This is freaking amazing: Approximately 1,500 Filipino prisoners in orange jump suits re-enact the zombie dance from Michael Jackson's Thriller video. Points for not stabbing each other during rehearsals. Bonus points for the balding tranny as the "girlfriend in jeopardy."
Hat tip: Defamer.
Another Photoshop scandal in the works. And another reason not to believe anything you see. Hat tip: BuzzFeed.
To remain beautiful and young, a woman embarks in a sick and disgusting [quest] for a repugnant menu.
Here are some clips from a documentary on British ruggers getting drunk, stripping in pubs, and clearly defining the term homoerotic.
While the action itself is quite nice and nothing I'd complain about, the truly amazing part of the video is the end, where the young men--now sober--watch a tape of themselves, um, performing. They seem to be neither embarrassed nor ashamed. If anything, they seem happy about it. Even celebratory.
Makes me want to play a little ball, myself.
Max Blumenthal has a not-necessarily-enlightening video on HuffingtonPost detailing his infiltration of a College Republican conference in DC. The kids, of course, hang themselves on their own blind idiocy. Blumenthal, of course, makes a scene and gets thrown out. And crimes against logic rule the day.
However, there are three moments of sheer lunacy so utterly amazing and downright sad scary hilarious that it's worth sitting through the rest of the Michael Moore-isms.
In the first, old standby Tom Delay hits two liberal birds with one sharp conservative stone:
I content [abortion] affects you in immigration. If we had those 40 million children that were killed over the last 40 years we wouldn't need illegal immigrants to fill those jobs...Think about it.In second, some poor misguided kid says the he wouldn't enlist because he might become "like a really good speaker and stuff like that." (Too many jokes. Brain about to explode.)
Everybody in their life has had [pause] inclinations [long pause] toward the [very long pause] um, same sex.You can almost hear the disco in his panicked, twitchy speech. And it only gets worse. And my worse, I mean excellent.
The White Stripes demonstrate that punk isn't dead, it just has something else to do.
Earlier this week, for the first time ever, I threw a book in the trash.
I was standing on the platform at the Mt. Vernon Square Metro station, reading Robert Heinlein's Starship Troopers. I'd been reading it for the last four days, and for those four days, the book had been pissing me off. But when I got to the point where Dubois, Heinlein's stand-in, began to deride the decadencies of twentieth century democracy--for more than 10 pages--I gave up.
Turns out, I could take the endless philosophical debates. I could take the fascistic utopia crap. And I could (barely) stomach the straw men arguments he used to prop up his militaristic house of cards. But all three? C'mon. I'm 44 years old. I don't have time to waste.
Besides, I've never had the patience for the brittle libertarianism common among the most devoted SF fans.
Survey says: Mean, boring, and wrong. Verdict: Compost.
It looks like it was designed by a Bollywood crack-addict.
the work of a criminally insane graphic designing hopeful who procrastinated too log before getting started on the final project for his prison's occupational Potoshop-therapy class, but, really, that would be splitting hairs.
For the low, low price of $10,000, Jezebel.com was able to get hold of an un-retouched photograph of Faith Hill that was--not surprisingly--modified before it appeared on the July Redbook cover. What was surprising: How heavily and needlessly extravagant the Photoshopping was.
Everyone knows about line smoothing and eye brightening. But moving hands, reducing an arm's width by half, reshaping someone's entire head?
Jezebel gets to the heart of the matter. And hilariously, too. Key quote:
3. THOSE CHEEKS: What exactly do you think she's hoarding in there? Snacks to get her through Ramadan? And boy could bitch take a little time out on that deviated septum...
From The AV Club, a "guide to what we're barely putting up with this week." Best entry? The Oprah Store, for sure:
Likely inventory: Angel pins, O mugs, Secret keychains, "good" sweatpants, and anything else middle-aged depression would sell if it were a store.Ooooooh. Snap!
This work will explore the idea that the marks on the pavement and the minutiae found in the streets can tell you where you are and provide clues for deciphering the narratives of the cultural terrain.
These were taken from a Japanese gay "salaryman" porn video site, and are 100% guaranteed true.Check out this article on Slate about LCD Soundsystem's song "All My Friends." The song--like every song on Sound of Silver--is fantastic. Like Talking Heads channeling the best drum & bass around. And I have a special place in my heart for anyone who can so devastatingly capture the melancholy of the aging cool guy. (For the serious fans, Franz Ferdinand has released a cover of the song that really does take the piss from New Order.)
Photographer Robbie Cooper matches gamers with their online avatars in this weird and provocative slideshow. Yes, it's been linked everywhere for weeks. But it fascinates me and I keep coming back to it. Color me jealous.
I will be on travel for a few days, riding the rails to go visit the old lady. This here little ol' blog may get a few cobwebs on it, if I can't figure out a way to get to Blogger from Myrtle Beach.
But I'll be back eventually.
Stay tuned.
The 15 milligrams of injectable "rest" administered to the ornery chimp proved so successful, producers ultimately decided to give the newly docile actor a second chance. It's a decision they may wind up regretting, should horrified crew members find themselves fishing Spritle's mangled body from the Mach Five's trunk, only to discover a blood-drench Chim-Chim emerging from the shadows a moment later, delivering a dead-eyed stare that all but gloats, "The bite was your warning, humans. Spritle didn't have to die."
"...the same set of googly-eyed Cotton Mathers wanted President Clinton at least impeached and, at most, castrated after he was caught lying to a grand jury about oral sex."
This is me, walking back from lunch today, captured in the shiny finished of a parked car. Why can't everyday be as bright and clean and blue as today?
"[I] told him he "wasn't average to me" and he said "thanks." Was hanging out with two girls, one of whom had a discount nosejob but an expensive bag.
