Vote or Die

This evening I've been amusing myself by coming up with new captions for my Myspace pictures. Drawing from my own rantings on past sexual experiences, and a friend's comment, I have come up with a few slightly raunchy quips for this photo in particular:



Although I find them hi-larious (My personal reaction to every thing that comes out of my mouth), I am trying to keep in mind that many a stranger come across that site, and I don't know if I want my space to be filed under the 'dirty porn' section of Myspace.com. So I ask you, my readers and friends who know me best of all, to decide what would be the most appropo caption to accompany this photograph; or feel free to create your own.

1) Allegedly what it looks like to have sex with me.

2) All that money spent buying drinks for me.. Was it worth it?

3) Funny story: I was getting fucked when this was taken.

4) The Not-So-Wild Sex Adventure! complimentary souvenir photo.


I like #3, personally.

FYI: I was, in fact, not having sex when this photo was taken--I took it myself... whilst I was polishing off, obviously.

Dignity Lost; Inspiration Found

Hello, kiddies. I'm back... Did you miss me? I know I missed you; and though I would prefer to never have to leave you alone and postless, there are times when a gal's got to head out into the night in a liquored up stupor just to bring you fresh blog material. It's all in the name of research, baby.

The night: Friday

The bar: Martini's

The outfit:

Who knew it would look that good on Susan Sarandon as well?

My posse consists of members of my French class as well as our Paris-born French tutor (Who, for the record, wears a fanny pack around his neck... You remember fanny packs).


Though, in his defense, it's Lacoste and it stores an I-pod... Does it get any cooler than that? It also wouldn't hurt to know that I openly dubbed it his 'Mary Poppins bag'.

Before we head out, one of the girls offers me a few drinks of wine in a teensy glass. I see the dainty offering as an opportunity to make a few quips about me being a lush. The party laughs and laughs and laughs... until a few hours later when all somberly realize that my drunkard jokes are actually well disguised truths.

The crowd arrives at the bar, got-drunk-way-too-early-Michelle in tow. My gal pal and I wander into a back room illuminated solely by black lights (this information will become useful momentarily). The first thing to grab my attention is a pole located in the middle of the dance floor which arouses short-lived fantasies of a solo reproduction of 'Chicago'. I say short-lived because the evening's target for my slurred flirtations walks up before I have the chance to relive 'All that Jazz' in its entirety in my head. His name obviously wasn't important enough to remember, but he was a white, surfer dude from Africa. The most appropriate nickname for this newfound foreigner? "Guy with Really Bad Dandruff Wearing a Black T-shirt Underneath a Blacklight". Beautiful--we'll call him 'Dandy', for short.


Dandy's sister--Dandrulina

So Dandy begins arguing with me about a few of my French translations (which, for the record, were correct)... This being the event which sparks my unhindered annoyance of the French, fanny packin' tutor. Most of the rest of the evening is spent running up to this poor guy screaming (in my beth Keith Richards') "Wait a minute, wait a minute... How do you say 'donut' in French?"

That is, of course, until I discover the long lost art of 'the booty dance'.... and while in my head I looked like this:



In actuality it was more like this:



Oh yes... I backed my thang up... I backed it up, down, sideways and diagonally. I shook what my mama gave me... and then took my shaken, not stirred, ass out Martini's front doors, through the parking lot, and to the nearest building... where I proceeded to let all that pure alcohol out of my system and onto a bare, brick wall.

An entire Saturday off from work spent in hungover reflection and painful embarassment, leading to poorly thought out suicide attempts, has brought me to this final thought:

I have but three simple rules for my nights of alcohol-induced fun, and they are as follows...

1) Never, EVER dance
2) Don't dare get sick in public
3) For the love of humanity.. Refrain from reproducing

I suppose 2 out of 3 isn't the worst case scenario.

Yes--French class will never be the same. Now that I will be forever known as the Tara Reid of FRE1120, my first goals include dying my hair blonde, having sex with 30 dirty Europeans in one night, and figuring out how to say "I'm a drunken asshole" in francais.

