Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Thursday, September 10, 2009
A young couple with a tiny baby got on the streetcar in front of the Art Gallery, with a tourist map in hand and looking totally confused. The Husband approached the streetcar driver for directions and was quickly waved away with a brisk grunt, so when they seated themselves in front of me, I asked them if they needed any help.
They happily accepted my offer, so the Husband and I mapped out their route, and he confessed that this was his first visit to Toronto, and remarked that everyone was "much friendlier than in New York". I asked if he was from New York. He was from South Carolina, but the Wife hailed from Utica, NY, and came here often to visit her sister.
They told me how much they loved Toronto, how friendly and helpful our people have been, and how our city was so clean and beautiful. I felt really proud of my city at that moment, even though it smelled like shit. Literally. There was an intense sewage stench in the air and I assumed we had stopped next to a sewer grate, or maybe it was the evildoing of their small infant...
But being the awesome urban ambassador that I am, I pressed on and answered their questions about where to dine, where to find good fashion bargains, and general places of interest. Their enthusiasm was infectious, and by the time we arrived at my stop and I bid them farewell, I was thinking there's no place else in the world I'd want to live. I complain about this place sometimes, and all the jerks I have to share it with, but when you evaluate your surroundings through a stranger's eyes, it can remind you about all the amazing things you should be grateful for.
That's when I discovered the source of the nauseating stench that had plagued our commute. Right next to the exit door, someone had taken a HUGE DUMP on the streetcar floor. A huge HUMAN dump. And the culprit, a smelly and senile old man with a cane, was trying to kick his crap under a seat while everyone around him hissed insults and called up to the driver for assistance.
I felt really bad for the guy because he didn't seem to know what was going on, but there was no way in hell I was gonna stick around. I'd done my good deed for the day, so Mr. Stinky was on his own. I hopped over the pile of dung and headed for the subway, with my contempt for fellow Torontonians fully reinstated.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Eternal Earth-Bound Pets USA
You've committed your life to Jesus. You know you're saved. But when the Rapture comes what's to become of your loving pets who are left behind? Eternal Earth-Bound Pets takes that burden off your mind.
We are a group of dedicated animal lovers, and atheists. Each Eternal Earth-Bound Pet representative is a confirmed atheist, and as such will still be here on Earth after you've received your reward. Our network of animal activists are committed to step in when you step up to Jesus.
Be sure to check out their FAQs page. It's Atheist gold.
see also: JesusPets.com
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
reproduced without permission from McSweeney's Internet Tendency:
JOURNAL OF A NEW COBRA RECRUIT
BY KEITH PILLE
May 1, 1986
Man. I'm so excited to graduate this month. It's been a fun few weeks, signing yearbooks and going to beer parties and such, but at the same time I keep feeling worried about what I'm going to do afterwards. I don't have the grades for college. Heck, when I talked to the Army recruiter about becoming a G.I., he said I don't even have the grades to serve my country. I sure don't want to work at the gas station like my brother.
- - - -
May 2, 1986
Today this guy in a blue uniform came up and gave me a pamphlet. Said he was a recruiter for COBRA, an outfit a lot like the army but without all those government regulations to slow down the fun. We talked a little and he said he liked the cut of my jib, thought I'd be great COBRA material.
- - - -
May 15, 1986
Signed up with COBRA today. I got real excited when they said I earned a signing bonus... figured it would be a couple hundred bucks that I could put toward a new bumper for my truck. Nope. Just a t-shirt with a funny-looking snake on the front. And I'm not supposed to wear it in public. Pretty weird stuff, but they seem like nice guys.
I report to COBRA boot camp out in Utah in the middle of June. The recruiter guy said that everyone around there thinks it's where some crazy old Mormon lives with all his wives. I'm not supposed to say anything about it to anyone. I'm supposed to tell Mom and Dad that I'm going off to work for the phone company.
- - - -
June 16, 1986
First day of boot camp was a bear. All of the other boots seem like nice guys. Don't know what any of them look like because the first thing they did when we got here was give us blue helmets with black hankies to cover up our faces. I'm getting pretty good at recognizing people's eyebrows though.
Figured we'd do a lot of exercise today, but we didn't do as much as I thought. Mostly just running out of a door and yelling "COBRA!" at the top of our lungs. I got pretty good at it. Now I can sound awful scary when I yell "COBRA!" You wouldn't think it would wear you down, but boy, am I pooped.
- - - -
June 18, 1986
Boot camp's still a lot of fun. And I'm learning a lot. Today we did more mental learning stuff than exercise. We received a lecture about our main enemy, the G.I. Joe team. Seems that Uncle Sam is so nervous about COBRA that he set up an elite team of soldiers just to try to fight us. I couldn't be more proud. I had no idea I was signing on with a bunch that was this important. I guess the Joes have stopped us at pretty much everything we've ever tried to do. But believe me, is that going to change now that Steve Loring is a member of COBRA!
Sarge said all kinds of funny things about how dumb the G.I. Joe team is. Like, they just have one person who's good at each thing they do. So they just have one guy who can fly a plane, and one guy who knows how to drive a tank, one guy who can fly a helicopter, one guy who can fight in the desert, and so on. They even have a whole aircraft carrier (for their one plane and one helicopter) with just a captain and one sailor to run it! Sarge was like, "What the heck kind of outfit is that?" and we were all just in stitches. Then this one recruit (I think it was Renfro, but I didn't get a good look at his eyebrows) says, "But if they're so dumb, how come they always beat us?"
Sarge made Renfro go out and run around the track and yell "COBRA!" for an hour.
- - - -
June 20, 1986
Real boring day. I was all ready for some more physical training, but instead Sarge led us into a room full of phones and made us cold-call people and ask them if they wanted to switch their long distance to COBRA. During the break, Renfro asked Sarge when we became a long-distance provider. Sarge explained that we had to do something to make money if we were going to afford a private army with hundreds of tanks and planes and a Terrordome, not to mention all the expenses from the Serpentor genetic engineering project. Working the phones was demoralizing, and people were usually pretty mad when we called them, but it felt good to be doing my duty for COBRA. In between calls, I amused myself by thinking of cool one-liners I could say if I ever got the drop on one of those G.I. Joe bums.
- - - -
June 21, 1986
Awful exciting day today. First we got to do our airborne training. They loaded us up into a plane, and we flew up and then jumped out. Our chutes had the big, scary COBRA symbol on them. It was awesome. But it was hard, because we were supposed to keep yelling "COBRA!" all the way down. It was tough to get enough breath to yell right at first. Sarge says it just takes practice.
After that we finally got to do weapons training. About time! They gave me a rifle and pointed at the target. I held the rifle up to my cheek and sighted down the barrel, just like I did when I went deer hunting with Grampa. Boy, did Sarge go apeshit over that! Got in my face and started yelling at me, asking how I expected to scare someone if I just stood there all quiet-like and shot so carefully. Sarge is a great teacher because he doesn't just criticize. He showed the right way to shoot. What you do is you start shooting your gun wildly and run towards the target as fast as you can and, in your scariest voice, you yell "COBRA!" We worked on that all afternoon, and just before we broke for dinner, I actually hit the target! Sarge and everyone else were so happy for me that they were about to cry. Told me I'd just set the record for marksmanship in COBRA boot camp. I wanted to call Mom and tell her the good news, but she thinks I work for the phone company.
- - - -
June 22, 1986
First Payday. No check, just a couple more of those t-shirts. Doughty and me planned to drive into town and sell the shirts for spending money, but Sarge caught wind of our plan, reminding us that we weren't supposed to let anyone see the t-shirts because then they'd know we were in COBRA.
- - - -
June 25, 1986
Tank training today! Wow, it was great! They didn't let us drive the HISS tanks ourselves, but we got to practice riding in the back turret and working the guns. By now we all knew what we were supposed to do without being told, and Sarge said he was so proud at the way we all just yelled "COBRA!" and shot wildly before he even showed us how.
Renfro tried to ruin the day with a whole bunch of his questions. First he asked Sarge why our combat fatigues were sky blue saying we're visible from a mile away at least. Then, when we were practicing with the HISS tanks, Renfro started in on why the HISS driver wasn't protected by anything more than a piece of glass. And for that matter, he continued, why do we run the guns from an open turret with no protection at all? Sarge just about blew up.
I think Renfro's going to be running around the track and yelling "COBRA!" for a long, long time tonight.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Yes Cooper! Everything is fine here, and there was no damage to the Skygarden. I did lose a few nasturtium vines, but they are at the end on their blooming cycle and starting to die off anyways, so nature actually did me a small favour by pruning away the scraggly stuff. If anything, the deluge of rain helped a great deal after a week of high temperatures. Two days later, the Skygarden is still blooming strong, and a couple of lovely verbenas (at left) have made an appearance.
The tornadoes (five to seven recorded in total across southwestern Ontario) hit hardest just north of Toronto, in the communities of Vaughan and Woodbridge, where entire neighbourhoods were ripped apart. I certainly felt it here, but the damage was quite minimal - mostly flash flooding and a few branches tossed around the streets.
I got lucky - the winds came in hard from the west, so the plants were well-sheltered. I suffered a lot worse last summer, when a freak hail storm and high winds obliterated my garden in early August '08 and I had to replant every container.
Although the local media is making a huge deal out of Tornadofest '09, they're only doing so because this type of weather so rarely occurs in Southern Ontario. My heart goes out to the hundreds of families who lost their property to this storm, but I still think this was minor compared to the violent weather that residents of the Gulf Coast and southern/midwest U.S. deal with every single year. The last major weather system to destroy Toronto was back in October 1954, when Hurricane Hazel ripped the city apart and killed 81 people. This was nothing like that.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
We had a wicked lightning storm last Sunday - I've never seen so much lightning over the city during my 20 years of living in downtown Toronto. Like an idiot, I sat in the skygarden with a cocktail and no common sense and took 50 snapshots with my "crappy camera" because my "good camera" had dead batteries. Only one photo turned out, and it's not spectacular, but you get the idea.
Some interesting surprises turned up this week, including the return of lobelia and delphinium that reseeded from last year's garden. I've also got mystery petunias everywhere - they joined the party last week because I can only assume they had a really good time here last summer. They always come back for the free refills.
My favourites so far are the black pansies, which I've been waiting for all summer long. This variety has been hard to find in my location, and I just think they look really cool, so another big thanks to blogger James from Heavy: Lift With Caution for sending me a stellar selection of seeds from his own stash. In fact, half the skygarden came from an envelope from Denver, and the poor guy has suffered a summer of bad storms and uncooperative weather conditions in his own garden. Good news, James - your legacy is thriving north of 49.
Friday, August 14, 2009
This photo is quite hilarious, but I don't know why everyone is so surprised. Squirrels (and their sporty chipmunk cousins) are the most skilled photo crashers in the animal kingdom.
Oh, they make it look like a cute little accident, but I think I know a thing or two about squirrels messing with your shot:
Thursday, July 30, 2009
I'm making an exception on this day because there was a sensational development yesterday that ROCKED MY WORLD. I'll try to keep it brief, so please stick with me.
MICHAEL SCHUMACHER IS RETURNING TO FERRARI!
To put it in perspective for you, this is the equivalent of Wayne Gretzky coming out of retirement to play hockey, or Michael Jordan going back to the Bulls. You know, if they weren't all old and stuff.
Schumacher holds a record seven World Championship titles, won more races than ANY driver in all of motorsport, and was at one time the highest-paid athlete in the world. He retired from racing in 2006, and ever since then, F1 has been a real drag. Scuderia Ferrari are no longer the powerhouse team they once were, and the sport itself has been plagued by scandals and stupid politics for the past two years. Formula One was sucking hard, and I was losing interest.
But last weekend, during the Saturday qualifying session for the Hungarian Grand Prix, something terrible happened that changed the course of motorsport history: current Ferrari driver Felipe Massa was severely injured in a freak accident. He was hit in the head by some flying debris from Barrichello's Brawn GP car - a rare occurrence which resulted in a massive blow to his helmet, a skull fracture, and a critical injury to his right eye. Felipe underwent life-saving surgery hours later and he is expected to recover, although his future as an F1 driver is unknown. This left Ferrari scrambling for a replacement driver to finish out the remainder of the season.
Schumacher himself has said "no thanks, I'm done" a thousand times, but in the end, his loyalty to his former team, (and his friendship with Felipe Massa) brought about a huge change of heart. He will get behind the wheel of Massa's F60 for the European Grand Prix in Valencia, Spain on August 23rd!
If I believed in heaven, I would have died and gone there already.
I'm trying to keep my expectations in check, but it's soooo hard. After all, Schumi is the Real Stig:
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Not a bad place to enjoy a few cocktails.
What are you waiting for?
