Monday, October 31, 2005

Michelle Collins, Syrup Expert

Well, I always knew it would come down to this. After years and years of trying to make a name for myself in New York and otherwise, The Daily News finally realizes why I was put here on Earth: To bear witness to the mystery that was last week's sweet smelling evening in and around the city. I spoke briefly with Don Singleton, the author of the cleverly titled "Smell Hath No Fury", and while my quotes are not as humorous as I would have hoped ("IHOP on a Sunday morning"? Good one, Collins), Singleton manages to end the article with a quote from an 85-year-old in a nursing home named Nicki Benitez. The article ends:
"Down here," she said, "every time we fall asleep we don't know if we're gonna wake up anyhow."

More like pure GENIUS syrup.

My ol' factory, working overtimesies.

If any journalists are currently reading this, please know that I'm also readily available to comment on: Lean Cuisine, babaganoush, Akmak crackers, Sweet N' Low, Berry Burst Cheerios, dill havarti, and any and all condiments and dressings (they make the meal.)

p.s. In today's round of "Guess Tomorrow's NY Post Headline" (note, this is Round 1), I'm going with "Get By With Alito Help From His Friends" or any variation of the song's title. As of 11:51 a.m., yours truly is the first to use said headline. Personally, he's "Alito" too conservative for my tastes. But I'm all about baby-killing, so don't ask me.

p.p.s. Q: What's the fastest way to spend over $50,000 at J. Crew?

Answer: Buy 18 of their insanely priced Gold Charm bracelets, at $2,900.

Tiffany's, Shmiffany's, wouldn't anyone pay top dollar for a 14K flip-flop charm?

Friday, October 28, 2005

The Best Thing I've Read Today

Even the CATS of drug-dealers get all the ladies! Sadly, this PYT died in a knife fight in March 1997.

During lunch, I was perusing the latest issue of Rolling Stone, with Paul McCartney gracing the cover. In it is a story called "Kid Cannabis", about a 19-year-old chubby loser-shlub who ended up running a multi-million dollar pot smuggling business. The young guys running the joint (har) inevitably ended up living the Scarface lifestyle, lots of money, Escalades, fur coats, diamonds, and of course, slutty stripper girlfriends.

And now, ladies and gentlemen, is the best thing I've read today. The author of the story, Mark Binelli, interviews the girlfriend of the head of operations, named Buffy. Buckle up:
Later that summer, Nate broke both of his arms in a dirt-bike accident and moved in with Buffy. "That was a bad time," she recalls. "Nate's arms were in casts. I was recovering from my surgery." She fluffs her breasts as a visual aid. "And my cat Titty Bar Bob had broken his back, and he got addicted to these painkillers. He'd crawl up the sides of the wall to get to them. It was a weird summer.

Kid Cannabis by Mark Binelli

I call this next piece "Titty Bar Bob Wants Water":

(muffled, barely audible) "Can someone please just bring me some water?" (pause) "Hello?" (silence) "I can't move my legs and I'm thirsty." No answer. "I SAID I CAN'T MOVE MY LEGS AND I'M THIRSTY! HELLO!" (silence, then quietly warbled) "Goddammit."

As far as the funniest picture I've seen today, that's easy:

According to this website: "Not fair. An eagle spirit AND a moustache are watching over him. This kind of portrait is just bragging." (ps This blog is a hilarious find! Check out the man-phin!)

Thursday, October 27, 2005

They Know Me Too Well?

Google Ads MAY have just pinpointed why I'm still single.

Kidding, gentlemen! I'm as clean as a Marine's whistle down there! Minus the Marine spit! (OR IS IT?)

But seriously, Google, stop clit-blocking me.

Leggo My Wallet!

Even though it was chilly out in New York tonight, I opted to walk home from work. (No small feat, Financial District to Morningside Heights). So many things happened on my walk! I spoke with nearly every member of my family (save a mentally ill sibling -- is it chilly in here, or is he bipolar?), shared a haughty look with Lauren Ambrose (which led to at least 30 minutes of giddyness -- Claire Fisher!!), listened to 3 whole songs on my iPod before it mysteriously froze, and fantasized about moving to Europe.

