misshepeshu: (Default)
For those of you who love Anthony Bourdain, and for those of you who love Narnia, an amazing Yuletide author brings you...No Reservations: Narnia.

I just about shit my pants when [livejournal.com profile] katealaurel forwarded it to me. Ennnn-joy.
misshepeshu: (Rape dollars)
"Fuck the Pain Away," as sung by Miss Piggy.

Oh dear.



[livejournal.com profile] ccarrico, I think of you every time I hear that song because you introduced me to it. Therefore, my posting this on my Livejournal is ALL. YOUR. FAULT.

Also [livejournal.com profile] katealaurel's, for telling me the video existed in the first place.

Huh?

What?

Right.

On.

Oh dear.

May. 11th, 2009 11:20 am
misshepeshu: (Bootylicious!)
The fact that I find these even remotely funny is probably evidence that law school has, in fact, ruined me.

Cut for size and bad clipart )
misshepeshu: (up and down)
Landed, fresh and steaming, in my inbox just a few minutes ago:



Consider my day Totally Made.

I vote a Burma Shave-style doggerel contest! Winner, as judged by me, gets...my good opinion forever. And also a pie, if you live close enough to me or are willing to visit so that pie-to-piehole delivery logistics won't become too complicated or expensive.

Here's one I came up with--a tribute to eel porn:

The eels go where?
I dared to ask
I must endure
This slip'ry task
Burma Sauce
misshepeshu: (Terpsichore)
1. There is lamb curry simmering on the stove right now, driving me crazy with the smell of of its deliciousness.

2. [livejournal.com profile] mcmathja made the most amazing hot chocolate ever from melted bittersweet chocolate and whole milk.

3. [livejournal.com profile] katealaurel made cinnamon bread.

4. OH JESUS AM I FLYING HIGH ON SUGAR.

6. The Ukelele Orchestra of Great Britain's rendition of the theme song to Shaft.



7. I've just made a mix CD for a friend that I'm really gleeful about. It only lacks Bohemian Rhapsody. Multnomah County Library, hear my plea! (Or at least, put my hold on the hold shelf!)
misshepeshu: (Stop trying to fuck me)
There are two songs competing for my attention right now in my head.

Song number 1: "O Valencia!" by The Decemberists.

Song number 2: What What (In the Butt)" by Samwell.

The really terrifying aspect of all this? One song segues effortlessly into the other. Just a couple of minutes ago, I found myself singing in a sort of half-mumble "What what in the butt...with your blood still warm on the ground."

And then I looked up to make sure nobody heard me.

I need help.
misshepeshu: (hitler says wtf)
Sean Hannity has his own dating website.

I'm not sure there's anything I can say that can beat the sheer fact that this exists.
misshepeshu: (COLBERT RLY?)
Via Pandagon, check this out: Chuck Norris's response (Warning! Warning! WorldNetDaily alert! WorldNetDaily alert!) to Chuck Norris Facts.

I know, I know, hard to credit that this veritable powerhouse of virtuoso thespian ability who has starred in cinema classics like Delta Force and Lone Wolf McQuade (which features the Best Evil Movie Midget of ALL TIME and none of y'all are allowed to say different) shows about as much self-awareness as a room-temperature block of Havarti. I know you're shocked, and I'm sorry to be the one to burst your bubble. And at the risk of rubbing salt in your wounds, I'm going to pull some choice quotes here, because they're just that good:

There are more than 50,000 jokes making their way around the Internet that purport to be "facts" all playing off my movie roles as a "tough guy" and my history as a martial arts champion. But they aren't "jokes" to those who spread them – they're "facts."


Somebody stop the man from using any more quotation marks. Please. They're out of control, and each one is accompanied by the mental image of Chuck making the scare quotes sign with his fingers.

*weeps blood*

While I have as much fun as anyone else reading and quoting them, let's face it, most "Chuck Norris Facts" describe someone with supernatural, superhuman powers.


Forgive me for using this, but really, I can't...stop...myself:



Alleged Chuck Norris Fact: "There is no theory of evolution. Just a list of creatures Chuck Norris has allowed to live." It's funny. It's cute. But here's what I really think about the theory of evolution: It's not real. It is not the way we got here. In fact, the life you see on this planet is really just a list of creatures God has allowed to live. We are not creations of random chance. We are not accidents. There is a God, a Creator, who made you and me. We were made in His image, which separates us from all other creatures.


This man has sucked all the funny out of one of my favorite Chuck Norris facts.

No, wait, on thinking about it, he's made it even funnier.

Behold the power of Chuck Norris.

PZ Myers has suggested some amusing new Chuck Norris facts. I especially like this one: "When Chuck Norris furrows his brow, he's not thinking—he's knuckling his third fist."
misshepeshu: (Rape dollars)
"Washington, Washington, 6 foot 20 fucking killing for fun".

Heeeeeee.

"He'll save children, but not the British children."

This thing has absolutely no right to be as funny as it is. NO RIGHT. But I'm fucking rolling on the floor.