Good times are standing by....
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
But yesterday, at some big-deal swimming thingy in Rome.... what's this now?! Verrry dare-odynamic!
Apparently U.S. swimmer Ricky Berens tore out the ass of his swimtard during a pre-race stretch.
As if that swimsuit wasn't gay enough already.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
It's not a total lie. I wrote this entire review in the nude.
Raccoon Gang Warfare Continues: Spent last Saturday at the Beeverdeck again, fending off critter assaults from all sides. One particular mother raccoon and her family of four juvenile bandits kept insisting on joining us for dinner, but we were having none of it. Beever has made vast advances in the field of Critter Artillery with her patented "Busted Up Tiki Torch Pole". Please note: some raccoon gang members actually enjoy playing with the business end of a busted up tiki torch pole, and may invite more of their friends to come around for games night.
How I Met The Imaginary Reviewer: It's true, I finally got a peek behind the question mark sack! Mr. Imaginary Reviewer is not only devastatingly handsome and intellectually brilliant, but he's even funnier in real life. And he proved himself a local hero by joining the Beevers and myself on the front lines at the Battle of Beeverdeck. Armed only with a spear of asparagus and dry British humour, he put those raccoons back in their place: mocking us from the other side of the fence.
Transit Lessons Learned from the Homeless: Yesterday I was on the subway train to work and the car was really crowded - no seats to be had. That all changed when a homeless guy got on the train at Bloor station, muttering things to himself and then suddenly yelling loudly and taking a swipe at the invisible forces around him. Then like Moses parting the Red Sea, the crowd gently retreated further and further away from him, leaving their seats empty, and providing ample swiping room for his formidable presence. He got a seat (well, three seats actually) and nobody dared challenge him on it.
I've decided I'm totally going to try this someday.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
I had left my purse unattended next to my chair for less than a minute while I went back into the house to refresh my Rumonade (my fancy epicurist term for rum and lemonade). I didn't think it was a big deal, because the Beeverdeck has always been a secure and private fortress for drunk-minded individuals. One can only access its discreet rooftop location from the front door of the Beever Glitter Palace, which is heavily guarded by the smoking riff-raff hanging out in front of the landromat next door.
Then I heard Beever outside yelling at someone on the deck, making large noises and screaming "get outta here!" I went to see what the commotion was, and discovered that Beever had thwarted a robbery in progress! A renegade raccoon was digging through my purse and attempting to make off with my wallet, keys, and cell phone.
The rebel raccoon gangs of Lesbieville are well known to the locals for their sneaky, phone-snatching ways and their fierce courage in the shrieking face of humanity. They have always been cheeky little buggers, but their numbers have rapidly increased since the city workers went on strike three weeks ago and all garbage collection was ceased. The urban critters we have learned to co-exist with have broken an unwritten pact to carry out their home invasions after dark. Fortified by protein-rich garbage feasts, they've gotten all ballsy and taken back their land, along with many of the cherished human possessions that lie within it.
But not this little masked fucker. Little did he know of my strong alliance with the Beevers. They are the first line of Kat defense, and if you do somehow manage to get past them, you'll have the Dastardly Squirrel and his fearsome Squirrel Army to reckon with:
So let this be a lesson to all you daredevil ringtailed rat bandits out there: do not mess with the Beevers and Kats, or so help me god, we will blog the hell outta you.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
This is a must-see clip for any of you out there who work your asses off in the creative services industries - especially my friends who are self-employed, freelancers, artists, photographers, printers, web or print designers, etc. Unfortunately for us, we deal with bullshit like this all the time from our clients:
Produced by Scofield Editorial, Inc.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Thank you Lulu LaBonne.
Your new header image with the sexy sock guys makes my day every time I see it. The chap reclining down front reminds me of a young Tony Spunk. And the Bald Bearded Ginger? How the hell did he book that gig? Just look at his body language - seems he's wondering that himself.
I love all of your illustrations, but in my opinion, this is some of your finest work.
My friends, if you haven't tried Earwing Sandwich yet, it's a lot tastier than it sounds on the menu.
have a fabulous weekend... Rocketradio will be undergoing a series of makeovers during the next couple of days - just trying on some new outfits to see which ones make my ass look good.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Well, many of my readers (okay, 2 of you) have complained that I don't post often enough, so you asked for it: I'm setting aside 45 minutes every morning before work to dazzle you with mundane life experiences.
I experienced another money miracle yesterday! Some of you may recall the story I told back in April when spare change changed my life. Times are tough for all us, especially those of us who really suck at budgeting.
I was in a mad panic yesterday because I found myself unexpectedly dead broke again, thanks to a series of unfortunate incidents (massive rent increase, shocking dental bill, premium mascara purchase). Payday is six days away, and I might suck at math, but I'm smart enough to realize that $14.87 is not enough cash flow to survive in this city for a week.
I managed to borrow $25 from my generous BFF, who is also cash-strapped at the moment, but is the kind of awesome guy who would share his last fifty bucks with me, (which he did). I used to live off $35 a week back in college, so I was totally prepared to live out the next week like a resourceful college girl, minus the freaktastic casual sex and binge drinking. Or WITH the sex and drinking, if I could swing it.
Still, walking home 6 miles from my BFF's last night (because I couldn't afford the bus), my heart was heavy with worry, and I had resigned myself to a week of Kraft Dinner and self-imposed house arrest while I waited out the storm. I was on the edge of weepy, because I started thinking about my mom. When she was alive and I was just starting out in the world, she would quietly slip a few bucks into my hand just when I needed it most. Our little secret. No words were ever spoken, and I never told her how bad things were, she just always knew. She would wink and smile and recite our inside joke: "now go buy yourself a pretty frock", which was funny to us because I'm not exactly a frock buyin' gal.
That's when the song "Money" by The Flying Lizards shuffled up on my iPod, and I had to laugh because I had no idea that iPods could read your mind. I realized I was walking down my street and crying - that mixed-up laughing/crying that happens when you really miss your mom and you don't know what the fuck else to do.
That song was still playing when I went to my mailbox and found a major surprise: a $100 tax rebate cheque from the Government of Canada. I had no idea I was eligible for any tax rebate, and the timing absolutely blew me away. I know in my head that it was an amazing coincidence of epic proportions, but I still stared long and hard at that cheque and thanked my mom.
