Thursday, November 23, 2006
Monday, November 20, 2006
I just discovered yet another fun fun way to kill time.
No, it doesn't have lotion, a hard on, and a great plenty of horniness. But It has kittens, a big cat carrier that looks like a hamper, and a great plenty of accuracy. It's called Throwing Cats in Hampers.
Not that I hate cats or anything, they just get so annoying with all that movement that causes your data cables to go retarded. I've never been that disrupted when I'm online. I'm telling you, these furred spawns of satan are really cramping my cool. My monitor shuts off with not as much as an error message, and then you hear all this shuffling behind your computer tower. It's the same shuffling sound that I hear a few seconds before my speakers get disconnected. Its the same sound that causes the power in my CPU to go out. And its always been the same kittens causing that shuffling.
Then I saw this cat carrier or basket this one time, and then I just started throwing these kittens in. I grabbed one kitten, held it at the back of the neck, aimed real well, or at least I hoped I did, and then I threw it in. Yeah, it's like basketball, only you use kittens instead of a ball. And yeah, the same physics apply. That includes the part where the ball bounces off the basket, twice, before going in.
I'm telling you, righteous indignation has never been so, uhm, athletic.
Monday, November 13, 2006
Nice, huh? That's quick change artistry for you, or drop down clothing to be more specific. A completely worthless skill regardless of the practice involved. But it still makes for good entertainment just the same.
They change clothes just like, snap snap, just like that in this talent show where them talents, like germs beneath a microscope, get to be scrutinized by judges, usually three, licensed by, I dunno, the University of Contest Judges.
Now, what's not changing, and I think ought to, is this formula for picking the judges for any talent show. Theres two males, one of which maintains a doubtful sexual orientation, and then one female inserted for convenience.
But it's almost always three. The female's the voice of reason, and then the two males get to pick between the smart assing unfunny, but altogether polite, hick or the smart assing cruel hick. But there's almost always one asshole. Not exactly by default, but by preference anyway most especially when he's this publicity whore who's willing to try anything just to get famous. It worked for Simon Cowell, so why shouldn't it work for him. Right?
The drama's with the third judge; he gets to pass the final judgment most especially when the first two votes aren't exactly unanimous.
American Idol's got Simon Cowell already, and I think they should stop following suit and try to be original. Yes, bloody shitfaced asshats are everywhere, and I'm not patronizing Cowell or anything, but haven't we had enough of the same lame crop of Cowell wannabe assholes?
If anything should change, then I think that's it.
But if they can't change that, then we need more Paula Abduls. Of course, trashing them talent shows once and for all doesn't sound half bad either.
Friday, November 10, 2006
Halloween's a personal guilty pleasure; I admit to liking the Halloween spirit more than I do Christmas. But this was before Katrina de Castro and her hollow pumpkin started hosting them Magandang Gabi Bayan Halloween Specials.
I like to get scared. Honestly I do. But I'm not referring to the robbery-or-rape-at-knife-point kind of scared, or the bad-news-from-my-doctor kind of scared, or the I-might-lose-my-job kind of scared, or the my-boyfriend's-cheating-on-me kind of scared. What I mean is, I like to get scared at a leisurely pace.
Think movies. Think Scare TV specials. Think horror stories slash urban legends stretched in ten different versions. Once you get your freak on trembling in that wavelength, understand that every other kind of scared just fuck-ugly sucks. Katrina de Castro trying to scare a pantload of shit off of you just fuck ugly sucks.
I love horror movies like I love sex, and you'd imagine a taboo of gangbanging orgasms this last Hallow's Eve.
Excuse me while I try my second Cartwheel of Uninhibited Happiness.
I said I am obsessively morbid by default, and that's meant to be a confession rather than a turn off.
I was about six years old during the first time I was three feet away from a, bad pun alert, live corpse. She was this rape victim in her twenties, I think. But what I remember with striking clarity were these black ants trickling out of her dead greying lips, her mouth formed in a half open gape as she allowed life to escape around five hours earlier.
That was a lingering memory towards which I have no real objection.
Saturday, November 04, 2006
A post about hiatuses. Understand this is a wake up call. We do have a life.Define the word hiatus. Maybe I don't need to. I mean, those five properly arranged words "we do have a life" appropriately ends the discussion. You know this craze got you good if you don't mind documenting whatever blog-able encounter or thought you might have encountered with obsessive fervor.
Jessica Zafra calls it "cannibalizing her own life for material."
Succinct, yes, right on the dot; we do have offline lives too. So it doesn't matter if they're in for the temporary high; bloggers who haven't been posting for months now have all the right to do so.
Speaking of the meaning of life and such overly exaggerated bull, I got really philosophical this one time after my first hour of Looney Tunes. They were advertising very uneducational and highly violent toys when I got to thinking: Would I rather be immortal? Riiight. To sweeten the deal, let's add in a whole lot of genius, plenty of goal orientedness, and a great wealth of goodness not in an Oreo Cookie.
But, you will be him: