Your future husband is a nudist cult doctor!



I have a new obsession with these novelty cards… as seen in a penny arcade machine, circa 1935.

husband.gif

Your future wife is here.

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I’m never going to Florida. Ever.



No big loss, what’s there anyway? A soulless “community” of Disneyfied zombies living in Celebration, Jeb Bush (I’ll come back to him), the angry Christians who tried to save me in Pensacola and a gazillion Canadian tourists. As a Canadian, when I go away I’d like to get away from Canadians. No offense my fellow canucks, you know I love you the best.

No, the real reason I’m never going to Florida is this headline I just read this morning: “Florida eyes allowing residents to open fire whenever they see threat“.

The bill would give Florida residents the right to open fire against anyone they perceive as a threat in public, instead of having to try to avoid a conflict as under prevailing law.

To quote that intellectual giant Jeb Bush, it is “a good, commonsense, anti-crime issue”.

One time I was in Orlando on a Disney bus going from some god forsaken area of the park to another and the people just stared at my labret like the anti-christ had risen. They openly discussed their perception of my disgustingness.

These days they’d just shoot me.

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I ate a boy sandwich



Shaved turkey, pickles and mustard on brown – that’s a boy sandwich.

Tomato, lettuce and swiss cheese on brown – that’s a girl sandwich.

Anything mustardy, dilly, beefy, saurkrauty, horseradishy, peppery, BBQy, sloppy joey or meatbally are for boy sandwiches.

Anything cheesy, tomatoey, eggy, grilled chickeny, avocadoey, leafy greeny, sprouty or eggplanty are for girl sandwiches.

Anybody know the rules, can I still be a feminist and think this way?

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Blair switch project reminds me of camillagate…



We all know by now that Prince Charles postponed his wedding to Camilla to accomodate the Pope’s funeral this Friday. Who forced the switch, who can say for sure, “but there was an audible sigh of relief within Whitehall at the postponement – avoiding an embarrassing clash for Tony Blair and allowing him to attend both the Pope’s funeral and the royal wedding,” quoted from today’s New Zealand Herald.

Considering Charles’ media dealings of late (who can forget last week’s muttering “I can’t bear that man” – caught on tape of course) and the setbacks his wedding has faced from the get-go (venue changes, media leaks) – he must be illustriously pissed.

I’ve been thinking about his woes and had a distastefully delightful thought. Let’s twist the metaphysical knife: imagine if the Pope himself were to be awarded Charles’ secret wish to be the lucky buck reincarnated as Camilla’s tampon!?

“Oh, what a wonderful idea,” she says.

If you’d like to know more about the future King’s secret desires, take a moment to become familiar with Camillagate.

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What do lesbians do?



Is it offensive to discuss your dead grandfather’s views on lesbians with strangers?

Let me put it in reverse for a sec. Last night I went to see Sin City with the huzbond and some good friends. We had a great time and ended up boozing at the Bishop and Belcher well into the night.

Sin City is great, btw. Leave your politics at the door and enjoy the slick sights and silly dialogue. Damn, Clive Owen is fine. But Mickey Rourke, you break my heart! Remember when he was sexy? That smirk, those eyes. And these days? In 2003 the Guardian said it best, “he now looks like raw beef shaped into human form, dripping and pink”. Christ, it’s even more true today.
[…]

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