Seriously! The Chili Pepper’s drummer looks just like Will Ferrell. Are they twins, separated at birth? Are they actually the same person, masquerading as two different people. Are they two famous people who have similar bone structure and facial features?
Nah, I like option #2.
We get it, TV Guide Channel. We get it, ok?. This goes for you too, ABC World News!
I no longer need to be told how amazing The Dark Knight is. I already know how amazing it is. I loved it. It blew me away, but nonetheless, my brain has reached a critical mass. It is officially no longer able to hold information about viral marketing schemes and soft news stories exploiting Heath Ledger’s death (I think its clear that this was the cause of his death). And I know that the media onslaught has only just begun. How many week are they going to run ads about it being the “#1 MOVIE IN AMERICA!” It will probably still be #1 when the third movie comes out.
In summation, we get it! The Dark Knight rocks. Thanks for the update. BTW, what ever happened to Iraq? Are there still soldiers over there or did Bush ship them back to catch a midnight screening?
Sheeeesh!
No joke! I live half an hour away from this chick. (Peace up, B-town)
She owns a strip club called…you guessed it…Busty Heart’s, where see can regularly be seen crushing anything that fits inside a Nordstrom bag with her boobies (I’ve been told). And here she is on NBC’s crappy reality show “America’s Got Talent,” proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that America does indeed possess talent, the likes of you cannot possibly imagine.
This blows my (along with Ozzy’s wife, a Simon Cowell stand-in, and Hasselhoff’s) mind. Apparently Busty didn’t heed the warning about hassling the Hoff.
I think I’m going to be sick
Eventually, every one of us will die at the hands of a robot. I know this and you know this. One night, you will awake from a deep sleep to the cool sting of metal crushing your larynx. Of course, it will be your cell phone exacting its sweet revenge for every time you used it on the toilet. Like Brad Pitt from Fight Club, with fewer tattoos and better acting. But until that day, we will all remain content to have machines make our coffee and eat our garbage and buy our embarrassing sex toys. Don’t say Thom Yorke never warned you.
I recently had two close calls with robots:
#1: I watched The Matrix Trilogy (2 & 3 =poop)
#2: A light fixture fell on my laptop
The later was like watching Robowars. Or better yet- a teaser for Transformers 2 (with fewer smash cuts and even more depression) The light fixture dented my laptop’s hard drive (computer=poop). “So what did I do?” you might ask. I stopped blogging and started saving my pennies. Ever since the incident, I have been selling my booty till I finally saved up enough to buy a new MacBook.
Long blog short- I now have a computer capable of search for German porn and posting blogs (simultaneously). I’M BACK BABY (at least until the Robopocalypse)! From now on, I’ll be infrequently posting diatribes that fail to interest you (which watching German porn, for the articles). And you’ll be closing your browsers (and deleting the history).
It feels good to me home.
I can’t believe how good the trailer for Choke looks. Now I know why they call him Sam “Rockwell.”
And I am not talking about the rap music album by Kanye West, but rather to my college’s commencement ceremony. I just hope it has less Eve 6 than my high school graduation. Seriously, those guys were everywhere in ‘04! WTF?
Thanks to Kevin Gomez (a personal friend of mine, not to mention a friend of the blog), you are now able to enjoy the feature directly to your right. While most blogs enjoy the luxury of an archive from the moment they’re created, things at Slightly Overdressed move a little slower (Plus I had to teach Kevin PHP and CSS). He’s not too quick on the uptake, but he does have a killer personality (ladies?). ANYWAY- Now you can look at old stuff I wrote more easily. You’re welcome, Internet.
Reader’s Note: Here is another piece of short fiction I’ve decided to dump on you poor saps. It’s from my creative writing class and is not based on anything I have ever experienced personally. Enjoy.
“The funny thing about seeing your parents having sex is that there’s nothing funny about it.” I say this with a half smirk and come of as someone not unlike a sex offender. There is absolutely no way to respond to a statement like that, so she just stares at me and I keep smiling back with a grin I could have bought at a discount store for a dollar. I desperately hope I used deodorant this morning.
“Is that supposed to be a joke?” She says this in a tone that suggests she just found out I masturbated on her cat. I definitely did not use deodorant this morning. I swallow hard. “And what kind of sick freak watches his parents while their having sex?” I have to admit, she’s got a point. What kind of sick freak am I?
“I never said ‘watch.’ I’m…I’m talking about when you accidently walk in on them, ya know, having sex. It’s like, ‘Mom, do you have two fives for a…Oh, I’ll come back later.’ It’s not like I was hiding behind the Ficus with a camcorder.” I say this but she makes a mental note to call the pedophile tip-line the moment she gets home. It’s not my fault, I just get nervous. If you shook my hand right now, you would be noticing that my palms feels like the inside of a cadaver’s thigh. Sweat is slowly gaining a controlling interest in my shirt, starting at the arm pits. I try to calmly remind myself to stop blurting out ever thought that pops into my head, especially when I am speed dating. I ask her what she does for a living but while she is still trying to make up an answer- DING. The moderator approaches the podium, holding a microphone that’s volume is turned up so loud I can hear blood pumped through the veins in his fingers. The command, projected out of the speakers at the front of the room, sounds like a decree from God.
“New date. Women, to the right.”
As Hello-My-Name-is-Jennifer gets up to leave she tells the next girl (her name tag reads “Audrey”) to watch out for this one because she thinks I am a perv and I keep talking about my parents having sex. “Mommy issues,” she mouths. With that kind of introduction, I’m positive I will get laid tonight.
Aubrey sits down across from me and states the obvious. “Hi,” she says. “I’m Aubrey.” Have you ever seen something so beautiful it made you want to kill yourself? You took one look and just wanted to end your life then and there because you’ve just seen what God looks like and now you want to meet him. If you have, then I don’t need to describe Audrey Wexler to you.
“Hi,” I say. “My name is John. I’m not really a perv.” Audrey nods her head and we sit for several seconds without any words passing between us. I try to smile in a way that I hope will invoke pity. This is my only shot and we both know it. If my life stretched out like a timeline and I could see it from start to finish, I would notice that this is the happiest I will ever be. My eleventh birthday is a distant second (I got a Batcave playset). Sad, right?
“I didn’t think you were a perv. You don’t look like one.” Rapture. She will be mine. “I think you look kind of like a Basset hound.” I tell her thank you and I tell her she looks very beautiful. I tell her we should get to know each other better. I tell her I am gainfully employed.
If I could, I would telling you that I bought her a few drinks and made some witty jokes and she laughed and then we went out on a real date and then we had three delinquent kids who didn’t straighten out until after college and then put us in a nursing home where we both died slow and painful deaths due in part to neglect, but all that would have been too complicated. I like to keep things simple.
The truth is we went out on eleven dates and had unfulfilling sex twice. She stopped returning my calls and I heard she moved to Seattle. As I sit here right now, it was still the best relationship I have ever had.
Kevin Gomez and I performed “The Most Beautiful Girl in the Room” from Flight of the Conchords this past weekend at our college variety show. Afterwords, we attended a cross-dressing dance party (as intimated in the parenthetical portion of the title for this post).
