Archive for August, 2011

Shitty Old Music Videos: “She’s So Cold”

August 21st, 2011

 

I love old music videos because they’re so terrible. Let’s make fun of the various ways “She’s So Cold” by the Rolling Stones manages to be incompetent. One gets the feeling (citation needed) that the director only had an hour to shoot the band and tried to piecemeal the thing together with various takes, no matter how bad or out of place they were.

 

0:51 – The first of several cutaways to Ron’s guitar with Keith in the background. They’re not playing in time with the song.

 

0:55 – Camera follows the wild gesticulating Mick Jagger so far out you can see the edge of the set, then a quick pan back as if that didn’t happen.

 

1:13 – Jagger sings, “She’s cold, cold, cold like an ice cream cone” and on “cone” licks his mic like one would an ice cream one. What a douchebag.

 

1:23 – The second shot of Ron Wood’s guitar with Keith in the background. Same shot as 0:51, exactly.

 

1:40 – The third fucking time they use that Ron Wood guitar shot with Keith nearby.

 

1:58 – a tracking shot of the band shows that Keith does not appear to know what part he’s supposed to mime playing. Takes his hand off the guitar. I blame the director who apparently had no ideas for the instrumental part of the song and just edited in whatever he could to fill the blank space.

 

2:17 – Unnecessary closeup of Jagger’s ass.

 

2:45 – The same shot of Ron and Keith’s guitars is used twice within five seconds. Ron and Keith are completely lost and it shows throughout the video. Not that Keith wanted to be there anyway, one would figure.

 

3:06 – To accompany the sound of Charlie’s drum fill, they show a split second of him keeping beat on the snare. Doesn’t match the song.

 

3:52 – Jagger holds the mic overhead with both hands. Camera tightens up on the mic, but before this you can see the top of the set. Jeez, they’re the Rolling Stones. Can’t they afford a bigger set?

 

An Introductory Guide To High School

August 15th, 2011

From Keivn (sic) on Yahoo answers.

 

Ok, well HS starts in about 2 days and i wanted to know how i should act around people i dont know. i wanna be cool but not tooo cool where it makes me become annoying and obnoxious. Any tips?
and i wont act like my self because im annoying.-__-

 

Dear Keivn, you annoyingly poor speller. I hope you get provoked into suicide by bullying. You are doomed. Your only hope is that they won’t notice you and pummel you into a fine paste in high school. I hope you get a plunger in the rectum for spelling your own name wrong. You want to be “cool but not tooo cool”? Guess what, asshole? You better be wondering how you get out unscathed. Fuck you. You have no idea what hell you’re in for

 

Seriously, if you can’t spell your own name right then you better refocus your priorities on not turning into the fat Samoan in Idiocracy who keeps saying “Welcome to Costco. I love you.” You’re a piece of shit and I hope you get laughed at in the locker room for the next four years even though you’ll only need one year of phys. ed.

 

Worry about getting an education so you can spell your name properly on college entrance forms and scholarship applications. You stupid shit. You will never touch a girl’s boob under the bra. Your mother should drive you to school, escort you into the lobby and shout “MY BABEH’S A FRESHMENNNN” at the top of her cunty lungs. That will show you for caring so much about being “cool but not tooo cool.” You suck. Young people suck. I hope you choke to death on a slice of Texas Toast.

The Heart Wants What It Wants

August 13th, 2011

“The heart wants what it wants. . . there’s no logic to these things.” – Attributed to Woody Allen.

 

If Woody indeed said that quote, he knew what he was talking about. His heart wanted his wife’s adopted daughter. His heart wanted the shit out of Soon-Yi. His heart wanted her, and fuck Mia Farrow for asking. The heart wants what it wants. But let’s talk about my heart right now. Forget stupid Woody Allen and his creepy heart for a moment.

 

The heart wants it wants.

Intellectually, I know that we are not a good fit.  I know that you and I are two different people completely, and we might not be able to live with each other’s likes or dislikes. There are some things that can’t be agreed to disagree upon. But my mind isn’t into you at all, babe. Not in the slightest. My heart wants what it wants, and it wants you.

