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Random Thinkings….

I think somebody held a clandestined meeting somewhere with all The Lesbians and mandated the holding of all hands at all times when amongst The Straights.  I believe this is good, and will reduce question-asking and side-mouth-head-tilt whispering over the shoulder.  Good job, Clandestined Committee!

Did you ever notice that you can tell just how ghetto an eating establishment is by observing three factors about it’s Men’s room (standard creepy one-seater with push-button closet door lock)? NO?  Check it.  1. Do you have to pass by a filthy area used to store seldom-used cleaning supplies?  A closet, or an alcove, perhaps.  2.  How close is the men’s room to the back door?  The one you’re afraid the robbers will come through the second you’ve assumed you’re safe behind the withered piece of balsa-wood and cardboard that passes itself off as the men’s room door.  3.  How many accessories does the men’s room harbor?  You know the ones I mean…the nifty undersink super water-heater jetpack stapled to the wall……… the old, busted aluminum legs stuck onto the corners of the crooked leaky sink that are both bent at odd obtuse angles……..the
abandoned-looking mechanized airfreshener covered with cobwebs in the corner…..the scotchtaped-up borax soap dispenser……the cajun-blackened “never-ending cloth hand towel on a roll” with the roll of bounty papertowels next to it as a sign of guilt…….the frosted-glass window that appears to have been fused shut with elmers glue and a rusty catch held on with a paperclip……fancy ashtray bolted onto the wall or sink…..the DIY can of Lysol……(usually empty)…….and who could forget the condom/cologne wall-mounted dipenser system?  I could go on and on………

I hate how these dweeby little shits out there rip music onto these p2p services and then I think I’ve found the song I’ve sought, only to have to hear “This Rip comin atcha from Billy, I mean DJ Billy’s basement!” in some doctored-up tough voice, right over the top of the second verse.  Quit ruining other peoples good music.  And use turn signals!

I must be going soft, pun intended.  When BBG and I first got together, I thought it strange that she carried flushable babywipes with her, until she moved in and I began trying them to wipe my ass.  It was marvelous!  They have aloe in’em and shit (well, after you wipe they do, anyway….) that leave your browneye feeling cool and clean.  Plus, they shine a light on a very serious problem: UNDERWIPING.  This blew my mind.  I wiped my ass per usual, and after the area had been sufficiently tidied, i drew a wipe from the plastic box (they come in a neat little plasti box!) and ran one down as a “final polish”.  What I drew back shocked me: New poop.  Where I had believed there to be none.  The magic wet-wipe had uncovered my egregious error.  I had underwiped.  An anomoly, right?  I began to pay close attention to this for the next few days.  More often than not, the wipe was uncovering suprises like a blacklight over a chess-geek’s sheets.  I had been doing my body a disservice. (one that was easily corrected, hence the effort.)  For others out there, here’s the drill: Wipe as usual with the dry stuff.  And use one or at most two wipes to further tidy and freshen and moisterize the cornhole.  Using more than two?  You need to do a better job with the dry stuff first.  I mean c’mon, these wipes cost money.  Round 2 bucks a box in the toiletpaper section of any grocery store.  I pray we can neutralize this problem before it gets too large.

Anyhow, I must scamper off into the world again, to expirience these amazing things to share.
FreAk

I swear, that’s my new tagline. Why, you ask? Well by now you’ve either seen or totally ignored Superman Returns. Having seen it, I can’t exactly say I wish I had ignored it, but I am quite sure that had I ignored it I wouldn’t have missed much. When folks ask me what I thought of the film I tell them that it was the hands down best Superman movie evar. Which, I contend, is sort of like saying that that one is the most beautifully sculpted and shapliest turd in the bowl.

Without going into too much detail, my problem with the film all boils down to it being the fifth in the existing series. And the hair. That too-faggy-to-be-metrosexual hair. I mean, gawd.

Don’t get me wrong, the film had it’s high points too. The visual effects were fantastic and Singer, though I disagree with the way he chose to go with the film, was, I felt, very respectful of the myth. And Routh, hairstyle notwithstanding, totally nailed the iconic presence at several key moments in the film.

All in all, given the history of the film (a unvouched analysis here and the wikipedia version here) I have to say it could have been much, much worse. Nonetheless, I was hoping for a new origin film al

These three guys (two younger and one older) always go golfing
together every Sunday morning. They’re just about to get up on
the tee when the club pro walks up and tells them that there’s a
woman who is golfing by herself and he asks if they would mind if
she played along with them. They thought about it and
reluctantly said “Sure, no problem.”

They were hoping the woman wouldn’t slow up their game but once
they start playing they soon realize that she is a hell of a
golfer. Better, in fact, than each of them. Not only that, she’s
extremely attractive as well.

They get to the 18th tee and she is one under par. They are all
on the green and she has a 20 footer for par. She tells the three
men,

“You guys have been gentlemen through the whole round by letting
me play and not giving me a hard time because I’m the only woman.
This is the first time I’ll ever break par and to show my
appreciation, whichever one of you can show me the right line to
make this putt, I’ll give you a blow job.”

The first young guy looks real hard and says, “I think it’s left
edge.”

The second young guy looks even harder and says, “No, I think
it’s right edge.”

The older guy walks over and picks up the ball, tosses it to the

woman and says, “It’s a gimmie.”

From Sxxxy.org

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Ah, summer…

technorati tags:ass, hot, chick, flickr

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And that’s because Kevin Smith is blogging there. Why he’s blogging there, I can’t imagine, but there you have it.

Clerks II best not suck, lunchbox, or I will have sullied myself for nothing.

Update: Much thanks to Yoharryo for pointing out that Mr. Smith has another blog. Which is fantastic news because pouring peroxide in my eyes after visiting MySpace was starting to give me a headache, not to mention turning my beard orange.

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