This is my front page. All comments here are screened; if you don't have my email address, you can drop me a line here. If I know your email address, I'll reply by email -- if not, I'll reply to your comment, and then rescreen both your comment and my reply.
It's also got every tag I have -- this is because my current LJ style doesn't include a tag index. (At least half of my participation on LJ is on my Treo. I chose this style because it loads quickly and it's still readable on a small screen.)
I'd tell you more about myself, but that's what my profile -- and the rest of my journal -- are for.
Discovered on Smart Bitches, Trashy Books: Apparently, there is an entire network on cable TV aimed right at the GLBT demographic. I only ever watch TV at work (or when visiting friends), and I'm only barely on the outermost edge of that demographic, so I doubt I'll ever see this network myself. Still, I'm glad it exists. Some of its programming scares the crap out of me, but I'm glad it exists.
Discovered on Jezebel: Two people started an advice column, but with a twist -- both of them are stoned out of their gourds. It's probably not any less useless than any other popular advice column, and it's a hell of a lot funnier.
Discovered on Fleshbot (NSFW): As happy as I am that there are people who think that red-haired men are teh hawt, I think this site (NSFW) is kinda creepy. It's flattering as hell (we're all insatiable well-hung sex gods, dontcha know), sorta, but the obsessive fetishizing tone makes me want to send them pictures of really ugly redheads and really poorly-hung redheads out of spite. (Okay, I'm being unfair. I don't necessarily know that The Donald has a really small one, but come on, if you're naming airplanes and giant skyscrapers after yourself, that's probably the way to bet.)
Discovered on Questionable Content: Being male, I doubt I'd be all that welcome at shops like this one, but I really hope they exist in real life. (The closest thing I've seen is Good Vibes.) I also hope that someone makes a Daft Punk Disco Dong soon, if for no other reason than "Daft Punk Disco Dong" is really fun to say.
Discovered on YouTube:This video is possibly the dorkiest thing I've seen this year. So why did I just watch it ten times in a row and laugh myself hoarse? "Quit it. Quit it. Quit it. Quit it. Quit it..."
Discovered all over the fuckin' place: A lot of gay-themed books have disappeared off Amazon's ranks and searches. Searching "homosexuality" on Amazon gets you lots of books about how you're a dirty sinful person who can change if you try hard enough, or how you must keep your child on the straight and narrow, lest TEH FAWRCES OV TEH EBIL EBIL GHEY place your child on the road straight to Hell. But all this is a glitch. Really. Really! (I'd love to comment on this, but I'm very much late to the party, so everything I'd care to say has already been said.)
Someone at cf_hardcore just had occasion to post something from hanzismatter, a blog showing all the bad tattoos with chinese characters often seen on idiot white folk. Some of the tattoos are just bloody incompetent, clearly done by people who copied the characters out of a book without knowing what they were.
I'm pretty sure that some of them were done by people who actually know the languages they're tattooing, though, since I've already seen two women there with tattoos that say "cheap whore" or "prostitute," and I'm just six months back in the site's archives. Now, to find a big tough guy with a tattoo that says "tiny penis" or "power bottom."
T-shirt Hell used to have a T-shirt that said "I'm big in Japan," with kanji that babelfish translated into "big root." I wonder if I'll be seeing that on the site eventually?
(It probably won't show up in this blog, but Britney Spears apparently has a tattoo in Hebrew, from when she decided to go Qabalah -- except I recall reading somewhere that her tattooist didn't know that Hebrew is written right to left. I'll have to look into that sometime...)
A feisty raccoon has bitten off a pervert’s penis as he was trying to rape the animal.
Alexander Kirilov, 44, was on a drunken weekend with pals when he leapt on the terrified -- but toothy -- fur ball.
"When I saw the raccoon I thought I'd have some fun," he told stunned casualty surgeons in Moscow.
Now Russian plastic surgeons are trying to restore his mangled manhood.
"He's been told they can get things working again but they can't sew back on what the raccoon bit off," said a pal.
"That's gone forever so there isn’t going to be much for them to work with."
Racoons are already well-known for being cute little bandits, but that's clearly not enough for them, now that one of them has heard The Hedgehog Song. "Hey, you know that hedgehog in the song? It should totally be US! We raccoons should have songs about how we can't be buggered at all, and I know just how to make that happen!"
And his little raccoon friends will look at him funny. "Dude, someone actually tried to bugger a hedgehog once. It went very badly."
"Yeah. And one day, someone will try to bugger one of us! I mean, look at us, we're fuckin' adorable! And you know humans, they'll fuck anything! I've seen them on the internet! We just have to be ready!"