But there was something strange happening in New York tonight. It smelled... delicious. Very sweet. Familiar. New York smelled... like it had been COVERED in maple syrup. Now at first, I figured I had somehow gotten some on me. Fine, I didn't eat waffles today, but I brushed up against a fat person at a Duane Reade. Fat people are practically made of syrup, as we all know.

No, no this was strong. Were we being attacked? Does chemical warfare taste like memories? No, that's impossible: Pancake-lovers = Freedom-fighters. I enjoyed my deliciously fragrant hike uptown, came home and figured I had syrup on the brain or something of the sort. In fact, I completely forgot about it.

It wasn't until my roomate came home a little bit tipsy, clutching her halloween costume (this year: a slutty bee), and banged on my door to announce: "The city smells like syrup!" Well. I threw my laptop straight to the ground and shouted "I know!" Then we stared at each other in shock for over 10 minutes.

I immediately headed over to my favorite news search engine, Google (cratch), and typed in "New York Syrup". Nothing. "Manhattan Syrup Spill". Just a couple of borderline-NSFW-ewey stuff. Then on to NY1, and Gothamist. Zero! (SEE UPDATE) How can the biggest city in the world smell like Mrs. Butterworth's vagina and not raise the eyebrow of a single reporter! Well, consider my eyebrow cocked, my steno pad angled, my press hat Drudge-ified. Here's my cone people -- I need the scoop.

At the very least, I solidified my Halloween costume for this weekend.

Miiiiiight wanna avoid the blackface though.

UPDATE: I officially scoop NY Newsday!! Also, "authorities are on the case." Lemme guess:

Cheap joke? Yes. It's the only kind I can afford on my salary! (You have now just entered The Zing Zone.)

UPDATE! Gothamist is on the case! If you know any info, head over there and add to the growing list of perplexed city dwellers.

UPDATE, 10/28, 5:02 pm: NY1 still has no answers, but does offer up this completely useless poll!


10 years too late, I find out Depeche is playing Bowery Ballroom tomorrow night. I am a-DYING. And to think, I almost randomly went to their in-store appearance that night! GAH!


PS They're under the Mute Records / Sire Records / Reprise Records label. Anybody? Anyone? What could I call and say to get me on the list? Make a Wish foundation? I'm not above it, and I look 10. Seriously? You guys? Sheriouslee?

5 minutes later: Still no word from anyone. You guuuuuuuuys... SERIOUSLY.


FIVE MINUTES LATER: Ok. I had a freak out. I'm sorry. I won't wear a beggar's cap. I just... I don't know... I need some help, that's all.

:05 LATER: SERIOUSLY. Back to freaking out. Also, anyone know where I can buy some "over-the-counter" ADD meds? And don't email me saying "Amazing Town" cause I've been there, and I can't afford it.

Me at the office. I work for giants, and I am a baby eagle.

Hey, you know what's COMPLETELY mind numbing? Sitting in a fucking dead silent office and refreshing your inbox to see this every 5 milliseconds, you fuckers.

I'm completely having an epi.

Total Redump

This post has no theme, other than the theme of GETTING THINGS OFF MY CHEST. A mental mastectomy, if you will. Tasteless? Obvs.

- Let's start with this video, a montage of FUNNY CATS. (From the deliriously addictive Cityrag)

Aww, isn't that cute? He's trying to claw my eyes out.

- From the same video website (which really has a lot to offer) it's THE CRAZY CAKE LADY. Starts off kinda funny, then gets Hilarie Swank.

Wyeth Painting? Or CCL? (Crazy Cake Lady)

- Another video! This is an e-card sent to my friend Gabe by his lovely mother. I assume she didn't realize before sending it that this turkey-whore is begging for it in the ass.

If you have an erection right now, you might be a redneck. Or a turkey.

