way to go MPAA

ooh, it looks like Rob Zombie's horror flick House of 1000 Corpses will finally see the light of day-- after being tossed around like a hot potato for the last couple of years by studios who found it "too disturbing" (it reportedly caused one Universal exec to freak out and cry. whatever.).

still, with all this back-and-forth about R vs. NC-17, i might as well just wait for the DVD. that way they'll only get a few dollars out of me instead of a tidy $12+ ($8 to see it at the cinema, plus misc. concessions-- another $4 to rent the "uncut" DVD to see the extra two or so stabbings you weren't "allowed" to see the first time around).

film ratings are useless and retarded; they serve only to inhibit artistic vision and keep the whole industry stale and predictable, and i personally think the system should be completely abolished.

let's get it on... hey wait a minute

NOOOOO! Elijah's Endeavors, hella good fansite and convenient source of much late-night masturbatory fodder, has folded.

"When I started this site, it was because Elijah was under-represented on the 'net. Now there are Elijah sites everywhere you turn."

yah but... they aren't half as good as EE :-(

this should teach me a lesson-- save to disk... save to disk...

hygiene update

i've cut my fingernails too short again. my index finger, on my right hand, is down to the quick. it hurts. :-(

shitholes of the highest order

Crap Towns-- your definitive guide to the crappest of the UK (via Paul-- wonderful Paul). Hull is currently the frontrunner for the most shit town; somebody nominated London (ha ha); Leeds is described as a "city of random shouting and violence".

then there's Welwyn Garden City:

I defy you to find one person smiling, or even anyone who isn't thinking "Why am I here? Why am I here? Why am I here? Please someone kill me," over and over again, then holding their breath until they pass out.

That really is it.

why do British towns always have the funniest names? can you imagine living somewhere called Yarm or Dingwall? hee.

do you ever find that common and familiar objects can become completely unrecognizable and foreign from a short distance, or from different angles?

today i was sitting on my bed messing around with my guitar, when something on the floor in the far corner of the room caught my attention. i stared at it for endless minutes, trying to figure out what it could be, until i finally went over to investigate and found that it was just a pair of panties.

can we fuck?

Drew Barrymore's, uh, tattoos.

babblin' about music

okay people, it's been two years, and i think by now i can safely say that Music is Madonna's obligatory Worst Album Ever.

i thought it was terrible back then, and when i gave it another listen today, it was still terrible. i may have appalling taste, but no one can say i didn't try hard enough.

the inherent genius of Madonna is that she can pick up a trend or persona, make it safe for white people, and devote an entire album to it and make it flow. Music has no "flow"; it feels thrown-together, hacked and contrived, borders on an almost criminal abuse of vocal effects-- and on top of everything, is quite boring.

for one thing, i never could understand why they released the title track as the very first single. it sucks, frankly, and if they wanted something upbeat that would set the tone for the rest of the album, "Impressive Instant" is a much better song and far more danceable. the only track that really stands out as something fresh and different is "Don't Tell Me"; the only good that came from "What It Feels Like For A Girl" are the remixes. i can't stand the album version.

the best track of the entire album, IMO, is the French song ("Paradise Not For Me")-- and of course, it's mostly overlooked. it also had an amazing video, which was only shown at the Drowned World Tour, was never commercially released, and is damn hard to find (Sindri has some screen captures here). i admit that when i first heard it i found it unforgivably slow-- but it has really grown on me. i think it's true to her roots, and one of her most beautiful and powerful songs.

rat rave

at last, the mice get to party.

in other news, no cure for cancer yet.

he tried to go to kmart and as soon as he got to kmart they arrested him

"We asked police why we were being arrested, and they said, `Everybody is receiving equal treatment from the Houston Police Department tonight.' It didn't matter what you were doing; they arrested you."

425 People Arrested in KMart Parking Lot On Loitering Charges-- including a 10-year-old girl. this is Texas, so they'll probably get the Chair.

mama, i'm scared

for weeks, my friends had been urging me to watch the Anna Nicole Show, because it was "so funny", they said, and so much of a trainwreck that i'd have to see it with my own eyes to believe it. har, har.

and so it was that, buzzing on Stella Artois and finding myself in a most agreeable spirit of frivolity, i finally decided to check it out last night. good. freaking. God.

for the first time in my entire life, i wanted to be cradled in my mother's arms.

people, it takes a lot to frighten me. i'm not even going to attempt to describe what i saw; my heartrate is already through the roof. let the experts over at Television Without Pity break it down for you instead. i'm afraid i might actually need therapy.

one thing i can say-- this is NOT an Osbournes rip-off. there's no way the two could even compare. hell, next to this the Osbournes look like Masterpiece Theatre.

i'm going to do for you what my friends obviously didn't have the decency to do for me: DO NOT watch this show. DO NOT even entertain thoughts of watching it. and for God's sake, DO NOT panic-- just back away slowly. it is not suitable for adults. nor animals. nor children. (in that order.) not because of the sexual content-- there's nothing remotely sexy about it-- but because... just because. please, please trust me.

show the kids this instead. tell them it's Anna Nicole, if you have to. they'll recover faster, and have fewer nightmares.

hahahaha fuck you toho.

