actresses nominated in the Best Actress category. "If I can do this, anyone can," Gaynor pantomimed to an amusing harpsichord accompaniment.