 

My heart wants to stick my hands in your pants. My heart wants to pull your clothes off with my teeth, especially your underpants which I would then wear on my face because my heart really wants to smell your panties while I’m on top of you.

 

My heart wants you to sit on my face and take my hog in your mouth. My heart wants to put my cockhead on your tongue and watch the steam billow out of your ears and nostrils. My heart wants you to  stick a finger in my bum. My heart wants your pussy walls to bearhug my cock into submission. My heart wants to soak you in cum. My heart wants you to have the best orgasm you ever had, and all because of me and my heart.

 

My heart wants to put my tongue in your balloon knot. My heart wants you to smear your pussy juice all over my face while riding it like a bucking bronco. The heart wants what it wants.

 

My heart does not want to go into the bathroom to rub one out if you fall out of the mood but if you do, it will because my heart is a fucking gentleman. My heart is always in the right place.

I Feel Sick

August 9th, 2011

It is Wednesday morning, about 12:04 am. Tuesday was a king-hell bitch of a day. There was a bank account clusterfuck that was so stupid I can’t even begin to wrap my head around it, even eight hours later. An ugly mistake and clusterfuck involving me, my bank, Kickstarter, and Amazon Payments. Disgusting. I have a knot in my stomach. I’m so disgusted with life right now.

 

I’m a very lonely person here in the middle of the night. It’s no good. I don’t want to have people around all the time. I only want to have company when I want it. Is that selfish? Probably.

 

She had some tough times with her boyfriend but now she’s back with him. Good for them, I guess. Does she know even a little bit how I feel? I can tell the whole world but not you? Maybe something is wrong with me. Is this a sexual infatuation? Probably, again. Infatuation has always been a problem for me. This is a pattern for me. Genetic predisposition? Perhaps. Or maybe it’s just that she fills my thoughts when I don’t have any. I don’t have any thoughts now as I type this. Do you ever feel like your brain is diseased? Unrequited love/lust. I’m a frozen child.

Nerdboner Again!

August 9th, 2011

 

Here we go, folks. The Tumblr-izing of this particular blog. It feels good to pour through 20 pages of Tumblr entries real quick. Usually photos, often naked. Shared content out the wazoo. Memes as far as the eye can see. So here’s another one, folks. I’ve already typed too many words so far. I should just show you pictures of half-naked women. You’ll keep coming back for that won’t you? I won’t even need to take my own pictures. Just steal from somebody else. I saw this picture on The Arab Parrot’s blog and I’m sure he got it from somewhere else. Information aggregation. And yes, a lingerie-clad broad playing Pac-Man in high heels counts as “information” in 2011. So sue me, sashimi.

 

Bitch has got one helluva badonk on her, don’t she?

We’ve Had It Backwards This Whole Time

August 8th, 2011

How many of you have been in this situation? You had a big thing to do, and you spent all your time to get to the point where you are doing the thing. If you’re in a band and you have a gig, you gotta get the band gear and do the set up and hurry up and wait to see if people will show up to see your band or not. Then you play your gig and you can finally relax, maybe party a bit and go home and have sex with somebody.

 

Or let’s say you’re a rollergirl and you’ve had to do all the prep work on the day of your bout to get ready, setting up the venue with support staff, stretching, and the physical prep of getting ready to knock shoulders with some strange bitch from a different town. Then you have the bout and you can finally relax, go the afterparty, have a drink and maybe screw somebody like your announcer (do you hear me? didja see what I did there, ladeez?).

 

The day of your big art opening you have to set up the work and make sure everything is tip top before the doors open. You’re a comedian and you have to map out your set and stand around before your set and be neurotic. This is a universal situation when you’re trying to accomplish a thing. Work, then relax. Tension, then release. And you know something? We’ve been doing it all wrong.

 

Think about it. If you got a piece of ass before you got to the gig, would you really stress about how the show went? Or whether anyone was there or not? Would you beat yourself up over losing the rollerderby bout if you got your favorite piece o’booty from your announcer Kentucky Prophet? Would you care if anyone laughed, really? Or if you didn’t sell as many pieces of your art as you had hoped? If only you got laid beforehand, then you could deal with it.

 

Unfortunately, this theory is still untested.