Links of the Week

Rock And Roll Confidential Your Band Sucks This should take you directly to 'The Hall of Douchebags'.

Here's a sample:



The caption: "Somebody needs a refresher course in irony."

Also.. for something fucking awesome that I must own click here: YouTube - Broadcast Yourself.

(Thanks goes to Tripp for these pieces of gold)

Getting 'Real' with Ben Affleck

He is sooo in touch with the world

So I was watching Real Time with Bill Maher earlier this evening, and one of the guests on the panel was Ben Affleck. "Interesting choice", I thought. With his goofy grin, squinty eyes, and "Look at me; I'm intellectually deep" beard, I was just waiting for someone to lean over and punch him in his silly face.

During a discussion concerning Christianity, Bill Maher basically states that his opinion of many American Christians is that they have a "mental block", are stubborn and ignorant because of their religion, and that they're basically stupid. Ben finds this offensive, (given) understandably, and attempts to refute. Bill says that he saw the results of a poll telling that 45% of Americans believe the Bible in a strictly literal translation... he says how can a person who believes that the planet is merely 5000 years old, and that a man named Jonah lived in the belly of the whale for 200 years not be considered stupid? Ben's answer to this is... "Aaah! None of those people really believe that!" (Paraphrased).

I'm glad that the man who lives in a fucking dream world where dogs only drink bottled water imported from melted ice caps found within the springs of the swiss alps; where under shirts cost no less than $200; and where people tell you that even your bowels are pretty... knows so well the American public. Sorry to burst your bubble, Ben... but there are indeed people in existence that believe such things--Hell, I've dated at least 3 of them, and rolled my eyes at countless more. Sue me, but I just can't see a Hollywood celebrity understanding the mentalities of the suburban U.S. citizen... or anyone who doesn't eat off of platinum-lined china, for that matter. When you actually live in a neighborhood where your neighbors are close enough in proximity to shove their religious ideals in your face then you can make the attempt to sound informed as to the visions of the public.... then you can form a substantial opinion and try your best to represent a chunk of that public--You flipping douche bag.

I'll end this post appropriately--in the same manner as 'Real Time'.

New rule: Celebrities (especially those who star in films like Reindeer Games) who have their heads shoved up their perfumed asses are no longer allowed to pretend they understand, or egotistically speak on behalf of, the general population.

The penalty? Death... Or a starring role in 'Reindeer Games: Rudolph's Revenge'... which is really just one and the same .



Oh, you are such the bag of douche.

Is Nip/Tuck Not Fucked Up Enough?

It has just very recently been brought to my attention that Joely Richardson and John Hensley from the show Nip/Tuck are dating (Thanks, Matt, for filling me in on the details of the world).

Well, in case you're unaware--Joely Richardson is John Hensley's mother on the show.

...and John Henson is the most offensively gay-looking kid anyone has ever laid eyes on. He is allegedly Michael Jackson's mini-me.

He also has a permanent pout attached to his face... and a shade of lipstick/rouge that I wouldn't even attempt to pull off.

Nip/Tuck is the type of show that is constantly trying to outdo itself... especially in the area of shocking people. Now we can add that Matt is shtooping his mommy... who, hopefully, will inevitably turn out to be a transsexual alien from Planet Xena.

This relationship got me wondering what other television actors could pair up and cause people to want to vomit... and this, for some reason, reminded me of a joke I heard through the grapevine that Bob Saget made about getting with the Olsen Twins...

Aaah, the wheels are in motion...

In Honor of the New Arrival

Now let's all beat it to death with sticks.

News Flash: Scientists are Huge Fucking Nerds

BBC News - 10th Planet has Moon Companion

Apparently in July scientists announced that they have discovered a 10th planet in our solar system... This, of course, was overshadowed by other, more important topics--such as Tom Cruise being a crazy person, Tom Cruise getting married, and Tom Cruise being a crazy person.

