State Fair mascot Big Tex died a mere 3 days ago. The beloved, terrifying giant cowboy is being mourned by Texans all over the world (or maybe just in Texas, ’cause they’re Texans).
The problem with mourning Big Tex is the obviousness that he’s a sex criminal (as evidenced by his face) using his celebrity to endorse Dickie’s, the makers of the worst clothes ever with the worst name ever. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll miss him, but I don’t think we should be sweeping his creepiness under the rug like we did when MJ died. We can’t fit him under a rug anyway.
In keeping with my current trend of posting videos long after it’s relevant to post them, here’s another video.
A few weeks ago was Fashion’s Night Out. If you don’t know what that is, you’re lame. Sorry, but it’s true. Don’t feel too bad, though, because this year I was lame, too. I only went to the Northpark Mall for FNO festivities and missed out on some pretty cool stuff. Wah wah wah. There’s always next year. Anyway, while I was there I took some video clips, all of which I later realized were super awful and shaky. Like, in-a-paddle-boat-in-the-middle-of-the-ocean-during-a-storm-and-also-there-are-dogs-trying-to-bite-you shaky. Free Neiman Marcus champagne + my already shaky hands = terrible cameraperson. Anyway, I salvaged what I could, and this video features some new Ted Baker looks, so if you’re like me and scream, “TED BAKER!” in crazed excitement whenever someone mentions the brand, take a look-see.
You should watch this (in HD) because I made it and it doesn’t make a lot of sense.
Late recap list version of Gorilla vs Bear II is go:
1. It was awesome.
2. Glass Candy is great live, even if Ida No shrieks like a toddler that dropped their ice cream, or whatever toddlers are eating these days. Cheerios? Gummy bears? Absinthe? I don’t know.
It’s the Friday the 13th miracle no one was asking for! Two blog posts in one day!
See this dress? It’s awesome, but it’s made out of something totally gross.
Find out what it’s made of after the jump.
What’s wrong with you, Hulu? Look at this mess. I consider Piper Perabo to be a very attractive woman as she is, don’t you? Why did you feel the need to awkwardly shave 20 lbs off her? She’s thin and muscular in real life—she doesn’t need to look like a weird alien with an impossibly smooth shape in pictures. I mean, look at the ratio of her arms to her waist and butt. It’s obviously not what she looks like, ok? I’ve seen her on TV and she does not have gorilla arms. Chalk this image up to Photoshop FAIL.
It’s Christmas time, so it only makes sense that I should write about last Halloween. Here’s a step-by-step guide of how to turn yourself into that herpes-infested pumpkin lady we all love to loathe so much.
Justin Bieber (or as I like to call him, Justin Gerber) is a pop sensation, and as such, it is his duty to amass large quantities of money by plastering his face to everything. Such is capitalism. There is a line, though, between Bieber Fever and Bieber Schizophrenia. Bieber Fever inspires a lot of merchandise, like t-shirts, posters, and teddy bears. Bieber Schizophrenia, on the other hand, generates weird crap like this:
12. JB Barbie: Yeah, Barbie, not Ken. You can’t expect me to look at that face and see a man. And how weird does this thing look? It’s just, like, staring… looking nowhere in particular, probably wishing its hair wasn’t painted onto its head like that. Maybe it’s the failed-decapitation neck slit that’s throwing me off, but something about this G.I. Joe-gone-wrong just doesn’t sit right with me.
The latest season of Covert Affairs recently came to a close, much to my dismay—not only because I enjoy the show, but because I highly enjoy Christopher Gorham. Aside from that weird slow-mo part toward the end and the microphone sneaking into a couple shots (watch the hospital scene closely, you’ll see it), I thought the season finale was very well-directed, even if the writing was a little lacking. My main complaint, though, was the lack of Auggie’s screen time. I firmly believe that the character of Auggie is 25% of the show’s appeal. Another 25% goes to the show’s general plot, and the remaining 50% goes to Christopher Gorham’s beauty.
On Monday, May 30, 2011, I saw Margot & the Nuclear So and So’s at the Granada Theater in Dallas, Texas. The Twilight Singers were also there, but they were singing about Twilight, so I tuned them out.
