Jenny’s gym thoughts: this is the worst thing I’ve done while listening to Mellow Gold, and that’s really saying something.

I think we get away with it because he's the only Native American in town.

I-joined-a-gym-shut-up.  I have a bad back and a giant ass, and when school gets out my days as a stay-at-home-mom will have to be occupied by staying home and being a mom.  Boo.

It’s one of those 24-hour places, which is just as creepy as I assumed it would be, but not as obnoxious as going there during the day when it’s full of people.  At night there are about 5 other people.  No one looks at or acknowledges each other’s existence in any way, and that’s fine with me.

There are a couple of those “gorilla” dudes.  At least that’s what they’d be called if they could find their way to the Jersey Shore.  Mellow Gold really is the perfect aging-slacker-with-a-bonafide-phobia-of-jogging-with-boobs workout album, but during the song breaks I can hear the gorillas grunting and I look over (but not directly at them per the rules I made up), and they’re making these matching faces, and I think their heads are gonna explode, and I’m definitely taking pics of that.

I do the elliptical and the treadmill because those are the only things I know how to use, and the elliptical is still a big joke.  I have an appointment scheduled with some trainer who’s gonna help me by showing me what I should be doing which will ruin everything.  It’s during the day.  I’ll probably burst into flames.  I’m a vampire except for the blood-drinking and being sexy parts.  (Which reminds me, on the way home I stopped for gas and waited three years in line behind some boomer filling up 3 gas cans.  I’m pretty sure she’s using the gas to kill her husband in an dramatic fashion tonight.)  BUT, he’s the gatekeeper to some sort of hot-water-jet-tank thing they have, and that thing is mine!

There are a couple of normal looking chicks there too.  They’re like me except they jog, and that makes my boobs panic.  It’s gonna take a psychiatrist to get these girls jogging; I hope trainer-guy understands that.  His boobs don’t mind jogging, but they have the consistency of doorknobs.  At least that’s what it looks like in my mind.  I’ve never seen the guy.

The best part is what’s outside the floor to ceiling wall of window, which is definitely preferable to mirrors.  This guy stared at me the whole time, except for when he took a break to wink.  That’s right.

I think we get away with it because he's the only Native American in town.

And the best, best part is the motel across the parking lot.  It is the saddest, most glorious hunk of humanity I’ve seen in months.  It’s truly a motel in that the room doors open to the outside, and this one is two stories with a score of new muses milling about ripe for my plucking.  Turns out the plucking can be literal for a teener and a slurpee.  There was a fat kid skateboarding in his stocking feet.

I SAID THERE WAS A FAT KID SKATEBOARDING IN HIS STOCKING FEET.

His pants kept falling down.  Deleted mean thing about my ex.

And those are the things I thought about at the gym tonight.

 

 

Dink’s Song

Slowly unblocking, but the Dylan bender continues.  I flipped by something on the History Channel the other day where RZA from the Wu Tang Clan was talking about who he thinks should be considered a minor prophet.  His submission was Busta Rhymes or someone equally absurd.  In that case, I submit Bob Dylan for writing what I consistently need to hear to lull my white girl problems before I was born.  I can’t be the only one.

God, that was stupid.

 

RIP MCA: a beautiful contradiction

adam yauch

It’s one of those things you always remember.  Where you were when you first heard/fell in love with the Beastie Boys.  For me it was at a kickball game in East Moline, Illinois in what must have been 1987.  I know it was fifth grade because of who was there.  License to Ill, specifically Brass Monkey.  I picked up a new copy a few months ago, and we had no business listening to that.  It’s gloriously vulgar, yet innocent, like adolescent boys with makeshift dry bars and panty-related agendas tend to be.

There aren’t many non-people things I’ve held on to consistently since then.  Perhaps unconditional love for the Chicago Cubs (shut up) and the midwest.  For most of my generation the Beastie Boys were responsible for a huge part of the soundtrack of our youth.  As grown as we get cranking License to Ill, Paul’s Boutique or Check Your Head can, for a moment, take us back to an unincumbered, debaucherous and oddly innocent time, despite knowing the music was made by three pretty deep and thoughtful guys.  Maybe that’s what makes it ok.