Is it GODZILLA?
brought to you by Quizilla

(are you all like, wtf? you should probably start here.)

don't go away mad-- just go away

i am so sick of freaking tourists. Canadian tourists, Quebecois tourists, Japanese tourists, Connecticut tourists, Texan tourists; you name it. wherever they're from, they all have one thing in common-- fanny packs.

the traffic on the turnpike was unbelievable this afternoon. everyone is either trying to get into Maine, or get the hell out of it. thank you drive through.

i sound like a real Mainer now.

Man, there's a lot of unexplained phenomenon out there in the world. Lot of things people say, What the heck's going on? Let me tell you!

Who built the pyramids? ELVIS! Who built Stonehenge? ELVIS!

Yeah, man you see guys walking down the street, pushing shopping carts, and you think they're talking to Allah, they're talking to themselves. Man, no they're talking to ELVIS!

You know whats going on in that Bermuda Triangle? Down in the Bermuda Triangle? Elvis needs boats.
--Mojo Nixon, "Elvis is Everywhere"

Elvis is dead. long live rock.

of course, lest we forget the living, HAPPY BIRTHDAY MADONNA-- the best damn looking 44-year-old on the face of the planet.

together we can make the promise of the Internet as a form of enlightment for all of mankind into a complete joke

no, Don't Save Karyn-- send your dollar to these guys instead. at least they have photographic evidence of what they're doing with your money and a better FAQ.

went silent

for a few days because i had to have a good long think and come to a decision.

it appears we are moving to Edinburgh, Scotland-- a city i have never visited and never imagined myself residing in.

i emphasize the "we", because i wasn't sure i'd be along for that ride. i'm supposed to just roll over, sell my truck, say goodbye to my friends and live as someone's "dependant" on completely foreign soil because *he* wants the fanciest piece of paper he can get his hands on. don't think so. kthxbi.

"listen, man-- i love you," was all i could say. moments after making this statement, i realized it was true.

for three days, i contemplated what it would mean to live without him. finally, he issued his ultimatum. if i won't go, he won't go.

"this is fucking stupid," i said. "come on, let's go to Scotland."

for the second time in my entire life, i am guilty of making a decision for love.

the trouble with pics

it has recently come to my attention that some people are concerned that i don't post any pictures or photographs of myself on my site. there's a simple explanation for this: i don't possess a webcam, digital camera, scanner or any other means to display images of myself online. being the huge glamour-whore that i am, you can rest assured that if it were possible, i'd be doing it-- and people wouldn't be harboring tiny suspicions that i'm actually a six-foot androgynous dyke (i wish!) or a 400 lb. matron from Kentucky, or Stephen Hawking, or whatever.

i'm just an average girl, far from supermodel material-- a bit hirsute, hands like a circus midget, but certainly not beastly. the girl next door who's a little fucked in the head.

so i propose a solution: send me your home address-- no P.O. boxes, please, but you actual, verifiable, residential home address, the place that you keep all your stuff and sleep-- and i will in turn mail you a pleasant postcard AND a photograph of myself. no gimmicks, no nudity, no Photoshop 'coz i don't have that anyway. i could send you a nice, fully professional studio photo taken of me several years ago, or a random candid shot of myself most likely doing something stupid and looking unphotogenic, or even a Polaroid if you prefer.

but it only works if you put your balls where i can see them and give me your real home address. as long as you're intruding on my anonymity, i might as well intrude on yours.

last week i had a chat with our maintenance man, and asked him to replace the light bulbs in the bathroom, as they've gone a bit dim and it was getting pretty dark. he promised to bring over some brighter bulbs.

our bathroom has one of those vanity mirror get-ups, with the large bulbs going down either side of the mirror like you see in dressing rooms and backstage scenes in the movies. today i came home and switched on the light and whoa!-- that shit is bright. not only has he given us higher wattage bulbs, but they're clear and not frosted like the old ones. it's blinding, to be honest. it's so bright that i don't know if i can even take a shit in there. it's like sitting in a hospital operating room.

well, fuck THAT shit

from the echoing vaults of FortuneCity, one particular crackbaby of a website asks, Should Pregnant Women Have Special Parking Rights? no, the Queen of England, Heads of State, and other essential people with better things to do than squirt out DNA replicants should have special parking rights.