"But hedgehogs have spines! We can't compete with that!"
"Sure we can! We just have to be meaner! One of these days, some human is going to want my cute little fluffy ass, and after I tear him to pieces, I'll be famous!"
This isn't exactly a site I take seriously. I'll grant that it's often clever with the insults, and the haiku often crack me up, but I'm still not exactly impressed by guys bitching about how it's always "those other guys" who score the hot chicks, and "why won't thosy hot chicks have anything to do with me?" I could say plenty about that... but let's just say that theit sexual frustration amuses me.
I'd warn you all that he treats Palin with contempt, as opposed to the usual comically inept lusting after hot chicks, but this is the internet. I'd warn you that republicans start bitching about he's not spending equal time calling Bill Clinton a douche, and that a few minor flamewars flare up, but again, this is the internet.
If this weren't a few months old, I'd be posting it on Fandom Wank or something. I may do it anyway...
Meet Scott Ramsoomair, the guy behind the web comic VG Cats. Right now, he is adrift on the internet, his life totally without meaning. But you can help! It won't cost you any money, just a few moments of your time. You! Can give Scott's life some meaning. You! Can give his life a purpose. You! Can give him the thing he most desperately needs.
All you have to do is look at this strip, and be offended by it. And then, once it's offended you, look at the strip following it.
Won't you validate his existence? Won't you acknowledge how hardcore and "edgy" he is? Won't you help him achieve his purpose? He works so hard to offend all of you. Can't you make his dreams come true by being offended?
Things I just learned from watching this video (NSFW!) that I found on bad_porn_2:
If I'm visiting a friend with a teenage daughter, he won't mind if I go to the bathroom while said teenage daughter is showering. Hell, he'll tell me to go right ahead!
If a lady is naked in a shower and suddenly discovers some guy she's never met in the room with her, she won't be creeped out enough to start screaming, or wrap a towel around herself and leave. Good thing, too. Her father would probably want to kick my ass.
I can go from taking a shit, to jerking off while on the toilet, to jerking off while watching her blatantly, and at no point will she raise enough of an objection to, say, start screaming, or wrap a towel around herself and leave. Good thing, too. Her father may not stop kicking my ass until I stop breathing.
The power of cock is such that even when the owner of the cock is a creepy stranger whacking it while watching a lady shower, the lady will still be helpless before it.
Fathers of teenage daughters don't think anything is amiss if you spend more than fifteen minutes in a bathroom with their showering (and therefore probably naked) daughters. Nor will they notice any noise.
Lessons I look forward to applying in real life. Oh, yes.
One of the neat things about conventions is dressing up. Sometimes, this is all the fun of Halloween, except that grown-ups can do it too, and no one looks at us funny. And a lot of it is done really damned well, by people who choose their costumes with care. I've enjoyed dressing up as the Dread Pirate Roberts, a few more of you have played much better pirates than me, I've seen one of you play a damned fine Spark, and I've read one of you planning to play what will surely be an excellent Lucrezia Mongfish. Sure, the mundanes may accuse us of lacking lives, but it's fun.
Unfortunately, it's a Law of Nature: at every convention with costumes, there are a few walking eyesores. The Human Turd is easily the most infamous, with Man-Faye a close second, though there are plenty of others. Women with multiple skin conditions in skimpy chain mail. Ninety-pound men dressing as Conan, the Barbarian. (This is one reason I won't dress up as Carrot Ironfoundersson any time soon -- I'd need at least another thirty pounds of muscle mass and a buzzcut to do it properly.) Guys in kilts with nothing on above the waist except for pasties with tassels. And the cautionary tale currently making the rounds on the internet: this guy.
I'd like to point out one of those things that every guy needs to know about spandex: you need padding in the crotch. I don't care if you're indignantly insisting that you don't. I don't care if you have an army of past lovers and two medical professionals ready to testify that your junk is three standard deviations above average in size. I don't care if you're John fucking Holmes. The point of padding in tights isn't to put up a false front -- it's to keep people from being able to tell at a glance if your parents were Jewish, and to keep you from getting arrested for indecent exposure.
Okay, with that little technical observation out of the way... what the hell is this guy supposed to be? To quote a friend, "did The Tick let himself go, then discover Slipknot?" What's with the short shirt on top of the spandex? Why is the smell of stale cheetos wafting from my screen when he's on it? And where can I pick up some goggles that don't do nothing?
I just found a porn site on the internet. Yeah, I know. What a shock.