Link courtesy of Bam.
misshepeshu: (hitler says wtf)
Courtesy of [livejournal.com profile] lilithsaintcrow, I present to you: Thundercats. Played by live actors.

If you think that sounds fucked-up, then may I say that your instincts are excellent.
misshepeshu: (SPOCK! NIPPLE!)
I don't have any words to describe how utterly awesome this is.



For some reason, watching this video makes me think of this snippet of "Parklife": "And then I'm 'appy for the rest of the day, safe in the knowledge that there will always be a bit of my heart devoted to it."

p.s. When I made my "Spock! Nipple!" userpic, I totally did not expect to ever use it in a proper context--it was going to be one of my "Wow, this sure is wacky and surreal and sort of sexy in a wrong kind of way" icons. Little did I know. Little did I know.
misshepeshu: (Rape dollars)
I read this post by [livejournal.com profile] li_kao, and for some reason, his use of the word "weak atheist" made me think of this classic Craigslist post, which then inspired me to create the parody below.

Ennn-joy.




I am stronger than most of you weak atheists who cry )
misshepeshu: (cowbell)
[livejournal.com profile] broknashleydoll alerted [livejournal.com profile] arcus to this video, who then showed it to us a couple of weeks back, and I'm finally getting around to sharing it with you, my nearest and dearest:



Srsly. So awesome.

(If you like this song, chances are you'll like the rest of OK Go's body of work, too. Check 'em out. Zey are pretty good, though their debut album is kind of hit-and-miss.)
misshepeshu: (Rape dollars)
Geoffrey Chaucer hath ywrytten a review for Serpentes on a Shippe.

Ich may dye happye forthwith. For beholde thys connynge summarye:

And so the miscreant knightes wolde break ope the doore of Sir Seanes room and slaye him foullie, but that SIR NEVILLE DE FLYNN cam and seyde to Sir Sean, ‘Sir Knight, if thou shalt do my biddynge than thou shalt scape wyth thy lyf,’ and bad Sir Sean to hye hym from that place. And then Sir Neville made hym redy, wyth one spere he smote hem downe al thre over ther horses croups. This kynde of thynge was ful yn his style, for hys verye wallet hath ‘bad motherswyvere’ on it ywrit.


And also thysse:

Withinne the hulle of the shipe he had privilye yputte manye a caske fulle of serpentes and wormes and foul addres, and therto he put aboute the boate a philtre ycleped Far-Amoun by the Arabes, the which maketh serpentes to freke the helle oute and starte juste bitinge eny oon thei see.


(Fele thankes for the lynke, [livejournal.com profile] quietselkie!)
misshepeshu: (Sprechen)
This woman is high-quality, which inspired Kate Rothwell to come up with a list of reasons why she thinks she’s high-quality. And now, I am here to tell you that they’re both wrong. Both of them pale--PALE, I tell you--in comparison to the awesome heights of quality I am able to achieve just by inhaling oxygen.

Witness:

  • I have unusually small hands. I have yet to meet an adult woman with hands smaller than mine, and that includes people much, much shorter than me. You probably won't believe me, but I’ve met ten-year-old girls with hands bigger than mine. In short, I have smaller hands than 99.999999% of the adult female population. You know what this means, right?

    Yes, if you’re a man, and you’re high-quality enough for me to take as a lover, my hands will make your cock look HUGE. And if you happen to enjoy the fantasy of having pre-pubescent girls tenderly flogging your bishop, my high-quality hands will facilitate that fantasy, especially if you close your eyes, or just turn the lights really low and take care not to focus your eyes.


  • My breasts are large and perky. They are a D cup, but they pass the pencil test with flying colors. (The pencil test: stand upright and place a pencil under one of your breasts. Repeat with the other breast. Does the pencil fall down? If it doesn't does, your mammaries have passed the pencil test.) 97.326% of women with D-cup breasts are unable to pass this test, and for that matter, 77.325% of all American women and 98.9% of all Chinese women under the age of 30 have breasts under a D-cup, which means I rank in the topmost percentiles for both size and perkiness, whether you wish to categorize my breasts according to the the country of my residence or my racial lineage.


  • My hair grows very, very fast. (The hair on my head, I mean. The hair on other parts of my body seems to grow at average rates.) My hair grows well over a foot a year. That means that for every foot of hair you donate to Locks of Love, I can donate 1.5 or more. This increase in philantropy is only one of the many indicators of my high quality.


  • Unlike any other girl out there, I have a tattoo on the small of my back. And it’s utterly unique, I assure you. Consider it a stamp of assurance--an assurance of my high quality.


  • I own two cats, one of my whom has markings on her upper lip that resemble a toothbrush mustache. I immediately made the connection and said "OH LOOK A CAT WITH A HITLER MUSTACHE I THINK I’LL NAME HER HITLER HA HA." This resemblance would never have been remarked upon by anybody, I’m sure, which makes my powerful skills of observation truly remarkable and high-quality.