Monday, July 6, 2009
-- A young tourist couple stopped me and asked if I would take a photo of them with their own camera while they groped each other in front of our most famous landmark. I have always dreamed that this situation would some day present itself so I could bolt away with a fabulous new camera, but it was a shitty camera, so while they were grinning like idiots, I zoomed right in on the guy's crotch and snapped a pic of his cock.
-- Upon receiving extremely unsatisfactory customer service from a surly local shopkeepstress, I may have accidentally said to her "Thanks for nothing, you fucking cunt", when I really meant to say "Thanks for your time and have a nice day, you fucking cunt."
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Cougars are on the prowl and attacking a small BC community!
The word "cougar" no longer makes me think of big wild cats who can seriously harm and/or kill humans. It now conjures up 40-something cleavage and pitchers of margaritas, so of course I was thinking: Wow. The young men of British Columbia are gettin' lucky tonight!
I laughed at the headline, but it wasn't funny news at all. A little girl was picking berries with her mom in the woods near her house, and surprise! ... she comes face to face with a cougar. Her mom fights off the cat, and her kid escapes with some cuts and bruises.
So it's a happy ending!
No, not that kind of happy ending.
Especially not for the poor cougar, and the cougar's buddies, who were tracked and shot dead by conservation officers, which is irony, not slang. The officers weren't conserving wildlife, they were destroying it in order to conserve urban sprawl.
This was supposed to be a post about the downside of slanguage, so I'm not gonna get into how pissed off I am at people who build their homes where wildlife lives and then go apeshit when the wildlife keeps showing up in their backyards. Suck it up and put on a bear suit, people, because the cougars want you off their lawn.
(No, not this kind of bear suit.)
Thursday, June 11, 2009
A homeless man was sitting on the sidewalk about 6 feet away from the transit stop, selling little angel figurines he had carved from soap bars. He had about 15 of them neatly displayed on top of a large box, with a makeshift sign that said "ANGELS $5 EACH", and he continuously chanted his sales pitch like a meditation mantra: "Buy an angel? Buy an angel? Buy an angel?"
It made me pray that someone would buy an angel just to shut him up. That was when three young women barely dressed in their skanky, shiny clubbing outfits approached the homeless man, and I thought perhaps the soap angels had answered my prayer.
CLUB SLUT #1: OH MY GOD! These are sooooo cute!
HOMELESS GUY: Buy an angel?
CLUB SLUT #2: Did you make these yourself?
HOMELESS GUY: Yes I did, miss. Buy an angel? Only 5 dollars. Hand carved!
CLUB SLUT #1: [Picks up a figurine to examine it closer, then makes the "eeeew!" face] Eeeeeew! What's that smell?! Smell it! [shoves angel in her friend's face]
CLUB SLUT #3: Eeeeew! It smells like soap or something!
HOMELESS GUY: I carve them from a bar of soap. Ivory soap. Very pure.
CLUB SLUT # 1: Do you have any angels that don't smell like soap?
Sadly, the homeless man did NOT have any soap angels that did not smell like soap, so he lost the sale. The three skanks continued down the street, laughing loudly, while the homeless man gave them the finger and continued his chanting without missing a beat. "Buy an angel?"
I didn't want to buy an angel out of pity, but the look of shame and disappointment on the man's face when those girls walked away was heartbreaking. So I gave the guy ten dollars and told him he could keep his 2 angels and sell them to someone else to make more money. He blessed me a whole lot, called ME an angel, and firmly insisted that I take a figurine with me.
It's now sitting on my desk beside my monitor. And my whole fucking apartment smells like Ivory soap.
Friday, June 5, 2009
So this weekend, I'll be travelling back 2 decades to my local thrift store to rustle up something neon or shoulder-padded. I'm quietly praying I'll find something more formal and sequined and feathered (see pic at left) so I can dress up as Alexis Carrington, but that might be aiming too high. Truth be told, I'm really just looking for a valid excuse to bitchslap the other guests and toss them into the pool.
I hope you don't mind indulging my retro mood with this awesome literal video from Dusto McNeato. Please excuse the idiot host at the beginning and end of the clip - but this is the only clip I could find of this hilarious classic.
More awesome 80s literal videos:
Bonnie Tyler - Total Eclipse of the Heart
Tears For Fears - Head Over Heels
They Might Be Giants - Birdhouse In Your Soul
Thanks to the Beevers for the links.
Enjoy a pipewrench-free weekend!
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
via theFrisky.com: "Food company Del Monte asked more than 1,000 British women to vote on which celebrity they think is the coolest and worthy of being stuck on a stick. Daniel Craig got the most votes, and from today until June 7, limited edition Daniel Craig-shaped popsicles are being sold in England. It’s a shame they aren’t available on this side of the pond, because lord knows we’d like to put Daniel Craig in our mouths."
I couldn't agree more, although I think they could have done a better job on creating the mold for this product, because the likeness is rather hideous. And what the hell is happnin' down below there, Del Monte? Looks like you stuffed the best part(s) into a fern planter and thought "oh, let's be clever and make it look like pockets!" FAIL!
But all creative critiquing aside, I certainly wouldn't protest if any of my British readers were to pack a dozen of these charmers into some dry ice and rush ship them to the Kathaus.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Monday, June 1, 2009
Well, the judging panel may have been distracted by too much sangria and raging high school dance flashbacks (courtesy of VH1's 100 One Hit Wonders of the 80's), but after a lengthy debate - we have picked a winner.
Congratulations to tennyson ee hemingway from andy warhol goes shopping!
You will be the first and only Australian to own an Original BBJ Beaver Buckle!
Not only did mr. hemingway's entry intrigue us, but he was the only blogger to submit TWO entries, just in case I didn't receive the first entry. You can't buy that measure of enthusiasm nowadays. It's a good thing too - his first entry was mostly a lot of shameless begging, which we LOVE, but it wasn't as creative as his follow-up attempt. It was the second entry that won our hearts:
What would I do for that belt buckle?
Well, I'd wear it 24/7 for a whole year, take pictures of me wearing it everyday and email them to you.
How's that for commitment?
I am in favour of any commitment that doesn't require me to do anything. And yes, I said that we wouldn't actually force anyone to make good on their promises, but we'd like to reconsider that now. Tennyson, we don't expect you to wear it 24/7 and take a picture every day, but we do want some photos! Details to follow, lucky boy...
