Frances Bean Cobain has an Impeccable Nose Job

I know we're not supposed to have girl crushes anymore, but I haven't felt this way about a celebrity child since Loooooorrrr-dez. I just want to hang out with these girls and do research chemicals while prank calling  Courtney Love. Hi Court, it's the ghost of Kurt Cobain Kathleen Hanna. You're dead bitch.

Melissa McEwan's Gay Tattoo

I mean that literally, that tattoo summers on Fire Island. That looks like a gay rash. And cake. Figures.

The Enemy of my Enemy is my New BFF

I love this picture of Taylor Swift where she ever so charitably talks to that despicable hipster idiot. But I think this new gif solidifies that Taylor is one of the gang:

Let me explain why this is awesome. She not only visibly recoils at the sight of Justin Bieber kissing his Mexican girl friend whose name I don't really recall Selena Gomez, but look at that fucking loping gait. She walks like a truck driver with a load in his pants. TAYLOR SWIFT IS PEOPLE!!!

Sartre’s Giant Dipper

Soothe the morass that is your soul with The Giant Dipper, Atlantic City's most thrill inducing wooden roller coaster. Eliminating existential ennui since the early 80s, The Giant Dipper features many twists and turns, similar to life as your ride its proverbial snake through many highs and lows. 

The hills and valleys of this rickety old ride ape your very own life’s journey. There you go, soaring to the lofty heights via a promotion to head fry cook, only to be sunk back down again when your beloved pet ferret Bazinga meets its inauspicious end at the hands of your mother’s super suck vacuum.  But Bazinga’s demise is not in vain, as the roller coaster soars skyward once again when you meet a comely comic book enthusiast at your local used bookstore/pog reseller.

With its stark red and white accents, you will no doubt recognize The Giant Dipper from a distance. Marvel at its top speed of 35 mph and towering height, reaching at least 17 feet into the open air. Question your existence as The Giant Dipper makes its trek from top to bottom, rolling over the same old track time and again, much like the story of man. Mutability is our tragedy, but it’s also our hope, so said Little Timmy Shotenheiser, Giant Dipper enthusiast and short stop for the Cleveland Bananas softball team. 

Remember, life is short. Human existence is not guaranteed, and years from now the ground The Giant Dipper stands on may simply be charred earth. 

Are you there Samuel L. Jackson? It's me, Stacie.

Third in a series!!! Yes I'm high!!!

Are you there Josh Homme? It's me, Stacie.

Second in a series!!!

Are you there Mark Twain? It's me, Stacie.

First in a series!!!

A pretend conversation I heard in a coffee shop

The Commonwealth of Pennsylvania has deemed me unsuitable to drive until I learn the error of my ways, so I pretty much walk everywhere, and by that I mean anywhere 2 miles away or less.

So today I stopped in a coffee shop to break up the epic jaunt I took to the hardware store and I sat within ear shot of two gentleman I'll refer to Caleb and Tobias. This is what I wished they talked about:

Caleb: So, my sister's back in town.

Tobias: The one that wanted to be a priest?

Caleb: No, that was my other sister. Delilah, you met her before, I think.

Tobias: At Ramsey?

Caleb: That's right, during Verge week. Anyway, Rosie's my younger sister, she's the one that back in town. We don't get along.

Tobias: Why not?

Caleb: She doesn't take my gluten allergy seriously. I feel like that really fucks with my agency.

Tobias: Sure.

Caleb: I mean, I was a psych major for two semesters, I know what I'm talking about.

Tobias: What can you do?

Caleb: I just feel like I'm not in the greatest place to deal with her negativity right now.

Tobias: I know how you feel, I have the same kind of relationship with my father. When I told him I wanted to major in Poetry at Cain he actually stopped talking to me for two whole weeks. We only ended up talking again because my mom threw a fit.

Caleb: Wow, what a dick. Did he ever apologize?

Tobias: No, we just don't talk about it. We really only ever talk about Game of Thrones. He just doesn't get it, you know? I mean, he was a bricklayer for forty years. Talk about a mindless job.

Caleb: No doubt.

Tobias: I mean, I want to leave an impact on the world. Really, who cares about bricklaying?

