It’s Shark Week! And, it’s also Shark Week! That’s right, I’m sitting here holding my bloated belly watching great whites circle the future Darwin Award winners of America knowing that I can not go into the water for five more days. They can smell a drop of blood from a mile away! I think. It was something like that. It might have been two miles, even. But more importantly, when is Otter Week?
They wrap themselves in kelp so they don't float away while they nap! Thank you, PBS!
WITH A WOMAN! I know, right? The story is in the new “Star”. So, you know, go read it.
And all this time I thought their babymakin’ involved a needleless syringe and pictures of Anderson Cooper.
You have to wonder if all the speculation about his sexuality played into this at all. Of course it could just be a shitty marriage, but guys do weird things to prove themselves. And celebrities are always messing with our minds to create their image.
Maybe Carrie was in on it!
Okay, I’m just speculating and should shut up. And it is “Star”.
So, I have a Kyocera phone. I totes love it, except that I can’t silence the shutter sound on the camera. It’s been bothering me for, oh, a year. Well! Today on Jezebel I learned that the new iPhone has this same problem. And it’s supposed to! It’s meant to deter pre-verts who take upskirt and downblouse pictures. BTW, downblousing totally sounds like something sexy pirates do, so I approve. Anyway, I don’t like this at all. I see many interesting things. Sweet mullets, androgynous emo people, hippie chicks, pink cement trucks, etc. And I can’t take a picture to send to my besty, because my phone sounds like a goddamn Polaroid. This is like, affecting my quality of life, yo. And I don’t get upskirting anyway. Labias are gross.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I just had a brilliant idea, and I have to go Google “wet boxers contest”.
I learned many interesting things, actually, but I’m going to cut to the meat of the matter.
My art teacher has a ginormous wang.
He seems like a pretty cool guy, very much an artist type. A tiny bit unkempt, enthusiastic, tight plain tee shirt and even tighter black jeans. Really tight jeans. Really.
I was so completely distracted, I spent a good five to ten minutes of class trying to figure out if that huge tubular bulge on his upper right thigh was for real. Like, maybe he honestly has a roll of quarters in his pocket? No, a roll of coins wouldn’t curve like that. A banana? No, the jeans are too tight, it would squish. Oh, have mercy, could it be real?
Then I had to contemplate whether he had a prestigious package, or maybe he just really, really liked art, ifyaknowwhatimean. He did describe several pieces of art as "sexy," and, well, who am I to judge?
So, yes, it was an informative day back in school. Far more so than I cared.
(Why couldn’t I have decided on a business degree? Noooo, I gotta go to an art school. Never a dull day, I swear.)
Cuz we need an intervention! I was catching up on my dlisted and I made this horrifying discovery:
The Douche-neck in action.
My fellow Chicagoans, if we have any concern for our public image we must stop this douche-osity at once. The Piven! In a V-neck! And it’s tucked in! And he looks half dead! And there’s some poor woman with him! Run, bitch, run!
Gah, it’s a wonder the universe didn’t implode when that shirt touched his skin.
I also found some of Lindsay Lohan’s new leggings.
*snicker*
Yeah, I know what these were made for. Think The Piven will buy them for his lady friend?