It was a very tough decision, so we have a surprise BBJ gift for our runner-up, and a few thanks for our beautiful losers:
THE RUNNER UP:
The Imaginary Reviewer, who was alleged to be under the influence of Pinot Grigio while penning his submission:
In order to win the beaver buckle I would come and meet you in person, saving the cost of postage. I would also then write an Imaginary Review of our meeting, and make it really impressive, even if I was disappointed. But I probably wouldn't be, of course. But nobody would know if I was.
IR: That's hilarious, and you had us at "saving the cost of postage". We'd love to meet you, and maybe add a dash of pop-style to your upcoming nuptials with a pair of BBJ cufflinks! I'll be in touch soon with more details.
We love Skyler's Dad! We're just a little uneasy about loving his ass, but I'll cook up something awesome for you in the near future, my friend:
Not to one-up Mt Tennyson, but I would put it on and ass-scan myself on the old scanner.
And post it.
Yeahhhhh, post it. That's right...
A submission from a Mr. S. - possibly a blogger, but I'm not sure because I didn't recognize his name. An "A" for effort, sir, but I couldn't get behind the concept of "bag balm":
In order to win this lovely belt buckle, I would trudge across the tundra, mile after mile…or at least walk down to the corner, in search of the Beever Brothel. Once I’ve confirmed that these beavers are the beavers I am looking for, I’d negotiate a deal to polish their tails. Polishing the elusive Beever tail requires patience…and a generous portion of bag balm. This act can be tricky at times, especially with the friskier Beevers. I have found over the years of Beever polishing, that a little tongue behind the ear calms the little rascals down, making the polishing more enjoyable for both partners. I will also need an extraordinary amount of cigars as well, for after a good Beever polishing, I like to kickback and enjoy a fine cigar. After hours, possibly even days of Beever polishing, I’d choose the shiniest of them all and offer her a job…modeling for belt buckles. I know that my proposal is a win for me either way, but think how nice I would look polishing Beevers wearing the polished Beever Belt Buckle with my assless chaps. Thank you for your consideration.
As always, gorgeous ass-flower model and fine jewelry designer WendyB has got game!:
The question is: what WOULDN'T I do for a beaver buckle?
Wendy is a classy lady (classy with a "c", not a "k"), so there's probably a loooong list of things she wouldn't do, but that's cool -- it's the thought that counts!
A truly interesting Beaver cult proposal, from charming Eric the Bored Neoclassical Guy. A terrific offer wrapped up in some slightly dodgy grammar:
I love your beaver item so much, I would craft a fine marble mosaic of
it, then build a marble temple with columns around it, then create a
pantheon of deities and the inevitable following religion of which I
would be the high priest for thousands of years to worship it.
Thanks to everyone for playing!
... and now that I'm finally settled into my new job, and my work hours aren't as long, I look forward to spending a little more time with you all in the coming weeks.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Entry response has been unexpectedly low. Did I make the contest too difficult, or does no one want this fabulous prize?
I'm disappointed, my friends, but maybe you're too busy? Or maybe I've lost all my readers because I never blog anymore? Is America suffering from a post-Glambert funk? Has the blog world grown tired of free stuff?
Maybe I had you all wrong. Maybe you're not willing to do anything for a Beaver buckle?
NO. I refuse to believe that.
So I'll make it easier for you: if you'd like your name in the draw, leave a comment in the thread or send your e-mail address to firstname.lastname@example.org . A Winner will be chosen on Sunday... although at this point, I'm thinking about keeping it for myself...
Thursday, May 21, 2009
But enough of my excuses - it's contest time!
Other blogs host many contests, but ask yourself this: what do you really win? A link and shout out? A badge for your sidebar? A smoke and a pancake? The satisfaction of knowing that strangers think you're awesome? Yeah, I guess that's all pretty nice stuff, but Miss Rocket thinks you deserve better. I think you deserve something seriously fucking cool in your mailbox.
BEHOLD! This week I'm giving away this Limited Edition Original BBJ Belt Buckle! This buckle is one-of-a-kind, handmade by The Beevers in classic unisex black for all the sexy boys and girls.
HOW TO WIN:
1. Simply answer this skill-testing question: What would you do for this beaver buckle?
2. Your answer can be submitted in ANY format you desire, but here's a few ideas for ya: a drawing, a photo, a video, a poem (haiku, 8-words, sonnet, free verse, whatever), just a sentence or two, a short story (seriously short: 100 word maximum), a song -- anything that can be e-mailed, but otherwise no limits.
3. No - you won't really be required to do the thing you say you'll do for a beaver buckle, so you can let your sick little minds run wild if ya want, but please keep it above the buckle, okay? Rocketradio does not condone murderous rampages, looting sprees, or any other kind of criminal behaviour.
4. Winning entry will be judged on originality, creativity and humour. Artistic talent is not a requirement! All entries will be judged by a panel consisting of Katrocket and The Beevers (and who ever else is drinking with them that night).
5. E-mail your entry to email@example.com with the subject line "Gimme Beaver!" All file formats are accepted.
Deadline: Friday, May 29th, 2009 at 5pm. Entries will be judged over the weekend and announced here on May 31, 2009. All entries will also be posted on Rocketradio for the collective pleasure of others, so by entering this contest, you are also consenting to your entry being posted on this blog.
1) You must not harm your children or pets.
2) You must not send me pictures or stories of your children or pets.
3) You must be willing to provide a shipping address if you win the contest.
So bust out the crayons, kids! You're all brilliantly creative souls out there, so this will be a tough contest. GAME ON.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
I know it's been a disappointing year so far, what with my general lack of blogging about anything, but that all changes today, my friends.
Do yourself a big comedy favour and check out Grant Miller's recent post on Fire That Agency! It's our first boycott, so I do hope you will join us for some light refreshments and polite rage.
Monday, May 4, 2009
I lost my job about 10 days ago, but save your pity for the fools my friends, because it was a job I was quite happy to leave behind. I'm pretty good at getting myself fired from really crappy jobs and then somehow landing a much crappier job. When opportunity closes a door on me, I usually walk around back and kick in a basement window. This method always ends very badly, so I'm trying a new approach.
I did not shed a single tear or take a few days to regroup. I got myself a haircut, a new frock, and made a single phone call to a former colleague. I have an interview this afternoon with a brand new company run by some people I've worked with in the past and really want to work with again, so wish me luck.
I've tried to stay off the internet and do some constructive things around the Kathaus, instead of just drinking and losing myself in the Playstation for days at a time. Okay, yeah - I did that all weekend - but I spent last week doing lots of spring cleaning and refinishing some recently acquired used furniture. I also prepared the fabulous urban Skygarden for planting...