Caleb: No one I know!

Tobias: My book of poetry for cats is going to revolutionize how we think about both cats and poetry, and their relation to each other.

Caleb: I just have to tell you again Tobias, that's some great work you put in there.

Tobias: Thank you Caleb, sincerely.

Caleb: I mean, even the packaging is great.

Tobias: It was really Olive's idea, but thank you.

Caleb: Etching your poems on sheets of metal and fastening them together with twine was such a great business decision. Any buyers yet?

Tobias: Oh, I don't believe in turning a profit with art

.

Caleb: Cool, cool. Hey, did I tell you I finally decided on a thesis topic?

Tobias: Neat, what did you finally land on?

Caleb: The inherent inter-sectional misogyny present in the Spin Doctors song Two Princes.

Tobias: Wow, heavy stuff.

Caleb: Yeah, but vital.

Tobias: Oh, totally vital. Man, I saw the Spin Doctors with my parents in like the 90s.

Caleb: Oh yeah, my mom totally smoked my whole life. 

Tobias: Bad decisions all around. Listen, are you going to Karen Blue's water party?

Caleb: Well I am now!

Your Hi-Fi Pizza is Ready

Walking stereotype and amateur hero Charles Ramsey recently garnered a bit of acclaim when he helped a woman who'd been imprisoned for ten years escape from her kidnapper's home.

Never mind that Cleveland is such a backwards shit hole that some guy was able to keep three, count 'em, one, two, three young ladies captive for over a decade in the same neighborhood all three hailed from. All anyone can talk about is how colorful Mr Ramsey is, what with his working class vernacular and folksy down home charm. By that I mean Charles Ramsey is the kind of fellow you'd cross the street to avoid. He's the kind of guy that whistles at you from a busted Impala.  He's the guy in the bar talking loudly on a flip phone while the bartender sets him up with a nice glass of E&J.

The only kind of black people white America wants to see on the news are people like Charles Ramsey. During his multiple interviews Mr. Ramsey admitted to eating McDonald's, made an off color joke about white women, and said the word 'bruh' about 160 million times, which is usually the domain of college age white dudes, but I lovingly digress. Now I realize people are people but I feel like the cringe factor would be great with this one were I of the Afro-American persuasion. It is and I'm not, you feel me, bruh? Despite my phosphorescent skin I mistakenly believe myself to be part of the fam, as I have been told by several black people that when the inevitable race war occurs my name will be included on the protected rolls.

Much like a table with three legs, something about Charles Nelson Ramsey just doesn't sit right. Take it away, Angel Cordero:

A second neighbor of the West Cleveland home where three captive women were freed Monday says he, not Charles Ramsey, was the one who helped the trio break out of the ramshackle house of horrors. "I helped her and I was first," neighbor Angel Cordero told local NewsChannel5, referring to Amanda Berry, the 27-year-old hostage who signaled for help. "Ramsey arrived after she was outside with the girl," Cordero told the reporter in Spanish. 

Cleveland man says he, not Charles Ramsey, came to Amanda Berry’s aid before others

So, the smoke clears and our hero is actually a brown skinned Hispanic fellow. No fun! I bet Angel's not even a dishwasher! It's also come to light that Mr. Ramsey has been jailed in the past for domestic violence offenses, as well as receiving stolen property and drug possession. You mean to tell me an unkempt dishwasher has a criminal record? What! No!

Are we gonna have to have a sit down, America? Don't you see we are spiraling out of control? We used to have a culture, I think. I remember watching news clips from the 70s, just random interviews with people on the street, and I'll be damned if every one of them weren't articulate and thoughtful and soft spoke regardless of racial designation and background. It didn't turn into a walking minstrel show, or Dave Chappelle skit, with people doing the robot in the background and other people shilling for the shittiest fast food known to many. Fuck McDonald's right in its prolapsed anus, I have never eaten a McDonald's french fry and not experienced immediate intestinal distress.