in this case, nitwit proposes that women Burdened with Chylde should be extended Handicapped Parking Privileges. not simply the run of Stork Parking-- those irritating pink "courtesy" spots that i gleefully park in at every opportunity, challenging would-be naysayers to administer a piss-test on site or get the hell out of my face-- but the legal, state-sanctified right to park in designated spaces that DISABLED PEOPLE might actually FUCKING NEED TO USE.

no. pregnancy is an option. people do not choose to have multiple sclerosis or horrific car accidents. they do not choose to age. women choose to be pregnant. i don't give a fuck if you're allergic to latex condoms or about how you feel about abortion; the point is that no woman in the 21st century can legitimately claim she was FORCED to have a child. too fucking bad you have to haul your side-of-a-house physique and your 8 mewling carpet-sharks across the big bad parking lot by yourself-- GENUINELY HANDICAPPED individuals should not have to see their privileges subjugated because YOU made an expensive LIFESTYLE CHOICE.

let's take this fucker apart:

Most anyone who is a mom, has a mom or is married to a mom knows how cumbersome and uncomfortable the last month of pregnancy can be. Simply moving that off-balance body out of the driver's seat is quite an effort.

For pregnant moms who are working outside the home, saving extra steps at the end of a long day at work can make the difference between continuing to work and leaving her job earlier than expected.

first of all, i don't know a single woman who worked past the seventh month of pregnancy, if even that far. around that time they jump on the maternity leave gravy-train and spend the last few months sitting at home, waiting to whelp, feigning delicacy, throwing hormonal tangents, treating baby daddy like garbage and accepting Deification.

and most importantly, i can't see how a pregnant woman benefits from having a parking space just a few feet from the door, when they're just going to waddle their bloated, knocked-up heifer asses all over the mall or the supermarket or wherever they've taken the notion to go this time around, for hours upon hours. (it's too taxing to shuffle a few extra yards to the mall entrance-- but they sure can scoot over to Pottery Barn if they want to.) if you're that bad off and your pregnancy is that high-risk, you shouldn't be out and about anyway. can't you get your may-un to do the shopping? Christ.

I am the mother of four young daughters: a two-year-old, a five-year-old and nine-year-old twins. I know how hard it is to manage little ones and a pregnant body in a parking lot. And I know how annoying it is to walk my troop past empty handicapped spots.

you've got a lot of nerve, bitch. annoying? there are a lot of people who would give anything to be able to walk past anywhere.

don't bother taking this ridiculous survey, but check out some of the survey comments:

"Pregnancy (unless "at-risk") and tending to newborns should not be considered a disability or handicap. Women have fought successfully for the right to continue working during pregnancy (e.g., flight attendants, industrial and construction workers, fire fighters, etc.). This right confers responsibility AND some attendant drawbacks."

hear, hear!

"I feel pregnant women should be able to park in a handicapped spot because they have the gift of life in them."

oh, PLEASE! bring me a wastebasket to puke in. hey, i've got thousands of E.coli bacteria swimming around in my lower abdomen right as we speak. wouldn't you say i'm carrying the "gift of life" inside of me? come on, it's beautiful and natural.

kettle-head

an unseemingly twisted illustrated children's story from the 1900's that i somehow stumbled across, about a little girl who gets her head burned off in a kitchen fire, so they replace it with an iron kettle, until Santa Claus brings her a new head for Christmas. crazy fucking shit.

yeah, we're doomed

if we are really this stupid, the terrorists have already won. they don't even have to get out of bed.

Security chiefs at Los Angeles airport said: "We have instructions to confiscate anything that looks like a weapon or a replica. If GI Joe was carrying a replica then it had to be taken from him." (link via Jessica)

how about my middle finger? could that be considered a weapon?

why online chat and alcohol should never, ever mix

Matt and i are working on a graphic novel titled "The Humiliation of Ellen"... starring everyone's friendly neighborhood stoner chick, Ellen Feiss!

don't think we'll ever make it public tho-- wouldn't want to get sued!

You are 52% geek

You are a geek. Good for you! Considering the endless complexity of the universe, as well as whatever discipline you happen to be most interested in, you'll never be bored as long as you have a good book store, a net connection, and thousands of dollars worth of expensive equipment. Assuming you're a technical geek, you'll be able to afford it, too. If you're not a technical geek, you're geek enough to mate with a technical geek and thereby get the needed dough. Dating tip: Don't date a geek of the same persuasion as you. You'll constantly try to out-geek the other.

Take the Polygeek Quiz at Thudfactor.com

instant IQ

i scored 131 on the International High IQ Society's 5-minute test-- which more than qualifies me to become a member of the society. oh, my.

i must decline, of course, as i don't feel that i can accept such an honor at this time. currently i'm afraid my philanthropic energies are almost exclusively dedicated to ICON.

massholes

i'm not surprised. the man in question is no longer in critical condition, by the way. he's dead.

the T sucks, full stop.