If you haven’t seen “2 Girls 1 Cup” yet, I recommend that you don’t. Ever.
It’s goatse minus the charm and class.
It’s one of those things you just can’t un-see.
My friend Jodi and I made a sock puppet re-enactment of “2 Girls 1 Cup,” so you can get an idea of why your evil friends are telling you to watch it, but without actually having to sit through what may be the most disgusting thing on the internet ever.
Consider this video a warning:
The typical conversation goes something like this:
Friend - “Who are those two girls on your coffee mug?”
Me - “Cindi and Melissa or Megan and Shannon.”
Friend - “What?!?
Me - “I have no idea who they are. I bought this mug at a Salvation Army Store in Redwood City about three years ago, and to me they look like a ‘Cindi and Shannon’ or a ‘Megan and Melissa’. Or perhaps they’re both ‘Jen’.”
Friend - “What the hell is wrong with you?”
If any of you readers know who these two women are (or if you are one of these two women), please contact me.
Megan and Shannon, here is my proposal:
•I want to take a photo with the both of you, holding your old mug in the photo, and I will pay to have it printed on mugs for all three of us.
•I want to know if there is any good story behind the discarding of this mug: Cindi, did that slut Megan sleep with your boyfriend and so you’re no longer BFF and you gave the mug away to the Salvation Army because you hate her?
What is red and white and barfs all over?
Last night (December 15th), several major world cities were hit with flash-mobs of thousands of Santa Clauses. Christmas is near and once again Santarchy / Santacon has arrived. Last night, San Francisco was swarmed with drunk and festive Santas wearing cheap suits and drinking cheaper alcohol.
Flickr photoalbums of Santacon / Santarchy, San Francisco 2007:
On Tipsy!,
On Shoutey!,
On Barfey and Sh!tzen!
Video from 2006
The modern American Santa Claus is the result of a huge mess of practices and figures that have collided at high speed throughout the ages. Here is a brief synopsis of the origins of the modern American Santa Claus, and a history of his evil assistant (who is all but gone in American culture), in an approximate chronological order:
Santa Claus:
Saint Nicholas - The 4th Century Bishop of Myra (in modern-day Turkey), he was known for giving to the poor. In particular, he was known for providing the dowries for three impoverished sisters - sparing them of a life of begging and prostitution. Saint Nicholas became (among many other things) the patron saint of children. Many cultures honor him on December 6th, weeks before Christmas.
…But then again, can you blame him? I mean, the man has achieved so much. First a YouTube smash video, and now, to be drenched in chocolate alongside a squirrel for a “hefty, hefty fee”?? You’ve really made it. I mean, what more could one really ask for?
(Despite the hilarity, you’ve gotta give Dr. Pepper a little credit . . . I mean they’re selling what appears to be a the world’s worst product, but they’ve got me interested in it and blogging. Kudos to the DP marketing team - way to go!)
I Am Legend (a.k.a.- “The Omega Man in Black”)
A virus outbreak.
Bad animation zombies.
The Fresh Prince survives.
The Omega Man
meets 28 Days Later.
Typical New York.
Christmas can often be painfully upbeat: the nauseating repetition of the same 10 Christmas songs played in every store and business, the same 10 cherished Christmas movies playing on a continuous loop on television for 3 weeks solid, and cheerful dingbats wearing Santa hats in public as early as mid-November.
Last year, friend, Blogadilla reader, and Finnish goddess Elina sent me this fine quote from novelist Neil Gaiman, which helps to balance the equation:
“Nicholas was… older than sin, and his beard could grow no whiter. He wanted to die.
The dwarfish natives of the Arctic caverns did not speak his language, but conversed in their own twittering tongue, and conducted incomprehensible rituals when they were not actually working in the factories.
Once every year they forced him, sobbing and protesting, into Endless Night. During the journey he would stand near every child in the world, and leave one of the dwarves’ invisible gifts by its bedside. The children slept, frozen into time.
He envied Prometheus and Loki, Sisyphus and Judas. His punishment was harsher.
