Thursday, July 29, 2010
I guess I could have gone with "Sizzling Flamage"? "Loins Aflame"? "Crankin' the Shank"? "Smokin' Hot Young Men in Skirts Just Standing There"? Whatever, anyway, the point is that there is apparently something called the Youth Olympic Games that will take place in Singapore next month, and so the above erotic cosplay was held in Greece to celebrate this thing, with Greek actress Ino Menegaki playing the role of high priestess and some dudes just stone cold feeling that breeze (down there) as she lights the flame at Ancient Olympia, where the Olympics were born in 776 B.C., when dinosaurs ruled the planet.
Monday, July 26, 2010
My friend Roth recently celebrated her 30th birthday, which of course means only one thing: a visit to the wax museum. (Don't even pretend that you didn't spend/don't plan to spend your 30th birthday at the wax museum.)
So our band of sweaty merrymakers twirled on down to Times Square (for the last time EVER) and paid monies to the nice people down at Madame Tussaud's Celebrities 'n Sorrow Emporium to see how we measured up standing next to the great famous people of our times like Carrie Underwood and some slut in a sling (oh yeah, Britney Spears).
Remember that Prince song "Darling Nikki"? That was written about my friend Eddie (above).
I have that same pantsuit!
Once again, the Hulk wins me over with his beguiling green aggression.
Yao Ming kept trying to ignore me, successfully.
Little known fact: me and my bros in 'N Sync broke up because Timberlake was always trying to hold my hand in public.
I had a nightmare last week that looked exactly like this.
It's not often that a wax figure looks better than the person it is trying to represent. Jon Bon Jovi should be proud/embarrassed.
Hold on, Tina, I found one.
Jimmy reliving his days as a backup singer/xylophone player at the Opry.
Lucy teaches Sarah how to make a good paste.
James Dean and me, his puppy.
F. Scott Fitzgerald's wife Zelda is really tired of him carrying that fucking book with him everywhere.
I can't take me anywhere.
We couldn't figure out who this bartender was supposed to be, but Roth picked a fight with her anyway.
This photo needs no caption.
Jimmy was determined to get a picture of me with Abraham Lincoln. "He's my favorite president!" he said. Which is funny because I thought his favorite president was Bette Midler, who was in a different room.
The Obamas with an adorable Indian family.
The Clinton's with an adorable Indian man.
Jimmy's all hifalutin now that he's been hanging with so many C-listers.
Actually, the Robin Williams figure is pretty endearing and I didn't feel compelled to scream in his face to "JUST SHUT UP" like I always thought I would.
Some bitch's boobs. I think Beyonce's? Or Tyra's.
The Jolie-Pitts are tired of this party.
God I fucking hate Julia Roberts.
Me and Woody, who is rightly off in the corner away from other humans.
"It's time to lip sync for your life. And girls, don't fuck it up."
Roth searching for a treasure map on Nick Cage's chest.
You can see J.Lo's ass from across the room. Not even lying.
Sometimes you find yourself at a party looking around for your friends and then you turn your head and all of a sudden find yourself nearly lips-to-trembling-lips with Harrison Ford. Or at least I do.
This is the saddest figure on the staircase.
The Hulk is a two-timing monster!
Roth and I in a Bollywood scene. This picture took three hours to take.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Are you unhappy with your drab appearance? Your boring face and your gray, lifeless skin and your saggy tits and your crossed eyes and your straw hair and your knobby legs and your tombstone teeth? And your chapped lips, your pimple clusters, and your giant nose? And your farmer tan? (And your "beauty mark"?) Me too!
Thankfully, Ru Paul and the Logo channel has the answer to all of our problems: The Dragulator, which allows us humans to imagine ourselves as something so much better than we actually are or could ever be.
Now instead of living in the real world, in which you are the lead character in a terrible PBS drama full of ugly people, you can reinvent yourself as the lead character in The Bold and the Beautiful or Gone With the Wind or The Muppets Take Manhattan or whatever, yay!
Folks, say hello to Stella Farley, my fabulous new doppleganger and the new competitive eating champion of Earth. (Suck it, Kobayashi!)
As Ru as my waitress I will never be hungry again.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Ladies, this film looks terrible. And by terrible I mean exquisite. And the soundtrack appears to be just god-awful. And by god-awful I mean hilarious. And the acting looks grim. And by grim I mean god-awful. And the premise looks unfortunate, by which I mean hilarious/exquisite. And the special effects look hideous, which is another word for god-awful and remarkable. And the directing looks ... ok, I'm tired of this word game. I refudiate it.