Well, this one has a twist that's either amusing or depressing: you navigate it by using the keys W, A, D, and S. Aside from spelling out the word "wads," these keys are all conveniently under the left hand, for the benefit of people who, well, have other more urgent uses for their right hand. Oh, and it also lets you navigate using the arrow keys, presumably so that left-handed people aren't left out.
(Stolen from Sensible Erection.)
Ow, my childhood!
Me Tarzan. You Jane. It's the foreplay that makes this one so much fun. "Yes, that's a navel. I have one too, just like yours!"
(Stolen from various friends who know I used to do adult web design, and will never let me live it down. Still, they sometimes send me the funniest shit, so I forgive them.)
Ow, my brain!
"Oh, no! My sink is clogged, and I'm a total airhead! Whatever shall I do? Oh, I know! I'll call a plumber, so that he can lay some pipe look at my pipes!" Except this one has a bizarre twist. The airhead in this one is a little more literally an airhead than usual, and the plumber is a man in a monkey suit.
(Stolen from a friendslocked post.)
A while back, I had this idea involving making a porno of the video game Donkey Kong. With every passing day, this idea seems less unlikely.
(Nope. No snarky comments. The man just sent a disapproving letter to the mother of a company's CEO. That's comedy gold, all by itself. How the fuck am I supposed to top that?)
I have a few friends who follow Craigslist, and every now and then, they send me the most entertainingly fucked-up shit.
What kinds of shit do they send me? Usually "X seeking Y." Or "X seeking X." Back when I had more free time, I liked looking through the personals in free newspapers, usually snickering. The one that amused me the most was "Pirate seeks wench to walk my eight-inch plank," usually with some reference to "plundering the poop-deck." Yarr. I'm guessing he never found a wench, because that ad appeared in the personals every week for a few years.
(He might have just been playing to the wrong audience. I'm pretty sure that claiming to have an eight-inch plank is far more likely to attract other pirates than it is wenches... and I'm sure that his desires for the poop-deck didn't help him get any booty. But I digress.)
For the longest time, I have admired the dynamic between this cross species couple. But then, sometime during the 80s, a commercial for the Muppets: Live on Stage added a new dimension. In it, a stretch limousine was pulling up in front of a theater. A footman opened the door, and a shapely, rather thick leg stepped onto the red carpet. As the rest of the form followed, it was revealed that it belonged to a woman wearing a full bodied Miss Piggy costume under an alluring evening dress. AND I WANTED HER. And, to be quite honest, I've never stopped.
Some time ago, I found an original full head rubber Miss Piggy mask, circa 1977, complete with a full head of long blond hair. I am looking for a tall, sexy BBW, preferably over 300 pounds, to wear this mask to bed. She should also be open to playing with plastic wrap and liquid latex. Blonde is best, I suppose, but not necessary. Who knows – for the right woman I might just get a green rubber suit and a Kermit mask.
I hate to say this, but if someone made a porno of this, complete with Miss Piggy and Kermit masks, I'd totally buy it -- it appeals to my fucked-up sense of humor. Then I'd invite a few friends with similarly fucked-up senses of humor over, and make a shitload of popcorn.
These guys did a survey a while back, trying to figure out what things the most people like in their music. Having done this, they created two songs using all they'd learned.
Their first song is one designed to make people love it -- basically, it's a generic love ballad. Perhaps the generic love ballad.
Their second song is one designed to make people hate it. It includes lots of gratuitous annoying instruments like bagpipes, accordions, and flatulent horns. Its musical themes borrow from cowboy movies and holiday music. The lyrics encourage us to shop at Walmart, and include an opera diva screeching "yo, yo, yo," to all da boyz in da houze. And for those of you who know what minor seconds, tritones, and major sevenths are, this song uses lots of them in harmony. Sometimes, all at once.
Their experiment is technically a success, I suppose, but the songs had the opposite effects on me. Their "most wanted song" is... damn it. I can't even call it "shit." If it were shit, it would at least have a chance of being interesting. It's pure... pabulum, okay?
Meanwhile, their "most unwanted song" is hilarious. It's even funnier than death metal at a wedding! I love it!
I've tried to study poetry, on and off. Mostly, I do it because I'm working on writing lyrics for music, and I'd like those lyrics to be good. The thing is, with a few exceptions, I'm not really into poems for their own sake.
Well, there's Eliot, with his Hollow Men and his cats, and that jackass who made a musical about them. There's Nabokov's Pale Fire. And I own a book that includes all of Lovecraft's poetry, from epic verse about the Great Old Ones to poems he wrote for friends on their birthdays. Lovecraft is obviously well-known for his influence on horror fiction, but he was also an amazing poet.
(This isn't to say that all of Lovecraft's poems were good. One of them, in particular, is an exquisitely-spun, well-polished piece of shit.)
But other than these few exceptions, my appreciation for poetry rarely goes beyond the purely academic. I've tried, but it's like jazz -- I certainly respect the people who create it, but it doesn't do much for me. But I keep trying, because the more effort I make, the better my own work will be.
On the other hand... sometimes poetry is so bad that anyone can enjoy it. One poem that made it on weepingcock lately is "The Platonic Blow," by W H Auden (who wanted no credit for this piece of doggerel). You know how funny bad porno can be? Well, it's ten times funnier with rhyme and meter!
And then there's "Leah Sublime," by Aleister Crowley. Personally, I think he lays the shock value on a little too thick, but that's Crowley for you.
lambros Kwan writes, "Whip out your Secret Weapon, massive and intimidating!"
Maybe I don't know that much about women, but I'd always figured that a guy would have a better chance at getting laid if women liked his dick, instead of being afraid of it.
Parse writes, "9 inches and you rock!"
(Does a package check, and smirks.) Yes, I am, and yes, I do. Thank you for noticing!
Okay, all joking aside... who wrote this subject line?
Aida Michel writes, "crgl Gain Up to 11 inches bmhl"
This is easily the boldest claim I have ever seen. Eleven inches is about twice the average, and this statement appears to be promising eleven inches, on top of one's existing endowment, to anyone stupid enough to click on it.
longdong4u2000@yahoo.com writes, "Need X-mas gift? Find 2008 New Swiss Watches & brand bags..Save up to 70%"
This one appears to be completely G-rated. I'm just amused that "LongDong4U" is trying to push watches and purses. I'm guessing that penis enlargement spam doesn't pay as well as it used to.
Dr. Michael Elder writes, "Dreaming about enlarging your aggregate size"
Aggregate size? Aggregate size? How many penises do you think I have? I assure you, I have just the one!
Lilian Leach writes, "I've got a 12 inch, do you.. mrlfie"
Nope. Not twelve, just nine. Ask Parse, up above, if you don't believe me. (And what is it with all these women online who have big dicks?)
Arpit Kisner writes, "Ladies love 9 inches"
I'm clearly twelve, because when I first read that name, I read it as "armpit kisser."
Patricia Carney writes, "Make your >!ck the envy of all your dudes!"
I've watched too much Metalocalypse -- when I saw the word ">!ck," I heard it as the guitar noise that's used to beep out obscenities on the show.
Karyn Pierce writes, "Bigger is Better. Pls go 'www.tageshes' dot com."
Now this is funny. Most of the time, people spell out the "dot com" to thwart automatic address harvesters so that they don't end up receiving piles upon piles of penis enlargement spam. It amuses me to no end that a spammer is quietly admitting that the problem is now so bad that they have to protect themselves from... well, other people just like them.
This video by Dimmu Borgir, for "The Sacrilegious Scorn," is the funniest thing ever! Watch it in amazement, as the band and the director throw thousands of dollars into a bid to piss off as many good Christian parents as they can! Burning crosses, a corruption of the Catholic Mass, a perverse mockery of The Last Supper by Da Vinci... okay, if you're a Christian, you may actually not want to watch it. But for the rest of us, it's ostentatiously pretentious evil at its sidesplitting best!
This is even better than Deicide, who have worn Halloween devil masks on stage, and whose lead singer ahem, vocalist... branded an inverted cross into his forehead. Because he's FUCKING HARDCORE LIKE THAT! Or something.
Anyway, this video for "Homage for Satan" features zombies corrupting a priest! The priest tries to defend himself with a Bible, but God's a total weaksauce, so that doesn't work! In the scuffle, the book is turned upside down, displaying an inverted cross! Ooooh! Then, the priest fall over, only to rise from the dead. Then, the undead priest opens his Bible, and bleeds from the mouth on the pages, and then corrupts all those concerned bystanders who were standing over him when he collapsed! Hail Satan, ha ha ha ha hah!
I figure that this post is already over-the-top cartoony evil, so why not go all out with this classic: Winnie the Pooh worships Satan!
A friend recently posted in his own journal about some twit on YouTube known as "goronchev." I've now watched a few of his videos... and oh, to be that young and dumb again!
