The Gospel According to John

Presented Without Comment

Okay, maybe one: CLOSETED HOMOSEXUALS SHAKING THE DEVIL OFF WITH KIP DYNAMITE. That will be all.

Source

Parsing the Golden Globulars: Fashion Edition, Book One: Really?

In keeping with the ceremony, there wasn’t really anyone who REALLY jumped out and looked amazing, and there wasn’t really anyone who REALLY jumped out and looked awful. There were no real incidents. Everything was just sort of fine or kind of not fine but really not all that bad and whatever my God I think the weird untelevised writers’ strike Globulars were more interesting than this year’s.

Be that as it may, just because the bar wasn’t raised particularly high or low does not mean everyone was beneath praise or above reproach.

In fact, my day-after-Globulars began, upon logging into my email, with IMs awaiting me from my dear darling Camaryn (sister to the ever-witty Miss Kate and the victim--or beneficiary?--of this), which went thusly:

Which seems like as good a place to start as any. Ahoy!

Fall TV Preview Part Two/Revisited, Or: How to Fail in the TV Business By Really, Really Trying,

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. 

Things You Need: Emails From Crazy People

 
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:

Fair! aaand Dashing!

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!

*Ahem* I mean: Racist! I never!

(Fair Menz! Tee hee hee hee!)

When They Say that Rap Is Like Poetry...

...the upcoming video is what they mean.

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: 

How the fuck do we posed to keep peace?

Jump the jump to find out

Headshots for the Damned

Dear Rick and your Image Room:

 

Whilst I greatly appreciate your understanding of how prohibitively expensive headshots can be, and your efforts to provide services at a more palatable price point, my instinct is that giving potential clients the option of either looking like a meth-cooking vampire or an ex-con infected with the 28 Days Later zombie virus will prove to be a profoundly ineffective marketing angle.

Best,

John the Craptist

Like a Chastity Belt, Except Made of Glossy Paper

I'm pretty sure there aren't any straight menz who read this dreck, but if there are: firstly, hello! Secondly: if you'd like to ever, ever, EVER be able to acquire an erection EVER again in your life, do NOT jump the jump. 

However, on the other hand, if you're a straight woman or a gay man and would like to point and cackle derisively at someone else's misfortune while instantly feeling better about yourself, definitely DO jump the jump.

(Oh--btw, this could potentially be construed as NSF a very Puritanical and needs to lighten up a bit W)

Now I've Just Had It

You guys seriously. I’m not even making a joke about this, okay? I need a serious, informative, legitimate answer.

 

WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH MADONNA.

Babies and Old Men: Who's More Terrifying?

God, it's been a week, huh? Hysterics over flu (step away from the mainstream media and get the facts people. It ain't no thang) and Obama on the telly talking about all our troubles and Chrysler going bankrupt and going a whole week knowing Bea Arthur is no longer in the world and OH MY GOD MAKE IT STOP.

I know. And we're almost there. 

But as we all know, the last couple hours of a Friday afternoon are the toughest to endure. Which is why I am gifting you with two of everyone's favorite things: 

An old man and a baby.

 

'citing, no? Over the jump with you!