The point is, this movie will change the world, just like "Do They Know It's Christmas?" It will also clearly have a major impact, at the policy level, on the Obama administration, just like The Day After did for Reagan. Children of the '10s will always remember where they were when they saw this trailer. (The answer is: torturing an 11-year-old shit-talker on the socialized media.)
Monday, July 19, 2010
So Jimmy and I were watching the news the other night when a story about bedbugs came on. This topic fills us with mortal fear and dread, because, come on, bedbugs, yikes, good Lord. I was standing up and getting ready to strip down and get in the shower, but when the bedbug story came on, I stopped what I was doing and slowly, shakily, lowered myself to the couch, never once taking my eyes off the horrible teevee screen.
Any bedbugs story on the news is going to be rife with horror, but this one had an extra bit of random weirdness that gave me a start: early in the report (at around 00:28 in the above clip), my bobbing, bike-helmeted, disembodied head can be seen floating along the bottom of the screen. What? Yes. It's me. (Few other humans have this bike helmet.) On the screen. In a story about bedbugs. Is this foreshadowing?
NO IT IS NOT.
Friday, July 16, 2010
I've been commuting by velocipede in NYC for about four years now had surprisingly few injuries! I've (knock wood) never been brained by an out-of-control cab, I've (knock wood) never been decapitated by a random piece of renegade construction equipment, and I've (knock wood) never been successfully chased down and feasted upon by gangs of bloodthirsty teenage werewolves who live under the Williamsburg Bridge.
But one injury I've always known I was bound to sustain at one point or another, dear readers, is the one that results from being "doored." To be "doored" is to have a car door open right in your path, sending you scrambling to swerve out of the way or, alternatively, bounding into the gaping maw of an Escalade (or whatever). I've had a few close calls but have always managed to avoid the terrible doors constantly trying to eat me as I ride through the city. My luck ended last night.
I was riding on Houston Street, which no human should do. Houston Street is a series of hellmouths and gnarled protuberances whose only purpose is to make you die. I should have known better. But I needed to get to Ludlow and I was only going to have to be on Houston for a minute, so even though I knew better, I took the plunge.
It was regrettable.
I was trying to reach Ludlow and approaching the corner where stupid Katz Deli sits all smugly. I stupidly decided to ride on the right-hand side of a cab that was idling rather than go around it to the left and be devoured by an oncoming vehicle. As I thought ahead to where I should park my bike, the right-hand-side passenger door of the cab opens right in front of me. This door could not have been opened at a more perfect/tragic moment. I had nowhere to go; no choice but to scream "Whoa!" as I smashed left-arm first into the cab's jaws.
The girl getting out of the cab looked horrified and apologized and I quickly just tried to get out of the road and onto the sidewalk, where I could weep without getting hit again. I walked my bike up the sidewalk and turned down the kickstand so I could fix the brake lever that had been smashed. As I messed with the lever, a young black man walking with his friends passed me and, with a look of concern on his face, said, "Boy, you got slammed."
It was my destiny.
Looking down at my arm now I see there's a good-looking bruise coming in that is sure to be pretty sexy by tomorrow. Hot pics forthcoming once it turns the right shade of blue...
The point is, watch the above movie because it tells an important story.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Folks, one of these days I will blog about something else besides the book that I'm pimping like the dickens. But until that sad, sad day, I'll find some reason, however dubious and downright offensive, to flog this terrible/wonderful chunk of literature.
My dear friend Sarah Pasell was the official TiT photographer and she got some great pics of the proceedings (in a VERY dimly lit room) before it devolved into a desperate and sweaty display of human nudity.
This crowd is thirsty.
Kristen Elde reading about boobs.
Is that Rachel Roth over there on the right? I think it is. Thanks for the cake, Roth. It's dank.
Sarah just told me she heard that Lady Gaga and Kate Perry are cutting each other in the hallway. (It ended up being just two drag queens fighting over a wig.)
A rare sighting of Jimmy out in the wild.
Edmund II playing some lovely tunes from his forthcoming CD "Floating Monk."
Stone cold readin'.
Pull back and.....scene!
Thanks for coming everyone! For real, it was an awesome evening and I hope you had fun. Happy reading!