Ho. Ho. Ho.”
Last week, guest author Rebecca posted a kick-ass article about the heinous Always maxipad website. And your comments were so lovin’:
“OMG…I am sending this entry to EVERY girl I know. You need to be promoted to full time blogger - f*ck the guest spot!!”
“yes. yes! yes!!! Leave it to a guest blogger to bring the piss, vinegar, fire and brimstone to the party. i love you. i love you. i love you.”
If you haven’t noticed, we took your advice. Please welcome Rebecca to the Blogadilla author lineup.
And yes, she is full of piss.
This one is true. Even though we all wish it wasn’t.
In Japan, there are vending machines that sell underwear. Schoolgirls’ underwear. Previously worn and unwashed schoolgirls’ underwear.
Yes - an entire industry of trading-in the day’s underwear for a new pair. And underwear sold with a photo of the underwearer can fetch a higher price. The almighty Snopes has a nice article on this subject, which they report to be true.
I heard about Joe Meno’s “The Boy Detective Fails” from the blog of Jackson Publick [the co-creator of the oh so amazing "Venture Brothers"].
In simple terms: Great story.
In complex terms: Billy Argo was the boy detective - famous and unbeatable, the constant subject of newspaper headlines. He solved the mysteries of haunted candy factories and amusement parks.
Now in his thirties and living in a psychiatric halfway-home, Billy’s life is on the decline. Recent odd happenings force him to resurrect his childhood vocation: Who is making entire buildings in the city disappear, who is the mysterious pickpocketing woman in pink, who is the man with no face, and - the biggest question of all - what happened to Billy’s sister Caroline?
What does a boy detective do when his arch enemies are now elderly and senile, and will he ever regain the lost purpose and enthusiasm of his youth? This is a beautiful story of loss and failure and the struggle to continue on.
Meno also adds wonderful emersive details to this story: coded messages that you, the reader, must decode and an awesome super-secret hidden story.
An entertaining and philosophical read.
I got this in a used bookstore. 1972. Naked Yoga. Awesome.
[click on the tiny photo for multiple images; NSFW, though nothing vulgar]:
Step 1 - Get a Persian rug.
Step 2 - Grow long, frizzy hair.
Step 3 - Strip.
Step 4 - Get comfortable with seeing your own buttocks hovering over your head.
Dear Mike and Ike,
We’ve been through a lot together - all of those movies we’ve seen together and all of those times you’ve been there for me when I was too lazy to make myself breakfast. This is why I am deeply saddened to write you this letter.
Last night, I bought a large box of your Tangy Twister flavors and when I opened the box, a small bag of candy fell out. Though I respect this effort to keep your candy fresher, the box was only half-full.
The box was not half-empty: it was half-full of candy, and half-full of betrayal and grief.
I understand that current political debates over same-sex marriage has put a great strain on your relationship (rumor has it that you were almost Mike and Sergio for a few months), but your personal lives are affecting your products. When I opened up that box last night and a small bag of candy fell out, it was a grief comparable to getting to second base with a buxom woman you’ve taken to dinner for three weeks, only to find that she was wearing an extremely padded bra the entire time.
Mike, and my beloved Ike, I’m sorry to say that I cannot take you (nor Mike’s Latino cousin Hot Tamales) to the movies anymore until you get a handle on your lives. Until then, I will be taking my ex — that chocolatey slut Milk Duds — to the movies instead.
Farewell you cheap bastards,
Tim
About a year ago I saw a homemade flier at a coffee shop from a local band of punk rock middle school kids called Jackie Rocks. It was so hardcore and cute at the same time — like a kitten in biker leather — that it stuck in my head and I finally got around to checking out their myspace page tonight.
The internet and myspace has forever changed the landscape for the adolescent rockstars-to-be. They have videos and recorded tracks (available on I-tunes), and a link to a site where you can buy their t-shirts.
They also have their own website: http://www.jackierocks.com
Look out Donnas, Jackie really does rock, and she even writes her own music. Their musical influences include Avril Lavigne, Linda Rondstadt, and the Cure. Awesome.