- Has anyone noticed that the theme music for the Zathura trailer, a movie intended solely for children, is the theme song to Requiem For A Dream? Really makes me chuckle when I hear it. Also, have you ever noticed that the Rudy theme song is in every movie trailer, ever ever? You can thank Jerry Goldsmith for that, and 398 other things. Total Recall AND Six Degrees of Separation? We are kindred spirits, Mssr. Goldsmith.

What am I even talking about? Kids'll LOVE HER!

- My Total Recall shout out reminds me to tell you that I'm currently reading The Short Stories of Phillip K. Dick. Some hits, some misses, but when they're hits, expect to check your ass crack for wiring.

OMG, today would have been so perfect for my "Bad Hair Day" hat! Oh, no, no... I mean... twoooo weeeeeeks.

- Last thing: Two things really: 1. Does anyone have Tuesday nights episode of Amazing Race on tape, or, dare I ask, DVD? An earnest plea: I'm dying to see it.

- Actual last thing: Is anyone driving from New York to Boston and back for Thanksgiving? Or looking to hack my body up into a million pieces? I need a ride! Am willing to pay you in cash or 4-hour singing marathons. Oh, and I'm good.

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

Apiary Costume Contest

I'm in a contest!!

He's a Charmer, That Scott Tenorman!

It has become clear to me that a lot of you can't see the video posted below. Well, I can see it on my computer. I hadn't planned on that. What I DID plan on was offering up as a consolation prize the script for not only, hands down, the best South Park episode of all time, but I'm willing to say one of the top 10 funniest things I've ever seen on tv, ever.

It helps if you've seen it, as you can hear Cartman speaking as you read along, but hopefully it will provide some relief either way.

Scott Tenorman Must Die

Some pics and soundbites from the episode.

Take a Pill, Mother

When I first bought my digital camera, I discovered the "video" feature to be the best thing evs. Why so great? While a 30 second video is not a technological breakthrough, taking a video without the person on camera realizing they're being filmed IS genius. And unless you're wearing a turban with a conspicuously shiny hole in it, secret filming is hard to come by.

This all came to a peak a few months back, when I returned to my hometown of Miami, Florida. My father picked me up at the airport at around midnight, and my dear mother was waiting at home with a fridge full of the best, fattiest salads Whole Foods has to offer. Normally, my mother is extremely glamorous, lots of makeup, hairspray, the works -- she looks like Joan Collins' sister. This video, however, was taken following a long day's work, she had removed her makeup, de-teased her hair, and, basically, looked like a maniac. She's also wearing her favorite denim dress that buttons up the front, except basically unbuttons anytime she moves even just slightly, like some kind of Oedipian Michael Jackson nightmare. One minute, Sunday morning bagels, the next minute a peep show from the darkest bowels of hell.

Moving on, I am primarily writing this to show you the new thing I learned! How to post videos online! Yay!

Here, witness my mother's very odd method of swallowing a pill, unaware, mind you, that she is being filmed. It is only when my goose honking begins that she realizes the jig is up. The video is also telling of my many mental problems, summed up easily by the First Magazine for Women's headline screaming "Walk Off 45 Pounds!", partially blocked by a gigantic container of sugary, chocolatey cookies. And that, friends, is why I am destined to pen the next generation of Cathy Comic strips, and then take a challah knife to my delicates in an effort "get thin!" Enjoy.

This video will only remain up on my blog for a day or two - tomorrow I'm going to change it to a direct link! E-mail me if you're having trouble seeing it. Remember -- this is an experiment! Try this link if it's not working! (SEE UPDATE!)

UPDATE: I just listened to this video tonight WITH sound (a luxury I am denied at work), and am beginning to think it was a mistake posting it. You have to understand, this is pure, exhausted, unadulterated laughter. My actual laugh is much, much more demure.

Update on the UPDATE: Thanks to the reader who said I have the "most disturbing transvestite-clown laugh in the entire Western hemisphere (and not in a good way)", I've taken the direct video stream off of the site. To watch the video, click here. (And note to that reader, if you have nothing nice to say, go fuck yourself.)