This is last summer's garden, taken just days before it was completely obliterated by a freak hailstorm. I'm learning from my past mistakes: no more stupid petunias. I need plants that thrive in lots of sun, but petunias can't stand up to the high winds I get in this location.
This will be my very first attempt at recycling an entire garden from seeds and bulbs I've been saving all year, instead of using those expensive greenhouse-grown seedlings from the garden centre. I'm usually too lazy to consider this a viable option, but what can I say? I'm getting into the recession spirit!
Oh, I haven't forgotten about the BBJ buckle contest - it's coming next week, after I sort out this job business...
In the meantime, Tawny the Testcard Girl has asked for some extra hours to help support her chronic hairspray addiction during these tough economic times, so please make her feel welcome. Turkeyboy has also been harrassing me for part-time work, but he needs to get over his Seasonal Inaffectiveness Disorder before I can take him seriously.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
So in keeping with today's theme of stuff that's evil and/or comes in halves, let's take a look back at my Top 3 Favourite Evil & Half-arsed Posts of All Time. To qualify for this list, each post had to be:
a) at least 50% evil,
b) written quickly, with less than 50% effort,
c) a old favourite (based on Google & Statcounter traffic analysis)
1. Are single girls just too picky? : My needs are simple. I really don't expect very much from a man, but apparently most women do, because the title of this post has been the most popular search term on Rocketradio for over a year.
2. Laundrospat : It took 40 seconds to write this in the heat of anger, and it might be one of the rudest posts I've ever published (it's hard to say - they're all a little bit cunty/little bit rock n roll). It's gross, offensive, shocking... but you must have loved it, because it got a lot of comments.
3. Hosting a fancy summer BBQ? : One sentence + one photo = my most viewed post. I must give full credit to the watermelon.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Full story: Baby pythons escape during flight in Australia
MELBOURNE, Australia - Four baby pythons escaped from a container aboard a passenger plane in Australia, leading to a search that forced the cancellation of two flights, the airline said Thursday.
Twelve non-venemous Stimson pythons were being transported Tuesday on a flight from Alice Springs to Melbourne in the plane's cargo area in a bag inside a plastic foam box with air holes.
When the flight landed, it was discovered four snakes had escaped from the package, a Qantas spokeswoman said in a statement.
A reptile expert searched for the 15-centimetre-long snakes but did not find them.It was not known if the snakes were still on the plane or if they had somehow escaped outside after the plane landed.
Problem: Hmmmm. Possibly something to do with "air holes"?
Solution: "Ok, everybody strap in! I'm about to open some fucking windows!" - Samuel L. Jackson
Monday, April 13, 2009
Building a Blockier Jesus
How many times have you thought that maybe your life would be a bit sweeter if only someone would just build you a giant Jesus out of Lego?
Well, some very creative Swedish folks have just unveiled their awesome Lego Jesus to the world, and the world has replied: "Wow - that's nice, but WTF is going on with that giant freaky foot there?"
Parishioners of the Oensta Gryta Church in Vaesteras (near Stockholm) built a 6 foot Jesus out of 30,000 Lego blocks. It reportedly took 40 volunteers nearly 18 months to put all the tiny plastic blocks together and grossly overestimate His sandal size.
It got me to thinking: if someone gave you 30,000 white lego blocks, what would you build with them? Feel free to share your Lego masterpiece ideas in the comment thread.
A Letter from Gwen
I couldn't wait to read her colourful letter, so I opened it in my apartment lobby while I waited for the elevator. The lift opened, I walked in, read her note, and laughed out loud, which brought some puzzled stares from the two other residents in the elevator with me. I flashed them her card with a big smile and gushed: "My friend is a whore."
How All the Change Changed My Life
Due to an extensive series of unforeseen budget miscalculations (i.e. - I have never made and/or followed a budget), I realized yesterday that I'm flat broke right now. I knew I wasn't going to make it to payday later this week without selling something, like my soul, or perhaps - if I'm really lucky - just my dignity.
I desperately needed money for bus fare, so I started sifting through the big coin jar on my desk for a mittful of quarters, and that's when it hit me: Hey idiot, THESE COINS ARE MONEY!
I remembered there's one of those automated coin counting machines in a supermarket near my office. Maybe I had enough spare change to round up a few dollars and make life a little bit more comfortable for the next few days?
And so began The Reaping of The Coin. I found a surprising stash of coin-filled chalices all over my apartment... pennies packed into mason jars, plastic yogurt containers, flowerpots, even an old fish bowl. Somehow I had amassed over 16 pounds of mixed coins! I know this because I put all the coins in one giant sturdy bag and then weighed them on a scale. Quantitative facts can be important later, when I'm explaining the genesis of my hernia to a healthcare professsional.
I just cashed-in during my lunch break today, and victory is mine! Somehow, out of sheer financial laziness, I had saved up $224.86 in spare change.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
I'll be back shortly, so in the meantime, why not take a moment to go check out Gwen's beaver*.
* Gwen's beaver is courtesy of the supertalented Beevers at BBJ.ca
And stay tuned for Rocketradio's
upcoming Spring Bling contest
to win a buckle of your very own...
Friday, March 27, 2009
This is the craziest little bit of international cinema* you're going to see on a lazy Friday afternoon, so brace yourself for 5 minutes of full-throttle what-the-fuck:
(Worth watching for the awesome 80s fashion showcase and the creepiest midget action I've seen in years.)
* Clip is from a film called Adhisaya Piravi. Big thanks to Dan the Man for the video suggestion.
Enjoy your weekend!
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
From: Daniel Craig (firstname.lastname@example.org)
Sent: Thursday, March 19, 2009 2:20:20 AM
Subject: The Latest
How are ya babe? Sorry it's been so bloody long, I've been all suave in the souf of France practicing for me Bond business ain't I? I hope you been thinking of me like I ave you. To prove my thoughts are always about you here's a photo of me dressed like a big old hairy fanny:
That's fanny like us Brits say it not fanny like you poncey north americans mean. A fanny ain't an ARSE or nothing it's a FANNY. A woopsie. A vajeen. Anyway that's me dressed as a vajeen for your pleashure. That's a chick next to me who woz totally trying to get wiv me but I cut her out the photo cuz she smelt like cabbage. Some fella approached me when I wuz wearing the big old vajeen costume and wanted me to be in a film called Clitty Clitty Bang Bang but I told 'im I woz intrested but couldn't do it guv, because like I'm doing Bond and all. OK that's it for now babe stay kewl and stay sexy and can I 'ave a picture of your bum? Or your fanny I ain't fussy.
