Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Things that make me stabby: Ryan Seacrest

Ponder this: millions of Americans are unemployed, yet Ryan Seacrest is a millionaire just for being a jerkfaced schlong monger.  Forget child abuse, forget animal cruelty.  Ryan Seacrest's success is the greatest injustice to plague our country since slavery.  From his boy band frosted tips to his signature Ed Hardy shirt-and-blazer ensemble, Seacrest reminds us that if you work hard enough at being a colossal ass camper, great success and loads of money will surely follow. And apparently, gorgeous women like Julianne Hough.

Now I admit that I used to be a closet American Idol-head back in the day.  I enjoyed American Idol for the wealth of talent of its contestants, Randy’s disco ball-inspired wardrobe, Simon’s acid insults, and Paula’s Vicodin-fueled love-rants.  I needed nothing else to make my AI experience complete.  So WHY, American Idol, do you force us to watch Ryan Seacrest’s smarmy self as he builds unnecessary suspense, dishes out fake sympathy for departing contestants, and exchanges homoerotic banter with Simon Cowell?  Everyone else on the show has some modicum of talent; anything with arms to hold a microphone can replace Seacrest.  I encourage Seacrest to take up a new career in cricket farming.  Or something.

Who has two thumbs and is a giant douche spigot?!!

Wednesday, November 23, 2011


You know how sometimes you're blogging late at night and you're all, "If only I had some plastic rats to stick on my fingers in order to illuminate them whilst I blog"? Well search no more. I give you Party Rats, the colorful rodent lights for your fingers.

Maybe I'm lazy for just using a lamp instead.

Monday, November 14, 2011

The severed heads of Asian men will adorn my new home

I'm moving.  Did I tell you that?  Despite the fact that there's nothing sexier to men than a 30 year old woman who lives with her mommy, I have decided to venture out into the real world again and cultivate my own space.  This, of course, will end tragically.

My mother doubles as my own personal chef and live-in ironing wench.  When left to my own devices, I tend to set things on fire while cooking and slice gashes into my hands when wielding a knife. So for everyone's sake, I tend to nuke things instead.  My dinner guests will choose from a delicious menu of Lean Cuisine Mac and Cheese and Stauffer's Lasagna.  Because I care.  I am certain they will salivate like Pavlov's dogs.

And since I burn myself every other time I attempt to iron, I"ll end up just foregoing the ironing all together and wearing clothes that look like they've been languishing in a mountainous pile of clean-but-unfolded laundry for like 6 weeks. Because they probably have. My boss, in all her rigidly starched glory, will be so pleased when I start rolling into work looking like I just survived an F-5 tornado.

Aside from those unfortunate consequences, living on my own will be stellar. I've spent the last couple of weekends "unpacking" the mounds of bags from my old house (before I moved back in with my mom) that I stored in my garage four years ago.  And by "unpacking", I mean sifting through the random garbage bags full of crumpled-up shit I forgot I had and praying that spiders and bats don't jump out at me and that I don't stick my hand in something squishy.

I feel like my garage finds would translate well into a Christmas carol set to the tune of "The Twelve Days of Christmas."  Don't steal my idea.  This will make me rich and then I will have the funds to pay movers to move all of my disgusting cobwebby crap.
 So far in my unpacking and re-packing efforts, I have uncovered:

* super-webby cobwebs
* like 20 sticks of deodorant  Guess I was a stinky woman 4 years ago.
* 7 melted Tootsie Roll Pops (Which, incidentally, are stronger than super glue. And they RUIN towels, FYI.)
* 4 dismembered spiders
* 3 cockroach carcasses
* 2 Janet Jackson cassette tapes (WTF?)
* and a partridge in a pear tree

Tootsie Roll Pop aftermath.

Anyway, upon assessing my *ahem* home goods situation, I realized that I need to do some serious shopping to buy some home decor and, you know, towels without melty, crusty, cherry Tootsie Roll Pops stuck to them.  Which is doubly sad because not only did the lollipops ruin my towels, but I really, really like cherry Tootsie Roll Pops and now they're all wasted.  *violins*

So I drove out to this backwoods home goods store called Val's Basket Warehouse because I insist on nothing but the finest furnishings and decor for my new abode. 

It's every bit as classy as it looks.

I was met with things I didn't expect.  Like this:

For all of your ceramic parrot needs.
Naturally, I was stoked to find such a fine flock of parrots.  Then, no sooner had I thought "Man, if only I had some giant, creepy toads to greet my visitors as they walk in," did I happen upon THIS:

 Ask and you shall receive!

Just when everything was going well, *this* happened:

This will haunt my dreams.
 They had an aisle of Asian man heads propped up on sticks. Let me repeat that: an entire aisle devoted solely to displaying these ceramic heads of Asian men impaled by sticks. Because sometimes just one severed Asian man head statue isn't enough. Sometimes you need an entire arsenal to really make your decorative statement.  I suppose the Asian man head aisle was for people who want Lord of the Flies-inspired home decor?

 *fetal position*  Please make it stop.

I've never fancied myself an accomplished interior designer or anything, but with the help of the fine folks at Val's Basket Warehouse, I think my new apartment is really coming together.  Pics of my new ceramic reptile family to follow...

Friday, November 4, 2011

Things that make me stabby: Nickelback

Has there ever been a band that just made you want to peel off your own face and divide it into four equal pieces and shove one of those pieces down each of the throats of the band members so they can never ever make "music" again? Me too. For me, that band is Nickelback.

Chad Kroeger is like if Satan and Hitler had a hate child.
 Seriously, folks. Have you ever actually listened to their lyrics?  I tried to avoid it, but I was forced to listen as Nickelback unleashed their song vomit on me today. Here's an excerpt:

If everyone cared and nobody cried
If everyone loved and nobody lied
If everyone shared and swallowed their pride
Then we'd see the day when nobody died.

I beg to differ, Nickelback. Even if everyone cared and nobody cried and everyone loved and nobody lied, people would still die.  Wait, lemme check my math. YEAH. Last I checked, lies and tears don't cause death, asshats. Check your facts, Nickelback.

Better yet, stop assaulting our delicate ears and go back to Canada, you ludicrous turd monkeys.