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

Giving "Petty" Cash a Whole New Meaning

On my way to work, looking tre' "business cazh".

Here's the great thing about working in an office with less than 15 people: Everybody is always watching. Always looking, sneaking a peek around a corner, or there, in their offices, glaring at me in open disdain.

Or at least, in this paranoid little Jew mind of mine, they are.

I haven't spoken about work in a few months, so let me remind you: I'm one of three "support staff" folks, one of whom is very sweet, the other who is a complete, jumbled, mean-spirited maniac. A woman who, once a day, manages to swing by my desk to snidely ask "How are those rabies shots going? Wow, it must reaaaally ruin your weekend, huh? I bet it hurts a lot too! How big is the needle? Does the doctor jab it in ya real hard, or what? Do ya bleed? A lot? Does it give you nightmares?" I've dubbed this woman "Malekhamoves", Yiddish for "The Angel of Death." The same woman who smokes 6 times a day, coughs for hours on end, speaks to me like an autistic 4th grader, treats me as though I were the bastard spawn of a man that left her, and my resemblance is too much to bear, and leers at me for no reason whatsoever. (So what if I wear fishnet hotpants to work! They're pinstriped!) She also has "Nickelodeon Gak!" for brains and it takes her 10 hours to do anything. That could range from "counting" on one hand to finding a file on her computer.

Above, Mavis, always judging. It should be noted she bears a striking resemblance to Chris O'Donnell.

Needless to say, she and I don't get along. But still, I remain mature and professional even though I have trouble breathing.

So a couple of months ago, I noticed that one of our file room doors had been locked shut. "Odd", I thought. I jiggled the handle. No movement. I asked my one attorney friend here what the deal was, and he explained that this woman, let's call her Mavis, hid certain high-end supplies in a secret nook in that room (read: Bic pens, pencils, etc.). A few days ago, Mavis noticed something strange... some highly coveted AA batteries had gone missing! (Cut the lights, and read in a Clue-style, old woman voice "My pearls!")

Well, I immediately became defensive. If, in fact, some batteries were stolen, why didn't anyone tell me about it? Why was this being kept a secret? The answer, was obvious: They thought I had done it. They thought I was the thief! Now while I'm not sitting on any kind of moral high ground here (let's say I cheated on a chemistry quiz in high school, for example, which I'm not necessarily saying), I'm no fuckin' thief. Sure, I stuff my bra full of grapes at the market and eat them down long aisle strolls, and fine, maybe I passed a "note" to a "bank teller" once (relax, it just said "You're doing a great job!"), but batteries? Practically everything I own is rechargeable. Anyway why am I defending myself to you? I ain't know nuffin' from nuffin'!

Now the question was, do I say anything? If I did defend myself without being formally accused, I'd look even guiltier. I decided that my best bet was to just stay quiet about it, not create a stir, and lose sleep on my own time. Does stressing about bullshit outside of the office count as overtime? I think it should.

So there I am, quiet, pasty, halo a-gleaming -- but then it occurrs to me that I have files I need to access in that office. So, I ask my boss if I can get "access" to these files, and she snaps back "No! No one is allowed in that room! Absolutely nobody." My face burns -- now I'm starting to think that I'm in some sort of Phillip K. Dick story. Are the robots coming? Is there a time bomb inside of me? Do I have to utter a certain phrase in order to set it off? Would that phrase be "I am an underpaid and undervalued employee?"


All hahaha-ing aside, I began worrying about my goat, and why it went missing. Someone, clearly, had gotten it. Yet, still, I remained quiet, and for no reason at all, felt guilty.

Have you seen me?

Last week, as I made my way over the postage machine, Mavis was stocking the shelves in the off-limits supply room. When her beady eyes spotted me approaching, the cornered crow's claws curled in disgust. She grabbed the wooden door, and slammed it... die-rectum-ly in my fatchay (Italian for "Face of the Innocent").