Between this shit and the Boston Marathon and Newtown before that, and before that the Aurora theater shooting, and all that happened in between, I honestly just don't fucking know anymore. It's not the things that happened that bug me, it's the puerile way that we collectively reacted to them. It's either catatonic stillness or misdirected elation. Like when they caught the remaining Boston bombing suspect and celebrations ensued. It's a shame that Bostonians are so hard up for entertainment that they used a bunch of innocent people getting their limbs blown off as an excuse to get soused.

You need some Tan Mom in your life

You're welcome.

Le Super Post

I have to stop telling my 'I accidentally butt raped a cat' story on first dates. It's better to leave a little mystery.

In related news I rode on a motorcycle for the very first time yesterday. I was scared shitless but the feeling soon passed and I was loving it by the end of the night.

I went to an art show where they were serving rancid meat as an appetizer and some asshole actually hacked into a durian. If you are unaware of what a durian is, here, have some:

The edible flesh emits a distinctive odour that is strong and penetrating even when the husk is intact. Some people regard the durian as pleasantly fragrant; others find the aroma overpowering and revolting. The smell evokes reactions from deep appreciation to intense disgust, and has been described variously as almonds, rotten onions, turpentine, raw sewage, and smelly socks^{[citation needed]}. The persistence of its odour has led to the fruit's banishment from certain hotels and public transportation in southeast Asia.

Why does Equitable Gas think my name is Tustacia?

I'm watching Breakfast at Tiffany's and fuck my life if I'm not Holly Golightly, except with a lot more arrests and bar fights.

"Promise me one thing. Don't take me home until I'm drunk. Very drunk indeed."

Doctor Why

These people are breathing all your air.

Things younger men say to the older women they date

"Who's Hunter S. Thompson?"

"I was in the sixth grade when 9/11 happened!"

"Is that grey in your hair?"

"I feel like I've really come into my own since high school."

"Look at this cat meme I made!"

"This condom is entirely too small for me."

"This condom is entirely too large for me."

"What are...albums?"

"I don't know what that word means."

"I dirt bike on the weekends."

"I dated my last girlfriend a whole six months."

"I'm just gonna kill myself when I'm 35."

"Oooo, I plan on cuddling you so hard when we get home."

Midnight Badness

The Super Post - You. Dont. GO!

You know what I love? Articulate sorostitutes writing scathing letters to their sisters. I love it even more when seemingly unhinged actors read said letters for comedic effect. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the best thing to ever happen to the internet:

Michael Shannon Reads the Insane Delta Gamma Sorority Letter

That is some Glengarry, Glen Ross shit right there. If you don't like it you can go fuck yourself, Brittany.

I'd be remiss if I didn't mention how hot the remaining Boston bombing suspect was.

 

Just how I like them, young, crazy, and unable to speak due to a self inflicted gun shot wound.

I attended something called The Dirty Ball last night, Pittsburgh's premiere event for sexually frustrated nerds and people past their sell by date. My friend somehow acquired free tickets, so I cleaned myself up and threw on my best blood stained frock and took a bus to a fucking storage facility on the South Side. I had to throw my tazer in the bushes twice because they were checking hand bags at the door. A giant Italian man gave it to me. Every time I eat sausage or taze someone I'll think of him.

Anyhoo, they were charging 60 bucks for this shit, and I can't believe anyone would pay $60 to eat cold Vocelli pizza and watch Cirque de Soliel rejects crawl all over each other on wooden band risers. I did see a guy I used to bang dressed up in Spiderman footie pajamas holding hands with a fat girl, making the evening totally worth it.

I then went to some other shitty event called Art All Night, hosted in an abandoned building in Lawrenceville. Because what better place to house everyone's shitty art than at a building that should have been condemned in 1975? Don't answer that. 

It was the fucking Russians all along

I can't believe it was the fucking Russians. In this day and age. I didn't see that coming, I have to be honest.

Are you there god? It's me, Tan Mom.

I can't believe a person collectively referred to Tan Mom holds enough relevance to have a topless photo shoot, but in case you haven't noticed THIS IS THE WORLD WE LIVE IN NOW. TAN MOM WORLD.  A WORLD WHERE A HASTILY PACKED TRASH BAG HAS A TWITTER FOLLOWING.