I wish I’d been that cool at 13. Actually, I wish I was that cool at 31.
After seeing how far the Jenkem urban legend has gone, “Brown Bagging” is screaming to be launched into the communtications network of idiots to see where it will go (others must be warned of this grave danger - this is a gateway drug to things like “Two Girls, One Cup”):
In December’s monthly mashup, old meets new once again. Queen’s anthem “We Will Rock You” meets 50 Cent & Akon’s new track, “I’ll Still Kill.” And yes, I did have to pay 50 & Akon extra to get them to wear those wigs. Click the image to listen.
I’ll Still Rock You - Johnny Haze
(Right click above and “Save Link As…” to download the track)
A friend sent me this yesterday, and I have to say, I almost threw up a little in my mouth while reading it. Apparently getting stoned and drinking isn’t enough for kids these days. They are resorting to other methods of catching a high: brewing sh!t. That’s right, raw sewage. Also known as Jenkem or ummm…butthash. Seriously, this is just downright wrong. Check it ›
(Thanks Pollock. I sorta hate you a little for exposing me to this.)
[This is a guest post by my sister, Rebecca]:
Alternate Title: “Are You There God? It’s Me, Marketing“
It’s 4:00 AM and after an hour of tossing and turning with a nauseating abdominal cramp, you finally get out of bed and go in search of some Alleve; you stumble in the dark to the bathroom and paw around in the cabinet for a maxipad. You turn on the light and find your Always pads, open one up and as you go to remove the adhesive label covering the ‘wings’ you read:
“Have a happy period!”
Are you f#$king sh!tting me!?!
Touring the Always website, I get the impression that this is a genuine attempt to ‘get’ young women and to somehow empower them in their monthly trials. To encourage female bonding, they have a whole campaign dedicated to promoting enjoyable menstruation, with a list of acronyms like HAHP (Have A Happy Period), MLB (My Lady Business), and GAP (Got A Pad?) - lots of hip lingo for discussing your period without actually using the words “blood”, “tampon” or “excruciating pain.”
They have suggestions for pampering yourself and indulging - to abate your feelings of depression, ugliness, and discomfort. They offer a downloadable calendar for keeping track of your ‘Happy Parties’ - they recommend having a ‘Happy Party’ every month with piñata and pedicure themes. Not only can you play a menstruation crossword puzzle and make downloadable iron-ons, but there is also a lame hormonal roller-coaster game (with a maxipad as the car). Seriously.
I can’t help but believe that the marketing person responsible for this whole whacked concept learned everything they know about periods from reading “Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret.” Would a woman really come up with this bullsh!t?
I for one would really dig a feminine hygiene product campaign that cut the crap and had a sense of humor. I want to open a maxipad and have a fortune-cookie fortune on the label, something along these lines:
•“You will feel bloated, puffy and ugly today.”
•”Thank god, you’re not knocked up!”
•”Do not wear tight white clothing.”
•”Use that dull aching pain in your back as an excuse to be a bitch.”
•”Don’t bother shaving your legs.”
•”Yes, everyone CAN tell that you’re on the rag.”
•”Do not go camping in bear territory this week.”
•”You’re not getting lucky tonight.”
•”Go with the flow.”
They could even print t-shirts that say in big red writing, “I am bleeding. F**k off!” that you can wear to your “Happy Parties” where you serve Bloody Marys and blood orange cosmopolitans, and sit around and bitch about how much pain you’re in (and how men suck for not having to experience it). The possibilities are really endless and would probably win over the menstruating market in a heartbeat!
And, no . . . I was not on my f*&king period when I wrote this.
Newspapers & Friendship bracelets…what more can one want?
(via Galyn)
How can you say no to Uncle Oinker’s Gummy Bacon for only $4.95 per pack?
According to Archie McPhee, gummy bacon is “…so realistic you’ll want to fry some up and serve them with an egg and a side of hash browns. But please don’t,” they encourage. “Gummy Bacon should only be savored raw.”
(Thanks for the tip, Isabel!)