Well. That to me was the last straw. No longer was I being paranoid -- I had a reason now. An official one. You slam the door in my face, so as to prevent me from seeing where you stash your loot? I am now convinced she keeps cartons of Virginia Slims in there, as nothing else could matter to her nearly as much. (I told ya, she’s a classy broad.)

I came back to my desk absolutely seething. I consulted with a friend over whether or not I should speak up about this clear misunderstanding, my feeling being that I should still stay quiet about it and just stir in my own acid reflux. He suggested that maturity got me nowhere so far, and that I should speak up. Now maybe it was something in the air, or the late night shot full of immunoglobin I had the night before (amazing what bars are serving these days), but my body turned ice cold. My fingers stiffened, my heart stopped. “He’s right!”

I smoothed out my Gap modern fit trousers, tucked some stray hairs into bobby pins, rolled back away from my desk, stood up… and marched. I marched for those wrongfully accussed, I marched for justice. I took the moral highground directly into my boss’s office. “I need to speak with you about something,” I said (probably meekly). Les Miserables lyrics came flooding into my head: "When the beating of your heart, echose the beating of a drum!" I wiped some dirt off of my face and quietly shut the door. Withholding as much rage as possible, I launched into my fears: the locked fileroom door, the missing batteries, being kept in the dark about everything, the door slamming, the leering… my eyes were bulging out of their deceivingly Asian sockets.

My boss shook her head. “You’re being really paranoid right now.” Did I have a choice? “It has nothing to do with you -- I can’t say what happened, but it has nothing to do with you.” “Really? Cause I felt really accused.” “Do you think we would let that go?” she asked. I guess they wouldn’t, although then again these are the same people who took 4 months to fire a woman who showed up for work drunk day after day and smelled like she was in week-old diapers and an outfit that her cats had used both as a litterbox and, likely, a masturbatory device. In fact, I could very well NOT see them bringing it up. Nevertheless, I felt relieved. “So you’re telling me I can sleep tonight?” I lamely quipped. Why don’t you tell that to the case full of Sparks you consumed before bedtime, Collins.

Today, I had to go to Staples to buy some stationary used for our holiday invitations. I was given a whole $20 bill, and while I was tempted to buy a case full of Wonka bars (fingers crossed, Golden Ticky!), I knew I was morally obligated to return with 2 reams of paper. I purposefully kept the money in a separate envelope, so as not to mix their small-minded, petty cash with my liberal, philanthropic money. Once back in the office, I peeled off a soaked cashmere sweater (don’t you hate this season?) and headed over with the receipt and change. Within seconds, Mavis was back at my desk.

“This is a quarter short!” she shouted.

“Huh, that’s weird…” I furrowed my caveman-like browbone. “I kept it totally separate -- I didn’t even take my wallet out!”

“Well, I didn’t take MY wallet out either!” she snapped. Point: Mavis!

“OK, no big deal.” While I reached for my changepurse (yes, a tiny purse for change), I debated fucking with her brain. “Oh, RIGHT, the twenty-five cents… bah bah bah bah… um, I bought a giiiiiant gumball with it on the way back, I was soooo thirsty..."

"Was that wrong? Should I not have done that?"

Or another possiblity: "Eek, I meant to tell you… buuuuut I accidentally swallowed that quarter when putting it back in my bag... Give me like… an hour? If I’m lucky! Maybe two?? I’ll get it back to you A.S.S.A.P."

Instead, I pulled a single, shiny tuppens from my wallet and placed it in her tar-stained hand. “No big deal, maybe it fell out,” I stated calmly.

“Well, I don’t know what happ--” she started to scream.

“Forget about it! I don’t mind, it’s just a quarter.”

I smiled the smile of a person who had just forked over 5 minutes of their salary.

If you want the honest truth, it seems to me like there’s only one thing I’m capable of stealing...


Friday, October 21, 2005

The 2:47 p.m. Breakdown

Spurred (purred? furred?) by this:

Found here via this.

