Escape From New York, Part 1

Okay, okay, at long last, what everyone (i.e., no one) has been waiting for: the first bit of texty yammering about my vacation, which happened a hundred years ago. As you may not even remember, I recently went down to NC to visit momma and go to the mountains and the beach/get a savage tan/eat Bojangles cajun chicken biscuits. But before we get to any partial nudity, let's spend this particular post having a look at the latest additions to mom's Shakespearean Tragicomic Plush-Doll Display. Mom, see, loves stuffed animals and spooky hand-painted dolls. And she likes to display them on her living room ledge as if they're having a little tea party (before they eat you in your sleep). Above, from left to right, is the bear she bought last March in Asheville, a new plush collie, a poodle (?), a fluffy white kittycat, mom's beloved doll Victoria, and a pink bear, because why not?

Also, here is the doll cabinet in the guest room. I had to try to sleep while these dolls just sat there, looking at me, salivating.



And another plush kitty sitting at the top of the staircase to laugh as you as you fall back down in horror, just like in Psycho.



This bear is so cute he deserves a picture of his own.



Oh, and what is that I see over there, in the corner of the dining room, lurking next to the china cabinet? It's a fake tree, yes, but what's that beside the tree?



It's the attack of the Unseasonable Santa. And he's pissed. Just look at that maniacally evil face.




Anyway, it took me a while to recover from all of this, so you'll have to wait until Part 2 to see pictures from my visit to several western Carolina mountain churches (frescoes!) and footage of our eastern-NC scuppernong grape shopping spree.

Get back to work.

The World is Retarded

I've been a bad blogger this summer. So lazy! But whatever, who cares, amiright? Anyway, Michele Bachman and her gay husband have now won the Iowa straw poll, so the world is officially over, for real. No more Mojito Mondays! (Or Felching Fridays, sad face.) And fuck it, I'm tired, so I'm putting on my fashion sunglasses and heading to Atlantic Beach, NC, where I will attempt to drown myself, get wasted, and then do some crossword puzzles, in that order.



To tide you over until I get back and decide to start typing again, here's a fun picture of a snowbilly grifter not stealing the spotlight from a bunch of vampire bats.

My Camera Phone Will Not Be Denied: Tacky Marilyn Monroe Statue in Chicago

I recently took a trip to Chicago (my first one ever) and will be posting more hot pics from the trip soon once I stop being so lazy, but I wanted to start with some shots of the big 'n shiny nonsequitur that is this Marilyn Monroe statue that sits on Pioneer Court, a very prominent spot on the city's Magnificent Mile right downtown. What does Marilyn Monroe have to do with Chicago? If you said "nothing," I'm pretty sure you'd be right.

Anyway, this statue has stirred some controversy! Some folks aren't bothered by the statue's tacky irrelevance. Walter Jacobson of CBS2 NEws said, "So we did not get the Olympics, but we have Ms. Monroe, keeping us on top of the outdoor world, and just when we need it, a smile on that mile." Well, he ended with a rhyme, so I'm convinced.

But then there's killjoy Tribune columnist/stone-cold-bummer Mary Scmich, who lamented that the display was "as tawdry as a peepshow." But how can you take this woman seriously when she doesn't even bother to put together a decent rhyme? ("It is cheap and dirty and it ain't even purdy." See how easy it is, Mary?) Plus, do guys even go to peepshows anymore? Don't they just watch them on youtube?

Anyway, it was just a happy coincidence that just as I arrive in Chicago the statue was unveiled. I read about it on the Intertube and immediately hopped on a train to see it because, as you all know, I love big statues. I got the obligatory shots of her underwear and such, but I must say some gentlemen spent an unnecessary amount of time and pixels on the statue's back side. It was gross. Take the dudes smutting up the below family-friendly shot I took:



Or this guy accumulating wank bank material:



Dizgusting. But, okay, I know you want to see what they're seeing, because you are also a 12-year-old boy, so here's a few artistic shots:





And a less interesting one taken from the front:



And in case any of you sweaty adolescents need more wank bank material, here's one with me. You're welcome.

So What/Who Cares?

Wow, I haven't blogged in forever. Why is that? I asked myself every day for the past week and a half. And the answer is: "Eh, so what/who cares?" This, as all writers know, is the death knell of continued typing. Because if you are a writer and you start asking yourself those two questions, you will not come up with a satisfying answer. Because, basically, so what/who cares?

Anyway, I've been kind of meh lately, which is why there's been so little blogging from me. Plus, I've been busy singing Heart songs at karaoke (see above). Rest assured, loyal fan, I will be back with coverage of my visit to Chicago and other dumb bullsh*t soon, once I summon the energy to press more buttons on my computer than I have the motivation to press right now.

In conclusion, here's a funny picture.