Aah--Scientology defeats the purpose of science yet again.

However, the situation can no longer be ignored... for now it involves Hollywood--at least, that is, it involves a crappily made cable television show from the 1990s.

Currently, the planet has been dubbed Xena; the moon will be called
Gabrielle until official names are agreed.

Both "codenames" come
from characters in a US TV series, Xena: Warrior
Princess."

After all Lucy Lawless has given us... It's nice to see the populous giving back by immortalizing her in the stars

...because shitty spin offs of even shittier shows deserve to be seared painfully into our memory banks for all eternity.

Oh wait... No; they don't.

One of the scientists involved, who I'm estimating is around the age of 14, had this to say:

"Having a moon is just inherently cool - and it is something that most self-respecting planets have, so it is good to see that this one does, too."

Well, thank God. We wouldn't want a planet with low self-esteem, now would we? She might develop anorexia from all the other planets' playground badgering. It's tough being the new kid... Especially if you can't even afford your own moon :(

After his statement, Dr. Brown (the LOTR lifetime fanclub member who is quoted above) and colleagues retired to a back room where they proceeded to eat gross amounts of ice cream, play D&D and jerk off to old episodes of 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer'.

"Inherently cool."


Pictured: The planet and its sidekick moon

If geeks are going to take over... Why did they have to be tasteless geeks? Couldn't they at least have the things named after something dorky yet awesome?

Here's my vote...


Planet Fucking Death Star.


...and Darth Moon.



In other completely unrelated yet totally more important news:

Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes are expecting a baby abomination

That's it--I'm fucking moving to Xena.


(Thanks to Matt S. and Matt G. for the great news articles--Contributions noted.)

I'm a Bond Girl

Though this list is full of inside jokes that you probably won't laugh at as heartily as I... I enjoyed it so thoroughly that I absolutely must post it.

Besides, who the hell doesn't want to be compared to a Bond Girl?

The following is a list made up by a friend who chooses to remain anonymous ;) of things I've said or done that qualify my being a Bond Girl :

1) Gorgeous.
2) the phrase "yeah, you can trust me. I am ALWAYS up for a heist"
3) You speak French
4) Cute-Nerdy by way of having a blog and loving Transformers
5) Speaking of awesome: awesomeness abounds!
6) You don't mind having Steamboat Willie as the little man in your boat
7) You like steak
8) The phrase “Definitely earned yourself some boobage”

The thing that amuses me most is that #'s 1 and 8 truly are direct quotes from me... and that just proves how much of a fucking nutcase I am.

I'm not sure that #'s 4 and 6 matter much... though I suppose I could be the nerdy/intelligent Bond. My angle would be my infinite knowledge of Star Wars... I don't possess infinite knowledge per se, but hey--it's Hollywood.

Now I just need a Bond name.

..and this is my request to you, reader: Find me a Bond Girl name.

Winner's Bond name will be posted as an UPDATE.

Another Reason to Feel Badly About Yourself

Little Johnny cries himself to sleep every night knowing he'll never make the cut

It seems Myspace has adopted a new feature.

I was browsing around my home page... and yes, I do Myspace... just like everyone else on this damn planet... and I noticed that in my 'Friends' section there was little, glowing red and blue lettering. On closer inspection I noticed that it said "Change my 'top 8'!"

Apparently this option was created to give us Myspacers the ability to control who gets to show up as a "friend" on our main webpage or not... Basically: show who we deem worthy and hide the rest of the assfaces from view.

Immediately I felt the tinge of rejection coming on. Just like junior high... and yet another way to make me feel left out from the cool kids and alienate me through worries of judgment. Will I make the final cut? Will I? Will I?

Thanks for bringing that competitive edge into every aspect of your site, Myspace. It's supposed to be a "Place for friends"... A haven for internet geeks everywhere... and let's not forget about the creepy stalkers either.

... I'm having people fight to the death for my 'top 8' spaces.

And now, if you'll excuse me... there are a few douche bags I have to eradicate from the face of my main page.

Whaaa?

This son of a bitch cost Christina Ricci her acting career


Ananova - Brothers fined for keeping 'pet ghost'

A village council in eastern India has fined two brothers for keeping a pet ghost.

Iswar and Haripada Murmu, of Akshaypur in West Bengal, were accused of owning a ghost after one of their wives died.

An exorcist summoned by villagers claimed the brothers' pet ghost was "responsible for a recent outbreak of disease in the locality".

Village elders said they were bringing evil to the village and fined them the equivalent of £360, reports the Deccan Chronicle.

The paper reports that the brothers had to mortgage their agricultural land to raise the money.
They now risk losing everything unless they can pay the money back within two months.

District magistrate Mukul Sarkar said: "I will immediately inquire into the matter and if there is any truth to it, the district administration will take the necessary action."

This story raises a damn good question... what sort of fine could they bestow upon Anna Nicole Smith for this little diddy:

"A ghost would crawl up my leg and have sex with me at an apartment a long time ago in Texas...I was freaked out about it, but then I was like, Well, you know what? He's never hurt me and he just gave me some amazing sex, so I have no problem."
(When asked in FHM magazine "What's the kinkiest sex you've ever had?")

Who I'd Like to Fuck the Shit out of These Days

I have a new comedic crush...

Dane Cook.

It was love at first mention of 'The Force' and 'Optimus Prime'.

... and even though I would prefer to NEVER be in a situation where I'd have to shout out "OH DANE! YOU'RE GREAT! JUST GRRREAT, DANE!"

That's what I'd call him--Great Dane.

.... and though he resembles one of my ex boyfriends to a yuck-provoking extent... Any guy who compares his apartment to the Death Star (and then admits that it's not yet 'fully operational') can be king of my panties any day.

What is it that's just so goddayum sexy about a hi-larious and nerdy fella? There you go boys--Those are my standards. Think you can handle it? Funny and fucking dorky as hell?

What a Shitty Theme

I walked into a fitting room at work today and saw one of the cushioned stools soaking wet and dripping. The liquid (presumably water) no less reminded me of a particular week from not so long ago. It was the week of shit. I've never seen more shit than I did that week.

It all began one night as I was awaiting closing time. I was just standing there, zoning out, as I always do when at work, when I suddenly hear my name being called from a distance. I follow the sound and find a frantic co-worker from the children's department. She says "Look, my dear" in her funny foreign tone... and so I look. A trail of fecal matter is strewn all about the path that leads from sleepwear to lingerie. Emma, as the lady is called, says to me "You don't think it was a giant animal do you, my dear?" I just laugh and tell her no, "Let's call security". So I call one of the security guys and say "Hey--there is poo in the kid's department." The conversation following this statement basically went as follows: "Poo??" "Yes--poo." "Huh?" "Poo. There is poo here. We have a poo situation." "What do you mean poo?" (Emma chimes in): "It's alligator poo, my dear." (laughter from yours truly): "Emma says it's alligator poo... She says there's an alligator loose." "What? Alligator poo? What do you expect me to do about alligator poo?" "Emma's concerned there's an animal loose... She doesn't want to go back to her area." This basically continues for another 2 minutes... Then Peter (security guy) comes up and takes a gander. We all sort of stare... and I laugh... and Emma is finally convinced that there is in fact no gators pooing anywhere in the store... and that it's safe for her to return to her station.

This story should just confirm that theory of every Northerner... the theory that all Floridians harbor alligators underneath their beds... because I know someone is going to read that and take the alligator thing literally. Good luck to you, Mid-Westerner... Don't forget to receive your obligatory Mickey Mouse branding upon entering the state as well.

Second poo experience: My discovery of a dirty diaper in the fitting room.