Today we lost Adam Yauch, MCA, to cancer at age 47.  A beautiful contradiction.  He leaves behind a wife, teenage daughter, his good works and an abbreviated lifetime of art that will continue to challenge us and provide us a reprieve from our adult woes.

crossposted at This Can’t Waite

Blocked.

Blocked.

WORST THREE-WAY EVER

cannibal

You, it’s what’s for dinner.

Three Argentinians have been arrested on suspicion of murdering and cannibalizing 2 women as part of a purification ritual.  It’s a cult ya’ll.  They call themselves “Cartel” and are into population reduction and purifying the world… by turning it to shit I guess.

They have a holy book written by the male member.  I’m sure it explains everything.  They intended to kill and eat three women a year.  Probably something to do with the trinity.  Or maybe three hots and a cot.  They picked the women by listening to a spirit tell them the victims were evil.

At the time of the arrest they were accompanied by a 5-year-old girl who may be the daughter of one of the victims.

AREN’T YOU THE GUY WHO KNOCKED ME UP AT A GERIATRIC METAL SHOW?

punkrockbaby

This is the best thing that’s ever happened, well not for the child or society in 20 years.  Some chick dry-humped a stranger in the pit at a Megadeth/Motorhead show, like ya’ do.  The lovebirds aren’t animals so they moved the party to the bathroom where they, ironically, fornicated like animals… I think.

The lady doesn’t know her suitor’s identity, but she knows he got her pregnant.  In a move that manages to outclass Maury Pauvich guests, she took to twitter’s missed connections section to find the guy.

She let him “raw dog” it because she found his particular member appealing.  I guess it was like a reward or something.

The most offensive thing about that he was wearing pentagram ear gauges.  The classiest thing about it is the venue’s name having the word “ballroom” in it.

CATHOLIC PRIEST SHOWS GAY PORN DURING FIRST COMMUNION PRESENTATION

Father Martin McVeigh

Father Martin McVeigh

Yup, this happened.  Father Martin McVeigh of Northern Ireland was supposed to be making a PowerPoint presentation for First Communion preparations.  When he inserted his… memory stick… a 16 part all male revue commenced.  At least the perviness was with adults and memorex this time.

Those in attendance claim Father McVeigh bolted from the room without a word while others proceeded with the scheduled curriculum.  He returned twenty minutes later to wrap things up without addressing the snaffu at all.  Not even an, “Oopsies!”

It’s not that big a deal, you guys.  The audience was mostly parents.  There was only one kid there, so that’s an improvement, you see.  Cardinal Sean Brady has confirmed that the incident happened, and Father McVeigh swears he doesn’t know how it happened.

I think I know.  I think Father McVeigh is gay and needs a waiver on that vow of poverty so he can afford enough computers and memory sticks to keep his gay porn files separate from his priest files.

Listen, I’m not a psychologist or a Catholic, but I have some thoughts about the global perv problem the Catholic Church still seems to be having.

Imagine you’re a Catholic boy and realize you like other boys.  Let’s set aside whether the teaching that gay is wrong is right or wrong… that’s not even the biggest problem here.  The problem is that a good Catholic (or most Protestant denominations, which I would be included in) can’t openly question their sexuality.  They should be able to.  Even if we concede that the Biblical interpretation against homosexuality could be right, someone struggling with that should be able to stand up on Sunday morning and say, “Hey, church family.  I think I might be into other dudes, so I thought you guys would want to know so you could lovingly support me as I figure this stuff out.  Ya know, without getting all bogged down in judgement.”

But we all know they can’t.  That’s why I’ve always wondered if you put yourself in the shoes with a Catholic boy realizing he’s gay, a Catholic boy who really wants to be a good Catholic, which means definitely not being gay, that the priesthood might look like the best answer.  Just go full-on celibate and not deal with your sexuality at all, with the bonus of knocking out some penance for being such a dirty boy you wouldn’t have time for with a civilian job.

