A friend of mine is running a marathon to help raise money for his mother who was recently diagnosed with leukemia. As you well know that’s a tough one to beat, so she’ll need all the help she can get. Please take a look and donate if you can.
I’m always intrigued by banner ads that catch my eye but confuse me as to what they’re selling. As someone who works in advertising and marketing, you’d think I would be far past trying to justify the “Sex sells” mentality, but I’m simply not.
I mean, should I be led to believe that a shapely middle-eastern woman is why I should “Think Israel” for my next vacation? While the thought of a dark, exotic woman in a swimsuit is certainly appealing, I can think of many places I could go to see that, the internet not withstanding. And certainly Israel has far more to offer. Assuming that I would in fact see the subject of this ad there, I would likely be distracted by the millennia-long history of the area.
I suppose that the skyline is an apology, in a way, but this is just silly. Does this sort of advertising actually work? Am I contributing to its effect by noticing it? See also : True boobies.
Music video for Spinal Tap’s The Majesty Of Rock. Need I say more?
A list of movies I will watch in theaters in 2006:
(more…)
In response to Da Vinci code controversy, Sir Ian McKellan makes a statement that any thinking man has already considered. My most-honoured girlfriend, the Raggedy Android, was forced to retaliate with sophomoric rebuttal.
SB: I guess Newsbusters is a conservative thing. In the comments, they immediately go after McKellan for being gay.
RA: You know how I know you’re gay?
RA: Because you hate Christ.
SB: Brilliant!
I hate my butt.
Make sure we are clear about the subject here. I have a relatively fat-free, strong, round, mammalian mesomorph gluteus. Like most ape-men, my fat cells avoid the limbs and clambor toward the temporal climate of the torso. So, as much extra baggage as I have, I could only coloquially be considered a “fat-ass.”
No, my loathing of my posterior region is not aesthetic in nature. While I am partial to the baggier style of clothing, even through my sagging jeans one can proclaim the ferrous alloy aspect of my “buns.”
“Well, what then?” you may well ask. “If you’re so enamored with the pleasantly curved cheeks of your manly yet pouty rump — as are we all, you beautiful bastard — then why the whinging?”
I will elucidate, never you fear. In truth, while my shapely buttocks are seemingly unaffected by gravity, forever perched on that pinnacle of pert and perky perfection, they do shelter a hidden secret. Though no one but me could ever know this*, they are in fact… flawed. And this imperfection, while concealed from the adoring public, conspires to remind me of basic entropic principles. Even this monument to the masculine ideal is slowly crumbling.
* Unless, of course, if I were to extoll the horrible truth. On a public website, for example.
What follows could be described as Too Much Information, by almost everyone. You have been warned.
Something about this handy document that makes me smile.
Guess I know how I’ll be spending my Saturday nights from now on. I’ve got work to do. Thanks to Czeltic Girl, as always, for the link.
MetaFilter chimes in on the latest Supersoaker craze in the most inappropriate yet most fitting way. To be fair, TM beat even the mighty MeFi to the punch.
See also: Urban Dictionary definition of “skeet.”
Girl, 11, will be Britain’s youngest mother | the Daily Mail
The girl smokes 20 cigarettes a day despite being eight months’ pregnant. She conceived aged 11 when she lost her virginity to a boy of 15 on a drunken night out with friends.
A drunken night out with friends. Losing your virginity at 11. Twenty cigarettes a day during the pregnancy. That baby’s going to come out looking and sounding like Tom Waits after a week-long bender in Tijuana.
Warning: The rest of this post is highly vitriolic and filled with harsh language.