And finally... A poor, very old lady comes into the store and has an accident. She is alone and it is very obvious what has happened... more than one sense is upset by it. One of our kindly ladies from the home department takes her under her wing.. and like an angel tends to her every need. The thing is--she's so elderly that while the home lady is helping to ring her items up, she asks another associate for a chair to sit on. The associate, unaware of the situation, takes one of my fitting room stools (with a three inch thick cushion) and gives it to the lady as a seat. I walk up and see her sitting on it... the smell is putrid... and I begin to wonder what on earth is going to come of my stool? After the lady leaves I call security. The main LP tells me I need to dispose of the seat. I say "Exsqueeze me?" to which she responds "Say that ever again and I'll break your face" (that was a total blatant fucking lie--and for this I apologize). By and by... I am now stuck with this dilemma. It's all on me. The horrid, stinky chair is sitting in front of a register... and it becomes my duty to eliminate the problem. I stare for a long while, and pace back and forth, covering my nose. Finally the LP comes up and gets it... "What? Are you afraid of a little waste?"

...and this is the point I'm reaching for.

Fuck.ing. Yes.

Come the fuck on. Piss and shit. Do you have to explain a fear or loathing of piss and shit? If you're going to have any sort of an irrational fear... I would say that of the piss and shit would be most reasonable. Screw sharks, screw ghosts... If it drips from a living thing.. I don't need a part of it.


Also, I'd like to apologize for not turning the words "stool" and "duty" into puns in this story. Guess I really missed the boat on that one, huh?

Link of the Week

Named 'The Mexican Piggy Doll'. Sure enough, I would venture to say she does indeed look as though she desperately needs a job.. Excellent alter egos would include: "Heroine Injected Whore Piggy" aka "Miss Post-Senior Prom" and "Daddy Puts Mommy in Her Place Piggy"

...and now that I've managed to insult teenagers, married women, Mexicans, and Muppets... Let's move on, shall we?

Somehow God, or whatever being that fucks with my head and dignity on a daily basis, delivered me this piece of gold:

Tough Pigs Soapbox -- Ugly Muppet Toys Pageant 2004

How I love and live for Google serendipity.

...and people who are overly obsessed with Muppets.

Go Ahead--Stick it In... I Dare Ya

Runner up title: Do You Feel Lucky?.. Well, Do Ya? Punk?

I imagine that this may just be more frightening than even 'Fatal Attraction'....

Anti-Rape Condom Superceded by Vaginal Land Mine

...and not just frightening for males either. Do you really think I want this going on inside the sensitive cavity of my vagine?


I think not.

Nor would I care for the second device mentioned in the article that I have decidedly dubbed 'The Shredder'. Who wants a 1980s cartoon villian cock-grabbing from your innards?


"Not I" says Single White Female. Hey - what's that in his hand? Oh - That would be the dick of a rapist. See? He's not such a bad dude after all... Just misunderstood :(

There's one thing both anti-rape "condoms" have in common anyway: They both sound like something from 'The Addams Family'



This blog brought to you by the cleaning out of my favorites folder.

A History of Self-Amusement

My father is right now in St. Louis, Missouri, visiting his father. He phoned me today and mentioned that he's been driving my cousin's old, beat up, teensy weensy, Geo Tracker around town. This is the most appropriate picture I could find:


My dad, but slightly less putzy... many more gray hairs... NO stupid, Hawaiin shirt, and a much less shiny vehicle

So he says to me, "I'm having to drive Tommy's (my cousin's) old Tracker... (Here I say "I can't see you in a car like that, Dad)... Yeah, but it's got a good, expensive sound system that Tommy installed... A little old lady pulled up next to me at a red light and I had it turned up fairly loud... I was looking at her and she looked over at me... only to see a middle-aged, gray-bearded man booming the bass of something like Limp Bizkit or Nine Inch Nails... She just shook her head in disgust and drove away."

Thanks goes to you, Dad... For momentarily portraying the image of a wannabe-hip, over-the-hill, victim of midlife crisis to a judgemental, old, white lady.... all for the sake of comedy.