I like the term "e-battle." It conjures up that music used in one of the fight scenes from the original Star Trek: "Dun-dun-dun, dun, dun, dun, dun, dun, da-na-na, na! Boom-boom-boom!" It also sounds a lot more serious and important than "stupid pointless pissing contest on the internet." In particular, I like how he promises never to take on anyone smaller than him. He seems not to grasp that he's basing his inflated sense of self on e-fame -- not even real fame, which would be stupid enough, but fucking e-fame! -- and that by explaining how small-fry attack him to get more e-fame of their own, he's admitting his own motivations for attacking bigger fry.
Ooh, he got banned from YouTube because people didn't like him. But he's not butthurt or anything, no, of course not. He will stand tall, and he will continue to proudly display all those e-heads he's chopped off his e-ponents for display in his e-trophy case, because it makes his e-peen look bigger. So if he's e-pwned you, you'll still have to e-live with the e-infamy of having been e-pwned, even though the e-pwnage was temporarily offline!
Serious fucking e-business.
And on this one, he attacks Encyclopedia Dramatica. Because everyone who has ever posted to Encyclopedia Dramatica means every word they type, or some shit. "In this video, I completely owned and exposed this site, in large part with direct quotes from their site. I know that a fair amount of people already knew about the truth of this site, but there are still tons of people out there that don't know the truth about the site too-- I made this video for those people."
Offensive stuff, on Encyclopedia Dramatica? Say it isn't so!
So obsessed with pwning people. So eager to claim he's done it, whether he's actually said anything of value or not. So embroiled in endless online pissing contests. He's a lot like Njyoder that way. Or Sexyveganmum. Or whatever the fuck it's calling itself this week.
(At least when I was poking Chancery Stone, I freely admitted that I was only doing it for my own amusement. This guy gives every impression of being serious.)
"Oh, my goth! I am soooo depressed. Black is all I wear, because it matches the color of the world, as well as the color of my soul. The black I wear is so black, I call it black-black, because it's the only way I can convey just how depressed I am. And lo, how depressed I am. I wish that I could put an end to my misery, and just die, die, die... my roots black. Won't someone please superglue the back of my wrist to my forehead and then nail it there with a staple-gun, because I am so inconsolable that I will be holding that pose for all eternity. When the moon weeps blood, and the stars have gone out, there I will be, frozen in that pose, my body finally as cold as my heart. Actually, why should I wait for the universe to die? I'll just kill myself tonight. But first, I'll call my friend Serena, and tell her to bring my Siouxie CDs to that concert next week, because I want them black back."
Okay, now that you've all got your recommended daily allowance for ham and cheese... I've lost a few too many friends to suicide, and I have a couple of friends who genuinely suffer from depression, including a few of you reading this. As a result, I have very little patience for people who claim they're about to knock themselves off for attention. Which brings me to my latest find, 90 Day Jane.
"I am going to kill myself in 90 days. What else should i say? This blog is not a cry for help or even to get attention. It's simply a public record of my last 90 days in existence. I'm not depressed and nothing extremely horrible has lead me to this decision. But, does it really have to? I mean, as an atheist I feel life has no greater purpose. My generation has had no great depression, no great war and our biggest obstacle is beating Halo 3. So, if I feel like saying "game over", why can't I? Anyway, I hope you enjoy my thoughts as the clock runs out. Also, if blogspot takes this down before i'm gone just go to www.90dayjane.com. Please don't attempt to "help" me. If you want to truly help, please send me ideas on how to do the deed. thx-Jane."
In other words, "Ho hum, life's not completely fabulous, and I'm too oblivious to anything past my own fucking nose to see that there is struggle in the world -- struggle I could be taking part in, if I wasn't so damned self-centered. But suicide is easier. I wonder what all the people who knew me will think when I'm gone, tra la?"
Bring on the handstand on the beach macros, and the Emo Emu! You know what Jane's biggest problem is? Her biggest problem is that she doesn't have any fucking problems!
Of course, it lends itself well to parody -- hell, it practically begs for it. Those of you into Firefly should go visit 90 Day Jayne.
This comic tempts me to learn to dance, buy a man-thong, replace the seams in one of my pairs of pants with velcro, and find some really bad eighties music.
(By the way, if you absolutely must click on the really bad eighties music, read the comments under it. Most of the people commenting recently ended up looking for the song for the same reason I did. "Damn you, Milholland!")
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weepingcock lately is "The Platonic Blow," by W H Auden (who wanted no credit for this piece of doggerel). You know how funny bad porno can be? Well, it's ten times funnier with rhyme and meter!![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/syndicated.gif){kind=small}