Thursday, October 20, 2005

The Man, The Mystery, The Animal Inside

John Davidson's Website.

You need sound. I can't... there's nothing I could... add... to make this any more... I just am at a literal loss for words. I like Tom Bergeron (the replacement host on Hollywood Squares) and all. But sir, you are NO John Davidson.

I would be a liar if I said I didn't want to run my hands through that thick, wavy hair of his.

Make sure to click on "Fan Club" and listen to "Cat's In The Cradle". Too bad I can't Amazon Wishlist one of his CDs!!

Also, guess what this is?

While you're getting your minds out of the gutter, just click here to learn the answer. It's the largest picture of anything that's ever been put on the internet. Make sure to expand it. Also, notice the devil's tuft sticking out of the lower-left eye.

Who knew John Davidson had a vagina for a mouth?

First, The Aniston; next, The Davidson.

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

"The Jews Cut My Thumbs Off!"

May I introduce the Giselle Bundchen of the sign language world, who's name I'm guessing is "Bruce" or "Mos Def". The animated version is 100 times more hystericaller. Or if you like your irony... ironicaller... check this out. In "brunette" he's all "I'm sorry, what did you say? Let me tell you a secret." And in "Hanukkah", at first he's all "The Jews cut my thumbs off!", then he's all "JK! JK! See? They're right here!"... What a prick.*

You know what's better than waking up with a hangover before work? Waking up still a little inebriated. Don't worry, I still make copies like a sober-motherfucking-bitch-whore, I just over-hyphenate. The great news is, I don't feel like vomming!!.... Yet.

While I drink some of my Grandmother's specially-licensed Sobriety Tonic (read: Boilermakers and Schmaltz Herring), why don't you wisen up at peruse this week's New Yorker, specifically an engaging and hilarious article profiling Sarah Silverman. Love her or hate her, just love her. Also, Talk of the Town IM's our favorite SCOTUS nominee, Harriet Miers! If you're still bored, check out Screenhead, a site I freely lift material from.

Or, if it's music you're gunning for, why not take a listen to The Tender Trio, made-up of ex-Spacehoggy, Blind-Mellony people. I accidentally caught their set at Maxwell's (IN JERSEY!) Sunday night, and dragged a friend to hear them again last night. Let's get an album recorded guys, damn!

*I've just spent the last half-an-hour annotating the Sign Language site with a friend. I may just half to make a new feature here where we learn a sign language word-of-the-day, but figuring out what he's really saying.

Monday, October 17, 2005

This Season's Hottest Halloween Costume

Has Got To Be

Anderson Cooper in Blackface.

Sigh.... those eyes!

[tip via Eli L.]

UPDATE: I posted this at 2 am last night... inappropes? If the fact that my stomach sank this morning the moment I woke up is any indication... shyah! So I'm amending my previous thoughts with the ACTUAL hottest Halloween costume of 2005: Anderson Cooper as Alex Trebek!

What is Classy-Ass? The University of Classy-Ass?

(via perhaps the best secret internet find of all timesies, The Jeopardy Archive)

DON'T WORRY ALEX! You're still #1!

These two should go on the road as a newly vamped "Salt N' Pepa".

That Not-So-Fresh-Prince Feeling

Here's a pic of me at work when one of the other lowly assistants is on vacation:

It's what experts and fashion-forward types call "busy face."

Or is my exhaustion caused instead by an e-mail thread going around between friends over this year's Halloween costume choice: Dressing up as the cast of "The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air"? Some highlights:

How it began:

"I'd like to officially announce that Adam Shapiro and I will be masquerading as Hillary and Carlton Banks, respectively, from the smash hit television show, "The Fresh Prince of Bel Air," this Halloween. That leaves the roles of the staunch but game "Uncle" Phil Banks, the smolderingly deadpan family butler, Geoffrey, the sassy woman of the house, Vivian Banks, the innocent and amenable young Ashley Banks, and of course the eponymous sovereign himself, the Fresh Prince of Bel Air. "Nicky" Banks, the pube-headed mute toddler added to the show in 1994, will not be included in this group, however the choice Disk Jockey Jazzy Jeff, a particularly athletic role, will certainly be available for any courageous reveler with the appropriate track suit and jewels." -- Jules, The Bruni Digest Editor