...Way to raise a sadistic, cynical, humor-lovin', foul-mouthed daughter; this blogsite wouldn't be possible if it weren't for your ridiculous child rearing skills.

Boys Don't Cry

Who wants to know why Michelle didn't post for a week?

Well, I don't give a rat's ass - I'm telling you anyway.

Aside from college and work, which consume my lazily spent time, I went out of town this past weekend (Weekends are when I do the most blogging). I was coerced into making the two and a half hour drive to Tallahassee under the pretense that I would be having fun. Not that I didn't... but oh was it so much more than that.

We floated in tubes down a river, drank lots of beer, went to a few parties, blah blah blah - none of this matters. What matters is the events which occurred during the second night of my stay in good ol' Seminole city (If it's ever been called that, I don't know... but we're going to go with yes).

There is a bar called 'Yianni's' on a main strip... This bar has 80s nights, I assume, every Saturday. Needless to say, it was 80s night when we went. Very necessary to note, however, is the attire of which my comrades decided to flaunt. The group's own personal theme (because apparently the bar doesn't take it far enough) was popular tennis players from the 1980s. Here to give you an idea:



Imagine that... combined with this:



Or this...



With this:



You get the idea. Mullet wigs, head and wrist bands, and teensy tiny, tight atheltic shorts. So anyway... You'd think that it'd be impossible to become angry enough, in an outfit such as this, to want to fight...? Apparently not.

So immediately after one of my friends (names will not be mentioned in order to secure the dignity of those involved.. and oh - will it ever need securing), we'll call him Friend #1, inappropriately grabs an ex fuck buddy's ass... She slaps him in his face. He proceeds to scream "Fuck off!!" into her face. This I saw... and this I laughed at... because c'mon... It's funny when someone screams curse words into the face of a hooker.

So yada yada yada, and suddenly three guys walk up to Friend #1 and Friend #2... Who are talking shit behind these three amigos's backs - in a very manly manner, of course... So here come the Three Amigos and a bit of a spit off/ shoving match begins... A drink gets thrown, Friend#1 gets tackled by bouncers... and we all get kicked out. Thank youuuuu, gay tennis players who like to fight... Thanks for blasting from the past in order to ruin my night.

In the parking lot, wigless and testosterone leaking from their jockstraps, the two manly mansters in hotpants and knee-highs pace back and forth. A third friend, who is buddy, buddy with the bar's owners, managers, bouncers, and bartenders, comes running from the bar itself, screaming and ranting into Friends #1 and 2's faces. He says according to John and Jane Doe it was #1 and 2 that started the fight... and they're never allowed on the strip again. Friend #2, who, I hope for his sake, is plastered at this point, begins to frantically and emotionally shout in Friend #3's face... "Why don't you believe me? That hurts, man! We're supposed to be boys! Why don't you just believe me!?!"

And then.... oh then... he weeps. Loudly and unabashedly... Torn and tormented weeping... For a good 10 minutes.

And then... Myself and the female friend next to me... Well, we just laugh. Laugh and laugh. Ha. Ha ha. Understandably... as Friend #1 jumps around the parking lot, flinging himself from car bumper to car bumper, leaping off the ground, rolling on the ground, making sound effects appropriately matched to those of Daffy Duck's from Looney Tunes. I don't know if I was more frightened, shocked, or amused. If you've ever seen a grown, 200 pound-ish Marine roll on the ground making 'WOOHOO WOOHOO WOOHOO' noises... You may understand my reaction.



...and as the emotional, tennis twosome ran off into the night together through the park en route to the most ghetto neighborhood in Tallahassee (No shit - I couldn't make this stuff up if I wanted to), in my bout of laughter I suddenly had an epiphany... "Oh my God", I said, turning to another friend who just happened to be within earshot, "I just remembered..

I. HAVE. A. BLOGSITE."

Thank Alcohol for blog material.