Archive for February, 2009
Because the U.S. economy suffered its deepest contraction in a quarter century, the S&P 500 closed at 12-year low, China’s Premier Wen Jiabao confirms this New Great Depression hasn’t found a bottom yet and consumer confidence found a bigger, DEEPER cave to hide out in this month — I figured we were due for a little pick-me-up.
And no one can do that like today’s birthday boy – John Turturro!
Just looking at him makes me tingly – and I know he makes you tingly too!
Don’t lie – I know he does!!
How can he not!?!
That slut is a more delicious morsel of marvelousness than a bacon-wrapped Marshmallow!!
I mean, if you weren’t sitting on the edge of your seat, scratching for just one more sheet at the bottom of the Kleenex box as you held a candle-light vigil and prayed for Pete to come back – COME BAAAACK! – from the nether-regions of froggydom and rejoin Delmar and Everett on their quest for buried treasure, well, then I think you need to schedule an emergency EKG to be sure you even still have a heart down deep in there somewhere.
That was serious method shit you just don’t find in most cinema these days!
So – yes. Today I give you JT.
Because you need him.
Because we all do in these hard times where gloom is in bloom everywhere you look; where folks are forced to wear their despair like it’s some sort of fashion; where people just don’t know what to DO anymore!
I give you JT because I think it’s important, nay, IMPERATIVE that we take time to chill, reflect and ask ourselves one question:
‘What Would Turturro Do?’
… the answers are there, my friends …
I drive an energy-efficient automobile.
I use kitchen towels instead of paper ones.
I turn off the water while I soap up in the shower.
I unplug all appliances and most other things before I leave the house.
Every day I try to make choices that will lighten my personal carbon footprint – but, you know, I just have to draw the line at this shit!
Yessir! The wacky naturalists over at Wallypoo are promoting the application of the cloth-diaper concept to the very results-oriented adult butt.
As in REUSABLE.
As in peepee pads and shit sopper-uppers that your ecological ass has to touch, store, tranport and ultimately *blech* clean — you know, so you can have that same stank fun all over again!
::: vomitus interruptus :::
According to their craptastic website:
“Using cloth wipes for urine-only visits to the bathroom is so simple it’s hardly worth mentioning. Go, wipe, and then toss the wipe into whatever container you prefer.”
::: Nuh uh, sorry … I prefer the circular stream of water in the big porcelain bowl that makes it all go bye bye for, like EVER! :::
“Using cloth wipes for other toilet visits is not any more difficult, but there is a certain ick factor involved.”
::: YA THINK?!? :::
“Consider how much waste you’re willing to leave on your children’s diapers or wipes when you toss them in the pail.”
::: … willing … to … WHAT??? :::
” Use the same standards for yourself.”
::: Bwuhhh? :::
“Shake, scrape, swish, or squirt off anything you don’t want in your laundry, and then toss the wipe into the pail or container.”
::: Phffflick! Blickkk! ACK!!! :::
I won’t do it!!
I’d pick leaves! Newspaper! Even the hurtful half-ply sheets of generic brand sandpaper the dollar store sells before I’d willingly walk the caca colonnade.
Oh hell, I’m so grossed out picturing people packing up their poo that I just may never eat (or excrete) again!!
* Now that’s eco-friendly! *
Just when I was beginning to think it would never be possible to dig emotionally deep enough to warm the bitter recesses of my cold, cold heart – I get an email with a link to a story so uplifting I couldn’t not pass it on.
::: ^5 Springdaddy :::
It’s about a bunch of steely-eyed ironworkers building the new 14-story Yawkey Center at Boston’s Dana Farber Cancer Institute who have figured out a truly ingenious way to give sick children help … in the form of hope.
“Every day, children who come to the clinic write their names on sheets of paper and tape them to the windows of the walkway for ironworkers to see,” writes Michael Levenson of The Boston Globe.
“And, every day, the ironworkers paint the names onto I-beams and hoist them into place as they add floors” to the building.
“It’s fabulous,” one patient’s mother said.
“It’s just a simple little act that means so much. They don’t have to do this, the guys. They could just do their job and do a good job at it and give us a building that we can get treatment at, but they go the extra step and that’s huge.”
Most days, Levenson writes, “the clinic’s walkway fills up like the passageway of an aquarium, packed with children gazing through the glass.
“When a new name goes up on the building, the children cheer and clap.”
The building is quickly becoming a monument — living testimony — to lives of the scores of children receiving treatment at the clinic.
Over the last month, the ironworkers “have painted more than 100 names on the building and emblazoned part of their crane with a likeness of SpongeBob SquarePants.
“They have also painted a few special messages on the steel, like ‘Hi Hanna Get Well ASAP :)’ ”
Click here to watch a video of the ironworkers in action and read Levenson’s full story.
** just be sure you have a box of Puffs on standby **
The dumb skank who admits she knowingly got into a car with a possibly drunk Morgan Freeman last August is now suing that hot piece for negligence, saying she wants to ‘clear her name from claims she was his mistress’.
