UNIVERSAL DONOR: MA VIE EN CROUTE
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Universal Donor
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You are just a number to me! And that number is: PAGES UD MADE: My Books Page My Reviews Page My Reference Page My Music Page My Pictures My Store UD-RELATED PAGES: My LiveJournal My MySpace music page My Flickr page My del.icio.us page My Last.fm page My Amazon Wishlist HEAVY ROTATION Dan Deacon: Bromst Animal Collective: Merriweather Post Pavillion Bon Iver: For Emma, Forever Ago Vampire Weekend: Vampire Weekend Fleet Foxes: Fleet Foxes BLOGS ETC claude le monde nuncstans rock 'em stock 'em tomato nation postmodern drunkard tuckova 22 ghastly mess constintina total virility fuzzysquid drunken bee stacey nightmare elyse from ANTM stereolabrat dark side points jf_franklin 123 i love you READ NOW brotherhood 2.0 NOT BLOGS ETC qwantz (dinosaur comix) go fug yourself the burg cat and girl book of ratings married to the sea icanhascheezburger fire joe morgan fivethirtyeight.com READ NOW hospitality on parade WEIRD LOVE dead amusement pks craters! all content © 2002-2010 Jeremy Broomfield 
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Friday, September 17, 2004
Awful image of the day: Picture a skinny man with dark curly hair. He is thinning a little on top, but not much. Actually he's more receding than thinning, but he just looks a bit sparse, like you know he's so over 35 that he can never again say he's in his late twenties without people laughing directly in his face. Ok, so picture this: he also has a mullet. It's long, longer than his shoulders, and it is full, sharply contrasting the stuff on top. When he wants to demonstrate just how leonine his mane makes him feel, he actually tosses his head around like a teenage girl, or a wet dog.
Now imagine this: He is dancing around with his partner in a tacky suburban living room with lots of carpet. He is naked. NAKED. Skinny mullet man is naked, and his penis bobs flaccidly around, bouncing from hairy thigh to thigh, like a hairless vole in a thatch of pubic grass. He dances horribly, like Kermit the Frog (who had an excuse for dancing horribly, after all: he was a fucking puppet), a textbook White Man's Overbite that he only makes worse by being self-consious about his nudity while simultaneously trying to pretend that he's totally cool with it, like I loooooooove being naked in public, on TV and all, and later on I'm gonna have sex with my Disproportionately Hot Girlfriend. And thinking about his DHG makes him feel a little better, because everyone on TV can see just how hot she is, and that she's with him. But we can also see that she dances even worse, like Miss Piggy after a stroke. Except imagine now that he's a foreigner, or at least a relatively recent immigrant, and his accent is as impenetrable as Laura Bush's tight virgin asshole. (momentary digression: picture that. . . . Okay. Sorry.) Okay his accent sounds Greek or Brazilian or something. And now he's telling you about this lovemaking technique. This naked Yanni-monster is sharing his mysterious bedway with you, oh god. It involves covering the female sex organs with enough ice-cream-sundae toppings to cause the mother of all yeast infections. It's clear that he is uncomfortable with experiencing the actual, unmediated, un-topped vagina, and whether it's a visual, olfactory, or taste complaint, you can't be sure. But as his parting shot, he refers to placing a cherry on top of the "clay-ATTER-us," which you then chew on, he says. The cherry, he says, laughing at the mistake you were about make, not the clay-atter-us! Thanks for joining me for a momentary stop on our journey across the digital television landscape: HBO's Real Sex. The show is hideous. Tawdry, prurient, and vomitously banal, living up to its name by showing "real" people involved in sexual (usually read: naked) activities. The show banks on the viewer's interest in intermittent flashes of bare skin, the occasional genital, and sometimes even some sex -- all under the guise of like investigative journalism, so the viewer doesn't have to feel the guilt associated with watching actual pornography. But Real Sex makes the strongest case ever that pornography -- and perhaps even sex -- should be left to the professionals. Though it doesn't make the show worth watching, there is the occasional gem. Like the segment on the Miss Black Nude America Pageant (or something like that) contest in the Caribbean, where in between all the air-kissing, backbiting, shouts of "Girl!", and five miles of fake fingernail, one contestent finds the time to call errbody together for a Saint Loius-accented session of group "prurr." Got to thank the lord (whose name she pronounces "Jee-SUSS-ah!") before they go get completely naked, oiled-up, and wave their labia in the judges' faces. Praise God! 0 comments |
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MY IMAGINARY GIRLFRIENDS Chan Marshall Rotem of the IDF Eleanor Friedberger Amy Goodman Bernardine Dohrn ('69) Maya Rudolph Joanna Newsom Imogen Heap Caroline Dhavernas Shana Rae Ray DISALLOWED FOREVER "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you!" - "from whence" - "...the exception that proves the rule" - any use of the question "spit or swallow?" - the phrase "drop trou" - fake-o reviewer verbs: "penned" for wrote "helmed" for directed "lensed" for whatever - "expat" - the euphemism "passed away" - pronouncing merci beaucoup as "mercy buckets!" (see also: "grassy-ass!") PET PEEVES "confinscated" - trying children "as adults" - "drownded" - misuse of reflexive pronouns, as when someone says "Please talk to Bob or myself." Come on people now. "Myself" is not just a fancy version of "me"! LEARN IT. - tattoos in the Courier font - any use of Comic Sans |