"I'm willing to be Jazzy Jeff if you can find a giant to constantly pick me up by the collar and throw me out of the bar..." -- Michelle, Resident Gy-Gy (Giant, Not Gyno)

"I would make the cutest Uncle Phil." -- Lang, Resident Tie-Tie

"Wai Wai Wait -- Can I go as BOTH moms?!?!? Remember, there were TWO Vivians? Like two face from Batman???" -- Michelle, Resident Re-Re

"What about Trevor?!?!?!" -- Chloe, Splainin 2 Do

"Who's Trevor?" -- Jules, Exactly

"Trevor was Hillary's amazing fiance...I believe he was a NEWS ANCHOR who fell out of a window and died." -- Chloe, an actual news anchor (or almost one)

"I am under the impression that he died while bungee jumping. There's also a chance that he proposed to Hillary mid-fatal dive." -- Sarah, i.e. Ms. Clara Fication

"Not that I've seen that episode a brillion times, but he did in fact die while bungee jumping live on the 6 o'clock news and proposing to Hilary. Here's the script:
(the scene opens on hilary and family sitting in front of the tv. Hilary is wearing a full lace wedding gown, think Mariah Carey when she married Tommy Mottola)
(the screen goes blank, the family hems and haws and lies to hilary, who says something ditzy and snobby, i don't remember what)" -- Mike Barry, Rapper Name: Attention 2 De-Tail

I could go on and on, but instead head over to the quotes page on IMDB, where you'll find genius turd-nuggets like:
Carlton: [Carlton is practicing for solo in Easter Mass] Tell your pharoah, let my people *go*!
Will: [mocking Carlton] Tell your pharoah, let my cousin *grow*!

As my ancestors in the shtetl used to say, or so I imagine, "Bring the rake."

By far, the most confusing Google Image result... ever.

Friday, October 14, 2005

The Froogle Gourmet

The weather is a-changing, and my fleece from last winter looks as though it was culled from the ass of a dead sheep. So, I clicked on my favorite digital bookmark, Froogle, and typed in "black fleece fitted", because "Bill Cosby's Sweater" didn't return any results.

The problem is there are so many results, I'm having trouble picking out which one suits me best. Can you guys help me pick one out?? Here are the actual results, in no particular order other than the one I created subconsciously:

I really like this one right off the bat. There's nothing worse than below-zero windchill hitting your face, and I like that it doesn't impede my peripheral vision. It would also look great with boots. The only problem I have with it are the two logos printed, one on the back, the other on the chest. I am soooo not a label whore, so that's really not me.

Here's a close-up of the face. Great model, p.s., she looks very familiar. Just realized -- this would also make a GREAT Halloween costume -- I could be a bank robber!

Here they really threw me a curveball. Black or blue? I think the black is more slimming, but blue might add that certain "Joie de Vivre" that so many horse sweatshirts are missing these days.

Thank god! The perfect shoes. They're a little "Bo Ho", but the sherpa lining will keep me toasty through long, romantic strolls in Central Park.

Hmmm... this is actually more what I'm looking for. More fitted, a little more cazh... on second thought...


Hmm... this horse looks pretty smart. Maybe I should just go the whole nine tards and splurge for some "Haute Manure" from the Farmani line... If only I could get that raise! And it must be a ladies coat, right? Look how that steed crosses her hooves... Class painted upwards and down.

Well I could sit here and debate it all day, or just get down to business and buy this helpful guide:

Yes, this should work out just fine.

p.s. My debut album shall be entitled "The Bigger, The Bette Midler"
p.p.s. Do you think when Zombies IM each other, "ROTFL" means "Ripping Out The Fleshy Lining"?

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