Monday, March 2, 2009
this hilarious quiz and find out for sure.
I scored 31 points, which apparently makes me "not annoying, possibly even pleasant".
Quiz Tip of the Day: Lying can actually make you a better person.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Sent: Wednesday, February 18, 2009 2:28:33 PM
Subject: Alright darlin'?
its your lover boy toy daniel here keeping it real on the english side of the pond. i've been thinking about you a lot. my knob's been chafed and sore with all the thinking i've been doing. i'm aktualy busy on a new film at the mo which is garanteed to get me one of them oscar things everybody raves about. cuz i'm a serious actor you know. in the film I play dorothy, who's a big, oinky fat chick, like REALLY fat wiv a little head on top of a mountain of wobbly flesh like jabba and she gets sick of being laughed at and becomes the worlds first big porker-sized superhero innit. She like does great stuff like bring Big Macs to fat people who can't get out of bed without a forklift and help them lift there folds so they can wipe there tiddlers innit. i have to wear a fat suit of course as i'm just rippling with the muscles and ligatures and stuff in real life and way too fit to be a fat chick. i ain't got no pussy neither! so yeh that suit is hot as fak but you can totally have a boner in that suit and nobody even knows. i kept a bottle of liquor in there too aktualy. even when i was a fat chick i thought about you Kat. in fact that's when i found out about the boner thing. enclosed is a promo photo of me in character in case fat chicks are wot does it for you.
still hard for you
From: Kat Rocket (email@example.com)
To: Daniel Craig (firstname.lastname@example.org)
Sent: Wednesday, February 25, 2009 7:57:02 AM
Subject: More to Love, Darling
Well loverboy, you're no John Travolta - in the sense that I'm not sufficiently turned off to the point where I will no longer watch your films. BeckEye will most certainly hurt me for saying that, but thankfully for me, she's far away. And as you know, I have always applauded any suit that allows the concealment of both alcohol and boners, regardless of how utterly unstylish that suit may be. That's how I fell in love with the Snuggie, after all.
I really look forward to seeing you in this challenging new role, and I hope it brings you closer to your Oscar dream (not that one about you and Jack Klugman playing in the bouncy castle - I'm referring to the one where you win an Oscar award.)
Chunk it up, baby!
Much love from Kat
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
BERLIN (Reuters Life!) - Driver crash-lands car on church roof
A motorist missed a bend in the road, broke through a barrier and hurtled up a bank, crash-landing on a church roof in eastern Germany, police said on Monday.
The bank acted like a springboard, propelling the vehicle about 35 meters (115 ft) forward and straight into the church's roof frame, where it remained wedged 7 meters off the ground, police said in a statement.
In spite of the damage caused to the car and the church, police have reported that hillbilly cousins Bo and Luke Duke sustained no injuries.
Police statement: "They're just some good ol' boys, never meanin' no harm. Today the church might have got 'em, but the law never will."
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Vigilantes took the black and white beast to the police saying it was an armed robber who had used black magic to transform himself into a goat to escape arrest after trying to steal a Mazda 323.
The group of vigilante men came to report that while they were on patrol they saw some hoodlums attempting to rob a car. They pursued them. However one of them escaped while the other turned into a goat," Kwara state police spokesman Tunde Mohammed told Reuters by telephone.
"We cannot confirm the story, but the goat is in our custody. We cannot base our information on something mystical. It is something that has to be proved scientifically, that a human being turned into a goat," he said.
Belief in witchcraft is widespread in parts of Nigeria, Africa's most populous nation. Residents came to the police station to see the goat, photographed in one national newspaper on its knees next to a pile of straw.
Police also have good reason to suspect the goat had been involved with an internet phishing scam in the past, e-mailing innocent Americans to solicit help in claiming his family's lost fortune.
The goat's lawyer steadfastly denies the accusations of grand theft auto, and has issued the following statement to news media:
"My client is innocent. We are confident that the evidence will reveal in court that Squirrels are the masterminds behind this crime ring. Everyone knows that goats can't drive stick."
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
-- We've got some fabulous new writers (Andy Rooney, Skyler's Dad, and Michael)
-- BeckEye has the latest scoop on ShamWow Vince's nuts!
-- Stay tuned later today for the long awaited return of Pistols At Dawn!
Sorry, I'm a little busy today, so that's all I've got for the moment. I know, such a let-down after all the cake and boobs last week. I've spoiled you people.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
"There are plenty of critics in this business," Bush said
at a valedictory encounter with reporters in the White House
briefing room at the end of a turbulent two term presidency,
"but I thought it was a purdy good movie."
"I can see why that David Hasselhoff fella
is so darn popular," he added, throwin' out some
el diablo action to photographers in attendance.
Monday, January 12, 2009
My sister-in-law took me for a winter hike through her little alpine village to see the church where she married my brother. I have no idea why - I mean, I had no real interest in churches per se, but I do enjoy checking out old architecture, and the grand tour about town made Sophie happy.
It was late afternoon when we entered the church, and it was pretty dark inside, save for a small shrine of glowing candles on the east wall and rows of tall, backlit stained glass windows above us. In spite of the low light, I could see that the interior was quite ornate and golden and gaudy in a sort of charming way. We ad libbed some silly captions for the iconic tapestries on the walls, and we were still giggling like heathens when a shaky voice suddenly boomed out of the darkness and scared the shit out of us.
"Aimez-vous mon gâteau?"
I was pretty sure it wasn't God, because the voice was asking if we liked his cake.
There was a large golden throne next to the dias at the front altar section of the church, and as we cautiously approached the source of the voice, we could see the emerging shadow of an old man sitting on the throne. He was staring at us and eating a giant piece of cake from a styrofoam plate with a plastic spoon. He was wearing one of those tissue paper crowns that come from those Christmas cracker thingys. He had a lei around his neck made of sparkly red and silver Christmas tree garland. He was giggling and sing-saying (in French):
"I am the king... I have some cake!
I AM THE KING OF CAKES!
You have no cake! NO CAKE!
Do you like MY cake?
I am the best king ever!"
My sister-in-law began to engage the old man in conversation, and she quickly learned that a local family had rented the large common room and kitchen in the church basement for their Christmas party, and Gramps - who was suffering from Alzheimer's or some other mental disability - had wandered upstairs to enjoy his cake on the comfort of his throne.
It was far too dark to get a decent photo of him, so please enjoy this artist's rendering to your left.
(actual King and Throne not as gay as illustrated.)
We could hear music echoing from below, so Sophie presented her right elbow to him for support, which he happily accepted, although he steadfastly refused to allow either of us to hold his plate of cake for even a moment while we descended the steps from the altar. He was prudent not to trust us. Sophie and I both hail from a long, nefarious line of cake usurpers.
The King shuffled along beside us, rambling on and on about cake and some other stuff I couldn't understand because he was mumbling and still had his mouth stuffed full of cake. He had green icing on his chin, on his shirt, and all over his hands, which were now clinging tight to Sophie's forearm. We slowly steered him down the center aisle and down a narrow winding staircase to the basement.
We returned The King to his People at the party downstairs, where his grateful relatives rewarded us each with a slice of cake, a glass of wine, and a really awkward performance by a group of four tween-aged girls doing some kind of gay voguing routine to a Daft Punk song. It made me wonder if little French girls learn how to dance from Italian game shows. Their style could best be described as 'cheerleading without the pompoms', or - if I'm being really generous - possibly an homage to doin' The Robot.
The King of Cakes helped himself to another big slice, ignoring all protests from some mean old bitch who was slapping at his sticky hands while barking "Non! Non plus!" He winked at me, and when he smiled, the three teeth in his mouth were stained bright green with icing.
Long live the The King of Cakes, for He truly is the Best King Ever.
SLOW WORK DAY? Here's more amazing stories to help you look busy:
- Andy Rooney - special guest on Fire That Agency!
- Skyler's Dad joins the writing staff at Fire That Agency!
- The Green Knight
- The Abominable Snowman
- Last Call
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
With my mom's help, I wrote out some questions for Santa on one of those giant pads of doodle paper. I asked why he wore a red suit, if he had any children of his own, if he had a part-time job in the summer, and a few other things I suppose, and placed it next to his milk and cookies.
On Christmas morning, the cookies were eaten (with a few crumbs left behind for a nice effect), and my letter was answered! But I was no idiot - I knew right away that the reply was in my father's handwriting. He was a draughtsman and architect, and his penmanship reflected his trade -- very neat, tidy, and perfectly aligned, and he only ever used ALL CAPS. Aside from his signature, I've never seen him write anything in script - just block printing. Seven-year old me was shocked and disappointed, but I had a 3 year-old brother to consider, and I also feared that outing dad as Santa would greatly diminish any hopes of future holiday loot. So I kept that little secret to myself until a couple weeks ago.
My dad was laughing about the whole thing, and then he very casually asked me: "Do you remember the explosion?"
The explosion, dad? Oh, do tell.
Well, it was years before that house, he told me, when we lived out at the lake. He reckoned I was just a year old, maybe not even that, and there was a violent lightning storm one night. My mom had been working the late shift at the hospital, and he was worried about her driving the 40-minute commute home in bad weather. Several loud thunder crashes had awakened me in the night, so he was pacing the living room with me in his arms, trying to get me to stop screaming, while silently freaking out about his wife, who was already an hour late getting herself home. He was only 21 years old.
"I managed to settle you down a bit," he recalled, "I was at the big bay window, pointing at the giant apple tree in our front yard -- I guess it was about 30 feet from the house, really tall and wide and full of big white blossoms. I was saying soothing shit like 'look! Look at the pretty flowers! ... it's only rain, and the rain makes the flowers grow' and just as a smile came across your face, this gigantic lighting bolt came outta nowhere and blew that fucking apple tree into a million pieces! The explosion blew out the side windows of the house and the back window of my car. I can't believe the big window in front of us didn't shatter. I'm not exaggerating here - it was a mutherfucking fireball. The noise was deafening... and there was no goddam tree left after that. Completely obliterated."
Wow. I certainly didn't remember any of that. But it did occur to me that I have inherited my father's pottymouth. So how did he handle it?
"We both squealed and shat our pants."
Monday, January 5, 2009
Okay, enough about you... I suppose a lot has happened over the past three weeks. I missed most of it, so feel free to fill me in. I'm not going to bait you with phenomenal tales about my vacation - they'll only make you intensely jealous of me and the glamourous life I lead, and neither of us want that, most especially not you.
Here's a few updates:
Katrocket Wins Prestigious Blogging Awards
After several years of complete failure at the Drysdale Awards, Grant Miller Media has bestowed Rocketradio with The Lifetime Achievement Award in the Field of Promoting Grant Miller Media. I'm sure there are some bitter losers out there who will make wild claims of nepotism, but ask yourself this: what have YOU done for Grant Miller lately?
some award-winning 2008 posts about Grant Miller Media:
Setting Free The Bears: Grant Miller and his stance on Gay Bear Dating
Grant is...Facebook: status updates from Grant Miller
Happy Birthday Grant Miller: a comprehensive dissertation on The Man and His Milestones
I was also awarded a Gold Star from Champion Lurker Bill Stankus from Just A Moment of Miscellany (thanks, Bill). This is especially cool because I had no idea that Mr. Stankus was a Rocketreader until a few days ago, which makes this the first blog award I've ever won that was not the direct result of intense lobbying and/or blackmail.
Following the Rocketroll
The blogroll has been updated with some fabulous new bloggers, and I finally caved and added that fucking Follower gadget that you're all so fond of. I promise I'll be adding your blog soon, so if you've been holding out on "following" Rocketradio for childish political reasons (i.e.- because I haven't been "following" your blog), I hope you're happy now.
I've got too many blogs and not enough time to maintain them, so I have moved all the short stories from my WordPress site over to this blog and I'll be shutting down r o c k e t a l k next week. The WP content is now tagged in the archives as "amazing stories" - I'm not kidding you. They are pretty fucking amazing. Waaaay more amazing than this shitty post.
Newsflash: Scientology helped Tom Cruise beat dyslexia
No logner fnuctoinlaly illiteraet, btu sitll a pompuos asshoel.
A lame joke I heard while watching Mythbusters at 2am:
Q: What's red and smells like blue paint?
A: Red paint.
Stuff I recently quit doing, but refuse to call "new year resolutions" in case I feel like doing them again some day:
- drinking coffee
- smoking cigarettes
- eating junk food (not to be confused with "eating junk")
- dating miserable cunts
- enjoying a carefree lifestyle that included coffee, cigarettes, junk food and cunts.