But eventually your issues have to be dealt with, and I’ve always wondered if that how we wound up with all these pervs in the priesthood.  I admit, protestants have our share of creepy and crooked clergy, but there’s something about men taking a vow of celibacy that is either appealing to someone whose true sexuality has become inconvenient, or the vow itself just isn’t natural.

*disclaimer: Some of my best friends are Catholic, ya-da, ya-da.  The saddest part of the pedophilia scandal for me was the fallout for good Catholics and especially good Catholic priests.  Well, after the stolen innocence and ruined lives of all these children.  I’m not anti-Catholic at all, but the Church can’t be allowed to sweep these things under the rug anymore.   

 

 

OCTOMOM BARES ALMOST ALL FOR OCTO-K

I only posted the cover.  That way it's still classy.

Hey you guys,

Sorry I haven’t written.  I’ve been setting up my Etsy store and calling HST a “pigfucker” in the margins of his books. You gotta get the last word where you can.  I spent the morning catching up on headlines that shouldn’t be and ate three twinkies in 10 minutes.

 

I only posted the cover. That way it's still classy.

Nadya Suleman, aka Octomom, posed nude for some British magazine.  In case we didn’t know why our ancestors got the fuck out of there, we do now.  It’s not shocking or absurd that she posed nude.  It’s shocking that she did it for $8,000 and absurd that she thinks that $8,000 is enough to get her financial house back in order.  I didn’t look myself, but the scuttlebutt is that while she posed nude, the most revealing pics are of just of her boobs.  The panties stayed on.  Gotta leave something for the rainy day fund.

I’ve been loathe to criticize her too much since she was somehow managing to feed all of these mouths herself, but TMZ, the post-millenial news-site of record, has uncovered proof that she is now getting public assistance.  Specifically, $2,000 a month in food stamps.  She qualifies because her claimed income of $119K a year, divided by 15, puts her in the poorhouse.

Why do we feel grateful it’s just food stamps?

 

 

Ed Hardy model is criminal mastermind

Because men click on stories with pictures like this.

Because men click on stories with pictures like this.

A supermodel I’ve never heard of is accused of being the mastermind behind a methamphetamine smuggling ring.

Simone Farrow (aka Simone Starr) was first arrested in 2009 but jumped bail.  She was on the lam until last week.  She claims the only reason she ran was to avoid getting whacked.  *insert euphemism here*

“The only reason I’ve done this is because someone was trying to murder me.  I’ve been in … relationships with numerous underworld figures or whatever you want to call them and I feel that maybe they feel threatened by my situation.”

That could actually be believable, but she’s made FHM’s sexiest list three times, and I haven’t.  *makes cat noise*

Law enforcement was able to intercept nine out of ten packages before reaching their destination.  Only a washed-out Ed Hardy model would be able to keep her drug dealing job after fucking it up nine times.

 

just another “one guy ate this other guy” story

Tyree Smith

 

Tyree Smith

So in mid-December Tyree Smith was allegedly sleeping on some random porch in Connecticut, nothing weird there, when Angel Gonzalez came up and offered him the opportunity to sleep somewhere that wasn’t a porch.

Smith allegedly said, “OK,” went in, then proceeded to hack Gonzalez to death with an axe, then pluck out an eye, a hunk of skull and a handful of brain matter.  He carried the haul to a nearby cemetery where his cousin is buried.  At his cousin’s grave he ate all of it and washed it down with some sake (no bumwine for this foodie)… allegedly.

On January 20 Smith allegedly confessed all of this to another cousin, Nicole Rabb, referring to her as the goddess Athena throughout.  After his confession he boarded a Greyhound bus to Florida.  Snowbirds.  While en route, Rabb learned of the discovery of Gonzalez’ body in an abandoned apartment building and called the authorities.

When cops caught up with Smith in Florida he was in the company of a woman who was completely unaware of his yuletide activities.  She has offered her full cooperation to law enforcement.

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