Bless you, internet. This shit right here is about to blow your mind.
Let's take a trip back in time to middle school. My middle school, which was a million years ago, not some of YOUR middle school, which was like 5 minutes ago. *frantically applies undereye cream, weeps, reapplies undereye cream* Specifically, French class with Madame Wolk. Madame Wolk was one of the fancy French teachers that lived in France for a while and went back several times a year. And on one of those occasions, she introduced us to Jordy, the world's youngest #1 recording artist. He was 4 years old at the time.
Here, you will find his seminal #1 hit, "Dur Dur d'Etre Bebe" which is French for, "It's Very Very Hard Being a Baby." Ain't it the truth.
Remember those halcyon days when NBC seemed on top of the world? Remember Must See TV? Seinfeld, Friends, Will & Redhead Who Thinks She's Lucille Ball But Is Actually Not Particularly Funny at All But Just Blessed with Great Writing and Surrounded by Actors Vastly More Talented Than She That Make Her Look Good, and Hospital Drama That Was On a Good 37 Years Longer Than Necessary Because It Stopped Being Interesting After Clooney Left?
Remember that? Even the shitty shows, like that Kirstie Alley one about the lingerie business (remember that?) and that Christina Applegate one (no recollection of what it was about and if you tell me you do without Googling it I'll not believe you), were still kinda fun. They just sorta faded into the background of the lineup, you know? *sings like Edith Bunker* Those were the days.
I mean, I don't really know what else to tell you. It's a website compiling emails from crazy people. There is nothing here NOT to want and love. The ever-savvy Miss Kate has bestowed this treasure upon us, and we will all never be the same.
There are ones such as this, where the submitter begins,
"I’m not even sure where to start in explaining how crazy this guy is…a) His name isn’t Larry..."
which sounds like a perfectly good place to start to me.
Or, there are ones such as this, wherein a newspaper editor is warned,
"Look, its time to realize that woman aren’t people. They just repeat
yesterday all over again each day. If you listen to their
conversations, you will note the absence of verbs. They can’t do life.
They can’t do Earth. You shouldn’t have all your staff positions
occupied by non-humans. It shows in your Alumnus magazine. Fake
nonsense is not a good idea."
So true!
But none of them--not one--compare to the unfettered batshittery--and, it must be said, sexiness, of the following:
To put it in the most syrupy way possible, my heart is so
full of this movie I hardly know where to begin. I saw Precious at the New York
Film Festival last weekend—during which I sat behind Michael Moore and spitting distance from
Mariah Carey and Miss Sherri Shepherd from our most favorite travesty, TV’s The
View, thank you very much—and I haven’t taken in a movie so moving (zing!) in a long, long time. I
walked out feeling like I needed to grab everyone who passed me and ask them,
“Have you seen Precious?”, just so I could have someone to talk about it with. If for no other reason than the revelatory performance of newcomer Gabourey Sidibe, I implore you: GO. SEE. PRECIOUS.
You all need to understand that I am three things: glamorous, powerful and important. And so, during my time is Los Angeleeez, I had the mixed fortune of
being shown super-secret industry copies of five! Count ‘em five! new shows this
fall season. Two of them were great, one of them has potential, one of them
will send you into guffawing hysterics f you’re an uptight Republican offended by any of
the less family-friendly aspects of a television comedy that make it actually
entertaining for anyone other than easily offended Republicans, and, finally,
one of them was a giant piece of steaming shit.
You've probably seen this, but it is life-changing and I would hate for anyone to miss it. It is a watershed moment for not just be, but the entire world. So, just in case:
Did I tell you or did I tell you?
And when you're done, please PLEASE go here--and do NOT skip the intro, because you gonna hahf a hahppy time. ENYOY!
A horrifying trend in India: skin creams to make your skin
closer to white.
I know, shocking and icky and unsettling and just UGH. I saw
this on CNN and it’s kinda disturbing:
I know, right? Eew. India’s obsession with skin tone is
nothing new, but still. Whitening creams? It’s unsavory. And, beside the political
issues, it doesn’t even look good! It’s self-degrading AND makes you look
sickly. WTF, India?
But! As always, the Baby Jesus gives us a silver lining. For
instance, this:
Firstly, this commercial is amazing. I mean, it just is, and
I could easily end this here without elaborating and it would just stand on its
own, much the way this could. But there are a few points that warrant
illumination.
A—My new greeting for any and everyone I see is going to be,
“Ahnd you-are-going to-be myBESTfrienddatday”.
2—The goings-on at the :52 mark are what I dream of every
night. Someday, a suitor will approach me out of nowhere--after singing at a party wherein he sits upon a beflowered dais--and propose to me just like this girl does: by nodding
at me like a psychotic junkie, religious zealot, overeager prostitute or
similar, slipping a ring on my finger, and then gesturing with his hand like
some kind of 1950s society lady taking canapés off a silver tray at a garden
party.
iii—But most importantly: FAIR MENZ. It’s called FAIR MENZ. Of
course, here in America, we would pronounce it Fair Meeeeeeenz, but the Indians
have a more clipped speech pattern generally. The point is, I do not need this
product, and yet, I WANT IT SO BADLY I CAN HARDLY STAND IT OH MY GOD THERE HAS
TO BE A WAY FOR ME TO PURCHASE THIS OUTSIDE OF INDIA BECAUSE IT IS CALLED FAIR MENZ. Product names like this
are why India is the industry leader in successful product launches (no it’s
not).
Seriously. FAIR MENZ!! FAIR MENZ!! FAIR MENZ!! BWAHH HA HA
HA HA HA HAAAHHHHH! WOO! FAIR MENZ! BWAH! AHHHHHH!
(As always, I Google imaged "Finally, a triumphant return" and, for some reason, this happened.)
Oh, hello! How have you been? It’s been absolutely forever,
I know. Girl, I been all up over this piece!
First, I very glamorously left town for a month to do a
play, then I even more glamorously went to Los Angeles for the rest of the
summer after a torturous visit to my family in Arizona. Then, after a short
jaunt through San Francisco I came back here to New York just three weeks ago,
and life has taken on a decidedly Spartan and austere new direction of
unemployment and squalor. It’s ghetto as all hell and you’ll absolutely love
it. I’ll tell you all about my glamorous bicoastal summer and new white trash
life a little later.
Otherwise, It’s great to be back, and I’ve missed you
terribly. Your emails and Facebook comments demanding that I get back to
blogging have made me feel loved and special in a hidden place deep inside. My
life is exceptionally chaotic at the moment, and it’ll probably be a while
before I can get back to posting regularly again, but I’m going to do my level
best to give you as frequent a dose of insight and idiocy as I can manage.
I'm breaking my silence very briefly (life is chaotic at the moment and I literally have not had time to blather on about things in the past few weeks! But I shall return shortly. Fret not) because, much like Blohan's Fornarina ad (Click. Pop. Fart. Fornarina), it came to my attention today that there are people--namely, again, the ever-savvy Miss Kate--still not familiar with the most genius blend of music and visuals ever committed to celluloid.
You may think that the term 'celluloid' is a bit antiquated, since YouTubery is now pretty much exclusively the province of the digital world. But when you view the video, you'll see that 'celluloid' is precisely the term that should be used as this video was clearly made using a shoulder-resting camcorder from 1987.
But really, that's the least of our concerns. What is far more important is the central question being posed in this seminal piece of urban artistry:
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