  • My other cat knows a couple of Astounding Feline Tricks. For instance, if you toss him on the couch, chances are he will bounce right off it and run, head-first and at great velocity, into the nearest empty paper bag or box and push it so hard, he travels several feet. (For those of you who haven’t had the pleasure of witnessing this in person, please take a look at this AVI file.) This same cat also enjoys being spun around on the floor extremely fast, to the extent that when we stop spinning him, his head wobbles in a very comical fashion. Such premium tricks are indicative of premium felines, and such premium felines can only have been raised by a truly premium woman.


  • And speaking of premium: Many girls wish to be carnal with me, because I’m such a premium dancer.


This is merely a small selection. I don’t have time to enumerate my various other excellent qualities, though if any of you adoring masses wish to point out crucial virtues of mine that I’ve omitted, please feel to do so in the comments section of this high-quality journal.

But now, the most important part: I am high quality, that much is certain, but are you high-quality enough for me? Well, as would be expected for somebody who’s so high-quality, my requirements for people who wish to date me are incredibly rigorous. For instance, if somebody took a look at my cat Hitler and said "Really, I don’t know where you got the idea from," I would have to point him to the nearest welfare office so he could look for a fat single mother to take out to dinner instead of me. Likewise, I refuse to date men whose breasts fail the pencil test, and whose rates of philantropy as measured by hair growth are less than 200% of the national average.

Most men do not meet these standards. Chances are, you do not meet these standards. Please know that my rejection of you is not personal. Perhaps you may look for a bride in a Third World country?

Postscript: I posted a modified version of this on Craigslist, because I think a wider audience needs to appreciate how truly high-quality I am.
misshepeshu: (Dance!)
Snakes on a Plane, as interpreted by Al Gore and George W. Bush.

To save y'all from having to sit through that annoying ad before accessing the Salon article, here's the text below the cut: )
misshepeshu: (SPOCK! NIPPLE!)
I'm sure many of you have seen these already: Star Trek Inspirational Posters. GENIUS.

My favorite:

Oooh yeah!

(Really, this post is just an excuse for me to use my SPOCK! NIPPLE! userpic.)
misshepeshu: (hitler says wtf)
Courtesy of Beth, a page full of vintage ads.

And Beth's right. This one is...I mean, what the...that is, what in the name of cream-filled Christ is...what?

WHAT IN THE FUCK

I give up. On, like, everything.

p.s. My two other favorites: )
misshepeshu: (Kitten claws)
Photographer takes candy from babies, creates art from pictures of reactions.

I'm not sure what it says about me that I found most of the pictures amusing rather than upsetting. I think part of it's knowing the reason why they're crying, and part of it's the fact that they're obviously clean, well-fed, cared-for kids getting their pictures taken in a studio somewhere in California. I mean, c'mon. The kids weren't beaten--they just had a lollipop taken away from them. Chrissakes, people. By ANY standard, if that's the worst thing the kid cries about all day, the kid's having a great fucking day.

Some people, however, have become so indignant over Greenberg's work that they've done some pretty tasteless things, like call her "sociopathic publicity whore" and "cunt," and perhaps worst of all, use multiple exclamation marks to indicate how very, very disgusted they are with the artist, because as everybody knows, mo' exclamation points = mo' betta.

(Link courtesy of Kate Rothwell.)

This disproportionate ire is symptomatic of the way certain cultures have put children on this weird pedestal. "Think of the children!" exemplifies the desire to simultaneously elevate and insulate our kidlets from, well, everything. Look, there's minor adversity, and then there's abuse. In fact, here's a quick LJ poll to see if you're able to differentiate between minor adversity vs. abuse:

[Poll #779720]

Now, mind you, I'm not saying that what Greenberg's doing is great art, or that her methods are completely kosher. There's something a bit squidgy about the fact that she's making kids cry in a controlled setting and then taking the pictures. The photos are certainly gorgeous, but I don't think they're eliciting in me the reaction she intended. Instead of thinking "Oh, look at the pain and suffering of the wee 'uns! O the trenchant commentary on our political situation and the morally retarded policies of George W. Bush!!!!" I'm thinking "These kids are awfully photogenic and awfully hilarious."

And frankly, given the stated purpose of the exhibit (to provide commentary on the current political landscape or some shit like that) I can't help but think that this exhibit would've been a lot more effective if the photographer had, y'know, travelled to places where the kids are crying over things much, much bigger than a freakin' lollipop, like the loss of a parent, or a home, or a limb. God knows there are more than enough children in this world who are crying over things a whole hell of a lot more serious than the loss of some candy.

(It might be interesting to divorce pictures of crying children from context and seeing if people can tell the difference between a child crying over a lollipop vs. a child crying over something much more serious.)

(Am I being exceptionally cold-blooded, even for me, to suggest this sort of experiment?)

On the other hand, presenting grief over a lost lollipop as a legitimate comparison to much more serious suffering provides some pretty sharp (if unintentional) commentary on the American conception of pain and suffering. Consumer-licious!

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