Thine Eyes!!! I really wish Honey Boo Boo would do a cover of Sweet Home Alabama.

'Murrica!

This will be my new driver's license pic when the commonwealth of Pennsylvania deems me suitable to operate a vehicle once again.

White Zombie

I have no idea if this man died or whatever. I do know that the fella in the cowboy hat is CARRYING HIS GODDAMN VEIN.

I gave up on humanity sometime just after my birth, but this shit still gets to me. Deep down inside I'm a patriotic idiot. I mean, a I wore a shirt with monster trucks and bald eagles to Berlin, for Christ's sake. I don't believe America is the best or most moral country in the world, but I do believe we have some lofty ideals that we used to try to adhere to.

The above picture has nothing to do with those ideals. And of course everyone is looking for someone brown to blame, because then we can redirect our energy to bombing the shit out of some stank-hole country, but what if it comes to light that this was enacted by a a born and bred American citizen? Some fucking white boy autist pissed because he can't get it up for anything but anime, or because mommy wouldn't buy him Google glass or whatever, or because he saw V for Vendetta one too many times and completely missed the point of the film?

I honestly have no fucking idea. I just get the feeling that America is catching up to the rest of the world in terms of irrational, random, unchecked violence. I might be overstating things, but this is what came to mind as I watched footage of the explosions yesterday:

The Ballad of David Supernigger

You may remember David Supernigger from a previous episode wherein he contacted my place of employment inquiring about, well, employment.

Full disclosure, I work for a telemarketing company. I hasten to add I am not a telemarketer, I work in administration where I do a combination of data entry/IT/psychoanalysis. The staff ranges from delightfully eccentric to potential serial killers, so obviously not your standard work environment.

On days when the receptionist is out I cover the phones until the end of my shift. That's exactly what I was doing when David Supernigger phoned to ask about his resume. This is the conversation that followed.

Me: I'd be happy to help you, can I have your name please? 

David Supernigger: David Supernigger. 

Me: ... 

DS: ... 

Me: Listen, you can't work here. 

DS: Why not? 

Me: Because your last name is Supernigger, that's why not.

He then asked if he couldn't use a pseudonym. This guy actually went to court and a judge actually agreed that it was totally reasonable for one's surname to contain a universally recognized racial slur, and yet he is willing to abandon his strongly held philosophical beliefs for the prospect of a shitty job that pays a mere 75 cents more than the minimum wage.

This guy is a basically Pittsburgh's answer to Charles Manson. Which means he is absolutely of no threat to anyone. Apparently he is fond of accosting little white girls at bus stops and spouting his retarded point of view, which is something about removing the animus from the word nigger. Said white girls run screaming, because no one wants to be seen with a middle aged white man with a dolphin tattooed on his face who is overly fond of saying nigger.

David has a trans-racial twin in idiocy thanks to Pittsburgh mayoral candidate AJ Richardson.  Here is AJ just after his DUI arrest.

AJ also carries the base level paranoia that compels people to tattoo their faces. He believes his phone is being tapped, that the DUI arrest was part of a large conspiracy to keep him from being mayor, and that the people of Pittsburgh are actually intergalactic terrorists draped in human flesh hellbent on farming us out for food and sex slaves.

Maybe not that last part, but who can say? Pittsburgh is the mecca for every wayward asshole in Western PA. They come here and see all the rabble and tattooed hipsters and think that they've died and gone to social justice heaven. If you tried to pull this shit in Philly you'd get shot before you had a chance to offer your assailant an ice cold Kombucha.

Doctor Why?

Over at Shakesville they're debating on whether or not you sit or stand while wiping after taking a shit. Because you all wanted to imagine what Melissa McEwan looks like crouched over a toilet bowl, her hand enfolded between many layers of soiled flubber.

I am a sitter. Iain is a stander. And we (affectionately!) mock each other about our respective choices all the time.

Shakesville: Sit or Stand

Here is where it gets weird

Last night I almost had to taze some sloppy old bitch, got bear-hugged by a stranger, and had the lead singer of The Cynics attempt to pimp me out to some high school boys. I'm gonna start going out in a suit of armor. 

Soundtrack of your life

Midnight Madness