Mrs. Claus

Mrs. Claus

Looks like someone took my advice.

I know many of you were shocked by John McCain’s choice of running mate, but really it should come as no surprise. From time immemorial, fuckability and desperate pandering are what politics are all about.

People are calling her a VPilf or the Britney Spears of the American Gubernatorial Scene, while others are suggesting there’s a conspiracy going on with her Down Syndrome baby; I don’t know if I’d go that far1, but I will say one thing about Ms. Palin, she is surely the hottest Governor the great state of Alaska has ever had2.

Also, on a slight tangent3, this might be all the booze talking4, but Clinton, the Younger wasn’t looking so bad at the DNC. She’s still no Meghan McCain, but there’s an undeniable charm there, like if someone pushed Chloe Sevigny out of a moving truck and she landed on her face, but the truck was only going like 15mph, but she still needed some reconstructive surgery but all her doctors were members of a secret cult that worships horses.

If Hillary’s plans don’t work out in 2012, not all hope is lost for the Clinton dynasty. No. There is another.

Vote Clinton/Cyrus in ’325.

  1. Britney is after all much more used to public scrutiny than the leader of a state with the population of three and a half Guams. []
  2. Pochahontas was never Governor of Alaska, right? What about Sacajawea? []
  3. A first for me, I know. []
  4. Ain’t no party like a National Political Convention, ‘cause a National Political Convention don’t stop. Except maybe when there’s a hurricane involved. []
  5. Who are we kidding? Cyrus/Clinton. []

Mario Kart2

Mario Kart2

Highly scientific study on the affects of drinking and driving1.

I think this calls for an equally scientific study on what happens if you play Mario Kart while under the influence of “Mario Kart2“.

real life Mario Kart

Don’t worry, you’re just tripping balls.

1 A cartoon go kart.

2 You know what I’m talking about. Or maybe you don’t, who knows?

Clownin’ around in the neighborhood

What nightmares are made of.

I know just how you feel little critter

Sometimes you climb the slide, sometimes the slide climbs you.

Funny coincidence, no?


The symptoms of depression (according to the National Institute of Mental Health) include anxiety, pessimism, loss of interest in sex, insomnia, thoughts of suicide, restlessness and chronic headaches. These are also the symptoms of being smart.”

— Chuck Klosterman

The Fountain of Youth

I’ve been thinking about death a lot lately, so it’s pretty reassuring to know that I’m going to live to be at least 350 years old. 23rd century, here I jizz!

(via videogum)

Armin Tamzarian’s reign of terror is over.

Armin Tamzarian’s reign of terror is over.

Christopher Chance, or the Human Target, is a DC Comics character, later given a Vertigo ongoing series written by Peter Milligan. An actor/detective/bodyguard, Chance could impersonate virtually anyone, needing only some prosthetics and the time to study the lives they lead. His “clients,” or personalities, ranged from an imposing African-American preacher to a Major League baseball player. The series obviously dealt with the issues of identity and so remains a favorite of mine.

It posed a particular question that has always fascinated me: can a human being be reconstructed only through secondary sources? Say you died1 and your body, for whatever reason, was not retrievable2. In this hypothetical, there exists a machine capable of transferring thoughts into a waiting body4. If your family, loved ones and enemies were interviewed and all your belongings catalogued5 and rifled through and the resulting glut of information was set to percolate in this machine, could the resulting product be called “you7“?

Human Target only ran for three years, but it managed to stay fresh and end on a satisfying note in 2006. Which is why I was so surprised when I discovered last week that it was based on a true story.

This New Yorker article is almost prohibitively long to read online, but it is such a sad and bizarre story that it’s worth it. The jist? Up until his thirties, a Frenchman named Frédéric Bourdin assumed the identities of dead or missing children all around Europe and later in the U.S., and got away with it, at least for a while. He did this several times. He fooled schools, orphanages and even families. So I guess the moral of the story is anyone in your life can be a French impostor and you’d have no way of knowing. Sleep tight everyone8.

1 Better yet don’t. If you don’t say it out loud, it might not happen. That’s how it works, right?

2 Autoerotic defenestration is no joke. The more you know3.

3 The less you care.

4 Hobos finally found their calling.

5 Even those. Especially those. Could a life without your SpongeBob anal beads even be called living6.

6 Gives a whole new meaning to SquarePants.

7 Answer: probably.

8 Don’t let the punaise des lits bite.


(via kottke)

This is not my beautiful house!

I’ve been playing house this past week, as I was left in charge of a lovely home and it’s two resident canines, and let me tell you: it’s not all that’s it cracked up to be.

Don’t get me wrong, there are certain perks that come with home ownership: the ability to pussyfoot about naked with impunity, a lush backyard to frolic in and the ability to make an ungodly racket without fear of reproach, among them. But when the actual homeowners don’t believe in curtains or drapes, valuing something as pedestrian as sunshine over an ever fleeting privacy, the freshly planted carpet of sod is too fragile to be frolicked upon, (not to mention it’s too fucking hot to even think about it anyway) and the loudest noise coming from the house is a possibly retarded dog barking at you because he forgot who you were for a second, it becomes all too easy to lose sight of the plus side.

Of course, it wasn’t all doom and gloom. In fact, it gave me a much needed opportunity to reflect on my life. Plus, it’s important to remember I didn’t come away empty handed1.

Things I’ve learned from renting the American dream2:

1 Don’t worry, I got paid too. Sotomayor got to get paid. Y’all don’t know shit about this! I get this shit for just sitting around.

2 “American night terror” just doesn’t have the same ring to it.

3 Obviously, there’s at least one ghost.

4 How he knew you had already gotten to the other one first, I’ll never know.

5 I measured it once6.

6 And cut it twice. Or is it the other way around? I can never keep that straight7.

7 Funnily enough, much like my penis8.

8 Because it’s crooked9.

9 How did I get here?

I have no idea how they could top this!

This commercial for the 19th1 season of Prison Break looks promising.

1 Has it really been that long?

So apparently, I don’t actually know English.

So apparently, I don’t actually know English.

Color me embarrassed. I guess it’s back to Spanish for me.

Take a quiz on the hundred most common words in the English language. I would offer you some hints but that would be cheating and more importantly, no inglés.

In case you were wondering: my score? Treinta y ocho.

(via kottke)

Step right up and have your gender guessed.

Step right up and have your gender guessed.

Using your browser’s history, this site tries to determine your sex based on the average users of the sites you visit most. According to my browsing habits, I’m 93% male1.

What I’ve learned:

1 Fun fact: The average vagina makes up 7% of your body by weight.

2 This is the first I’m hearing of it.

Casting Reality

(link to video)

A reality show about people whose main aspiration in life is to be on a reality show. This might even be more meta than my idea for a reality tv show where there’s no money at stake and every one is just there to make friends. The season finale is just people literally throwing each other under buses.

I better hurry up and pitch it to VH11.

1 The house that shame built.


(via videogum)

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