Posts tagged ‘silly’
Seriously?
Seriously.
::: meh :::
Today’s ‘No Shit’ bullshit story: Kids who play ‘choking game’ may take other risks, too’.
Seriously?!
Sadly. Seriously.
Someone went out, secured funding and got their study on to prove the obvious obviosity that the precious little snowflakes who find it just nine kinds of F-U-N to obstruct available O2 from finding their little lung units DO, in fact, find risky behavior MORE than nine kinds of rewarding?
Seriously?!
Seriously.
A group of APPARENTLYGOTNOTHINGBETTERTODOers over at the Oregon Health Authority spent some serious clock ticks surveying more than 5,300 eighth-graders to find out if they’d heard of the choking game, and if so, whether they had participated.
Twenty-two percent of children said they had heard of the game, and 6 percent had participated in it.
::: No word on what percent of pubers lied about either, but I think it’s safe to say that when talking about teens it would be a not tiny tally of the sum total of ’em. Talkin’ truth here … :::
And this, gentle readers, is the part where you close your eyes, travel to your mental happy place and take deep, cleansing breaths as you try to block from your mind the reality that THIS WASN’T ALREADY OBVIOUS!?!
Seriously.
ALL HAIL BB!!
Yesterday bore witness to a mighty feat!
A Major Accomplishment!!
A MONUMENTOUS EVENT!!!
… and you missed it …
… a fact that would normally make me put on a big ol’ boo-hoo frowny face for you, except — this time — I don’t have to.
Because you were saved.
SAVED!
Saved by my Birmingham Buddette — who’s name shall remain a secret but who’s initials are The Most Magnificent Mom and Marvelous Motorist Extraordinaire To Infinity EVAR!!!!
SAVED!
Because she’s a hero like that.
ALL HAIL BB!!
Because while you and Flo Rida were gettin’ your collective ‘Good Feeling’ on, she was diverting DOOM by keeping her shit all kinds of together while witnessing nothing short of all-out hitchhiking hijackery — on her windsheild!
BEHOLD!
Questions abound!
How was the runaway reptile able to sustain the shanghai at speeds in excess of 70 miles per hour?!
How did my Birmingham Budette manage to operate her automobile under such dire circumstances?!?
How did that lizard stay latched on for more than 20 miles?!?!
How many of you motorists passed this public phenomenon – completely unaware you could have borne witness to one of the most treacherous treks in all of known history dating back to the invention of the WHEEL in the most ancient of times?!?!?!
Ohhhh, make no mistake about it, people!
THIS will undoubtedly go down as one of history’s GREAT mysteries!
Because the critter certainly has no comment and my Birmingham Buddette’s far too fly to divulge the deets before the book deal’s done!
… and you missed it
… ALL HAIL BB!!
This much I know
I am no Mr. Blackwell
::: but hey, technically neither is he, since he’s dead ‘n all … :::
I am no Joan Rivers
::: thank GAWD!!! :::
I am no Heidi Klum
::: but I pretend to be every Thursday night at Sammi … err, uhh, nevermind … :::
I am no high and mighty fashion critic.
I’m a fashion ICON!
As in ‘Icon see that shit and that shit ain’t right!’
And this shit ain’t right! —–>
It’s wrongness exists on several levels, but let’s not go into the granular details lest The Situation wannabe at my local LA Fitness who tormented MY EYES this very afternoon feel compelled to divert his rufie and hair gel savings and put it toward the kind of marrow-level in-depth psychoanalysis his entire being is so desperately crying out for.
No.
Let’s not do that.
We simply don’t have that kind of time.
But address the all-out fuckery that IS those shorts – WE MUST!
Because they aren’t shorts.
Or Pants.
Or Shants.
Or Ports.
Those, my friends, are culottes, okay?
Fucking culottes.
As in women’s fashion trousers circa 1978!!!
As in kinda ok these days for (women who do) yoga but not much else.
So stop it, douchebag.
Because it’s annoying to watch you try to be all testeroney as you priss and strut and flex and grunt while wearing those ridiculous things.
Because it doesn’t work.
Because it doesn’t make you look muscular, or masculine or, well, much of anything remotely, uhh, male.
It makes you look like my Aunt Carol.
‘Nuff said.
There’s a Sports Authority at Southern and 441.
Visit the men’s clothing section pronto because, DAYUM!
This is the shit you bitches are saying