::: And bank some sweet coin, of course! :::
Demaris ‘Do My Eyes Make Me Look Like A Crazy Gold-Digging Whore’ Meyer held an L.A. news conference where she whined about being labeled the ‘other woman’, channeled her inner Blogojevich and vowed to fight, Fight, FIGHT until cleanliness and dignity are restored to her allegedly once-good name.
::: … uh huh, good luck with that … :::
“I had hoped and prayed that Mr. Freeman or his representatives would have set the record straight and cleared my name, but they have not done so and that is why I have chosen to come forward to tell the truth about our relationship,” she bellyached to a handfull of people who, if we’re being honest here, probably only showed up to see what a potential Freeman fuckbuddy looked like.
::: … now we know? :::
According to her four-page lawsuit, she hopes to squeeze the Oscar-winner for pastpresentandfuture medical expenses, short-term memory loss , pain and suffering, some kind of short-term memory loss, pastpresentandfuture lost wages, permanent disability for short-term memory loss and other damages. Oh, and some sort of loss of memory … or something … and, uhh, don’t forget that big fucking truckload of money, bitches!!
::: … because nothing screams ‘Innocent Choir Girl’ louder than a legal shakedown … :::
The whole almost-hookup apparently happened because a mutual friend invited her to a dinner party so she could fuck meet the actor. She went, they dined, they got their drink on, they left and went back to the mutual friend’s house, they got their drink on there, then Miss Daisy jumped in Hoke’s Nissan and were makin’ the dash to his pad when things got all crashy.
::: … just your typical first-date stuff … :::
According to her [bullshit] lawsuit, she was in Freeman’s car only because he kindly offered to let her spend fucky times the night at his home — seeing as how “it would be much closer for Ms. Meyer to travel to her place of employment the next morning from Mr. Freeman’s home” than from the home of their mutual friend.
Uh huh … ‘cept Freeman’s house is in Charleston, Mississippi (89.5 miles from Meyer’s Memphis abode) and the friend lives in Clarksdale, Mississippi (77.6 miles from Memphis) — which would make it, like, NOT closer and stuff?
Oh but hey, in her defense, anyone stupid enough to get in a car with someone they admit [in writing — filed with the courts] had been drinking, really isn’t the kind of brainiac who can be reasonably expected to handle simple geography or exhibit any of her own accountability or, you know, personal responsibility or anything … right?
Our long national nightmare may finally, actually, for REAL this time be, like, a serious kind of over!!!
Reports have surfaced that the rainbow king has made the ultimate headway!
A FINAL DECISION!!!
Yes, my friends — at long last — we have a breeeeeeed!!
The crack investigative team over at People Magazine has revealed that Renegade and Renaissance have decided it will be a Portuguese Water dog for little Radiance and Rosebud.
:::: exhaaaaaaaale :::
“Temperamentally they’re supposed to be pretty good,” the HBIC told the mag. “From the size perspective, they’re sort of middle of the road – it’s not small, but it’s not a huge dog. And the folks that we know who own them have raved about them. So that’s where we’re leaning.”
Wait. Did she say ‘leaning’?
What is this leaning bullshit?!?
You’ve either decided or you haven’t — it is just. That. SIMPLE!!!
‘Leaning’ indicates an inclination, a proclivity, a liking — it’s not exactly a word that denotes the kind of concrete finality People Magazine led me to believe we were talking about here!
Nu nu nu nu nooooooooooo … those little bitches are getting a Portuguese Water dog and that’s that!
Done deal, people!!!
Don’t make me come up there!
Don’t even front like you think Clown Car’s little snippety snip and plumpety plump made her look anything like my permanent girl crush.
Frealz — can’t her 15 be done, like, now?
Forget Barbie and Bratz — those whores are soooo last decade.
There’s only one little toy person out there who can properly encapsulate the drek, the despair, the droning drudgery that is this New Great Depression: Poor Pitiful Pearl
From her saggy black stockings to her sizzlin’ sack cloth dress, Pearl just screams ‘Victim Of A Failed Economy’ without ever having to say a word!
Bitch is sraight-up talented like that, ‘kay?
She doesn’t care about your failed programs!
She’s not sweatin’ the stock market!!
Hell, she’s not even looking for a cut of my boyfriend’s massively audacious stimulus package of hope-infused sparkeliciousness!!!
Pearl doesn’t have time for that mess because she’s too busy cutting in line at the unemployment office [like me], dumpster diving for tomorrow’s breakfast [like me!], and rationing her anti-anxiety meds in the hope of making it just one more day [like m .. uhh, YOU!! ].
Pearl simply cannot spare one precious second on all the gloomy economic wah wah going around these days because being flat-broke and fabulous is a full-time gig!!
Look at that hot slut!! –>
She’s got the greatest deconstruction, nonconformist grip on this nouveau povertè where less is, well, all you get, beggars!
Bitch doesn’t even need shoes!
She is my idol … my new role model … my raison d’etre of indentured servitude to debt!
From here on out, I consult the Oracle of Pearl on EVERYTHING because it’s just so clear that every answer to every question ever asked of anyone in the entire history of the known universe can be ascertained just by surrendering to the hypnotic stare of her freaky static doll eyes!!!
I’m doing it nowwwwwwww — and it’s beeaaauuuutttiiiffuulllllllllll!!!!!!