Okay, actually, nobody sang about Twilight, which is good, considering how my Twilight-induced PTSD flares up whenever I hear someone say “Robert Pattinson”. So luckily for me, and everyone else in the venue, the Twilight Singers just sang about… other stuff. Honestly, I don’t know what they sang about, because I didn’t pay attention to their set for a few reasons:
Guess what, folks? Something amazing happened to me, aside from the free ounce of froyo I got at Yogurt Story the other day because I found a spider in it. (I put the spider there. SUCKAAAS!)
I got a Mac laptop!
As everyone knows, Mac is actually an acronym that stands for Magical And Cakewalk, which doesn’t make much sense, but the bottom line is that this computer is the shit (or should I say, the shit my cake says? Har-dee-har-har).
But how I came to acquire this beautiful piece of hardware is a tale of tragedy and terror.
Yesterday (or today, depending on how you look at it, since I’m writing this at 2:34 am Texas time) was Oprah’s last show. Her last hurrah. Last shebang. Last housewife lovefest. Last time to gaze at herself longingly in her dressing room mirror, which is the size of my house.
Actually, no, she’ll probably still be doing that last one.
I say good riddance, but many people are in mourning. I’d like to remind you of my past Friday the 13th post, in which I predicted the outcome of the world after this catastrophic event (hint: the outcome is destruction).
Go buy beans, batteries, baby dolls, or whatever else you’ll need to survive underground while housewives everywhere rampantly destroy the world. The Y2K stuff you never put to use will do.
You’ve been warned.
Because I was the sexiest man alive, I managed to knock myself out twice in one day, and because I did this, I couldn’t drive. I had to wait for my mom to come pick me up while I watched everyone else in my class leave in their cars. Just call me Captain Lady-Killer. No… the ‘captain’ made me seem like a murderer instead of a sarcastic, self-deprecating dork.
This season of Parks and Recreation has brought us many adorable, sexy, and romantic character relationships. Andy and April, Ann and Chris, and lastly, the most obvious one…
…Tom and DJ Roomba.
Today, I’d like to talk about something very serious. A health epidemic that has been sweeping the nation for years.
Just in case you’re in the 10% of the world’s population that has yet to see the travesty that is “Friday” by Rebecca Black, allow me to educate you.
If you thought that song “Justin Bieber’s Girlfriend” was bad, just wait until you see this—er, the thing you already watched at the top of the page. “Friday” is a song that gives old folks in their 20s like me insight into what the kids are up to these days, and apparently, 13-year-olds are up to no damn good, especially on Fridays, which, according to Rebecca, come after Thursdays (even though we all know that Thursday is actually in between Monday and Brednesday).
Shelby’s pre-cal class was about five feet from where we were standing, so the walk to her class was not a long one.
“Thanks for walking me all the way to my faraway class,” she said.
Loser, I thought to myself. What were you thinking? “Hey, Shelby, want me to walk you to your class that’s only a Verne Troyer and a half away from where we’re standing right now?”
“Look, what I was going to ask you earlier is if—”
“’Sup, Shelby,” Todd’s voice boomed, interrupting her. He put his meaty arm around her waist, and she immediately slinked away. He looked at me. “’Sup, Queer.”
I gulped so intensely I knew she could hear it. Stupid Adam’s apple.
“Hhhheh,” I croaked. That was loser for “hi”.
“Hi, Cavan,” she said. “I—”
“Shelby! What happened to your nose?” Emilio asked.
“Cavan punched her,” Andy said, French fries dropping out of his mouth.
Since oh-so-many people seem to find my blog via classy variations on the search term “boobs”, I decided to pay homage to this one little word that has brought me so much porn-seeking traffic…
It’s a tale as old as time, true as it can be. Or rather, a question as old as the birth of McDonald’s. Who’s hotter, Grimace or the Hamburglar?
It’s my birthday. I’m 21 years old today. Therefore, I expect 21 birthday cakes on my doorstep by the end of the day, or else I’ll burn down Australia. You’ve been warned.
Here are some examples of acceptable cakes: